In the Carthaginian Senate, the offensive faction led by the Masiasnid family—buoyed by immense public support—launched a scathing critique against Hanno’s conservative bloc. Their proposal to besiege Syracuse and rebuild Carthage’s northern security barrier was ultimately ratified.

Consequently, the Senate once again appointed Himilco, patriarch of the Masiasnid family and one of the two Suffetes, as supreme commander. Orders were dispatched to recall the expeditionary forces from the Iberian Peninsula—troops currently led by Himilco’s brother, Masias—while the state machine began the massive undertaking of procuring grain for the coming campaign.

***

Meanwhile, a day prior, upheaval struck Grumentum.

Two northern minor tribes under its jurisdiction, the Rude and the Brina, escalated a territorial dispute into an armed conflict. When Bagulos, the city’s Chief Administrator, personally arrived to mediate, he was unexpectedly besieged by tribal warriors. Caught off guard, Bagulos only managed to escape back to Grumentum thanks to his guards, who fought to the death to break the encirclement.

News soon spread from within the city: Bagulos was critically wounded and clinging to life. The city gates were slammed shut, and martial law was declared, yet strangely, no army was dispatched to suppress the two tribes that had openly raised the banner of rebellion.

Panic rippled through the outlying tribes under Grumentum’s rule as wild rumors began to swirl.

The intelligence reached Pyxus and Potentia with lightning speed.

“Son, that old fox Puamote has finally made his move!” Cincinnag paced the room, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and anxiety. “We cannot wait any longer. We must mobilize immediately and attack Grumentum!”

“Father, didn’t you say we should wait for Potentia to move first?” Gnaenat asked, confused by his father’s sudden fervor.

“ The situation has changed! Potentia hasn’t marched an army, but they have already acted. Didn’t you hear? ‘The Lord of Grumentum was ambushed and heavily injured.’ This is surely Puamote’s handiwork, secretly inciting those tribes bordering Potentia! By all logic, the Theonians should have sent an army to exact bloody vengeance on those rebels. But they didn’t. Instead, they locked their gates. What does that tell you?!”

Cincinnag waved his arms wildly. “It proves the Theonians have no spare troops to suppress a rebellion! Their soldiers have all been siphoned off to attack Bruttium.”

He continued, eyes gleaming with greed. “Why was the Bruttian envoy yesterday so much calmer than the last time he begged for our alliance? He stated it clearly: ‘Theonia sent nearly twenty thousand men to attack the Bruttian mountains from the north, yet they cannot reach Vergae and have suffered heavy casualties. Another ten thousand attacked Clampetia from the south but remain blocked outside the mountains, unable to advance a single step.’ Theonia is bogged down in a quagmire of war with the Bruttians. That is why they only wish to defend Grumentum city.”

“Now, the tribes of Grumentum are like calves who have lost their mother—terrified and confused. We must beat Potentia to the prize! If we march immediately into Grumentum’s territory, those tribes will inevitably defect to us, and our ranks will swell rapidly. By the time Puamote arrives, it will be too late. Grumentum will belong to Pyxus!”

At the thought of his impending victory, Cincinnag couldn’t suppress a sinister cackle.

“Father, I will summon the warriors at once!” Gnaenat, his blood boiling from his father’s speech, strode out of the hall.

Behind him, Cincinnag’s voice dripped with long-held malice. “Cunning Theonians… you dared to steal my Grumentum. I have finally waited for the day of vengeance! Oh, God Asinus, I, Cincinnag, shall sacrifice the blood of Greeks to you. Grant me your protection!”

***

“Brother, why are you still hesitating?!” Polet shouted, pacing anxiously. “ The people of Pyxus have already made the first move! That cunning Cincinnag must have won over the tribes of Grumentum and engineered the blow against Theonia’s Bagulos! Their army has surely departed by now. If we don’t march, Grumentum will fall into their hands!”

In contrast to the hot-headed Polet, Puamote—the Great Chief of Potentia, a man past fifty—sat motionless on his wooden chair. He didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow at the outburst.

“I will say it again,” Puamote said slowly. “We wait.”

“Brother! If you’re unwilling to take the risk, let me take a detachment of warriors and rush to Grumentum first—”

“Polet!” Puamote’s expression hardened. He stared at his younger brother with cold authority. “I am still the master of Potentia. If you wish to issue orders, wait until I am dead.”

Polet instantly fell silent. There was a twenty-year age gap between them; with their father dying young, he had practically been raised by his elder brother. They were brothers by blood, but their dynamic was more akin to father and son.

“Polet,” Puamote’s tone softened slightly. “Don’t forget how we lost Grumentum in the first place.”

Polet remained silent, though his expression betrayed his lingering defiance.

