Humiliated, beaten, dirty and filthy, he was being dragged through the blood-stained streets of the capital.

The sky lay invaded by clouds that shed incessant tears.

People who were once loyal to him, and who suffered the consequences of his actions, booed him and throwing stones.

So many efforts in vain, climbing the stairs of the scaffold, Philipart Cynther would remember that bitter night when his wife received him with love.

Curia Nat, Raecum, capital of the Oriens region

End of 574

"Dear senators," he began to speak from the center of the room. "It will be a very complicated expedition; we will only achieve human and material losses."

Those present murmured among themselves, looking at him out of the corner of their eyes.

"We know that to the southwest of the Araquia peninsula are fertile lands and abundant minerals. As well as tribes enriched by trade that could give us a challenge as we move in," he paused. "It seems to me that there is a balance between what will be lost and what will be gained, don't you think?"

He laughed at Senator Crásico's words. He took a deep breath in an attempt to reassure him, he did not want to speak in a bad way, getting carried away by his impulsiveness.

"We kno-know almost nothing abo-about the road, the only thing we know is that we wou-would have to cross an endless desert that is whipped by heat waves and strong winds."

He ducked his head, thinking of some other idea to evade the senators from carrying out the expedition, or, at least, to make it simpler to carry out.

"What if we go on boats?

However, at the time he remembered that the seas near the peninsula were turbulent and rocky.

"No, forget about it, that would be worse...."

"No, it's perfect! Soldiers can move along the coast of Araquia, while being followed by ships loaded with supplies."

The senators applauded Amarico Corvo's idea, accepting it.

Philipart couldn't believe how inept they were. It seemed that ambition had completely blinded them.

"Have you already consulted Arcadio?!" As a last attempt, he turned to the one who carried the image of the Empire on his shoulders, and, above all, to the one who was his good friend.

They fell silent and resumed their serenity.

"Of course, he couldn't refuse." A smirk formed on his face.

"What?!" Philipart shouted, indignant and desperate at Alexirico Longo's words.

The expedition had every chance of failure, and the senators did not seem to care.

'Damn them, they sure forced it. After all they were the ones who chose us.' With that thought, his jaw trembled just like his hands, and his eyes had become watery.

"You don't want to contradict us, Magister Philipart."

The direct words of Crasico, like a shiver, ran painfully up and down his spine.

As he was invaded by the heavy stares of the senators, he ended up understanding that he had no right to object anymore.

"Bastards," he whispered to himself.

He turned and, at a slow pace, left the room.

House of the Cynther, Raecum, Oriens

Penultimate month of 575

Lightning boomed over the earth, darkness pervaded the atmosphere, a soul drowned in disgrace walked back home.

The expedition to the southwest of Arachian peninsula lasted a whole year. A year of disease, lack of supplies, betrayal by locals who had sworn allegiance to the Empire, total devastation of the fleet by turbulent seas, fatal weather, and the loss of more than ten thousand men.

When they reached the southwest and began the siege of the most important city in the area only a few days later, Philipart ordered a retreat. They had no supplies to maintain a siege of long duration, the troops were too exhausted.

Throughout his time away, his wife, Nazly Luw, waited anxiously for him.

Every night, she sat on the couch in front of the door, waiting for Philipart to come in.

She was a faithful and patient woman.

She didn't know what to think at that moment. News spread throughout the capital that the expedition had ended, and not in a very good way.

'Why isn't he here yet?'

After that thought, he settled down on the couch, in a way that he could sleep without problems. Tearfully, with a tight squeeze in his chest, he dreaded the thought that he, perhaps, had not survived.

And he stood up with a start, when he heard the lock being tampered with.

Standing up, a smile formed on his face.

When the door opened fully, a man, now long-haired, wearing a dull expression, dressed in torn clothes, came into view.

Despite the dirty look he wore on him, her heart raced, she wanted to throw herself at him, hug and kiss him, however, she felt that, at that moment, she was not the right one.

"It's good to see you, Nazly," he raised his right arm in salute, accompanying the action with his characteristic thick voice, revealing that his ring finger had been cut off.

This was a way of punishing those who failed in their tasks.

The smile that had formed on her face was instantly erased, confirming in her mind the news: the expedition had been a total failure. However, and to the surprise of many, a large part of the high commanders who participated in the operation did not lose their posts, like her husband.

Philipart, without beating around the bush, and after closing the door, went to the sofa.

Nazly felt fearful at the man's selfless actions, however, observing him with pity for the state in which he returned, did not want to upset or exalt him further.

