The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 64 The Fight

Chapter 64: Chapter 64 The Fight

Bourkos hesitated briefly. Though reluctant, he chose to reveal the truth. After all, it was no secret, and he didn’t want to risk damaging the trust he and Juleios had begun to build. "When Thurii was established, Athens and Croton made an agreement: ’Croton and Thurii shall maintain peace, Thurii shall not be built on the ruins of Sybaris, and Sybaris itself must remain as it is.’"

"Arrogant Croton!" Juleios said, raising an eyebrow. "Was it their way of displaying their strength to everyone passing through by showcasing this desolate ruin?"

"Perhaps." Bourkos shrugged, forcing a sense of calm. "But it also serves as a constant warning to the people of Thurii—never repeat the mistakes of Sybaris."

"Thurii must have incredible patience," Juleios said with a smirk. His lighthearted tone was meant to diffuse the tension, but Bourkos’s expression darkened. Yet Juleios couldn’t resist asking, "By setting up camp here, aren’t we violating that agreement?"

Feigning nonchalance, Bourkos waved it off. "The situation is urgent, and I trust that Croton will understand."

"Well, let’s hope the Crotonians share your perspective," Juleios remarked with a faint smile, his tone laden with implication.

Bourkos said no more. He had seen Juleios’s sharpness before and was certain the young leader had already seen through the nuances of the matter.

The group continued their trek. The debris of broken walls and scattered stones gradually diminished, while the ground beneath their feet became smoother and flatter.

At the front of the group, Phelicius halted suddenly and turned back. "Leader," he called out to Juleios, "I think this would make an ideal center for constructing the camp."

Juleios climbed atop a large stone nearby, using the elevated vantage point to scan the area. To the north, roughly 200 meters away, was the previously established mercenary camp they had encountered earlier. To the south lay the Crathis River, its gentle flow glinting in the sunlight. To the east, the vast expanse of the sea stretched endlessly. To the west, fertile farmland spread out in patches, dotted with the occasional small structure.

Juleios jumped down from the rock, planting his right foot firmly into the soil to test its texture. Beneath the thin layer of dirt, his boot struck something hard. He crouched and brushed some dirt aside, revealing remnants of stone bricks—likely the original paving of Sybaris’s central streets.

"This must have been the city’s heart," Juleios thought to himself. The realization solidified his decision. He straightened up, nodded decisively, and said, "This will do."

Phelicius nodded and headed back toward the pier to relay the orders to the soldiers still unloading supplies.

At that moment, a commotion arose in the distance. From the opposite mercenary camp, a group of over 30 men emerged, running in their direction.

"Hey! Where are you lot from?" one of them shouted as he approached, his voice gruff and authoritative.

Bourkos recognized the leader immediately and stepped forward. "Drakos," he began, "this is Juleios, leader of the Thessalian mercenaries invited by Thurii. Like you, they will fight against the Lucanians."

"Is that so?" Drakos said, his tone skeptical as his gaze shifted to Juleios. The young leader’s age visibly surprised him. His expression carried a mix of curiosity and condescension. Then, noticing Asistes and the guards marking and measuring the ground, Drakos’s expression darkened. "What are they doing?"

Juleios interjected calmly, "We’re establishing our camp. From now on, our armies will be neighbors."

"You’re camping here?!" Drakos’s eyes widened as his voice rose sharply.

"It’s convenient," Juleios replied, unfazed by the outburst. "We’ll be close enough to support each other if necessary."

"Support? Don’t drag us down! This spot is unsuitable for a camp. Move at least 300 meters south!" Drakos barked, his tone brooking no argument.

"Three hundred meters south would place us right by the river," Juleios pointed out.

"That’s your problem, not mine. Figure it out, but get out of here immediately!" Drakos declared, crossing his arms and planting his feet as if daring anyone to challenge him.

"Drakos, this is Thurii’s land!" Bourkos snapped, his voice ringing with authority. "You have no right to make such demands!"

Drakos sneered. "Thurii designated these ruins as our mercenary camp. That gives us authority here. We were here first!"

Bourkos opened his mouth to argue further, but Juleios raised a hand, stopping him.

"I see," Juleios said coldly, his lips curling into a faint smile. "It seems that, around here, authority is determined by strength."

"Oh? You’re a quick learner, kid," Drakos said, smirking. "What now? Want to settle this with a fight?"

Juleios didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he motioned for Asistes to come closer and whispered, "Bring the troops. Tell them there’s an opportunity to stretch their legs."

"Understood!" Asistes responded eagerly, sprinting back toward the pier.

Turning to his guards, Juleios said, "Martius, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!"

Martius, a renowned fighter in his former unit, had been biding his time for an opportunity like this. With a fierce grin, he led the 30 guards in a charge behind Juleios, their movements swift and disciplined like a pack of wolves closing in on prey.

Drakos barely had time to react before Juleios reached him. Swinging a heavy fist at Juleios, Drakos aimed for his opponent’s head.

But Juleios, anticipating the move, ducked low and surged forward, closing in on Drakos’s right side.

Before Drakos could recover, Juleios’s left fist struck his ribs with lightning speed. The blow forced an involuntary groan as Drakos instinctively doubled over. Juleios followed up with a devastating right hook to the chin, sending Drakos’s large frame airborne before he crashed to the ground, motionless.

The entire exchange lasted mere seconds. Martius and the guards engaged Drakos’s group with ruthless precision. Despite being outnumbered, they quickly overwhelmed their opponents, who fought like scattered sand—disorganized and poorly coordinated. Within minutes, Drakos’s men were sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

The sound of pounding footsteps drew everyone’s attention.

"Juleios, we’re here!" Matonis shouted, leading reinforcements as they arrived at a sprint.

Juleios glanced toward the enemy camp, where more men were spilling out. Observing their slower pace, he called out, "Match their numbers! Take turns to fight, and knock them all down, but no killing!"

The soldiers cheered, their excitement palpable as they prepared to meet their adversaries.

What followed was a chaotic brawl involving hundreds of men. The fight, however, was one-sided. As Drakos’s remaining soldiers saw their comrades collapsing and writhing in agony, they hesitated and eventually retreated, unwilling to face further humiliation.

Bourkos, observing the aftermath, felt both relief and concern. "Wasn’t that a bit excessive? How will you work with Drakos’s group after this?"

Flexing his knuckles, Juleios smiled and replied, "You don’t understand mercenaries. After this, there won’t just be no friction—they’ll also understand who’s really in charge here."

His confident words gave Bourkos new insight into Juleios’s leadership.