Fifty-three times.

As Kairos observed his brother-in-law’s corpse, the number echoed in his mind like an ominous warning. Sertorius’ wife had stabbed her husband fifty-three times with a dagger in the eyes, in the groin, in the chest, and everywhere that counted. When Labienus had brought Kairos into the tent in the dead of the night, the Travian King hadn’t recognized his brother-in-law’s corpse at first.

Lucretia’s own body had been left in a better shape. Blood had flowed out of her hands and belly, leaving her pale corpse laying on a red bed of warm fluids. She was still clutching her dagger even in death, her expression one of pure spite and despair.

This is what could have happened if I had mistreated Julia and Andromache, Kairos thought grimly as he glanced at Sertorius’s remains. How could you be so brilliant as a statesman and yet so blind as a husband?

“How could this happen?” Kairos asked. Sertorius’ tent was empty except for Labienus and two guards, who should have prevented this disaster. “You were right outside.”

To their credit, the guards had the grace to look ashamed. “Lord Sertorius used a privacy ward and he ordered us to let nobody pass for any reason,” one of them explained. “When Lord Labienus asked for an audience, I moved inside the tent to ask for Lord Sertorius’ approval… and we found them dead.”

Kairos’ jaw clenched. “Are we sure this isn’t a set-up?”

“Affirmative,” Labienus confirmed with a sigh. “Nobody got in and out of the tent beforehand. Besides, an alarm would have been activated at an intruder’s approach. I’m afraid this is exactly what it looks like.”

“Why did she kill herself then?” Kairos didn’t even sound angry as he said this, merely sad and disappointed. “Did Lucretia think we would execute her?”

Labienus raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have?”

“I don’t know,” Kairos admitted. Though he had never liked Lucretia, especially after she offered him slaves for his marriage, he somewhat sympathized with her situation. He had hoped to act as a mediator, to reform her the way Julia had changed in Travia. “But at least I would have given her a fair hearing even if soldiers called for her head.”

“Perhaps she hated Lord Sertorius so much that she wanted all traces of him to disappear,” Labienus suggested. “After killing her husband, she should have inherited his [Legend], and her executioner would have gained the power afterward.”

Truthfully, the loss of the [Legend] was the least of their worries. The army could survive the loss of a [Hero] easily enough, but Sertorius would be another matter.

“My concubine is giving birth to my third child as we speak,” Kairos said with a tired tone. “Instead of being at her side, I am examining my brother-in-law’s corpse while trying to figure out what I’m going to say to Julia when she arrives. Oh, and also I have to find a comforting way to tell Dispater how his last child committed suicide after murdering her husband. Tell me, Labienus, have you ever been in a similar situation?”

The Lycean officer’s scowl darkened even further. “Yes, I have been. Murder-suicides are a depressingly common tragedy in Lyce.”

And that was perhaps the saddest thing Kairos had ever heard.

And above all, what did it say about the Lycean Republic? Kairos’ mother Aurelia had always exalted her former homeland as the mightiest empire the world had ever known, the stablest country in a region of the world full of feuding realms. But in the end, it was a decadent place built on slavery and festering resentment.

If murder-suicides were so common, then what did it say about the Lyceans? Did they hate each other so much that death was the only escape from anger and bitterness? Even Travians avoided fighting each other whenever they could.

I still don’t understand, Kairos thought, how a people with so much wealth and history never learned to get along.

Then again, maybe it was just a case of greed and pride corrupting human values. Though Sertorius was his brother-in-law, Kairos was all too aware that he had lusted for the Thessalan League largely for its resources and the glory it would bring his family. Though the Travian King suspected that Mithridates would have tried to take over no matter what, Lyce’s ambitions to conquer his lands had motivated him into mobilizing his army.

Something needed to be done about Lyce. If not now, then after the war was done.

“Who else knows about this?” Kairos asked Labienus.

“The two of us and the guards, but we can’t keep this under wraps for long. People talk and Lord Sertorius is… was, our commander-in-chief.”

Kairos nodded to himself. “We can’t let the true conditions of his death be known. Especially not with Dispater coming. Keep this to yourself until we figure something out.”

“As you wish, Imperator,” Labienus answered, while the guards made a salute. “True to House Flavii.”

Kairos frowned at the salute. “Imperator?”

“With Lord Sertorius’ demise, only you can lead us to victory,” Labienus pointed out, a scroll in hand. “I believe he wished you to.”

Kairos looked at the document, which was sealed with the wax symbol of the Flavii family. “What is this?”

“Lord Sertorius’ will,” Labienus explained. “I was supposed to hand it to you in case of his demise.”

“This will wait until Julia arrives,” Kairos replied before glancing back at the corpses. “Bring Plinius to clean and preserve the corpses. It’s unsightly to see them like this.”

