Attila stepped forward. His voice echoed through the high ceilings of the palace, carrying the weight of the message he bore.
"I bring a message from my father."
From the inner pocket of his cloak, he drew a darkly sealed scroll. He held it in the air for a moment, then with a sharp flick of his wrist he launched it toward Caesar like a disc. The scroll sliced through the palace air like the claw of a wolf. Caesar, a scornful curl on his lips, caught it midair effortlessly between two fingers. He barely glanced at it before carelessly handing it to Aurelius on his left.
"Go on then, read aloud. Let's hear which mountains have moved for our sake."
Aurelius, voice clear and resonant, began to read word for word.
> "I was born Balamir, son of the Wise Khan. I brought three mighty states—known as the Brave Tribes—under my command. They called me 'Lord of the Brave Tribes.' My name spread as a warrior. I claimed the lands of many nations not out of lust for conquest, but to bring order to the world through struggle and toil."
> "Power and might belong only to the god Umay. In the past, at your father's request, you were spared my wrath. We accepted you as reformed and showed you mercy. Yet it is not fitting that a tyrant like you should lay claim to dominion in my time. Your victories over a few lesser men by force, your pride and arrogance within your own borders, even your supposed strength and glory—all were permitted only through our tolerance and restraint."
> "Nonetheless, you have grown proud and reckless, forgetting the laws of our imperial house, sending your soldiers into Asmanda where once lived in peace under my just rule, bringing oppression and disgrace. We are aware of your crimes. Therefore, we have decided to take action and deliver your punishment soon."
> "There will be no forgiveness. Spare yourself the trouble. From now on, our envoy is the arrow, our language the sword. Did you think razing villages made you a sovereign? For your shameless and fearless trespass into our lands, our blade must be stained with the blood from your chest. If you are brave, face us. Do not crawl from hole to hole like a coward. Prepare yourself. Do not say you were not warned."
When Aurelius fell silent, a hush settled over the room. Caesar looked first at Attila, then at Ebren. Would he mock them? Burst into fury? Or… adopt a mask of seriousness?
The throne room was steeped in deathly silence. The echoes of every word that had spilled from Aurelius's lips still drifted across the marble walls, and Caesar's gaze sank deep into that ominous quiet. That moment—frozen, brittle—was broken not by Caesar, but by Ebren.
Unable to suppress a smirk, Ebren leaned toward Attila and whispered softly in his ear.
"Your old man's got a silver tongue, huh... And he didn't miss a chance to sing his own praises either. That letter reads like an epic."
Attila narrowed his eyes, lips tightened into a single line. He brought a hand to his chin, and a faint throb surfaced on his forehead—a sign of rising frustration.
He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for only Ebren to hear.
"Old man... That's not what we agreed on. If you were going to declare war, why did you tell me to offer him a choice?"
But Caesar's eyes curled as though he'd heard every word. Tilting his head, he leaned against the arm of the throne. His chin rested on the back of his hand, and a victorious expression crept onto his face. His eyes sparkled with a wicked certainty, as if the devil himself had loaned him their glint, and his smile—oh, that smile—held a scorn no blade could pierce.
Caesar began to speak in a silken, low voice.
"Attila... it seems the old wolf has truly cast you aside. Even I wouldn't have gone that far."
He leaned back on the throne, eyes flashing like sparks, a sinister grin blooming across his lips. For a few moments, silence stretched once more—until it shattered with Caesar's booming laughter.
"He sends his only son into the lions' den... and has the audacity to declare war on me! Ha! That is… impressive."
When his laughter ceased, a sudden chill fell upon the chamber. His eyes narrowed, and the cheer drained from his face, replaced by grim solemnity. Even his voice seemed darker now.
"Hey, Attila… Do you know why I didn't confiscate your weapons upon entry?"
Ebren raised his eyebrows slightly at Caesar's theatrical question. With a faint smirk and a tilt of his head, he replied, laced with sarcasm.
"Because you think you could kill us easily."
Attila did not step back. His back was straight as an iron rod. It was as if that single sentence had frozen every breath in the room. All eyes were on Caesar, but behind those gazes, the real clash was between pride and restraint, power and patience.
Caesar narrowed his eyes at Attila. There was no silence in his gaze anymore, only blood. He leaned forward on his throne, resting his elbows on his knees. When he spoke, his voice slithered out like a serpent's hiss from deep in his throat.
"Attila... I will present your severed head to the old wolf as a gift upon my arrival."
And then, he curled his fingers—just once. A small gesture, yet brimming with power. It was the first step in death's dance.
Without a moment's hesitation, Belisarius reached for his sword. In that instant, a crimson light flared across his forehead like blood. His muscles tensed, and his eyes gleamed a fiery red. The glow spread to his blade, where a shimmering aura pulsed along the steel. With the intent of a spear, the sword was hurled at Attila like a bolt of lightning.
But before death could reach its mark, another light flashed into being. Ebren's forehead ignited with a brown glow. His sword flew from its sheath like a scream.
Time slowed for a heartbeat. With astonishing force, Ebren struck against the oncoming blade. The moment the two metals collided, a thunderous crack lit the hall like lightning. Belisarius' sword was knocked away, spinning through the air before embedding itself deep into the palace wall. The steel trembled where it landed, and even the columns of the palace seemed to groan under the force.
Ebren turned slowly to Attila, a boyish grin on his face, but his eyes were dead serious.
"We're even now."