Puamote sighed, his face growing grave. “I know that for years you have blamed me for being too cautious, for not interfering in internal Lucanian disputes, for letting Akpiru grow powerful before, and now for refusing to bite into the fat meat that is Grumentum… But you must understand, Potentia is different from Pyxus or Grumentum. They are surrounded by other Lucanians. To our north, however, lie the terrifying Samnites.”

He leaned forward. “Do not forget the warnings our ancestors passed down: ‘We were driven into these mountains from the north by those very Samnites.’ Just because the Samnite tribes haven’t fought us recently doesn’t mean we are safe. It is only because we have enough warriors, and they are busy dealing with the Greeks to the west, that we have peace. But if our strength wanes… do you think those hungry wolves will spare Potentia?”

Polet’s expression shifted.

“At the beginning of the year, I failed to resist your repeated pleas and marched on Grumentum. In the end, you and our warriors were captured by the Theonians… Do you know…” Puamote lowered his voice. “During that time, the Samnites sent an envoy to me. They offered to lend me troops to help defeat the Theonians.”

Polet was visibly shaken. “There was such a thing?! Did you agree?!”

“Agree?” Puamote sneered. “If I had agreed, Potentia would already belong to Samnium. Fortunately, we made peace with Theonia in time, and they released you. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief.”

He looked toward the south. “Now, the situation in Grumentum is complicated. The war between Theonia and Bruttium is unpredictable. I cannot see the outcome clearly… and when I cannot see clearly, I do not move troops lightly. If Cincinnag wants to snatch Grumentum, let him try. The Theonians are not so easily dealt with.”

Polet fell into a thoughtful silence, though a hint of reluctance remained. “If that is the case, Brother, why did you agree to the alliance with the Bruttians?”

A sharp glint flashed through Puamote’s cloudy eyes. “An alliance is merely another path open to us, should Asinus bless us with a perfect opportunity… So, for now, we calm our hearts. And we wait.”

***

Pianlun whipped his horse, galloping back to Consentia just in time to intercept Nycou, who had hastily returned from Clampetia with his troops. It took considerable effort to convince the furious chieftain to remain in Consentia and wait for the main army to assemble before attacking Besidiae together.

However, not long after, scouts returned with a report: The Greeks are building a fortress on the road leading from Besidiae to the plateau.

Pianlun could no longer sit still. If the Greeks were allowed to complete a fortress there, retaking Besidiae would become exponentially more difficult. He had no choice but to let Nycou lead his own warriors to disrupt the construction, reinforcing him with a thousand warriors from other tribes, while repeatedly warning him not to engage the Greeks in a pitched battle.

Nycou led his troops in a forced march, burning with impatience. After three hours, the Greeks came into view.

Nycou’s eyes widened in shock. The exit of the mountain pass had been transformed into a massive, frenzied construction site. Pits were being dug, stakes driven, and timber hauled in a scene of bustling activity. A wooden wall—three meters high and stretching dozens of meters across—already loomed over the path. It boasted a gatehouse, battlements, trenches, and abatis; essentially every facility a fortress required was already in place.

Nycou had moved quickly, but a day and a half had passed since the Theonian Second Legion occupied Besidiae. Legion Commander Drakos had seized every second of that time, dividing his 7,000 soldiers into three shifts to work day and night. The soldiers, knowing the urgency of their situation, exerted every ounce of their strength. Combined with prefabricated defensive structures brought by the engineering battalion, the fortress had already taken shape by the time Nycou arrived.

When the Theonian scouts spotted the Bruttian column, they immediately raced back to report. Military bugles blared from the fortress, and the laboring soldiers began to retreat behind the walls, moving without panic.

Although Nycou was astonished by the speed of the Theonian construction—remembering that dismantling the fortress facing Consentia had taken seven or eight days—his anger at the Greeks acting so brazenly on his land eclipsed his surprise.

“Kill the Greeks outside the walls!”

At his command, the horns sounded. The Bruttian warriors, fueled by hatred for the enemies who had stolen their homes, charged like ferocious wolves toward the Theonian soldiers, who appeared unarmored and unarmed.

Under the command of their officers, the Theonian soldiers did not break rank. They withdrew through the fortress gate in an orderly fashion. Some soldiers at the rear of the column even had the leisure to glance back, seemingly expecting a good show.

Fifty meters from the wooden wall, the charging Besidiae warriors suddenly erupted in screams.

Row after row of men collapsed, their momentum shattered. When they pulled their feet from the earth, they were dripping with blood. Some had their soles pierced by sharp wooden stakes buried in the grass; others had their flesh torn open by iron caltrops, while narrow ankle-breaking pits snapped bones with sickening crunches…