Not long after assembling a force of six thousand warriors, Shapur Dhul-Aktaf dispatched experienced scouts to Ctesiphon to spy upon Caesar and his court. The scouts slipped secretly into the realm and gathered crucial intelligence before returning to their proud sovereign. They reported that Caesar was utterly oblivious, indulging in wine and hunting without a single thought of war. His army was scattered across the countryside in disarray, plundering at will; with neither day-guards nor night-sentries, they moved like a flock without a shepherd.
Heartened by this news, Shapur felt all his past hardships melt away like wind. He selected three thousand elite, armored Iranian cavalrymen and rode under the darkness of night toward Ctesiphon. By night they advanced with fierce haste, and by day they concealed their movements, keeping lookouts two leagues ahead of the vanguard. Two watches into the night, Shapur arrived outside the sprawling Roman camp, where Caesar lay drunkenly asleep inside his royal pavilion.
Giving free rein to his warhorse, Shapur charged directly into the camp with drawn mace. The blast of war horns echoed into the clouds, blending with the terrifying clatter of Indian blades and heavy steel. It seemed as though the sky had burst open, dripping sunlit blood over the earth. The sacred Kavian Banner gleamed amid the dark, and fire consumed every corner of the foolish Caesar's grand tents. By dawn's light, Caesar's benevolent star had deserted him; he was taken captive, and his high nobles and brave horsemen were cast into chains. Such is the nature of the high sphere—alternating between glory and ruin, delight and dread—proving that righteousness and humanity remain the true refuge for those blessed by the Divine.