Chapter 5 – Blood Brothers
The city walls echoed with shouts. Training drills rang steel against steel as rebels sharpened themselves for the next clash. Yet beneath the sound of blades, whispers of division hissed louder.
Spartacus and Crixus argued in the seized forum, their voices rising like thunder.
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The Rift Widens
Crixus slammed his fist against a pillar, stone dust falling. "We should march! Rome cowers — why waste time hiding behind walls?"
Spartacus growled back. "And bleed half our strength for pride? Every battle must serve freedom, not glory!"
Their words carried through the courtyard. Rebels gathered, some nodding to Crixus' fury, others murmuring Spartacus' wisdom. The air felt ready to split.
Ivar stepped forward, his sea-green eyes cutting through the tension. He spoke not loud, but sharp, his voice carrying like a blade drawn in silence.
"Rome does not need to kill us if we kill each other first."
The crowd stilled.
Crixus turned on him, lip curled. "You side with Spartacus again? Do you forget what it is to fight with pride?"
Ivar's gaze did not waver. "Pride without balance is weakness. Rage without mind is death. Alone, you are fire and iron. Together, you are war."
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The Test
The tension cracked into challenge. Crixus drew his sword, eyes blazing. "Then show me, boy. Show me balance."
Gasps rippled. To face Crixus was to face a lion.
Ivar unsheathed his twin blades, stepping into the circle of dirt. His sea-green eyes glowed calm, steady, storm held in leash.
The clash came swift. Crixus swung with brute strength, each blow shattering the air. Ivar flowed like water, longsword catching heavy strikes, shortsword darting for openings.
Steel rang, sparks flew. Crixus drove him back, but Ivar never faltered, never raged. His movements were cold, efficient, designed not to defeat but to endure.
At last, Crixus halted, chest heaving. He glared at the boy — then laughed, the sound sharp and grudging.
"You do not break. Not even before me."
He lowered his blade. "Perhaps you are not all wind after all."
The crowd exhaled, tension broken.
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The Aftermath
That night, Spartacus found Ivar sharpening his swords alone.
"You turned Crixus' pride aside without spilling blood," Spartacus said.
Ivar's gaze stayed on his blade. "He is strength. Strength must be tested, or it rusts."
Spartacus frowned. "And what are you?"
For a moment, Ivar's sea-green eyes lifted, the firelight reflecting storms within. "I am balance. Or I must be. For if storm breaks free, there will be no balance left."
Spartacus studied him, unease and respect mingling. He knew then that the boy's blades were not his most dangerous weapon. It was his mind.
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⚔️ Do you want me to go straight into Chapter 6 (Episode 6 – Spoils of War), where the rebels sack another city and Ivar must confront their descent into cruelty, or pause for a Roman interlude where Crassus discusses Ivar with his officers, treating him like a puzzle to be solved?