ã€ŠFor the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai&#x27;d Legionã€‹


 Chapter 1: Tiberius, Were Not in Rome Anymore

    Quintus stepped through the field of dead men, his eyes fixed straight ahead. His bearing remained resolutely impassive despite it all¡ªthe Primus Pilus would not be moved, even by such a scene as this. Across the silent battlefield, a golden eagle stood tall, guiding him forward to the command post.

    As Quintus approached, his gaze trailed down to the man who bore the shining standard of their Legion. Aquilifer Lucius gave him a slight nod, his hand firm on the long staff that the eagle perched upon. Together, they stood in silence. The two were friends of a sort, closer than even the brotherhood found between Legionnaires. But today, the solemn air and exhaustion kept them silent as they stood, waiting for the Legatus to finish talking to his second in command.

    After the officer hurried away, the Legatus looked down at his map once more. The polished steel of his breastplate glinted in the rays of the dying sun. At his elbow sat a similarly cared-for helmet, open-faced and topped with a large red plume. After a brief moment, the man beckoned Quintus over.

    Quintus stepped forward and clasped his fist to his chest in salute, the clink of his own breastplate echoing in the silence.

    "Legatus Tiberius," Quintus addressed the man with utmost respect in his voice.

    Tiberius''s gaze rose from the map he''d been studying to meet Quintus''s own. He had expected to see some measure of weariness there, some small trace of the toll of battle affecting everyone. But even after three hard days of battle, the man''s face remained as unreadable as ever. The Legatus''s stoicism put even his own to shame.

    Tiberius spoke, his deep voice carrying easily. "Report, Primus."

    Quintus dropped into parade rest and spoke. "The outriders have returned. The stragglers have been pinned against the Metaurus River and have no hopes of crossing."

    "Good. Crush them, then assemble the men. We have further to march before nightfall." Tiberius looked back down at his map, already dismissing the matter from his mind.

    As Quintus marched away, the Legatus ran his fingers over the rough surface of the map. He triple-checked all the numbers and reports the scouts had provided, confirming that everything seemed to line up. The fighting had been fierce, but even when outnumbered 3 to 1, his Legion had emerged victorious with minimal losses.

    He would have liked to reward his men with a day of rest so they could recover and mend their equipment, but it was not meant to be. They would have to march to make it to the next rendezvous in time.

    It wasn''t long before Quintus returned, informing the Legatus that his orders had been fulfilled. After sending a few more officers to the winds with their own tasks, Tiberius tucked his helmet in the crook of one arm and followed the Primus Pilus to inspect their forces.

    The Legion had gathered nearby in a cleared patch of battlefield. Rows of travel-ready men stood before him, stretching as far as the eye could see. Each stood at attention, loaded up with equipment and ready to move at a moment''s notice.

    Tiberius gave a curt nod at the sight. This level of professionalism was standard, an expectation rather than an achievement. Of course, they would all receive their rewards when they returned from the campaign¡ª commendations, coin, and more material awards. But for now, the approval of their commander and his second would have to do.

    Tiberius strode to the front of the formation and, as one, the Legion saluted their commander.

    "Men. Brothers," he began. "This day will forever be remembered as a day of triumph. A victory befitting Rome."

    He began with a few words about the battle, their victory, and the march to come. His men listened with rapt attention. While the Legatus was technically a politician¡ªa senator, at that¡ªhe considered that a secondary role. Tiberius was as much a Legionnaire as the rest of them, and the men loved him for it. They knew of no other commander who inspired their men to work as hard as Legatus Tiberius.

    "From this field of victory, we should go home to our cups and women and celebrate," the commander bellowed, his voice carrying effortlessly to the six thousand men before him. A few chuckles rippled through the ranks, but were quickly stifled by the centurions. The Legatus let it play out with no hint of disapproval.

    "But we will not. We will not rest, because we are not done," he continued. "Northward we march. The Gauls have forgotten their last lesson, believing themselves superior to Rome''s prowess. And so we shall go. We shall put down their ill-advised incursion and take back what is ours. Then, we shall teach them what it truly means to be a Roman. "

    The Legatus continued, his voice growing in volume and intensity. "There is much still to do. More glory to be won, more riches to be had, and more barbarians to be crushed beneath our feet. We are not done, for Rome is not done. She is not yet satisfied. And so we shall not stop!"

    "For the glory of Rome!" The men shouted in unison, saluting as Tiberius finished his speech.

    Tiberius nodded in approval, turning to Quintus and the other officers. It was time to march. But before the order was given¡­

    ¡­Quintus vanished.

    It barely took a moment for the men to react. In a flash, the sounds of shouts and swords leaving their scabbards filled the air. The Legionnaires'' expressions went tense as they scanned the area for threats. Tiberius''s mind raced as he held his own blade at the ready. This was no natural occurrence. The man was simply gone. Had their gods taken his Primus Pilus? Was this witchcraft of some sort?

    An instant later, the first row of each cohort vanished, then the second. By the third row, the men were in an uproar, pulling out shields and weapons for defensive formations. But there was nothing to defend against. Row by row, second by second, the Legion disappeared into thin air.

    ***

    Marcus dashed through the darkened streets of the backwater town. Behind him, rapid footfalls and clanking metal told him exactly how close the guards were to catching him. They weren''t exactly stealthy, though given their shouts of alarm, they obviously weren''t trying to be.

    He swore under his breath. By the time the sun finally rose, the whole town would already be on alert, if they weren''t already. And seeing how he wasn''t a local, a dedicated search would likely flush him out for good. Meaning he was on borrowed time.

    Unfortunately, the best course of action seemed to be moving on to another town. Again. Such was the life of a bard.

    It really was a pity. He had hoped to stay for a fair bit more time here, especially after meeting Myra. Her gentle smile, supple skin, and honeyed lips would''ve been enough to keep him in place for at least a week or two. Hopefully, her heart wouldn''t ache for him for too long after he disappeared.

    After a few more maneuvers, Marcus managed to outpace the guards, leaving their shouts in the distance. For now. While he had an opening, it was time to make his escape.

    He quickly made his way towards the east gate after he was certain he''d lost the last of them. The stars slowly faded as the pre-dawn light grew, lightening the sky from pitch black to midnight blue. Luckily, the men at the gate seemed half asleep. It was a good sign. It meant they hadn''t been warned about any criminals on the loose.

    Marcus looked down, checking his appearance. The dull brown of his travel cloak hung about his frame, obscuring the finery and silk shirt beneath. His plumed hat hung askew from all the running, and his hair likely hadn''t fared much better. He''d managed to keep hold of his travel bag in the commotion, at least. But other than that¡­

    Normally, he would have been dismayed at his disheveled appearance. But right now? He could work with it.

    Marcus rolled his shoulders, then twisted his expression into an appropriate mask of concern. He pulled off his hat and tugged the cloak a little more tightly closed to ensure that a stray breeze wouldn''t betray him. He also shifted his pack to make it less visible from the front. Flicking on [Glamor] and [Charm], he smoothly sank into the role of a concerned father as he ran to the gate. The guards straightened as he rushed forward, wringing his hands in distress.

    "Open the gate! Please!" He spoke quickly and urgently. "My son, I have to find him, he''s out there¡ª"

    "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" One of the guardsmen put out a halting hand. "Slow down. What''s the issue, sir?"

    "My son. He''s missing!" Marcus clutched at his chest in distress. " The last I saw him, he was going to the forest. I fear I may already be too late. I shouldn''t have allowed myself to sleep until he returned. I must¡ª"

    Marcus continued, rambling on with desperation in his voice. The other man¡ªmore of a lanky teen, really¡ªfrowned. "Uh, it''s pretty early. We can''t open the gate until dawn. Technically¡ª"

    "Please! Time is of the essence," Marcus begged, squeezing fake tears out. "I might already be too late!"

    The first guard patted his shoulder. "All right, sir, we''ll let you through. Though, if your son spent all night in the forest..." He grimaced as he trailed off, letting the sentence hang.

    After a thoroughly profuse slew of thanks, Marcus darted under the sliver of still-opening gate and towards the forest. Fortunately, his cover story gave him a good enough reason to move quickly, and he dashed along the short road leading into the wooded treeline. As soon as he was out of sight, he leaned against a tree, catching his breath.

    Now that he had a moment to think, he cursed his bad luck. How had they found him?  Had news spread this far already? No, it couldn''t be. He had picked this area precisely because it was remote and disconnected from the rest of the kingdom. They hadn''t even heard about the war in the west all the way out here. It was a perfect place to lay low while certain people''s tempers cooled. It was the back end of nowhere.

    So how had he been discovered so quickly?

    It wasn''t from his incredible performances¡ªhe hadn''t even put on a single show here. That had taken considerable self control, given the absolutely abysmal state of the tavern performances he''d seen. Honestly, the real mystery was how no one had run that out-of-tune flute player out of town yet. He wouldn''t have lasted a second back home.

    Marcus let out a long sigh, pushing away from the rough bark. It wasn''t all bad. At least he had his belongings. That was better than he''d managed in some places. This was merely a setback, one that meant he''d have to continue his search elsewhere. Though at this rate, he seriously had to consider fleeing the country altogether¡­The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    He huffed, hefting the small pack on his shoulder and adjusting his travel cloak as he scanned the dark forest. He had come here with an escort, a guarded merchant train he had tagged along with. They had been watchful and told people not to stray into the forest alone, which was only reasonable. But as long as he stuck to the road, he should be fine, right?

    Marcus didn''t feel nearly as secure as he would have liked. Naturally, he always listened to local stories when they were told. Who knew when he would get inspiration for his next masterpiece? But the boilerplate tales of scary monsters in the forest hadn''t really interested him much. Still, some of the villagers'' words were coming back to him now, and with far more gratuitous detail than was strictly necessary.

    Marcus swallowed loudly and pushed off the tree he was leaning against. Walking quickly, he followed the path away from the village. It wasn''t that large of a forest, not on this side. They were on the frontier of the kingdom, true, but the village itself was set only a little distance into the dense woods. It was a logging town that didn''t need to be too far in¡ªless than a mile away were the plains, and from there, civilization wasn''t too much further. Only a couple of days'' journey, tops.

    Marcus hefted his pack, checking its weight. He should have enough food for the trip. But if not, he''d been hungry more than once. Perhaps he''d find another traveler and entertain them enough for a shared meal. That usually worked wonders.

    A rustling in the forest made his head snap to the side. He peered into the darkness, trying to see what had made the noise. Surely, it had just been a deer or a raccoon or something like that.

    He continued along, a little more cautiously now. His eyes continued to scan the trees, hoping to find a level one forest creature somewhere to assuage his concerns. But unfortunately, his hopes were dashed. He soon spotted a dark, indistinct form hidden in the foliage. As he focused on it, a glowing string of golden letters resolved in his vision.

    [Shadow Panther - Lvl 7]

    Marcus bit his tongue. He wanted to curse, but the creature looked like it hadn''t noticed him yet. Maybe he could sneak by without drawing its eye. But if the wind blew wrong... well, he didn''t want to think about the other options.

    Just as he continued to tiptoe forward, he felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck. Before he could even think, instinct sent him rolling forward into a somersault. He felt the wind whistle just above his head as something tore through the space his head had  just occupied.

    Springing to his feet, Marcus looked back to see a second shadow panther ¨C a level six one this time. Its paw was still outstretched as it finished its swipe. Glowing purple eyes fixed on him as it gave a low growl. Even worse, the other shadow panther had descended from its perch to join its fellow. Evidently, they were working together.

    Thinking quickly, Marcus activated [Glamor]. Unlike changing his appearance as he had for the guards, this time he used a different aspect of the skill. He sent a projection of himself running into the darkened forest while doing his best to mask his own presence. Stretching it like this was taxing, but the skill was a high enough level where it might work. Especially if the beasts didn''t look too closely.

    He continued running down the forest path, towards freedom and hopefully safety. Only a couple dozen steps later, he heard a tinkling as the broken [Glamor] vanished behind him. Still, whether the cats would figure out his deception was unclear. He couldn''t afford to look back and check.

    As he rounded the next bend, he dropped his [Glamor] to conserve mana. The cats weren''t breathing down his neck, so maybe his ploy had worked¡ªdespite most of his skills being designed to work on humans, not beasts. He was a bard, after all, not some rogue assassin or tank with [Taunt] or [Conceal Presence] or anything useful in combat.

    Still, even as he let his invisibility drop, Marcus kept pumping his arms and legs, ignoring the burn in his calves and the ache in his lungs. He could run a mile. He wasn''t in that bad of shape. And if he got out of the forest, surely the shadow panthers wouldn''t attack him. Those local stories had mentioned that they didn''t like sunlight.

    A light at the end of the tunnel of trees spurred him forward. He pushed on, waiting with dread for teeth and claws to sink into his back at any moment. But in a few moments, the light washed over him. Marcus stumbled to a stop, his relief quickly giving way to horror.

    Before him lay the river he''d expected, its rushing waters clearly visible in the large clearing of tree stumps from local logging operations. On the other bank stretched an expanse of flat, open plains, a dirt road curving invitingly through its grasses. Why the forest had failed to grow on the far side of its banks, Marcus wasn''t sure. But that''s how it was. There were still several hundred yards of stumps before the river on his side, providing a clear view of the bridge that spanned it.

    At least, it should have.

    It wasn''t like the bridge was easy to miss. It was wide enough for two carriages to pass abreast and nearly eighty paces long. Given the vastness of the river, it had to be big. But the rough-cut lumber structure was nowhere to be seen.

    Marcus''s heart sank as he ran forward and frantically scanned the riverbank. There, at the end of the dirt path, he saw bits of splintered wood and shattered pylons along both banks. He was in the right place, alright. But the bridge itself was no more.

    He swore under his breath. It had rained a lot over the past week, but surely not this much. Sparing a glance to the swiftly-flowing waters before him, he realized that swimming wasn''t an option, either. Not unless he wanted to get dashed against those rocks or pulled under the turbulent rapids.

    Turning back to the forest, he froze. Several sets of purple eyes stared at him from its edge, their gazes hungry. They hadn''t come into the light yet, but they were watching him. And that meant there was no way he could hide back there.

    He heard the approaching shouts from further up the forest path. To top everything else off, a guard rounded a final bend in the road and spotted him.

    "Halt!" One cried out. "Don''t move!"

    More footsteps echoed from behind the shouting guard as his comrades caught up. A torch flickered brightly in the man''s hand. Evidently, he''d planned a little better than Marcus had for getting through the forest.

    The bard''s eyes darted between the guard, the shadow panthers, and the river. He was surrounded on all sides by dead ends and terrible options. There was no getting out of this, no way to hide. He was screwed.

    In case it wasn''t abundantly obvious, Marcus didn''t want to be caught. At a minimum, being captured meant an almost certain confiscation of his belongings, which already was a terrible deal. There was no way he''d give up his stuff that easily. Not his coat, not his hat, and certainly not his instruments. At worst, though¡­ well, Marcus didn''t feel any particular inclination to test that option out, either.

    A little reluctantly, he pulled out his emergency option¡ªa leather bound tome, its pages yellowed but surprisingly intact. Its cover bore the image of an eagle with wings spread out wide to either side, its form superimposed on a golden wreath. The letters "SPQR" were embossed in gold underneath the bird''s feet.

    He''d found the tome with Myra during a very poorly conceived date the previous night. Evidently, the beauty had a thing for ancient ruins or something, and the town had ruins aplenty. At least he''d gotten something out of the night.

    Flipping through the book, Marcus searched for the page of the singular spell within. From a quick glance, the rest of the book seemed to just be flavor text and background rather than actually related to the spell. He obviously would have preferred to investigate the thing a bit more before using it, but there simply hadn''t been time. All he knew was that it was clearly labeled as a summoning spell, though he had absolutely no idea what a "Roman Legion" was. A legion indicated a group of something, clearly. But "Roman?" Perhaps it would produce a golem army or something.

    Whatever the book did, he didn''t particularly care at the moment. He just had to hope it would help. Besides, if he got captured here, then he would certainly be saying goodbye to his theoretical legion of golem servants. And so he began reading the Rites for the Summoning of a Roman Legion.

    Marcus had cast more than a few spells over the course of his long career. He wasn''t a proper wizard, of course, but any bard worth his salt picked up the general [Spellcraft] skill. Even minor spells could add a certain spice to one''s performances, especially in the readings of epic tales.

    But real magic like this wasn''t a trivial matter. Spells were complex things.The timing, pronunciation, intonation, and a whole host of other things being just slightly off could cause the whole spell to fail. Attempting to cast it like this was like trying to perform a piece of complicated music that he''d only seen for the first time moments ago. Doing it while under duress? It would fray the nerves of even the most seasoned performer.

    Luckily for Marcus, he was quite the bard.

    The words of the spell flowed off his tongue with confidence and fluidity. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow in concentration as the guards drew ever closer. About halfway through the spell, he heard a shout of warning.

    "He''s a spellcaster!"

    "He''s the scoundrel we''re looking for, I know it! Be careful!"

    Yet Marcus didn''t rush. After a few tense moments, the incredibly long spell was completed, and with a vocal flourish, Marcus said the final words.

    For a moment, nothing happened. In the sudden silence, all he heard was the clanking of armor and the rustling of leaves.

    Marcus blinked. Had the spell failed? No, spell failures were far more dramatic. They usually didn''t fizzle like¡ª

    A flash of crimson and gold light blinded him.  His senses were filled with the clash of metal, the roar of a great audience, visions of battles won and eagles with golden wings. A tidal wave of fearless determination and confidence crashed over him, calling him towards greatness. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it all stopped.

    Blinking away the disorientation, Marcus''s vision slowly returned. At some point during the vision he''d fallen to the ground, but that wasn''t the only change. He was no longer alone. Now, a second person had joined him in the clearing.

    A male figure stood resolutely before him. The man was clad in a polished metal breastplate, its overlapping sheets catching the rays of the rising sun, and a skirt-like garment of leather and red cloth. A great assortment of blades, spears, and other equipment protruded from his back and belt. Slung across his shoulders was a rectangular red shield bearing four golden wings arrayed across its front. And to top it all off, he wore a strange helmet bearing a vertical plume of red and white feathers.

    Marcus stood staring in awe at the man. He was clearly a warrior of some kind, given his equipment and musculature. He also appeared to be a little taller than Marcus¡ªnot altogether impressive, considering his own diminutive height. But the coloring and the ornamentation of his gear¡­ Surely this was no normal soldier? Who would have the audacity to wear such a thing? The helmet alone might put even his own colorful performance cloak to shame.

    But before he could so much as greet the man, a flash of motion caught his eye. An inky black cat leapt from the shadows and into the light, towards his prone form. Slight wisps of dark smoke poured from its fur, but evidently, the opportunity was too good to pass up. That, or those wives'' tales had grossly overstated the cats'' aversion to light.

    Fear flashed through his mind as he called out a strangled warning to the summoned man. Without hesitation, the warrior sprang into action. He spun around to face the cat, drawing his blade at the same time. The blade tip gracefully sliced through the panther''s throat in a spray of blood. The warrior continued the motion even as he ducked beneath its lunge, brought up his shield, and slammed aside the other massive cat coming for him. It fell to the ground and the warrior stabbed down into its skull.

    Before the shadow panthers had even finished twitching, the warrior was moving again, spinning to face the guards still charging from the forest. Raising his curved rectangular shield, the warrior deflected an arrow and sent it whizzing off to the side. The warrior''s expression turned stony. The guards drew their weapons and charged even closer as the two with bows shot more arrows from behind.

    Marcus gulped, scrabbling backwards. Despite the warrior''s incredible melee prowess, he wasn''t sure if he could take on a half a dozen trained guards with archer support. Not by himself. Even worse, Marcus himself was completely undefended. If the archers had aimed at him, he''d be dead in an instant.

    As another round of arrows loosed, Marcus ducked behind a stump, hoping that it would be enough protection. He heard the shots slam into the shield again as hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe the man would make it? Peeking his head out to check the situation, he blinked.

    An entire line of soldiers wearing almost identical armor to the first now spanned the clearing, having popped into existence while Marcus''s back was turned. There had to be at least a hundred of them filling the area now. The original red-plumed warrior glanced behind him and issued a single command to the group. "Shields!"

    With military precision, the men slung shields from their backs to their arms and snapped together in a solid wall that covered their fronts and heads, blocking a couple other arrows the panicked guards loosed their way. Beyond them, Marcus could just make out the figures of the charging guards skidding to a halt and scrambling back the way they''d come. The warrior yelled again.

    "Advance!"

    The wall of shields advanced. An instant later, another row of warriors appeared where they had been standing and kept marching after their fellows.

    Then another.

    Then another.

    Then a dozen more.

    Marcus watched from his place on the ground as a literal army appeared before him, line by line. The endless torrent of men marched forward, all bearing shields and short swords with packs on their backs. They relentlessly pursued the retreating guards through the forest, heading toward the blissfully unaware town beyond it.

    It was at that point that Marcus realized he might have made a mistake.

 Chapter 2: They Came, They Saw, They Wondered Where They Were

    Quintus blinked as the light around him changed. Suddenly, it was a different dawn. An earlier one. Not only that, but the sunlight was being filtered through a dense forest canopy around him.

    With a start, he realized that he stood in a clearing of tall grass, its blades fluttering slightly in the breeze. It was not the open plains and former battlefield by the Metaurus River. Rather, this was scenery he''d expect to see in Gaul. Where was he? Perhaps he''d died and gone to Elysium? Perhaps some enemy had caught them unawares, putting an arrow through his skull? It seemed improbable, but what else could it be?

    Looking down at himself, Quintus quickly took stock of the situation. He realized that he still bore all of his equipment, then surveyed his surroundings. On the ground nearby sat a man with a book, his jaw hanging open in surprise. It took a single glance to tell the man was not a real threat, at least not on the battlefield. He was alone and dressed like the fops that plagued Rome. Quintus put him out of his mind and focused on more relevant matters. Specifically, the animal leaping toward him and the men charging out of the forest.

    The man with the book let out a shout of warning. Quintus wheeled around to face a black cat that looked like a bigger version of a female lion pouncing at him. A quick arc of his sword slashed through the cat''s neck, carrying it to the ground as he rolled out of the way of its claws. He bashed another aside and stabbed it in the head before looking to the next threat.

    A group of half-armed figures emerged from the treeline, sporting bows and poorly-maintained swords. Despite their lacking equipment, it was at least consistent between individuals. Quintus would have guessed they were guards or soldiers of some sort. But if that were the case, they were obviously not up to the task. A city needed men to protect it. Not these half-baked, soft-armed weaklings.

    One of the archers amongst the barbarians loosed an arrow, but the Primus Pilus had his scutum ready. The curved rectangle of hardened metal and wood raised to meet the shot, deflecting it. He felt a moment of surprise at its accuracy, given the sorry state of the bow, but the force was severely lacking.

    Coming back to his feet, he deflected another arrow, sending it skittering to the side. He didn''t have time to marvel at the scenery or the now dying cats at his feet. Right now, he was under attack.

    Suddenly, Quintus heard a familiar sound at his back. With a quick glance, he confirmed it. The first rank of the Legion had appeared behind him. How or why were questions for later. Right now, they were under fire from a hostile force in an unknown location with no officer present. So the first centurion did what he was trained to do¡ªgo on offense.

    "Shields!"

    He shouted the order to the men who had just arrived. Their training kicked in and a thundering clash sounded as the shields interlocked into a tortoise formation at his back. It stiffened his spine with confidence.

    "Advance!"

    The shield wall began taking steps forward, toward their aggressors. The line seamlessly parted for Quintus to lock in his shield as they approached. Together, they deflected a few more arrows that the increasingly panicked archers loosed their way.

    As soon as they realized the futility of their efforts, the enemy barbarians started running. The next rank of Legionnaires appeared behind Quintus''s line and immediately locked their shields, but a quick order had them spinning around and watching their flanks for other threats. Around five seconds later, the third rank of Legionnaires appeared.

    Quintus kept everyone moving forward so that the rest of the Legion would have space to arrive, assuming they would continue to appear. Even then, they''d be hard-pressed to fit everyone in this clearing. So until an officer showed up and told him otherwise, his priority was clear¡ªto secure the surrounding area.

    Several more orders were issued, and the second cohort split off to watch the perimeter and prevent any more monsters from sneaking up on them. The rest of the four cohorts marched after the barbarian town guards. Securing the area might be simple, but the biggest obstacle would be an opposing force. They needed to follow them back to their base and determine the threat. If it was in the immediate area, they''d secure it.

    Of course, it was always possible that they were being led into an ambush, but that seemed unlikely to Quintus. The patrol seemed genuinely startled and unprepared for the Legion''s appearance, for one. Also, if the ambushing force were similarly trained and equipped, he had no doubt that they''d fall easily even to a fraction of the Legion''s men. But without knowledge of the area and its people, it would be impossible to tell for sure.

    Large-scale tactical decisions like that were the kind of thing that was best left for officers. But with no officer present, raw aggression was their best course of action. Especially if there were more threats about.

    Quintus didn''t change their orders, and the ranks continued marching forward up the road. The barbarians sprinted back, slowly pulling away from the Legion in their haste. It probably meant their base was close, Quintus thought. Otherwise, they would never be able to maintain that pace. Though panicked men weren''t known for their rational thinking. Either way, if his men kept marching quickly, they wouldn''t get too far. Following even this pitiful excuse for a road would be good enough to manage that.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Quintus ordered the men to move slightly faster. The encroaching forest forced them to adjust their formation, moving in a narrow column down the path. Still, the wall held steady, and they could maintain this pace for hours, even if they would be slightly more vulnerable to arrows. But he wanted to secure the area as soon as possible.

    His judgment call soon paid off. Around a bend, they emerged from the forest to find the walls of a small town nearby. At first, he was impressed. Barbarians didn''t often gather in such large numbers. But that only lasted a moment.

    The wall was shoddy by imperial standards¡ªwoefully so. When they civilized this area, they would need to replace it. Even the temporary palisade they made at camp each night would do better to stop an assault than that wall.

    "Fulkon formation!"

    Quintus felt the wall shift around him as those proficient with slings stepped to the back. They pulled out their weapons and stones, getting projectiles ready. The barbarian guards were just reaching the wall, and despite their shouts, the town had not formed any sort of real defensive response. Not yet, at least.

    A moment later, the ranks around him reformed. Men stepped up to slot into the shield wall. With another command, the Legion formed into a turtle formation and marched into archer range. The gates opened for the fleeing men. The sound of loud bells shattered the air as the town finally recognized that it was under threat. Through an opening in the shields, Quintus saw a handful of archers pop up on the wall, taking ineffectual shots at their formation.

    The slowness with which the gates closed behind the men showed sloppy discipline by the guards. This was further demonstrated by the fact that the Legion was almost at the wall before any sort of concentrated arrow fire came at them.

    As their formation butted up against the base of the wall, Quintus and the men in the first rank went down on one knee and braced their shields against its wooden pillars and their shoulders. The position gave them cover from attackers and also provided a foothold for the second rank as they climbed up. The little boost was all they needed to get their hands over the top of the all-too-short wall. It wasn''t even cut properly to prevent easy scaling.

