The battle raged on.

  Lucius barely dodged a scimitar aimed at his throat, twisting his scutum to catch the blow. The impact rattled his bones, but he didn’t falter.

  With a sharp thrust, his gladius sank into the rider’s ribs. The Parthian warrior gasped, blood spilling from his mouth as he tumbled from the saddle.

  Lucius ripped his sword free, heart pounding.

  But something felt wrong.

  The air was heavy, thick with something unseen. Every movement felt sluggish, like wading through water.

  And above the chaos—the warlord watched.

  Still unmoving. Still silent.

  His burning eyes swept the battlefield.

  Lucius felt the unnatural pull of his gaze, an invisible force like fingers tracing through the air, searching.

  Then—

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Lucius’ breath hitched.

  The warlord was searching for something.

  Or rather, someone.

  And the only reason Lucius remained unseen—was because he was still too weak to be noticed.

  ?

  The Warlord’s Power Revealed

  The warlord raised his hand.

  The air shuddered.

  The flames from the burning tents elongated, stretching toward him like living things. They twisted, writhing, forming shapes—symbols—sigils that Lucius did not recognize.

  But the Parthians did.

  A murmur rippled through their ranks. Some whispered a name. Others bowed their heads, pressing their foreheads to their saddles as if in prayer.

  Marcus, panting beside Lucius, swallowed hard. “What the hell are they saying?”

  Lucius didn’t understand the words.

  But he heard the name.

  Mithra.

  ?

  The Shadow of an Ancient God

  The warlord finally moved.

  He lowered his hand.

  The fire snapped back into place, as if nothing had happened.

  And yet, something had changed.

  Lucius felt it in his bones, in his system, in the world itself.

  The warlord’s voice echoed through the battlefield, deep and unyielding.

  “The Light of Rome dims. The Shadows of the East rise.”

  Lucius’ system trembled.

  Lucius’ fingers clenched around his gladius.

  Foreign protocol.

  The warlord wasn’t just a Parthian general.

  He wasn’t just another enemy.

  He was something else.

  And his system—whatever it was—was rooted in something ancient. Something tied to Mithra, the god of oaths, light, and war.

  Something that should have been myth.

  But here, on this battlefield, it was real.

  And as long as Lucius remained unclaimed the warlord would not notice him.

  But if he ever grew strong enough and get claimed…

  Lucius shuddered.

  One day, that gaze would turn on him.

  ?