The Macedonian Trap

The army moved through the valleys of Macedon, their banners whipping in the wind. Pyrrhus rode at the head, his golden armor shining under the sun.

Echecrates rode beside him. "Cassander is retreating to Pella."

Pyrrhus smirked. "Then we will take Pella."

But as they crossed the next ridge, Echecrates suddenly pulled his horse back. "Wait."

Pyrrhus frowned. "What is it?"

Echecrates scanned the valley below.

Then, realization dawned on his face.

"It's a trap."

At that moment, Macedonian war horns echoed from the cliffs.

From behind the ridges, thousands of enemy soldiers emerged—Cassander's forces had been waiting for them.

Arrows rained down. Pyrrhus gritted his teeth as chaos erupted.

"Hold the line!" he shouted.

Echecrates drew his sword. "We need to fall back—"

"No," Pyrrhus snapped. "We fight!"

His warriors roared in defiance, but the enemy had the high ground.

Pyrrhus charged into the fray, cutting down foes with reckless fury. But for the first time, doubt crept into his mind.

Was his ambition blinding him?

As the battle raged, Pyrrhus realized—Cassander was more dangerous than he had thought.

And if he was not careful, this war would be his undoing.