Two days later, the two armies once again faced each other, two leagues from Pasargadae.
The scene was a tragic repetition of the first battle, but this time with an air of exhaustion and despair.
The Median army, though tired, was majestic and grand, but with a hundred times more arrogance, it covered the plain.
They looked at the small Persian army.
Dusty flags and tired soldiers.
Their mocking laughter echoed in the wind.
Mazares, the experienced general, approached Azhidahak.
He said cautiously, "Sire, they have lured us to the vicinity of Pasargadae. This could be a trap."
Azhidahak looked at him with contempt.
"A trap? A trap for a lion?"
"No, general. These are the last breaths of a trapped mouse. Today, we will finish them for good!"
On the other side, the morale of the Persian soldiers was truly low.
They had been constantly retreating for a month.
They were tired of this deceptive game.
They had not tasted victory and had only tasted the bitterness of flight.
Gashtasb, the elderly tribal chief, approached Cambyses.
His voice trembled with worry, "My king, my men can't take it anymore."
"They ask why we must abandon our land without a fight."
"This plan... this plan has killed their morale."
"I fear that at the moment of the real battle, they will no longer have the will to fight."
Cambyses also looked at the tired faces of the soldiers with concern.
His gaze fell upon Kourosh, who was mounted on a small horse (a pony).
This choice of horse was also part of the performance.
Kourosh wanted to appear in the enemy's eyes as a child leading a defeated army.
But the cold, soulless calm of his son worried Cambyses's fatherly heart even more.
He saw no excitement or fear on Kourosh's face, only a steel-like, cold focus that seemed to have come from another world.
Kourosh, mounted on his small horse, passed through the ranks.
He looked at the faces of his soldiers and saw the doubt and fatigue in their eyes.
He knew that their faith in him was fading.
But this, too, was part of the plan.
He approached Arash and said in a low but clear voice that only he could hear:
"A short but intense engagement."
"Let them taste blood. Let them think we are fighting out of desperation."
"Then, with their first serious push, sound the final retreat horn."
Arash nodded with unwavering obedience.
At Kourosh's command, the Persians engaged in a short but fierce confrontation.
They charged the Median front line with an anger born of a month of humiliation.
For a few moments, they pushed them back.
This move surprised the Medes, who were expecting a weak resistance.
But this was only a spark.
With the first serious push from the center of the Median army, just as Kourosh had commanded, the mournful sound of the retreat horn echoed among the Persians.
This time, the retreat seemed more real and chaotic than all the previous times.
The soldiers, who were tired of this deceptive game, retreated towards the city of Pasargadae with confusion and sometimes with real terror.
Some of the units lost their order and were scattered in the dust.
This scene erased the last particles of doubt from Azhidahak's heart.
He issued the final pursuit command with a triumphant shout.
Kourosh, while mounted on his small horse and seemingly fleeing, passed through the chaotic ranks.
He looked at the faces of his soldiers and said in his heart:
"Endure, brothers. Just a little more."
"This echo of defeat will soon turn into a roar of victory."
His gaze was on the high walls of Pasargadae, visible in the distance.
The stage for the performance was set.
And the main actors were blindly walking into the trap.