    The second rank flung themselves up and over the wall, and the third rank quickly followed. He heard shouts of panic and battle as the Legionnaires engaged their enemies. Less than three minutes later, the gates were once again open, this time with a perimeter formed by the second and third ranks. They stood above groups of several surrendered guards, all of them sitting down with hands raised and their weapons in a pile.

    Quintus stepped through the gate at the head of the Legion and looked around. Given the state of the wall and the guards, he shouldn''t have expected much. But the place he found himself surveying could barely be considered slums. The roads were simple packed dirt and mud, the buildings little more than wooden hovels with no real ornamentation or architecture of note. He wouldn''t have been surprised if they didn''t even have proper sewage systems. How uncivilized were these people?

    The main street wasn''t quite a straight shot to the center of town, but it was close enough that he could see a larger central building erected there. Even from this distance, it was easy to spot the white flag being raised atop it.

    The meaning was quite clear, but Quintus wasn''t about to let his guard down. Not when there were still so many unknowns.

    With a few orders, the first rank established a cordon several blocks wide. Quintus took a moment to confer with several of the centurions of the first cohort. Gallus, Remus, Antonius, and Castus gathered around him.

    "Sweep the town. We need a full count of the civilians. Gather all military-aged men outside the wall and keep them under watch." His gaze swept across the other centurions. "Don''t let anyone do anything stupid. Keep lethal force to a minimum. If they''re willing to surrender this quickly, then hopefully, they''ll be smart and willing to listen. Besides, our Legatus might have use for them," Quintus instructed.

    The centurions nodded without a hint of surprise at their orders. So far, the bloodshed had been extremely limited, which was fortunate. It would make matters much easier if the people didn''t throw their lives away. Each of the Centurions had been through many campaigns and seen the trouble that came with needlessly violent conquest. No one wanted to deal with that. Besides, it was obvious they were in a completely unknown area. Who knew how far they were from familiar lands, much less friendly ones? No, right now, they needed a base of operations.

    As they worked to secure the city, more and more Legionnaires continued to pour in. Their ranks swelled, making Quintus expect that it was only a matter of time before the entire Legion arrived. Sure enough, it wasn''t long before the Legatus reached the gate with the rest of his officers.

    "Legatus Tiberius," Quintus said with a salute.

    Tiberius examined his first centurion with an approving stare. "Report, Primus."

    ***

    As Quintus described the situation and how they''d gotten here, Tiberius nodded with satisfaction. Watching his men vanish before him had been a terrifying sight. Witchcraft like that would unsettle anyone''s stomach. A few quiet words and prayers to the gods were the only thing he allowed himself in front of his remaining men before he, too, was banished.

    Finding everyone intact on the other side had been a relief. One that he didn''t show outwardly, of course, but still felt nonetheless.

    Tiberius stepped forward through the gates and surveyed the area. He frowned, agreeing with Quintus''s impression of the place as a backwoods barbarian outpost. But still, it meant there were other people about. At least they weren''t in the middle of nowhere.

    As Quintus finished his report, Tiberius nodded once again. He wished there was some promotion he could give the man. He wasn''t sure if he could trust any of his staff officers or even a second to keep a level head in that kind of situation, let alone so efficiently secure the area and eliminate all threats.

    Unfortunately, any commission would need to be confirmed by the Senate or the Emperor for him to advance Quintus. And as far as they knew, Rome might as well be a world away. Well, if there was a battlefield vacancy, he knew who was going to fill it.

    "Come," Tiberius ordered. "We will find the leaders of this settlement. I have many questions to ask."

    With that, the two men headed off to the center of the town.

 Chapter 3: A Slight Miscalculation

    Marcus prided himself on his wit and eloquence. Whenever he spoke, it was not simply to communicate a point. Rather, each word was carefully chosen to imbue the right tone and elevate his message to the level of poetry. It was this dedication that rendered crowds spellbound by his stories and opponents tongue-tied by his insults. Even the most critical curmudgeons and dismissive dastards found themselves unable to deny his abilities. In his best moments, he''d even been known to sway kings.

    This was not one of those moments.

    A string of vulgar and uninspired curses spewed from Marcus as he finally came back to his senses. Despite all of his training, for once he neither had the time nor the mental fortitude to maintain his usual bearing and presence of mind. The present situation truly was an exploration of new ways to trigger a heart attack.

    The endless lines of men continued to march past him at a quick pace, practically a jog. Marcus grew increasingly horrified as he watched the tide of armored warriors appear and then immediately follow after the previous row toward the town. At this point, he''d probably watched several thousand go by. The numbers were reaching levels of such absurdity that he worried that they would never stop coming.

    "Uh, halt! Stop! Pause! Cancel!" Marcus cried out anything he could think of to cancel the spell or somehow stem the flow. He even used [Spellcraft] to recount some handy dispels he''d memorized, but nothing worked. Whatever he''d set in motion, it wouldn''t stop now.

    His attempts to stop the army gave way to more curses. For once, he wished he''d been just a little less distracted last night. Then he might have actually read that tome through.

    He hurriedly flipped open the book and skimmed through the spell section to see if there was some other part of the incantation he''d missed. But if there was, it was a hidden thing, buried beneath lines upon lines of other magical jargon and diagrams. Everything he saw related to the summoning itself, not what to do once said summoning was successful.

    He looked up at the sky helplessly. Whatever mage wrote this was probably looking down on him and having a hearty laugh right about now.

    Throughout the whole ordeal, the continuously spawning lines of soldiers completely ignored their summoner. Even when he risked directing his orders at the men, they seemed to fall on deaf ears. As bad as that was, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise¡ªhaving the attention of hundreds of dangerous warriors directed his way might actually give him a heart attack, or worse.

    Eventually, though, Marcus was able to pull himself together. The first one summoned seemed to be a leader of some sort. Perhaps he had to command the ones in charge, rather than the footsoldiers.

    With a plan in mind, he squinted into the mass to find any other possible leaders. The Legion marched forward steadily, their armor clanking with each unified step. The sound was deafening. Interestingly though, Marcus noticed that they hardly spoke. There were no shouted commands, no jeers, not even a battle cry. In fact, aside from the first soldier he''d seen, none had made so much as a peep. It was a bit frustrating, given his current predicament. It also made him wonder if they were some sort of hive mind collective or even golems shaped like men.

    Realizing that no commands were working, he focused on their attire instead. At first, the men all appeared to be uniform. But a closer inspection revealed differences between individuals. Even their armor, identical as it seemed, bore slight variations from one man to another. Their height varied, and even though most of them were taller than his admittedly diminutive five-foot-one frame, they were not giants. The bronze breastplates and the skirts of cloth and leather seemed standard. But small inconsistencies in what they carried on their backs changed things. Some had cook pans strapped underneath their packs, while others had felling axes or bundles of canvas.

    He also noticed some more obvious standouts. There were some larger men wearing plumed helmets similar to the first soldiers Marcus had seen, though they were scarce. Many of them bore staves topped with a strange golden eagle, the bird bobbing along as they marched.

    He tried shouting an order at one of the passing stave-bearers, but to no avail. Either they didn''t hear him, or they simply weren''t following his commands. Either way, they continued to pass by Marcus as though he didn''t exist.

    Suddenly, the lines ended. A final group of seven men appeared, bearing fancier plumage and no packs. They also looked far more intimidating than any he''d seen so far. Before he could gather himself, they, too, marched after the receding group.

    Marcus suddenly realized that he was being left behind. The last of the soldiers were already disappearing into the forest. His stomach dropped at the idea of heading down the path alone once again. The army was probably getting close to the gate by now. And with a force this size¡­

    He gulped. Their numbers alone would be enough to overwhelm the town. Not just overwhelm it¡ªthey''d practically be drowning in summoned soldiers. A hundred guardsmen wouldn''t stand a chance. No, even a thousand wouldn''t be able to hold off the coming tide.

    Not that it was his problem. He was a wanted man. Not even an hour ago, he''d been fleeing from the very town guards that would soon be under siege. That didn''t mean they deserved this, of course. But he''d already tried to call the Legion off. What more could he do?This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Turning away from the forest to write this off as decidedly none of his business, Marcus froze. Amidst all the chaos, he''d entirely forgotten about one tiny detail¡ªthe bridge was broken. There was no getting across without getting it repaired. Even finding a boat or some other way to take him across would require getting back to the town and greasing some palms. A town that, based on how things were going, might not exist in a few minutes.

    Taking a deep breath, Marcus gathered himself. He could still hear the receding footsteps of the soldiers as they marched through the forest. If he hurried, he might be able to catch up. It was better than being stranded here alone. At least this way, he might have a chance at saving his own hide and maybe the town. He did feel at least a little responsible for this whole debacle.

    If the worst came to pass, at least he''d be able to witness and chronicle the events for future generations. He already had the beginnings of a great story as things were. And what kind of bard would he be to pass up on something like that?

    "Hold! Wait for me, fellows!" Shouting after the soldiers, Marcus hurried to catch up.

    The return trip through the forest was considerably safer. He positioned himself close enough to the mass of soldiers for security, yet far enough away that he didn''t think he''d be noticed. Either way, it seemed to work. The shadow panthers and other wildlife didn''t even bother to poke their heads out this time. He didn''t have to wonder why. A few bloodied carcasses among the underbrush indicated that they had learned their lesson.

    It didn''t take long before Marcus began wheezing, his steps becoming labored. He had already run a couple of miles to escape the guards before all this. The skills and spells he''d used along the way had also done their part in draining his remaining stamina. And now he was making the same trip again with barely a break. It was at a trot this time, but he didn''t have the additional "motivation" of being eaten by massive cats to help him along the way, either. The soldiers, though, never even slowed. Their double-time march continued relentlessly, echoing through the forest.

    Gritting his teeth, Marcus began clapping out a quiet [Inspirational Song] to bolster his energy. It wasn''t the most effective thing, running as he was, but it helped a little bit. He didn''t want to tempt the forest''s denizens into an easy meal if he could avoid it.

    He rounded a bend, a break in the trees affording him an excellent view of the Legion''s first line nearing the wall. A scattering of archers stood at the tops of the wooden barrier, frantically shooting arrows at the invaders. They splintered ineffectually against the wall of shields. But to Marcus''s bewilderment, the soldiers weren''t fielding archers of their own. Instead, they were throwing rocks.

    Slings whirred in the soldiers'' hands as they flung stones at the city''s defenders, then hid behind their shields. The weapon choice completely stunned him. Slings? Really? What kind of soldier worth his salt used a sling? Those were children''s toys, not actual military weapons. Internally, Marcus revised his evaluation of the summoned soldiers from "ancient warriors" to "ancient barbarians."

    The town guards ducked behind the walls as a flurry of stones whizzed through the air with terrifying speed. One failed to move in time, a rock striking his head with a sharp crack that cut through the clearing. His leather cap did nothing to protect him as the stone caved in his skull. With a soundless cry, the man crumpled and fell out of sight.

    Marcus grimaced. Luckily, he was too far away to make out the gory details or hear the landing. But perhaps those slings weren''t entirely useless.

    The soldiers made it up the wall in a well-rehearsed maneuver that he didn''t fully understand. Several disappeared down the other side in a flash and the gate began to open. Marcus kept running, desperately trying and failing to catch up as soldiers began to flood into the town. As he got close, he could see white flags fluttering through the open gate.

    "They''re surrendering! Cease your assault! Fall back!"

    Marcus figured that his breathless orders wouldn''t do anything. They hadn''t so far, and the last group of soldiers was fairly far ahead of him now. But regardless, it was worth a shot. He could only hope that the barbarians understood the signal for surrender.

    Luckily, it seemed like they weren''t entirely bloodthirsty. A large portion of the army continued to pour into the town while others stayed outside. Soon after, he saw the barbarians begin to escort disarmed town guards out of the gates.

    He breathed a sigh of relief. Emerging from the forest, Marcus decided that he could afford a quick breather. He jogged to a halt, hands on his knees as he gulped in air. Once he was no longer in danger of having his heart fling itself forcefully out of his chest, he began to take stock of the situation.

    The summons were dangerous¡ªthat much was clear. But there was still the possibility that he could get them under control. If he couldn''t, then he still had to make sure that they didn''t raze the town outright. He still needed to get across the river, after all. But it didn''t matter who rebuilt the bridge, as long as he didn''t get arrested or killed before it happened.

    Whichever way he sliced it, Marcus was going to have to get in there and work his magic. The question was, how to approach it?

    Marcus stood up straight, dusted off his coat, and fixed his hair before he began to walk over. Hopefully, this "Roman Legion" was a bit more reasonable and open than their first impressions indicated. Talking to their leader was his best chance at regaining control over the summons, not to mention it was a good idea in general. But he''d have to make it through the rank and file first. And that meant the time for subtlety was past.

    He stuffed his traveling cloak in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. In its place, his rich purple bard''s cloak waved freely in the breeze. The light of the rising sun glinted off of the gold thread stitched artfully throughout it and ensured that anyone looking upon him would know that he had wealth and status.

    Running a quick hand through his dark blond locks, he got them back into shape once more and straightened his slightly rumpled shirt. If someone looked at him closely enough, they might notice the residual perspiration and slight reddening of his face, but it couldn''t be helped. He''d made better first impressions under worse circumstances. And besides, his appearance was only an aid for the real meat of his approach.

    Adopting his most regal posture, Marcus began rehearsing the upcoming performance in his head. It was time to put on a show.

 Chapter 4: The Birth of an Empire

    As Marcus approached the gathered ranks of soldiers, a few finally reacted to his presence. A group broke off to meet him, one calling out in a loud voice. "Halt! State your purpose."

    Marcus sagged in relief. He''d been fairly sure that they spoke the same language based on the few shouted commands he''d heard, but this confirmed it. The fact that they hadn''t attacked him on sight was a huge plus, as well. That would make things so much easier. Maybe his [Silver Tongue] could actually be of use.

    Marcus swept into a courtly bow, his cloak flourishing around him. "Greetings. My name is Marcus Silvanus D''Angelo, and I have come to speak with your leader."

    "For what purpose?" The man didn''t budge. He spoke in a harsh and unfamiliar accent, but it wasn''t without a certain politeness. It reminded him of how people up north talked, but a little less guttural and more clipped. Marcus felt that the man was honestly asking for his intent, and he would maybe pass it along if it was interesting enough.

    Leaping at the opportunity, he launched into the spiel he''d prepared on the way over. "I come to offer my knowledge and wisdom. As a traveler of many lands, I am well acquainted with this area and the world as a whole. As such, I wish to extend an offer of aid to you, who I expect may have found yourselves in quite the unfamiliar place. And¡­" he paused for a moment, considering whether to add the final bit. "...I must admit some curiosity as to your intentions for this fine town."

    The soldier fixed him with a hard stare, then grumbled. He glanced toward one of his compatriots and the man went running. Hopefully, it was to find someone higher up the chain. The man returned his gaze to Marcus. "You will wait here."

    "Of course, of course," Marcus agreed easily. Finally, a chance to take a break. He straightened, maintaining a fittingly regal stance while still appearing open and approachable. It seemed that they would be waiting a little while, so perhaps he could work on making some inroads in the meantime. "Might I ask for your name, good sir?"

    His question was met with a stony silence. The soldier didn''t even acknowledge he had spoken. Inwardly, he grimaced. It seemed that making conversation would be a little more difficult than he''d expected.

    After a few more tries at striking up conversation, he decided to abandon the idea. The utter lack of the man''s responses further cemented that he had no command over these summoned beings. Clearly, them not listening to him was a choice. No, he simply had to hope that talking to their leader would shed some more light on the situation. If he couldn''t command him¡­ then perhaps he''d need to change tactics and make himself an asset instead.

    So rather than continue to talk to a brick wall, Marcus waited patiently and continued to craft his words. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to observe the Legion''s men. A large number of them remained outside the city, standing in neat ranks and groups. Between the armored figures, Marcus spotted the kneeling forms of more men in the town''s guard uniforms. They''d been disarmed and gathered together to be watched over by the Legion soldiers, but didn''t seem to be injured or in immediate danger. That was a good sign, at least.

    As he watched messengers running about from inside the city to without, he began to notice a strange sort of sensation. It was a faint thing, small enough to be unnoticeable unless he focused on it. But there was a definite link there, stretching from himself to each Legion soldier as he focused on them. It felt somewhat similar to his [Critical Reception] skill when it was active. That one allowed him to evaluate the engagement of all who watched his performances. But he hadn''t activated the skill. This was a passive feeling, and it didn''t communicate the same kind of information.

    He was still grappling with that realization when the messenger soldier returned. He saluted the stony-faced man with whom Marcus had been speaking before turning to Marcus himself. "The Legatus will see you. Come with me."

    Before Marcus could respond, the man turned on his heel and marched back towards the gate. With as much confidence as he could muster, Marcus passed into the ranks of soldiers and stepped towards the entrance of Habersville once again. Two more soldiers silently fell into step around him. He chose to think of them as an honor guard rather than an escort for a captive.

    As they headed through the gates, he carefully peered around, inspecting the surroundings and faces of the townsfolk. At least, the few he could actually see. Most of them were peeking out through windows, watching the strange soldiers as they went about their tasks on the streets. Everyone that he saw looked worried, but unharmed. He didn''t see piles of corpses or horrific carnage like he had initially feared. Every once in a while, he spotted men kneeling and under watch with their hands bound behind them. But that was all. They weren''t being beaten or tortured or anything so heinous.

    The realization made Marcus breathe a sigh of relief. When he had first seen the wave of soldiers pouring into the town, he truly had feared for the pretty much defenseless, low-level civilians. But as they walked farther into the city, the more calm Marcus became. It really seemed like an almost bloodless takeover. Soldiers were patrolling the streets and keeping the peace, but not outright threatening anyone. Even the stray dogs had been herded into areas rather than being killed.

    Of course, whether or not such peace would last was another matter. One he had to see to himself.

    The city hall came into view, its two stories towering over the comparatively small buildings around it. Before it spread a greenish lawn with a rough-hewn monolith of dark stone protruding from its center. Its surface gleamed in the morning sunlight, hues of blue and gold seeming to shimmer just beneath its surface. A class stone, albeit a relatively unimpressive one.

    Yet rather than the usual people milling about, Marcus saw a sea of soldiers. The square has been turned into a command post. Several makeshift tables and tents had been set up amidst an even higher concentration of Legion soldiers. Amidst the action, Marcus took note of two figures in particular.

    The first was a very overweight man with jiggly jowls and a belly the size of a barrel. His clothes were ostentatious, their rich colors clashing in eye-watering combinations, and revealed an incredible lack of taste from their wearer. Their primary design aim had clearly been to flaunt wealth rather than look good, an effect that was considerably lessened by how poorly tailored the garments were. That, and the dark splotches of sweat currently soaking through them as the man trembled. Marcus recognized him as the mayor of Habersville.

    The second figure, however, was the polar opposite. He was another one of the summoned soldiers, identifiable at a glance by the large plume atop his helm. A strong jaw, close-cropped black stubble, and muscled physique made him look like some sort of legendary warrior, an impression backed up by criss-crossing scars across his body. Even more than that, though, he wore an aura of confidence like a second skin.

    The man looked imposing even at a distance. Amid the bustle of activity, he appeared firmly in control like a solid piece of stone battered by waves. Even Marcus began to feel more and more intimidated as he walked closer.

    He shook himself. He was no small-time bard. He had performed for kings. There was no reason to be this nervous about some barbarian warrior. Still, between the man''s bearing and the comparatively fine ornamentation of his armor, Marcus could only assume that this was the leader of the Legion¡ª the "Legatus" his escort had mentioned. Hopefully, at least. As if to confirm the thought, a strong pull from his new sense tugged him in that direction.

    At their approach, the Legatus looked up and met Marcus''s eyes briefly before returning back to issuing orders. Marcus remarked inwardly that his severe features seemed at odds with the rather silly feathers and decorations protruding from his helmet. Regardless, the sheer amount of muscle and angular planes would have made it impossible to laugh at him, no matter how he was dressed. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Marcus''s escort approached the man, the lead soldier saluting with a fist to his chest. "Legatus Tiberius,"

    The extravagantly plumed Legatus turned his attention to them and nodded. The soldier indicated Marcus with his eyes. "This man claims to have information for you."

    Another brief nod from the Legatus dismissed the messenger, allowing the entirety of the man''s attention to fall onto Marcus. Hard eyes bored into him. Between that and the two guards that remained at his sides, the situation didn''t exactly feel in his favor. Still, he relaxed his muscles and adopted as casual of a posture as he dared. It was best to appear confident and in control. Though perhaps he would tread a little more carefully when trying to give the man an order.

    Marcus felt the eyes of every soldier on his back as they passed. With practiced ease, he plastered an open and friendly smile onto his face to meet the Legatus''s stony expression. The stage was set. Best case scenario, he''d be able to direct the man. If not¡­ well, he''d ingratiated himself to plenty of people before. He just needed to find out how to be of use.

    ***

    When Tiberius heard that a local had information for him, he was curious. The fact that the local had introduced himself from outside of the city and done so with proper respect and deference to the men was even better. It had made him actually want to hear the man out.

    From his limited experience in this strange place, most of these people were clueless yokels who didn''t know a thing about running a proper city or managing an economy. The so-called guards were criminally lax, the mayor was a blubbering mess, and even the townsfolk themselves seemed to have no concept of proper sanitary practices. Any kind of competence would be more than welcomed at this point.

    But as he watched the soldier escort the man in question closer, Tiberius quickly regretted his decision.

    It was immediately apparent that the man was a spineless fop. Between the extravagant clothes and his soft appearance, he might as well have been from a wealthy family in the city of Rome, one of those coddled boys who no longer remembered what it meant to be a citizen. The way he moved was more like a dancer than a fighter, his figure suggesting he''d never seen combat. Worse, the supercilious smile he wore on his face called to mind the image of a career politician.

    The smarmy newcomer bowed low after the soldier was dismissed. "Greetings, Legatus Tiberius. My name is Marcus Silvanus D''Angelo, traveling bard and minstrel. I''ve been to many lands, near and far, and filled my cup with sights and stories across them all. If you seek to partake of the knowledge of this world, then you''ll find no better mentor and guide to quench your thirst."

    He finished the speech with a flourish, tapping his nose with an infuriatingly knowing smile. Tiberius let the man stew in silence for a second. Unfortunately, it seemed that bards in this place followed the practices of minstrels and poets he knew¡ªspecifically, that of using an impressive number of flowery words to convey shockingly little information.

    "And?" Tiberius eventually prompted. This Marcus clearly had an angle, but Tiberius was in no mood to play games. Either he would state his intentions clearly or Tiberius would return to the matters at hand. He had plenty of things to do without wasting time here.

    At the prompting, Marcus began blabbering again. "I would like to express my humble appreciation for the leniency you''ve shown the villagers. Your mercy has not gone unmarked, truly. I am certain that such actions will cause them to see you in a kinder light, as gallant protectors and noble warriors as opposed to cruel conquerors. Of course, your might has left even myself in awe, but¡­"

    The man continued to babble on about might and mercy and such things for quite a while. Tiberius found it rather unusual that the villagers were the first matter to be raised by this man. Normally, people like him didn''t care about anyone else, instead choosing to angle for power and position at every opportunity. But then again, maybe he was.

    Tiberius allowed himself a ghost of a smile. He didn''t intend any harm to the village, but it wouldn''t hurt to play along with the man''s delusions. Perhaps it would get him more information. Still, it was best to test the waters a little bit. Keeping the man off balance would be a bonus.

    "Bard¡ª"

    "Call me Marcus," the man insisted, the smile still plastered on his face.

    "...Bard," Tiberius repeated, ignoring the comment. He thought he saw a twitch of surprise at the response. "Why should I be lenient? Why should my men spend their time and energy watching over people who could stab them in the back? What use is it to protect people such as these, much less their incompetent leaders?"

    He heard the blubbery man at his side let out a high-pitched squeal of panic. It made Tiberius''s features harden once more. With a leader like this, it was no wonder the town was in such a state. The bard, on the other hand, didn''t so much as flinch. His suspiciously genial smile never faltered, even for a moment. It was enough self-control to make Tiberius think he''d imagined the flash of uncertainty earlier.

    "Ah, it seems that I may prove my worth by being of use already. Let me explain. This wonderful town holds great strategic value due to not only its location, but its trade." Marcus swept an arm out wide¡ªslowly, Tiberius noted¡ªto indicate the unremarkable buildings. "As a frontier logging town, they serve as a great exporter of lumber and a key component in construction across the kingdom. All that is built begins here, with the labors of Habersville and its people. People who, as you might expect, are quite experienced in their craft."

    Tiberius frowned. It explained the predominantly wooden constructions he''d seen around town. If trees were their main export, perhaps he could understand why the people used them as opposed to stone or cement. Still, the choice had a number of drawbacks, and the quality of the buildings themselves had left quite a lot to be desired, especially for so-called "experts." His estimation of the people dropped another few notches.

    The bard had continued speaking as he thought, waxing poetic about the relatively menial job of cutting down trees. "...The skills and hard-earned generational knowledge of these people would be difficult to replace, as you may expect. And such resources can be of great use, as I''m sure a man like you may know..."

    The Legatus summarized the speech internally. This was a small town that produced lumber. That was practically all their people did. Considering its size, there had to be many more such settlements to build anything of use. Otherwise, the "kingdom" that it belonged to would have to be laughably small.

    It would make a decent base of operations.

    He cut Marcus off mid-sentence. "Tell me about the surrounding area. Geography, factions, defenses."

    "Well," Marcus began, his eyes lighting up at the question. "As I mentioned, this is the humble town of Habersville, situated among the towering pines of the Evergreen Seas. That is the name for the forest around us. It''s origin¡ª"

    "What about the kingdom you mentioned?" Tiberius interrupted again, prompting the man to move on. Despite being cut off, the bard made no indication of being offended.

    They continued on like that for a while, Tiberius fishing for practical information as Marcus attempted to inject as much flowery prose as possible into every sentence. At some point, a few of Tiberius''s men returned from the town hall with maps and other relevant documents. They were of rather poor quality and limited in scope, but he''d dealt with worse. His aides took down notes the entire time, dutifully recording everything of use that the bard spouted. They would double check everything later. But for now, any information was valuable.

    It didn''t take long to realize that they were far from home. The geography the man detailed was unlike any Tiberius had seen or heard of on any map. Worst of all, from the sound of things, there was nothing even close to Rome in the charted world. Wherever they were, it was even more remote than the distant lands of China.

    Even without a map, it was a fairly obvious conclusion. These people were so technologically behind that the town didn''t even have aqueducts. Given what he''d seen, they may have never even heard of a sewer system. Tiberius couldn''t let that stand.

    Once he had a decent grasp on the situation, Tiberius cut Marcus off with a raised hand. "That is enough. We will need to verify this information. In the meantime¡­" He raised his voice to speak to the entire square, not just Marcus.

    "I have decided this land is in desperate need of civilization. Its current stewards have utterly failed to provide proper training, equipment, support, protection, and logistics, not to mention infrastructure." Tiberius glanced around in disgust at the disgracefully underdeveloped town. "As the Emperor has no connection to this land, I, Senator Tiberius Rufius Maro, shall take a position as acting emperor in the name of Caesar Tyrannus Idrieus Augustus until such connection can be formed."

