The whispers of the conquest at Crow's Peak reached Salona long before Ulixes and his forces returned. Not in official reports, but in the panicked murmurs of merchants and travelers fleeing the mountains. Tales of a thousand Roman phantoms descending from the cliffs and slaughtering an entire stronghold in less than an hour.
When Ulixes finally returned to his praetorium, he was met by a different kind of silence.
The next day, after his legions had recovered, he summoned the same local officials who had once greeted him with fake smiles. They entered his study, no longer as hosts, but as defendants awaiting judgment. They bowed deeper than before, their smiles stiff and beaded with cold sweat.
Ulixes did not bid them sit. He simply stared at them from behind his large wooden desk.
"The campaign against the rebels in the interior requires more resources," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Starting this month, the grain and silver taxes from this city to support the legions will be increased by twenty percent."
The oldest man among them, who had once welcomed him at the docks, opened his mouth to protest, his face ashen. "But Legatus, the merchants are already..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Ulixes slowly pushed a wax tablet across the table. It was an audit report of supplies compiled by Mira and Kore.
"And I hope," Ulixes said, his cold eyes fixing on each of them in turn, "this new tax collection will be more efficient than the distribution of Falernian wine for this residence. Thirty amphorae is a rather large amount to simply 'evaporate,' wouldn't you agree?"
Total silence enveloped the room. The color in the officials' faces faded completely. They saw the evidence of their crimes lying on the table, between them and the man who had just slaughtered eight hundred people without breaking a sweat.
"Of course, Legatus," the old man said quickly, his voice trembling. "Anything you need, Legatus. We will carry it out."
Ulixes merely nodded, then returned his gaze to a map, a clear gesture of dismissal. The officials quickly retreated from the room, like a flock of mice who had just escaped the clutches of a hawk. He had secured his base in Salona, not with negotiation, but with a far more effective combination: fear and extortion.
That night, Ulixes sat in his quiet study. He had just secured control over his provincial capital, not with battle, but with whispers and veiled threats. A victory that left no scars, only fear in the eyes of his enemies. He was staring at a map of Illyricum, planning his next move, when Mira entered silently.
"Dominus," she said softly. "A courier has arrived from Rome. He bears the seal of the Licinius family."
Ulixes' heart thumped once, a rhythm faster than usual. He nodded. Moments later, a weary, dust-covered man was ushered in. The man bowed deeply and handed over a neatly sealed papyrus scroll. Ulixes took it. His hand was steady as he broke the red wax seal.
He unrolled the scroll. The handwriting was elegant and sharp, characteristic of Ilithyia. His eyes quickly scanned the lines of text.
One word. Then a name. Licinia... a son. Healthy and strong.
His breath hitched for a moment. He continued reading. Aemilia... also a son. Domitia... a son. And Ilithyia... had also given birth to a son.
Four sons.
He read the last sentence in the letter, written with barely disguised relief. "The Gods have been kind. The children bear the distinct features of their mothers' families. No one will suspect."
He slowly re-rolled the papyrus, each movement deliberate. He rose from his chair and walked to the open window, gazing into the night over Salona. He felt no overflowing joy. He felt something deeper, something heavier.
It was no longer just about power. No longer just about ambition for himself.
He felt an immense new burden, but not a crushing one. It was the burden of a foundation. Four pillars for a dynasty. His own flesh and blood. His name would live on, inherited through four different lineages, interwoven into the web of Roman power.
He turned to the courier who was still waiting nervously. "Rest," Ulixes said, his voice hoarse with unexpected emotion. "You have brought the best news."
He gestured to Mira to give the man a large pouch of coins. When he was alone again in his study, he held the papyrus scroll tightly. He was a general. He was a politician. But tonight, for the first time, he felt the true meaning of being a patriarch.
Just as the feeling of satisfaction and new purpose began to seep into his soul, another shadow appeared at his study doorway, silently, like a ghost. The Egyptian had arrived.
Ulixes turned, the last vestiges of warmth in his eyes instantly freezing at the sight of his spymaster. The man never came without important news. "Do you bring news?" Ulixes asked.
"Yes, Dominus," the Egyptian replied, his voice like the hiss of sand. "Our network in the interior has found the Thracian woman."
Ulixes frowned, his mind still filled with four sons in Rome. "Which Thracian woman? There are many..."
"The woman who was supposed to die on the way to Capua," the Egyptian calmly interrupted. "The woman who was the reason for Spartacus's rebellion." He paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the heavy air. "Sura. She lives."
The papyrus scroll that Ulixes had been clutching tightly slipped from his fingers, falling silently onto the thick carpet. His world seemed to stop. Sura. Alive.
