I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 101: The Fire and the Fury

The night was preternaturally still, the thin mountain air as sharp and cold as a blade. The only light in the vast, bowl-shaped valley came from the hypnotic, pulsing blue glow of the great chrono-crystal, which cast long, distorted shadows that danced and writhed like living things. The chanting of the thousands of human cultists had risen to a feverish, ecstatic pitch, a disquieting symphony of devotion to a silent, alien god.

Then, from the north, came the sound of a single, brazen war horn, its defiant Roman call shattering the night.

The diversion had begun.

The effect on the camp was instantaneous. Shouts of alarm and confusion erupted from the sprawling tent city of the cultists. The main body of The Traveler's human army, caught completely by surprise, scrambled to form ragged battle lines. From his vantage point, Alex watched as Maximus and Prince Tiridates' small force crashed into the rear of the enemy encampment like a tidal wave of desperate fury. It was a glorious, hopeless charge, a suicidal explosion of Roman discipline and Armenian ferocity. The chaos was immediate and absolute. The entire northern flank of the camp dissolved into a maelstrom of screaming men and clanging steel.

"NOW!" Alex roared, his voice cutting through the din.

It was the signal. He, Cassius, and the twelve giants of the Fire Cohort burst from their rocky cover. They did not shout. They did not scream a war cry. They ran. Fueled by a full, undiluted combat dose of Aeterna Ignis, their bodies surged with a tidal wave of raw, unnatural power. They moved with a loping, ground-devouring stride, crossing the open ground towards the now lightly-defended circle of pillars with the speed of hunting wolves.

Their sudden, silent charge from the south caught the inner ring of Unfallen guards by surprise. A line of the obsidian-armored constructs turned to meet them, but it was too late. The Fire Cohort smashed into their line like a falling meteor.

The battle was a whirlwind of savage, close-quarters combat fought in the eerie blue twilight of the humming pillars. This was not a battle of tactics and formations. It was a raw, primal explosion of violence. This was the Fire Cohort finally and completely unleashed.

They fought with their Ignis Steel gladii, but some, like the massive Gisco, had brought heavy, two-handed sledgehammers taken from the Garni forge, weapons designed not for cutting, but for pure, brutal shattering.

The scene was a vision from a blacksmith's nightmare. An Unfallen guard lunged with its black glass spear, only to have its weapon, its arm, and half its torso obliterated by a single, horizontal swing of Gisco's hammer. The warrior let out a roar of pure, ecstatic rage and charged the nearest glowing pillar. He swung the hammer again and again, the impacts creating thunderous cracks that echoed through the valley. The pillar, made of a material harder than granite, began to splinter, spiderwebs of fracture lines spreading across its smooth, dark surface until, with a final, deafening blow, it shattered, unleashing a shower of arcing, harmless blue energy and silencing its low hum.

The other Cohort members fought with a similar berserker fury. They were a force of nature, a whirlwind of steel and rage. Their Ignis Steel blades, which could cut through Roman iron, bit deep into the Unfallen's composite armor, sundering limbs and shattering torsos. The Unfallen, for all their speed and precision, were being physically overwhelmed. Their fighting style was too clean, too logical, to cope with the sheer, unpredictable ferocity of twelve demigods high on combat stimulants.

Alex was not a combatant. He was the nerve center, the eye of the storm. He stood just behind the main melee, Cassius a silent, deadly shadow at his side, his sword a blur that cut down any Unfallen that broke through the chaotic line. Alex's mind was a maelstrom of sensory input, but Lyra's voice in his ear was a cool, clear stream of tactical data.

Two hostiles approaching from the left flank, Cassius, Lyra would state. Alex would relay the command—"Cassius, left flank! Two approaching!"—and the centurion would move to intercept before the threat had even fully materialized.

"Gisco!" Alex yelled, his voice raw. "Pillar Seven is a primary energy conduit! It's feeding three others! Bring it down!" The giant, his face a mask of blood and sweat, roared in acknowledgement and turned his destructive attention to the new target. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Alex was conducting a symphony of destruction, using Lyra's real-time analysis to identify the most critical nodes in the great machine they were trying to break. He was a 21st-century battle commander with a 1st-century interface.

But their victory was coming at a terrible price. The Unfallen were seemingly endless. For every one the Cohort cut down, two more seemed to materialize from the shadows between the pillars, their movements silent, their attacks lethally precise. They did not feel fear or pain. They were simply machines dedicated to a single task: defending the circle.

A guardsman named Titus, roaring in triumph as he cut down one Unfallen, was impaled from behind by another, the glassy spearhead emerging from his chest in a spray of blood. He fell without a sound. Another, a young recruit named Lycomedes, was surrounded. He fought like a cornered lion, his gladius a blur, but he was overwhelmed by sheer numbers, battered to the ground and torn apart. The Fire Cohort was a phenomenal weapon, but it was a finite one. It was a candle burning with the heat of a star, but also burning out with terrifying speed.

The battle raged. Another pillar fell, then another, the great crystal in the central pit beginning to flicker and pulse erratically, its steady blue light now tinged with angry flashes of red. The ritual was being disrupted. They were succeeding.

But the cost was mounting. Half of the Fire Cohort was now down, dead or gravely wounded, their immense bodies littering the ground around the bases of the pillars they had destroyed. The remaining few, including Cassius and Gisco, were slowing, their movements growing ragged as the peak effects of the Ignis began to wane, leaving behind aching muscles and trembling limbs.

Just as it seemed they were about to be completely overwhelmed by a fresh wave of Unfallen, a new sound cut through the air—a single, sustained horn blast from the north. It was the Roman signal for a fighting retreat. Maximus's diversion was over. He was pulling his surviving forces back into the darkness of the mountains. The sound was both a relief and a death knell. It meant the main body of The Traveler's army would now be turning its full, undivided attention to the inner circle. To them. They were out of time.

At that exact moment, the flap of the tall, silvery tent standing beside the central pit was pushed open.

A figure emerged, stepping out into the chaotic, flickering blue light. It was not a monster. It was not a ghost. It was the man from the fortress, the herald, serene and perfect in a simple grey tunic. He radiated an aura of immense, ancient power and a profound, almost weary disappointment, like a master craftsman watching children break his finest work.

The Silent King had arrived.