Rome had been thrown into utter and absolute chaos.

For generations, the people of the Eternal City had heard legends of the two divine guardian beasts — Romulus and Remus, the mythical protectors said to watch over Rome since its founding. Their names were whispered in prayers, carved into temples, and recited in stories told to children at night. But in truth, no living Roman had ever seen them. They were distant symbols, not realities.

So when the earth began to tremble, when massive shadows moved over the rooftops, when a primal roar split the sky — nobody was prepared.

And when the two colossal Beasts appeared in the flesh, towering like mountains of fur and fury, rampaging through the heart of Rome, the shock was even greater.

They were protectors of Rome… weren't they?

Then why, in all the gods' names, were they attacking the very people they were said to defend?

Nobody had an answer.

The only instinct left was to run.

Run as far as possible from those nightmarish creatures.Run from the collapsing walls, the falling statues, the shattering marble.Run from the coliseum — the place that had once been a symbol of Roman pride — now becoming a nest of terror.

Screams echoed through the streets, sharp and endless, blending into a single agonizing chorus. Mothers dragged their children. Merchants abandoned their stalls. Elderly men stumbled and cried out as they tried to flee. All of Rome was moving in one wild direction: away from the center.

One of the Beasts had been held back — barely — by the Goddess Athena herself, her radiant figure clashing with the monstrous titan. The other creature had charged into the coliseum, and the people outside could only pray for those trapped inside.

But even prayer offered little comfort.

Because even those who fled…Even those far from the coliseum…Even they were not safe.

The attack came without warning.

"Garrghh!"

"No—NOOO!!"

"Kyaaah!"

Screams multiplied, shrill and panicked, as bodies began collapsing onto the cobblestones.

At first, nobody understood what was happening. But when they finally caught sight of the attackers, they saw only figures with their faces covered, weaving through the crowd like silent shadows.

Assassins.

Though the people did not know it, these masked killers all served Caesar. Their true mission was to slaughter the senators who opposed him — but to hide their intentions, they cut down innocent citizens as well, letting chaos swallow truth.

The already panicked crowd erupted into full madness. People pushed and clawed at each other, desperate to escape, creating a massive, suffocating stampede. Blood splattered across stone. Screams became choked sobs. Lives were ended in an instant, without reason, without mercy.

Across multiple districts of Rome, the same nightmare unfolded — mothers trampled, children lost, old men struck down where they stood. People who had asked nothing of the world except survival were stabbed before they even understood they were dying.

Among them was a young mother, breathless and trembling, clutching her daughter's hand as they ran through the narrow streets.

She didn't see the assassin until he stepped directly into their path.

His sword gleamed.His posture made his intentions clear.

"Please… please, not my daughter!" she cried, turning her body to shield the small girl, hugging her as tightly as she could — as if her embrace alone could fend off death.

The assassin raised his blade.

But before it could fall, a sharp shhktt! sliced through the air — followed by a cry of pain.

The woman opened her eyes.

The assassin lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him…And standing over his body was a Roman soldier, adorned in gleaming armor, his stance unwavering.

A true Roman soldier — not one of Caesar's corrupted men, but a guardian of the people.

And he was not alone.

Dozens more appeared behind him, armor clattering as they sprinted into the fray, shields raised, swords ready. Their arrival was like a wave of hope crashing into a sea of despair.

"Do not spare a single one of these scumbags!" the commanding soldier roared. "Cut them down! Protect Rome and its people!"

Behind them stood an older man in full armor, his posture proud despite his age. He didn't look physically imposing, but his presence was undeniable — a natural leader with fire in his voice.

He was Fulvius of the House Fulvii.

A man of Rome.

Not a man of Caesar.

And every soldier at his back was loyal to Rome alone — willing to stand against the assassins, against corruption, even against the chaos tearing the city apart.

Fulvius watched with a heavy, solemn expression as the loyal soldiers of Rome surged through the streets like a tide of steel. Their shields locked, their blades flashing, they moved with purpose — protecting civilians, intercepting assassins, pushing back the rot Caesar had unleashed on the city.

Everything was unfolding exactly as they had planned.

Earlier that morning, the most dangerous assassins — the elite killers stationed outside the estates of the senators who opposed Caesar — had already been dealt with. Fulvius had quietly replaced their positions with his own hidden soldiers. Now that chaos had erupted throughout Rome, Fulvius and the other loyal commanders had mobilized. Across the city, dozens of men like him were leading teams of Roman soldiers to hunt down the assassins hiding among the crowds.

Rome was bleeding, yes — but it was also fighting back.

"How dare you, Caesar…" Fulvius growled through clenched teeth, his jaw trembling with rage. His fists tightened as he looked upon the bloodied bodies scattered across the streets — mothers, children, elderly men who had lived peacefully their entire lives.

He knew these people. They were the heart of Rome. They were the very reason Caesar had once risen to power. And now Caesar repaid them with death.

To Fulvius, it was unforgivable.