    At the proclamation, every nearby Legionnaire stood at attention. As one, they clasped their hands to their chests in salute. A deafening cry of "Long live the Emperor!" echoed through the town square. With a nod from Tiberius, they continued going about their business.

    Ignoring the confusion on the faces of the mayor and bard, he turned to one of his aides. "Let it be known. Assemble the men. We have work to do."

    Just as he turned back to continue his own work, however, he found himself faced with an odd sight. Motes of golden light coalesced into the air before him, forming words that hovered in his vision.

    [You have successfully seized the town of Habersville! You have gained experience. See a Class Stone for territory management options.]

    [You have successfully declared war on the Novara Kingdom!]

 Chapter 5: The Class System

    Tiberius gaped at the blatant example of witchcraft floating before his eyes. Of course, he was no stranger to magic. Their very presence in this new and unfamiliar place had been proof enough that it did exist, its manifestations far more direct than he''d ever before experienced. But seeing it physically manifest like this was a different matter entirely.

    The overweight "leader" of the town let out a high-pitched squeal of fright, his jowls quivering. "Y-you¡ª! You can''t depose me! I''m the mayor! This is¡ª!"

    At a sharp look from Tiberius, the sweaty man clamped his mouth shut with a soft whimper. The text followed his eyes, continuing to obscure his vision annoyingly. He reached out to wave it away, and the golden letters vanished as though snuffed out.

    He schooled his face to its usual impassivity and looked back at Marcus. The implications of the message, if it could even be trusted to begin with, were something he could deal with later. For now, he had other matters to handle.

    "I will rule over this land and its people. However, I see no further use for you," he scowled at the mayor and the bard both. "What use do I have for fops such as yourselves?"

    The mayor began squealing once more, blubbering out some incomprehensible nonsense as he begged for his life. Marcus, on the other hand, remained calm. He extended a leg forward and gave a flowery bow that would have made even the most boot-kissing courtesan blush. "I assure you, I am more than capable in a variety of areas. What I have offered freely barely scratches the surface of my knowledge. Not to mention¡­" He gave the Legatus a meaningful look. "I am a level 21 [Royal Bard]."

    Tiberius''s brow furrowed. "A what?"

    ***

    The way Marcus saw things, he had two options.

    He would have had more, if he''d been able to order Tiberius around. Unfortunately, his attempts to give the Legatus directions had failed miserably. Even something as simple as having the man call him by name resulted in little more than annoying him. Perhaps he needed to be more authoritative with his orders, but judging by Tiberius''s bearing¡­ Well, he wasn''t inclined to try too hard. A failure would probably just get him killed.

    That left the other options. The first was to do as the Legatus suggested and continue being useful. That wouldn''t be too hard. A [Royal Bard] wasn''t just an entertainer, after all. His skills could be put toward any manner of useful things¡ªnegotiating diplomatic deals, rallying the troops, more clandestine work¡­ The list went on and on. There was a reason his services had once been in such high demand.

    The second option, if he''d caught the implied threat correctly, was to die. That, or be subjected to whatever kind of enslavement, imprisonment, or other punishment a peeved warlord playing at emperor might seek to visit upon him.

    Needless to say, it was a pretty simple decision.

    However, he ran into a snag almost immediately. Rather than the awe and respect he''d hoped for, his big reveal of his class and level had just made the Legatus confused, somehow. Of the surrounding crowd, only the mayor and seemed duly impressed, gaping at him with wide eyes.

    Something wasn''t right. As powerful as these men were, a level 21 was nothing to scoff at. Not with such a rare class. Perhaps they were shortsighted enough to only value combat?

    With a thought, Marcus quickly activated [Appraisal] on Tiberius. Nothing happened. He blinked, trying it again to the same effect. Shifting his attention around the plaza revealed that the skill was indeed working on the Mayor and the few townspeople visible in the distance. However, not a single one of the summoned men gave him a shred of info.

    He frowned. He didn''t have that much experience with summons, but surely they were like anyone else, weren''t they? It was possible they were obscuring their information somehow, but it didn''t seem quite right. Unless¡­

    "...If I may be so bold," Marcus remained in his bow, "May I ask for your own class?"

    The Legatus stared at him for a long moment. "Class?"

    "Your class, your System-assigned specialization. You have chosen one, correct? You''re certainly of age."

    "Explain." The Legatus''s reply was short and direct. Marcus couldn''t help but do a double take. It would be one thing if the man had yet to choose a class. A stupid, rare, unheard of thing, yes, but explainable. But to not even know what the System was? What kind of backwards place had they come from?

    "Of course, of course. Just to clarify¡­ have you ever seen one of these before?"

    Marcus made a broad, sweeping gesture toward the monolith in the center of the square. The class stone seemed to sparkle in response.

    The Legatus crossed his arms before his chest. "It is a stone. I do not see the point of your question."

    At the man''s continued frown, Marcus realized he''d hit the nail on the head. He had no idea. For all the pompous asshole''s declarations, he didn''t even know what a class stone was. He probably didn''t know what a skill or level was, either. Somehow, this man was completely in the dark. It was incredible.

    It meant that his earlier reveal had all the effectiveness of casting pearls before swine. But still, he could turn this into an opportunity.

    "Alas, it seems that you have not yet wrung me dry of information yet," he tapped his nose knowingly. "Perhaps I could aid you further in learning the ways of this land¡ª"

    "Explain."

    Marcus grimaced at the demanding tone. Clearly, the Legatus was someone used to getting his way. Not that he wanted to try obstructing him. And so, he obliged.

    He started with an overview of the System as it was explained to children. The concept of levels, classes, stats, and how every person could unlock access to the System by touching a class stone at age sixteen. As he spoke, he observed a few of the aides around them noting down every word on some sort of small tablets stored at their sides. Even Tiberius listened far more patiently than expected.

    Having the rapt attention of a full audience invigorated him. Having his words recorded by another? Well, he could get used to that. It wasn''t often that people took down his stories and clever witticisms nowadays. Aside from other bards hoping to steal his work, of course. Perhaps they could do this more often.

    Though the fact remained that this information wasn''t exactly a secret. Most of it could be gleaned by asking just about anyone, and even a child could tell you what a class stone did. Still, that was even better in Marcus''s eyes. It meant that, for all his appearance of helping, his actions weren''t really doing too much to enable the warmongering invaders. Not in any practical sense, at least.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    As he finished speaking, the Legatus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "This is the class stone you mentioned, then."

    "Why, yes, my lord," Marcus said with another bow. "If you''d like, I can demonstrate how it works?"

    At the man''s nod, Marcus stepped forward. He paused for dramatic effect, his hand hovering half an inch above the stone as he breathed in deep, enjoying the feeling of everyone''s gaze on him. Finally, he placed his hand down.

    At first, there was nothing, as usual. After a moment of waiting, a soft golden light rose from the base of the stone, suffusing its entire surface in a shimmering wave. Once it crested the top, the light broke apart into pinpricks and began dancing beneath the surface as though someone had shaken a bottle full of glowflies.

    Marcus heard mutters of alarm rise from Legion soldiers around him. He smiled. Class stone activations were quite the show, he had to admit, albeit one he''d long since become used to. But if it was their first time seeing something like this, he couldn''t blame the men for their surprise.

    "Be at peace, friends," Marcus called over the din. "This is completely normal and perfectly safe."

    All at once, the motes of light pulsed once and darted toward Marcus''s hand in a swirling mass. A warm, tingling sensation flowed through his fingers and up his arm as the light rushed through him, making his eyes flare briefly with golden light. But that wasn''t the important part. No, that distinction belonged to the glowing golden text that materialized in front of his eyes.

    Information:

    Name: Marcus

    Age: 23

    Class: Royal Bard (Rare)

    Level: 21

    Experience: 1,231 / 2,100

    Stats:

    Strength: 5

    Dexterity: 29

    Constitution: 6

    Charisma: 53

    Wisdom: 13

    Intelligence:11

    Titles:

    Chronicler of Novara

    Dashing Dastard

    Traveler of Novara

    Harbinger of Rome

    Skills:

    [Charm] (Uncommon) - Lvl 22

    [Silver Tongue] (Epic) - Lvl 3

    [Appraisal] (Uncommon) - Lvl 18

    [Sleight of Hand] (Common) - Lvl 25

    [Inspirational Song] (Rare) - Lvl 5

    [Critical Reception] (Rare) - Lvl 7

    [Spellcraft] (Uncommon) - Lvl 3

    [Glamor] (Uncommon) - Lvl 19

    [Dagger Proficiency] (Common) - Lvl 4

    [Camping] (Common) - Lvl 2

    Marcus smiled at the results. This past day had earned him a lot more experience than he expected. At this rate, he might even reach level 22 soon, something nearly unheard of for someone his age in a non-combat profession. On top of that, it seemed that successfully casting the Rites for the Summoning of a Roman Legion had pushed him over the edge and netted him a new level in [Spellcraft]. At least he''d gotten something nice out of all this.

    However, his new title almost made the smile slip from his face. As much as he liked new and shiny things, this one seemed¡­ ominous. Bombastic and appropriately dramatic, sure, but Harbinger of Rome? A Harbinger was known for bringing calamities or great changes to the world. Marcus always expected to leave his mark in a grand way, but not like that. He always figured that his bardic deeds fit better with a Herald title¡ªsomething like Herald of the Age of Song or Herald of Romance. Curious, he focused on the text.

    [Harbinger of Rome: Summoner of a Roman Legion. May your fates be forever entwined. +50% effectiveness to any charisma-based skills or effects targeting Legion members.]

    That was certainly strange. The last part of the title was clear enough, but the first seemed far more vague than Marcus was used to. Regardless, the title was clearly linked to the Legion and its summoning. It might also explain the strange, ephemeral link he still felt between him and each of the men. So far, it didn''t seem as though he could do anything active with that link aside from locate them, but it was something that bore investigation. Maybe he could learn more by looking into other Harbinger titles.

    The Legion soldiers seemed to have calmed down somewhat, though they continued muttering to each other as Marcus mulled over his status. He figured that it wouldn''t hurt to take a bit of extra time looking over his skills. If nothing else, it would make the class stone interaction seem appropriately momentous.

    [You have new skills available. View available skills? WARNING: After viewing, unassigned skills will be permanently lost!]

    Marcus breezed past the familiar prompt. He always found it needlessly alarmist. Once a person assigned a skill, it was always available for them to reequip at any time, even though they''d have to start leveling it from zero. It meant that the risk of "permanently losing" a skill wasn''t really as extreme as it was made out to be, if one paid the slightest bit of attention. Besides, most of the skills that the System doled out weren''t anything to write home about, like [Breathing] or [Apple Picking].

    As expected, none of the new offerings were of particular interest. Though they did raise some questions. How had he even managed to qualify for [March] and [Shield Wall], anyway? Those were Uncommon skills, but the most he''d done in those areas was watch the Legion soldiers do them earlier that day.

    He shook his head and dismissed the list. Most of the common skills he''d long since turned down, and even the uncommon ones he chanced upon every once in a while held no real attraction for him. The idea of leveling up a skill from zero yet again wasn''t exactly the most enticing, not to mention that he didn''t need to. His current set worked well enough that he had no reason to change unless he was offered some sort of evolution. That, or his situation improved drastically. He looked forward to the day where he could drop [Dagger Proficiency] and [Camping] for more bardic skills once again.

    After making sure there was nothing else to take care of, he checked in on his audience with [Critical Reception]. They appeared to be just on the brink of losing the dramatic tension he''d been aiming to build. With a satisfied nod, Marcus took his hand from the stone and watched as it pulsed once more with a dim golden light. It slowly faded as he stepped back and bowed to his crowd.

    "And there you have it," Marcus declared. "It''s as simple as that. If you haven''t yet activated a class, then the stone will glow a little more brightly upon your touch. But otherwise, your experience should be much the same. I can even guide you through the menus and answer questions you have, though your status will be visible only to you."

    The Legatus gave the monolith a wary look. He didn''t look particularly convinced. "And this¡­ System¡­ it does not require offerings? Sacrifices?"

    "Goodness, no. Well, you do need to kill monsters or perform class-related tasks to level up, so I suppose you could call that an ''offering'' of sorts¡­ But aside from that, it is entirely passive. It''s quite unlike the gods in that way."

    "And this is a standard fixture amongst your people?"

    "So standard it hardly bears mentioning," Marcus smiled reassuringly. "I understand your hesitation. Considering how capable you and your men have shown themselves thus far, something like this may seem unnecessary. But I assure you, any fighter or army worth their salt in this world is bolstered by skills, levels, and stats, to a point that even you will find difficult to match. The benefits a class grants extend far beyond that of a pretty light show."

    Tiberius looked at him dubiously, his eyes flicking between Marcus and the stone. The bard stepped aside graciously and, with a flourish of his cloak, gestured to the monolith. "My lord. Whenever you''re ready."

    The Legatus, unfortunately, didn''t stride forward and regally place his hand on the stone as the presentation demanded. Instead, he held back and talked to his aides. They spoke in hushed voices, stepping away from Marcus and the still-cowering mayor so that they couldn''t be heard. He even saw a few soldiers come and go from their gathering, sent off for who knew what reasons.

    The sun had arced its way far above the horizon by the time the men finished talking. Marcus was even starting to feel a little restless. Eventually, though, Tiberius stepped forward. It was everything Marcus could have hoped for, it was as if the man was a thespian learning to play the role for years. The man strode forward with confidence, his head held high and his shoulders back. As he stopped before the stone, he reached out with a hand that looked like it could crush granite and firmly placed his palm against its surface.

    A second passed. Then two. Then five. Marcus felt his heart begin to pound as the stone remained still and silent. Something should have happened by now. He''d never seen a stone just fail to react like this. Maybe¡ª

    A brief instant of rumbling was all the warning they received. Then, the pillar erupted with light.

 Chapter 6: Wine and Cheese

    King Gerald of the Novaran Kingdom gazed down from his throne, his imperious gaze resting on the duke bowing before him. Or rather, the top of the man''s head. From his vantage point, the king was granted a full and uninterrupted view of the duke''s rather unflattering bald spot. Light from the enchanted chandelier above reflected off of the shiny patch of skin as though to spotlight it.

    "My King, it is an honor to be in your presence this day. I am ever so grateful that you have allowed me a moment of your time¡­"

    Gerald''s fingers tapped idly on the armrest as the man continued in flowery pleasantries, bejeweled rings gleaming where they adorned each digit. Today he was holding court. It was his least favorite day of the month¡ªthe day when people could bring him their petty problems and do their best to distract him from his far more important work. It was always a complete waste of time. A necessary one, as his advisors never failed to remind him, but a waste nonetheless.

    As the duke finally began launching into the meat of his request, the king couldn''t help but sneer. He kept it to himself as best he could, as his position required. But really? This old idiot was asking for more troops to guard his borders, as though that was something he couldn''t handle himself. After all, he had a whole dukedom at his fingertips to draw soldiers and coin from. If the man couldn''t handle something as small as that, then why was he even in charge to begin with?

    King Gerald tuned out the man, dismissing his incompetence as he planned what to do for the rest of the week. It was clearly more important than whatever this fool was asking for. If the duke''s request had really been important, one of his advisors would have already agreed and taken care of the matter before it reached this point. The fact that he''d been forced to come beg for help during a court session¡­ Clearly, this was a last-ditch effort from the duke to shunt his problems onto someone else.

    The king had lost himself in daydreams about wine and cheese pairings when a notification appeared in front of him. He skimmed over it with disinterest. As a ruler, receiving System notifications wasn''t an uncommon occurrence. Most of them were minor updates or news related to kingdom management that could be waved away or simply addressed next time he visited his class stone. Every once in a while, there might even be something important enough to have an advisor deal with.

    He raised a hand to wave the golden text away, then stopped mid-gesture. The first few words brought a frown to his face.

    [The Roman Emperor, Tiberius Rufius Maro, has successfully declared war on the Novara Kingdom!]

    Gerald blinked, staring at the text. He read it over again, just to make sure he wasn''t seeing things. He was used to notifications signaling rebellion in some random border village or town he didn''t give two shits about. Rebellions were normally handled at the barony, county, or duchy level long before they ever reached him. Sometimes, disputes over land ownership or jurisdiction would also require his attention. But war? That was an entirely different matter.

    It had been a while since another nation had declared war on Novara. That wasn''t to say they were at peace¡ªit was more that the wars they were engaged in had been running for a long time. But what in the world was a Roman Emperor? Whatever nation they ruled over, he''d certainly never heard of it.

    His frown deepened. Finally waving the notification away, Gerald looked down to the duke to dismiss him. The balding man had also fallen silent, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the air before him.

    "Something the matter, duke?" King Gerald asked.

    The man shook himself and swallowed. "Er, my apologies, your majesty. I simply received a notification. It appears that¡­ someone has seized the town of Habersville."

    "Habersville¡­" The king searched his memories, but came up short. The place must not have been very important.

    "Indeed. If I remember correctly it''s located¡­" The duke snapped his fingers a couple of times as if trying to recall a name. "In the far east of the kingdom. It''s a small logging village in the County of Brit. I believe it''s inside of Baron von Latimore''s territory."

    "Hmm." The duke''s assessment of the village confirmed his own suspicions¡ªit truly wasn''t an important place. It also suggested that this "war" business might be a case of some upstart beating on his chest rather than an actual threat. Either way, it was in the duke''s territory, so it was his responsibility.

    The king''s frown deepened, then he waved a hand dismissively. "Investigate. Deal with it. And once that''s taken care of, you can have..." He paused, trying to recall what the duke had wanted from this audience. When the memory didn''t come to him, King Gerald just waved again. "Whatever it is you wanted from this."

    Gerald looked over at his chamberlain, who nodded to indicate that the request had been recorded. The duke''s jaw clenched. "But, your majesty, as I mentioned¡ª"

    The king''s eyes narrowed, stopping the duke''s words in their tracks. The balding man''s jaw clicked shut as he blinked, bowed, and left immediately, as if fearing the king might change his mind.

    The encounter was soon forgotten as Gerald called the court session to end early. The chamberlain wasn''t happy about the decision, as there were still apparently plenty of people who wanted to see him. But then again, there always were. And besides, telling his advisers about this notification was very important. Surely no one could fault him for postponing this tiresome duty until next month.

    ***

    When Marcus had said class activations were a little brighter, he''d meant just that. A little brighter. Like the glow of a campfire or those sparkling sky displays that cities sometimes put on during festivals.

    Instead, they got a miniature sun.

    The class stone exploded in a blinding blaze of white light. Marcus cried out in pain, staggering backwards as it stabbed into his eyes. He threw up his arms in an attempt to block it out. But even as he snapped his eyes shut, the afterimage of Tiberius silhouetted against the stone stood stark in his vision, refusing to be banished. Judging by the similar shouts rising up from all around him, the other onlookers were experiencing much the same thing.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    The moment seemed to last a lifetime. Eventually, the painful light slowly faded before disappearing altogether. When Marcus could finally see again, Tiberius was still standing there. His hand was no longer on the stone, and his weapon was drawn. He''d stepped back and positioned himself in a combat stance as if the stone were about to attack him.

    Marcus looked around and realized that he wasn''t the only one. All of the soldiers were armed and ready for some sort of mischief, blinking rapidly as they scanned the surroundings. Many of them were even pointing their weapons at him.

    Deciding that he''d rather not get stabbed, Marcus raised both hands in a gesture of conciliation and remained still. Despite the precarious situation, he couldn''t help but quickly use [Appraisal] on Tiberius.

    [Legionnaire ¨C Legatus] (Lvl 1)

    Despite the light show, the class activation had indeed worked. That much was certain. Still, the man''s level gave him pause. Level one? That was it? Even if they hadn''t activated their classes before, they had to have accrued some amount of experience. They were trained fighters, after all. And considering their strength, he''d expected them to be level five at the absolute minimum. More like ten or fifteen.

    The even stranger part was, Tiberius wasn''t the only one with a class now.

    [Legionnaire ¨C Centurion] (Lvl 1)

    [Legionnaire ¨C Centurion] (Lvl 1)

    [Legionnaire ¨C Centurion] (Lvl 1)

    Marcus blinked in surprise. He continued scanning all of the soldiers in the area in disbelief. They were level one, too. They were all level one.

    Tiberius was the only one who had touched the stone. Why in the world would it activate classes for everyone?

    Marcus''s head spun as he tried to wrap his mind around the revelation. Clearly, something wasn''t normal about these people. Many somethings. Between the first man managing to kill shadow panthers unaided and the ease with which they''d conquered Habersville, they were obviously a force to be reckoned with. Yet if they managed all this while only level one¡­ what kind of world had they been summoned from?

    A shiver ran down his spine¡ªnot simply from fear, but excitement. This situation was simply becoming more and more interesting. Interesting enough to possibly warrant a song¡­

    But before that, he had to deal with the dozen or so soldiers pointing swords and spears at him.

    "What was that?"

    Tiberius''s words rumbled through the town square like a predator''s growl. The man fixed an intense glare on Marcus, his expression demanding immediate answers. The bard slowly shrugged his shoulders in as submissive a manner as he could manage.

    "Well, it certainly seems as though you''ve successfully assigned your class. Though that was admittedly a much¡­ brighter display than any I''ve ever seen or heard of." He forced himself to smile and affect a jovial tone. "Isn''t that right, mayor?"

    The mayor, who had fallen to the ground at some point, jerked his head up and nodded vigorously. The Legatus ignored him.

    "How are you certain?"

    "I¡­" Marcus hesitated for a moment. "I have a skill that allows me to see such things. If you''re willing to touch the stone again, then you will be able to check your level and assign skills, as I explained earlier."

    Tiberius frowned, looking down at his hand as though to inspect it for injuries. To Marcus''s surprise, he did actually move toward the stone¡ªmuch more cautiously this time¡ªand turned his head to the side as his hand made contact. A far softer light rose from its base, mirroring the light show that Marcus had received.

    Marcus couldn''t help but let out a sigh of relief. He felt some tension leave his shoulders as Tiberius remained still, his eyes scanning back and forth across invisible text. All around them, the Legion soldiers slowly sheathed their weapons, though many still cast distrustful or outright disdainful looks in his direction. But that was fine. At least something had finally gone as expected.

    ***

    Touching the stone had been a gamble, in Tiberius''s opinion. But it was one that needed to be taken. The world they found themselves in was a strange and foreign one, and the quickest way they could gain more information was to interact with it. Even if doing so meant an uncomfortable encounter with unfamiliar magics.

    However, that didn''t mean that he would trust the shady bard at his word. The man was a performer, and despite the impressive display, touching the stone himself wasn''t enough to prove anything. And so, Tiberius sent out men to question the townsfolk and corroborate the stories and information he''d been told. It took precious time, but ultimately suggested that they had not been deceived. The fop''s words did indeed seem to hold water.

    Even once the decision had been made, several of his aides had tried to convince him to allow one of the other men to take the risk. It was what many of his fellow senators or legion commanders would have done¡ªset some poor conscript to the task rather than put the leader at risk. But that was not how Tiberius preferred to operate.

    Everyone here¡ªeveryone he could trust, at least¡ªwas a full member of the Legion. All their auxiliaries and conscripts had been left behind along with their horses. And he would never ask one of his men to take on a burden that he was unwilling to bear himself.

    And so, Tiberius touched the stone himself. They were in foreign territory, and they needed to understand their enemy. That was something drilled into him from the very beginning of his military career. Knowing one''s enemy¡ªtheir capabilities, positions, and weaknesses¡ª was just as important as knowing one''s own troops. With enough information about both sides, then battle itself almost became a formality. It was a lofty ideal, but one he''d seen hold true in practice more times than he could count.

    Of course, the blinding effect of the stone had not exactly done much to convince him this wasn''t a trap. But considering the genuine shock on every one of the locals'' faces, he soon deemed it safe enough to try touching the thing again. This time, the glow was far less intense. More floating letters appeared in front of his eyes, glowing gold where they hovered in the air.

    Information:

    Name: Tiberius Rufius Maro

    Age: 54

    Class: Legionnaire ¨C Legatus (Legendary)

    Level: 1

    Experience: 1,527 / 600,000

    Stats:

    Strength: 9

    Dexterity: 8

    Constitution: 10

    Charisma: 14

    Wisdom: 10

    Intelligence: 10

    Titles:

    Conqueror of Habersville

    Roman Emperor

    Born to Rule

    Born to Conquer

    Bonds of Brotherhood

    Skills:

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

 Chapter 7: Professional Mouthbreather

    Tiberius felt a frown crease his brow as his eyes traveled across the unfamiliar script. He found he could read most of it, despite it clearly not being Latin, just as he was somehow able to understand this land''s inhabitants. Strange as that was, it was also convenient, and it didn''t take too long to get a grasp of its meaning. In some ways, it was similar to a report he might receive about troop numbers and other logistical details. But this was different. Very different.

    His name, his position, his titles¡ªhow did the glowing text know them? He was even recognized as a "Roman Emperor," despite having only declared himself as an acting one a short while ago. Not only that, but there were other pieces of information as well. It was as though it were trying to encapsulate his very being into a short report.

    Tiberius considered the implications of such a thing. Whatever magic was at play here, it certainly was adept at information gathering. But his attention kept being pulled back to the strange characters scattered throughout the text.

    ¡°Bard,¡± Tiberius said. "I am unfamiliar with some of these symbols. In the stats section¡ªnext to ''strength''¡ªthere is a circle with a hook extending beneath it."

    The bard''s face froze for a second as if he were carefully considering how to react. He allowed the man to think. The extreme care he seemed to place on appearances certainly wasn''t helping his trustworthiness, though. After a few seconds, the man gathered his words.

    "Er¡­" the bard began, his usual eloquence seeming to fail him. "I believe you are referring to a ''nine''."

    Suddenly, Marcus''s hesitance made sense. It was a number. One that was obviously foreign to Tiberius. The bard hadn''t wanted to insult the Legaus''s intelligence by suggesting he was innumerate. For once, he somewhat empathized with the fop.

    "I see. So these are this country''s numbers," Tiberius nodded in understanding. It was odd that they hadn''t translated as well as the text. Still, not being able to read them would certainly complicate things.

    As the thought crossed his mind, the text before him flickered and shifted.

    Information:

    Name: Tiberius Rufius Maro

    Age: LIV

    Class: Legionnaire ¨C Legatus (Legendary)

    Level: I

    Experience: MDXXXVII / MMMMMM¡­MMMMMM¡­MMMMMM

    Stats:

    Strength: IX

    Dexterity: IIX

    Constitution: X

    Charisma: XIV

    Wisdom: X

    Intelligence: X

    Titles:

    Conqueror of Habersville

    Roman Emperor

    Born to Rule

    Born to Conquer

    Bonds of Brotherhood

    Skills:

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Individual Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    [Empty Group Slot]

    Tiberius blinked, then scowled. That was¡­ disconcerting. Had it just read his mind? Perhaps it could, considering that it knew something of his being and history. Or maybe the gods had spoken to it? This town hadn''t made any mention or shown proper respect to the gods, so he sincerely doubted that. The theory that this was all some elaborate trick or trap seemed to become less and less likely the more he saw.

    Reading through the text again, it was much easier to understand. His age was correct, but that number next to the experience field¡­ Well, it seemed ridiculous. Focusing on the block of M''s revealed that it ran on for several lines. What could such a massive number possibly represent or even mean?

