Chapter 19: The Siege of Capua

Afterward, he didn't bother concerning himself with Tohka's affairs and let her stuff her face at the breakfast table while he headed back to his chamber.

With a simple order, he had a maid summon Agrippina for a private meeting.

Was this incest? Maybe. He was about to fuck another version of his mother, after all. But did he care? Not one bit.

Then the door of chamber cracked open, and closed again as the blonde hair women with emerald eyes present before him.

"Caesa…"

Agrippina began to address him with the title of Caesar, but she stopped mid-way, as if something had just clicked in her mind—a realization, a shift in perspective.

Her lips parted slightly before she spoke again, her voice softer, more reverent.

"My Khan."

Then, with deliberate grace, she dropped to her knees before him, lowering herself in a clear display of submission.

Khan smirked, watching the proud and once-powerful mother of an emperor bowing before him without hesitation. It was a sight to savor, but he had more important matters at hand—for now.

"Arise, Agrippina."

He lifted a hand, signaling her to abandon the formalities. She obeyed immediately, rising to her feet, her piercing emerald eyes locked onto him, waiting for his next words like a loyal servant eager to fulfill his will.

"I need you to prepare the troops," Khan ordered, his voice steady and commanding. "All of them. Ready to march on Rome and swear loyalty to their Khan. Your father was Germanicus—I expect you to have a considerable amount of influence over the legions. I need that power, and I need it now."

His words left no room for debate. He wasn't asking—he was taking.

For a brief moment, the temptation flickered in his mind—how easy it would be to keep her on her knees, to put that sharp tongue of hers to proper use. But business before pleasure. He had a throne to seize, and Rome to conquer.

Agrippina nodded firmly, her eyes filled with understanding. "I will ensure they are ready to serve you, my Khan."

She turned, striding away with the same imperial grace she had always carried. But Khan's attention was immediately drawn downward—watching the deliberate sway of her wide, womanly hips.

That ass.

The way her dress clung to her mature, sculpted curves, the slight bounce in every step—it was a fucking masterpiece. The rear of an empress, the body of a queen, and soon to be property of her Khan.

For now, though, he let her go.

Not because he didn't want to break her here and now—but because victory came first. Rome was on the verge of shattering, and he needed to strike before the dust settled.

The rebellion in Capua needed to be crushed. The armies in Rome had to be turned to his side.

Three days later, exactly as planned, Khan rode at the head of his forces, Agrippina at his side, having summoned the legions alongside Burrus and a sizeable force of Praetorian guards.

The stage was set. Rome would kneel. And soon, so would everyone else.

So, he marched on Capua, and anyone who disobeyed his orders or dared to slow down the march met a fate worse than death.

With a flick of his wrist, he fired the seventh bullet from Zafkiel, and time itself consumed them. Their flesh withered, rotting away in real-time, their bones creaking as they decayed into old, brittle husks before their comrades' horrified eyes.

They screamed, they begged, but it was useless. They all learned, in that very moment, what fear truly was.

The whispers—the treacherous murmurs—that he was not the true Emperor, that he was a mere imposter pretending to be Caesar? Silenced in an instant.

Those who dared defy him were struck down without mercy, their punishment swift and absolute.

But those who obeyed?

They were rewarded beyond imagination.

The old felt their youth return, their sagging flesh tightening, their strength surging back with a vigor they hadn't felt in decades.

Their aching joints were restored, their fading eyesight sharpened, and an unstoppable energy flooded their veins. They felt reborn.

Khan took time from the weak, from the rebellious, and gifted it to the loyal.

Obedience meant power.

Disobedience meant ruin.

The legions of Rome began to defect, one after another, bowing to him as they realized the truth. Those who still hesitated? They were left to rot, their bodies crumbling while they watched in regret as their once-loyal comrades basked in Khan's blessing, growing younger, stronger, and more powerful than ever before.

Khan was no longer just their Emperor.

He was their God.

Every word from his lips was law, and none dared question him again.

No longer did they call him an imposter.

He was the true ruler of Rome.

By the will of God.

By the might of Khan.

By the time they arrived in Capua, the Roman legions wasted no time. Families of the rebels were dragged out, forced to their knees, and nailed to crosses—one by one. Their screams filled the air as crude wooden stakes were driven through their flesh, their agony laid bare for all to see.

The message was clear.

Any slave who had dared to rise against Rome now stood frozen in horror, their blood running cold as they watched their loved ones struggle and writhe on the crosses. Mothers, fathers, children—no one was spared. Their twisted, pain-stricken expressions were a cruel display, a warning written in blood and suffering.

For the rebels, the victories they had fought so hard for—the conquest of Capua, the control of the city—meant nothing anymore. The taste of triumph turned to ash in their mouths.

"Oppressors!"

A furious roar erupted from atop the city walls. Spartacus—a towering force of rage and defiance—glared down at the Romans, his eyes blazing with fury. And at the heart of it all, Khan stood below the city gates, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable. The momentum of the rebellion was crumbling right in front of him, and he knew it.

The rebels hesitated, their spirits wavering. The sight of their families broken and suffering had shaken them to their core.

Some realized their loved ones were still together in the same city. Others weren't as lucky. Their families had been separated, scattered, used as leverage to break their will.

The fear in their eyes spoke louder than any words.

"Spartacus, we can't do this anymore! This is impossible—we can't sacrifice our families!"

"What did you just say?!!" One of the rebels turned on him, grabbing his collar in rage.

Another man immediately slapped his hand away, shoving him back.

"Easy for you to say—you've still got your family here in the city! What about us?! What are we fighting for if they're already dead?!"

The argument spread like wildfire, rebels turning on each other, their unity shattering under the weight of Rome's brutal tactics.

But Spartacus would not waver.

"Silence!" His voice boomed, silencing the chaos. His glare swept over his men, filled with nothing but unyielding resolve.

"The rebellion never dies! The oppressors shall meet their end! And I—I will bring him down myself!" His finger pointed directly at Khan.

The walls gave them the advantage. The Romans should have been at a disadvantage, forced to lay siege and fight an uphill battle.

And yet, Spartacus chose to face the leader of the Roman legions head-on. He would fight him alone, in single combat, before his people.

The rebels held their breath, their fate hanging by a thread.

Would their leader win this battle?

Or was this the moment Rome crushed them for good?