Chapter 502: Discussion with Crassus
The capital of the Roman Empire stretched endlessly, a sprawling sea of stone and marble, its labyrinthine streets filled with countless houses that pressed tightly together as though competing for air. The city was alive with a restless energy, yet there was sothing undeniably chaotic about its arrangent. Even the hos of the nobility, those supposedly reserved for the refined and powerful, stood in awkward clusters, as if Ro itself cared little for order.
Still, most noble families did not linger long within their own estates. The true heart of Ro’s aristocracy lay elsewhere—within the grand, circular Senate Castle. To the casual eye, it resembled a miniature Colosseum, yet its purpose was far from that of bloodsport. No gladiators fought here; no beasts were unleashed to tear n apart. Instead, within its echoing halls, senators and patricians debated, conspired, and indulged themselves in the luxuries their station afforded. Many of these n even preferred to sleep here rather than return ho, surrounding themselves constantly with influence and intrigue.
But not all aristocrats dwelled in the Senate’s embrace. The most powerful families of Ro—the ancient Houses of the Fulvii, the Junii, and above all, the Imperial household itself—remained sovereign in their own mighty estates. Among them, none rivaled the residence of Marcus Licinius Crassus.
Crassus, richest of all Romans, had raised his villa into sothing greater than a ho. It was a fortress of wealth, a palace masquerading as a private dwelling, its scale vast enough to resemble a castle. The estate seed almost alive with motion, for hundreds of servants moved tirelessly through its corridors and courtyards, keeping the place pristine, maintaining its grandeur, and ever prepared to cater to the endless stream of guests who sought favor or patronage. Yet, for all its opulence, the villa was carefully divided. The public halls and guest chambers were entirely separated from the secluded quarters where Crassus, his wife, and their children lived in guarded privacy.
High above, on one of the villa’s grand terraces, Crassus now stood alone. The night spread its velvet cloak across the city, the moon glowing pale and sovereign in the Roman sky. From this vantage point, the capital stretched out beneath him, glimring with torchlight and shadows, a spectacle of civilization unmatched by any other land. He gazed upon it with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had achieved much—wealth, power, and, most dear to him, a family he cherished more than all his riches. His wife, his children… they were his true legacy, and the thought of losing them stirred unease in the depths of his heart.
Yet that unease soon hardened into a shadow across his face. For as he stood in silent reflection, one na rose unbidden to his mind—Julius Caesar.
Caesar, that man who only a handful of years ago had been little more than an ambitious soldier, had risen like a fla caught by the wind. Crassus had been instruntal in his ascent, lending support, wealth, and influence when Caesar had needed them most. And now? Now Caesar stood as Emperor, equal to him in rank, perhaps even greater in power. What once seed a wise alliance now tasted bitter, leaving only regret.
“Was it a mistake…?” Crassus muttered under his breath, his gaze narrowing on the moon as though it might hold the answer.
For he feared.
His spies whispered of Caesar’s sches—sothing vast, sothing dangerous. Yet what it was, none could tell him. Only one thing seed certain: whatever future Caesar envisioned, Crassus was not ant to share in it.
Though he possessed imasurable wealth and influence, Caesar now commanded the sa, and with it ca sothing far more dangerous: loyalty. Crassus could not simply dispose of him, nor even openly move against him. The risk was too great. Instead, he was left to wonder… and to dread.
“Will he send that man after ?” Crassus thought darkly, the na forming in his mind like a curse. “Septimius.”
The mory of that man’s presence still unsettled him. Only hours earlier, Septimius had once again revealed a frightening asure of his strength, the kind of raw, terrifying power that no ordinary man could hope to resist. And this figure—this weapon—stood firmly at Caesar’s side.
It was not rely Septimius. With Octavius and Marcus Antonius already bound to Caesar’s cause, and now Septimius adored by the people themselves, Caesar’s influence had beco near untouchable. He was encircled by loyalty, shielded by admiration, and ard with strength both political and martial.
For the first ti in years, Marcus Licinius Crassus—the wealthiest man in the Roman Empire—felt sothing unfamiliar and deeply unsettling.
Fear.
Crassus’s thoughts grew darker with each passing heartbeat. The image of Caesar lood in his mind like a shadow cast across his family’s future. Perhaps the only way to protect them was to take precautions, however desperate they might seem. He should send word to the Pope, to warn him of Caesar’s dangerous ambition. And if matters grew unbearable—if whispers of conspiracy hardened into open danger—he would have to be ready to abandon Ro altogether.
Just as he turned this grim thought over, a voice broke the silence.
“Are you worried, Crassus?”
The words ca from behind, sudden and low, and Crassus spun around so fast his heart lurched in his chest. His breath caught.