The officer answered with a nod and a question. “What do we tell the troops until then?”

“I will make a speech before them tomorrow, to reassure them and give them the official version of Sertorius’ demise,” Kairos replied. “Otherwise, we will carry on as he wished.”

At this point, the army was already ready to leave Orthia’s lands on a moment’s notice. They needed to strike Talos’ Cradle now more than ever, even without Sertorius. The longer they waited, the more soldiers it would produce and the greater the odds that Zama would move to fortify it.

Once the political side of this mess was settled, Kairos remained behind a few minutes longer to pay his respect to Sertorius’ remains. Though he had never been particularly close to him as he had been to his crewmates, Kairos knew he had only gone as far as he did thanks to the Lycean Judge. It was Sertorius who sponsored Kairos back when he had barely a few dozen ships under his command and Histria was a pile of rocks and mud. Sertorius had brokered his marriage to Julia, helped fund his capital city’s development alongside Dispater, and been a key ally in the conquest of the Necromanteion.

And above all else, he had been family. His death was a waste, especially since it could have been easily avoided.

This disaster filled Kairos’ heart not only with sadness, but also fear. With Sertorius dead, his son Aurelius would inherit his duties. His life would become one of the chainlinks keeping Lycaon imprisoned, and as an heirless baby his demise would spell the Wolf-God’s freedom.

The Beast Cult would never let Aurelius live in peace. They would hunt him even more ceaselessly than they had done before. Until Lycaon was dead and truly buried, Kairos’ son would always have a sword of Damocles hanging above his head. The world felt a little colder and more dangerous when Kairos moved back to his tent.

At least, until Plinius came out of it with a bright smile. “It is done,” the healer said. “My congratulations.”

Kairos walked inside his tent without a word, watching Andromache in his bed and holding their daughter in her arms.

The moment he set his eyes on newborn Nessia, Kairos felt all of his fears and terror vanish like darkness in the sunlight. Her cries were music to his ear, dispelling his grim thoughts. Her pale skin, cleaned by Plinius, seemed made of the purest and most precious porcelain; wrapped up in clothes, she looked like a treasure.

Andromache smiled as he approached her side, while Rook wagged his tail as he observed the newborn. He had remained with the nymph during labor even after Labienus called for Kairos’ urgent presence.

“Thanks for filling in for me, Rook,” Kairos whispered to his partner.

“You’re welcome, Kairos,” he replied. “But you better be present when my clutch hatches. I won’t accept any excuse.”

Little Nessia stopped crying when Kairos sat on the bed, her beautiful blue eyes as bright as sapphires; much like her mother. The newborn observed her father with curiosity, the Travian King smiling warmly to put her at ease.

“She recognizes you,” Andromache whispered as she kissed her daughter’s forehead.

Was it the influence of Nessus’ soul inside of his namesake? Had the satyr’s spirit whispered to the child’s soul in the womb, preparing her for her own birth? Kairos didn’t know how much influence he had over the child. Nessia had come back from the dead before she was even born, and she might grow wiser than most.

Andromache presented his daughter to Kairos, who took her in his arms. She was even lighter than Aurelius and Rhea, her skin soft and soothing to the touch. She felt warm, so very warm.

“Thank you,” Kairos whispered to Andromache. “For this gift.”

“I told you once, my other half, that I wanted our love to take physical form in this world.” Andromache smiled as brightly as the sun. “And now you hold her.”

They had been through so many terrible things together. They had almost killed each other on their first meeting before finding love; they had survived battles, undead monsters, and political intrigues; and in the end, they had overcome a curse as old as the Anthropomachia. They even triumphed over death itself.

If their family could endure such ordeals, it would survive this war too. And they would enjoy the peace that would follow.

Putting one arm around his concubine’s waist and holding his daughter with another, Kairos forgot about the war for the rest of the night.

No matter how thick the darkness, a single candle was enough to put it at bay.

Julia’s fleet arrived at dawn.

The moment Kairos saw his wife at the prowl of her admiral ship, her eyes blackened by tears and sorrow, he knew she had already been informed.

“I’m sorry,” Kairos whispered to her the moment she disembarked.

Julia remained silent and simply moved to hug her husband, which he returned. Andromache, who was present at the scene, said nothing. If anything, she looked more sympathetic and understanding than jealous.

His mother Aurelia followed after Julia, holding her grandchildren but looking as crushed as her daughter-in-law. Cassandra and Thales climbed out of the ship after her, the former having painted her armor black in mourning, the latter carrying a modified copy of his own control rod. To Kairos’ annoyance, Aglaonice had also joined the trip too; but considering his children were alive, he supposed she had fulfilled her end of their bargain.

