“One person breaks the law.”
“The entire family becomes slaves!”
Ying Ziye’s final eight words fell like eight ice mountains, crashing down on every head in the Colosseum.
The once roaring “Ever-Victorious” chant vanished.
Tens of thousands of Romans knelt on the ground, bodies stiff, like statues instantly frozen in place.
The wind swept through, kicking up sand that struck their faces—but no one moved to wipe it away.
Fear.
A fear more bone-deep than death itself had seized everyone’s heart.
Destroying temples—they could accept. After all, the gods had not protected them.
Abolishing writing—they could endure. After all, most of them were illiterate anyway.
But this rule…
“One person breaks the law, the entire family becomes slaves.”
It meant their fate was no longer their own.
It was tied to everyone around them.
A neighbor’s impulse could enslave your entire family in the mines.
A relative’s complaint could result in your newly assigned wife and daughter being taken away again.
No one dared to think anymore.
Night.
Rome was silent.
In a hidden wine cellar, a dim oil lamp flickered.
More than ten men in black sat around it.
Their faces were carved with despair.
“We can’t wait any longer!” one one-eyed man growled. He had once been a centurion under Caesar. “He is cutting our roots!”
“Our gods, our history, our language… he wants Rome erased from this world!”
“But… the entire family becomes slaves…” a younger man’s voice trembled.
“We already have no families left!” the one-eyed man slammed his fist on a barrel. “Our estates were divided, our wives taken as spoils! Now he wants to burn our history and make our descendants believe they were born Qin!”
“We are Rome’s last Praetorian Guard!”
“We bled for Caesar in Gaul!”
“We shed blood for Rome!”
He drew a short sword and slammed it into the table.
“Tonight, we use this Eastern demon’s blood to defend Rome’s final dignity!”
“Kill him!”
“Kill him!!”
More than ten men growled in a low, suppressed roar.
The “Western Qin Governor’s Office”
The newly established governor’s office stood on the ruins of the Senate.
Aside from a few cleared rooms, everything else was broken stone and rubble.
Night was the best cover.
More than ten shadows moved silently along the ruined walls like lizards.
Their movements were professional, coordinated, silent.
These were Rome’s most elite warriors.
They avoided a Qin patrol.
The one-eyed leader signaled.
Their target—the only lit room.
That was the demon’s lair.
They split up, leaping in simultaneously through windows, rooftops, and broken walls.
Fast as lightning.
They could already smell it—the faint scent of milk-like warmth from the demon inside.
But—
They found nothing.
The room was empty.
Only an oil lamp burned quietly.
“Bad! A trap!” the one-eyed man’s scalp went numb.
He turned to retreat.
Too late.
In the courtyard, someone was already standing there.
A man in a green robe stood with his back to them, calmly wiping a blade.
Moonlight fell on him—casting no shadow at all.
“Since you’re here,” he said softly, “then stay.”
The one-eyed man’s heart pounded violently.
He raised his short sword and roared like a beast.
“Kill!”
He shot forward like a shadow, aiming to pierce that back.
To tear apart this Qin man with the pride of Rome’s legion charge.
But Qinglong did not turn.
He did not even draw his blade.
He simply raised two fingers.
Index and middle finger.
Just as the sword was about to pierce his back—
He gently pinched.
Clink.
A crisp sound.
The hundred-forged steel short sword shattered like brittle biscuit.
Snapped cleanly between two fingers.
Half the blade fell to the ground.
The one-eyed man froze mid-charge.
He stared at the broken weapon in his hand.
He stared at the unmoving back.
Spurt!
He coughed up blood.
Not from injury.
From belief—collapsing.
Qinglong withdrew his fingers.
“Clean them up,” he said.
At that moment—
Dark figures erupted from the courtyard shadows.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard.
They pounced like wolves on sheep.
No screams.
Only dull bone-breaking sounds.
Less than ten breaths.
More than a dozen of Rome’s most elite assassins had their limbs twisted and broken, dragged into the courtyard like a string of dead fish.
Inside the Room
Ying Ziye put down the Roman map in his hand.
He picked up a grape from the table and put it into his mouth.
The door opened.
Qinglong walked in.
“Your Highness, they’ve all been captured.”
“Mm.” Ying Ziye responded without even lifting his head.
“The leader was once Caesar’s Praetorian centurion.”
“He is still shouting for revenge for Rome.”
Ying Ziye picked up a second grape.
Only then did he raise his eyes and glance at the assassins outside, writhing on the ground like maggots.
He asked a question.
“Do they have families?”
Qinglong bowed.
“Yes. As per Your Highness’s orders, upon entering the city, all Roman nobles and their families were registered.”
Ying Ziye swallowed the grape.
He stood up and walked to the doorway.
The one-eyed man stared at him with a venomous expression.
“Demon! Kill me! The god Jupiter will avenge—”
Ying Ziye ignored his shouting.
He gave an order to a messenger.
“Relay the command.”
“Tomorrow morning, the Colosseum.”
“Bring these assassins—and all relatives within three generations listed in their records—to the arena.”
The messenger froze.
Three generations?
That would be at least several hundred people!
“You don’t understand?” Ying Ziye’s voice remained calm.
“Yes, sir!” the messenger shuddered and ran off.
Ying Ziye looked at the one-eyed man, whose face had already turned ashen.
In the most indifferent tone, he spoke the most cruel words.
“I said it before.”
“One person breaks the law, the entire family becomes slaves.”
“Since you all love dying for Rome’s glory so much…”
“Then let your families share that glory with you.”
The Next Day
Just as the sun rose,
the smell of blood once again enveloped Rome.
The sandy floor of the Colosseum was filled with kneeling people.
Elderly, women, even infants still in swaddling clothes.
Crying, wailing, pleading—all mixed into one.
Tens of thousands of Roman civilians were forced to watch from the stands.
Their faces had gone completely numb.
Ying Ziye sat again upon the golden throne from the previous day.
“Execute.”
He waved his hand.
Qin soldiers struck down with their blades.
Hundreds of heads rolled across the sand.
Blood dyed the entire arena a dark crimson.
When the last head fell,
Ying Ziye stood.
He pointed at the pool of blood.
“Do you see this?”
“This is the fate of rebellion.”
He looked across the crowd.
“I gave you a way to live, but some people insist on dragging you all to death.”
“Why?”
“Because in their minds, they still carry so-called Roman history, so-called myths.”
“Those things… are poison!”
Ying Ziye’s voice rose higher.
“Today, I will completely cure Rome of this poison!”
He swung his arm.
“Transmit my order!”
“Search the entire city!”
“All scrolls, stone tablets, and clay tablets recording Roman history, mythology, or philosophy—confiscate them all!”
“Anyone found hiding them will be treated as a rebel!”
The order was issued.
The entire city of Rome turned into a massive house-search operation.
Qin soldiers stormed every home.
Countless records bearing Rome’s thousand-year civilization were thrown onto carts.
They were transported to the Colosseum.
In the center of the arena, they were piled into a mountain.
Ying Ziye walked down from the platform.
He took a burning torch.
He looked at the mountain of knowledge and history before him.
Then—
He threw the torch onto it.
BOOM!
Flames erupted into the sky.
Dry scrolls ignited instantly, devouring ancient words with ravenous fire.
Thick black smoke obscured the heavens.
Under the desperate gaze of tens of thousands of Romans,
and in the reflection of rising flames,
Ying Ziye turned around to face them all.
And declared:
“From today onward…”
“There is no more Roman history.”
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