"Republica di Calabria! Republica di Calabria!" the crowd chanted as the army drove the barbarians, once again, away from Catzzaro. With a fixed gaze and swelling pride, the crowd gazed on form the city walls as the army soundly defeated the barbarians. Though most of the barbarians were the friends of Calabria, many were also her enemies. Striking into the beloved land of theirs, the invaders charged mercilessly, only to be driven back by the stern will and determination of the Calabrians.
One among the crowd was particularly happy. Greausta Marcus Antonio was the son of one of the city's front line soldiers and always worried for his father when the battles came. Today, looking at the battlefield, he could see that none of the Calabrians had fallen to a barbarian spear, meaning his father was safe one more day. What a wonderful day to be a Calabrian!
"Captain Sarusto! Captain Sarusto! where is my father?" the boy called out to the officer that commanded his father's small batilion hoping wanting a wuick response. It pained Captain Sarusto to see such happiness in Graeusta's face when he had such bad news for the boy.
"I am sorry son. Your father was badly hurt. An arrow got him. He didn't say anythign until the battle was over. If he had said something earlier we might have been able to help him, but now, it is too late. I am soory son. I know how much this must hurt." The boy could barely grasp a hold of what any of this meant. His father, his only parent, had just died and Captain Sarusto was trying to tell him that he understood Graeusta's pain? This was unthinkable, unimaginable.
As the boy ran away and the many emotions of grief washed over him: fear, pain, hatred, anger, denial, acceptance, there was one that stayed constant. From the second he heard the words leave Captain Sarusto's mouth, he had become determined, nay, destined, to avenge his father's death on every barbarian that dared cross his path.