At the very heart of the continent of Alaz, where majestic mountains met the Aegean Sea, sprawled the most magnificent city of the human race, Rome. A city that stood as a symbol of the might and glory of the Roman Empire. A place where history was forged, where a Sky-dweller could be encountered on the street, and where the gods blessed mortals with a better life.
Rome was not merely a city, but an entire world, astounding the imagination with its scale and beauty.
Wide streets were paved with white marble, while towering columns and arches rose overhead, creating an unshakable sense of grandeur. Ancient statues of all sizes spoke of the city's rich past, while exquisite villas and grand thermae bore witness to the prosperity of its citizens.
Here, every stone, every column, every fountain served as a reminder of the great events and remarkable figures who had once lived and shaped history within these walls. This place had been the economic, cultural, and religious heart of the most powerful empire.
It was beautiful.
Above the city, seven hills floated in the sky. They loomed over Rome like silent guardians, preserving the capital's peace. Over their long history, they had witnessed the rise and fall of countless empires. Only they remained, eternal and unbreakable.
The seven floating Roman hills were considered the pinnacle of Roman culture. One of the wonders of the world. This alone drew the most ambitious and driven citizens, each dreaming of one day rising above the rest.
Although the Roman Empire bore the name of an "empire," it had earned that title more through its might than its political structure.
In practice, the center of power still remained the Senate, an assembly of the most worthy and noble men of Rome. No decree could come into force without a vote, approved by the majority of those present.
Such a vote was taking place at this very moment on the highest hill, the Palatine.
The senators, clad in snow-white togas, sat upon benches arranged in a semicircle. Their faces were composed, their gestures restrained as they listened to Cicero's speech:
"Honorable senators,
Today, I address you with a request on behalf of all Rome and its citizens. Gaius Julius Caesar, an outstanding commander and a loyal servant of the people, continues his successful conquest of the desert of Arrakis on the continent of Pratos, strengthening the might of the state.
HOWEVER, despite his remarkable achievements, I ask the Senate to consider increasing the levy on all military spoils from 50% to 80% in favor of the state treasury.
At this moment, our homeland is in urgent need of strengthening its economy to ensure stability and prosperity. The return of these spoils will reinforce financial stability and secure the future of the empire.
Such measures will also prevent the spread of corruption and the abuse of power within the military consulship. The spoils won by the Roman people must not enrich a single man!
We must not forget that all of Caesar's victories were won through the sweat and blood of Roman soldiers.
Thus, the income from this campaign must be distributed for the benefit of all citizens.
Today, I bring before the Senate a proposal to increase the levy on military spoils, and I ask for your support in this decision.
For the prosperity of the state and its citizens!"
At the center of the hall, upon a marble throne, sat a majestic man, like a god towering above the rest. His imposing figure, draped in a luxurious toga threaded with purple, radiated confidence and strength, while his eyes reflected unquestionable authority.
That man was Gnaeus Pompey, the ruling consul, an outstanding politician and commander.
When Cicero finished his speech, Pompey's keen gaze swept across the faces of those gathered, catching every shift, from flashes of indignation to concealed satisfaction.
The speech concerned a proposal that struck directly at the interests of most present, and the reaction came at once.
The Senate erupted, as if boiling oil had been doused with water.
One side of the hall broke into loud cries of approval and applause. The other, represented by Caesar's supporters, raised such an uproar that words were swallowed by the roar of mutual insults. Several senators sprang to their feet, waving their arms, others tried to shout over them, leaning across their neighbors. It seemed that just a moment more, and the argument would spill into open violence.
Only his presence kept them within the bounds of what was permitted.
Pompey was certain that without him, the entire institution of democracy, for which Rome was so renowned, would in an instant descend into nothing more than a common bloodbath.
It troubled him. For he was a staunch adherent of the old ways.
He loved Rome. Loved the republic. And believed it his duty to care for it.
When the first wave of arguments subsided, Pompey raised his hand, calling for silence. Every single one obeyed his gesture without exception.
"Though, as a commander and a warrior, I cannot agree with what has been said, as a consul and a citizen of Rome, I must make decisions solely for the good of the empire. Troubled times demand decisive action. I approve!" Pompey declared.
His speech was neither long nor grandiose, but brief and clear. He voiced his decision, and each man was free to follow it or not.
Though Pompey understood that this choice would offend an ally, a ruler, as he considered himself, had to act in accordance with the interests of the state. Once again, Pompey cast aside personal feelings and resolutely chose the empire.
'Caesar, my friend, forgive me. This time, I have no choice. The world is on the brink of profound change, and I cannot allow my country to sink into turbulent waters. As a ruler, I must act for the good of the empire. You are a wise man and should understand my motives. I will make amends later,' Pompey thought, watching as the Senate supported Cicero's resolution.
The debate came to an end.
The final result of the vote: 291 in favor, 73 abstained, 35 against.
Mark Antony, who had recently returned from Pratos as Caesar's trusted representative, intended to exercise his right of veto, but the decision was announced without delay.
He sprang to his feet, ready to challenge the legitimacy of the vote, but he and all his supporters were swiftly surrounded and escorted out by the guards, who called for order.
It was a blatant insult, and the man knew such a thing could not have happened without Pompey's knowledge and explicit approval.
"Does Pompey truly intend to sever all ties with the 'triumvirate' and take command of the empire into his own hands?" a senator from Caesar's faction asked.
"He should give us a thorough explanation and prepare considerable compensation if he does not wish to make an enemy of our lord," another supported him.
