After the first bloody clash between mobs and civilians, things quickly spiraled out of control.
The mobs grew more united and began acting with chilling coordination.
With the decree issued by Lucius himself as their shield, they claimed legal authority for their violence, proudly proclaiming themselves enforcers of the law. As a result, their rampages became increasingly brazen, swelling their ranks until entire provinces and key cities fell under their sway—beyond the reach of any official suppression.
The mobs' actions were but a hair's breadth from outright rebellion.
Amid this chaos, ordinary citizens—victims caught in the crossfire—banded together to resist the mobs.
Rome had become utterly incapable of managing itself.
And the worst news did not end there.
Uprisings ignited one gladiatorial arena after another, swallowing several cities whole and erasing them from Roman control.
Meanwhile, remote settlements had been attacked by the Picts, forcing Rome to divert its already overstretched forces to quell these revolts.
Rumors swirled that the lowly slaves, once too broken to resist Roman soldiers, had been liberated by a mysterious white knight—fanning the flames of chaos in the capital.
Unrest beyond measure.
Naturally, the three Roman senators had repeatedly attempted contact with Lucius on the battlefield.
Each time, the emperor responded with growing impatience and inconsistent strategies. Though these commands initially yielded results, they invariably plunged the situation deeper into disorder.
In the last few days, 'Lucius' had stopped communicating altogether—citing the British front as his priority—and ignored all attempts at contact.
"Your Majesty is no longer reliable. I doubt whether the one we've been speaking to was truly His Majesty at all," one elder speculated bitterly.
His view soon gained the grudging acceptance of the other two.
Whether or not it was really Lucius was no longer important.
What mattered was that Rome's chaos was beyond his control, at least until he returned from the campaign.
The scale of the uprising was simply too vast.
Rome's military strength on the mainland was already stretched thin.
In desperation, the three senators resolved to seek aid from outside the empire.
First, they sent messengers by land—but these envoys vanished after passing through several key cities.
Next, they tried by sea. But the ocean was even more perilous. Witnesses saw ships split in two by a sudden, mysterious black sword just off the coast.
One would expect vassal lords to seize this opportunity to rally troops and quell the unrest.
But none moved.
Though these territories belonged to Rome, they were inhabited by non-Romans.
Careful thought revealed a reason: the vassals refrained from exploiting Rome's weakness only because Lucius's reputation still commanded respect.
Otherwise, the empire would be even more fractured.
Despite understanding this, the three elders could not let matters rest.
Rome was trapped in a deadlock and urgently needed external forces—no one else could break the impasse.
Inside the city, various measures were attempted.
Lockdowns, curfews, propaganda, appeasement—all were employed cautiously.
No one dared issue arrests. The mobs were simply too large and volatile. A single provocation could spark outright rebellion. Making arrests outright would be courting death.
And yet chaos continued.
Even the senators and officers had lost control of Rome.
Just as the western districts were pacified, violent clashes erupted anew in the east.
The east had barely been subdued when the imperial palace itself came under siege once more.
"Damn it! No good news at all?" one elder cursed.
"If this continues, the great Rome will—"
There was no doubt that at this rate, Rome would crumble from within long before the British front could fall.
They wanted desperately to summon Lucius home to stabilize the capital.
But now communication was cut off.
Even the Magicians Group acted with cold detachment, seemingly establishing their own separate faction.
"Good news! Good news! Elder, we're saved!" a panicked officer burst into the council chamber.
"What good news is there at this time? Speak carefully or I'll have you killed!" the elder snapped.
Yet the officer's face glowed with genuine relief.
"No, really, this is good news. The French have sent troops. They're outside the city, waiting for us to open the gates."
"France?" The elder's eyes narrowed. "Are you certain they've sent forces at a time like this?"
"Yes, I saw their army myself. Their commander said they're here to help suppress the rebellion."
"...Is it really France?" The elder frowned, suspicion creeping in.
Truth be told, if it truly was France, their loyalty wouldn't be in doubt.
Though rebellious sentiments simmered and even the French prince sympathized with Britain, Rome's grip on France remained firm.
The current French king was raised in Rome and returned only as an adult.
But if these troops only flew the French flag to disguise themselves, it would be a dangerous ruse.
Greece, Egypt, Babylonia—those vassals were easier to handle.
No, if disguised as French, their arrival likely heralded rebellion.
The three elders exchanged wary glances.
"Let's verify before making assumptions."
"Yes, French troops are recognizable at a glance."
That was true.
In recent years, France maintained closer trade ties with Britain than Rome, often acting as a middleman through Lancelot. Occasionally, Rome relied on France as a transit point to acquire rare goods.
So a genuine French army should be well equipped and formidable.
Upon reaching the city walls and observing the troops below, the elder exhaled deeply.
Yes, it was indeed the French army.
But—
Why was there only a French flag? No Roman standard fluttered nearby. Where was their king? Their governor absent?
And why did the leading knight look so familiar?
Questions swirled in their minds, overwhelming the three elders.
Finally, one senator stepped forward, half his body leaning over the battlements, and shouted with all his might:
"Why have you—the French army—come to the gates of Rome?"
And there, Lancelot—the leader—approached calmly on horseback, bearing the gentle smile he had perfected over years by Arthur's side.
-End Chapter-
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