The silence in the Guma Valley now felt heavy, filled with the sharp smell of drying blood. In the middle of the sea of Iapydes corpses, the Spartan soldiers moved with silent efficiency. They collected weapons, tended to their wounded comrades, and piled the enemy's bodies for burning. There was no cheer of victory. There was only immense exhaustion and a look in their eyes that was now harder than before.
Centurion Milo, his face pale and his arm bandaged, limped towards Ulixes. Of the fifty soldiers he had led, only twelve were still standing.
"We held them, Legatus," Milo said, his voice hoarse.
Ulixes placed his hand on the Centurion's shoulder. "You didn't just hold them, Milo," he said, his voice calm. "You gave us victory. Every man who fell with you will be buried with full honors."
He turned to Flamma, who was overseeing the collection of war spoils. "Primus Pilus, what were our losses?"
"Eighty-seven dead. One hundred fifty wounded," Flamma replied. "A worthy price to annihilate fifteen hundred wolves.(1500)"
"No," Ulixes said, his eyes staring into the dark forest. "It's not over. Wolves always leave a few pups behind." He turned, his voice now cold and merciless. "I don't want any wolf pups growing up to seek revenge."
He gave a series of rapid commands. The legion would not return to camp. They would rest for six hours. After that, they would split into dozens of hunter-killer units, each consisting of a dozen men.
"Flamma, you take five hundred men and follow the main trail," Ulixes commanded. "Milo, you and your remaining men will guide my unit. You know how they move." He looked at the other Centurions. "Each unit will sweep a different sector. I don't want a single village or hiding place missed. The hunt begins at sunset."
For the next three days, Legio I Illyrica became a ghost that haunted the forest. They no longer moved as a legion. They moved like a pack of wolves hunting their prey. The Spartan soldiers, who had mastered the art of forest warfare, tracked the Iapydes survivors mercilessly. They ambushed small groups trying to escape, killing them in silence, and continued to move forward.
At dawn on the fourth day, Ulixes' unit arrived in front of the main Iapydes village, a large settlement hidden in a secluded valley. There was no resistance. The remaining women, children, and elders just stared with empty eyes as a hundred blood-spattered Roman soldiers emerged from the morning mist.
Ulixes walked to the center of the village, his sword still sheathed. The tribal elders, a group of old men with faces full of despair, were herded before him.
"Where are your remaining warriors?" Ulixes asked, his voice calm.
"They all died in the valley," the bravest elder replied, his voice trembling. "You have annihilated us."
"Not yet," Ulixes said. He gave a signal. Two of his soldiers dragged a captured young Iapydes man forward, his arms tied behind his back.
"You Iapydes are hunters," Ulixes continued, walking around the elders. "You are proud of your fangs." He stopped in front of the terrified young man, pulling his head back. "Today, I will pull those fangs out forever."
Without warning, he drew his sword. With one swift, brutal motion, he cut off both of the young man's hands at the wrists. The young man screamed, blood spurting onto the ground. The women in the village shrieked in horror.
Ulixes wiped his sword on the elder's robe. "This is a message," he said, his voice cold amid the young man's screams of pain. "From this day on, you belong to me. Every man old enough to hold a sword will fight under my banner as an auxiliary force. Every grain of corn from your fields, every silver coin from your trade, is mine."
He looked at them one by one. "Defy me, and I will return. And when I return, I will not just cut off hands. I will burn every tree in this forest to the ground, and salt the earth so that nothing else can grow."
He turned away. "The choice is yours."
As he walked out of the village, leaving behind the crying elders and a mutilated young man, he knew that he had been exceptionally cruel. He had destroyed the soul of a people. The hunt was over.
The news of the slaughter in the Iapydes forest spread faster than fire. It was no longer just a rumor, but a cold and brutal certainty, carried by terrified merchants and trembling survivors. In the northern hills, among the powerful confederation of the Pannonii tribe, the news landed like a large stone in a calm pond, creating a ripple of fear and caution.
Ulixes gave them no time to plan a war. He sent an envoy. Not a soldier in armor, but a neutral Liburnian merchant, carrying one brief message: "Legatus Ulixes invites the Pannonii chieftains to Salona to discuss trade and friendship."
