Yazdegerd stood within the Palace of Constantinople. The reports he was reading were truly unbelievable. He could not help but smash his fist on the table in a fit of fury. Did his troops really withdraw after losing their heavy cavalry? Such insolence. The rage within his heart at this moment could consume an entire galaxy.

The defeat of his forces within Illyricum had caused the Western Roman Army to advance further to the nearest stronghold which was currently under siege. As for the other sieges, they were not going as planned, either. Though a few of the fortresses had fallen into the hands of the eastern roman forces. The majority of the battles occurring on the eastern border of Illyricum were stalemates.

The technological advantages of the Western Roman Army were numerous and powerful. They had provided Marcellus and his forces with a significant ability to harm the attackers. Something that the Persian King simply was not expecting.

Standing across from Yazdegerd was his young niece, Mitra Sasan, who had a worried expression on her pretty face. She had travelled from Ctesiphon to Constantinople to meet up with her uncle. She could tell the man was quite upset with the slow development of his war with the western roman empire. However, despite his visible fury, she could not remain quiet, and began to give counsel to the man, despite his lack of desire to hear it.

“You have pitted Roman against Roman in this conflict. The people of this city are not likely to sit idly by and allow a foreign King like yourself to send their fathers and sons to war against their own Roman brothers.

I think it would be wise if you stepped back and allowed your puppets to oversee this conflict. You should return with me to Ctesiphon, before you end up dying in the streets from some disgruntled roman. I fear that your ambitions, to use the young emperor as your puppet and rule over all of Rome and Persia, will inevitably be the death of you.”

The eastern roman regent glared at his niece before rebuking her for daring to speak her mind.

“I don’t care what you think Mitra, that bastard Titus Claudius Marcellus started this war when he tried to have me assassinated. I must see his head removed, or else he will always be a threat to our people.”

The Persian beauty merely sighed and clicked her tongue in displeasure before lecturing her uncle once more over his actions.

“Even if you do succeed in your attempt to lay siege to Rome, and claim this Marcellus’ head. What then? Will you announce the Roman Empire to be re-unified under Theodosius’ banner, and in doing so, take on the burdens of the West as well?

Uncle, I have the utmost respect for you as the head of our dynasty, and as the King of kings. However, I fear your ego is blinding you to the damage this war will cause to our people. It is not too late to cease hostilities, and return to our homeland…”

Despite the wise words of his niece, Yazdegerd utterly refused to listen to her, and instead cast her out of the city, to return to the Sassanid Empire.

“I have had enough of your shit Mitra, pack up your stuff and return home at once. I will return to Ctesiphon only after I have brought the Romans beneath our heel. Be gone!”

Mitra could only sigh once more, then she lowered her head in shame. What was she ashamed of? Her lack of ability to convince her uncle to return with her to their home. It was clear he had been driven over the edge by Marcellus’s actions and would not stop his assault until he gained his vengeance. Thus, the Persian beauty ultimately decided to spare her own life, and did as the man instructed, fearing that in the coming days, the citizens of Constantinople would become quite troublesome.

—

While Yazdegerd was arguing with his niece over the merits of this war, Marcellus was in his war room, looking over the map, and the current battles that were being waged in Illyricum. The lines were holding, and though some fortresses had fallen in recent days, enough were present to hold off the Eastern Roman advance until Constantius could arrive to aid with the situation.

By Marcellus’ side was none other than Sarus, who had been recalled to Rome to aid in its defense against the enemy. Sarus acted as the Imperial Legate attached to the Italian Peninsula and was constantly travelling between his residence and the capital.

The barbarian chieftain had a troubled look on his face as he gazed at the figures representing the eastern roman troops, and their Sassanid allies. He pointed to the fortress where Alaric still stood defending its ramparts and voiced his concern.

“Alaric won’t last much longer. His fortress is surrounded by a horde of Persians and several legions of eastern rome’s army. I have no doubt that if Constantius does not arrive with reinforcements soon, Alaric’s fortress will fall, and we will lose a valuable commander in the field.”

In response to this, Marcellus merely scoffed, before pointing at the figures which represented eastern roman ships that had yet to set sail to Italia.

“Alaric can hold out on his own. Ultimately, his fate is up to the gods to decide. Whether the man survives is a non-issue. What matters is pushing the eastern roman army back onto their side of the border.

As for the ships in Constantinople, our scouts report they have yet to set sail. Yazdegerd seems to be biding his time, waiting until his forces have broken through our border defenses in Illyricum. The moment he sets sail, my agent will let me know. Thus, we can muster our forces here, in Rome, and quickly move to intercept the enemy wherever they may land.”

Sarus glared at Marcellus with a hint of fury in his eyes as he asked the question most pertinent on his mind.

“You would abandon Alaric to his death?”

Marcellus returned Sarus’ fierce glare as he walked over to the man so that they were standing mere inches away from one another. With an intimidating tone in his voice, Marcellus spoke to his foederati commander.

“It is not my intention to abandon Alaric to his fate. After all, I have sent Constantius to save the man. However, if my legions do not arrive in time, it is no skin off my back. Alaric is a means to an end, his loyalty is not truly to Rome but to his own interests. And although you are not loyal to the Empire, you at least fear the sting of my whip.

I would insist that you focus your mental energy on more important matters, like how we are going to deal with Yazdegerd when he lands on Italian soil. We still do not know where he intends to send his army. It would be troublesome if he ransacked the southern half of the peninsula while I march my armies to meet him in battle.”

Sarus did not comment on the scolding he had received from the Imperator, and instead gazed upon the map closely before making a suggestion about where the enemy would land. He pointed to the southern half of the map before making a bold claim.

“Yazdegerd would never be so foolish as to land close to Rome. We could easily oppose his landing and inflict serious casualties upon his army. However, he won’t want to sail too far from our capital. He knows that he would face fierce resistance from the garrisons down south, and that would weaken his army before he could fight against our main forces.

He will probably land between Neapolis and Rome. Where he will then quickly move his forces up to our capital and lay siege to the city. What is your plan, to defend the city of Rome on the Aurelian Walls? Or to meet the enemy in the field?”

Marcellus thought about the question for several seconds before nodding his head in approval of Sarus’ suggestion. After thinking about how to deal with Yazdegerd for some time, he finally revealed his thoughts on the matter.

“We will meet him wherever he may land. Have our armies on standby, ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. We can’t allow this Persian bastard to advance too far into our territory. It would simply be an insult to our ancestors.

After I have claimed the bastard’s head, I will sail our armies to Constantinople and force the city to surrender to my rule. Together with Constantius and Alaric’s forces, we shall put an end to this war, and reunite the Empire.”

Sarus thought about Marcellus’ words for a moment before nodding his head. His plan made sense, but there was one question on his mind, which he ultimately circled back to the matter regarding Alaric.

“And if Alaric does not survive?”

In response to this, Marcellus sneered before patting Sarus’ shoulders.

“Then I suppose I will have to call you King Sarus from now on…”