Chapter 24: The Final Battle
Chapter 24: The Final Battle
Three days later, Crassus issued a military order to annihilate the rebels who had set up camp on the hill.
The Roman army immediately prepared for battle.
The sight of eight legions moving in unison was so impressive it could be likened to a human wave.
In reality, the rebels were already trapped. Surrounded and with no way out, they were effectively cornered.
There was no need to launch an attack. A continued siege would have sufficed to force the rebels to starve to death.
Crassus, however, chose to launch a full assault for a simple reason.
“Pompey… he won’t help me until the end.”
Crassus clenched his teeth as he observed the legionnaires finishing their preparations.
“He’s already earned enough military merit, but his greed is insatiable.”
Crassus had initially planned to continue the siege for at least another week before beginning the battle. He believed that, by exhausting the rebels, he could easily eliminate them and then report a glorious victory.
But Pompey’s legion returned to Rome faster than anticipated. They had already moved into the northern part of the Italian peninsula and were advancing south at an alarming speed.
The news that Pompey’s legion had passed west of Capua reached Crassus’s camp the day before.
As a result, Crassus scrapped his plan to prolong the siege and decided to launch a total attack. If Pompey’s legion joined in, the credit for defeating the rebels would be shared, a scenario Crassus could not accept.
The Roman army’s sudden shift to combat readiness was immediately noticed by the rebels on the hill.
“Are they going to attack?” Crixus asked incredulously.
They had been maintaining a solid siege until the previous day. It was baffling why the Romans had suddenly changed their strategy.
“Well, it’s good news for us. We were considering launching a total attack tomorrow anyway.”
The rebels’ food supplies were dwindling, and they had enough for only about a week. Though attacking the Roman camp was nearly suicidal, they had no other viable option.
“We can at least have a good fight as we go out.”
The shift to offensive tactics by the Romans did not give the rebels a real chance of winning. However, it did offer them a glimmer of hope: the opportunity to fight back rather than surrendering without resistance.
“Ashur, tell the men to stay vigilant. Even if they attack us first, we will still be at a significant disadvantage.”
“Yes, Captain. But are you sure you want to fight on the front line? It might be wiser to observe the situation and join the battle later…”
“This is the final battle. As I said before, the command is yours. Remember what I told you yesterday.”
“Aren’t you pushing yourself too hard? You went to the Roman camp alone last time. If the Romans had set a trap, we could have lost our commander in a senseless manner.”
“It would have been better if they did. We are not their equals, just rebel slaves. To capture and execute a commander who came to parley alone would be a huge joke. The Romans’ pride wouldn’t allow that.”
Crixus drew his sword and raised it to the sky as he observed the Roman army fully prepared for battle.
Chwa chwa chwong
In response, the 30,000-strong rebel force drew their swords and lifted them high. The sunlight reflecting off their blades created a magnificent display on the hill.
“Listen, my proud comrades!” Crixus’s voice rang out.
“I won’t say much. It has been an honor to fight alongside you. Let’s show the Romans our final resolve! Don’t be afraid. I will lead the charge. No one here will fall with a sword in their back!”
At the same time, Crassus drew his weapon and aimed it at the hill.
“All troops, form up and advance! Today is our day of victory. The heroes who will quell this rebellion will be none other than us!”
“Waaaaah!”
The ground shook from the footsteps of approximately 80,000 soldiers. The 30,000 rebels charged down the hill, while 50,000 Roman legionaries climbed up.
Spears filled the air as the battle commenced.
The front lines, made up of the youngest soldiers, charged forward.
“Kill the rebels!”
“Don’t give up! Let’s give the Romans one last blow!”
A melee erupted as both sides clashed. The terrain was unsuitable for cavalry, so the fight was fierce and direct.
Curses, screams, and the clash of weapons filled the air.
The inability of the Romans to use cavalry did not put them at a disadvantage. In fact, it was in hand-to-hand combat between infantry that the Roman army’s true strength became evident.
The vigorous hastati in the front line wore down the enemy’s stamina, while the seasoned principes in the second line pressed the attack. The triarii, the oldest veterans, waited in reserve, ready to move tactically and support their allies when needed.
This was the traditional Roman infantry formation known as the manipular system. It allowed for coordinated movements that other armies struggled to match. Although Marius’s military reforms had abolished the three-line system and unified their weapons, the principles of systematic formation continued to influence their tactics.
While a gladiator’s individual combat skills might surpass those of a Roman soldier, this advantage was neutralized in a group battle. Most of the rebels had few skilled gladiators, leading to an overwhelming advantage for the Romans.
The Romans wielded their spathas and gladii to stab the rebels, smashed their skulls with spears, and crushed their throats with shields. Despite the rebels’ fierce resistance, the disparity in strength was insurmountable.
“If you need reinforcements for the center line, send the available centurions!”
“The flank is collapsing! Focus the attack there!”
