Orthia deserved its title of Shield-City.

Though it was founded centuries ago, the settlement had never been taken by force. Each of its three rows of mighty stone walls stood as high as fifty meters, casting a dark shadow on the hills around them. Freeborn hoplites and enslaved helot archers protected them in a tireless vigil fueled by patriotic fervor and magically-induced slavery. In a way, they formed the city’s fourth wall; an impregnable fortress of spears and arrows.

Some would have found the sight inspiring, but Sertorius couldn’t help but sneer.

These fools had already lost, but instead of negotiating to preserve their lives, they would rather resist to preserve their nation’s specter of ‘independence.’ They would kill in the name of their differences, rather than compromise with others towards a greater future.

Everywhere he looked, Sertorius always saw this same madness in the hearts of men. They fought and killed foolishly in the name of their culture, uniqueness, and the fictions they called ‘nations.’ Their wars were all the more bloody when the goals were utterly insignificant. The Orthians fought in the name of their ‘freedom’ from a foreign invader after relinquishing their liberty to Mithridates; and in a country built on slavery, that freedom was only afforded to a few anyway. Orthia so depended on helots that the army spent most of its time cowing slaves into obedience than working to expand its realm. Seeing all these resources wasted on a perpetual state of civil war filled the Lycean Judge with contempt.

This is why I am here, Sertorius thought as he observed Orthia from another hill on which he had raised his command tent. To tear down ugly flags and pointless walls. A great war to end all the small ones.

Many believed that Sertorius had embarked on this campaign for wealth and glory, but they couldn’t be more wrong. In truth, he was a healer fighting to eradicate a plague: the illness of tribal identities, of petty kings, of city-states looking out for their own selfish gain rather than the greater good. This war was nothing but shock treatment.

In a way, he had more sympathy for Mithridates for following a similar ideal; though his attempt to unite the League had come too little too late. The Poison Emperor had gone halfway, leaving the existing political elite of city-states in place to preserve their cultures.

Sertorius didn’t intend to make the same mistake. This conflict was but the first step to unify the northern region of the Sunsea under a unified, monolithic culture that wouldn’t fracture into petty conflicts like the Thessalan League. Only then would the people of the world know long-lasting peace and prosperity.

But first, he had to bring down the Shield-City.

Two weeks had passed since the Battle of Boeotia, during which Sertorius had supervised both the siege and the reconstruction of his fleet. Many had questioned his plans when he ordered his men to create a fourth wall of stone and mud around Orthia’s fortifications to prevent enemy sorties; but as his strategy unfolded such dissent ended. Sertorius’ engineers raised sixteen kilometers of fortifications around Orthia, damming the local river to prevent any water from running into the city. The Orthians sent out sorties to disrupt the construction, but Sertorius put Agron in charge of the defense and the minotaur repelled each assault.

While his troops were busy rebuilding their ships, Sertorius waited for his brother-in-law to recover and the Orthians to starve. Which, considering Orthia’s large population, didn’t take long.

But by the end of the first week, the Orthians sent out the ‘unnecessary’ people outside their walls; the beggars, the sick, and the infirmed. They offered themselves as captives to the Lyceans in exchange for food and shelter.

They were disappointed.

“Let the Orthians bear the burden of their pointless resistance,” Sertorius had ordered. “Only deserters with useful information will receive medical treatment and food. Anyone found helping the others will be flogged.”

The Lycean-Travian army couldn’t afford to feed useless mouths, and watching their own people starve outside their walls would damage the Orthian defenders’ morale. Sertorius didn’t even order aerial bombardments for this very reason; the more people inside the city, the quicker the Orthians would give in.

Sertorius’ army had more than enough [Heroes] and bombs to breach the walls, but taking the city by storm would result in heavy casualties and leave the army stranded anyway until they rebuilt the fleet. The Judge would rather keep the soldiers’ strength for the true decisive battles against Mithridates and Zama. His current strategy would result in a delayed, but bloodless victory; and they could afford to be patient for now.

We are close, Sertorius thought as he watched the sun slowly setting on the horizon. He had allowed Queen Euthenia to return to her city alongside envoys, to further demoralize her. The fruit is almost ripe.

