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Cyrus's hand trembled as he held the sword, his heart filled with conflict. This gleaming, cold sword was not only a tool of judgment, but also a test of Cyrus's own morals and beliefs. His gaze was deep and complex, struggling to find a solution that would both adhere to legion discipline and bring him peace of mind.
Lucius's shouting exploded in Cyrus's ears, the words full of provocation and anger cutting into his heart like knives. But Cyrus worked to push these voices to the back of his mind, focusing on the sword in his hand. A hint of pain flickered in his eyes, the struggle of a soldier torn between duty and personal morality.
Cyrus slowly raised the sword above his head, the blade shimmering with a cold light in the sunlight. In this moment, his figure seemed frozen in time, becoming the center of this tragedy. His breath grew heavier, each inhale feeling like a struggle with his own conscience. In his heart, every drop of blood boiled for this moment of decision.
Lucius's mad words continued, but a firm determination rose in Cyrus's heart. This was the loyalty of a soldier to discipline and duty, as well as the punishment for injustice. His arm began to move downward, the tip of the sword slowly descending toward Lucius's exposed neck. In the midst of this play of light and shadow, Cyrus's face appeared unusually calm, but his heart was like a turbulent sea.
At this moment, the entire scene seemed to freeze, with only Cyrus's sword cutting through the air with a cold determination, each movement carrying a heavy weight. He knew deep down that this sword was not just a judgment upon Lucius, but also a test of his own humanity. In this fleeting moment of life and death, Cyrus's soul underwent an unprecedented baptism.
As Cyrus's sword fell, it instantly severed Lucius's lifeline, freezing all mockery and arrogance on Lucius's face. A hint of disbelief flashed in his eyes, the mocking smile still lingering on his lips, but lacking the strength to complete that final taunt. Lucius's face appeared particularly pale in that moment, as if one could see the struggle and helplessness of his final moments etched upon it. His eyes widened, seemingly questioning the cruelty of the world and the injustice of his own fate.
The head of Lucius was carefully lifted by the soldier, and the once ambitious and proud face now only showed the tranquility of death. His mouth, once full of anger and sarcasm, was now slightly ajar, as if trying to say something but unable to. His face still bore the final expression - a hint of arrogance, a hint of unwillingness, and deep fear.
Lucius's body leaned forward with a heavy thud, as if releasing all its weight in this final moment. His body lay quietly on the ground, the former grandeur and arrogance now gone, leaving only an empty shell.
This scene deeply made Cyrus feel the cruelty of war and the fragility of life. His hand still tightly gripped the sword, and the bloodstains on the sword solidified the conflict and struggle in his heart. This was not just an execution, but also a profound examination of his own inner self. Cyrus's eyes shimmered with complex emotions - a firm commitment to justice, compassion for his comrades, the sorrow of ending a life, and uncertainty about the future. In this moment, he was not just an executor, but a soul deeply mired in the mire of war, seeking answers on his own path.
With Constantine leading the applause, a thunderous cheer erupted throughout the camp. Cyrus's soldiers were swept up in this atmosphere and began to cheer and applaud as well. Their cheers were not only a punishment for Lucius's act of betrayal, but also an appreciation for Cyrus's courage in carrying out orders and upholding justice.
Cyrus is in the midst of the jubilant atmosphere, feeling complex emotions. He wipes the fresh blood off his sword, plunges it deep into the ground, then looks up at Pluto on the high platform and firmly reports, "Centurion Lucius has been executed, sir!" Though his tone remains respectful, his eyes reveal the toughness and fearlessness honed on the battlefield.
On the high platform, Pluto maintains a stern expression, but upon hearing Cyrus's report, he nods, seemingly approving of Cyrus's performance. His gaze sweeps across the entire camp, sensing the soldiers' passion and thirst for justice. At this moment, Pluto deeply understands the weight of his responsibility. He knows that this distant war will be a challenging journey.
Cyrus's soldiers continued to cheer under the leadership of Constantine. The high morale was not only due to the punishment of deserters, but also the trust and respect for Cyrus, the new centurion. Amidst the iron and blood on the battlefield, they found a sense of unity and hope for the future. All of this was reflected in their trust in Cyrus.
Under Pluto's harsh judgment, the captured veterans were brought to the execution ground one by one, facing merciless death sentences. The atmosphere in the camp became heavy and solemn at that moment. Cyrus stood in front of his team, his eyes devoid of the previous fervor, replaced only by deep contemplation and subtle sadness.
He watched in silence as the executioner carried out Pluto's orders, the sound of each beheading striking his heart like a heavy blow. These were once his comrades-in-arms, now turned into the bodies of rebels. Cyrus struggled within, the cruelty of war and the severity of military law deeply imprinted on his heart in this moment.
On this night, Legio IX lost a senior General and eleven veterans. These deaths were not just numerical losses, but also left a mark on the soul of every soldier. Cyrus stood there, watching the soldiers depart one by one, the night sky filled with the smell of burning wood and the lingering heavy atmosphere. He knew deeply that from this night on, he would face even more difficult challenges and decisions.
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