Under the centurions' command, the Roman army moved with precise coordination. These centurions, responsible for managing the troops on the front lines, were crucial to the army's effectiveness. Their abilities were particularly valuable in this close-combat scenario.
As the battle wore on, the rebels’ strength waned. The number of Romans remained relatively stable, while the number of rebels decreased rapidly.
If it weren’t for their last-ditch effort to show defiance, the rebels would have already collapsed. They clung to life with a single-minded determination that did not fear death.
Their persistence was not in vain. Despite the chaos and potential for terror, the battle continued unabated. As Crixus had said, no one turned their back.
The rebels' injuries were concentrated on their torsos and faces, a testament to their fierce resistance.
Another reason for their continued endurance was the presence of Crixus and his gladiators, who fought valiantly on the front line.
“Come on, come on! You won’t end this war until you step over my corpse!” Crixus roared, driving his sword into the heart of a Roman legionary.
The elite gladiators under his command were not just mentally strong; their skills matched their fierce spirit. Crixus moved with ferocity, slashing through the Roman ranks like an enraged lion.
Even from a distance, Crassus could clearly see Crixus’s prowess.
“The more I see him, the more I pity him. He would have made a great soldier if he had been born Roman,” Crassus muttered to himself before turning to Spartacus.
“Are you sure you can win?”
“I can win,” Spartacus replied firmly, stepping forward with unwavering resolve.
Crassus, however, had reservations. He knew Crixus couldn’t maintain such intensity forever. As a human, he was bound by physical limits, and facing him with full force would soon reveal those limits. Crassus felt no need to engage in a one-on-one duel; if Crixus was defeated, it would likely drag the fight out unnecessarily.
Despite these tactical considerations, Crassus was influenced by Marcus’s persuasion. The honor of the duel, rather than military strategy, was now driving his decision.
“Everyone in Rome knows that Spartacus is a gladiator of the Crassus family. The merit of a slave also reflects on his master. If Spartacus defeats the enemy leader, it will significantly enhance our family’s prestige.”
“But what if he loses?”
“Didn’t you see Spartacus’s fight in Rome? He won’t lose. Of course, there are backup plans in case he does,” Marcus said, though the latter part was more bluff than reality. Nonetheless, it was enough to reassure Crassus.
Although one-on-one duels had become less common in state battles due to evolving military strategies, notable examples still existed. Marcellus, known as the Sword of Rome, had fought and defeated Viridomarus, the chief of the Gallic Insubres tribe, earning great honor.
Crassus, aware of Pompey’s recent successes against Sertorius, was tempted by the prospect of similar glory. To rival Pompey’s prestige, he needed a significant victory.
Crassus had no issues with preparing for potential setbacks. He chose to trust Marcus’s words.
“Good. Go and defeat the enemy leader. Bring honor to our family, and no one will call you a slave anymore,” Crassus said, implying that victory would grant Spartacus his freedom.
Any other slave would have been thrilled by such a promise, but Spartacus was indifferent. His loyalty was to Marcus alone, regardless of his status. He had vowed to live by that principle for the rest of his life.
He pushed through the crowd and approached Crixus.
Even amidst the chaos, Crixus noticed his friend’s approach and smiled faintly. He severed a Roman soldier’s neck and roared, “The one who takes my neck will be the hero who ends this war!”
The Roman soldiers’ eyes flashed with temptation, but no one acted recklessly. The central army halted their attack briefly.
In the ensuing silence, a voice like thunder rang out from behind the Roman lines.
“I’m your opponent, Crixus.”
All attention turned to him. Crassus, the Roman commander-in-chief, allowed the duel, and Crixus, the leader of the rebels, accepted.
The central line, caught in the midst of the battle, observed a temporary truce. With the center paused, other parts of the battlefield also momentarily ceased.
Crixus, surveying the scene, sneered. Despite the truce, the rebels were nearing their limit. The once 30,000-strong suicide squad had already lost a third of its numbers since the battle began.
On the other hand, the Romans sustained minimal damage. They remained a formidable force.
Crixus turned away from the corpses of his fallen comrades and leveled his sword at Spartacus. It was time to end their relationship and lives, however long or short they had been.
“Let’s settle this.”
Spartacus did not immediately draw his sword. Instead, he slowly shook his head and spoke.
“Catch your breath first. I don’t want to fight you when you’re exhausted.”
Crixus’s eyebrows twitched slightly, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. Unlike Spartacus, who had been absent from the battle until now, Crixus had been fighting continuously against the Romans. He was wary of the risk of losing in such a state.
Indeed, Marcus had planned for Spartacus to join the fight after the battle had begun, anticipating this very scenario.
Spartacus removed his lorica hamata, his chainmail armor.
“You won’t fully recover your stamina even if you rest for a bit. I’ll remove my armor too, so it won’t be a boring fight.”
Marcus, observing from a distance, touched his forehead and shook his head. He had set up a scenario where victory would be easy but had chosen a more challenging route. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but smile at Spartacus’s impressive display of confidence.