    His fingers twitched at his waist as he thought. Luckily, the rest of the numbers were far more reasonable, yet he still didn''t quite understand what they were supposed to represent. Was there a standard by which he could compare these "stats"'' numbers to? Even so, how useful would that be? Something like strength was not so easy to encapsulate in a single number, much less charisma. He was clearly experienced speaking before the Senate and leading his own men, yet dreaded the awkward chore of speaking with a youngling. How would that distinction translate to the simple "fourteen" inscribed by the stat?

    The entire system seemed far too reductive. Perhaps it was due to a lack of his own understanding. Either way, it would bear further investigation. Especially considering how this clearly magical class stone presumed to know everything about him.

    Tiberius pored over the details for a while before he noticed that there were other headings atop the screen. The first was labeled "Territory Management." Before he could reach out to touch it, the text inexplicably shifted in front of him once again. Cheeky thing.

    He scanned through it and learned that the town had exactly 7,423 residents¡ª6,000 of which were his own men¡ªalong with details about how much wood it could produce in a week, how much food was stored and required for upkeep, as well as the town''s new alignment with the Roman Empire. There was also more detailed information about the people''s satisfaction and certain actions he could take as a leader.

    He read over the screen, but didn''t dwell on it too much for the moment. Perhaps it would be helpful with administering their new home base. Before trying that, he''d want to have his men double check the numbers. Considering how accurate the information on Tiberius himself had been, though, he suspected that their findings would match up quite closely.

    A final heading called "Army Management" gave him information about his legion. This, at least, he didn''t need his men to double check. He already knew most of the information held here by heart. Some of his reports boasted even more detail than the floating text, a fact that sparked a flash of pride within his heart. Still, the fact that it knew his chain of command down to the contubernium was disturbing to say the least.

    The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Did they have a spy in their midst? No, that didn''t make sense. They likely had many spies in their midst, but they would be from other nations, not this place. Unless their very appearance here was the work of some traitorous mage who had integrated into their ranks? Then again, considering what kind of works he''d seen so far, maybe a traitor wasn''t even necessary.

    Setting the unhelpful suspicions aside for a moment, Tiberius returned to his skills. Focusing on one of the empty slots yielded a new message.

    [You have new skills available. View available skills? WARNING: After viewing, unassigned skills will be permanently lost!]

    Accepting the condition, a long wall of options materialized into being, extended toward the ground. When he focused on the first skill, [Breathing], it gave him the option to assign it as either a group or individual skill. While the bard had briefly covered the concept of skills, this particular detail was not something that had been explained. Once again, he looked up and over at the colorfully-dressed man standing a few paces away.

    "Explain the difference between a group skill and an individual skill."

    He watched as the bard''s face flickered through several expressions in a split second before he got himself under control. Interesting. Either he wasn''t quite as good at masking his surprise as expected, or he was an even better actor than he''d given him credit for.

    "A¡­ group skill, you said? Are you looking in the skills menu?" Marcus asked carefully.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Tiberius nodded, not seeing the harm in giving away that information.

    "I don''t actually believe I''ve heard of a ''group skill'' before. That term is new to me," the bard admitted. "However, before you leave that screen, I would highly suggest assigning every skill available to you. Even if they do not sound like something you''d prefer to keep or use, it will give you more options in the long term."

    The Legatus frowned. "Explain."

    "Well, skills are kind of a finicky thing. Once you''re offered one and you don''t assign it, then poof!" He splayed his hands wide for emphasis. "It''s gone forever. But any skill you''ve assigned once will be available to re-assign at any point in the future, though you''ll need to level it up from zero like any new skill. That''s why it''s quite common for excited youths who have just unlocked their classes to take some extra time and preserve every skill they''re initially offered. Even if most of them are of¡­ questionable use."

    Tiberius considered the explanation. It seemed that this "System" did indeed have intricacies and oddities that he was not yet privy to. Assuming he believed the fop, of course. But this matter had quickly spiraled beyond the scope of a lone bard''s trickery. Between its responsiveness to his thoughts and the sheer amount of information the System had, it was quickly shaping up to resemble something more powerful and potentially dangerous.

    Tiberius silently took in the text with suspicion. Reading it was one thing. But allowing it to affect his abilities directly, as skills were supposedly able to do? That would take a leap of faith that he wasn''t certain if he wanted to make.

    Stroking his chin, the Legatus made a decision. Clearly, magic was not only commonplace in this world, but actively used by its inhabitants to empower themselves. If he and his men were to survive and triumph over other forces, then they would be at a tactical disadvantage if they refused to do the same. Especially if this System was as powerful as he suspected. He needed to better understand and take advantage of its abilities as best he could¡ªhe and his men both.

    That didn''t mean he would blindly trust the thing. He already had a mental list of things to confirm and test. But for now, he would play along and utilize the bard''s advice.

    Tiberius looked down at the list again. Its base disappeared into the ground at his feet, indicating that it was even longer than it initially appeared. "This list appears to be¡­ expansive."

    Marcus nodded. "I can imagine. If you simply think about scrolling, you should be able to see the rest."

    Tiberius did just that. It took quite a while to reach the end of the list.

    "If you''d like to assign a skill, simply focus on it and agree when it asks. To unassign, it''s the same process, but in reverse. I''m certain it won''t take you long to figure it out," Marcus chimed in helpfully.

    Tiberius concentrated and assigned [Breathing] to his first individual slot.

    [Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Breathing] (Common) - Lvl 0.]

    He tested it, taking a deep breath. It felt slightly easier¡ªnothing remarkable, but if he''d been marching for thirty miles, he might have appreciated the difference. Then he moved on to the next skill. And the next.

    Most of them were just as underwhelming as the bard had indicated. However, there were a few that stood out to him. [Shield Wall] and [Formation Fighting] seemed like perfect fits for the unit, while skills like [Leadership], [Diplomacy], and [Inspiring Speech] certainly sounded useful for him personally. Even [Arithmetic] might have been useful if he hadn''t suspected it was some kind of joke being played on him.

    Without some additional testing, though, he was a bit leery of giving the System too much leeway. Still, Tiberius decided to leave two skills assigned for the moment¡ª[Marching] as a group skill and [Logistics] as an individual one.

    It took nearly half an hour for him to go through the entire list. During that time, a few of his aides occasionally appeared to ask for guidance or confirm their next course of action with regards to the town. However, these interruptions were few and far between. They already understood their short-term goals of establishing a stronghold, and his men were more than capable of handling themselves without being prodded every step of the way.

    "Well, someone is certainly fortunate," Marcus remarked when Tiberius mentioned he had finished. At some point, the bard had taken a seat nearby and begun plucking away at a small string instrument.

    "How so?" Tiberius asked, already having some idea.

    "Well, as you might expect, most sixteen-year-olds don''t have a lifetime of experience behind them when they unlock their class. It''s mostly common and universal skills that are available to them, with perhaps a few specialties and the like." Marcus shrugged. "By the time they''ve accrued enough worldly knowledge to gain more interesting skills, they''ve often had their System for a few years and filled up their skill slots. And believe me, no one wants to drop a skill they''ve spent time leveling to preserve something they may never use."

    Tiberius nodded, considering the implications. It would require testing to figure out which skills were worthwhile and which ones weren''t. One more thing that would need to be delegated.

    "As for the ''group skill'' matter you mentioned before," Marcus continued, "I gave it quite a bit of thought while you were indisposed. If you would be so kind as to focus on your class?"

    Tiberius acquiesced. He felt that he was beginning to get used to these strange mental commands, as invasive as they felt.

    [Legionnaire ¨C Legatus (Legendary): The ultimate leader of a Roman Legion. A Legion succeeds and fails as a single unit, though it is composed of many individual parts.

    As Legatus, you are in charge of its Legionnaires and responsible for their management. Skills and titles related to commanding your forces will have an increased effect. You may assign group skills to be shared by the entire Legion, or delegate them down your chain of command to be assigned and shared by officers of smaller groups.]

    Marcus seemed able to read the reaction on Tiberius''s face. "I suspect that the class description may have clarified some things. Does it, perhaps, make mention of these ''group skills'' being shared amongst your men?"

    Tiberius neither confirmed nor denied the suggestion, but Marcus continued on regardless. "Choosing one''s skills can be quite the undertaking. Many a great warrior or mage has spent years or even decades honing their build until it is a perfect fit for their personal preferences. However, in your case, I wouldn''t worry overmuch about experimenting a little bit. After all, compared to someone like myself, you have significantly less to lose in terms of wasted time and experience."

    Tiberius nodded, motioning for one of his newer aides to come over. "Gaius."

    The young man stepped forward, his back straight as a good spear shaft. He was a rising star in Rome; a good friend had asked Tiberius to bring him on their latest campaign, and over the past several months, he had not come to regret it one bit. Gaius was capable, quick to learn, and curious¡ªnot to mention as brave as any Legionnaire ought to be. Everything Tiberius would have wished for if he had a son of his own.

    The Legatus nodded to the class stone. "I am assigning you to investigate the matter of skills. Send a messenger if you require my input."

    Gaius clasped his hand to his chest in salute. "Yes, Legatus!"

    Tiberius assigned the man a centurion and a contubernium for support. It felt natural to give him the task, and he expected to be pleased with the findings sooner rather than later. In the meantime, he had other questions about the System to investigate.

    Tiberius led his group away from the class stone, allowing the officer to start compiling a report. He motioned for his scribes to continue recording everything.

    "Marcus," Tiberius said, intentionally using the bard''s name, "Tell me more about these ''classes''."

    The bard seemed to recognize the significance of this address and preened a bit. The man, while distasteful, was proving useful. Tiberius wanted to make sure Marcus knew he was valued, but not so much that he thought himself indispensable. It was a fine balance to walk, but one that Tiberius had some experience with, particularly when working with local barbarians.

    He gave Marcus a hard, evaluating look. Many of the conquered peoples he''d dealt with had become fine citizens, and some had even served with him in the legion long enough to earn their own citizenship. He doubted the bard would ever have the stomach for such service, but he might surprise him yet.

    "Of course, Legatus," Marcus began with an understated flourish of his cloak. "Classes are the cornerstone on which we build our interactions with the System. First and foremost, one''s class determines the ways in which one may earn experience. Everyone earns experience from combat¡ªwell, from killing monsters," he corrected himself. "But combat classes might earn combat experience from the very act of fighting, even if they do not emerge victorious. Other classes, like a baker or blacksmith, earn experience from plying their trade, as well."

    Tiberius raised an eyebrow. "Killing monsters, you say?"

    Marcus grimaced. "Well¡­ while one technically can benefit from killing people, it is not exactly a tasteful method. It''s understandably frowned upon by both other people and the System itself. Unless it''s on a proper battlefield, simply killing someone unprovoked can result in penalties. Significant ones. I would not recommend going down that path."

    Tiberius let that slide for now. Looking into what constituted a "proper battlefield" was a matter for another time. For now, he allowed the bard to continue with his explanation.

    "One''s class also affects the skills you''re offered," Marcus went on. "A bard like me receives more charisma-based skills related to the performing arts, rather than skills for swinging an axe. Also, the skills I pick that relate to my class will level faster."

    Tiberius noted that. Gaius would find the tidbit useful. "And leveling is¡­ good?"

    "Yes," the bard replied. "As one of my predecessors loved to say, ''Numbers going up is always good.'' Skill levels improve the benefits you get from the skill. But leveling yourself also grants stat points¡ªwhich, by the way, are also determined by your class and its rarity." Marcus gave a slight smile at bringing the topic back around.

    "Of course, higher levels require more effort and experience to reach, but I doubt you need to worry about such matters yet. Based on how easily your men dispatched those shadow panthers¡ªwhich were several times your level, by the way¡ªI''m sure you won''t have any trouble for a while. Why, those men must already be level two or three from that alone!"

    Tiberius frowned, remembering the ridiculous number of experience points required on his information screen. That didn''t seem to exactly align with Marcus''s words. Not only that, but he had experience despite not killing anything.

    Then he recalled a notification about gaining experience for capturing the town. Perhaps Legionnaires grew in power from conquering territory? It would certainly make sense to him. Still, Tiberius kept his suspicions to himself for the moment.

    "You mentioned class rarities. Remind me what they are."

    "Common, uncommon, rare, epic, and legendary," Marcus quickly rattled off. "A common class receives one stat point per level. An uncommon class receives two, a rare class four, and epic classes get six."

    "And legendary?"

    "Those¡­" The bard shrugged. "It''s hard to say. Legendary rarities of anything are hard to come by, much less information about them. Some say they earn twenty. Others claim they earn none at all, but improve their stats through other strange and mystical means¡­ But the most reliable sources I''ve heard put the number at nine points. We may never know for sure."

    Tiberius called the image of his status screen back to mind. Somehow, he expected they might know sooner than the bard expected.

    "We will continue this conversation later. Remain nearby in case I have need of you. You may also offer your services to Gaius as he works."

    The bard bowed deeply as Tiberius turned toward the town hall. He had plenty more questions to ask about the System, but he could indulge his curiosity later. For now, there was work to do.

 Chapter 8: Trading Barbs

    The expedition had been a total shitshow from the very start.

    Eleonora grimaced, her fingers blurring with the motions for [Lesser Healing]. As the spell completed, she sent the energy toward Jack''s injured sword arm where it dangled at his side. Nearby, Rudolf released another arrow at the last comically oversized rat clinging to Jack''s shield as he frantically waved it around with his good arm. The creature squealed in pain and fury as the shaft sank deep into its side, an unnervingly green liquid dripping from its maw. But it refused to die.

    Her spell took effect, and the wound began to close over. The effects of whatever paralytic toxin the rat spewed also seemed to abate, and Jack began to shake the numbness from his arm as Rudolf hit the monster with another arrow.

    Eleonora grimaced. Her healing could only do so much against poisons and toxins, which they''d been running into far too often in this forest. What she really needed was some sort of cleansing skill. It was one of the many reasons they should have turned back days ago. But no. After all, they''d just earned their first stars as Iron Rank adventurers, so clearly they were ready to take on the world. And besides, the Evergreen Seas was a supposedly low-level area. Even encountering the shadow panthers two full days before they were supposed to find any monsters wasn''t a big deal¡ªthey could just push through. At least, that''s what their fearless leader Jack insisted.

    At this point, she was well past fed up with his overconfidence. There was clearly something wrong here, anyone with eyes could see that. Either those stories of elves keeping the monsters around here in check were entirely made up, or something had sent them packing. Her worries getting brushed off because, since they''d come this far, they might as well keep going¡­ well, it very nearly made her blow her top.

    Eleonora kept this to herself as she immediately began casting another spell. After this encounter, she would make sure they left. That, or headed back to the road, the one they were supposed to be following, even if she had to drag her bullheaded teammates there. Thank the gods it was nearby. At least, it was supposed to be. None of them were particularly good at reading a map, and this forest looked the same in every direction.

    Jack slammed his shield into the ground, finally knocking the beast off. But if anything, that made the situation worse. Now the creature was free to run around as Jack tried to position himself between it, their archer, and their healer.

    It darted toward her, beady eyes narrowed as it screeched again. She couldn''t help but let out a squeak of panic as she pointed at it, casting the [Mana Bolt] she''d been preparing. A small ball of prismatic energy shot forward from her hand. The rat took the impact straight in the face, stumbling backwards in surprise.

    Rudolf took advantage of the opportunity to loose a [Quickshot] into its thick hide. Jack tackled it a moment later, drawing a dagger from his belt to stab into the thing''s head. The rat twitched a few more times, then went still.

    The party stood for a few moments, waiting to make sure that it was really dead. Other rat corpses littered the small clearing where they''d been ambushed, their lifeless bodies riddled with arrows and slashes. Once they were certain that no more would jump out to attack, they all visibly relaxed.

    Eleonora walked over to Jack and Rudolph as they slumped against a nearby tree, placing a hand on Jack''s shoulder to heal him more efficiently. "So. We''re heading back now, right?"

    Jack looked up at her. His face was tired, but still as steadfast as ever. "Not yet," he panted. "The quest was to deal with the trade caravan disappearances. We haven''t even found a single trace of one yet, much less fixed the problem."

    "Actually," Rudolf interjected, holding up a finger in that annoying habit of his, "The quest was to find the problem preventing travel in the area, with bonus rewards for dealing with it."

    Jack rolled his eyes at the correction. "The bonus rewards are the only thing that make this worthwhile. If we''re gonna do it, we might as well do it right."

    "I told you, Jack," Eleonora gestured furiously at the forest. "There''s way more monsters here than there''s supposed to be, and stronger ones too! They probably came through here expecting an easy trip and got ambushed and died¡ªjust like we''ve almost done, I dunno, three times already."

    The party leader was already shaking his head. "We don''t know that for sure. We have to keep looking."

    Eleonora clenched her fists, then released them in an effort to calm herself. This was just making her regret being impatient even more. She never should have agreed to this mission before they were ready. She definitely should have put her foot down about backing off earlier. But also, she shouldn''t have let her eagerness to start adventuring blind her to the glaring issues with Jack as their party leader.

    For the most part, Jack was a solid guy. Tough, strong, dependable. He cared about his friends and didn''t hesitate to throw himself into danger to protect them. But he was also stubborn. Very stubborn.

    Unfortunately, the guild had rules. Every party had to have a leader, and that leader had to be at least eighteen. She and Rudolf were both still a year away from that, so the second Jack turned eighteen, they''d formed the party just like they''d always wanted to. However, Jack had different ideas of what being a leader meant, something that became all too clear once he was put under pressure and the cracks began to really show.

    She bit her lip, trying to rein in her frustration. As Eleonora prepared herself to argue once again why continuing was a terrible idea that would get them all killed, something caught her eye. A glint of something shiny and black flashed from deeper in the forest, behind the tree that they''d gathered around. She stopped herself, squinting. Maybe it had been a trick of the light? Or maybe¡­

    Before she could so much as say a word, something tugged at her ankle. Hard. She fell forward onto the ground, colliding briefly with Jack before getting yanked back and away from her party members. Eleonora screamed, sliding against the forest floor as dark, many-legged shapes dropped down on both Jack and Rudolf from above. She heard them shout in alarm and scramble for their weapons as she frantically rolled over to face her aggressor.

    Dark, beady eyes stared back at her from the shadows¡ªtoo many of them to count. More flashes of black glinted in the dappled sunlight, the forms themselves difficult to make out between the foliage and the shadows. Looking down, she realized that her leg was snared by a thick, sticky thread that the creature was using to reel her in.

    More threads shot out from the blackness, impacting her legs, arms, and torso. She cast another [Mana Bolt], but the glittering projectile ricocheted uselessly against the thing''s carapace. All she could do was scream and hope that her teammates would come through, somehow.

    The dark, chitinous shape loomed over her. Eleonora felt a stab of pain in her leg as she struggled vainly against her captors. Then, everything went black.Stolen story; please report.

    ***

    "...And when the king confronted Willam about the new hole in his castle, he simply shrugged and said, ''You claimed it could laugh off a trebuchet. I just wanted to hear what that would sound like!''"

    The finale of Marcus''s tale elicited roars of laughter from the circle of Legionnaires gathered around the cookfire. A few of them doubled over, slapping their knees at the absurdity. A blonde Legionnaire clapped him on his shoulder and the impact nearly sent him sprawling off his log. "What a riot. Your people entertain some strange tales, bard."

    "I could say the same for yours, Flavius." Marcus glanced up at the sun where it arced high in the sky. "But alas, as much as I''d enjoy regaling you with more tales of Willam the Oaf, it seems I must be off. I have business to attend to this afternoon.

    Ever since the Legion had arrived a few days ago, Tiberius had been grilling him daily on all sorts of topics¡ªthe System, the kingdom of Novara, and the culture of this world, to name a few. Each morning, he met with the Legatus himself for a lengthy questioning, while his afternoons were reserved for answering officers'' questions. It was quite a lot to manage, but he was certain the meetings would slow down soon. After all, as proud as Marcus was to flaunt his considerable knowledge, it did have its limits.

    Marcus gracefully swept to his feet and straightened his cloak. One of the men called out from where he squatted on his own log. "Finally, some peace and quiet. You were beginning to stink up the whole camp with all the wind you spout."

    The comment elicited another round of grins and chuckles. Despite the coarse words, it was clear that they were delivered with a kind of rough affection so common among soldiers and military men. It was yet more proof that these Legionnaires truly were human. What kind of soldier didn''t enjoy a traveling bard''s entertainment?

    Marcus graced the circle with an exaggerated bow. "It was a pleasure chatting with you lot, as always. Please, don''t pine after me in my absence. Your women already do that enough."

    He turned on his heel to a brief round of good-natured jabs and jeers, heading for the edge of the camp. The discovery that these men appreciated good entertainment just as well as any had been a great boon to Marcus. It had allowed him to make some significant inroads with regards to winning the men over, especially the more rank-and-file ones. Their sense of humor was quite a bit darker than he usually catered to, and their songs were obviously foreign to him. However, those were easy enough to manage for a professional like him.

    Their appreciation of his craft wasn''t the only thing that humanized these men, however. The more he spoke with them, the more he learned about their personalities, interests, and backgrounds. These were not some simple summons who had simply appeared out of thin air. Well, technically they were, but they also had lives beforehand. Many spoke of previous wars and battles they''d seen or even wives, children, and families that they were eager to get back to.

    It was enough to make him feel a little guilty for summoning them. However, what was done was done. They were here, and he had no idea how to send them back¡ªor if such a thing were even possible.

    He absentmindedly fingered the leather bound tome at his side. Even that had no answers for him. The Rites for the Summoning of a Roman Legion didn''t include any details on how to cancel the spell or summoning at all. Worse, his casting of the spell had all but scoured it from the book''s pages¡ªa consequence of his lackluster investment into [Spellcraft] and magic as a whole. Once again, Marcus couldn''t help but picture the ghost of some cantankerous old wizard looking down on him from above and wheezing with laughter. Unless the author was still alive. If that were the case, then he would certainly ensure that he paid them a visit.

    Still, the tome wasn''t entirely useless. The non-spellcraft parts of the text seemed to be of a more historical variety. What little he''d found time to read had already proved quite enlightening with regards to the Legion''s culture and practices, helping Marcus to get an even better handle on his new "allies," if they could be called such.

    Marcus allowed his gaze to rove across the camp as he walked, waving occasionally to Legionnaires as they busied themselves with cooking, repairing gear, and other such work. The air filled with the sounds of clanking metal and shouted commands. Clearly, the army wouldn''t have fit inside Habersville itself, considering they outnumbered the townsfolk four to one. But their solution¡­ well, it seemed a bit excessive.

    What they called a "camp" he might''ve more accurately described as a pop-up fortress. Rows upon rows of precisely aligned tents formed a neatly ordered grid within its interior, with the higher-ranking officers'' tents concentrated at one end. The entire thing was surrounded by a freshly dug moat, layers of sharpened sticks, and an honest-to-gods palisade. The wall stretched at least eight feet tall, its logs freshly felled from the newly-enlarged forest clearing that surrounded them. There were even elevated guard posts and gates at each entrance.

    He couldn''t help but shake his head at the sight. All of this, erected in a single day¡ªless than that, considering how late they''d started. The fact that the men were still fresh level ones with no trained skills simply made it more incredible. Watching them had been like watching a swarm of ants, all chaos that somehow resolved into perfect order.

    The reminder made him frown and activate [Appraisal] on the soldiers as he walked. Sure enough, every single one he passed was still level one. How that was possible, Marcus still wasn''t sure. The Legion clearly was killing monsters, as evidenced by the shadow panthers roasting on spits all across the camp. If nothing else, that should have netted them at least a few higher-level fighters by now. But he had yet to see so much as a single level two, from the rank and file all the way up to the officers.

    Maybe their class didn''t gain experience from killing monsters? Something like that would be unheard of, yet the concept of group skills already suggested they were an anomaly. Still, every time he tried to prod Tiberius for information about it, the man remained frustratingly tight-lipped.

    He mulled over the conundrum as he left the camp and began the short walk back to Habersville. The dark forest looming in the distance still made the back of his neck prickle with unease. However, the field of fresh stumps that pushed its edge even further in the distance than before certainly helped. That, and the scent of roasting meat that followed him out of the camp.

    Now that he thought about it, the Legion''s building prowess would probably make repairing the bridge a breeze. All he had to do was ask Tiberius or one of the other officers about it. Only, Marcus wasn''t quite ready to move on yet. In only a few short days, Habersville had become quite the interesting place to be. He might not have enough material for a ballad yet, but in a few months¡­ well, who knew what legendary feats the Legion might accomplish? It may even be enough to regain his place in the royal court.

    As he approached the town''s wall¡ªa new one, since the Legion had seen fit to replace Habersville''s old fortifications bright and early on their second day¡ªMarcus waved up to the guards keeping watch above. Their polished metal breastplates gleamed in the sunlight, long spears gripped in their hands as they stood alert.

    "Ho, Marcus!" One called down to him in the strangely clipped accent all Legionnaires seemed to share. He nudged his comrade in the side. "See? That''s the one I was telling you about."

    The other man peered down at Marcus. "Who? The storyteller guy?"

    "Yeah, the bard. You should see him do accents, Sextus. He''s the real deal."

    "Better than you?"

    "Well, maybe not that good¡­"

    Marcus gave one of his signature bows as he hid a smile. "Ho, Cassius! Ho, Sextus! Hard at work keeping the town safe, I see!"

    Cassius snorted. "Yeah. It''s been real exciting up here. Almost as good as watching trees grow."

    Cassius, on top of being a Legionnaire, was a bit of an amateur bard himself. After seeing him tell a surprisingly well-executed war story around the fire one night, Marcus had given him a few tips about stage performance. After that, they''d bonded over a shared love of telling stories, swapping some of their favorites. It was a great way for Marcus to get new material, not to mention learn more about his audience''s tastes. And if he ever did leave the Legion behind, well, that new material would go to good use. After all, the first person to tell a story wasn''t always the one who got credit for it.

    Not that he''d ever do that to Cassius. He wouldn''t even think about it.

    "As much as I''d love to stay and chat, I have business to attend to in the town. I don''t suppose you fellows would be willing to let me through?"

    Marcus hadn''t made his way out here simply for a leisurely walk. No, he had things to take care of before his afternoon meetings. Things that were best nipped in the bud well before they flowered. He needed to talk with the recently deposed Mayor of Habersville.

 Chapter 9: Old Women Spy Network

    Marcus straightened and peered up at the guards¡ªno, Legionnaires, he corrected himself. They hated being called guards. Sextus seemed to consider him for a second.

    "Hmm¡­" The man stroked his chin. "Depends. I want to hear these accents. I wouldn''t suppose you''d be willing to grace us with one of those famed stories of yours first?"

    Cassius elbowed his companion. "Fool. Didn''t he just say he was busy? What, are your ears stuffed full of hemp?"

    Marcus gave a dramatic sigh. "Alas, Cassius speaks true. I only have so much time before I must return." He shook his head regretfully. "The whims of your officers are not to be denied lightly."

    "That''s for sure," Cassius grumbled. "Come on through."

    The men waved to someone below and the gate rumbled open. Normally, it would have stayed open during the daytime, as the most dangerous beasts of the forests only tended to emerge at night. However, with how new the Legionnaires were to the area, Tiberius had seen fit to exercise a bit of extra caution.

