Chapter 25: The Siege of Old Carthage

The smuggler's galley cut through the black waters like a blade, its oars muffled, its sails dyed to match the night. Lucius stood at the prow, the salt wind biting his face as the ruins of Carthage emerged from the gloom—crumbling walls silhouetted against a starless sky.

The system's alert pulsed in his vision:

[Approach Phase:

- Hostile Forces Detected: 187 heat signatures (mercenaries)

- Greek Fire Stockpile: Confirmed (western docks)

- Decimus's Last Known Position: Central citadel

Recommended Tactics:

- Avoid the ballista (range: 400 meters)

- Exploit the blind spot near the salt pits

- Pray to whatever gods are listening]

Nikias crouched beside him, his usual smirk absent. "Remind me again why we didn't bring the bear?"

"Because," Claudia muttered from the shadows, adjusting her lion's spiked collar, "it would have sung the whole way."

The lion, at least, was focused—its golden eyes locked on the shore, its tail twitching like a whip.

They slipped ashore through a graveyard of shattered triremes, the hulls picked clean by centuries of scavengers. The air reeked of salt and something fouler—Greek fire residue, thick enough to taste.

Vulso signaled the gladiators forward, their blackened blades dulled to avoid reflection. The Vestal acolyte moved like a wraith beside Lucius, her sacred flame vial glowing faintly in her palm.

Then—a shout.

A Carthaginian sentry stumbled into view, his torch guttering. Before he could raise the alarm, Claudia's lion moved.

The system's combat log was clinical:

[Hostile Neutralized:

- Method: 280 lbs of feline fury

- Noise Generated: 12% (acceptable)

- Lion Morale: +20% (likes Carthaginians)]

They pressed on.

The western docks were a maze of crumbling warehouses, their doors chained shut. Inside one, through a crack in the wood, Lucius saw them—dozens of plague balls, stacked like cannonballs beside a row of modified ballistae.

The system's analysis was grim:

[Plague Ball Deployment System:

- Launch Mechanism: Ballista (range: 1.2 miles)

- Targets:

- Rome's stadiums

- Grain ships (to spread disease)

- Nero's palace (ironically)

Countdown: Estimated 3 hours until first volley]

Nikias exhaled. "We burn it."

"*No,*" the Vestal hissed. "Greek fire doesn't burn—it explodes. We'd take half the city with us."

Claudia's fingers tightened around her dagger. "Then we steal their aim."

The plan was suicide:

1. Vulso and the gladiators would assault the eastern gate—loudly.

2. Claudia's lion would create chaos in the barracks.

3. Lucius and Nikias would sabotage the ballistae.

4. The Vestal would "bless" the plague balls into uselessness.

The system's odds:

[Success Probability:

- Step 1: 45% (Vulso is very loud)

- Step 2: 78% (lion is motivated)

- Step 3: 33% (ballistae are heavily guarded)

- Step 4: 50% (gods are fickle)

Overall: 19% survival rate]

They moved anyway.

Vulso's attack was gloriously destructive.

The gladiators smashed into the eastern gate like a battering ram, their war cries echoing off the stones. Mercenaries poured from the towers, only to be met with a lion in full charge.

The system's live update:

[Eastern Gate Status:

- Mercenary Casualties: 23 and rising

- Gladiator Morale: 110% (Vulso just threw a man into the sea)

- Lion's Kill Count: 5 (and one hat)]

Meanwhile, Lucius and Nikias slithered toward the ballistae.

The siege engines loomed like skeletal beasts, their torsion ropes taut, their barrels loaded with plague balls. Four guards stood at each—until Nikias "accidentally" rolled a wine cask into their midst.

The system's log:

[Distraction Deployed:

- Wine Quality: Terrible (Carthaginian)

- Guard Reaction: Immediate brawl

- Sabotage Window: 90 seconds]

Lucius went to work:

- Ballista One: Sand in the gears.

- Ballista Two: Rope cut *almost* through.

- Ballista Three:Decimus himself stepped into the torchlight.

The patrician looked older, his once-proud face gaunt, his nose still crooked from Vulso's fist. But his eyes burned with the same venom.

"Lucius." He spat the name like a curse. "Here to save football?"

Lucius drew his dagger. "Here to end you."

Decimus laughed—then kicked the loaded ballista.

The system's warning screamed:

[CRISIS:

- Plague Ball Armed

- Trajectory: Straight at the salt pits (where the Vestal works)

- Time to Impact: 8 seconds]

Lucius lunged.

What happened next blurred into instinct:

- Lucius's dagger found Decimus's thigh—too late.

- The ballista fired, its plague ball arcing toward the pits.

- The Vestal acolyte looked up—and sang.

Her voice cut the night, sharp as steel. The vial in her hand shattered, its sacred flame meeting the falling plague ball midair.

The explosion lit the sky green.

When the smoke cleared, the salt pits were sterilized—every plague ball, every drop of Greek fire, burned pure.

The system's damage report:

[Outcome:

- Plague Stockpile: 100% destroyed

- Vestal Acolyte: Unharmed (divine intervention?)

- Decimus: Escaped (limping, cursing, but alive)

- Lion: Acquired a new hat (stolen from a mercenary)]

Dawn found them back on the galley, Carthage smoldering behind them.

Nero's reaction, when they reached Rome, was predictable:

"You ruined my fireworks!" he wailed, clutching the lion's new hat. "That green explosion was supposed to be my birthday finale!"

The Vestal acolyte, her voice hoarse from singing, whispered to Lucius:

"He doesn't realize, does he?"

Lucius watched the emperor sulk. "Realize what?"

"That we just saved his empire."

The system's final alert was solemn:

[Mission Results:

- Carthaginian Threat: Neutralized (for now)

- Decimus's Fate: Unknown (but wounded)

- Football's Future: Secure

New Challenges:

- Nero now wants "exploding balls" for matches

- The lion demands a crown

- The plebs whisper of a "free league" beyond imperial control]

As the sun rose over Rome, Lucius stood at the Campum Ludus, watching children chase a rag ball through the dust.