The Eternal City, nearly a week later.
The war room was quiet save for the low crackle of the oil lamps and the rhythmic scratching of quills against paper.
Julius stood before the wide arched windows of his private strategy chamber, arms folded behind his back, eyes narrowed against the gentle glow of the midday sun.
Before him, hovering in the air like some ghostly map, was his System Interface — a lattice of gold-etched borders and pulsing markers that detailed the movements of his empire's armies with divine precision.
At a glance, he could see it all.
The border walls along Carthaginia still held strong, no activity reported coming from the Principality as of yet.
The Iron Cavalry — his Iron Cavalry — had already reached the Germanian heartlands and had carved out their designated corridors as ordered.
Small skirmish reports flashed along the north-eastern frontier: ambushes sprung, Francian scouts wiped out, early supply lines burned.