    As Marcus headed through, he heard Cassius call again from above. "Stop by our fire tonight, Marcus! I''ll regale you with the story of Romulus and Remus. It''s a classic that you''re sure to enjoy!"

    Marcus considered it sincerely, but eventually shook his head. "While I appreciate the invitation, I expect that I''ll be seeking my bed earlier than ever this night. But if not tonight, perhaps some other night."

    With that, he stepped into Habersville. Or at least, what had been Habersville. The sight before him might as well have been a different town entirely.

    The entire landscape was abuzz with activity, construction projects underway at every corner. Legionnaires carrying fresh-hewn logs or armfuls of tools packed every road as they bustled to and fro. Empty lots where houses had been torn down gave way to frameworks and in-progress structures being raised to replace them.

    He took in the constructions with a critical eye. Finished housing wasn''t exactly the Legion''s specialty, it seemed. Rough, defensive projects were more their forte. But that didn''t mean they weren''t trying. And given the local woodworkers he saw already working on some of the completed buildings, Marcus supposed that they might begin looking much nicer soon.

    An occasional local made an appearance in the surrounding populace, and noted their attitudes in particular. For the most part, folks seemed happy with the newly cleaned streets and updated infrastructure. However, it was easy to pick out the dissenters. He supposed that some weren''t particularly pleased about being forced out of their homes to watch them be torn down. To be fair, they were compensated with a new house and additional resources from the Legion''s hunting ventures¡ªit was just poor solace, to say the least.

    As Marcus made his way further inward, he saw that they''d even begun renovating the streets into wider and more gridlike arrangements. After asking a few questions, he''d learned that standard road sizes were apparently commonplace back in Rome, one of the many things that the Legion was eager to implement. It also explained the sheer scale of the renovations being undertaken. Redoing the very layout of the town required nothing less than it''s complete upheaval.

    "Oy, Mister Marcus!"

    Marcus turned aside at the reedy voice. An old washerwoman named Margaret knelt in front of her newly-rebuilt home, sat on her newly-rebuilt porch, rhythmically dunking and scrubbing laundry into a wooden bucket on the ground. Her rheumy eyes took him in as she smiled widely. "Don''t s''pose ya could spare a minnit fer an old woman like meself?"

    He graced her with a particularly charming smile. "For you, Margaret? I could spare all day."

    "Oh, shush," The woman chuckled. "Careful, flattery''ll get ya everywhere."

    Margaret wasn''t just any old woman¡ªshe was a professional busybody. She knew more than almost anyone about what was happening in the town. A few tunes on his flute and some casual flirting had made him a fast friend of hers, and she''d quickly become Marcus''s primary source of information for town gossip and happenings. The woman was vain enough to appreciate the attention, but wise enough to know it didn''t truly mean anything. Thankfully for him.

    He approached, leaning casually against a nearby post. As busy as he was, he did want to keep abreast of the local situation. It might even help him when talking to the mayor. "What''s the news, my fair friend?"

    She continued her work as she spoke."Oh, ya know. Everyone''s still talking about that army camped outside¡ªas if that wasn''t yesterday''s news," she said with a gap-toothed smile, her wrinkled face almost closing over her eyes as she chuckled. "But all this construction''s got people in a right tizzy."Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Marcus offered her his practiced performance smile, which felt less forced than usual. "Understandable. I can imagine there have been some complaints."

    "Right. Some." Margaret snorted. "No one''s happy ''bout losin'' their house. But with how fast they''ve been gettin'' the new un''s up, it ain''t too bad. Not to mention it''s givin'' folks a good chance to come together and ply their trades. And the new wall''s certainly earned em'' some goodwill, too."

    He nodded. When the Legion had started tearing down the wall, many townsfolk had protested quite loudly. It had kept the town safe since its founding, and they were understandably concerned about becoming vulnerable to monster attacks. But when asked, the Legionnaires¡ªespecially those leading the project¡ªhad expressed their skepticism that the poorly-built, rickety thing could keep so much as an overfed cow out. Especially considering how easily they themselves had rendered it useless. By that evening, they had completely rebuilt the thing.

    "Folks are a little less happy about ''em tearing down the temples, though," Margaret continued. "That''s a whole headache an'' a half."

    "They what?" Marcus asked, his eyebrows shooting up. This was news.

    "Oh, yeah." She waved a sudsy hand dismissively. "Ya know me, I don''t even like them gods¡ªfat lot of good they''ve ever done for me. But tearing down them temples has got those priests awfully ''set. Awfully ''set."

    "What did they do?"

    "Nothin''. Not a darn thing they could do, though. The army simply told them to git, and they went and got."

    Marcus pursed his lips in thought. "Perhaps they were simply another casualty of the town''s renovations? Do you happen to know if there are plans to rebuild them?"

    "Oh, there''s more than plans, that''s fer sure. They''ve got some mighty fine ones goin'' up in their place. But they ain''t fer any gods I''ve ever ''eard of." Margaret shrugged nonchalantly. "Comin'' from a strange land, ''course they got their own strange gods they worship. But that''s got ''em priests in a tizzy more than anythin'', for sure."

    "Hmmm¡­" Marcus muttered, tapping his chin. He''d have to ask about that. He''d picked up a lot about their culture from the book and rough banter of the soldiers, but he hadn''t really discussed their mythology. He hadn''t even imagined it might be different from his own. But if one didn''t have the System to prove which gods held power and were officially recognized as ascended, then perhaps the differences made sense.

    He tucked the thought aside for later. "Oh, by the way¡ªhow is your grandson faring amidst all this?"

    Margaret paused, standing up and stretching painfully. "He''s doin'' good, but¡­ well, you''ve heard about them conscription efforts. The army says they''ll be roundin'' up the menfolk fer workers and whatnot. Not that they seem ta need it, mind you."

    The bard winced. He had heard about that. Evidently, the Legion needed auxiliaries to help handle all manner of tasks. While the Legionnaires themselves were plenty capable of carrying out all the necessary camp functions, doing so required time and people¡ªwhich meant that they would have fewer men fighting. And since Habersville was the only settlement they had yet to encounter¡­ That meant any military-aged man without a function essential to the town was being drafted.

    Margaret wrung her hands. "Ta be honest, Mister Marcus. I was hopin'' you''d stop by so I could get to talkin'' with you about ''em."

    Marcus grimaced. "Forgive me, Margaret. As charming as I may be, I don''t think I have enough sway to get someone out of conscription."

    "Oh, no, nothin'' like that," the old woman waved her hand dismissively. "Gary could prolly use a bit of hard work to set him straight. He''s a good boy, but he''s been fallin'' in with the wrong crowd lately, gettin'' up to no good. So this whole thing¡ª¡ªwell, it might be the best thing fer ''im. But¡­ you know the boys out there better''n any of us. Maybe ya could talk to his boss¡ªhis cent-oo-ree-yawn, whatever they call ''em¡ªput in a good word for him. Just let ''em know that Gary be a smart boy. Maybe they could git him a bit of extra responsibility?"

    Marcus internally relaxed, then smiled reassuringly. "That, I can certainly do. Though I make no promises. Not everyone finds me quite so charming as you do, milady."

    The old woman chortled and swatted Marcus on the shoulder. "Well, I have always had a weakness for a pretty face."

    After finding out who Gary''s centurion was, Marcus bid Margaret goodbye and continued on his way. While it was a Legionnaire that Marcus had never met, he promised to track the man down regardless. The washerwoman had given him enough information that he was more than willing to do her a small favor. Not that he thought his words would carry much weight, of course¡ªthe Legion didn''t seem to have much respect for anyone outside their ranks. That was made abundantly clear after they had fired the city guards.

    He shook his head in amusement. Their public reaming had been quite the spectacle, and from everything he''d heard the men weren''t allowed anywhere near guard shifts or weapons of any kind. Not until they''d undergone "additional training," which Marcus simply assumed was a living hell. He pitied the poor fellows.

    Still, the news was mostly good. It seemed that the public''s attitude toward the Legion had been shifting, bit by bit. People''s suspicions were slowly being allayed since the Legion seemed mostly reasonable and invested in improving the safety and well-being of the town. It meant they, like so many groups of downtrodden peasants, were content to wait and see for now. Hopefully the upward progress would continue. For everyone''s sakes.

    He continued on toward the mayor''s mansion, where several Legion officers responsible for the day-to-day running of the town stayed. He''d also been given a room there, as Tiberius had officially pronounced him a military asset. Marcus wasn''t exactly sure what to think of being named an "asset," but it got him a comfortable bed in the best building in town, so he couldn''t complain too much. Still, his bed would have to wait to welcome him until the evening. For now, it was the mayor himself who he was interested in.

    Stepping up to the comparatively grand building, Marcus combed a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt. Hopefully, the man would be reasonable. But considering his current situation¡­ well, this meeting may not be the most pleasant one.

    He mentally prepared himself before stepping inside.

 Chapter 10: Art Thou Upset, Brother?

    Stepping inside of the mayor''s mansion felt like being transported to an entirely different place. The building''s construction, for one, boasted far more artistic flourishes and decorative trims than it had any right to. Its opulent lacquered furniture and gilded wall hangings were an even further cry from the comparably austere fixtures and simple workmanship found elsewhere in Habersville. Marcus couldn''t help but appreciate the expense, even if it was rather tacky and in poor taste.

    Not for the first time, he found himself wondering where the money to afford such luxuries had come from. He doubted the town''s budget could cover the lavish decorations and art lining the walls. He''d seen simpler rooms in palaces back in the capital¡ªthough even those were more tasteful than this monstrosity. But perhaps this explained the seeming lack of funds dedicated toward defenses and general town upkeep.

    Heading down the hall, Marcus wondered how much longer they''d keep calling this place "the mayor''s mansion." The mayor technically still lived here, but no one bothered pretending he actually ran the place anymore. According to Marcus''s [Appraisal], he still held the class, but he''d wager that most of its functionality had been stripped when Tiberius and the Legion took over. At least, that would explain no small part of the man''s fervent protestations at the time.

    Marcus paused at the kitchen''s entrance, debating whether to grab something to eat before heading upstairs. He didn''t particularly need to eat yet. Then again, he recalled the rather cute serving maid who''d dropped off his breakfast that morning.

    Spinning his hat on his finger, he sauntered into the kitchen, humming a merry tune. His mood soured instantly, however, at the sight of the pudgy man sitting at the table and chewing with his mouth open.

    The mayor looked up and met Marcus''s gaze, a flash of recognition crossing his face. His expression immediately twisted into one of pure rage.

    "You!" The mayor sputtered, bits of food spraying across the table as he pointed a sausage-like finger at Marcus.

    The bard couldn''t help but wince at the display. Still, it seemed more than a little excessive. By this point, the mayor had seen him several times and even been there when he''d introduced himself to Tiberius. At no point had he ever had this visceral of a reaction to his presence. Why now?

    "Mayor Blaufort," Marcus replied affably, running through his memories to see if he might''ve done something to personally offend the man. "I don''t believe I''ve had the chance to personally introduce myself?"

    The mayor ignored his attempts at pleasantries, his face turning beet-red. "You¡­ you dare! Don''t play the part of the fool with me! I know exactly who you are, you scoundrel! What you''ve done¡ªand now, the audacity to come into my home¡­ I''ll have you locked up!" He slammed a fist on the table, knocking over his glass of wine and causing the dishware to jump noisily.

    Marcus tensed, ready to dash out of the room at a moment''s notice. In hindsight, perhaps he should''ve expected something like this. He had been a wanted man fleeing the town before the Legion''s arrival. With everything going on, that whole matter had actually managed to slip his mind. But apparently, not everyone had forgotten.

    "Mayor Blaufort," Marcus said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He hoped that using the man''s title might assuage what was probably a sorely bruised ego. "I understand that you may think me a scoundrel. But to be completely frank, I don''t believe my history is of the utmost concern at the moment. Not with far more¡­ pressing matters at our town''s doorstep."

    The man blustered incoherently, his face somehow managing to darken even further. His knuckles whitened as both hands clenched into tight fists. "You¡ª! Our town?!

    The mayor made to rise from his seat. Marcus stood his ground, spreading his hands wide as he changed tactics. "Let''s not be rash. I have no quarrel with you personally, my good mayor. Besides, I am expected at the Legionnaires'' camp this afternoon, and I''m confident that certain people would be quite unhappy if I did not attend."

    At the veiled reference to Tiberius, the mayor paled, remaining in his chair. Still, his resolve didn''t fully waver. His shout turned to a low growl. "You¡­ you think that hiding behind those¡ª those barbarians will save you? I am the mayor of this town! I will see you face justice for your crimes!"

    Marcus frowned internally. Given how the guards had come down on him, he''d expected that news of his deeds had come this far. However, the mayor''s reaction seemed¡­ disproportionate. Personal, even. To the point where his passive [Charm] wasn''t doing much to calm him. Something was clearly off.

    He decided to take a chance. "When you speak of my ''crimes,'' I assume you''re referring to¡­?"

    "My daughter!" The mayor shrieked, pointing at him with furious indignation. When the bard simply stared at him, he continued. "The pride of my life, my sweet Myra! You¡ª you defiled her, you lecherous scum! Don''t pretend you don''t remember!"

    Marcus remained still, as the name registered. Myra. So that archaeologically-obsessed beauty was the mayor''s daughter. That was why he''d been on the verge of getting arrested.

    Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. That was much easier to deal with than the alternative. Although he wouldn''t have called what they did defiling, exactly. It was completely consensual. Still, that explained the rather visceral reaction the man had to his presence. And it meant that Marcus might need to put in a little more effort to talk the man down.

    He activated [Silver Tongue], bringing the full weight of his charisma and smooth-talking to bear. "Ah, so you are Myra''s father! It''s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hoped to seek you out, of course, but with recent events¡­"Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    "Liar! You just thought to take advantage of my daughter¡ªmy only daughter¡ªand skip town like the scoundrel you are! I know your type!"

    Marcus made a note of that. Myra had given the impression that she had several older sisters, which usually made fathers less protective. But now that he thought about it, she''d never explicitly stated that¡ªshe''d just heavily implied it. Tricky. Between that and her omission of what her father''s vocation was, she was more cunning than he''d given her credit for.

    "Do I seem so low as to do such a thing?" Marcus put on his most charming and innocent smile. "I am a respectable bard, my good man. And besides, Myra is full of enough beauty and grace to bring even princes to their knees for her affection. Truly, you raised an incredible woman as radiant as the heavens are wide¡­"

    It took about ten minutes of flattery, and reassurances, and simply lying through his teeth before the man calmed down enough to hold a reasonable conversation. From the way he continued to glare daggers at Marcus, he still disliked the bard¡ªthat much was to be expected. [Silver Tongue] couldn''t do everything, especially not with the level it was currently at. However, the man''s animosity had cooled rather nicely from an active threat of violence to a more general suspicion and distrust. That, he could work with.

    With the stage set, Marcus was finally able to move onto the real matters at hand. He folded his hands atop the table, where he''d taken a seat to better mirror the mayor''s own positioning. "By the way¡­ I have to ask, what are your plans for the near future?"

    "What do you mean?" Mayor Blaufort asked through a mouthful of his previously forgotten food. His beady eyes narrowed in suspicion.

    Marcus raised his hands placatingly. "I simply mean that the arrival of the Legion has turned things quite upside-down for all of us. As the mayor of this town," he stressed the title to appeal to the man''s ego, "People are sure to wonder what your disposition is toward them."

    Mayor Blaufort''s fist tightened around his fork. "Those thugs¡ªthey''ve gone and ruined everything! Thinking they can simply seize the town and get away with it¡ªwell, I won''t stand for it! I am the mayor, and no one can take that away from me!"

    Well, that answered one question. If it hadn''t already been blatantly obvious, the mayor was not a fan of the Legion. That meant that Marcus had been right to suspect a budding issue here. How to handle it was another matter entirely, though. Would it be better to grant the mayor some symbolic power to keep him satisfied, or to oust him altogether? It was something to think on.

    The man continued grumbling as Marcus thought. "Just wait until the Novaran army arrives. They''ll rout those hooligans in a flash, and everything will go back to normal."

    That brought a frown to the bard''s face. "Pardon the intrusion, but¡­ Do you truly think that Novara would deploy forces all the way out here?"

    "Why wouldn''t they?" The mayor scoffed.

    "Well¡­" Marcus chose his words carefully. "To you and I, the value of this town is clear to see. But to others¡­ Well, they may be under the impression that it is simply a minor backwater. Nothing worth sending an army after. Unless you have requested such aid?"

    The mayor snorted. "It is a minor backwater. But it''s still part of the Kingdom of Novara. At least, it was until those barbarians seized it."

    Marcus froze. "Seized? You don''t mean¡­?"

    The portly man waved a hand dismissively. "They didn''t just take over the town. They seized it. As in, conquered it for whatever blighted nation they came from. The king will surely have received a notification about it. Why, I wouldn''t be surprised if there''s an entire fighting force on their way right now to fend off the fools who dared to declare war on Novara!" He paused, the color draining from his face. "Wait¡­ You don''t think they''ll brand me as a traitor, do you?"

    Marcus''s mind raced with the revelation. Part of his purpose here was to ensure that no messages got out about the Legion''s presence. He hadn''t considered that the kingdom might already know about it. If that was the case, then they really might be in trouble.

    "Not at all, Mayor Blaufort," Marcus reassured the man absently as his mind raced. "I''m certain they would assume you were a prisoner, nothing more."

    "No¡­ no, they''ll definitely think me a traitor!" The man''s jowls began to tremble with fear. "I need to send word and explain what happened. Otherwise¡­! But what if they think me incompetent for allowing my town to be conquered? What if they strip me of my title?"

    Blaufort moaned, putting his head in his hands as he despaired. Marcus, on the other hand, perked up slightly at the opportunity. This might be a chance to ensure the mayor didn''t cause future problems.

    "Actually¡­ you may be right. I doubt Novara with be particularly pleased with any of this," he sighed melodramatically. "Perhaps it would be best to flee the country? Or better yet, seek protection from the king''s retribution?"

    The mayor looked up, clenching his jaw. "From who? The barbarians? Like I''d entrust my life to them!"

    Marcus shrugged. "From everything I''ve seen, they have been quite reasonable. Perhaps if you simply petition them¡ª"

    "You''re only saying that because you''re already a traitor," the mayor spat. "Some of us are loyal citizens of the kingdom!"

    He suppressed a sigh of disappointment. Well, it was worth a shot. Though the response made him wonder if the man knew just a little more than he let on.

    "Regardless, it is your decision." Marcus stood gracefully from his chair. "However, I encourage you to consider your options well. And remember, I am always open to talk if you require it. I have managed to gain some sway with the Legionnaires, so perhaps I could enquire on your behalf¡­"

    "Ha! Look at you, pretending to be important." The mayor sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You''re nothing but a useless wandering entertainer. No better than a common vagabond!"

    Marcus grimaced as his skills lost their grip.

    He shook his head. "Perhaps. Perhaps it is better to be a knowing performer than an ignorant one. Either way, I would strongly advise that you do your best to make yourself useful, at the very least. Otherwise¡­ you may be tossed out with the rest of old Habersville''s fixtures."

    The mayor stared at Marcus, slack-jawed at his bluntness. To be fair, the man had earned it. He certainly didn''t seem as though he''d come around anytime soon. With a dramatic flourish of his coat, Marcus spun on his heel and strode out of the room, foregoing his afternoon snack and heading out of the mansion.

    The conversation had given him a lot to think about. He knew that Novara''s military was stretched thin with the war in the west. At most, they might send a small squad to investigate Habersville, then just enough of a force to get the place under control if it was necessary. But with the Legion''s sheer size¡­ it would take a large, concentrated effort to deal with them, even if they were only level ones. He still wasn''t convinced the king would deem such a mission worth it, even if they had declared war on Novara.

    With his errand finished, Marcus headed back toward the Legion''s camp. .Perhaps Tiberius needed to keep a watch on the mayor, just in case. Even if the king did already know about Habersville''s capture, then keeping the extent of the problem under wraps would buy them precious time to get the situation under control. And that meant more time before Marcus needed to consider fleeing again.

 Chapter 11: Roman the Woods

    Quintus ordered his small group of men forward. With practiced motions, they enclosed the last snarling panther in a tight formation, its two compatriots bleeding out where they lay still on the forest floor.

    He and four of his men formed a shield wall, their scutums locking together, and banged their gladiuses against them as loudly as they could. The panther bared its teeth, flattening its ears against its head. The edges of its inky black form seemed to meld into the shadows of the forest. While the beast¡¯s attention was held, the other four flanked the panther in pairs, watching each other''s backs¡ªthis wouldn¡¯t be the first time these panthers had worked together to come at them from blind spots.

    Together, they slowly backed the last panther away from the trees so it was forced into the clearing. The same clearing, in fact, that it and its now-dead companions had used to ambush them.

    It didn''t take long before they had it surrounded. The panther crouched low, its belly pressed to the ground, as faint tendrils of dark smoke rose from its sun-dappled hide. Its purple eyes searched for an escape route. But when it realized how trapped it was, it desperately launched itself at the shield wall with a roar.

    The shield wall braced for the impact. Even as the panther bit at the top of their shields and clawed to climb over them, the other Legionnaires struck. Four sets of blades stabbed into its sides and spine, slipping between its ribs and puncturing the organs inside. After all, despite all appearances, the panther was not truly made of pure shadow.

    It let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the clearing. The beast writhed in pain, lashing out in futile rage one final time before a blow to the back of its neck ended its cries. Its heavy body fell to the ground, twitching.

    Quintus scanned the surrounding area as his men did the same. Three panthers was the most they''d ever been attacked by at once. But that didn''t mean that a fourth wasn''t still out there, sneaking around and waiting for an opening.

    ¡°All clear,¡± Quintus called once he was certain no more attacks were forthcoming. ¡°Status report.¡±

    "No injuries, sir. Barely even damage to our scutums." Brutus said from the center as he wiped his blade clean. "The [Shield Wall] appears to be performing well. When I was locked in, I didn''t feel nearly as much force as I''d expect from a beast that size. I was able to stand my ground with no problem."

    The other men murmured in agreement as Quintus nodded. At the behest of Gaius, they had been testing many of the so-called "skills" that all of the Legionnaires now had access to. In particular, their contubernium of ten men focused on combat-related skills. So far, the results had been quite promising. There would be a lot more experimenting to go, but he was already impressed with how much more effective his men could become with such minimal investment.

    Quintus also found himself reaping personal benefits from the System. His [Voice of Command] skill was proving invaluable on the battlefield. It allowed him to convey even complex orders with more clarity and precision than ever before. His words flowed out faster, and he had an innate sense that his voice would carry over the din of battle even better than before. The skill''s benefits only improved further as it leveled, something which it was doing quite quickly. Perhaps it was just catching up to his existing experience in giving commands.

    "Good," Quintus said, his voice calling the men''s attention back. He sheathed his sword and slung his shield over his shoulder. Having the large rectangle of wood and leather braced against his back had done wonders to prevent ambush predators from getting at them. "Septus, Aulus, check the surroundings. Everyone else, get our kills processed, but quickly. We have about fifteen minutes before I want to head out. We''ve been handling ourselves well, but I want us to return before the sun sets."

    The men busied themselves about their tasks, some pulling out waterskins and food as others dragged the panthers over to get started on them. One pulled out a skinning knife and approached the first corpse as one of the burlier Legionnaires sidled up next to him.

    "Brutus," The Primus Pilus''s eyes narrowed, a note of warning entering his tone.

    The burly man froze for a moment before looking up, suddenly sheepish. "Sir?"

    "I don''t want to see you holding that knife, Brutus," Quintus said sternly. "Not after last time. If you really want to help with the skinning, you can hold the panthers up."

    One of the other men called over. "It''ll be fine, sir. He''s getting better. He only nicked himself twice this last time!"

    Quintus shook his head as the men chuckled. "Be that as it may, I won''t take chances. He can practice when we''re closer to camp, not out here. I won''t have one of our best fighters down a thumb because he doesn''t know how to handle a blade smaller than his gladius."

    "Perhaps that''s why his women always have such sour looks about them," one of the men muttered quietly.

    There was a muffled guffaw from some of the men. Quintus, for his part, continued staring at Brutus expectantly. The man agreed with a "yes, sir" that couldn''t quite hide his disappointment completely, then began helping the other man skin the beasts however he could. The Primus Pilus watched them for a few moments before checking in with the rest of his men.

    "I don''t know why you two even bother," called one of the ones resting under a tree. The man had removed his helmet, running a hand through his short hair. "It''s not like the pelts are useful. We can''t even get them back to camp."

    It was true. While the meat, teeth, and bones of the creatures were as good as any they''d ever seen, the hides had a habit of falling apart when exposed to the light. It was something that the hunters among them had discovered very quickly and with no small amount of frustration. Because of that, the Legion had seen fit to store the things at the edge of the forest until someone figured out a use for them.

    But despite the lack of immediate utility, Quintus didn''t mind letting them skin the beasts. The pelts were extremely light and didn''t slow them down, plus it gave the men a chance to keep their skills sharp. But the bones¡­ that was another matter.

    "You''re one to talk, Claudius," he said, turning his gaze on the man who had spoken. He raised a single finger. "You are allowed one bone to take back. One. It can be a skull, a femur, or a tooth if you want to be reasonable for once. But you are not bringing back an entire skeleton again. Even if you can carry it."You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    The man grimaced, but didn''t argue. "Yes, sir. Er¡­ does that extend to the others, as well?"

    "Hey, don''t look at me!" Another man raised his hands defensively. "The meat is heavy enough. I''ll be damned if I start adding your strange trophies on top of that."

    The other men piled on, ribbing Claudius mercilessly about his odd hobby of reassembling animal skeletons. Quintus suppressed a small smile at their camaraderie. He did his best not to lay into any one of them too hard¡ªkeeping morale high was one of his primary missions, after all. But he ensured that it didn''t interfere with their duties.

    Soon, the salvageable parts of the shadow panthers were loaded up and split among the men so no one was carrying too much. Most of their haul consisted of meat, which had proved to be the most useful part of the beasts so far. It was safe to eat, if a bit gamey, which was more than could be said of the small, rat-like creatures that some of the hunting parties encountered. The first few brave souls to try those became "mission incapable" after eating them for several days. They''d had to dig the latrines farther out from camp after that incident.

    Still, they didn''t take as much meat as they could have. The Primus Pilus and his men were acting as an expeditionary party, meant to scout out the deeper parts of the forest rather than clear out the creatures near camp. Because of that, they were far enough away that preserving the meat properly would be a problem, as they didn''t have much time to clean it. Still, they did the best they could, unwilling to waste what they''d managed to gather. This land was still too unfamiliar to afford such luxuries.

    As they moved out, their two scouts ranged farther ahead, continuing on the arc of their patrol. The men worked their way from tree to tree, making barely a sound as they moved. It didn''t take long before they''d faded from sight entirely.

    Quintus shook his head at the display. Their scouts had always been capable, but now they were able to accomplish seemingly inhuman feats. Something about the magic of this world''s skills made them able to blend into the forest and dive into dappled shadows with newfound ease. It was an even more impressive accomplishment given the gear they wore, which wasn''t particularly well-suited for sneaking about in this environment. Still, they''d managed to avoid getting ambushed so far. Quintus would have to report whatever skills they were using as effective.

