Rome Must Perish

"Leader, rest assured, leave it to me!" Torrelugo assured confidently, patting his chest.

Maximus then turned to Horace, who had been waiting nearby: "How are the wounded?"

"There aren’t many wounded, their wounds have all been bandaged and their conditions are stable." Horace replied succinctly.

Maximus said, "Since your Medical Team has plenty of hands, treat those enemy wounded over there as well."

"Alright." Horace agreed without hesitation. Having been the Medical Team leader for over a year, saving lives had become almost second nature to him. He had originally found those enemies lying on the ground, wailing and crying, pitiable. Now, with Maximus’ nod, he could hardly wait to take people over there.

But Torrelugo objected: "Leader, those are our enemies, don’t be fooled by their pitiful state now. They were very fierce when they attacked us before, and if our people go to save them, they might get hurt!"

"That’s why you have to protect the medical team members well. If even one is injured, I’ll settle accounts with you later." Maximus said half-jokingly, half-seriously.

Torrelugo was about to continue objecting, but Maximus reminded him sternly: "Don’t consider them enemies now; perhaps in the future, they’ll be our people. Show some goodwill now, and earn some goodwill later!"

Torrelugo stood there stunned.

Maximus walked straight back to the troops and shouted loudly: "Brothers, the brothers who fought here before have achieved a great victory, now it’s your turn! Do you have the confidence to win an even greater victory?!"

"Yes!!!" The soldiers, who had already seen the battlefield situation, shouted in unison, their fighting spirit heightened.