When Aurelius stepped into the throne room through the broken door, a strange silence filled the space. A sword was still lodged in the wall, but it was no longer just a weapon, it had become a nail of shame.
For Belisarius's two hands were locked onto the hilt of that sword, nailed to the wall. Caesar stood in the right corner of the room, before the stone wall. His eyes blazed with rage. His right foot pressed down on Belisarius's head, pushing it against the wall, rubbing his face against the harsh stone. With every pressure, a groan or a moan escaped; Belisarius clenched his teeth, blood pooling in his mouth.
Caesar's face was twisted with hatred, his eyes shining madly. The disgust curling at the corners of his lips revealed the raw fury beneath his royal mask. Aurelius quietly took a few steps closer, his hands clasped behind his back, merely observing what was happening.
Caesar said nothing to him, and he said nothing in return. They only watched the general hanging on the wall with his honor as his last possession. Caesar's foot still pressed Belisarius's head against the wall. His face was stained with blood, from his forehead down to his chin covered in cuts and bruises from the rough stone surface. His breathing was labored, but he was still alive. Suddenly, Caesar shouted,
"I curse the day I allowed a warrior like you in my army! You couldn't even kill a fool!"
He pressed down harder with his foot, and as Belisarius's head was crushed between the wall and the foot , a crack echoed whether it was a bone breaking or his pride shattering was unclear.
"I have been disgraced in the very heart of the palace! I once thought of you as the fierce claw of armies, but you meowed like a cat! Is this your might?"
Caesar leaned in, almost whispering into Belisarius's ear, hissing through clenched teeth as he continued.
"Did we appoint a general who can't even crush a bug? Or are you even more useless than that sword stuck in the wall?"
His words cut like knives, each sentence striking a blow to Belisarius's wounded pride. What echoed through the palace walls was not just sound, but the ruler's deep disappointment, a sense of betrayal, and a stone-hard fury. After casting one last look at Belisarius's bloodied face, Caesar suddenly turned and strode away. His heavy footsteps echoed on the palace stones. Aurelius's eyes widened; he recoiled but could not escape. As Caesar's shadow fell upon him, his hands instinctively rose from behind to cover his face, as if sensing the incoming blow. When his trembling hands lowered, he found himself face to face with Caesar. Their eyes met, Caesar's burning with flame, Aurelius's filled with fear mixed with disappointment.
A single word left Caesar's lips. Cold, brief, and merciless.
"Speak."
Aurelius swallowed hard. His voice cracked, emerging in a low, crushed tone.
"Th-they... escaped..."
Caesar's eyelids narrowed. Then suddenly—smack—the slap landed like lightning. Aurelius's head snapped to the side, the sound of the strike echoing through the stone walls of the palace. He staggered, barely managing to stay on his feet.
Caesar glared down at him, eyes narrowed.
"That's the message you bring me? They escaped?!"
The fury on Caesar's face was now unrestrained. His eyes didn't just hold disappointment, they brimmed with disgust for the men who had stood helpless before his throne.
Filling the heavy silence with the sheer weight of his anger, Caesar began walking back to his throne. Each step echoed across the stone floor of the palace hall. His gaze drifted to the trail of blood smeared across the ground—then to the dagger stabbed into his throne.
He stopped. Narrowed his eyes at the blade. Then, bending slightly at the knee, he pulled it free. The sharp screech of metal being wrenched from wood pierced the hall, making everyone flinch. His fingers clenched around the hilt.
Caesar turned to look at Aurelius. The undying wrath of power still burned in his eyes. He said nothing.
Then, without warning, he hurled the dagger with all his might. It sliced past Aurelius's face, grazing his left cheek, leaving a thin, bleeding cut. The blade embedded itself deep into one of the columns at the back of the hall, quivering for a moment before falling still.
Aurelius had recoiled instinctively, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide. Drops of blood trickled down his cheek. He knew the dagger was only the beginning of Caesar's wrath.
Caesar said nothing more. He simply turned and slowly sat upon his throne, resting his hands on the armrests. His eyes fixed on the far wall.
His expression no longer held anger but the flicker of a deeper, more dangerous plan.
When Caesar settled into his throne, he let out a deep sigh. His fingers glided over the armrests, and the fury on his face slowly shifted into a cold seriousness. His gaze moved from Belisarius's still-motionless body to Aurelius.
"You, Belisarius..."
His voice was loud, firm, and measured this time.
"Even though you've suffered a disgraceful failure today… I have not forgotten. You're still respected within the army. You have a name. Your soldiers still see you as a symbol. That is what saves you. For now… I pardon you."
Belisarius, with sweat and blood running down his forehead, could only lower his head. He avoided Caesar's eyes.
Caesar now turned his gaze to Aurelius. There was still a faint trace of anger in his eyes, but his words came more composed.
"The same goes for you, Aurelius. Your intellect… and those revolting but useful connections of yours… will serve my purpose."
Aurelius nodded cautiously. The fear in his voice had been replaced by a renewed sense of duty. Caesar paused for a moment. In the palace hall, even the sound of breathing echoed.
"But know this... If I ever hear or witness another failure..."
He leaned his head forward slightly, narrowing his eyes.
"I won't be so forgiving next time. Understood?"
Both of them bowed their heads at the same time, without needing words.
"Understood, noble Caesar."
Caesar closed his eyes and sighed once more.
"Then let the war begin."