The Parthian warlord did not move.

  The battlefield churned around him—men screaming, swords clashing, blood soaking into the dirt. But he remained still, seated atop his massive black warhorse, his gaze sweeping across the chaos like an unseen force pressing down on reality itself.

  Lucius felt it again.

  That pull.

  Like fingers made of smoke brushing against his mind, reaching, probing—searching.

  Lucius gritted his teeth.

  The warlord’s power wasn’t just some battlefield trick. It wasn’t mere superstition or fear-mongering.

  It was real.

  And it was looking for something.

  No—for someone.

  Not me, Lucius thought, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Not yet.

  But the moment stretched too long.

  A sickening feeling spread in Lucius’ chest, like something inside him was resisting.

  Then—

  Lucius staggered.

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  For a fraction of a second, the world twisted.

  The air around him blurred, like heat distortion on desert sands. The torches lining the Roman camp shuddered, their flames flickering unnaturally—as if something was shifting reality itself.

  The warlord’s head snapped in Lucius’ direction.

  Lucius’ breath froze in his lungs.

  The warlord’s burning gaze hovered over him.

  And then—

  Lucius felt something snap back into place.

  The warlord’s eyes slid past him, moving to another part of the battlefield.

  Lucius exhaled shakily.

  For a moment—just a single moment—he had been seen.

  And the system had barely saved him.

  ?

  The Ghost of the Battlefield

  The unnatural pull faded.

  Lucius’ vision steadied, the burning nausea in his gut fading as the system worked to restore itself.

  But something had changed.

  The soldiers around him—they looked different.

  No, not different.

  They weren’t looking at him.

  Lucius turned, his breath catching.

  Men ran past him, weapons drawn, their faces twisted in desperation. Legionaries screamed orders, struggling to hold the defensive line. The battle was still raging.

  But not a single one of them acknowledged him.

  Not Marcus. Not the other recruits.

  As if…

  As if he wasn’t there.

  Lucius swallowed hard.

  The system had hidden him too well.

  Even from his fellow men.

  ?

  The Warlord’s Whisper

  From the distance, Lucius heard the warlord’s voice.

  “The Light of Rome dims. The Shadows of the East rise.”

  The moment the words left his lips, Lucius’ system trembled again.

  Lucius’ vision blurred.

  And then—

  A whisper.

  Not in the air. Not in the battlefield.

  Inside his head.

  “Who are you?”

  Lucius’ blood turned to ice.

  The voice wasn’t his system.

  It was something else.

  Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.