General Titus stretched his sword toward the sky and shouted.
"My soldiers STOP!"
The four cloaked Romans who had descended with him froze. Their bodies went rigid, then as if strings had been cut they fell to the ground. Not dead. Not unconscious. Simply... stopped. They lay there, eyes open, breathing, aware but utterly motionless.
It was as if they were controlled. As if they had no will of their own.
Above them, Darlington's eyes bulged.
"What the fuck?!"
He leaned forward so fast he nearly tumbled from his perch.
"Are they fucking robots?!"
His mind raced, rejecting the idea even as it formed.
"No that doesn't make sense. Not even in my own time robots have definitely been invented but this is something else."
He studied the fallen soldiers their open eyes, their steady breathing, their complete stillness.
"Hmm." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Could it be... loyalty?"
The word felt insufficient, but he couldn't find a better one.
"I mean, from what I'm seeing, they're still awake. Which means it's not any form of technology." He paused. "It's pure loyalty that has edged into them. Branded itself onto their very souls."
But even as he said it, something bothered him.
"But it can't be loyalty to him. Titus isn't Caesar. He's a general a servant, like them."
He considered this, turning the problem over in his mind.
"Well," he said slowly, "it could be a religion, if you want to look at it like that."
His eyes lit up as the pieces fell into place.
"Yes! That would explain it. A loyalty so strong to someone you could call it religion."
He began to pace, his thoughts tumbling out.
"And as a religion, the pastor is always able to sway the heart of the believers. Because they believe he is a messenger of god. A conduit. A voice."
He laughed a sharp, bitter sound.
"Religion. Such a massive way to manipulate. Without even knowing you're being manipulated. The absolute belief in a higher being without the proof of his existence."
He shook his head in wonder.
"Exploited by those who understand the way the world works. Able to turn the science of the world against the common mind. Making things that are ordinary look like miracles."
He looked down at Titus at the general standing among his fallen soldiers, at the power he wielded without lifting a finger.
"So Caesar is the god." Darlington's voice was soft, almost reverent. "And you are a priest of Caesar."
He smiled a predator's smile.
"Well, that's interesting." He settled back to watch. "Well, priest of Caesar... let me see what you can do."
Below, Titus rushed forward.
His body blurred with motion, closing the distance between himself and the six knights in heartbeats. His sword was raised, ready to strike, ready to kill
And then he stopped.
He dropped his blade.
It clattered to the ground, a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
Then he sat.
On the ground. Cross-legged. Like a man settling in for conversation rather than combat.
He looked up at the six knights at Gaheris, Palamedes, Leodegrance, Tor, Dagonet, and Ywain and smiled.
"Come on." His voice was almost friendly. "Don't you think it's unfair, me coming at you like that?"
He spread his arms wide, inviting.
"Shouldn't I give you some chance? At least?"
The knights stared at him, frozen by confusion, by caution, by the sheer unexpectedness of what they were seeing.
Titus waited, smiling.
The chapter ended there in the space between attack and invitation, between the general who could have killed and the man who chose to wait.