There, leaning casually against the marble balustrade of the terrace, arms folded as though he had been waiting all along, stood Nathan. Moonlight fell across him, outlining his white hair in silver and leaving his expression unreadable in shadow.
Crassus staggered back a step, his pulse hamring.
“Are… are you here to kill ?” he asked, his voice trembling despite his efforts to remain composed.
Nathan tilted his head slightly, almost amused, though his eyes remained cold.”What do you think I am here for?”
Crassus swallowed hard, dread tightening around his throat. His voice cracked as he pleaded:”Spare my wife and children. That is all I ask.”
A faint smile touched Nathan’s lips, but it was no gesture of comfort—more like a wolf baring its teeth.
“I’m not here to kill you, Crassus,” he said calmly. “I ca to speak. But not here. Too many ears. Can we talk in your quarters? Sowhere safe, where no stray servant will hear what I have to say?”
Suspicion warred with fear in Crassus’s mind, but at last he gave a stiff nod. “Very well.”
They moved inside. Crassus gave curt instructions to the nearby servants, sending them away with a wave of his hand before shutting the doors himself. The heavy wooden panels closed with a muffled thud, sealing the chamber in uneasy silence.
“It’s safe now,” Crassus muttered, though his voice was not entirely convincing.
Nathan strode into the chamber with quiet confidence and lowered himself onto one of the long cushioned seats, sprawling as though the room already belonged to him. Crassus sat opposite, rigid and tense, his eyes never leaving the intruder.
“Caesar sent you, didn’t he?” Crassus asked at last, the words escaping like a half-choked confession.
Nathan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “If Caesar knew I was here, he would have executed on the spot. He’s that paranoid these days. But…” Nathan’s tone darkened, and he leaned forward slightly. “You’re not entirely wrong.”
Crassus’s brow furrowed. “About what?”
“About his intentions,” Nathan said. His gaze sharpened. “Caesar did ask to kill you.”
The words struck like a blade. Crassus recoiled, his breath catching, fists clenching in shock.
“He wanted it quiet,” Nathan went on. “Silent. A neat little incident. An accident in the dark, nothing more.”
Crassus’s throat worked as he forced himself to et Nathan’s eyes. “Then why are you telling this?”
Nathan studied him for a long mont before asking softly, “Do you rember what I told you… back then?”
Crassus’s mind flickered back—back to a dinner long past, shortly after Pompey’s judgnt, when Nathan had spoken with biting clarity.
‘Is that what you truly want, Emperor Crassus? To offer up your daughter like a token just for more influence at court? Are you that afraid of Caesar?’
Yes. He rembered. And the weight of those words pressed heavier now than ever.
“I was right then,” Nathan said, his tone edged with a grim satisfaction. “But now… now you seem even more afraid of him.”
Crassus inhaled slowly, steadying himself. “What do you want from ?”
Nathan’s answer ca without hesitation. “Caesar’s downfall.”
The older man stared, dumbfounded. “W-what?”
“I’m in Ro for one purpose only,” Nathan repeated, his voice unwavering. “To bring him down.”
“You can’t be serious…” Crassus whispered, disbelief etched across his features.
“Tell ,” Nathan said, his tone suddenly sharp, “have you seen Marcus Antonius recently?”
Crassus blinked, caught off guard. “No… he left on an expedition. He has yet to return. Don’t tell —” His words faltered, eyes widening as realization struck.
Nathan leaned back, his voice like iron. “He’s dead. That body you saw hanging from the walls of Ro? That was Marcus Antonius. You suspected as much, didn’t you? Well… now you know for certain.”
Crassus’s face blanched. “You… you killed Marcus Antonius?”
Nathan’s gaze hardened. “Do you doubt ? Even after what you witnessed from in the tournant?”
Crassus rembered. The sheer power Nathan had displayed then, the way even seasoned warriors paled before him. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He swallowed, lowering his head as fear overca doubt.
“No…” he muttered hoarsely. “I do not doubt you.”
“Marcus Antonius is dead,” Nathan said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “But that alone will not halt Caesar’s ambition. If anything, it will only fuel it. Especially now that Pompey has escaped… Caesar’s fury grows stronger by the day.”
Crassus froze, his face draining of color. “P…Pompey? No… no, that’s impossible. I saw it with my own eyes—his head severed, paraded before the crowds on the day of the gladiator tournant.”
Nathan tilted his head slightly, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. He studied Crassus as though amused by his naivety.
“It… it cannot be…” Crassus muttered, his voice trembling.
“Caesar wanted Pompey’s Key of Ro,” Nathan explained, his voice slow and deliberate, each word cutting like a blade. “And more than that, he wanted the knowledge Pompey carried. That false body you saw was nothing but a trick, a puppet for the crowd. In truth, Caesar kept him alive long enough to strip him of what he needed. But fate was not in his favor. Pompey slipped his grasp. Ro lost the Key—and that loss cuts deeper for Caesar than you realize.”
