"So? What’s your honest assessment of Lucius now that you’ve watched him at close hand"

"He is exactly as you described, Father," Publius replied.

He stood beside his father, Crassus, overseeing the renovations of a newly purchased insula.

Sweat-drenched slaves scurried about, hauling new furniture up the stairs, applying fresh plaster to the walls, and painting vibrant new murals.

This wasn’t the only building undergoing this transformation. Dozens of insulae across Rome were currently being refurbished to accommodate the massive influx of visitors expected for the upcoming festival.

"Whether or not Lucius actually received a divine revelation, I cannot say. But his judgment is swift, and he makes decisions with confidence. He always comes up with unprecedented and highly effective solutions. The recent crisis was a prime example. I think he’s the one who advised his father."

"By voluntarily forsaking a Triumph, Caesar secured even greater prestige and authority. I should have done exactly that after crushing Spartacus," Crassus clicked his tongue.

After annihilating Spartacus’s slave rebellion, Crassus had demanded a full Triumph, only for the Senate to reject his request and grant him an ovatio, a lesser honor.

"He conceives new strategies and technologies at an alarming rate. But that doesn’t mean he’s completely flawless," Publius noted.

"Because he expanded his enterprises so aggressively in such a short period, his business structure still has serious holes in it. And it became obvious that there is a very firm ceiling on how many coins he can move."

"If this bank rescue had failed, the boy would have been ruined," Crassus replied, waving for a slave carrying lumber to move out of the way.

Truth be told, regardless of how the banking crisis ended, Crassus was positioned to win.

If the panic hadn’t subsided and banks failed, Crassus would have simply weathered the storm and emerged as the only banker left standing.

Conversely, by successfully saving the banks, he had now become a savior who rescued the Roman citizenry alongside Caesar and Pompey.

"Using the Senate to bury Cato in an endless audit. That was a remarkably vicious move," Crassus mused.

"And what of the marriage alliance? How does he feel about Pompeia?"

"It seems Lucius is quite adamant about going through with his engagement to Pompeia," Publius answered.

"I believe he is highly wary of us trying to press for the marriage again."

"Then there’s no need to push the matter any further. Aggressively forcing the issue will only breed unnecessary hostility. We can still wait for the right moment."

"I agree, Father."

"If we are to keep the Senate’s interference at bay, we need Caesar’s political weight. And Caesar needs our gold," Crassus stated.

The Publicani—the private tax farmers heavily backed by Crassus—were falling short of the revenues they had promised to the Senate.

To persuade the Senate to renegotiate and lower those quotas, Crassus needed a sympathetic consul.

"And right now, no man is closer to the consulship than Caesar."

Crassus turned to look at his son.

"We can ride in the cart for now and wait until the horse collapses. Then our chance will come."

As the father and son descended the stairs of the insula, even more slaves rushed past them, carrying heavy loads on their backs.

***

"Is this the best you can do, Lucius?"

I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip on my heavy shield, gasping for breath.

The wooden sword, as always, felt absurdly heavy in my hand.

Damn it, why do Roman practice weapons have to be this ridiculously heavy?!

Actually, I already knew the answer to that.

Training with a shield and sword that weighed twice as much as the real weapons meant that when you fought in actual combat, your weapons would feel as light as a feather.

But seriously, two or three times the weight?

That was just cruel.

I raised my shield and charged straight at my father.

He stood perfectly still until the very last second.

Just as I was about to connect, he smoothly sidestepped and hooked my leg out from under me.

Losing my balance, I crashed into the dirt, instinctively raising my shield to cover my body.

Carrying the motion downward, my father thrust his wooden sword toward my chest.

I managed to block his blade with my left arm, deflecting it away.

But as I did, I realized his sword was now resting perfectly against my throat.

"I believe someone promised to kick my arse the moment I returned?"

My father’s stoic expression broke into booming laughter as he offered me his hand.

Grasping it, I hauled myself to my feet with a heavy sigh.

"I’ve been a little preoccupied with keeping the Republic from collapsing."

"I seem to recall being rather busy myself."

"Did we really have to do this sparring session publicly in the middle of the Campus Martius, Father?"

I looked around the sprawling field.

A massive crowd had already gathered to watch us spar.

It was mostly the sons of patricians and politicians out for their own training, but there were plenty of ordinary citizens who had stopped their strolls just to gawk at us.

This felt less like training and more like a public humiliation.

We had sparred ten times, and I hadn’t won a single round.

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you brought me out here specifically to shame me in front of half the city."

"I’m not the type to go easy on an opponent, my boy. Even if that’s my son."

My father shrugged nonchalantly.

"To a Roman, training is a bloodless battle, and battle is simply training with blood."

"At this point, I’d almost prefer the bleeding."

I rubbed my aching, bruised forearm.

If we kept this up for a few more days, my body was going to give out.

"Your form has improved significantly since I left, but you still have a long way to go."