Dispater closed the march with Ultor, his eyes creased and his face more wrinkled than it had ever been. Kairos immediately offered Dispater his condolences for his daughter’s death, though he didn’t mention the way she had perished to spare his feelings. The old man listened without a word, his eyes were utterly empty, his expression unchanging.

He is already dead, Kairos realized. All I’m seeing is his walking corpse.

“I mourn for Tiberius, Cassandra,” Andromache said to her fellow woman and former crewmate. “He was taken too early.”

“Aren’t we all?” Cassandra asked with a sigh. “I have had enough of being the last woman standing after everybody else perishes.”

“We still live,” Ultor pointed out while glancing at the haggard Dispater. “So long as we breathe there is hope for a better future.”

“Tiberius’ demise will be avenged,” Kairos promised his widow. “I swear it to you, Cassandra. Romulus will perish before the year is done.”

To his surprise, he noticed Aurelia’s scowl deepen as he said these words. Even Cassandra herself didn’t seem keen on the idea. “Kairos, we need to talk about Romulus,” she said. “It’s about Taulas.”

Kairos’ fists clenched in anger. In truth, he had already long suspected what it was all about… but it didn’t make it less painful. “Tell me everything.”

“Later,” Julia whispered. “I want to see my brother first.”

Kairos didn’t have the heart to deny her this request.

Sertorius and Lucretia had been laid to rest in their tent, their bodies restored by Plinius. The healer had closed their wounds and replaced their torn clothes with fresh ones. Even the fifty-three stab wounds on Sertorius had been closed, the scars almost imperceptible to the naked eye. As they laid side by side on a bed of flowers, Kairos realized that the Judge’s marriage looked better in death than in life.

To preserve the secret as long as possible, only the dead’s family, bodyguards, and those already in the known like Plinius, Aglaonice and Labienus had been allowed inside. Julia observed her brother’s corpse with stoicism, before offering a prayer to his soul and Lucretia’s. She didn’t cry or curse the gods, but treated his death with quiet dignity. Dispater, who had already lost everything, collapsed weeping at the sight of his daughter and had to be escorted outside by Ultor.

Though the man had few to blame but himself for his military defeat, Kairos could only feel sympathy for his plight. Though greedy and ambitious, Dispater had cherished his children. He didn’t deserve to become the last of his line and outlive all the people he had loved.

“Plinius, take care of him,” Kairos ordered the medic. “In his current state, I fear Lord Dispater might make a mistake we will all regret.”

“As you say, King Kairos,” the man answered with a nod.

“I shall join you soon,” Cassandra added. “As Tiberius’ widow, it is my duty to take care of his father.”

Kairos could read her thoughts written all over her face. She had outlived the son, she wouldn’t let the father perish on her watch.

After the living finished paying their respects to the dead, Labienus opened Sertorius’ testament and started reading it aloud.

“‘A third of my fortune shall go to my sister Julia, who has fulfilled her duties to our House admirably. Another third will go to my long-suffering wife…’” Kairos couldn’t help but glance at Lucretia’s corpse as Labienus said that. “‘And if she didn’t outlive me, to my sister and brother-in-law. The last third will go to my soldiers and the poorest people of Lyce, who shall all receive three-hundred silver coins per head.’”

In death, Sertorius proved generous to his people. He gifted his garden to his home city, returned some collected art pieces to a museum, and offered his nearly priceless scroll collection to libraries for future generations.

But Sertorius loved his family above all else, and gave them the lion’s share of his inheritance.

“‘I hereby name my nephew Aurelius my heir,’” Labienus read, “‘and through him, I name my sister Julia and brother-in-law, Kairos Marius Remus, as the new heads of House Flavii. They shall inherit all of my clientele, and all bonds of fealty sworn to me. All contracts of obedience shall revert to them. My armies will obey their commands; my servants shall follow their leads; they will decide the fate of my slaves and belongings. They shall lead the Lycean Republic in partnership with the Senex to new heights. Of this, I have no doubt.’”

Julia listened in silence before exchanging a glance with her husband. “My brother has made us the most powerful people in the Lycean Republic.”

“If we can keep our army intact and win the war,” Kairos pointed out with less enthusiasm. “Which is easier said than done.”

“Imperator, if I may,” Labienus said as I folded the scroll. “Though Lord Sertorius led well while you were incapacitated, it was you that the Lyceans followed. You are the [Demigod] who would lead them to victory and bring them the plunder they crave. Our soldiers will follow you all the way to Pergamon, and maybe even Lyce itself. Lord Dispater’s defeat has only made their faith in you stronger.”

