Caesar’s body began to tremble uncontrollably.
But he did not cry out.
Nor did he beg for mercy.
“Ha… hahaha… hahahahaha…”
A hoarse, broken laugh squeezed out of his blood-filled throat.
Using his only intact arm and the knee of his broken leg, he pushed against the sand, trying to sit himself up straighter.
He lifted his face—no longer recognizable.
And looked at the eight-year-old child seated high on the throne.
“Demon…”
Caesar’s voice sounded like two rusted iron plates grinding together.
“You are a demon that crawled out of hell…”
“You think you’ve won?”
“Jupiter is watching from the heavens! The gods of Rome are watching!”
“They will rain down heavenly fire! They will strike you with thunder! They will punish all who betray Rome!”
His voice grew louder, turning into a desperate roar.
“The glory of Rome is eternal! And you—you usurper—you and your empire will be cursed and turned to dust!”
The cheers from the tens of thousands of Roman civilians in the stands came to an abrupt stop.
Uneasy murmurs spread through the crowd.
The words “divine punishment” had once been their nightmare.
Wang Jian and Meng Tian both placed their hands on their sword hilts.
With a single word from Ying Ziye, Caesar would disappear forever.
But Ying Ziye said nothing.
He did not even look at Caesar.
He simply toyed with a bunch of grapes in his hand, as if listening to the buzzing of an insect.
He tilted his chin lazily toward Wang Li beside him.
Wang Li understood.
A cruel smile appeared on his face.
He strode down from the stands straight toward Caesar in the center of the arena.
Thud.
He did not draw his sword.
He simply lifted his foot and stomped down on Caesar’s intact left leg.
Crack!
A sharp bone-breaking sound echoed.
“AHHHHHHHHH!”
Caesar let out a scream more agonizing than any before.
His entire body curled up, like a shrimp with its spine shattered, convulsing wildly on the sand.
Cold sweat instantly soaked through his torn silk robe.
Wang Li’s military boot still pressed firmly on his leg—and even ground down slightly.
“A dog with two broken legs,” Wang Li said coldly.
He bent down and used his scabbard to slap Caesar’s face repeatedly.
“Does someone like you even deserve to bark at my prince?”
Spit.
Caesar coughed up another mouthful of blood mixed with broken teeth.
He tried to speak, but the pain only produced broken, wheezing sounds.
Wang Li straightened up and scanned the crowd.
He nudged the convulsing Caesar with his toe.
“Who else,” he said.
“Still believes in his gods?”
The Roman civilians stared at the man who had once conquered Gaul and been hailed as the “Father of the Nation,” now trampled like a dead dog.
The last remnants of their illusion of old Rome…
Shattered.
Completely shattered.
Ying Ziye stood up.
A grape still rested in his hand.
He walked to the edge of the stands and looked down over the entire Colosseum.
Then he finally spoke.
His voice was not loud, but it cut like a blade into every heart present.
“Rome?”
He gave a faint smile.
“From today onward.”
“There is no Rome anymore.”
One sentence.
And the entire Colosseum fell so silent that even breathing seemed to vanish.
Caesar stopped trembling.
He used his last remaining strength to lift his head in disbelief.
Ying Ziye continued.
“All laws of this land…”
“Abolished.”
“From today onward, wherever my feet stand, all of it shall be Qin territory.”
“There will be only one law.”
He paused, enunciating each word clearly.
“The laws of Qin!”
Ying Ziye tossed away the grape stem in his hand.
He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the land already trampled beneath him.
“This land—its fields, its mines, its houses.”
“This land—its gold, its silver, its wealth.”
“This land—its men, its women, its slaves.”
With every sentence he spoke, the Roman civilians in the stands trembled slightly.
Ying Ziye drew his arms back in and pointed toward the sky.
Toward the illusory “gods” Caesar had spoken of.
“All of this…”
“Belongs to only one person.”
“His Majesty, the Emperor of Qin!”
As his words fell, the entire arena remained silent.
All the Romans stared blankly at him.
Their minds could not process the successive shocks.
Their country—was gone.
Their laws—were gone.
Even they themselves, along with the land beneath their feet, had become the property of a distant emperor.
At that moment—
A figure in the crowd suddenly knelt down.
It was the blacksmith, Bach.
He remembered the bowl of life-saving porridge.
He remembered the apple covered in dirt.
He did not understand what “Qin Law” meant, nor what “His Majesty the Emperor” meant.
He only knew one thing.
Follow this man—and you would eat.
Oppose this man—and you would die.
He imitated the Qin soldiers, raised his hands above his head, and bowed heavily.
With all his strength, in the newly learned, rough Qin language, he roared:
“Ever-Victorious!!”
That single shout was like a stone thrown into a calm lake.
Then—
A second voice, a third…
“Ever-Victorious!”
“Ever-Victorious!!”
One after another, Roman civilians knelt.
They looked at the dragged-away senators, at Caesar’s broken body on the ground, and smelled the lingering aroma of porridge still in the air.
Fear.
And hope.
Intertwined.
Finally, it turned into the most primal roar.
“Ever-Victorious!!”
“Ever-Victorious!!!”
“Ever-Victorious!!!!”
At first scattered, then rapidly unified.
The roar of tens of thousands merged into a tidal wave of sound, echoing and crashing through the ancient Colosseum.
It shook the sand into the air and seemed to change the very sky.
They abandoned their gods.
They abandoned their king.
And with the most fervent cheers, they welcomed their new master.
Caesar lay on the ground.
He heard those familiar cheers—ones that should have belonged to him—but now they were being offered to an eight-year-old child from the East.
He heard his people singing the funeral of Rome.
Spit.
With his final mouthful of blood, Caesar’s head tilted to the side, and he finally fell silent.
No one looked at him.
No one even noticed his death.
Amid the deafening roar.
Ying Ziye’s expression remained unchanged.
He did not even spare the frenzied Romans another glance.
As if all of this was only natural.
As if conquering an empire was as simple as eating a grape.
He turned around.
Before a throne built from countless golden vessels and jewels.
Slowly.
Sat down.
He did not wear a crown.
But from this moment on—
He was the only undisputed ruler of this land.
The uncrowned emperor of the West.
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