According to reports, Dispater had wisely elected for a similar course of action against Zama; though Sertorius suspected Tiberius and Cassandra were to thank for this strategy. His father-in-law might actually survive this phase of the war.

Have I underestimated him? Sertorius wondered. He had seen Dispater as a man past his prime desperate to capture military glory yet without the aptitude to achieve it, unlike Kairos. But it seemed he had risen up to the challenge.

“It was a risky move to send the queen back into the walls,” Agron said as Sertorius returned to his command tent to oversee the war council. Andromache had already sat next to his desk, while Agron stood at her side. Sertorius’ legate and enforcer Labienus waited close to his master, his square-jaw peeking out of his helmet as he kept a hand on his sword’s pommel. “Stubborn as she is, she may convince the Orthians to launch a final assault or escape on a pegasus.”

“What would it change?” Labienus asked. Twenty years older than Sertorius, he was a [Hero] veteran of the Achlysian wars, experienced, and a member of the Senex. “We have blocked teleportation attempts with spells, secured the land and the skies. If she tries to escape, we’ll shoot her down with arrows. There is no escape.”

“My water elementals contaminated their remaining underground wells with poison, and I ensured no rain would come to relieve them,” Andromache added. “Even if they fight, they won’t have the strength to last long.”

Sertorius sat behind his desk, a quill and messages awaiting him. Some he had opened, like Julia’s latest missive, and others remained to be examined. “It was a calculated risk,” the Judge declared, “but I do not expect Euthenia to offer additional resistance. What little loyalty she had to Mithridates’ cause left when the Thalassocrator fled east and abandoned Orthia.”

Agron snorted. “Cowards.”

“So it is confirmed, Imperator?” Labienus asked, having focused on handling the siege and rebuilding so far. “The enemy fleet moved to Megara?”

“The Thalassocrator has started to assault the island,” Sertorius replied. “Waves as tall as towers are crashing against their coasts as we speak. The surviving Thessalan defenders are asking for immediate rescue, or else the island will be sunk below the waves within days.”

“Help we cannot provide without a functional fleet.” His Legate turned to Andromache. “The Foresight is still unable to fly?”

The nymph shook her head. “It has recovered from its wounds, but its power is tied to my other half. So long as he doesn’t wake up, the ship will remain sluggish.”

“At worst, we can drag it across the sea until Kairos recovers,” Agron said, “but I agree with Labienus. We’ve rebuilt some of the ships, but not enough of them.”

Sertorius joined his hands. “I have good news on that front. Now that she has dealt with enemy spies at home, Julia will soon set sail with the reserve forces. This new fleet will allow us to carry the rest of our forces away from Orthia after we secure it.”

Andromache frowned. “She is coming in person? That is risky.”

Sertorius couldn’t help but smile with pride. “You will be pleased to learn that she has successfully claimed the [Necklace of Harmonia] and become a [Hero]. Few will dare to stand in her way now.”

Andromache didn’t hide her surprise, nor Labienus his joy. “This is great news,” the Legate said. “An entire generation of [Legends] now commands us.”

“I still remember the days when Teuta was the only [Hero] in Travia,” Agron added with a smirk. “Now they sprout up everywhere.”

Jealous? Sertorius thought as Andromache failed to answer, her expression thoughtful. No, not jealousy…

Concern.

Concern of all things. It surprised Sertorius, who remembered that his sister and her romantic rival could barely stand each other last winter. It pleased him though. They had finally learned to set their feelings aside to think as a collective.

“What about Pergamon and Talos’ Cradle?” Agron asked Labienus.

“According to Nausicaa and our scouts, Pergamon is fortifying itself for a siege,” the legate replied. “And the Cradle is still protected by most of Teuta’s fleet. Storming it will be difficult, especially without King Kairos leading the charge.”

Sertorius raised an eyebrow. “Is that the soldiers’ opinion?”

“Well…” Labienus cleared his throat. “I don’t think there is anyone, Travian or Lycean, who wasn’t awed by his feats of dragonslaying and the destruction of the Orthian army. The men respect you, Imperator. But they worship your brother-in-law.”

Andromache shifted on her seat. “My other half is recovering, but slowly. He is waking up more often, but never more than a few minutes at once.”