Kairos wasn’t certain how he felt about this. Though he was thankful for his men’s loyalty, the original plan was to have his clan and allies carve out regions of the Sunsea between them. Sertorius and Dispater would have Lyce, Kairos Travia, and they would share the Thessalan League.

But now he had inherited Sertorius’ duties and Disapter had been disgraced, Kairos would have to manage everything on his own. Which would be tremendously difficult.

Now is not the time to think of this, Kairos told himself. We need to win the war first before we decide what happens after the dust settles.

“Labienus, leave me with my family,” Kairos ordered, “I need a moment alone with them before I make a speech to the soldiers. Aglaonice, Cassandra, you can stay.”

Once he was alone with his mother, Julia, and his other allies, Kairos clenched his fists. “Now tell me everything.”

They did. Julia taught him of Caenis’ treachery and how she had claimed a [Legend] and power; obviously, Agloanice oversold her contribution, but Kairos thanked her for saving his children all the same. “You will thank me by fulfilling your end of the bargain,” the sphinx replied, ever the opportunist. “I believe you could fulfill it very soon.”

“I will follow through during the speech,” Kairos replied without much enthusiasm. He would rather have avoided it, but a bargain was a bargain. He still had a hard time believing Caenis had betrayed them though. No wonder Julia looks so saddened… “You said Romulus is an undead revenant? That Taulas doesn’t remember his life?”

“I do not think so, son,” Aurelia said with sorrow. “Lycaon seemed to block his memories of me. Of us. It torments him.”

“Romulus is a composite being,” Cassandra explained. “Like all werewolves, a beast and a human coexist in a single whole. One is made of Lycaon’s essence, the other of Taulas’ soul.”

It wasn’t enough for Lycaon to simply possess Kairos’ brother, he had to defile his soul too. The Travian King didn’t think he could hate someone more than he did the Wolf-God. At least Mithridates stood for something and his cruelty had a purpose.

“Aglaonice might have figured out what happened,” Julia said.

“Might have? Excuse me? I have figured out this riddle the moment you asked it of me.” Agloanice smiled at Kairos, eager to showcase her intelligence. “Do you know how the werewolf curse works, manling? The magical intricacies of the transformation?”

“A wolf spirit born of Lycaon takes root in a latent werewolf upon the curse’s awakening,” Kairos replied coldly. He wasn’t in the mood for games after learning of his brother’s torments. “It travels through the bloodline that all wolfbloods share with their reviled ancestors, the kinship of the great pack.”

Aglaonice sneered, much to Aurelia’s amusement. “Did you think I wouldn’t teach my son?” she asked the sphinx.

“I had hoped so,” Aglaonice replied with annoyance. “Yes, that is correct. A wolf-spirit travels to a would-be werewolf when the curse awaken and fuse with their soul. Beast and man coexist. Now, that’s how it works for most werewolves… and most werewolves don’t have [Legends].”

“Neither did my brother.” Kairos scowled as he guessed what happened. “Unless he indeed struck the killing blow on the Cetus he was hunting?”

“I think that’s what happened,” Cassandra said. “Taulas inherited a [Legend] minutes before death.”

“And since we know the seal holding Lycaon was already weakening by then…” Aglaonice trailed off, a grin forming on her lips. “Instead of sending a wolf-spirit, he formed a direct connection with your brother through his [Legend]. The Wolf-God bound his myth to a new one.”

And through it, his soul. Denying Taulas even the mercy of death. “How do we free him?” Kairos asked bluntly. “How do we free my brother’s soul from that monster’s grasp?”

Aglaonice’s smile faltered. “I will need time to figure this out, Manling. One stroke of genius at a time.”

“There’s something else to discuss,” Cassandra said. “We expected to undo the seal over Lyce and free Lycaon, if only so we can destroy him. Which would endanger the entire city.”

“We planned that,” Kairos replied with a frown. “Do you have an alternative in mind?”

“Lycaon uses Romulus as an anchor to this world, an avatar through which he can affect the world,” Cassandra explained. “But the relationship works both ways. Something that will affect Romulus will also influence the Wolf-God. Maybe… maybe we can use it to our advantage.”

Julia immediately caught on. “You think we could kill Lycaon through Romulus?”

“Maybe,” Cassandra said with a scowl. “I don’t see how… but I think it’s a possibility. I thought maybe Thales could figure something out, but even he came up short.”

Kairos’ [Telchine Metalsmithing] Skill provided an answer. It gave him knowledge about how to create metal artifacts, though those involved blood and sacrifices. After learning about Romulus’ true nature, it immediately offered Kairos a potential solution.

One he was loath to consider.

“There is a way,” he admitted.

Everyone looked in his direction, the silence ruling absolute.

“I can create something that will do the trick.” Kairos’ jaw clenched tightly. “But at a terrible price.”

Only life could pay for death.