The memory hit him with the force of an axe. Not the memory of Spartacus, but the memory of a Thracian woman in a dark room given to Ashur as a victory prize. The memory of self-disgust, of the betrayal he believed he had committed against a comrade-in-arms. All of it... was a lie. Ashur had deceived him. Batiatus had been deceived. And he... he had borne the weight of a sin he had never committed.
The relief that should have come did not. Instead, a cold dread crept up from his stomach. This ghost from the past was not only real, but now within his reach. A complication.
"Are you sure?" Ulixes asked, his voice sharp, breaking his own silence.
"We are certain, Dominus," the Egyptian replied. "Reports indicate that Ashur used another woman as bait to cover up his failure from Batiatus." "The real Sura managed to escape when the convoy was attacked and has been living in hiding in remote villages ever since."
Ulixes turned, staring at the map of Illyricum spread out on his desk. He saw his new province. He thought of his four sons in Rome, the foundation of his dynasty. And now, amidst it all, emerged a woman whose very name was enough to set the world ablaze.
He stood in silence for a long time, his mind racing with a thousand possibilities, a thousand dangers. Finally, he turned to the Egyptian, his face hard as stone, his eyes cold and emotionless.
"Bring her here," he commanded, his voice low and firm. "Safely. Without anyone seeing."
A week after the conquest of the Fortress at Crow's Peak, a harsh new rhythm had set in Illyricum. The echoes of that brutal victory spread faster than any messenger. The restless border tribes were now silent, terrified. The once-corrupt officials in Salona were now obedient, every command from the praetorium executed with a speed born of terror. In the camp, Legio I Illyrica was forged daily, their Spartan souls sharpened into increasingly deadly weapons. For the first time, Ulixes felt his grip on the province solidify.
He was in his study, examining reports on silver production from the newly secured mines, when Mira entered silently.
"Dominus," she said softly. "The merchant Master Valerius is here. He seems... shaken."
Ulixes raised his head from the papyrus scroll. Valerius was the leader of Salona's merchant guild, a man whose loyalty he had secured after recovering his goods from brigands. He was not the type to be easily shaken.
"Bring him in."
Valerius stepped inside. His usually impeccable clothes were now crumpled, his face pale, and there was a slight tremor in his hands as he bowed respectfully.
"Legatus," he said, his voice hoarse. "The grain convoy from Brundisium... is gone."
Ulixes put down his pen. "Gone?"
"Destroyed," Valerius said, his voice now filled with anger and fear. "Four ships, Legatus. All of them. One of our fishing boats found the remains this morning. They didn't just take the cargo. They slaughtered everyone. The crews were nailed to their own ship masts. The ships were burned to the waterline."
Ulixes felt a cold chill run through him. This was no ordinary robbery. This was a statement. "Who?"
"Those who rule the Adriatic," Valerius replied. "Those who fly a black banner with an octopus. The fishermen call them 'The Terror of the Adriatic'. No one dares to sail when they are seen on the horizon."
After Valerius left, leaving a heavy silence in the room, Ulixes walked towards his large map.
Ulixes stood before the map for a long time, the silence in his study broken only by the soft crackle of the oil lamp. His mind dissected the problem before him. He looked out the window, towards the camp where his legions were resting. He knew these soldiers, with their Spartan souls now burning within them, could fight on a rocking ship's deck as fiercely as they fought on solid ground. They were the perfect weapon.
The problem was not with the weapon. The problem was with the hand that wielded it.
He, a master of land tactics, knew nothing of war at sea. Naval combat was not just a sword fight on wooden planks. It was a game of wind, current, and momentum. How to maneuver three rows of oars to ram an enemy hull? How to counter fire ships? How to form up on unforgiving waves? This was knowledge he lacked. He could order his soldiers onto ships, but it would only be a one-way trip to slaughter if led by his ignorance.
Time was a luxury he did not possess. He needed a commander. Now.
His thoughts then turned to another resource he possessed. A power that did not originate from Rome or Illyria. He closed his eyes, ignoring the map before him, and focused inward.
In his mind, he "saw" the inventory of his Gift System. He passed the now-dimmed gold card, "Spartan Soul." He paused at the second card. A silver card. It floated in the darkness of his mind, shimmering with a clear, sharp light. "Summon General Artemisia."
As he focused his entire will on the card, instant understanding permeated his mind. Not words, but the essence of the gift's being.
Naval strategist. Genius.
Ruthless. Merciless. Forged by trauma and revenge.
Absolute loyalty to her summoner.
Ulixes opened his eyes. The air in the room felt colder. He now understood. This gift was the answer to his prayers. The missing hand to wield his perfect sword. He would unleash a monster to hunt another monster.
He weighed the stakes. The risk of unleashing such a wild and vengeful force under his command was immense. But the reward... the reward was total dominance of the seas.
He smiled faintly. A loyal monster was the most reliable weapon. He picked up his thick cloak. He knew what he had to do. He would go to the shore. He would summon his storm.