"Silence! Hostility between Pompey and Caesar is unacceptable at this moment. However, I will personally visit the consul to learn his motives," Mark ordered. In Caesar's absence, he was the one in command.
The Senate building quickly emptied, there was no reason to remain.
Though Mark was furious, he restrained his emotions and decided to return to his villa to prepare properly.
Meanwhile, Pompey, accompanied by Cicero and his most ardent supporters, headed for a private meeting. Among them was Adam Starlight, who had elevated his standing through decisive actions in eliminating the "harbinger of darkness."
Upon reaching a spacious villa on one of the floating hills, where at that moment the very elite of Roman society had gathered, the men paid no attention to the noisy entertainments or the lavish delicacies.
They made their way to secluded thermae, where they immersed themselves in hot water and began discussing the current situation.
"Consul, you will not regret the decision made today. All of Rome supports you, and we, as its representatives, will ensure your re-election for a third term," Cicero spoke, while a mute yet strikingly beautiful slave wiped down his skin.
"That's enough, Cicero. You know perfectly well that my re-election is inevitable. I do not act out of personal interest, I care only for the empire," Pompey replied calmly. He did not appear particularly pleased by Cicero's praise.
"That is true, your reputation precedes you. And we believe we will reach new heights by following you," Adam interjected, trying to earn the favor of the most influential man in Rome.
"Indeed, indeed. What a pity that most senators care only for their own interests," added a third member of the group, a man named Bibulus.
"That's enough. Tell me, why have you summoned me?" Pompey asked, unwilling to listen to their endless flattery.
"I fear the news will be far from pleasant. One of our spies in the Empire of the Six Pillars was forced to reveal his status and even sacrifice his life to deliver us critical information. Bibulus, show it," Cicero said, sensing that the consul's patience was running out.
Bibulus handed Pompey a sealed bundle, bearing the seal of Crassus. It was a letter from his old friend, the last member of the triumvirate.
Yet this news did not please Pompey in the slightest. He knew that his friend had withdrawn from affairs, but the fact that the letter had been intercepted by a spy from the Empire of the Six Pillars spoke of a shift in his position.
Pompey carefully broke the seal and began to read:
"Dear Bai Xue.
I will not waste words, I write to ask for your help.
I find myself in a situation where I have no one else to turn to. This matter cannot be delayed. I fear that if I hesitate, I may lose everything I have left.
Thus, I offer the Xue clan 50,000,000 gold so that your clan and sect will exert all their efforts to achieve my goal. If you agree, I will never forget this favor. You know, my gratitude can be worth a great deal.
Former consul of the Roman Empire and your friend, Crassus." — end of letter
Pompey frowned deeply. The letter was short and vague. Crassus had not specified either his goal or the kind of help he sought.
Yet what kind of problem could drive a man to seek aid from one of the great clans of the Six Pillars?
Moreover, Crassus had made it unmistakably clear that he was in despair and ready to do whatever it took.
Such resolve, coming from a former member of the triumvirate, was not to be underestimated.
'Why did he not turn to me or Caesar? Could we not help him? What problem could exist that we could not solve with our power? Does he not trust us? Or does his request conflict with our interests? What has happened to Crassus that he had to appeal to the Narrow-Eyed? What is he planning?' — questions whirled through Pompey's mind, each one dissected in meticulous detail.
Had he been an ordinary Sky-dweller, it would have taken far more time. But Pompey belonged to the Ninth Sky — the pinnacle of power attainable by mortals.
Among the Sky-dwellers, there was a strict hierarchy: from the First Sky, where Catherine stood — barely beginning her path to ascension — to the Ninth, separated from it by a chasm as vast as that between ancient biplanes and modern fighters. With each ascending Sky, everything grew: body, spirit, perception, speed of thought.
That was why Pompey could process streams of information at inhuman speed.
And yet, even his formidable mind could not comprehend Crassus's motivation.
"Consul, allow me to voice my opinion," Cicero offered.
"Speak," Pompey said, believing it would do no harm to see the situation from another perspective.
"Forgive my candor, Consul, but I believe Crassus is planning treason against the state."
"Watch your words, Cicero!" Pompey roared, showing not a shred of concern for politeness.
His mana surged as if responding to Pompey's fury. The water in the thermae frothed violently. The mute slave women collapsed to the floor, unconscious, and every senator felt as if they had been transported to a battlefield.
"Let me finish," Cicero pleaded, feeling the full weight of Pompey's fierce gaze.
"I hope you have proof to back your words," Pompey said, easing the pressure slightly.
"Consul, recall all of Crassus's actions while in power. What has he achieved? He failed to suppress the rebellion of the slaves and plebeians. All his life, he did nothing but appropriate Rome's wealth, becoming the richest man in history. That fact still weighs on our economy.
And then?
Failing to handle a group of plebeians, he led our armies into the Empire of the Six Pillars! Thousands of our citizens died there, and now he is in contact with a former enemy, asking for their help and promising to give fifty million gold.
Fifty million of the Roman Empire's gold! What kind of help could cost that much? Only military aid.
Our spies at his place of confinement report that he has gathered formidable forces around him. He clearly intends to escape and take revenge on the entire empire," Cicero blurted out, trying to lay out all his conclusions.
"He is not imprisoned; he is in voluntary exile! Do you think that if he wanted to, he could not return with all his power? Do you think the triumvirate is a joke?" Pompey shook his head.
"That is exactly what alarms me, Consul. No one with such power goes into exile willingly, unless they are preparing something that cannot be accomplished in Rome."
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