The dawn after the fall of the outer wall was not greeted with silence, but with the rasp of blades sliding from scabbards and the thunder of boots upon broken stone.
The legions did not rest.
Julius had given no such order.
Instead, the whole army was loosed into the contested ring of ruins, tasked with stripping it bare and scouring it clean.
Cohorts marched down smoke-stained avenues, shields raised, pila braced, hunting pockets of resistance left behind.
A squad of Francian zealots leapt from a collapsed stable, screaming Saint Joan's name as they swung axes and sickles.
They cut one legionary down before the shield wall closed around them.
Then the pila thrust, stabbing with practiced rhythm until the zealots lay in pieces on the cobbles.
Further on, a centurion's men dragged three youths from the wreck of a bakery.
They had bows slung over their shoulders, arrows hidden in flour sacks.
The centurion studied them a moment, then gave the order.
