As dusk swallowed the Illyrian hills, a thousand warriors moved out of the main camp. They didn't march on the main road with banners flying. They slipped into the darkening forest like a wolf pack leaving its den, vanishing into the shadows without a sound.
Ulixes moved at the front of the line, Flamma by his side. Behind them, a thousand pairs of feet stepped on the damp forest floor with unnatural silence. There was no careless clink of armor, no muffled chatter, no suppressed cough. The only sounds were the faint rustle of leather cloaks rubbing together and the regular breathing of a thousand men moving as one.
They climbed steep slopes and descended into dark valleys. The thin moonlight, filtering through the tree canopy, drew strange patterns on their helmets and shoulders. Ulixes moved with calm energy; the [Achilles Template] in his blood made him feel no fatigue. Every muscle felt alive, every sense sharpened by the surrounding darkness.
He wasn't just seeing the path ahead. His [360-Degree Awareness] talent was active, creating a mental map of his surroundings. He could feel the presence of a deer frozen in the thick undergrowth to his left. He could hear the faint flapping of an owl's wings on a high branch above him. He was a predator in his territory.
They marched all night, a column of ghosts penetrating the heart of enemy territory undetected. Finally, as the sky in the east began to turn from black to pale purple, Flamma gave a hand signal. They had arrived.
Ulixes crouched at the top of a ridge, peering through thick bushes. Below, in a basin protected by steep cliffs, lay their target: the Fortress at Raven's Peak. In the dawn silence, he could see faint smoke curling from several dying campfires. He saw drowsy guards pacing on the high wooden walls. They felt safe. They had no idea that a thousand angels of death were staring down at them from above.
Ulixes continued to observe from behind the dew-soaked bushes. His keen eyes dissected the fortress below, not as a structure, but as a tactical problem. The fortress was built with barbaric cunning: a high, thick wooden palisade, reinforced with watchtowers at each corner facing the main path. Its iron-reinforced oak gate was the only visible entry point, a perfect death funnel for anyone foolish enough to try a direct assault.
But its builders had made one fatal mistake, a mistake born of arrogance. They built the fortress with its back to a sheer rock face, considering it a natural wall impossible for armored troops to scale.
Ulixes smiled faintly, a cold twitch of muscle on his face. He gave an almost imperceptible hand signal. Moments later, Flamma and the other senior Centurions crept closer, gathering around him in complete silence.
"The gate is hell, Legatus," Cassius whispered, his eyes fixed on the fortress below. "They'll rain down rocks and arrows on us before we can even get close."
Ulixes didn't turn to him. His eyes were still fixed on the target. He used the tip of his dagger to draw a rough sketch of the fortress on the damp ground.
"They expect us at the gate," Ulixes whispered, his voice like the hiss of the wind. "Therefore, we will not go through the gate."
His dagger tip moved, pointing to the back of the sketch, towards the cliff they considered their protection. "We will come from here."
The Centurions stared at him, then at each other, their eyes showing disbelief. Climbing that cliff, even without armor, was a dangerous challenge. Doing it in silence with a thousand soldiers was impossible.
Ulixes saw their doubt. He plunged his dagger into the ground. "A Roman army could not do it," he said, now looking at them one by one, his eyes glinting in the dim dawn light. "But you are no longer just a Roman army."
He pointed back to his ground map. "Flamma, you will take two hundred men. Create a diversion near the main path, enough to draw the attention of the guards in the front towers. Do not engage in combat, just show yourselves. The rest," he said, looking at the other Centurions, "come with me. We will climb."
He rose, brushing the dirt from his hands. "They won't know what hit them until our steel is at their throats."
As the first light of dawn touched the treetops, a small, deliberate commotion was heard from the direction of the main path below the fortress. Flamma's decoy force had begun their task, drawing the attention of the guards in the front towers. At that very moment, the eight hundred warriors led by Ulixes began to move.
The climb was a nightmare that should have been impossible. They scaled the almost vertical cliff, using every rock crevice and tree root as a foothold. But there was no clanging of armor, no falling stones from careless steps, no slipping soldiers. With their newfound Spartan strength and endurance, they moved upwards in terrifying silence, a column of red ants crawling against gravity. Ulixes led the way, his movements fluid and light, as if the cliff were a staircase in his villa.
