The camp echoed with the chaotic and hurried footsteps, and the Governor of Armenia, Rostam, a member of the royal family of the Great Persia and the military commander of the west border, walked angrily towards the central military tent. His face was flushed with anger. He had been stationed at the border to handle the sudden tense situation along the border, and received unexpected news that Cyrus had appeared in his territory. Cyrus forcefully mobilize a large number of local garrison troops in the Armenia and even utilized the reserved military provisions for him. What's more outrageous was that the army he raised was intended to deal with the Ashina Fortress! Hearing that the garrison troops from Tabriz had already begun to besiege the Berdatev Fortress, and another unit was encircling the Galarsan Fortress, Rostam was furious. What was Cyrus doing? The situation in western Persia was already tense enough, was he trying to turn the Ashina clan against him, allowing the western Persia's territories to fall into the hands of the Roman empire? Even if this matter escalated to Chancellor Arman, he wasn't afraid of anything!
Rostam, seething with anger, burst into the central military tent while muttering threats under his breath. The guards at the entrance, members of the hunting army, attempted to stop him, but he easily lifted them aside. Inside the tent, the lighting was bright with eight exquisitely lamps shaped like birds, illuminating the seated officers, each adorned in gleaming armor. Cyrus sat at the center on a grand chair, coldly observing Rostam and his accompanying knights as they rushed in. Every officer had a stern expression, and the tent was filled with an uneasy silence.
Waving his riding whip, Rostam shouted, "Cyrus, what are you doing? Armenia is not your territory! Do you want to plunge Armenia into chaos? Now, I'll tell you, disband the garrison troops here, and I won't hold you accountable. If you continue this madness, you know the consequences!"
Cyrus stood up, his massive figure making the spacious cowhide tent feel cramped. Rostam, infuriated, suddenly felt an overwhelming pressure, causing him to involuntarily halt his words. The fierce warrior mask of Cyrus seemed to come alive under the flickering lamplight as he glared at his equally prestigious adversary.
"I know exactly what I'm doing. Our Saintess of Great Persia was kidnapped by the Ashina. I bear the imperial mandate and naturally must rescue her. Our precious sacred treasure is in the hands of the Turkic. Do you want another Tong Yabghu? Rostam, go back to the front obediently. Don't interfere with my actions. Don't let the Roman come to the aid of the Ashina... At this point, you and I have no other choice!"
Rostam couldn't help but take a step back, but he quickly steadied himself. Being intimidated by Cyrus seemed to make him feel embarrassed. Summoning his courage, he shouted back, "You've truly gone mad! The influence of the Ashina in Armenia runs deep. If you lay hands on them, the entire Armenia region will be in chaos! If the Roman know about this, wouldn't Heraclius be overjoyed? Cyrus, we both grew up in the Ctesiphon City, and I'm advising you sincerely. Prince Farid has defected. Now, we need to calm the situation to stabilize it. If you continue like this, the empire will fall! I've just learned about the matter with the Saintess, but it's nothing difficult to handle. Send an envoy with some gifts, and have Mishe hand her over! Cyrus, you're a trusted confidant of Prince Farid. At this critical time, every move is being watched. If you continue causing a commotion, who knows if someone will suspect you of having ulterior motives! I'm saying this for your own good!"
As he spoke, he ordered his accompanying knights, "Detain Cyrus, and do not let him..."
His neck felt a chill, followed by a sensation as if a massive weight had been placed on his shoulders, nearly bending his waist. Glancing to the side, he saw the sword that had once shocked the world, the Thunder Excalibur Sword, now placed at his neck! The oil lamp, seemingly influenced by the murderous intent emanating from Cyrus, wildly swayed its flame, causing the light on the sword to dance unpredictably. A strong scent of blood emanated from the sword in waves, causing Rostam's hair to stand on end!
"Dare to act against me, Cyrus!"
Cyrus held the massive longsword in one hand, and his wrist remained motionless in mid-air. A thunderous voice echoed from behind the mask: "You spoke of calming things down, but under current situation, I must employ thunderous methods to deter enemies both inside and outside... I have no fear of massive killing, and washing the world in blood."
With the departure of Prince Farid, I, Cyrus, am now the guardian of the Great Persia! As for the Ashina, hum, now Roman is strong and Persia is weak, won't such local warlord seek refuge under a good lord? And when the time comes, won't they stab us in the back? Using the matter of the Saintess, I will first sweep away these internal enemies! If the Roman army dares to come, they will be met with my Thunder Excalibur Sword! Whoever dares to block my path will meet only one end!"
Rostam shouted loudly, "Cyrus has gone mad! Soldiers, quickly detain him..."
With a light click, Cyrus swung his sword. Rostam's head soared into the sky with a burst of blood. His head flew backward, landing with a thud at the feet of his followers. Babak who had just regained consciousness sitting there, shook his body again and promptly fainted.
Cyrus sheathed his sword, saying coldly, "Of course, I dare to act, Rostam. You shouldn't have stood in my way!"