My father lowered his practice sword.

"Do not neglect your training, Lucius. Forging one’s body for war is the sacred duty of every Roman citizen."

"I’ll keep that in mind," I sighed.

No matter how much I practiced, I just wasn’t built for swordsmanship.

Riding horses was thrilling, but hacking away with a sword and shield all day was not my style.

"Look over there! Isn’t that Caesar?"

"Looks like he’s sparring with his son."

"So Gaius Caesar really is terrifyingly skilled with a sword."

The murmurs of the surrounding crowd drifted over to us.

"Did you challenge me today just to show off your swordsmanship to the public?" I asked with a dry laugh.

My father shrugged again.

"That was certainly part of it. But the more important reason..."

He patted my shoulder.

"Is to show the people your true self. The masses adore a leader who seems less distant, more human. Especially you, since half the city thinks you’re personally blessed by the gods."

"You want me to avoid looking too distant and overbearing."

That was definitely a very Caesar-like strategy.

Julius Caesar carefully cultivated an image of a commander who lived simply and shared the agonizing hardships of his men.

That was exactly why his legions were willing to march into the jaws of certain death for him.

"Romans inherently respect authority, but they simultaneously harbor a deep, violent hatred for it. You would do well to remember that, Lucius. The masses don’t actually care who you truly are. They only see the version of you they want to see."

My father nodded firmly.

"That’s enough sparring for today. We still have a mountain of preparations left for the Floralia."

Still surrounded by the buzzing crowd, we began gathering our training gear.

"Well, at least Cato won’t be able to sabotage us during the festival."

By now, he had to be buried under the mountain of financial ledgers.

Honestly, Rome’s banks desperately needed a thorough inspection anyway.

And if an obsessed fanatic like Cato was the one conducting it, I had nothing to worry about.

"Pressuring the Senate into officially dumping that impossible task onto Cato. That was a brilliant move."

My father burst into laughter again.

"To think I would live to see the stubborn Cato squirming under a mountain of papyrus."

"..."

I remained silent.

To be fair, I had simply stolen that strategy directly from my father’s own example from history.

In the original timeline, the First Triumvirate had effectively banished Cato from Rome by assigning him the task of annexing Cyprus.

They had used the Senate to force an official public duty upon him, physically removing him from Rome.

Of course, Cato knew exactly what the Triumvirate was doing, but he couldn’t refuse a formal Senatorial decree.

To do so would have been a blatant violation of the mos maiorum, the ancestral customs he worshipped.

You really have to respect the man’s commitment to his principles, even when it ruins him.

My father and I, accompanied by a small retinue of supporters, began walking back toward the city walls.

It was then that two very familiar faces approached us.

It looked like those two had finally made it back to Rome.

I raised my hand and pointed them out.

"Perfect timing. There’s someone I wanted to introduce you to, Father."

"Brutus, it’s been far too long! I heard you played a pivotal role in helping Lucius during his campaign against the bandits."

Brutus exchanged a brief embrace with my father, and then with me.

"I did very little, sir. Eradicating the bandits and securing the Italian roads was entirely Lucius’s achievement."

Brutus rubbed his chin, looking almost embarrassed by the praise.

Come to think of it, Brutus was deeply trusted and beloved by Caesar in the original timeline as well.

Of course, he repaid that boundless trust by plunging a dagger into him.

If my father knew what this boy was historically destined to do, how would he react?

Et tu, Brute?

"There’s no need for such modesty. The detailed campaign logs you drafted were instrumental in building Lucius’s political foundation. I read them myself; they were masterfully written."

At my father’s praise, Brutus’s face instantly lit up with pride.

He really was an incredibly easy guy to read.

I turned and introduced the man standing next to Brutus.

"Father, allow me to introduce Mark Antony."

"Ah, Antony. We haven’t formally met, but your reputation precedes you," my father said, nodding with an approving smile.

"You’re a distant relative of ours, after all. I read of your remarkable exploits in Brutus’s logs. Though, if I recall correctly, you took an arrow while fighting the bandits."

"The wound has already healed completely, sir."

Antony replied, shooting a vicious glare at Brutus.

In his official logs, Brutus hadn’t explicitly written that Antony took an arrow to the ass.

Instead, he had phrased it in a way that was subtle, but unmistakably embarrassing.

Looks like Antony still hasn’t forgiven him for that.

From what I heard, Aquillius looked as though he had aged ten years trying to mediate.

"Your stepfather was Publius Cornelius Lentulus Sura, was he not?" my father asked softly.

"Yes. Before he passed, my father spoke very highly of you, sir Caesar."

Antony nodded, but a dark, burning intensity suddenly flared in his eyes.

"Before he was unjustly murdered by Cicero, that is."

"An execution carried out without a proper trial," my father agreed grimly.

They were talking about the Catilinarian Conspiracy.