The invitation was a knife wrapped in silk.
Two weeks later, they arrived. A delegation of ten Pannonii chieftains, led by the most respected among them, a middle-aged man named Brennus. He was tall and stocky, his gray hair braided with silver rings, and his pale eyes showed a sharp intelligence, not a blind savagery.
They met in the main hall of the praetorium. Ulixes was not wearing armor. He was only wearing the simple toga of a magistrate. He sat on a carved chair, at his side stood Flamma in full armor, silent as a granite statue, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The message was clear: this was a diplomatic meeting, but military force was always within reach.
"Legatus Ulixes," Brennus greeted, his voice deep and authoritative. He did not bow. "We have come to hear about the 'friendship' you offer."
Ulixes gestured to the chairs across his table. "Please sit, chieftains. Wine?"
Brennus sat, the others followed. "We did not come to drink, Roman. We came to talk."
"Good," Ulixes said, a thin smile on his lips. "I also prefer to talk." He leaned forward. "Let's talk about the Dacian tribe on your eastern border. I hear their harvest was bad this year. Hungry men are dangerous men."
An immediate silence fell over the room. The chieftains looked at each other in surprise. This Roman Legatus not only knew about their geography; he knew about their internal politics and external threats.
Brennus was the first to recover. "The Dacian tribe is our problem," he replied carefully.
"For now," Ulixes countered. "But if they invade your land in search of food, and you are busy fighting them, who will guard your southern border from other tribes who might see an opportunity? Who will guard your border from me?"
The threat was spoken calmly, as a logical question, which made it far more terrifying.
"What do you want, Roman?" Brennus asked, getting straight to the point.
"A treaty," Ulixes said. "I'm not interested in your land. Your forests are too cold and damp for my taste. I am interested in stability." He paused, looking at them one by one. "I will give you exclusive access to the markets in Salona. Grain, salt, and most importantly, Roman steel to forge better swords. Swords you can use to fight the Dacian tribe."
The chieftains murmured among themselves. The offer was very tempting.
"In return," Ulixes continued, "I want three things. First, peace on my borders. No more raids. No more robberies. Second, the right to recruit soldiers from your tribe as auxiliary forces under my command."
He paused, then spoke his third condition. "And third, a thousand of your best horses every year as a tribute, as a sign of our friendship."
Brennus looked at him for a long time. "You ask us to give you swords and horses, and then send our sons to die in your wars."
"I ask you to choose," Ulixes cut in. "Fight alone against the hungry Dacian tribe with your blunt swords, while constantly looking over your shoulder in fear of my legions. Or..." He smiled. "...fight them with sharp Roman swords, with a secure back because you know you have a powerful ally to the south."
He leaned back in his chair. "I did not come to conquer you today, chieftains. I came to offer you a choice between survival and prosperity. Think carefully."
Brennus and the other chieftains discussed in their own language for a few minutes. Ulixes just waited patiently. He had planted his idea. He had shown his strength through his intelligence, and he had offered them a way out that allowed them to maintain their honor.
Finally, Brennus turned back to Ulixes. "We will give you your horses," he said. "And we will keep the peace on the border. Our sons will fight with you, as allies, not as slaves."
"Allies," Ulixes agreed, extending his hand across the table.
Brennus shook his hand. His grip was strong. The treaty of the wolves had been made.
After the Pannonii chieftains left, leaving the praetorium in silence, Flamma finally spoke. "You gave them weapons to use against us one day, Legatus."
"I gave them weapons to kill each other with their neighbors, Flamma," Ulixes replied. "As long as they are busy in the east, they will never look to the south."
It was then that Mira entered, her face showing urgency. "Dominus," she said. "A message from Admiral Artemisia. Arrived on the fastest ship."
Ulixes took the papyrus scroll. The seal had been broken. He read it. His eyes narrowed for a moment, then a thin, cold smile spread across his lips.
He handed the scroll to Flamma. The old soldier read it aloud in a raspy voice.
"The fortress on Issa is dust. Drago and his lieutenants hang at its gates. The Adriatic is now yours. I await further orders."