The group of refugees moved forward slowly while carrying the children, their faces filled with fear.
When they saw Nero and his men, they became even more terrified and fled in panic with unsteady steps.
"Stop! You there, stop right where you are! I am Nero, a cavalry captain (equivalent to a centurion) of the Roman army, and I order you to stop immediately!" Nero shouted loudly.
However, the refugees did not believe him and fled even faster, forcing Nero to order his Thracian cavalry to capture some people.
The Thracian horsemen immediately charged forward with strange battle cries and quickly captured several relatively weak and slow men.
"Why are you running? Didn't you hear my orders?" Nero shouted coldly.
"Are you really the Roman army?" one of the refugees asked in disbelief.
"Of course. Who would pretend to be a Roman soldier?" Nero replied with dissatisfaction.
"A moment ago, a group of people identical to them were robbing our village. They all had tattoos and carried the same curved short swords and shields," the refugee said while pointing at the mounted Thracians.
"That's impossible. You're slandering us. We would never do such a thing," one of the Thracian horsemen said with dissatisfaction.
"Everything I said is true."
"He wasn't lying; a group of Thracians really did rob our village."
"..."
The captured refugees shouted and spoke out about the atrocities committed by the Thracian army.
Seeing these refugees slander them so shamelessly, the Thracian horsemen were on the verge of exploding with rage. They had been the first scouts to arrive, so how could anyone have come before them to rob the village?
Some even drew their short swords, ready to fight the refugees.
"That's enough, all of you!" Nero said seriously in a loud voice.
Nero stopped the enraged Thracians and ordered the refugees to remain silent.
The Thracians have violent tempers; they fight at the slightest provocation, being true barbarians.
"I believe none of you are lying, because Mithridates also had Thracian cavalry under his command, and you may have mistaken them for someone else," Nero shouted to the group of furious Thracians.
Hearing this, Spartacus and the others were surprised. Could it really be true?
"The Kingdom of Pontus has many mercenaries and barbarian tribes under its command... including Thracians. Tell me, where do you live? How many of them are there?" Nero asked calmly to the crowd of Thracians and refugees.
Like many clones, Nero was responsible for various tasks, including gathering information about the enemy army.
Obtaining information from captured enemy soldiers would help in developing strategies.
"We live not far from here, to the left, straight ahead. They have more than three hundred Thracian infantrymen and more than thirty horsemen," one of the refugees said with a humble expression.
Nero wore a serious expression; it would not be easy to capture so many people.
"We can impersonate the Pontic army, kidnap some men, and flee. If they dare to chase us, we can set traps along the way and take the opportunity to wipe out their cavalry," Spartacus said suddenly.
"Good idea. Let's do it," Nero replied with admiration and had to admit that he was indeed very resourceful and worthy of being a legendary historical figure.
Following Spartacus's idea, the group split into two.
Nero sent one refugee to guide Spartacus and his men to the village, while he led a group of soldiers to prepare a trap.
The village was engulfed in flames, and some soldiers were beating and kicking several villagers, demanding that they hand over their food.
The consumption of an army of 300,000 men is a terrifying figure. In ancient times, with such a poor transportation system, maintaining an army of that size required relying on local food supplies. Historically, the Roman army assigned to fight the Kingdom of Pontus was forced to withdraw on Lucullus's orders because of food shortages.
Several infantry soldiers guarded the road leading to the entrance of the village. From a nearby house came the sound of women crying and uncontrolled laughter. It was obvious that they were abusing the peasant women of the village, provoking great envy among the soldiers standing guard outside. Unfortunately, they could only remain on watch.
At that very moment, several Thracian horsemen galloped toward them.
The guards glanced at them but did not appear particularly suspicious.
They were all Thracians; it would have been strange for them to distrust Thracian cavalry.
After taking a closer look, they realized that all of them were unfamiliar faces, so one of them asked, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"We're here to deliver orders from the general," one of the Thracian horsemen said as he slowly approached the guard.
"What orders?" the unsuspecting Thracian soldier asked.
The Thracian horseman approached the guard and dismounted.
"Here are the orders."
After saying those words, the Thracian horseman slipped his hand into his tunic while the other horsemen approached in a friendly manner.
Just as the Thracian guards began to grow suspicious of the Thracian horsemen,
the Thracian horsemen drew their short swords and viciously plunged them into the guards' bodies.
"Pff!"
"Pff!"
"Pff!"
"..."
Within a few seconds, the sounds of sharp blades piercing flesh could be heard, and the few unharmed infantry soldiers watched in disbelief.
Only two people survived, but a quick and precise punch knocked both guards unconscious.
"Why did you do this?" an infantry soldier asked with difficulty, clutching the wound in his stomach.
"We are Thracians of the Roman army," Spartacus said with a complicated expression as he looked at the dying Thracian soldier.
After all, they belonged to the same people. Even though they served different factions, at least he would die knowing why.
The Thracian infantry soldier suddenly realized what was happening and finally closed his eyes unwillingly.
"Who are you?"
At that moment, a Thracian inside the village noticed what was happening and shouted.
"Let's go."
Spartacus gave him a cold look, then helped a prisoner onto his mount, and the group galloped toward the outskirts of the village.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
The Thracian man immediately shouted.
The entire village was thrown into chaos. They soon discovered the truth: they had been ambushed by only a handful of enemy horsemen. A Thracian commander then began cursing at the top of his lungs.
More than thirty horsemen galloped out of the village like a whirlwind. The enemy's mounts normally carried only one rider, so they could not run very fast.