Sextus's army advanced to within thirty meters of the perimeter walls. Without saying a word, they drew their javelins and hurled them at the clone guards.
Neither Sextus nor his soldiers considered it necessary to speak with rebels who had executed a prefect.
Septimus watched as the incoming javelins struck the perimeter wall and the shields of his guards. With a single thought, his clone guards returned the attack, hurling javelins back at the enemy formation.
Unlike Septimus's army, which benefited from the protection of the walls, Sextus's army, armed with shields alone, suffered heavier losses. The javelins pierced through shields, pinning the hands of unlucky soldiers and drawing groans of pain from the formation.
Seeing this resistance, Sextus frowned. He was somewhat surprised by the sheer number of javelins thrown from the walls, which suggested that the number of enemy soldiers far exceeded his expectations.
"Order the soldiers to climb the wall. It isn't very high, and the first man up will be rewarded with five hundred denarii!" Sextus shouted to his subordinates.
Sextus did not realize that this order would cost him many lives.
At his command, the legionaries helped one another climb the wall, which was just over 3.5 meters high. Once on the other side, they were met by dozens of clone guards, who showed no mercy and killed them on the spot.
In the fading light of dusk, the wall looked like a monster swallowing every soldier who climbed it, without any visible sign that the battle was changing.
The fighting lasted for an hour. Eventually, the screams and lamentations—combined with the silence of those who had climbed the wall—became obvious to Sextus's soldiers. As the sun nearly disappeared, many of Sextus's men retreated along with the wounded who had been struck by javelins.
The brief battle had been a disaster for Sextus's exhausted troops. Every soldier who had climbed the wall with the help of his comrades was killed by Septimus's clone guards, without leaving a trace.
Including the wounded from javelins, from beginning to end of the battle, Sextus had no idea how many enemy soldiers he was actually facing.
In Sextus's estimation, the enemy should not have exceeded five hundred rebels. Had he known he was assaulting an entire legion with troops nearly spent from a forced march, he would have entrenched himself in the city of Capua and requested reinforcements from Rome.
With morale shattered, Sextus's face twisted in frustration. It was a disgrace that nearly half of his 2,500 soldiers had perished here. Even if he won and crucified every rebel, he would never be able to explain how he had lost so many Roman citizen soldiers.
His anger boiling inside, Sextus ordered his demoralized troops to set up camp five kilometers from the villa. He planned to lick his wounds and construct a battering ram from nearby trees at first light.
With the orders given, the exhausted soldiers hastily organized a simple camp, preparing to take the villa the next day and avenge the humiliation they had suffered.
Up to that point, Sextus's soldiers still held blind faith in their ability to defeat Septimus's guards, believing their defeat was due only to exhaustion from the forced march and the wall that prevented them from unleashing their numerical advantage.
Meanwhile, Septimus counted his losses. Although he had a numerical advantage and could easily defeat those 2,500 soldiers, Sextus's reckless attack with a fatigued army worked in his favor and minimized his own casualties.
During the hour-long battle, only eight clone legionaries had died from unexpected javelin strikes, and just fifty-six clones had been wounded, also due to javelins and bad luck.
In individual combat, his clones' skill far surpassed that of most enemy soldiers. As a result, the men who climbed the wall were easily overwhelmed and executed.
After killing a large number of enemies while deploying only half of his clone legion, Septimus ordered his entire legion to move out of the villa in full battle formation.
His plan was to surround Sextus's army and wipe it out completely, leaving no chance of escape.
In the dark night, Septimus's legion split into small groups under the command of centurions, advancing slowly through the darkness as they encircled Sextus's forces.
Like a well-disciplined army, the clone legion, moving in eerie silence, easily surrounded Sextus's camp without the exhausted sentries noticing.
While Sextus's weary soldiers ate dry bread and prepared to rest, the clone legion advanced steadily, tightening the encirclement little by little.
In the dark night of Campania, with few trees to block the sentries' view, a deathly silence reigned—until it was suddenly shattered.
"We're under attack!" shouted a sharp-eyed sentry as he spotted shadows moving in the darkness.
No sooner had the cry been heard than the clone legionaries, clad in black armor, charged straight into Sextus's camp.
Soldiers who had just begun to sleep awoke on instinct, grabbing their weapons. Those still eating dry bread scrambled for arms. The camp quickly descended into chaos.
In little more than a minute, the clone soldiers surged into the camp, catching the disorganized troops completely off guard.
Sextus rushed out as well. He had been awake when he heard the sentry's cry, and as he emerged from his tent, he beheld a hellish scene within his camp.
Hundreds of clone soldiers in black armor, bearing symbols that looked like three severed heads impaled on stakes, were massacring his men, flooding the camp like a black tide.
Sextus recognized the symbol as the same one flown over the rebel villa, but he was horrified by the sheer number of enemy soldiers attacking the camp. He had never imagined there would be so many rebels.
The clone soldiers swept through the camp like a black tide, effortlessly slaughtering all opposition.
The night became infernal—burning tents, screams of agony, and red-armored soldiers being cut down throughout the camp by warriors in black armor.
In less than half an hour, only a dozen of Sextus's soldiers remained, armed with whatever weapons they could find, protecting their general. They were surrounded by hundreds of black-armored soldiers.
Sextus tried to flee, but the sheer number of enemies blocked every escape. These men were hard to kill; it took the sacrifice of three or four soldiers just to bring down one of them. Before him stood an entire mass of enemies, and he could not even guess how many there were.
In the end, Sextus managed to gather a dozen scattered survivors and form a defensive circle.
"I demand to see your leader! I am a Roman noble and the admiral of Campania!" Sextus shouted hysterically at the black-armored soldiers.
To Sextus, this army seemed unnatural. These were veteran, highly trained soldiers. By all reason, only the greatest figures in Rome could assemble such a force. Not even vast wealth could easily buy an army this capable.
"Bring me your leader. I will surrender only to him!" Sextus shouted nervously, staring at the silent clone soldiers.
The black-armored army parted in an orderly fashion, creating a path for a clone in distinctive armor, followed by four centurion clones.
Septimus had changed only the color and emblem of the Roman armor, keeping the same style used by Roman private guards. That was why Sextus could immediately recognize them as centurions.
The clone stopped five meters from Sextus.
"I am Agor, commander of this legion," said the clone calmly—Agor, Septimus's alter ego.
"I am a Roman noble. I surrender and expect to be treated with the dignity that is my due," Sextus said seriously, staring at the rebel general.
"Surrender unconditionally, or all of you will die. Those are the orders of my lord, Septimus," Agor replied without expression.
Septimus had originally planned to kill everyone in the camp to deter future enemies. However, seeing that Sextus was offering his surrender, he began to consider the possibility of negotiation and avoiding further confrontation.
Since it was now confirmed that he had killed a prefect, it was only a matter of time before his sugar trade caravans were attacked in retaliation. Although losing the sugar trade would not ruin him, his quality of life would suffer, and he would be isolated in Capua—an outcome that would be far from convenient.