The wind howled through the cracks in the walls, carrying the stench of blood and ash.
Upon the towering ramparts of the capital, Imperium, stood Marcus Flavius—a veteran general, old in years, yet his eyes still burned bright like steel freshly drawn from the forge. Surrounded by the corpses of both foes and loyal men, he stood resolute. His armor was torn, and the gladius in his hand chipped and dulled by countless battles, yet he remained unmoved—like a bronze statue amid a tempest of fire.
A year. It had been a full year since Emperor Alfonso led a hundred thousand strong to lay siege to this city. Countless legions, stratagems, traps, and promises of surrender—all failed to bend Marcus' will. The city of Imperium still stood, not a single inch lost.
Yet what no general ever foresees… is betrayal from within.
It seemed Imperium would endure until the enemy withdrew.
In the moment when his guard was lowest, he was struck—stabbed from behind.
The cold steel that pierced his flesh burned like molten iron. Blood poured like rain, soaking the already tattered cloak draped upon his back.
With the last of his strength, Marcus turned—only to behold a familiar face.
Brutus. His own lieutenant. A man of lowly birth, whom Marcus had taken under his wing for his military brilliance. A student he trusted with his life.
And now, the very one to strike the killing blow.
"Brutus… you wretched cur!"
The old man roared in fury, blood gurgling from his mouth, staining the stone beneath him.
He cursed and spat venomous words at the traitor—but his voice grew fainter with each breath, until he collapsed cold upon the wall, eyes wide open, staring into the soul of his betrayer.
Marcus was swallowed by darkness.
---
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a space without light, nor shadow. A realm of absolute void.
Then a voice echoed—deep, commanding, eternal.
"Marcus Flavius."
He raised his gaze. Before him stood a man with long white hair, draped in a robe of radiant gold. His eyes held within them both the vastness of the sky and the depths of the abyss.
The Almighty. The God Above All.
"You lived and died as a true warrior," the deity spoke. "Even in your final hour, betrayed by your own disciple."
Marcus gave no reply, only a solemn nod.
"I bore witness to it all. One year—against an empire—without yielding a single post. You were not only a warrior, but a genius the likes of which this world rarely sees."
The God lifted a hand. A sphere of light appeared, pulsing with divine essence.
"With such talent and indomitable will, letting your soul fade into dust would be a waste. So, I grant you a choice: be reborn in another world. Retain your memories. Carry your wisdom. Begin anew."
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "And Brutus?"
The God offered a cryptic smile. "After slaying you, he was betrayed in turn, slain before he could even step through the gates. He too shall be reborn. But I shall not reveal his identity—until the day you meet again."
"Does this new world know war?"
"It does. Far beyond what you have seen. Magic, beasts, nations, races, rebellion... A world where one such as you may revel and reshape fate at will."
The God extended his arms. "You may bring with you one object."
Without hesitation, Marcus spoke, "My gladius. It has been with me since my first battle. It shall remain with me until the last."
The God nodded. The rusted blade shimmered into being, then was engulfed in light.
In an instant, it transformed—a runed weapon, the hilt crowned with a deep violet gem. Arcane energy pulsed from it like a living flame.
"It shall change form as you will it. You will have much need of it, ha ha…" the divine laughter echoed across the void.
Marcus grasped the hilt. The blade vibrated in his hand, as though greeting its master.
"Do you have any final questions, Marcus Flavius?"
He was silent for a moment, then answered in a voice deep as a funeral bell:
"I seek no petty revenge. Let fate weave its own web. But when the day comes...
I wish to look into his eyes and ask—what joy did my death bring you?"
The God smiled lightly. "Good. You are not consumed by vengeance. Then go, warrior. A new world awaits, where glory must be forged anew."
Light enveloped him.
Before his soul departed, Marcus turned one last time. "You saw it all, didn't you, my Lord?"
"I have seen all things born and undone. I have watched worlds rise and fall, and men rise as heroes or fall as dust. I, the Almighty, comprehend all."
Marcus bowed low.
And the God raised His hand.
Reality tore open. A gate of light swallowed him. Marcus's consciousness faded.
But before it vanished entirely, the voice of the God thundered one final time:
"We shall meet again, Marcus. At the moment you least expect it."
A chill, like death's whisper, ran down Marcus's spine.
Though he saw no face, he knew—Brutus too had been granted the same chance.
And their fates were bound to cross once more.