If Spartacus lost in such a manner, it would be a significant blow, but Spartacus’s confidence in his skills remained unwavering.
Crixus sensed an ominous aura and took deep, steadying breaths to regain his strength.
“You’re different from when I last saw you. You’re truly an intriguing opponent.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t go easy on you.”
“Ha! Who asked you to?”
A faint smile appeared on both their faces, brimming with fighting spirit. They drew their spathas and took their stances.
The sunlight glinted off Spartacus’s blade, creating a sparkling trail. The two gladiators, representing their era, rushed at each other and unleashed their full abilities.
Clash! Clash! Clash!
He’s incredibly strong!
Spartacus had sensed it before during their clashes, but Crixus was stronger than anyone else he had faced. Crixus’s sword displayed agility and speed that Spartacus had yet to achieve.
Crixus’s perception of Spartacus was similar. Spartacus’s sword wielded a destructive power that Crixus could never match.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The metallic clashes, each more jarring than the last, echoed with a force that seemed to pierce the eardrums. They had lost count of how many times their swords had collided.
A single blow could determine their fate, but neither combatant backed away. They fought with all their strength.
Bang!
Their swords met mid-air, forcing them to recoil.
Spartacus swiftly closed the gap and swung his sword again. Crixus, still reeling from the impact, felt a surge of danger.
Yet Crixus’s experience and skill allowed him to turn the crisis into an advantage. He maneuvered his sword with flexibility, deflecting Spartacus’s attack and using the force of the impact to create some distance. He then countered with a fierce thrust.
Swoosh!
Crixus’s blade streaked past Spartacus’s shoulder, narrowly missing him. The sword moved with a complexity that made its direction hard to predict.
Crixus’s attack was a blend of fundamental skills honed through intense training and the ruthless precision developed through countless battles. It was a perfection that left no openings.
“Haap!”
Blood flowed from a shallow cut on Spartacus’s arm as Crixus’s shout rang out. Although it wasn’t a deep wound, the sharp pain was unmistakable.
If there’s no gap, I’ll create one! No matter how fast or complex Crixus’s swordplay is, I’m stronger.
Confidence in oneself is the key to victory in swordsmanship.
Though Crixus had become incredibly strong, Spartacus had also grown stronger. There was no reason he couldn’t defeat an opponent he had beaten before.
Spartacus’s sword steadied after a brief moment of disorientation. Their swords had clashed hundreds of times in rapid succession.
“Is this really a human fight…”
Someone muttered in awe, and soon that sentiment echoed among everyone watching the duel. Hearts raced with excitement as they witnessed this extraordinary confrontation.
Swish!
Crixus’s sword narrowly missed Spartacus’s side, slicing through the air.
Spartacus’s sword moved like lightning, delivering a powerful strike.
Crixus backed away, unable to block the attack.
It was a mistake.
Spartacus’s blade flashed brightly as he surged forward with the force of his swing.
Seeing no room to evade, Crixus gritted his teeth and charged forward.
The swords of both men clashed.
In the fleeting moment, Spartacus glimpsed the bright smile of his long-lost friend.
He narrowly avoided Crixus’s incoming strike and delivered a decisive blow.
Chwaak!
Spartacus felt the impact so acutely that it pained his heart.
A vivid spray of blood erupted from Crixus’s chest.
A trace of sadness crossed Spartacus’s face as he gazed into Crixus’s fading eyes.
Crixus drove his sword into the ground, barely managing to support his collapsing body. He exhaled heavily, his voice tinged with a strange sense of relief.
“To lose twice to the same opponent… I thought it would be more… shameful to lose to you again…”
“Crixus…”
Though their skills were nearly equal, one sought to leave a legacy through death, while the other aimed to survive and live on. Their differing perspectives on the future determined the outcome.
Thud.
At last, Crixus’s body fell to the ground, marking the end of the rebellion.
“I have one final thing to say…”
Crixus’s voice, devoid of fighting spirit or fear, carried only concern for his teacher, disciple, and friend.
“Our path ends here, but yours is just beginning… You understand that, right? As long as you live, we are not truly dead. Carry our will in your heart…”
“I know. I will dedicate my remaining life to ensuring your sacrifices were not in vain. Rest in peace.”
“Ha ha… I trust you…”
Crixus’s voice trailed off.
He lay on the ground, gazing up at the sky, his last words lingering.
“…I did everything I wanted to… It wasn’t a bad life, don’t you think?”
His eyes closed with a satisfied smile that belied his otherwise stern demeanor.
Thus ended a man who had lived fiercely and left a lasting legacy. A hero who had ignited the flames of freedom in the blue sky above.
Spartacus rose and, tears in his eyes, raised his sword in honor of his friend.
“Spartacus, the gladiator of the Crassus family, has defeated the enemy leader!”
“Wowaaaaaa!”
Cheers erupted, enveloping Spartacus in a wave of triumph.
The birth of a great hero was celebrated.
From afar, Marcus watched with a pleased smile.