A fact that bothered Sertorius, who had gone to visit Kairos upon learning he had awakened, only to find him comatose once more. Beyond his value as an ally, Sertorius had grown very fond of his brother-in-law and would loathe to see him die.

It’s good soldiers believe in him, Sertorius thought. Belief has power. In time, people’s faith might even allow Kairos to ascend further. A [God] for a brother-in-law would secure our family’s dynasty.

Sertorius wasn’t a jealous person. He didn’t care if a family member overshadowed him. Only the House mattered.

A messenger entered. “Ave Imperator,” he said with a hand on his chest. “Our envoys have returned with the Queen. She and King Pausanias demand an audience.”

Finally, Sertorius thought. “Call them in.”

Queen Euthenia walked in, weaponless and a golden mask obscuring her lovely face. A tall man in his late forties followed her, his head shaved save for a trimmed golden beard. His eyes were the same color as Euthenia, but lacked her inner fire; and unlike her, he wore white priestly robes rather than armor.

Sertorius recognized him immediately as King Pausanias. Out of the three rulers of Orthia, he was the most discreet as the head of the priesthood, and an indecisive weathervane. Even now he looked doubtful.

“So?” Sertorius did his best not to appear too gleeful. “What shall it be?”

Queen Euthenia gave him a potent glare, leaving her co-ruler to swallow his pride. “We have purged the Mithridates loyalists in our ranks,” Pausanias explained, “and agreed to negotiate our surrender.”

“Negotiate?” Sertorius chuckled. “Here is my first and final offer: a complete and unconditional surrender. I won’t accept anything less.”

Pausanias’ look darkened, while Queen Euthenia clenched her fists. “We can still keep you occupied for a while,” she warned.

“Deserters told me that you are considering eating your dead,” Sertorius said, his voice as sharp as a sword. “Now, I do not think it will be good for your health and cannibalism is a sacred act to Lycaon. Those who brave this taboo often spontaneously turn into werewolves, which won’t help your case.”

“You are repulsive,” Euthenia replied with a rasping voice while her fellow ruler looked away in shame and defeat.

“You made this situation inevitable when you refused my first offer and then wasted two weeks of our time. You can only blame yourselves.” Sertorius had given them plenty of opportunities to negotiate better terms and they wasted them fighting for the wrong side. “Your allies have abandoned you and you have no means of pressure left. I suggest you accept reality.”

The Orthian Queen’s eyes burned with anger. “You would rather starve our children to death than fight us with honor?”

“You are free to exit your walls and try to breach ours. You will all perish and your families will be at our mercy afterward, but poets will celebrate your doomed last stand.”

Agron smirked as he cajoled his Songaxe. “Please say yes. My ax was forged for nobler deeds than cutting wood.”

Sertorius was certain that if Queen Euthenia had a sword on herself, she would have tried to cut him down and then herself. But Sertorius slowly watched her rebellious gaze turn into the resignation of utter defeat.

Pausanias said what the queen wouldn’t admit out loud. “The Shield-City of Orthia unconditionally surrenders.”

“Good.” Sertorius did his best not to smile. It would have been inappropriate. “Open the city’s gates and surrender your weapons to our troops. I will make sure you are treated as esteemed guests for the duration of your house arrest.”

Queen Euthenia stood her ground. “No.”

Sertorius raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I despise you with every fiber of my being,” Euthenia replied, her eyes squinting behind her mask. “But now that we have surrendered, Mithridates will not hesitate to launch the Thalassocrator against our city. I cannot allow it. I shall take the field and join this campaign until that existential threat is removed.”

Labienus examined her with skepticism. “Why would we keep you in command?” he asked. “You could turn around and betray us.”

“You will keep my entire homeland hostage like Mithridates did once. Isn’t that enough for you?” Queen Euthenia shook her head. “What more do you need before your greed is satisfied, Lycean?”

Agron finally spoke up. “She clashed blades with Kairos himself, and she knows the lay of the land. She could be useful.”

“She could be.” Andromache’s eyes shone with power. “And if she tries anything, I will kill her.”

Sertorius held Euthenia’s gaze, studying her. True, an Orthian royal fighting at the army’s helm would be quite the propaganda coup… “What about my other proposition?”

The Orthian Queen looked at him with undisguised disgust. “I would rather fall on my sword.”