Crassus stared blankly, his thoughts reeling. “Has he gone mad…?” he whispered.
Nathan gave a low, humorless chuckle. “He has always been mad. What makes him dangerous is that he is mad andclever. But…” His eyes glinted with cold confidence. “I am cleverer still. That is why I am here, Crassus. To warn you. Take precautions imdiately—but keep your mask in front of Caesar. He must believe you are still blind to his sches.”
Crassus drew a long, steady breath, forcing himself to nod. His gaze lingered on Nathan, searching his expression for even a flicker of uncertainty. “You truly an to take Caesar down…?”
“I do,” Nathan said simply, almost casually, as though the fate of an emperor were already decided. “In fact, it is already half done.”
Crassus’s heart skipped. For a mont he wondered if the man was bluffing, posturing in order to draw him into so hidden plot. Yet when Nathan leaned forward, his pale hair catching the lamplight, his expression was carved from iron. There was no jest in him. No hesitation.
“But to ensure you live long enough to see it,” Nathan continued, raising a hand, “I will leave you with protection.”
He snapped his fingers.
The air shimred, bending like heat over stone, and then from the shadows erged a figure who had been there all along. A woman. She was cloaked in a flowing gown of deepest black, her face half-concealed beneath a veil, her long hair dark as midnight. Her presence seed unnatural, her silence oppressive.
Crassus’s breath caught. He had not sensed her until this mont.
“This is dea,” Nathan said. “She has been at my side since the beginning. You needn’t know more than that. She will remain unseen, yet she will guard you from whatever treachery Caesar may attempt. Treat her well. Do not waste her ti with idle questions.”
Crassus gave a slow, reluctant nod. The thought unsettled him, yet deep within, so part of him felt relief. If Nathan had truly ant to end his life, he could have done so at any mont this evening. Leaving behind such a guardian ant his intentions—whatever they were—were genuine.
But why?
Unless—
“You understand quickly,” Nathan interrupted, his gaze narrowing.
Crassus t his eyes. “You want my daughter…”
The words hung heavy between them.
Nathan did not answer. He rely held Crassus’s gaze in silence. There was no denial, no confirmation—only the weight of possibility. What was he truly thinking? Could it be that all of this, the warnings, the protection, the defiance of Caesar, was for the sake of Licinia?
Crassus doubted it. He could not believe that Nathan, of all n, would go to such lengths rely for the hand of a young woman. And yet Nathan’s silence gnawed at him, leaving the thought unresolved.
No… Crassus told himself. This is larger than Licinia. It must be. Perhaps he ans to bind to him, to secure my allegiance for whatever cos after Caesar falls. Perhaps… perhaps even to claim Ro itself.
But Nathan said nothing more. He rely rose from his seat, the long shadows of the chamber clinging to him as if reluctant to let him go.
“Rember what I am doing for you,” he said at last, his voice low and final.
He cast a fleeting glance at dea—a silent command, a private exchange that passed in an instant—and then he moved toward the terrace. With a swift, fluid motion, he vaulted over the balustrade and vanished into the night, leaving only the whisper of wind in his wake.
Crassus sank back into his chair, exhaling a long, weary sigh. His body trembled with the weight of what had just transpired. He turned, aning to speak to dea, but she was already gone. Not gone entirely—no, he could still feel the faint prickle of unseen eyes upon him. She was there, lurking in the shadows, watching over him as Nathan had promised.
For the first ti in many nights, Crassus felt sothing close to safety. A fragile relief.
“F… Father…”
The voice startled him.
The door to his quarters opened slowly, and in the threshold stood Licinia.
She was flushed, her cheeks burning scarlet, her hands clutched nervously at the folds of her dress. She had clearly been standing there for so ti—listening.
Crassus’s heart sank.
She had heard everything.
Not only that Nathan sought Caesar’s downfall, but also the damning implication—that Nathan had acted for her.
In truth, Crassus had not ant it that way. He had only ant to imply that should Caesar fall, and Crassus himself rise as the sole Emperor of Ro, then if Nathan were to wed Licinia, he could very well claim the throne after him. It was a matter of politics, of survival, of empire.
But Licinia’s young heart was overwheld, her mind awhirl with thoughts not of politics but of passion.
To her, it was not strategy. It was devotion.
Nathan had moved heaven and earth not for Ro… not for her father… but for her.
Her chest tightened, her lips trembling as though she could barely contain the storm of emotion rising within.
Crassus saw the look in her eyes and groaned inwardly. Oh, gods… this will only make matters more complicated.
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