Interlude – Crassus' Puzzle
The war tent smelled of wax and parchment. Crassus stood over the campaign map, tokens scattered like pieces of a game only he understood.
His centurion, Metellus, bowed low. "Spartacus burns cities, yet his army does not scatter. Discipline holds them. And… there is the boy."
Crassus' gaze flicked upward. "Twin Steel."
"Yes, Dominus. Reports claim he commands water, wind, even blood. But what strikes fear most is not sorcery — it is his mind. He tempers Spartacus' fire. He tames Crixus' rage. Without him, the rebellion fractures."
Crassus moved two tokens together — a flame for Spartacus, a storm for Ivar. "A flame can be smothered. A storm can only be endured until it passes. Yet this boy chooses when to strike. That makes him more dangerous than Spartacus."
Tiberius frowned. "Then we should cut him down first."
Crassus smiled faintly, cold and sharp. "No, son. We must unmake him. Legends killed become martyrs. But legends broken? They become warnings."
---
Chapter 6 – Spoils of War
The city gates buckled under fire and steel. Rebels poured through, roaring victory, cutting down Roman guards as they fled.
By dusk, the city was theirs.
And by night, it began.
Drunken laughter echoed through the streets. Flames licked Roman villas. Rebels dragged captives into alleys, spoils of war claimed in blood and terror.
Crixus laughed as he lifted a jug of stolen wine. "At last Rome tastes its own cruelty!"
Spartacus shouted for restraint, but his voice drowned beneath the drunken horde.
Then Ivar stepped into the square, twin swords drawn, his sea-green eyes burning cold.
---
The Storm in Flesh
He cut through the chaos — not with storm, but with steel. His blades struck flat against rebel swords, disarming them before they could sink deeper into Roman flesh. He tore men from captives, slammed others into walls, his voice carrying like thunder.
"Enough!"
The rebels froze.
His gaze swept over them, fury tempered by cold certainty. "Rome chains us. Rome starves us. Rome calls us beasts. And if we do this, Rome is right. Do you wish to be their proof?"
The square went still.
One rebel spat. "They took everything from us! Why should we not take from them?"
Ivar's sea-green eyes locked on him, unflinching. "Because freedom is not Rome's chains on new hands. Freedom is more. If we become them, we are already lost."
---
The Turning Point
Some lowered their heads. Others scowled but sheathed steel. Slowly, the square emptied, captives released, fires doused.
Spartacus watched, chest heaving, awe and unease mingling in his gaze. He could not have stopped them. But Ivar had.
Later, by the fire, Crixus approached, scowling. "You rob men of vengeance."
Ivar cleaned blood from his sword, voice flat. "I save them from becoming Rome."
Crixus grunted, then, after a long pause, muttered, "Perhaps not all wind."
It was the closest thing to respect he would ever give.
---
Aftermath
That night, whispers spread through both rebel and captive alike. Some called Ivar savior. Others called him cursed.
But none denied that without Twin Steel, the city would have drowned in blood.
And far away, in his tent, Crassus heard the reports and smiled coldly. "The boy saves them from themselves. Remove him… and they devour each other."
---
⚔️ Do you want me to continue into Chapter 7 (Episode 7 – Mors Indecepta), where Rome springs an ambush and Ivar leads the rebels through a desperate escape in the mountains, or pause for a short interlude showing how rebel families — women and children — view Ivar compared to Spartacus and Crixus?