    The group pressed onward, and it wasn''t long before one of the scouts reappeared at his side. The man clasped a fist to his chest in salute. "Sir," the scout began, "There''s evidence of a struggle up ahead. One involving humans."

    Quintus nodded. "Understood. We''ll investigate."

    He ordered the men forward, tightening up their formation as they went into high alert. When they reached the clearing, it was just as the scout had reported. Large furrows gouged in the earth and ripped grass indicated clear signs of a struggle¡ªa deadly one, judging by the patches of earth soaked with blood. Broken arrow shafts made it clear that this fight hadn''t simply been between animals, either. Quintus wasn''t much of a tracker, but even he could see that.

    The scouts, however, could read the ground as if it were a map. One of them knelt over a patch of darkened earth. "There were people, all right. Three, if my count is right. It seems as though their bodies were dragged away recently, within the last day. There are other, smaller drag marks too."

    "Are they alive?" Quintus asked.

    The scout shrugged. "Hard to tell. The blood''s not theirs, though. It likely belongs to whatever those smaller creatures were."

    "Agreed. It smells sour," the other scout offered. "I''d wager it was some of those blasted rats."

    "Whatever it was, it looks as though the bodies were moved further in," the first scout continued, pointing through the trees. "By what, I''m not sure."

    Quintus nodded. "Does your [Tracking] skill yield any more information?"

    The scout blinked. "Ah! Right. Apologies, sir. I''m still getting used to these things¡­"

    The man went silent for a moment, scanning the clearing again with a critical eye. His gaze darted between the blood, the gouges, and the disturbed foliage that littered the clearing. After a minute or so of silent concentration, the scout nodded.

    "Hmmm. Best I can manage is a few more details about the three humans. One appeared to be a ranger of some sort¡ªobviously," he motioned to the broken arrows. "The depth and shape of some of these gouges suggests that the second was a warrior of some kind, though not a particularly competent one. The last¡­ well, I can tell she was a female, but not much past that. Didn''t seem like she had an obvious weapon."

    Assessing the situation, Quintus drummed his fingers against the pommel of his gladius. Despite the strangeness of their findings, they didn''t have nearly enough information to justify returning to camp quite yet. Perhaps if they found what had taken these people or where¡­

    "We continue on," he commanded. "Stay alert. The last thing we want is to end up like these fellows."

    The group moved forward with extra caution. With an unknown threat lurking about, Quintus kept the scouts closer to the formation rather than letting them range too far ahead. Behind them, the soldiers marched in a double column, eyes peeled and ready to raise their shields at any moment.

    As they ventured deeper into the forest, the shadows grew thicker, taking on a strange, almost tangible quality. Darkness pressed against Quintus''s eyes like a weight, and even with the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, his vision seemed to dim with every step. Even the clanking and shifting of their armor began to sound muted, though it still remained uncomfortably loud in the quiet surrounding them.

    A curse rang out from the front of the column, causing everyone to freeze. Hands darted for weapons and shields as Brutus waved his arms around in front of his face.

    Quintus frowned. "What are you doing?"

    "Blasted¡ªI think I walked through a spiderweb." The man slapped at the back of his neck, spinning around to inspect himself. "Is it on me?"

    The other men relaxed, allowing themselves low chuckles as Cletus checked him over carefully. "Don''t see anything, though it''s hard to see in this light. Here."

    Cletus reached forward to pluck a strand of webbing off of Brutus, then frowned. "Gods, this is sticky."

    "You''re telling me," Brutus grunted as he struggled to peel webs from his face. "What in the¡ª"

    They worked together to free the Legionnaire''s head from the veil enveloping it. The webs took far more force than the should have to snap, but eventually, Brutus was freed enough to see once again. He used his gladius to scrape the remaining strands off his chest plate, muttering darkly as he did.

    After the interruption, they continued their advance. As the webs grew thicker, many of the Legionnaires drew their swords, using the blades to cut through the webs instead of walking face-first into them. Sticky, gossamer threads clung stubbornly to their weapons as they hacked through the increasingly dense strands.

    "I feel like we''re being watched," someone muttered from the middle of the formation.

    Quintus halted the group. It was clear that they all felt uneasy, though he kept his own discomfort to himself. Regardless of whether the comment was a product of imagined threats or real ones, it would be prudent to be cautious here. "Group up. Keep your eyes on the trees."

    The men readied their shields and weapons, tensing once more. The scouts had fully rejoined the formation, having found nothing in their advance patrols. Quintus much preferred having their improved eyesight with him at the moment, especially given the oppressive darkness. As they scanned their surroundings, one let out a shout of warning.

    "Above!"

    As Quintus''s head whipped upward, a thick, white string shot down from the branches above, slapping into his raised shield and sticking fast. It went taut, pulling his shield and arm both toward the foliage above with shocking force. Only his [Steady Stance] skill kept him from being yanked off his feet entirely.

    The sticky thread stretched as he pulled back against it. Gritting his teeth, he hacked at the strands with his gladius, but they were tougher than they looked. His blade sliced partially through the sticky fibers, but they didn''t sever cleanly, stretching like some kind of horrid sap.

    The rest of his men leapt into action, raising their shields and blades. Something moved deeper within the foliage¡ªsomething large and dark descending from the branches. Before Quintus could even shout a command or warning, a spider the size of a large dog launched itself from the treetops, hurtling straight at his face.

 Chapter 12: Everyone Hates Spiders

    The shiny black carapace of the spider hurtled toward Quintus, its eight spindly legs glimmering ever so faintly in the darkness. He planted his feet and pulled mightily at his shield, maneuvering the rectangular scutum between them. However, the chitinous mass didn''t bounce off like he''d expected. Instead, the tips of its legs clung to the surface, skittering noisily as it crawled up his shield and began to crest its top.

    At this distance, the monster''s features were impossible to miss. A constellation of inky black orbs studded its small head, its eyes staring soullessly into his own. A pair of needle-like fangs the size of knives protruded from beneath them. Leaves and twigs adhered to its bulbous abdomen, camouflage that would''ve made the dark shape even more difficult to see among the foliage.

    Quintus suppressed a shiver as the thing raised its fangs in a soft hiss. He stabbed his gladius through the spider''s face without hesitation. The blade made a sickening crunch as it punched through its armored head. As the beast thrashed in its death throes, he flipped it sideways, ripping his sword free. Greenish purple ichor from its insides ran down his blade, mixing with a yellowish venom that hissed and burbled.

    He didn''t have time to inspect his blade for damage, though. With a flick of his wrist, he sprayed the toxic concoction off the tip of his sword at the partially-severed web still attached to his shield, finally managing to cut through it as another spider scuttled toward his feet. As it neared, he slammed the bottom of his shield down toward it, cracking several of its legs.

    "Orbem formate!" Quintus shouted.

    The other eight men moved into a circle formation. Without even needing to look, he stepped back and slid his shield into a gap left perfectly open for him. As one, they stepped forward and away from the trees as much as they could. More webs shot toward them from the darkness, impacting shields from every side. A few shouts rang out as a couple of poorly-secured helmets were carried into the trees. But their formation didn''t budge. The combination of their shields being locked together and the [Shield Wall] skill allowed them to weather the assault together even better than Quintus had alone.

    Moving in a circle formation was challenging¡ªit required the majority of the men to move sideways or backwards¡ªbut they were well-trained for the task. Navigating through the dark over gnarled tree roots was far simpler than some of the training they''d endured. Still, the movements felt even easier than Quintus had expected, as though the Legionnaires themselves shared an even deeper understanding of each others'' intent than ever before. Perhaps this was what Gaius had been talking about when he explained the [Group Tactics] skill at work.

    Quintus didn''t remain idle, though. He called out orders with [Voice of Command], coordinating their movements as the spiders continued to try and pull them apart. Their blades sawed at the thick strands of webbing even as their formation remained immovable. However, that wasn''t enough to keep them safe.

    Eventually, the spiders decided to change tactics. They swarmed down the trees in a wave of black and green and brown, making it seem as though the forest itself intended to swallow them up.

    "Be ready!" Quintus warned his men. With another order, the shield wall dropped closer to the ground to prevent the creatures from biting at their legs. Though his men had greaves to protect their legs, he didn''t have any desire to test their durability against those fangs, much less the hissing venom that filled them.

    As they braced for the coming swarm, a long-forgotten memory suddenly flashed through Quintus''s mind. It was of an anthill from his childhood¡ªas he''d watched the processions of ants filing to and from their home, a rather large caterpillar happened across their path, its wriggling form ignoring them as it meandered about its own path. A single ant happened across the giant, attacking it, before being joined by an endless stream of others. In astonishingly little time, the insects had overwhelmed the caterpillar in a tide of squirming black bodies and dragged it back to their nest.

    These weren''t ants, though; they were spiders. Giant spiders. And he was the damned caterpillar.

    In a flash, the spiders were upon them. Chitinous bodies flooded over every inch of ground as they made contact with the Legionnaires, seeking any gap in their formation. The size of the monsters worked against them as their bodies and legs proved far too thick to squeeze through the shield wall''s miniscule cracks.

    Unfortunately, that didn''t stop the assault. The spiders simply swarmed up their shields as though they were flat ground, the sounds of countless legs filling the air with a deafening clatter. Bodies quickly made their way over the top of the scutums, only to be met with two feet of solid steel.

    Quintus felt his vision narrow. He activated his [Swordsmanship] skill¡ªan individual one he''d decided to test out himself¡ªand felt it guide his blade in and out of spider after spider. The world beyond their circle faded away in the heat of combat. He lost track of time, focused only on the steady breathing of the men around him and the blood pounding in his ears.

    Occasionally, one of the scouts would call out in warning as a group of spiders attempted to drop down on them from above. The sneaky bastards pulled their attention from the tide of bodies in front of them, requiring a few Legionnaires to swipe upwards and deal with them as their comrades attempted to pick up the slack. The spiders didn''t always go down in one hit, either. Several times, Quintus''s own sword skittered off a carapace harmlessly, even with the skill assisting his grip. It was bound to happen¡ªhe wasn''t always in the perfect position to strike. But every miss threatened to push them closer to being overwhelmed.

    He sliced and batted at the spiders over and over, refusing to allow them over his shield. His grip remained steady, never slipping, even as pulpy ichor coated his weapon and soaked the ground. Even as the fighting dragged on, Quintus felt as invigorated as ever, the rush of battle buoying him and keeping the exhaustion at bay. Not even the deeper, all-encompassing tiredness that he''d been told to expect from excessive skill use seemed to affect him.

    Suddenly, there was a lull in the tide. He looked for the next spider to stab, yet found none. Quintus almost relaxed, breathing in to call for a status report, before he heard a cry of agony from behind him.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Without breaking his shield''s position in the wall, Quintus whipped around. Somehow, a spider had made its way into the center of their circle. Twin fangs pierced into the back of Brutus''s calf, embedded deep in his flesh.

    In his panic, Brutus flailed with his sword and shield both, breaking formation as he tried to dislodge and stab at the creature latched onto him. As he struggled, two more spiders pounced on him from the gap in the shield wall.

    Quintus swore under his breath. He kept his shield in place, shifting his stance and stepping sideways in order to reach over and help Brutus. His gladius sliced through the abdomen of the spider clinging to his comrade''s leg in a spray of greenish purple as the other men slashed at the incoming threats. Another shout rose up, sending Quintus''s head snapping up. Another group of spiders hurtled down toward the injured Brutus.

    Quintus yelled an order, and the shield wall tightened up, closing the gap Brutus had left as he thrashed on the ground. A rictus of pain marred his features. Despite the situation, the Legionnaire managed to bring his shield between himself and the falling spiders and take down a couple with frenzied slashes. But as he tried to regain his feet, he stumbled.

    Quintus grimaced. The mangled piece of meat that was Brutus''s calf hissed and popped unsettlingly as it hung uselessly beneath him. His breathing was erratic, and sweat poured down from beneath his helmet. Quintus could feel the panic radiating off him.

    "Brutus!" Quintus snapped, drawing his attention. "Stand ready, soldier! Guard our backs from above!"

    The command seemed to jar Brutus back into the present. Their eyes briefly met as the man struggled to push himself up once more, leaning on his shield for support. Brutus roared in defiance as he took another few swipes at falling spiders, coming to balance on his one good leg. Their corpses fell to the ground around them, their remaining legs curling into themselves as he kept his head on a swivel toward the treetops above.

    Quintus didn''t have time to ensure the man was holding it together, though. Another wave of spiders crashed into their shield wall, hissing and chittering as they tried to overwhelm the Legionnaires.

    Turning his attention forward, Quintus resumed the fight. He didn''t need to check over his shoulder to know that Brutus was still alive and holding his own. His shouts of pain and triumph joined the deafening crash of shields and blades against chitin. Even without that, the Primus Pilus could somehow sense the man swatting spiders out of the air as they leaped down from the trees, desperate to breach the formation however they could.

    The skirmish stretched on, the ground around them gradually becoming a carpet of twisted, broken bodies. It wasn''t long before hundreds of spider corpses littered the area, forming piles that their kin had to climb over before assaulting their formation. Yet despite it all, the Legionnaires held firm. Their gladiuses hacked and slashed away at the seemingly endless tide until their arms began to protest. But finally, after who knew how long, the tide finally ceased.

    The Legionnaires surveyed the silent forest warily, expecting yet another assault or ambush attempt. But after a full minute of tense waiting, no such threat materialized.

    Quintus let out a long breath, his eyes continuing to dart about the clearing. "Status report."

    "My leg," Brutus managed through clenched teeth. "It¡ª damn it all, it feels like Vulcan himself''s poured hot metal inside it."

    Two other men reported injuries as well, though none as serious as Brutus''s. The Primus Pilus nodded as the reports came in. "Tend to the wounded as best you can, but keep your eyes peeled. Stand ready to form up at any moment. I will not have us caught off guard and take more injuries."

    The men chorused their agreement as they moved to act. Quintus moved from man to man as they rested, every face tensely keeping watch even as they tended to the wounds. The other two wounded had numb arms or shoulders. Still, they''d managed to pry the spiders off quickly enough to prevent large amounts of venom from entering their systems. The rest of the squad bore scratches and minor punctures from the spiders'' legs as the creatures clambered over them.

    He helped them wash out bites and bandage what they could. The treatments got most of the men back on their feet, but he remained concerned about Brutus. The man couldn''t feel anything besides pain in his entire leg now, and he was clearly wobbling on his feet. Despite the sickly pallor to his skin though, he was breathing steadily and had yet to lose consciousness.

    Unfortunately, there wasn''t too much they could do about it out here. Their wounds were bandaged well enough to last for now, but they''d need to return to camp in order to receive better treatment. If there was anything that could be done for the man, of course.

    "All right," Quintus said once they''d done what they could. "We regroup and return to camp. We''ll need to report on what we''ve found here. If there are more of these spiders lurking about, then warning the other contuberniums is imperative."

    He ordered them into a formation with Brutus protected in the center, the scouts ranging only slightly ahead. They left the darkened clearing the way they''d come. But as they retraced their path, they found it blocked by webs. Thick, goopy ropes as wide as his finger, not simply threads like they''d encountered on the way in.

    Quintus stepped forward and slashed at the barrier with his sword, focusing every bit of his twenty years of soldiering into the blow. He activated his skill, his blade slicing down in a clean arc. But instead of cleaving through, his sword bounced off of the white strands, leaving only a small nick in its wake.

    "What in the¡­" one of his men muttered behind him. "When did they put up this shit?"

    Quintus frowned, inspecting his gladius. It had sustained a number of small nicks during the battle, but this blow didn''t seem to have damaged it further. "We''ll find another path. We press on."

    They moved sideways along the edge of the clearing, searching for an opening. But only a few feet further into the trees, they encountered another stretch of dense webs blocking their path. They continued moving, but every few feet brought another barrier. It didn''t take long to realize that the entire clearing had been sectioned off. They were well and truly trapped.

    Quintus looked up, scanning the canopy. It seemed as though their foes had planned for this ambush more thoroughly than expected. Still, there was no sign of additional spiders anywhere in sight. Had they truly finished off the last of them? Or had they simply covered their own retreat?

    Before Quintus had a chance to address his men again, a heavy thud shook the trees around them. The men tensed, snapping back into formation. Another thud came, then another. The sound of chitin scraping against chitin filled the air¡ªa now-familiar noise. But this time, the sound was accompanied by a deeper, more ominous one. One far too close for comfort.

    As one, the Legionnaires turned toward its source. There, just at the opposite edge of the clearing, something shifted. A massive shape, large enough that Quintus suspected his mind was playing tricks on him. But the shout of warning from one of his scouts quickly laid that idea to rest.

    "Incoming! Pluto''s beard, that thing''s the size of a house!"

    A few seconds later, a tree crashed down, the reverberation shaking the ground beneath them once again. As the creature stepped closer, Quintus finally saw it clearly for himself. Its enormous black, bulbous body gleamed in the faint streams of choked sunlight filtering down from the canopy, towering well above him in height. With each step, its chitinous legs¡ªeach thicker around than Quintus''s torso¡ªslammed into the earth, sending rocks and dirt spraying in all directions. Two more trees toppled as it forced its way into the clearing, displacing everything in its path.

    The giant spider opened its maw to reveal sword-sized fangs dripping with yellow venom. A deep, strangled hiss filled Quintus''s ears, the sound seeming to reverberate in his head. Then, it took another lumbering step toward them.

 Chapter 13: Yo Momma, The Broodmother

    The behemoth ambled toward their formation. The shadows of the forest seemed to bend and twist around its form, undulating in a sickening, unnatural way. They seemed to only grow thicker as the spider approached, casting everything into a strange grayscale dimness.

    Quintus called over his shoulder urgently. "Brutus! Torches, now!"

    He couldn''t risk looking back toward the man, but the sound of a pack hitting the ground suggested that he''d understood. The familiar clack of flint and steel echoed dully through the forest as heat and light blossomed from the center of their formation. Quintus sensed as the man raised his lit torch high, illuminating their surroundings and giving them a better view of the battlefield. It didn''t extend nearly as far as it should have, the glow seeming to disappear into the oppressive darkness. But what it did reveal sent a chill down Quintus''s spine.

    What he''d initially assumed was the massive arachnid''s shadow was in fact a veritable carpet of smaller forms. Thousands upon thousands of tiny spiders, all scrambling forward with their queen. Some were the size of ordinary spiders he''d seen back in Rome, while most were as large as his hand. None seemed to be as large as the ones they''d fought previously. But they did move much more quickly.

    Quintus glanced down at the gaps in their shield wall. With their size, even this formation wouldn''t be enough to keep them out. And if those spiders were also venomous¡­

    The edge of the tide neared their formation. As Brutus''s torch flared to life, however, he saw the smallest spiders skitter backwards and away from the flames. Quintus leapt at the possibility.

    "More torches!" The Primus Pilus ordered, gripping his gladius more tightly as he eyed the comparatively slow-moving queen marching toward them. He couldn''t be certain whether this would work on it, but they needed some way to handle the smaller enemies. Otherwise, they''d be overwhelmed in an instant.

    Brutus moved quickly from man to man, retrieving torches from their packs and lighting them with his own. Soon, several Legionnaires held torches instead of their gladiuses, waving them at the approaching swarm to keep them at bay. The tiny black shapes hissed and fanned out to avoid the flirelight''s glow. However, the larger ones continued to press forward, climbing up the shields and forcing the sword-wielding Legionnaires to hack and slice at their scuttling forms.

    It didn''t take long before they were surrounded once again. Half of their formation waved torches at the incoming horde, sending them jumping backwards with quiet hisses. The others held fast against the remaining spiders and swatted at them with brutal efficiency. Their tactics weren''t flashy by any means, but they didn''t need to be. Not when they worked.

    Quintus racked his brain. Though they could manage this situation for the moment, it certainly wouldn''t last. Any gap or shortcoming in their formation would allow spiders inside to take down his men one by one. It was only a matter of time. They couldn''t escape with the barrier of webs encircling them. Even worse, those torches would burn out eventually and hasten their ends¡ªif the towering juggernaut didn''t get to them first.

    As if to echo his thoughts, the massive spider took another thunderous step forward. The ground itself cracked beneath its leg like a pickaxe smashing through stone. His wooden shield, reinforced as it was with metal, wouldn''t stand a chance. Nor would his body. They would be ground into the earth like fine wheat if they didn''t do something.

    The Primus Pilus grimaced. Staying on the defensive would guarantee their deaths. That meant they only had one other option.

    "Brutus," Quintus called back to the wounded man in their formation''s center. "You''ll need to defend yourself, soldier. We''ll do our best to keep them off of you."

    "Yes, sir." The man''s voice was filled with the same grim determination that filled Quintus''s own. All around him, he felt the men tense. The others knew that the situation was dire. Otherwise, he wouldn''t even suggest leaving one of their wounded so exposed. But it might be the only way he could get them out alive.

    With a silent prayer to the gods, he called out a flurry of orders. Their circle formation broke apart into pairs of Legionnaires that sprinted forward as one, charging toward the oncoming tide. The spiders scattered in surprise, the smallest ones fleeing the suddenly advancing light as fast as they could. The slower ones shriveled and sizzled as the torchlight engulfed them. But he didn''t have time to stop and observe the phenomenon.

    Quintus''s shield raised high as he ran, warding off the leaping spiders as his sword cut through the tide. At his sides ran two more Legionnaires. The eight remaining men stomped through the swarm and were rewarded with the sounds of crunching carapaces underfoot. Quintus felt a few stinging sensations across his feet as errant fangs or drops of venom slipped between the gaps in his caligae. However, there was no time to inspect the damage or make his steps more careful. They had a monster to kill.

    As they trampled their way through, spiders leapt at their torsos and faces. Despite their being inhuman, Quintus could tell that their coordination was breaking down. They were panicking, unprepared for a direct assault. Instead of probing for weaknesses or attacking in formations to overwhelm, they screeched and scrambled, caught between fleeing the firelight and attempting to mass in front of their queen. Their confusion only served to bolster the charging Legionnaires, who pushed them aside with shields or crushed them underfoot.

    A sharp cry cut through the sounds of battle. Out of the corner of his eye, Quintus saw one of the torchbearers stumble and fall to one knee. A wave of black chitin rose up, taking advantage of the momentary weakness to overwhelm him. The man disappeared from view in a tangle of legs and fangs.

    Quintus could only grimace. There was no way he or his men could stop and help, not without risking the same fate. They had to press on and deal with the threat at hand. Even if it meant taking losses.

    "Forward!" He shouted, ensuring that others didn''t make the mistake of stopping their advance. The massive spider loomed before them, its ponderous steps bringing it closer to the Legionnaires as it hissed. It slammed a pointed leg down at Quintus, forcing him to dart sideways and dodge. Dirt sprayed out from the impact.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Before it had a chance to lift the limb up again, Quintus spun to slash at it. His blade skittered off the hard chitin of the leg, leaving only a whitish scratch in its wake. Switching his grip, he used the momentum of the attack to carry him toward the beast''s rear legs and swing once more, putting his entire weight into a backhanded blow. This time, he remembered to activate [Swordsmanship] and one of his other skills¡ª[Heavy Blow]

    His sword struck the leg with a jarring impact, sending painful vibrations up his arm as if he''d slammed it against a solid rock. Only through decades of experience, practice, and training was Quintus able to keep his grip. But as solid as the leg felt, the power behind the blow had been enough.

    A crack ripped through the air. Where sword met chitin he saw thin, web-like fractures radiating outward, along with the beginnings of purple ichor leaking out. Quintus''s heart soared.

    "Damaged leg!" He shouted the information to his comrades over the spider''s annoyed squeal. He felt as his intent was conveyed by [Voice of Command]. "Strike here!"

    He dodged back toward one of the torchbearers as the spider lifted another leg to strike at him. The pool of light served as an island of refuge among the spiders, his companion struggling to hold back the tide as they continued to swarm in a panicked frenzy. From the corner of his eye, Quintus saw the other two pairs of men advance on the injured limb and begin hacking away.

    The spider squealed at him. Evidently, Quintus''s attack had been enough to earn its personal attention. He stepped back, hoping to serve as a distraction while the other men worked. Yet instead of attacking him, the massive spider''s head darted forward to bite down at the torchbearer at his side.

    Qiuntus flung his shield arm up, catching her two massive fangs on his scutum as the other man ducked back. For a brief, horrid moment, he locked eyes with the creature. Its eight baleful orbs glared back, their darkness seeming to extinguish the light around them. Its gaze burned into him with palpable malice.

    It took a moment for him to realize that the burning sensation wasn''t simply his imagination. Rather, it was coming from his arm. He looked down and saw that the two dark fangs had pierced straight through his shield. One of them had punctured clean through his forearm, protruding from the other side. Sickly yellow venom dripped from its exposed tip.

    He bit back a scream of agony as the fang tore free, leaving a sizable hole in his forearm between the two bones. The wound seared with pain, but not as much as he''d feared. It could be ignored for now.

    With an effort, he stuffed the sensation of his own sizzling skin into a small box at the back of his mind, keeping his shield up. With a quick, calculated step forward, he lunged and slashed at her fangs. His first strike bit deep, severing the right fang and sending a gush of yellow liquid spilling over his blade. He followed through with the swing, slicing partway through the second fang as well.

    The giant spider reared up in agony, squealing and thrashing as Quintus staggered back. Her front legs lifted off the ground, flailing in the air, while the Legionnaires continued to fend off the smaller spiders.

    The behemoth''s rearing proved to be a fatal mistake. When she lifted onto her hind legs, the full weight of her massive body¡ªwhat had to be thousands of pounds of flesh and exoskeleton¡ªrested on her damaged limb. Both the leg Quintus had attacked and the one beside it buckled under the strain. He saw his fellow Legionnaires dart away from the massive body as it collapsed sideways. Chipped chitin and fluids sprayed outwards from the wounds as though from a shattered vase full of wine.

    As the spider fell, it rolled over, crushing dozens of her own kin beneath her. Her legs floundered in the air for a moment, and Quintus barely needed to warn the men to retreat back from the deadly storm of thrashing limbs. After a moment, it struggled back to its feet, but the damage was done. Two of its legs were now completely useless, snapped off just below the joints and flailing uselessly as it attempted to move. Though losing two legs didn''t completely stop the thing, it clearly slowed its already ponderous steps down even further and made its movements awkward.

    Quintus was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope. The way these spiders acted wasn''t natural¡ªthey were far too coordinated, if not exactly the smartest things. There was a decent chance that if they could bring down the queen, the rest of the spiders might flee or have their already tenuous cohesion fall apart entirely. At least, that was what he hoped. If not¡­ well, it wasn''t as though they had any option besides killing the massive spider, anyway.

    "Advance!" Quintus shouted to the men. They continued to weave around the massive spearlike appendages that slammed into the ground, leaving deep gouges and holes in their wake. This time, he didn''t waste his efforts on her legs. He went straight for the spider''s freshly defanged face.

    The creature reared back, trying to pull out of his reach rather than attempting to retaliate with its single partially-intact fang. But it wasn''t fast enough. His blade slashed at the carapace covering its head, the yellow venom coating his blade hissing as it made contact. Evidently, human flesh wasn''t the only thing vulnerable to the substance.