How unsightly, but expected. We’ll see how long that defiance will last, Sertorius thought before he gave a reply. “Duly noted. I will consider your offer… after you open the gates.”

The last rulers of Orthia stormed out of his tent to bring about the death of their nation.

It would never rise again.

Congratulations! You earned two levels (total fifty-seven) and 6 Skill Points.

The joys of a job well done…

“I’ll give it to you,” Agron said. “This is not the method I would have used, but it is quite impressive to take a city without losing a single man.”

“I would rather keep our strength for the real battles,” Sertorius replied as he started writing down names on a scroll. “The easy days are behind us, and the next ones will test our mettle.”

That only made the minotaur hungrier for a fight.

Afterward, Sertorius gave Labienus his orders about how to treat Orthia’s conquered population.

“The helots we will free as per my brother-in-law’s wishes.” This would foster good will among the oppressed masses and make them indebted to the new regime. “The soldiers we will incorporate among our auxiliaries. The freemen we’ll set to work on supplies and weapons.”

“What about the nobles and slave-owners, Imperator?” Labienus asked.

“Enslave everyone not on this list,” Sertorius replied as he handed his officer an account of spies and pro-Lycean Orthian nobles. “Spare the royal family and the priests. The other families you will mark, chain, and round up by age and gender. Considering their noble birth, I expect them to fetch five hundred silver a head. Especially the women and children.”

Agron looked at the strategist as if he had grown a second head, as did Andromache.

“What?” Sertorius asked with a raised eyebrow. “You would rather that I slay them?”

“That would be more honorable,” Agron replied with a sneer of contempt. “To enslave others like livestock is forbidden in both Travia and Histria.”

“But not in Lyce,” Sertorius pointed out. “In the Republic, it is customary to sell the defeated to fund further campaigns. Doubly so since I set a public tax on slave sales. We need money to fuel our war effort.”

Sertorius himself had little love for slavery. He simply intended to make use of it when needed to fund his war, and then phase it out by making it economically impractical once he had secured his conquests. Taxes and bureaucracy would kill slavery faster than any revolution.

“We have your father-in-law for that,” the minotaur replied with heavy sarcasm. “It would be better to incorporate the defeated into our army. Put a weapon in their hand and set them on the frontlines. Those who die will at least do so with honor, and those who survive will atone with military service.”

He found it less cruel to send people to their death rather than give them a chance to live in shackles? How odd.

“Leaving conquered elites free and alive without de-clawing them first will sow the seeds of future rebellions,” Sertorius said. “Those who have tasted power and wealth will never stop longing for past glory; their nobles will scheme and their sons shall try to avenge their fathers. It would be better for the region’s long-term security if their nobles disappeared.”

“Then let’s kill them all and be done with it,” Agron replied with stubbornness. “It will appear hypocritical if we present ourselves as slave liberators, only to enslave the defeated ourselves.”

“On the contrary, I expect to find the helots quite happy with this turn of events. For a slave, there is nothing as cathartic as watching their old masters suffer through their own agony.” Sertorius shrugged. “In any case, this is our most pragmatic course of action and not up for discussion.”

“It is.” Andromache’s eyes turned cold. “I am a former slave, and I find no joy in this. Nor would my other half. I won’t allow it.”

Sertorius set his quill aside and locked eyes with the witch. She held his gaze, her heart as cold as he was. “And what would you have me do, woman? Send them to die?”

“Take everything from them,” Andromache said, her voice seasoned with cruelty. “Do as your Lyceans did with Aurelia. Leave them with only their clothes, then exile them to a barren rock colony where they will trouble us no more.”

And they called him merciless?

“Very well,” Sertorius said as he glanced at Labienus. “Proscriptions and exile are the order of the day.”

“As you wish, Imperator,” his legate replied as he folded the scroll. “What shall be our next target?”

“Once my sister’s ships arrive and reinforce our own, we will move east towards Megara to destroy the Thalassocrator,” Sertorius explained. “Or at least, this is what we will tell the captains and lesser officers. It will be a feint.”

“Ah, I see,” Agron said as he quickly put the two and two together. “When Mithridates’ spies in our midst inform our foes, they will immediately try to reinforce the Thalassocrator… leaving other strongholds weakened. Shall we sail to Pergamon?”

