Chapter 4 – Decimation
The Roman camp was deathly quiet. No chants, no laughter, no firelight songs. Only silence — until Crassus gave the order.
"Every tenth man."
Legionaries paled as the command sank in. A cohort that had broken in battle now faced punishment older than Rome itself: decimation.
Men wept, begged, cursed, but Crassus' gaze never faltered. Swords rose. Blades fell. The earth drank Roman blood — not by enemy hand, but by their own brothers'.
And when it was done, the legion stood straight, eyes hollow, but discipline sharper than ever. Crassus' voice carried cold and certain. "Rome will not bend. Rome does not break."
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The Rebel Camp
News of the decimation reached the rebels days later, carried by whispers of deserters and stolen scrolls.
The camp gathered around fires, fear creeping like smoke through the ranks. Men muttered of Rome's cruelty, of legions that killed their own without hesitation.
Crixus spat. "They slaughter themselves like animals. Rome grows weaker."
Ivar shook his head. His sea-green eyes glinted in the firelight as he rose, voice cutting through the camp's uneasy laughter.
"No. Rome grows stronger."
All eyes turned to him.
"They killed weakness, not strength. They will march harder now. Strike sharper. Fear drives them into steel." His gaze swept over the rebels, hard as stone. "If we let pride and vengeance tear us apart, we will be the same. Rome will not need to kill us. We will do it for them."
The silence that followed was heavier than iron.
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The Warning
Later, Spartacus approached him by the edge of camp. "You speak as if you admire Rome."
Ivar's hand brushed the hilt of his longsword, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. "I do not admire. I learn. Rome wins because it does not allow itself to fracture. We cannot give them the same weapon."
Spartacus frowned. "And if our brothers cannot see past rage?"
Ivar's jaw tightened. "Then they die. But I will not follow them into Rome's jaws."
Spartacus studied him long, unease stirring. The boy was not just surviving anymore. He was shaping the rebellion's heart — and its edge.
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The Other Side of the Hill
Far away, in the Roman camp, Crassus listened to reports.
"Spartacus rallies them still," a centurion said. "But there is another… the one they call Twin Steel. He tempers the fire. Holds them together."
Crassus' lips curved into the faintest smile. "Then Spartacus is flame, and the boy is the forge. Break one, the other flickers. Break both, and rebellion ends."
He moved a token across the map. "We shall see how long the gods guard their gladiator child."
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Aftermath
That night, Ivar sat apart, sharpening both swords. Men whispered of his words around the fires, some calling him wise, others calling him cursed.
He did not care. Every scar was a lesson. Every battle was a prayer. And the gods, he believed, were tempering him still.
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⚔️ Do you want me to continue into Chapter 5 (Episode 5 – Blood Brothers), where the rift between Spartacus and Crixus deepens and Ivar finds himself caught in the middle, or pause first for a short interlude where rebels quietly debate whether Ivar is truly a man, or something more?