"This day is your end," he vowed under his breath, voice trembling not with fear but with fury. "I swear it."

His gaze drifted toward the coliseum, where dust clouds rose like smoke from the arena. The echo of distant, monstrous roars rolled across the city like thunder.

Nathan was in there.

Fulvius didn't know the details of what was happening inside — but he had felt it in his bones that the boy would be in the thick of it, facing something terrible. And though everything had unfolded according to the plan so far, the battle was only just beginning.

"Don't screw this up, boy…" Fulvius muttered to himself. But beneath the words was no disdain — only worry.

Until now, Nathan had done nothing but impress him. And impressing a man like Fulvius — a man hardened by war, politics, and betrayal — was no small achievement. He rarely allowed himself to respect someone so quickly. Yet Nathan had earned it, piece by piece.

In truth, Nathan had earned something more personal too.

Fulvius exhaled slowly.

His daughter, Fulvia… this time, she had chosen well.

He remembered her previous engagement — Marcus Antonius. Fulvius had known from the start that the man was arrogant, selfish, and rotten beneath his charming surface. But Marcus had influence, and influence was a dangerous temptation in Rome. In the end, Marcus had proved his nature by defecting to Caesar's side.

But Nathan… Nathan was different.

Fulvius hadn't "given" his daughter to him — fate had taken care of that. And after seeing the kind of man Nathan was, Fulvius knew it would be difficult to find any husband who could ever compare. Fulvia herself… well, after being with Nathan, both in heart and body, it was unlikely she would ever look at another man the same way.

Fulvius shook his head sharply.

Now was not the time for such thoughts.

Rome came first.

Always Rome.

"Move! Hurry up and kill these miserable bastards!" Fulvius barked, his voice ringing across the square as his soldiers advanced. "We still have a far greater place to cleanse!"

His attention shifted toward the distant silhouette of the Senate Castle, several miles away — the corrupted heart of Rome, the nest of vipers that had poisoned the city for decades. It was the primary target. The place that needed to fall.

But would he arrive in time? Or would others reach it first and handle the problem in their own way?

When Fulvius had told Nathan he planned to personally handle the Senate Castle, Nathan had immediately refused.

Instead, Nathan insisted he stay near the coliseum, explaining that many anti-Caesar senators would be present for the finals. They would need protection from Caesar's assassins, especially during the chaos when they would be fleeing as they would be the easiest targets there.

Fulvius had argued — the Senate Castle mattered more. It was the core, the source of corruption.

But Nathan only said, with that calm confidence he somehow always carried:

"It will be taken care of… by other people."

Fulvius had not fully understood what Nathan meant.

But he trusted him.

It was difficult — almost impossible — not to trust Nathan after everything he had done since arriving in Rome.

Fulvius had seen many men in his lifetime: senators who hid daggers behind smiles, generals who boasted like lions but fought like rats, ambitious nobles whose courage evaporated the moment danger appeared. But Nathan… Nathan did not resemble any of them.

The boy carried himself with a quiet confidence that could not be faked. The way he spoke, the way he planned, the precision with which he moved his pieces across the board — it all seemed almost effortless to him. There were no hesitations, no wasted words, no uncertain decisions.

Even Fulvius, no fool and no stranger to schemers, could see it clearly:

Nathan was sharp.

Dangerously sharp.

Intelligent in a way that unsettled even seasoned veterans of Roman politics.

If Nathan had wanted to, he could have killed Caesar outright with his sheer strength. Fulvius knew that as well as he knew the weight of his own sword. The power Nathan wielded was no secret — at least not to those who had witnessed glimpses of it.

And yet… he didn't do it.

Instead of choosing the path of brute force, Nathan played a far more disciplined game. He moved slowly, deliberately, weaving his alliances not through fear but through strategy.

He had allied himself with the most powerful forces in Rome:

The Fulvii, Fulvius's own house — a family with legacy, honor, and deep military roots.

The Junii, through Servilia — one of Rome's most politically influential lines.

And even Crassus, the wealthiest man in Rome itself.

That was no accident.

No coincidence.

No "luck."

It was calculation.

And the result was terrifying.

For a moment, Fulvius felt a chill tighten his spine. Nathan was building a foundation far stronger than Caesar's — a triad of military strength, political influence, and overwhelming wealth.

A man like that did not rise by chance.

But thankfully… truly thankfully… Nathan did not appear to be an enemy of Rome. Everything he had done so far aligned with Rome's interests — protecting the citizens, aiding the loyal soldiers, striking down corruption, and preparing for a future where Caesar no longer held power.

Yet Fulvius was far from naïve.

He was certain that Nathan's patience and his so-called peace were not born of compassion. Nathan wasn't doing this out of kindness, or mercy, or some heroic longing to save Rome.

Nathan wanted something.

Something he could only obtain once Caesar fell.

Fulvius didn't know what that "something" was.

But he knew this:

Nathan would claim it — with or without Rome's permission.

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