    Another activation of [Heavy Blow] sent cracks through the queen''s head. It skittered backward, trying to escape Quintus''s assault as he continued to rain down blow after blow.

    In desperation, the beast tried to rear up once more as though to crush him beneath its weight. However, the Legionnaires were ready. The others had positioned themselves at its rear, and as the spider heaved itself upward, they attacked one of its remaining rear legs in unison.

    The spindly limb crumpled, sending the spider onto its back with a scream of outrage. This time, it rolled onto its back, unable to fully right itself. It desperately spewed webs from its spinnerets in thick, gloopy masses as though to pull itself away from the conflict. However, it wasn''t going to escape so easily.

    The Legionnaires climbed atop its abdomen, stabbing their blades into the spider''s exposed underbelly over and over. They stayed near its rear to avoid the frantically thrashing limbs that threatened to bisect any unfortunate soul caught in their reach. Quintus remained at the front, hacking over and over at its head. Even as the stamina drain from the skill finally began to make itself more keenly felt, he continued.

    The spider''s screams of outrage and frustration quickly morphed into something else. They became higher-pitched, more keening and frantic as the ear-splitting sounds rang throughout the forest. As Quintus stared into the dying beast''s eyes, he saw something he recognized there. Something he''d seen in many a conquered foe.

    It felt fear.

    As the Legionnaires continued to swarm the monster as its offspring had swarmed them, its struggles began to weaken. The thrashing of its legs slowed little by little as fresh purple fluids poured down its sides. The supernatural darkness that seemed to envelop it began to flicker and subside until it failed to even push back the torchlight. Soon enough, with one final thrust of Quintus''s sword through its head, the beast finally went still.

    The clearing went silent. For a brief moment, only the sound of his men''s labored breathing filled the air. Then, the skittering of countless spiders rushing away drowned them out. Quintus barely noticed as golden text materialized before him.

    [You have successfully defeated an area boss! You have gained experience.]

 Chapter 14: Just Wartime Things

    The camp was quiet¡ªor at least, as quiet as any camp could be. Men continued to go about their duties as the sun descended toward the horizon, passing between the tents and calling out occasionally to their comrades. Still, compared to the chaos of an active battlefield or the bustle of a thriving town, it was calm. Calm, organized, and peaceful. For the moment.

    Tiberius sat stationed behind his desk, a large piece of wooden furniture one of the Legionnaires had liberated from the nearby town. At his elbow stood one of his aides, on hand in case he needed messages sent or any other minor tasks taken care of. The man stood at attention as Tiberius hunched over the documents spread across the desk with a writing implement in hand.

    This, too, was one of the strange and foreign technologies of this land. It functioned similar to the reeds he was familiar with, except for one thing: it contained the ink used for writing within its core. The invention was ingenious, certainly, and one whose construction piqued his curiosity. That simple change made it a far superior tool to any he''d used for the purpose. Still, it took a while to become acquainted with. Even now, he found himself reflexively reaching for an inkwell that wasn''t there.

    His attention returned to the reports arrayed before him. There was a veritable mountain of information to process, a daunting reminder of the challenges they faced. Skill research among the men was proceeding steadily, though it still felt as though they were mostly learning what was already common knowledge among the local barbarians. Yet even that progress couldn''t be underestimated. For now, simply testing the skills they had access to was proving valuable enough.

    Tiberius scanned the list of skills that had been assigned to patrols venturing deeper into the forest. Many of them remained combat focused for the moment, given the unfamiliar and likely hostile surroundings. But those were not the only ones they''d need to investigate. Exploration would soon be an essential area of focus.

    One of the first things they''d done was meticulously catalog all the supplies the Legion had¡ªfood, tools, equipment, and so on. They''d brought with them only what the men carried on their backs, since none of the pack animals or horses had been transported alongside them. It was more than it could have been. The men had been ready to march, after all, and even the pack animals'' loads had primarily consisted of the officers'' equipment. It was a fortunate situation that left them with enough to survive and continue most standard operations without issues.

    However, the Legion vastly outnumbered the town''s population. It would be foolhardy to rely on their modest resources once their own rations ran out. Hunting could and had been enough thus far to supplement their diets, although Roman soldiers weren''t accustomed to relying so heavily on game. Still, although the forest teemed with beasts that could sustain them, Tiberius wanted to ensure that they identified new sources of food as well. More consistent and sustainable ones, preferably before the forest''s bounty failed them.

    That issue spoke to greater ones as well. If they were to thrive in this place, they would need far more than food¡ªthey needed mines, smithies, and a whole host of other resources. Their weapons and armor would need maintenance and, eventually, replacement. They''d need to rebuild their cavalry and archery units, since they had been left behind, which meant that mounts and bows would need to be found as well. The list went on and on.

    These concerns weighed heavily on Tiberius as he pored over maps of the area, their faces covered with markings that denoted resources that may be found there. Some of the information came from his own scouts, while some stemmed from Marcus''s descriptions and tales. Both had their own limitations, given how foreign and exotic this land could be. Still, one thing quickly became clear. While winter may not be an immediate concern, they couldn''t rely on just this one town to meet their needs. The Legion would need to expand their territory outward, and sooner rather than later.

    His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his tent flap opening. A Legionnaire stepped inside, thumping his fist to his chest in salute. At Tiberius''s acknowledgement, the man spoke. "Legatus. The silver-tongued one is here."

    Tiberius straightened from his work, gesturing for the man to let Marcus in. The bard entered with a flourish, a wide grin stretching across his face as he bowed dramatically. Rather than appear perturbed or insulted by the title, the man seemed rather pleased.

    "Legatus," the bard greeted, his tone warm and overly familiar.

    "You''re early," Tiberius responded simply.

    "An entertainer never leaves his audience wanting¡ªat least, not without a sufficient reason."

    Marcus winked as Tiberius frowned slightly, glancing at the unfinished paperwork on his desk. He''d hoped for more time to focus before this meeting. However, it couldn''t be helped. Interruptions were inevitable. Besides, he did have some matters that he''d intended to question the bard about anyway.

    Marcus settled himself into one of the camp chairs across from Tiberius'' desk, his grin never faltering. It would have looked convincingly genuine if Tiberius were just meeting the man. Not that he doubted Marcus was pleased to see him or even amicable. It was just that his facade was remarkably consistent and ever-present.

    Folding his hands, Tiberius met the bard''s gaze. "Very well. I will start off with the most pertinent matters¡­"

    The two men quickly fell into conversation, though not an entirely smooth one. By now, they had developed something of a silent understanding¡ªMarcus knew what level of manners and respect Tiberius expected, while Tiberius had grown to tolerate Marcus''s prose and flamboyant posturing so long as it remained within certain boundaries. It was a useful arrangement that seemed to satisfy both men. As a result, over the course of several of these meetings, a kind of grudging and reluctant respect had begun to grow between them.

    Tiberius was, first and foremost, a soldier¡ªa general, a commander, a leader of men. But he was also a Roman senator, which meant he was no stranger to politics¡ªdistasteful as they were. Regardless, he had learned to navigate the murky waters of political life through practice and sheer necessity. He''d had to, after his father''s death had thrust him into the Senate decades ago.

    Given that experience, it was easy to recognize Marcus''s skill in the same arena. The bard possessed many of the traits of an experienced spymaster¡ªkeen observational skills, a knack for gathering information, and a memory that even Minerva would envy. He was also as articulate as one might expect, which made him a surprisingly useful resource. Tiberius might have even liked him if he weren''t such a flamboyant attention-seeker.

    The Legatus began by asking a few lingering questions about the mysterious System that had quickly become an ever-present facet of their lives. From there, it shifted to more general topics such as geography, history, and¡ªmost relevantly¡ªthe political factions of Novara. Given that Tiberius had declared war on the kingdom, understanding his soon-to-be enemy was high up on his list of priorities. The aide took notes as they spoke, jotting down important information on a clay tablet.

    Marcus claimed much of his information was out of date by perhaps six months or so. Still, he assured Tiberius that politics rarely moved quickly enough to render his knowledge completely irrelevant. Even if it was, the detail and breadth of his answers remained impressive. Enough that it made Tiberius wonder once again at his origins.

    Marcus had proclaimed himself to be a [Royal Bard] at their first meeting, implying that there was more to him than met the eye. The out-of-place finery of his clothing and courtly manners only reinforced that suspicion. Still, when pressed for answers about his own personal history, the slippery bard never failed to deflect or change the subject with practiced ease.

    Still, despite his shady origins, Tiberius found they weren''t enough to justify dispensing with the bard. The information he provided was useful, and as such he found himself glad for Marcus''s presence¡ªannoying as it often was.

    Once Tiberius had finished off his list of most pressing questions, he nodded in approval. "Good. I have more questions, but this should suffice for today." The fading light of the sun was just visible past the flaps of his tent. "Are there any matters you wish to discuss?"If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Actually¡­ on this particular day, there are indeed." Marcus leaned forward, a more serious glint in his eye even as his tone remained casual. "I''ve been speaking with the townsfolk, as I''m known to do, and I couldn''t help but bent an ear to the whispers of malcontent that have begun to simmer beneath the surface."

    Tiberius frowned. "Do you speak of rebellion by the townsfolk?"

    "No, certainly not! Nothing so open and brash," Marcus waved the suggestion away airily. "In fact, the majority of the people appear to be quite pleased with the current state of affairs. No, I speak of specific individuals. The venerated mayor of Habersville, for example."

    Tiberius gestured for the bard to continue, which he did with pleasure. "You see, the former leader of this fine town is not particularly well-disposed toward your actions as of late. Indeed, he likely feels as though his formerly unquestioned staff of authority has been snatched from his very hands and broken into pieces before his eyes. And while I would not go so far as to say that he was popular enough to stir up an armed rebellion¡­ well, I can certainly imagine a number of ways in which he could make life difficult for your and yours."

    He paused, allowing Tiberius to digest the verbose explanation. "What kinds of ways?"

    "Oh, every noble has a few such tricks up his sleeve. Even if the man remains a minor player in the grand scheme of things, he is not entirely unconnected to the grander political landscape. Not to mention that he may have some supporters in the more immediate vicinity that would be willing to work with him. Of course, this is all pure conjecture, but¡­"

    Tiberius rubbed his forehead, exhaling in irritation. "Speak plainly, bard. What problems do you speak of?"

    Marcus leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers as he did so. "Well, there is one in particular that you should know of. I had quite the interesting conversation with him a little earlier¡ªabout Habersville being seized, specifically. That notification you received about declaring war on Novara is evidently not a one-sided affair."

    Tiberius blinked, frowning. He couldn''t recall ever having told the bard about that directly. Had he simply forgotten? Or had the man pieced it together somehow?

    He noticed Marcus studying his face closely, a small smirk playing across his lips at the Legatus''s reaction. "Indeed, Novara''s leadership would have likely received a similar notification. All this to say, there may¡ªor may not¡ªbe a liberation force heading our way. One that our fine mayor may have every reason to cooperate with if given the opportunity."

    Tiberius settled back into his chair and thought. The approach of enemy forces wasn''t unexpected. Word of the Legion''s arrival was bound to get out eventually, whether from outside observation, Habersville''s silence, or the absence of the proper codes and phrases being used in official correspondence. The broken bridge had delayed outgoing messages so far, and the Legion had been careful to control all movement in and out of the town. But repairs were already underway. As soon as someone slipped out¡ªor as soon as an outsider came in¡ªword would spread.

    Still, Tiberius had hoped to buy more time. Ideally, the first news of the Legion''s arrival would come after they had already captured another settlement, one that could provide some of the resources they desperately needed. After all, trade for vital materials like iron was unlikely to happen anytime soon, given that the only easily accessible trade partners around were located within the very kingdom they had declared war on. Their conscription efforts to rebuild the auxiliary forces were already progressing, but the recruits still lacked sufficient training. It would take a few months to remedy that, and he was no longer sure whether they had even that much time.

    Frowning, Tiberius made a note to increase patrols along the river. He suspected any attack would come from that direction, given that it faced the interior of Novara. Any impending skirmishes could serve as valuable training exercises for the new recruits. Even if it wasn''t ideal.

    "I see," Tiberius said slowly. Rather than fill him with dread, the news only served to reinforce his resolve. It seemed that their haste in securing a base of operations had been entirely warranted. "If you learn any additional information regarding this matter, bring it to me immediately."

    Marcus dipped his head graciously. "Of course, of course. Oh, and speaking of retribution from faraway and hitherto unseen entities of great power¡­ the destruction of Habersville''s temples has also been on quite a few tongues today."

    Tiberius grimaced, his jaw tightening. "Yes. Unfortunately." At Marcus''s questioning look, he continued. "It is standard practice in Rome to let barbarians practice their own religions, so as long as they acknowledge our gods as well. However, these particular priests were not open to¡­ reinterpretation¡­ of their practices in any sense. An example had to be made."

    Simply recalling the debacle threatened to give Tiberius a headache. Even with reassurances that the structures would be rebuilt, the priests had raised enough of a fuss to drag him away from his more important work to handle it. It had taken some rather direct threats to end the conflict, something that he had hoped not to resort to. It didn''t help that the temples in question had been located in particularly problematic locations for the reconstruction efforts.

    Marcus raised his hands in surrender, an amused glint in his eye. "Make no mistake, I am no priest. I merely repeat the words of others. It is far beyond me to question your decisions, honorable Legatus. However¡­ I expect that some of those gods may take issue with your actions."

    Tiberius waved a hand. "So long as the priests do not also foment rebellion."

    "I doubt that. But regardless, the gods are not known to take kindly to slights. They are known to be fickle."

    Tiberius frowned, drumming his fingers on the desk. The bard''s tone remained as light as ever, but he weighted his words as though they held unspoken significance. Of course, he was no stranger to issue like this. Local populations often tried to cling to their mistaken, backward religions before acknowledging Rome''s gods as superior. But then again¡­ given how much magic and strangeness he''d already seen in this world, perhaps there was more to their worship, as well.

    "What kind of action might we expect from these gods, Marcus?" Tiberius asked as directly as he could. Sometimes, it was the only way to get an answer out of the man.

    Marcus smiled impishly, but it didn''t reach his eyes. "You might get smited."

    "Mmm," Tiberius muttered, unimpressed. While that kind of threat might work on some of his men, Tiberius was not one to be so easily cowed. Not by gods whose direct intervention in the world was clearly limited to the realm of myths and legends. He made his occasional sacrifices to Mars or Jupiter like anyone else, but it was largely political theater. "I''ll keep that in mind. But as I said, we have no issue with your worship of your own gods. The priests will be allowed to rebuild their altars and places of worship alongside the temples we plan to erect."

    "Oh? And what gods do you and your men follow?" Marcus asked, his curiosity piqued.

    "Most of the Legion gives offerings to Mars, the god of war," Tiberius replied. "But a bard like you? I''d wager you''d find more interest in Apollo. I''m certain one of the more faithful men will be happy to tell you all about them."

    Marcus nodded, seeming to recognize that he wouldn''t be getting more out of Tiberius on the topic. For a moment, the stoic Roman simply studied the man sitting across from him. His foppish hat, silken shirt, and gaudily tailored cloak clearly marked him as a successful entertainer or minor noble¡ªor at least, someone posing as one. That seemed unlikely given the bard''s undeniable skills, however. Still, one question continued to nag at him.

    Tiberius leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "Marcus. Why are you still here?"

    The man feigned innocence. "Whatever do you mean? You have yet to dismiss me, oh honorable Legatus."

    He glared at the bard, barely suppressing a roll of his eyes. After a moment, Marcus shrugged. "Where else would I go? The bridge has not yet been repaired, and I dare not venture deeper into the Evergreen Seas alone. Even if I did seek such adventure, I would find myself woefully unprepared to knock on its door with my abilities."

    Tiberius eyed him skeptically. "Surely that is not the only reason. There are other ways to cross a river. That should be no obstacle for someone of your... resourcefulness."

    Marcus smiled slyly, but Tiberius continued to fix him with an intense stare. Eventually, the bard finally relented. "Perhaps there are other reasons as well. After all, I am a bard, as you are so fond of pointing out. And what bard would pass up the opportunity to pursue a great story in the making? The escapades of you and your men¡­ Already it is abundantly clear to me that your exploits will form the foundation of many an epic tale. Why, it would be remiss of me to be anywhere else!"

    Tiberius narrowed his eyes. "Surely it''s not that simple. You''d turn traitor for a story? Against your own countrymen?"

    "Am I really a traitor?" Marcus asked, his tone softening as he gestured grandly around himself. "The way I see it, these townspeople find themselves in better hands than they''ve ever been. Why, they have plenty of fresh food and water, their defenses would make even a duke envious, and their homes and businesses have been renovated at no charge to themselves. Why, they''ve even been able to go about their logging in more peace than ever! I''ve heard there hadn''t been a single man injured by a panther since your arrival."

    Tiberius suppressed a smile. All of these things were true, of course. Though most people were by their natures opposed to change, some were clear-eyed enough to see the light of Rome''s promise and actively sought to be part of it. Marcus, despite his flamboyant nature, seemed to be one of them. Given his relatively educated nature, perhaps it wasn''t surprising he''d recognize the superior ways of the Empire.

    "You have not answered my question," Tiberius said, his voice firm. "You actively aid me and my men. You will be seen as a traitor in the eyes of any king or noble. Why do this?"

    Marcus simply gave a rakish grin. "Well¡­ let''s just say that the king and I don''t exactly see eye-to-eye."

 Chapter 15: A Disagreement of Sorts

    Tiberius unfolded his arms, studying the bard. He had no doubt that his phrasing was quite intentional. Yet even if he did not entirely understand what Marcus meant, he could still learn much from the piece of information.

    At first, Tiberius had assumed Marcus was nothing more than a fop. That assumption hadn''t been entirely disproven, to be fair. But the more he learned about him, the more he had to admit the man seemed strangely competent. So competent, in fact, that Tiberius wasn''t sure whether it was to be believed¡ªperhaps it was all a deliberate facade to make Marcus appear more knowledgeable and influential than he actually was.

    Still, the explanation didn''t make sense. It was shortsighted, for one, and meant that Marcus''s act would come tumbling down as soon as his deceptions were discovered. Although the information his men could independently verify had all proven remarkably accurate so far. It also stood starkly at odds with the bard''s claim that he didn''t currently have any influence. Would it even benefit him to hide something like that?

    Tiberius considered that for a moment. How severe was this "disagreement" between him and the king? Did it reach the level where one would consider inciting open rebellion? That would certainly explain Marcus''s siding with the Legion, yet it still left too many questions. The man didn''t strike him as a firebrand rebel, and though revolt may be easier to spark at the fringes of a territory, Habersville had thus far seemed to be a poor choice for such a thing. Not to mention that Marcus had not yet suggested open aggression toward Novara. If anything, knowing that the man had a bone to pick with Novara might make him seem more trustworthy, not less.

    Tiberius spun the implications over in his mind, considering the potential fallout of any political maneuvering. It was entirely possible that he and his men were being manipulated, provided just the right information in the right light to nudge them down the path of some grander scheme. But even if that were the case¡­ could he do anything about it right now?

    Marcus had proven to be a valuable and accurate font of information thus far¡ªsomething that they desperately needed in their current situation. That alone was enough to keep him around. And even if he were maneuvering them toward open war with Novara? Tiberius suspected that they would find themselves on a collision course with the country regardless. After all, he doubted they would take very kindly to a new empire establishing itself on their territory. Even one so great as Rome.

    He''d hoped that his silence might prompt the bard to elaborate further, but was disappointed. Even a few more pointed questions did nothing more than make it clear that Marcus would say nothing more on the matter. He let out a long breath and nodded.

    "Very well," Tiberius said. "Is there anything else?"

    Marcus shrugged one shoulder. "No."

    He scrutinized the bard one more time. If the king had exiled Marcus over this "disagreement," then that would provide valuable context for his actions thus far. But as it stood, Marcus appeared to have left his former life voluntarily and was now currying favor with the first powerful force he encountered. That hardly inspired confidence.

    Still, the fact remained that he was a valuable asset. Tiberius decided that only time would reveal Marcus''s true character. For now, he''d simply keep his suspicions to himself. "You''re dismissed."

    Marcus fluidly stood and bowed¡ªthough not low enough to be obnoxious¡ªbefore spinning toward the tent''s exit with a dramatic flourish of his cape. Just before pushing the flap open, however, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

    "Ah, there is one minor thing. Do you know where I might find Secundus?"

    Tiberius frowned, a little caught off guard by the question. "Which one?"

    "There are multiple?" Marcus asked, seeming surprised.

    "Of course," Tiberius replied, "It is a popular name in Rome, as many families are blessed with two sons."

    Fewer were blessed with the creativity required to come up with a more unique name than "second," it seemed. But Tiberius didn''t voice the thought aloud. He simply watched in amusement as Marcus seemed to let the comment slide. "Then¡­ is there a centurion by the name of Secundus? He may be one of those in charge of conscription¡ªhandling the new recruits and auxiliaries."

    "Ah. That Secundus. Good man," Tiberius nodded. "Ask near the officer tents. Those men will have a better idea of his current whereabouts."

    After giving Marcus a few brief directions, the bard finally swept out of the tent. He watched him go. Secundus might not have been the most intelligent centurion. Still, he was loyal, hard as nails, and wouldn''t tolerate the kind of nonsense Marcus might try to pull. With that in mind, Tiberius felt no hesitation in sending the bard his way.

    Once alone and free of prying eyes, Tiberius shook his head and shared a quiet chuckle with his aide. Then, he returned to his reports. Before long, yet another interruption made itself known. A string of golden text materialized before his eyes, blocking his view of an inventory report.

    [An area boss in your territory has been successfully defeated!]

    ***

    Quintus waved away the floating text, continuing to scan the area for threats as the unnatural darkness began to dissipate. He half expected others to follow. Something that explained what exactly an area boss was or what the consequences of defeating one were. But even as the seconds ticked by, nothing more came. The system was as terse and as unhelpful as he''d been told to expect.

    Not that he had much experience with it, of course. But it seemed to be the general sentiment shared by the locals. He had mixed feelings about relying on their impressions, but having information was a good thing. Even if it was biased.

    The last echoes of the queen spider''s screeching faded into the woods around them, leaving only the quiet skittering of many legs in its wake. Just as he had hoped, the moment the queen died, the other spiders ceased their assaults in favor of slipping back into the cover of the darkened trees. The already receding darkness lifted even further as they disappeared.

    Once it was clear that the battle was won, Quintus dropped his shield and immediately pulled his waterskin from his shoulder. He poured water over the puncture wound in his arm, letting it wash through the hole left by the queen''s fang. It burned fiercely, and Quintus gritted his teeth against the pain, hoping he''d flushed out any venom that had entered. He could feel his arm was going numb, but at a slower rate than Brutus''s leg had. Perhaps the fang going all the way through had actually been a blessing. It meant that the majority of the venom wasn''t sent directly into his bloodstream.

    After binding the wound as best he could, he moved from soldier to soldier, checking on their injuries. Nearly everyone had at least a few bites across their bodies. They did their best to wash the wounds with water, but it was clear their combat effectiveness was greatly diminished.

    The man who had gone down beneath a tide of spiders was still breathing, but only just. The rest of his muscles had seized up, leaving him frozen in a curled-up mass of blood and venom. At least he seemed to be unconscious for the moment. Brutus had made it through somehow, likely due to the panicked defense their charge had elicited from the spiders. However, his condition had worsened as well. He could hobble along, but his leg was completely numb, and two other Legionnaires struggled to walk. Most of the others could still wield either a shield or a sword, but not both.

    Despite their condition, they couldn''t withdraw yet. The damned barrier of spiderwebs was still in place, meaning they had no clear path back to camp. They would need to venture deeper until they found a way around. Besides, Quintus was almost certain that the bulbous corpse below them had to be the queen of this nest. And where there was a queen, there could be eggs¡ªeggs which could grow into a much bigger problem if not dealt with soon.

    The mood was somber as they took a brief rest, did what they could for their unconscious comrade, then hid him amongst the trees. The rest of the men continued deeper into the forest. They couldn''t afford to leave anyone to guard him. Despite the small amount of breathing room they''d earned, they all knew that the battle wasn¡¯t truly done. Not yet. And if the web-infested forest held any other threats like what they had just survived, they needed all of them to have a chance. Otherwise, they would lose a lot more than just one soldier. The best way to help him would be to quickly find a way out of this mess.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The contubernium formed up as well as they could, continuing to press forward. After a few minutes of walking in silence, a scout signaled for them to stop. They crept forward much more quietly until they rounded a final copse of trees rendered nearly unrecognizable under a thick coating of webs. Quintus had to keep himself from swearing under his breath.

    A large clearing stood before them, its periphery draped in layer after layer of thick webbing. What small parts of the trees themselves remained visible beneath the blight looked dull and ashy, stripped of their leaves and deprived of sunlight by the spiders'' presence. Scattered all across the edges and ground of the area hung cocoon-like protrusions of various sizes, also made from spider silk. They clustered together like moldy grapes.

    They had to be eggs. And there were millions of them.

    Quintus heard quiet footsteps as Septus approached from behind to whisper in his ear. ¡°Sir¡­ we can''t crush them all. Not ourselves."

    "Agreed." Some of the larger cocoons¡ªapproximately the size of a person¡ªwiggled ominously in the torchlight as he watched. "However¡­ I don''t want to risk more hatching overnight. That would add to our problems."

    An idea struck him. Perhaps if those trees were truly as dead as they seemed, they would make for fine kindling. It might be enough to cook the remaining spider eggs and simplify their task.

    Quintus gestured for a torch and stepped slightly away from the group. Carefully, he touched the flame to the wood of one of the dead trees, holding it there for a moment. He hoped that maybe some sap would catch or perhaps some dead leaves.

    As soon as the fire made contact with the webs, it flared. The gooey wet strands of spider silk caught fire, burning like fresh pitch. The resulting conflagration sent Quintus stepping backward for fear that it would burn off his eyebrows.

    The fire spread quickly from one strand to the next. It continued to burn in a liquid heat that seeped into the wood, branding the dry trunk like a lightning strike. The wood began to steam before catching fully, the entire tree going up in a matter of seconds.

    "Uh, sir?"

    Quintus rushed back to the group, following Brutus''s outstretched hand to see where he was pointing. The flames raced upward and began spreading to the neighboring trees with alarming speed. The previously silent nest had exploded into activity as panicked spiders swarmed, seemingly without the direction or intelligence they had displayed before.

    Quintus drew his sword, and the other legionaries followed suit. But the spiders didn''t take notice. They were too busy fleeing or withering away from the light and heat produced by the conflagration.

    "Effective," one of the men remarked.

    "Yes. A bit too effective¡­" As the fire continued its advance, Quintus''s gaze alighted on some of the larger cocoons hanging down within the clearing. They were longer and slimmer than the rest, motionless for the most part. Most had split open to reveal empty interiors. But three remained intact, and two were moving and squirming as though it was alive.

    "More spiders, maybe?" Someone asked. "Perhaps they feel the heat."

    One of the scouts focused for a moment then swore under his breath. "Shit. Sir, I think those might be people in there."

    Quintus swore under his breath, eyeing the fire. The cocoons were on the opposite side of the clearing from it, but with how quickly it was spreading¡­

    He made a decision quickly. "Cut them down. If they''re human, we bring them back with us."

