The Parthian cavalry descended like a storm.

  The ground trembled beneath the weight of charging hooves, the air filled with the screams of horses and men alike. The legionaries braced, shields locked, but Lucius could feel it—something was wrong.

  The warlord sat motionless atop his black warhorse, watching. His cloak billowed unnaturally, as though caught in a wind that no one else could feel. The firelight around him flickered strangely, bending and twisting as if drawn toward him.

  Then—

  Lucius staggered, his vision swimming. The voice—the System—was reacting again, but its tone was… uncertain.

  Something about this warlord was wrong, unnatural.

  But the system itself didn’t understand why.

  ?

  “SHIELDS! HOLD!”

  Optio Varro’s command cut through the confusion, snapping Lucius back to reality.

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  The first wave crashed into the line.

  The impact was like a thunderclap—the Parthians’ momentum slamming against the scuta with bone-crushing force. Horses reared, blades clashed, men screamed as they were trampled beneath hooves.

  Lucius braced his legs, absorbing the impact, before lunging forward with his gladius.

  Steel met flesh. A Parthian horseman cried out, tumbling from his saddle, blood spraying across the dirt.

  The legionaries fought with iron discipline, hacking, stabbing, pushing back against the overwhelming charge. But something was off.

  For every man they killed, it felt like the air grew heavier.

  Like something unseen was watching.

  And then—

  Lucius’ breath caught.

  The system had always spoken with certainty.

  Now, for the first time, it sounded confused.

  What the hell were they fighting?

  ?

  Lucius risked a glance toward the Parthian warlord.

  The man had not moved. He sat, still as death, his ember-like eyes locked onto the battle.

  Then, slowly, he raised one hand.

  The fire from the burning tents shuddered.

  For a heartbeat, the flames seemed to stretch toward him, drawn by invisible threads.

  Lucius’ vision blurred.

  And then—

  A cold dread coiled in Lucius’ gut.

  He has a system.

  Not like Lucius’. Not like anything he had seen before.

  Something older.

  Something alien.

  But the battlefield didn’t care.

  Because the cavalry was still coming.