"I'm fed up with the Senate, they have Arcadio and me as their children," he leaned back against the backrest, sighing.

She, at a slow pace came to him, sat down beside him, and as a way of comforting him a little, leaned on his shoulder.

"I saw my men consumed by sickness, hunger and thirst. I saw them fall dead before the heat that lashed us like a whip for much of the expedition. I watched the ships, being devoured by the waters, and, battered by the rocks."

Philipart's gaze was lost, he did not turn to look at her, but he felt her caressing his chest with her small hands.

"I don't understand what the Senate wanted to achieve. Everyone knew very well that this area, until now, is very difficult to cross. Why did they insist so much?"

"Maybe they wanted to tarnish your image."

Nazly's sudden words aroused Philipart's curiosity.

Although it was generally frowned upon for women to participate in political and military affairs, he couldn't help but remember how astute she was in such matters.

"Explain," finally, he turned around, intending to look at her.

At his question, she broke away so she could look him in the eye and answer.

"Why do you think they didn't relegate you from your post? Well, they are aware that, apart from being the one who controls the army of the entire Empire, the soldiers, in themselves have great esteem and respect for you, so, taking into account the terrible conditions under which the expedition was planned and carried out, they would not hesitate to support you if the Senate withdraws your title as Magister."

She paused to organize her thoughts.

"If they washed their hands by blaming you, it means that they already foresaw that the expedition would fail, so they only wanted, and want, to discredit your image in order to, when nobody supports you anymore, relegate you from the post, and, not to have as a consequence, a civil war."

Philipart was speechless, his wife's intuition, despite the fact that they had not spoken for so long, never ceased to amaze him.

"You may be right," he sighed resignedly, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his thoughts.

She looked up at him with a welcoming smile, to which he proceeded to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Philip was somewhat relieved at this action that he already missed receiving, however, he could not concentrate on it now.

"Tomorrow I will visit Arcadio. We must solve, as soon as possible, this problem with the Senate," he opened his eyes, looking at her firmly. "We'll see who will have whom as a son."

Nazly frowned at his words. She didn't think it was a good thing that, having just come back from the unsuccessful expedition, he had to start doing chores. He had to rest.

"Love," he touched her face with his small hands. "Don't you think you should rest a little?"

Philipart ignored her, getting up.

"If I don't start doing something now, the Senate could continue to destroy my image. I'm sure they won't stop until no military sector supports me."

He sighed, and seeing how she lowered her head, he brought one of his hands close to her, with which, delicately, and, holding her chin, he lifted her face.

"Ah?" He asked in confusion as his eyes watered. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? I've been waiting for a whole year for your return, missing your kisses and caresses! And you won't even give me a hug?! You're withdrawing, even ignoring my words and my affection?! What's the matter with you?!" She shouted between sobs, spilling water from her vision.

In spite of the offense, and, of her pain, she clung to him, crying into his chest.

On the other hand, Philipart did not know what to say, he could not find the right words to comfort her.

"Forgive me," it was the only thing that came out.

He wanted to say more, he wanted to apologize in a better way, but he couldn't, he didn't feel anything, he didn't feel sorry for her, he didn't feel that what he had done was wrong.

Vacuum.

He lowered his arms and lightly carried Nazly.

So, he sat down on the couch, laying her on his lap, and gently wiped away her tears.

"Crásico," he pronounced the name of the senator who had left him speechless before the Senate. "That man threatened me."

"Andrio Canrrio Crásico?" Already feeling better because of her husband's comforting action, she asked.

Philipart nodded his head.

"Isn't he the one who is spreading the rumor that the expedition was actually planned and carried out by you and Arcadio?"

His body tensed as he heard that, his jaw began to tremble, slowly lowering his head until he locked eyes with Nazly.

"What a-are you talking about?" Concern was in his voice.

'I guess I shouldn't have said that.' It was the thought that ran through Nazly, like a knife that had just ended her little moment of happiness.

"No-Nothing at all, lo-love, come on, le-let's rest, let's rest," gently, she held him by the arms.

He did not respond, his expression seemed to have frozen.

"Crá-Crásico, took advantage of my absence to tarnish my image with dirty words, that bastard!" After roughly pushing Nazly aside, he got up from the sofa. "It wasn't enough for him to just give us vague words like condolences for the failure, but he also blames us?!" He turned his back on her. "¡If I leave now, I'll be at Arcadio's residence at dawn! This has to be fixed!"

Nazly rushed to get up, in an attempt to stop Philipart, who had already opened the door.

"Please wait!

"No! Crassico will deal with me!"