They arrived at the top of the cliff overlooking the unguarded back of the fortress. Below, in the main courtyard, brigands and tribal warriors were gathered around campfires, breakfasting and laughing, completely unaware of the death stalking them from above.
Ulixes gave no verbal command. He simply raised his hand, then brought it down in one sharp motion.
A moment later, the sky darkened. Hundreds of pilum rained down into the fortress courtyard. The whistle of a hundred throwing spears was the only warning. The rain of steel plunged down into the unsuspecting crowd, piercing wooden shields, leather armor, and human bodies indiscriminately.
Screams of pain and shock erupted, breaking the morning silence. Before the panicked survivors could raise their weapons or comprehend what was happening, the second wave came.
"NO MERCY!" Ulixes roared, his voice the first command they heard.
He was the first to leap down, landing on the roof of a building with the agility of a panther. He immediately plunged into the chaos below. A heavily bearded brigand turned towards him, his eyes wide with horror. Ulixes' sword moved faster. A clean horizontal cut severed the man's neck, his head almost detaching from his body.
Behind him, his troops descended like an avalanche of red steel. They didn't spread out. Once enough soldiers landed, they immediately formed a tight, small phalanx in the center of the courtyard. An impenetrable hedgehog fortress of shields and spears.
The enraged and confused brigands charged the formation. They were shattered. Those who attacked from the front were impaled by a forest of spears. Those who tried to attack from the sides were met by quick, efficient gladius thrusts from behind the shield wall. This was no longer a battle. This was a meat grinder. Blood spurted, soaking the dusty ground, and the screams of the dying became the victory music of Ulixes' legion.
The chaos in the main courtyard subsided as quickly as it began. The remaining brigands, seeing their formations broken and their escape route now blocked by Flamma's troops below, threw down their weapons and tried to surrender. Ulixes' Spartan legion did not afford them that luxury. They moved forward, their tight shield wall pushing and crushing the remnants of resistance with emotionless efficiency.
Ulixes, with Flamma and ten veterans behind him, stepped over piles of corpses towards the largest building in the center of the fortress, a large wooden hall. The door was kicked open. Inside, the brigand leader waited. A giant with dreadlocks and a war axe in each hand, surrounded by his five most loyal bodyguards.
He roared upon seeing Ulixes and charged. The fight in the confined space was short and brutal. Ulixes' veterans moved as a single unit, their shields locked, holding off the bodyguards' attacks while Ulixes himself darted forward, straight towards the leader.
The leader swung both axes in a deadly whirl. Ulixes did not parry. He ducked under the first swing, deflected the second with the edge of his shield, and used the momentum to twist his body, his gladius slashing the back of the giant's knee. The man fell to his knees with a furious grunt. Before he could rise, Ulixes was already behind him, and with one swift, deep thrust to the base of the neck, the fight was over.
Silence fell within the fortress, broken only by the groans of the dying. Ulixes stepped back out into the courtyard, which had now become a slaughter field. "Count our casualties," he ordered Flamma. "Tend to the wounded. Take all weapons and supplies. Burn the rest."
Moments later, a soldier dragged the only person they had left alive: a young warrior trembling violently with shock and fear. He was thrown at Ulixes' feet.
Ulixes knelt before him, his blood-stained face inches from the man's.
"You will live," Ulixes whispered, his voice hoarse. "Go back to your tribe. Tell them what you saw today. Tell them about the thousand ghosts who came from the cliffs. Tell them that the Fortress at Raven's Peak fell in less than an hour."
He paused, letting the terror seep into the man's wide eyes. "Tell them that the Legatus of Rome has come. And tell them... the hunt has just begun."
He gestured, and the young warrior was pushed away, left to stumble out of the fortress, carrying the bloody message with him. Ulixes rose and walked onto the palisade wall. He gazed out at the vast Illyrian valley and mountains stretching below. His first message had been sent. The entire region would soon know his new name.