The Beginning of the End

The Roman banners rose once more.

Pyrrhus stood on the hills outside Beneventum, his army smaller than ever.

He was running out of men. Out of gold.

Out of time.

Echecrates rode beside him, his expression heavy. "The men are afraid."

Pyrrhus ignored him, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Fear does not win wars."

Echecrates sighed. "No. But it does end them."

As the Roman legions approached, Pyrrhus tightened his grip on his sword.

He would fight.

He would never surrender.

Even if it killed him.