Mob's armies put up a gallant fight, but since none of the cities loyal to him joined his side it was all in vein. Beaten, but not defeated, Mob retreated back to the Roman lines. There he met with the Roman generals friendly enough to fight his cause. They began to discuss tactics moving forwards, but Mob knew that there was more he needed to do.

Throughout the war council, the Romans noticed the increasing distant look on Mob's face. Finally, Mob excused himself, and left the tent for his own chambers. In rage, he blasted his stool across the room, and, suddenly finding himself with nowhere to sit, threw himself on the floor, huffing in defeat. His initial rebellion had failed, and it didn't look promising for the Roman invasion. There was nothing left to do. Slowly, he unsheathed his dagger, and raised it above him. Then, suddenly...

He spied something propped up inside the tent. Slowly, he walked towards it, and raised it up. Tossing it from side to side, and whirling it around, a smile grew on his face. He knew what to do.

An hour later, a young soldier burst into the camp.

"Sir, Mob of Byzantium and a 50 soldiers from our Byzantine division have been seen running towards the enemy!"

In a hurry, all the leaders rushed to Mob's room. They charged in, where a surprising - and unusual - scene met their eyes. A large hole was carved into the tent-side, the tent flapping cleanly. Whatever Mob cut the tent with, it was powerful, and Mob obviously wielded it with extreme precision. Then they noticed another thing.

Mob's tent was extremely clean.