“No. To Talos’ Cradle.” The longer it remained operational, the more automaton forces it would produce. Better to bring it down as early as possible.

“While Kairos is still out of commission?” Agron chuckled. “That’s a risky proposition.”

“Hence why the Diadochi won’t see it coming,” Sertorius replied as he focused back on writing his answer to Julia’s message. “I will leave you the honor of putting our flag over the Orthian walls.”

Agron didn’t ask for more and immediately set out to claim Orthia, followed by Labienus. Andromache, however, remained slightly longer than expected. “What is it?” Sertorius asked without raising his eyes from his papers.

“Your wife moved her belongings to our tent,” Andromache said with a hint of reproach. “I thought you should know.”

“I do now,” Sertorius replied as he continued writing without a care in the world. “Thank you.”

Instead of leaving, the nymph cast a spell. An invisible force turned the scroll blurry, forcing the judge to look up. “Don’t you care one bit?” she asked, using the same tone Sertorius used to accuse others before a tribunal. “About putting the blame on her?”

Sertorius looked around, confirming the guards at his tent’s entrance were outside the boundaries of the privacy ward he had set in his tent.

“According to Julia’s letter, the spy she caught—whose head I will have for this crime—cursed me with infertility,” Sertorius confessed, his voice breaking with anger. Andromache winced at this. “As she was a divine conduit, her [God] cast the curse through her. Can you lift a godly curse, nymph?”

Andromache digested his words, biting her lower lip as she considered her answer. She was no politician, and Sertorius saw her thoughts written all over her face. He couldn’t stand pity.

“No,” she admitted. “I… I sympathize, truly. I have suffered through that agony too.”

“Then keep this to yourself.” Sertorius gritted his teeth in bitterness. “Do you even understand the pressures on me to produce an heir? The Senex members are expected to father sons that will take up the duty of protecting Lycaon’s seal. Our entire culture revolves around it.”

Andromache straightened up on her chair. “But we will free the wolf and slay it before he can escape on his own.”

“And what if we fail and we have to create another seal? Or worse, if we succeed and the curse doesn’t go away?” Sertorius snorted. “Whatever the case, this information would destroy my current hold on the Lycean Republic and undo years of effort. I cannot afford to look weak, even if my sister gave me an heir.”

Aurelius was blood, and his parents would make sure that he turned into a proper ruler. But the Lycean Republic put a heavy burden on the members of the Senex; even though Sertorius intended to tear down the seal and destroy Lycaon before he could break out, his lack of children made him appear… unmanly in the eyes of many. His power would never be fully secure until he had a son of his loins.

“You don’t want to tell your wife the truth,” Andromache accused. “You would rather let her think she is barren and suffer than trust her not to reveal the truth.”

“Yes,” the Judge replied. He felt confident enough in giving this information to the nymph as he intended to consult her on the curse matter all the same, and she had no stakes in Lycean politics. Besides, she would never act in a way that would damage Kairos by proxy.

“Because you do not trust her.” Andromache squinted. “Because you never loved her.”

“No,” Sertorius admitted. At this point, he might as well be honest. “She was never more than a method to seal an alliance with her father. A stepping stone towards a greater goal.”

“To become king?” Andromache sneered in contempt. “Is that what it is all about? A pretty crown and a chair?”

Sertorius joined his hands. “With my family in control of both the Senex and Travia, the two empires will slowly undergo a merge into a single entity better than the sum of its parts. Then, once we have secured their borders and internal stability, they could turn to Achlys, Vali, and eventually Alexandria.”

The nymph examined him in silence, trying to make sense out of his motivations. “You want to rule the world?”

“I want to unify the Sunsea and bring it peace. I want a single, monolithic government that will feed its people, stop wars and raids, guarantee people’s livelihoods, protect trade, and bring prosperity to all. One hopefully led by my family. I seek the greater good, for the world and my house. And if my wife has to suffer in silence until this war is over and the east pacified, then she most certainly will.” Sertorius scoffed bitterly as he looked at his sister’s letter. “None of us get what we want in this world.”

Andromache rose from her seat. “You will regret this.”

“Is this a threat?”

“A warning. One you should heed. I will keep my tongue tied, but your schemes will be your undoing.”

She left, and Sertorius returned to his scroll.

He had a testament to draft.