The Beast No Sword Can Slay

The Mediterranean wind couldn't cool Caesar's fever. Standing in the Roman Forum, surrounded by senators who once cheered his name, he felt their stares like daggers. Twenty-three wounds would soon pierce his flesh, but the fatal cut had already been made. By his own hand. By his own blindness.

Caesar could command a hundred thousand men across frozen rivers and hostile territories. He could calculate supply lines, outmaneuver enemies, inspire loyalty in soldiers who would die for his vision. But he couldn't see himself as others saw him.