Chapter 12:
The message spread through Rome like fire through dry tinder—passed between fishmongers and senators, whispered in bathhouses and scribbled on tavern walls.
"When the moon eclipses Mars, the nets break."
Lucius stood on the roof of the abandoned granary near the Aventine, watching as the first torches flickered to life across the city. The system's countdown pulsed in his vision:
[Revolutionary Phase Initiated
Primary Objective: Disrupt Nero's control of football
Secondary Objective: Preserve player lives
Estimated Success Rate: 58% (and dropping)]
Below him, the ragtag army of the underground league gathered:
- FC Roma's core squad, their kits hidden beneath workman's tunics
- The Briton Warriors, blue woad paint smeared beneath their cloaks
- Vestal acolytes with their sacred fire-starting tools
- Dockworkers from Ostia carrying sacks of "special" grain
- Three very confused giraffes
Nikias adjusted the rope coiled around his shoulder. "This is either the bravest or stupidest thing we've ever done."
Vulso hefted a hammer. "Why not both?"
At the stroke of midnight, Rome's football revolution began with three simultaneous strikes:
1. The Beast Pens
The Vestal acolyte and her sisters sang ancient hymns outside the Forum Boarium, lulling Nero's prized lions into a drugged stupor while the Briton chieftain swapped their tags. By dawn, the emperor would find his fiercest man-eaters replaced with toothless circus retirees.
2. The Imperial Armory
Ostia's dockworkers—experts at "misplacing" cargo—diverted a shipment of Praetorian armor to the Collegia Butchers, who promptly repurposed the steel into shin guards and cleat studs.
3. The Grand Sabotage
Lucius's team struck at the heart of Nero's control: the *Magna Ludus* headquarters. Using stolen architect plans, they weakened the structural beams beneath the imperial box. Not enough to collapse—just enough to make sitting there... unwise.
The system's alerts came rapid-fire:
[Phase One Complete:
- 89% of Nero's beasts neutralized
- Praetorian combat readiness reduced by 40%
- Imperial morale shaken]
Then—the scream of whistles.
Decimus's men had discovered them.
What historians would later call "The Night of Broken Nets" began with a single flaming ball kicked into a grain storehouse.
The Vestal acolyte's aim was perfect—the fireball arced over the guards' heads and landed squarely in a pile of Nero's confiscated wheat. As flames licked upward, Lucius's teams sprang their trap:
- Dockworkers overturned market stalls to create makeshift barricades
- The giraffes (bribed with apples) stampeded through Praetorian formations
- Nikias and Vulso led a group to cut the ropes on every goal net in the city
The system's tactical display became a blur:
[Revolutionary Tactics Activated:
- Urban terrain mastery (+65% evasion)
- Psychological warfare (burning balls = +25% enemy panic)
- Morale surge (players fighting for freedom = unbreakable)]
Decimus appeared like a specter in the smoke, his sword drawn. "You've made a fatal mistake, football man."
Lucius hefted a broken goalpost like a staff. "Only one?"
Their clash was brief but brutal—a whirl of wood against steel that ended when the Vestal acolyte "accidentally" tripped Decimus with her ceremonial robe. As he sprawled in the dirt, the Briton chieftain kicked a ball squarely into his face.
The crack echoed across the forum.
The emperor watched the chaos unfold from his temporarily unstable balcony, his face a mask of perverse delight.
"Magnificent!" he crowed as another storehouse went up in flames. "Better than any games I could have planned!"
His advisors gaped. "Divine One, they're rebelling!"
Nero waved a dismissive hand. "Rebellion? This is art! The people haven't been this alive since I burned down—" He caught himself, then beamed. "Someone fetch my lyre! This deserves a ballad!"
The system's analysis was terrifying:
[Nero's Mental State:
- 70% entertained
- 25% inspired to greater madness
- 5% aware this threatens his rule]
As dawn approached, the revolt gained its most unexpected allies.
From the Ludus Magnus came a cadre of gladiators—not to suppress the rebellion, but to join it. Their leader, a scarred retiarius named Cassius, tossed Lucius a bloodstained football.
"We've been kicking these in the cells for months," he growled. "If slaves can play, why not fight?"
The system recalculated:
[New Combatants: Gladiator Football Corps
Strengths:
- +100% combat skills
- Existing fan following
Weaknesses:
- Tendency to stab first, pass later]
With the gladiators' help, Lucius's forces seized control of the Campum Ludus, barricading themselves inside just as the first Praetorian reinforcements arrived.
The standoff lasted until noon, when an unlikely mediator arrived—Senator Marcus Drusus, flanked by the Vestal Virgins.
"Enough!" the old senator bellowed. "Rome has seen enough bloodshed over a game."
Nero, now composing an epic poem about the riot, barely looked up. "Oh, let them have their fun."
Drusus seized the opportunity. "By your leave, Divine One, perhaps football should have... new management." He gestured to Lucius. "An independent league, free from imperial oversight—but still providing entertainment for the masses."
Nero considered this as he plucked his lyre. "Will there still be lions?"
Lucius stepped forward. "Better. Lions who can dribble."
The emperor's eyes lit up.
By sunset, the bargain was struck:
1. Football would remain independent, governed by a council of players, Vestals, and senators
2. Nero retained rights to *one* annual spectacle match (safety provisions negotiated)
3. All enslaved players were immediately freed under the guise of "team contracts"
As the crowds dispersed, Lucius stood amidst the wreckage of the *Campum Ludus*, the system's final alert blinking peacefully:
[Revolution Successful:
- Football autonomy secured
- Player lives preserved
- Decimus incapacitated (concussion + broken nose)
New Objective: Rebuild before the first real season begins]
The Vestal acolyte joined him, her once-pristine robes now smudged with soot. "What now?"
Lucius looked across Rome—to where the first honest-to-gods *football fans* were already repairing the damaged stands with their bare hands.
"Now," he said, "we play."