During Cicero’s consulship, a man named Catiline attempted to orchestrate an armed rebellion against the Republic.

Citing the emergency authority granted by the state, Cicero bypassed the courts and had the conspirators, including Antony’s stepfather, summarily executed.

While it might have been legally justifiable under emergency decree, it was a blatant violation of Roman custom and a citizen’s right to stand trial.

Losing his stepfather fueled Antony’s lifelong, burning hatred for Cicero—a hatred that would eventually culminate in him ordering Cicero’s brutal assassination during the Second Triumvirate.

"I don’t entirely blame Cicero. The greater fault lies with the foolish Roman citizens who entrusted power to a slick-tongued snake like him," Antony scoffed with a sneer.

"If men like you, sir Caesar, held the reins of the Republic, we could throw out vermin like him in an instant."

A brief, slightly awkward silence fell over the group before my father offered a polite smile and bid them farewell.

"Of course. I expect to see both of you at the festival. I will arrange a special pavilion for you and the allied cavalry commanders."

Once the two men were out of earshot, my father leaned in and whispered.

"The boy may be a capable military officer, but he is painfully dull when it comes to politics."

"I can’t agree more on that."

Well, that was how history judged him.

When he governed Rome in Caesar’s stead, he triggered one disastrous political blunder after another.

He possessed military talent that vastly overshadowed Augustus’s, but in the political arena, he was consistently outplayed and outmaneuvered.

"However, he is exceptionally capable, fiercely loyal, and decisive. He was a massive asset during the campaign."

"Whereas Brutus is indecisive and somewhat timid. It’s fascinating that those two managed to travel together without killing each other."

"Tell me about it."

I watched the two men walking away in the distance.

Even after finishing their grueling tour of the allied cities, they still seemed to be sticking together.

Did they somehow bond while constantly screaming at each other?

Well, I suppose it’s like watching an old married couple.

As we passed back through the city gates, the streets were completely consumed by preparations for the Floralia.

Merchants were selling vibrant flowers on every corner, making the cobblestone streets feel like a blooming forest.

Though, unfortunately, the actual smell of the Roman streets wasn’t nearly as pleasant.

"The citizens’ panic has subsided, and Cato is buried alive under a mountain of ledgers. All what’s left is to finalize the festival preparations, but..."

I looked at my father.

"You mentioned you had a solution for the advertising problem?"

My father had already returned as the savior of Rome; throwing a wildly extravagant festival was just the cherry on top.

If the festival was a success, the aediles would owe us a tremendous political debt.

And utilizing the new advertising system to fund the entire event had proven wildly successful.

Once the banking crisis stabilized, advertising requests returned to a steady, workable level.

Not so many that we were overwhelmed, but not so few that it felt empty either.

But there was still one obvious weakness.

We were highly susceptible to accusations that we were turning a sacred festival turned into a vulgar market.

Of course, we could just ignore the critics, but it was always better to take the sting out of the criticism before it began.

Even with Cato out of the picture, there were still plenty of stubborn traditionalists who would eagerly try to attack us on moral grounds.

"Ah, that? I’ve actually been laying the groundwork for that since I arrived. Since you brought it up, we might as well head there now," my father smiled brightly.

"Head where?"

"There’s only one place to go. The Royal Palace."

At my father’s answer, my eyebrows shot up.

"I don’t see any reason for us to go there, Father."

"As I told you before, Lucius. If you can shape the people’s view, you can accomplish anything."

***

The Regia.

Believed to have been built by Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome, it was widely known as the sacred royal palace.

While it was officially recorded as the office of the ancient kings, some historical claims suggested it was actually used as a prison.

Regardless of its original purpose, ever since the birth of the Republic, it had served as the official headquarters of the Pontifex Maximus.

Located near the House of the Vestal Virgins, the Regia housed the sacred archives, historical annals, holy relics, and the official Roman calendar.

And today, dozens of the wealthiest merchants in Rome were gathered in this deeply sacred place.

Every single one of them had requested for an advertisement for the upcoming Floralia festival.

"Why on earth did Caesar summon us here?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

As the merchants murmured nervously among themselves, the Pontifex Maximus of Rome finally made his appearance.

Clad in his immaculate white priestly robes, Gaius Julius Caesar walked toward them with a warm, welcoming smile.

"My friends. Forgive me for keeping you waiting."

The merchants immediately bowed their heads in deep reverence. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

They then noticed his son, Lucius, standing quietly by his side.

"I have summoned you all here today about the upcoming festival."

"If you wish to discuss the arrangements for the advertisements..."

"First, let us make one thing absolutely clear."

The Pontifex Maximus raised a hand, his voice echoing with authority.

"We are not gathered here today to discuss money. We are here to speak of religion—of our faith and devotion to the gods."

As the merchants stared at him in bewilderment, Caesar continued.

"For us Romans, what could possibly be more important than honoring the divine will of the gods?"