    Half the group sprinted toward the hanging bundles while the other half held their positions to cover a retreat. With a leap off a low-hanging tree, Quintus''s [Heavy Blow] slashed through the web holding up one of the bundles while two of his men prepared to cut down the others.

    Reaching down, he sheathed his sword and drew his knife in one smooth motion, slicing open one end of the webbing. It was harder than he expected¡ªmore like sawing through a tough animal hide that had been dried for days or even leather armor. He felt the heat around him intensify, sending beads of sweat down his face before he managed to see inside.

    As expected, this was no spider. Instead, he was met with a woman''s birdlike face. Her features appeared pinched and haughty, almost resembling those of a Britannian. At least, what he''d heard of them. He''d met scant few of the people, even though one of his old Legionnaire buddies claimed that they made great wives if one was willing to invest some effort in civilizing them. He''d even taken one for himself, though Quintus regrettably had never found time to meet her the last time he''d been in Rome.

    The flames continued to spread, and the clearing had already become uncomfortably hot. As soon as her face was freed, the woman gasped loudly. Her shrill voice pierced the air as her squirming redoubled. "Let me go, you creepy-crawly little¡ª!"

    Quintus had to stop his sawing to avoid harming the woman as she continued to scream. He snapped at her in annoyance. "Be still, woman, or I can''t free you."

    She blinked, quieting for a moment as she seemed to focus on Quintus''s face. "You¡­ you''re not a spider. Who¡ª" Her words cut off, eyes widening as they darted around the clearing. "H-help! Get me out of here!"

    "What do you think I''m trying to do?" Quintus grumbled as he called back to his men. ¡°This one is human! Bring the others," Quintus ordered, ¡°Quickly!¡±

    The other two sacks fell, and without bothering to free their occupants, the soldiers slung the captives over their shoulders and began to run. Quintus slung the partially freed and still panicking woman over one shoulder, wincing slightly as his wounds protested. He wasn¡¯t sure if the other two were dead or not. But there was no time to check. They would have to take the risk.

    Together, the group turned and retreated. The other half of their contubernium slashed at panicking spiders as they scrambled away, ensuring that they had no chance to block their path. Fortunately, the spiders no longer moved in the intelligent, coordinated way they had before. Their random movements suggested that they may not have even been able to erect a barrier at this point. A few corpses of larger spiders lay curled up near the rear guard.

    Their feet crunched over a few fresh spider corpses as they rejoined their comrades and set off at a run. At least, as quick of a run as they could manage. Between their burdens and wounds, a quick jog was about all they could manage. Every man was either assisting a wounded comrade or carrying a captive, and Brutus was barely keeping up. But still, they didn''t stop.

    The woman let out an uncomfortable shriek in Quintus''s ear. "T-the fire! It''s getting closer! Go faster!"

    Quintus smacked her on the side, trying to stop her from wiggling and overbalancing him. ¡°Hold still, you¡ª¡±

    He managed cut himself off before he said something ungentlemanly. The woman seemed to get the message and froze, but didn''t stop whimpering in fear. He didn''t need to turn around to understand why. He could feel the intense heat on his back. The webs were sparser this far out from the main nest, but the trees were still mostly dead from lack of sunlight. He could practically feel the flames licking at the back of his neck.

    ¡°Pick up the pace!¡± Quintus called to the men. They did their best, but there was only so much they could do with so many injured. The woman added her panicked prodding to his orders in a grating tone. Quintus ignored her, as did the rest of the men. He just hoped that the noise wouldn''t attract any other curious predators.

    They moved as quickly as they could, ducking low to stay beneath the black smoke that quickly filled the air. The scouts ranged ahead, directing them down routes with fewer webs and dead trees to try and gain some ground on the flames. After what felt like an age of running, they finally reached the site of their last battle.

    At Quintus''s command, the men slumped against the trees for a quick rest. There weren¡¯t enough webs here for the fire to catch quickly, and its leading edge had fallen behind them. They could use this chance to recover before making one last push for camp.

    Their injured comrade still lay where they''d left him. Claudius stepped forward to check on him, calling back over his shoulder. "He''s still alive! Not in any better shape, mind you, but he''s alive."

    Quintus dumped his burden on the ground¡ªeliciting a small squeak of indignation¡ªbefore stepping toward the man. Somehow, he had managed to drag himself to a tree and was sitting up, his eyes half-lidded as he breathed slowly. He didn¡¯t seem aware of their presence. But he was alive.

    Nodding, he took a quick inventory of his men. Everyone was accounted for, and he made sure the wounded were being tended to before crouching to cut the rest of the webbing off of the woman. The absence of immediate threats allowed him some extra time to really examine her.

    The woman''s dark hair was cut short, falling just below her chin. Her narrow cheekbones, pinched features, and slightly upturned nose marked her as some kind of foreigner to the region. At least, that''s what he assumed. Her appearance was unlike any Quintus had observed in Habersville. She wore simple robes of thick cloth that had been stained with dirt and venom. Small bite marks speckled her arms, though not as many as some of his own men bore.

    Her appearance simply raised more questions. What was a woman doing out here? The spiders had obviously captured her at some point. Perhaps they had ambushed her caravan while she traveled?

    Once she was freed, she flopped bonelessly to the ground. Quintus offered her a hand, but she only managed a slight wiggle.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she gasped. ¡°I thought I was a goner. W-what about my team¡­? There should''ve been two other guys with me, about my age.¡±

    Quintus looked over to the other cocoons. By this point, enough had been cut away for him to make out the figures of a bulky, wriggling man and another scrawnier one hidden beneath the webs. The scrawny man appeared to be unconscious, but breathing.

    "They are here." He said simply. "They, too, live."

    She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I¡­ I need to heal them. I can do your people too. Not all of them, but¡­ guh¡­ one second, I can''t even move like this¡­"

    She began muttering something under her breath. A glowing light appeared from her hands, washing over her in a soft wave. A little color returned to her pale face and her eyes lit up slightly as the punctures began to disappear.

    The woman sat up, panting slightly. "Hah¡­ that''s better. Sorry, had to take care of myself first, you know? I won''t be helping much of anyone if I can''t move."

    She reached up for Quintus''s hand, but he had already stepped back. He eyed her with newfound suspicion, one hand on the pommel of his gladius. "You''re a witch."

 Chapter 16: Diplomacy in Action

    Baron von Latimore stepped down from the carriage, his posture as steady and composed as he could manage. Before him loomed the rather imposing estate of Duke Mark. The mansion seemed to glare down at him, the pristine white stone of its walls shimmering slightly in the sunlight and hinting at the not-entirely-mundane nature of its construction.

    The reminder of the duke''s affluence nearly made him gulp. It had been only a couple of weeks since his wedding¡ªthe last time he¡¯d seen his new uncle-in-law¡ªbut this meeting was an entirely different beast. This was not a family affair. It was formal. And the duke, even in casual settings, was undoubtedly an intimidating man.

    A summons from him wasn¡¯t inherently a bad thing, of course. But the fact that the duke wanted to meet with him personally, rather than having a viscount or earl speak with him¡­ That worried him. Whatever this meeting was for, Latimore doubted it was good news. He couldn¡¯t think of anything he¡¯d done to warrant commendation yet. That left only a handful of alternatives: a problem, a reprimand, or a task to be done.

    Latimore felt an imaginary weight settle on his shoulders. Any of the options would mean even more added to his plate, more expectations to address. He''d barely had time to even wrap his head around the neglected barony he¡¯d inherited, much less begin to address all of its issues. He''d hoped to have a few months at least to gain a better grasp of the situation and make real progress on fixing it. But perhaps he''d been too lenient with his timelines¡ªor rather, underestimated those of his superiors.

    He was quickly escorted through the estate toward the duke¡¯s sitting room. Intricate tapestries and paintings adorned the halls as they walked, many bearing plaques or inscriptions describing their historical significance. Latimore had already been granted the opportunity to inspect some of the more striking ones on his last visit. Which was how he knew just how rare and priceless many of these pieces were. The sight did little to calm his already frayed nerves.

    As a servant announced his arrival, Latimore kept his back straight and his expression neutral. He was guided to a chair across from the duke, who sat with perfect poise behind a grand desk as he penned a missive. Short-cropped grey hair ringed his head, circling around a bare patch at its top. Yet despite the man''s hairline and wrinkled features, Latimore knew better than to ascribe the word "old" to the man before him. The duke had more in common with a slumbering dragon than some doddering old grandfather. Even now, he exuded a presence that seemed to fill the room with its very weight.

    As he sat, a servant poured tea into fine porcelain cups before moving to stand near the wall. The duke finished his work and set it aside with a sigh. His steel blue eyes stared at Latimore with an intensity that nearly made him fidget. The baron, already uneasy, picked up his tea to hide the urge and sipped cautiously, doing his best to hide any signs of nerves.

    ¡°Baron. I''m glad that you were able to attend this meeting on such short notice," the duke said, breaking the silence. "I just returned from speaking with the king. Our meeting left us with¡­ much to discuss.¡±

    Latimore glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Hope welled up within his chest as he recognized the implication of the words. ¡°Are we going to get the reinforcements we requested?¡±

    Trade in the barony had been halved in recent months, with merchants avoiding the area due to rampant banditry. It was one of the many, many problems that Latimore had inherited from his predecessor. Unfortunately, it was also one that he was the least positioned to solve.

    Every able-bodied man with any martial training had already been conscripted for the wars in the far north against the Empire. Those who remained were stretched paper-thin as town and city guards or dealing with the border incursions to the west. That, or they had joined the very bandits plaguing their lands. It wasn''t an uncommon vocation, especially for those who had avoided conscription.

    ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not." The duke remained impassive. "All of that depends on another matter. I received a notification. You probably did as well¡ªabout Habersville.¡±

    Latimore frowned, racking his memory. He¡¯d been inundated with reports and notifications ever since taking over the barony. Most of the settlements under his rule had some issue or another, and he was doing his best to handle the most urgent ones first. But that necessarily meant leaving some problems unaddressed to deal with later. After a moment, realization dawned.

    ¡°Is that¡­ the rebellion?¡± he asked cautiously. He¡¯d already dealt with a few small-scale uprisings, of which he was fairly proud. But this one in particular hadn''t struck him as especially notable. Habersville was a minor logging town on the outskirts of his province¡ªnot exactly a high priority by any standard.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the duke confirmed grimly. ¡°It needs to be taken care of, and quickly. The king himself received notice about it and demanded that we take action.¡±

    Latimore¡¯s stomach dropped at the words. ¡°The king¡­? Why did he get a notification about something like that?"

    The duke¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°The fact that you don''t know suggests that you did not read it carefully enough. Otherwise, you would understand."

    The sharpness in his tone made Latimore''s wince. After a moment, the duke let out a tense breath and rubbed his forehead. "The town did not simply rebel. It has been seized. Instead of merely declaring independence from you¡ªor even from me¡ªthey¡¯ve declared themselves separate from the entire kingdom of Novara. That is a far more serious matter, young baron."

    Understanding dawned as Latimore digested the words. That truly was a big deal. A section of the kingdom seceding altogether hadn''t happened in hundreds of years. Who would risk it, when such an act would immediately result in a massive target being painted on their backs? Not to mention that Novara generally had the military resources to quickly quash such delusions. But now, with the army so preoccupied¡­

    The duke continued to speak. "However, there is good news as well. The king has promised us some soldiers¡­ if we manage to handle the problem.¡±

    Latimore¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°If? He won''t provide aid to deal with the problem itself?"

    The duke smiled thinly. "It seems not."

    Latimore grimaced at that. He knew very well how strained the duke''s own manpower was right now. It seemed it would be up to him to scrounge up the fighters for this matter. There was another question on his mind, however, one that he hesitated to voice.

    "Will the king¡­ honor his promise?¡± he asked skeptically. The ruler of Novara was not exactly known for his reliability, though such things were not publicly discussed.

    The duke chuckled coldly. ¡°Yes. I made sure to get it in writing from several of his chamberlains. It would look very bad for him if he reneged on this promise, and worse still for his advisors.¡±

    Latimore nodded. The reassurance was heartening, but it did little to lessen the sheer gravity of the situation. ¡°I understand. However¡­ I don''t know how quickly I can act on this,¡± he said carefully. ¡°What few men I have are all tied up repairing infrastructure and guarding the roads. If I were to draw them away from that, the entire barony would quickly spiral even further into lawlessness and disrepair. It would be a number of months before I would feel comfortable sparing people for this.¡±

    The duke¡¯s expression darkened, but Latimore quickly continued to forestall any objections. ¡°That being said, there are other options. I can reallocate some funds to hire adventurers. At the very least, they can investigate the town and gather information so we have a clearer picture of what¡¯s happening. Perhaps they¡¯ll even be able to handle the problem themselves. Habersville is not very large, after all.¡±

    The duke¡¯s lips curled into a smile. ¡°That would be an acceptable course of action. I''m pleased to see that you have a good head on your shoulders. It''s one of the reasons I allowed you to marry my niece.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Latimore said, feeling a rare flicker of relief. The duke''s smile wasn''t exactly warm, but it was a vast improvement.

    The older man leaned forward slightly. ¡°Double whatever you were planning to spend. I¡¯ll match your contribution. Make sure you secure at least a team of five silver-rank adventurers."

    Latimore nodded firmly. ¡°Understood, sir. I''ll do that. Your offer is¡­ well, it''s very generous of you.¡±

    The duke waved dismissively, his expression softening just a fraction. ¡°Don''t be so formal, Klein. When we¡¯re in private, I''ll permit you to call me uncle.¡±

    Latimore smiled faintly, inclining his head. ¡°Thank you¡­ uncle.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    ***

    Quintus''s grip tightened around his gladius. He was no stranger to magic, of course. Several of his men bore protective amulets and trinkets meant to bring luck in battle. He''d even heard of less savory types who''d dabbled in curses, inscribing foul charms onto tablets and hiding them beneath a disliked neighbor''s home or stowing them in temples to bring down the wrath of the gods. Of course, such harmful magics were forbidden by law and harshly punished, but that did not mean they ceased to exist.

    Romans had long ago accepted the place of the mystical and divine. And between the glowing lights of the class stone, the ephemeral floating text of notifications, and the supernatural effects of skills, the existence of magic in this world had already been made abundantly clear, though it took strange and unfamiliar forms. Still, he felt as though he were starting to become accustomed to the differences.

    But seeing a woman''s wounds stitch close before his very eyes, as though by an invisible hand? That was another level entirely.

    His eyes narrowed in suspicion at the woman before him. The display had suddenly transformed her from a helpless captive to a potential threat. Such powers were more in line with what a priest or holy woman might accomplish. Still, who knew what other abilities she had? It took Quintus far more willpower than he was willing to admit to not simply draw his gladius and try to run the witch through.

    He quashed the sudden and irrational thought. Such things were a product of fear, nothing more¡ªfear that he could not and would not allow himself to succumb to. Besides, if the witch truly could heal, then this was an incredible opportunity.

    Quintus turned his attention to the men around him. All but the most wounded one had gone on alert immediately after his declaration. They had not made any overtly aggressive moves, but he noted the slight shifts in positioning that would help them if the situation turned hostile. Even the men cutting open the other cocoons had paused their work and turned their attention to the woman.

    The woman swallowed noisily, seeming to sense the shift in the air. Her eyes darted from soldier to soldier. "What are you talking about? I''m not a [Witch]! I''m a [Healer], a [Healer] gods damn it!"

    The way she said "witch" and "healer" sounded strange, as though the words were titles. It was similar to how Quintus had heard others speak about their classes.

    "Doesn''t mean it''s not witchcraft," Claudius muttered.

    "Uh, yes it does!" A hint of exasperation leaked through the woman''s obvious fear. "I''ve never sacrificed anything. I don''t brew potions in an iron vat, either. They''re completely different skill trees. How do you even mix them up? And anyway, shouldn''t you be able to tell? With how high level you must be, one of you has to have picked up [Appraisal], right?"

    No one responded to tell her otherwise. Instead, Quintus motioned for the men to stand down. They relaxed and most returned to their work of tending wounds or cutting open the other cocoons. However, some remained where they were, standing ready in case things went awry.

    Now that the immediate danger had passed, Quintus had a moment to study the woman more closely. She was well into adulthood, perhaps eighteen or nineteen if he had to guess, so not particularly young. But her narrow cheekbones, pinched features, and slightly upturned nose marked her as some kind of foreigner to these parts. At least, that''s what he assumed. Her appearance was unlike any Quintus had observed in Habersville.

    That simply raised more questions, however. What was she doing out here. Obviously, the spiders had captured her. But had she been wandering around the forest beforehand? She didn''t have the look of one who lived in these woods. Or perhaps they had ambushed her caravan?

    The more he thought, the more Quintus managed to calm his frayed nerves. If this woman had been captured, then she couldn''t be that powerful of a witch. He''d have to trust that as long as he kept her in sight, they would be able to handle anything she might try. Besides, they had rescued her. What reason did she really have to treat them as hostile?

    A sudden groan interrupted his thoughts. Looking over, he saw Brutus wobble where he knelt before tumbling onto one side. His skin had lost all color and shone with sweat. His limbs splayed bonelessly about him, his face against the dirt as though the weight of his helmet were too much to bear.

    Quintus pressed his lips together, then looked back at the witch. If her healing powers were not the source of some trick or deception, then this was a real opportunity. Then again, did he trust her strange magics enough to allow her to touch his men?

    A quick glance at the dusky sky made the decision for him. It was already getting dark. Soon, the light of the slowly expanding fire behind them would be the only thing allowing them to see. And that would make them even more vulnerable to the forest''s other denizens. They needed to return to camp, and much more quickly than they were currently capable of.

    Quintus returned his full attention back to the witch. "You say you are a healer."

    "A [Healer], yeah," the woman corrected with that same strange emphasis. "Isn''t that obvious? I have a name, by the way. It''s Eleonora."

    He ignored her comment and nodded to the two other men they''d rescued. "You may heal one of your teammates first. Then, tend to the rest of my men before you heal the other."

    The woman¡ªEleonora¡ªfrowned. "I¡­ I can only do so many. I think I only have five cleansings in me right now. Especially with how bad some of these guys are."

    Quintus looked at her hard, and she shrank back, cowering. He wasn''t sure he believed her. But even if it were true, then that would be enough. It would allow her to tend to both Brutus and the nearly-unconscious Legionnaire sagging ever lower against the tree. It would also let her heal the two other men who had received a significant amount of venom. Even if the healing only enabled them to walk unaided, it would be a huge boon.

    "Fine. Choose one of your own to heal, then I will have you tend to four of my men." He pointed out the Legionnaires he had in mind. "If you are capable of healing your last companion after that, then you may do so. If not, we will carry him."

    Eleonora opened her mouth as though to object to his proposal. However, as she met Quintus''s hard gaze, the words seemed to freeze in her throat. Swallowing again, she simply nodded.

    She quickly moved to the thinner man and laid her hands on his chest. A pulse of soft light traveled from her hands and into his body in a ripple. Almost immediately, Quintus saw color return to the man''s skin as his wounds slowly knitted closed. She rolled him onto his side as he began to cough. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing had steadied.

    She then looked up at Quintus, who pointed to Brutus. "Start with him."

    One by one, she healed his men to the point where they could move and walk around unaided. The spells did not completely fix them¡ªthe more severe wounds failed to disappear entirely, and both Brutus and the formerly unconscious Legionnaire remained shaky on their feet. The process also resulted in quite an unpleasant tingling and itching sensation, according to his men, one that the witch claimed was due to the venom evaporating in his system. However, it was enough to satisfy Quintus for the moment.

    Quintus directed Eleonora to the last Legionnaire in need of healing. However, she hesitated, eying his arm. "You don''t want me to take care of that first? It looks pretty nasty."

    He looked down at his own wounds. The bandage he''d wrapped around the limb was soaked through with blood, and he couldn''t deny that it burned as though a hot coal had been lodged inside of it. Still, that burning further reassured him that the limb was in no danger of going numb. He could manage.

    With a dismissive wave, he once again gestured to the other Legionnaire. "I am certain. Heal him."

    After taking care of the last of his four men, Eleonora straightened. She wiped sweat from her brow, and Quintus noted a slight trembling in her hands. "There. All done. Can I¡­ heal my last teammate now? I think I can manage that much¡­"

    Quintus pursed his lips, but nodded in assent. She then moved to her final teammate¡ªthe large, stocky man with a sword belted at his hip. Her hands glowed once more, albeit a little more faintly this time. As the light rippled across the man''s body, Eleonora slumped forward and collapsed on his chest, fully unconscious.

    Cassius stepped forward to check on her. "She''s alive, sir. Guess she wasn''t quite as hale and hearty as she thought."

    Quintus nodded. The woman was light enough that carrying her wouldn''t be an issue. Much less of one than carrying the other man would have been, anyway. "Bind her hands, to be safe. I don''t want any surprises. Or panicked flailing to harm my men."

    The soldiers chuckled at that. They used some spare rope to quickly tie her hands behind her back. Quintus would have preferred to use iron handcuffs or the like, but they had to make do with what they had.

    With that taken care of, the Legionnaires stood and got ready to move. The quickly fading light and the smell of smoke meant it was well past time to move on. However, they were in a far better state than they had been just after the fight. But as they moved to handle the three rescued humans, the burly man suddenly awoke with a start. His eyes darted around the clearing, taking in the strange warriors around him, and quickly scrambled to his feet.

    "Who are you? What''s going on?" His eyes landed upon the unconscious figure of Eleonora slung over one of the men''s shoulders. His eyes narrowed. "Unhand her, you¡ª"

    The man reached for his hip, only to find it bereft of his sword. Quintus stepped toward the scowling man. "Peace. She fell unconscious healing you. We have defeated the spiders that held you captive. You three will return to camp with us."

    He attempted to make his tone polite, as having the man follow them of his own free will would make things much easier. However, rather than calm the man, he seemed to only become more agitated. "Why is she bound, then? Kidnappers!"

    He lunged forward, forgoing a weapon in favor of simply tackling Quintus to the ground. Before he could move more than a few inches, though, Quintus reacted. He stepped to the side, tripping the man mid-step and wrapping his good arm around him as they tumbled to the ground. Two of his other men dogpiled on the man as they fell and pinned him there. The man roared in rage and frustration, surprising them with his strength. However, it was not enough to fend them off. More Legionnaires piled on, keeping his arms to his sides as someone else sat on his legs.

    Quintus shook his head at the display. The man was surprisingly strong, but he clearly lacked experience. Rather than leverage his build, he thrashed and flailed like a young boy who had no brothers to wrestle with as a child.

    A few moments and coils of rope later, the brute was tied up and walking in front of the contubernium¡ªfor his own safety and theirs. They tied up the third member as well, though he remained unconscious. There was no time to deal with them right now. They would simply have to bring them all back to camp and let a tribunal decide their fates.

 Chapter 17: A Legend in the Making

    Marcus whistled a jaunty tune as he headed away from the Legion''s camp and toward Habersville. The darkening sky heralded the coming end of a long and productive day. Alas, his work was not yet finished. Not quite yet.

    His talk with Secundus had gone well, far better than he''d hoped. The man was a worldly fellow¡ªnot exactly quick to laugh but pleasant and familiar with the ways of the world. As such, reaching an understanding was not difficult. Of course he was more than willing to give a specific auxiliary some special treatment, given the right motivations.

    Luckily, these "perfect soldiers" were not the paragons of moral virtue he''d initially anticipated. It seemed that in this army, like almost any other, purchasing commissions or similar "arrangements" were commonplace. If that meant having an important person''s son on lighter duty rather than digging ditches every day, well, that could be arranged¡ªso long as you knew the right questions to ask of the right people and their price.

    It was particularly fortunate that Margaret''s wishes for her grandson involved both a greater burden of responsibility and difficult work. That made the ask far more palatable¡ªand less expensive¡ªthan it could have been. But the specifics didn''t concern Marcus. The washerwoman was sharp enough to put the information and connections he''d gathered to use. If everything went well, her grandson might be in for a potentially long and lucrative career in the military.

    He intended to pay her a visit to inform her of the news before taking care of a few more errands. Yet before Marcus made it to the gate, a relatively young Legionnaire ran up to him.

    "Sir! Legatus Tiberius requests your presence!"

    Marcus frowned. Their last meeting for the day had long since ended. "Did he mention the reason?"

    The Legionnaire shook his head. "No, sir. But I think it might have something to do with that."

    He followed the Legionnaire''s arm as he pointed westward. It only took a moment to pick out the source of his comment¡ªa growing plume of smoke, the orange glow at its base peeking above the trees as though the sun were having second thoughts about retiring.

    "Well, fuck," Marcus muttered to himself, briefly forgetting to mask his language. He quickly recovered himself to address the messenger. "That is certainly a real possibility, my good man. I personally have little experience with putting out fires, but living in a forest that''s burning down does not strike me as an ideal situation. Is the Legatus in his tent, or shall I follow you to his location?"

    "Right this way, sir," the Legionnaire replied before turning on his heel.

    Marcus followed at a trot as they quickly headed back into the camp. But even before they reached the command tent, he knew that the stony-faced Tiberius wasn''t inside. That faint tugging sensation that accompanied him at all times¡ªlike a thousand invisible threads pulling in every direction¡ªdrew him further past the structure.

    Sure enough, the messenger continued his jog past the command tent and toward the fire. It was exactly in the direction of the strongest thread that Marcus had come to associate with the Legatus, as well as a few others.

    As they neared the opposite edge of the camp and headed out toward the forest, Marcus noted the bustle of Legionnaires heading in the same direction. Many rushed past with medical supplies or weapons in hand, a sight which didn''t exactly bode well.

    It didn''t take long for them to spot the targets of their concerns. Nine soldiers rested in the open field between forest and camp, each streaked with some combination of soot, blood, and some other yellowish-white fluids that Marcus couldn''t immediately place. Their appearances made it abundantly clear they had come from the source of the blaze¡ªor perhaps had even caused it. Among them he recognized Quintus, the so-called Primus Pilus and first centurion of the Legion.

    Those soldiers weren''t the only figures, however. Between the comparatively clean Legionnaires that rushed to assist their battle-worn brethren, Marcus noted three more individuals who he didn''t recognize. Judging by their attire and the plates hung around their necks, they seemed to be young adventurers. Two lay unconscious on the ground, while one sat and shot baleful glares at the men bustling about. All three were bound.

    Marcus and the messenger made a beeline through the makeshift field hospital springing up around them and toward Tiberius. The leader''s imposing figure was hard to miss even amongst the flurry of activity. He and a few of his officers seemed to be in the midst of questioning the senior centurion, their conversation low and urgent.

    The bard tried his best not to appear too out of breath as they jogged up. As the young messenger announced his arrival, he greeted the leadership with a flamboyant bow¡ªthough not quite as over-the-top as usual. He got the sense that Tiberius may not have the patience for it at the moment.

    "Good evening, fellows! I was told that my presence was requested?"

    Tiberius barely glanced over before nodding to one of the other officers. The man¡ªwho resembled a rather stocky bear clad in armor¡ªstepped toward Marcus. "Good. You have arrived. The Legatus will speak to you once his men are taken care of."

    The officer guided Marcus away from the conversation with a firmness that brooked no argument. He took the dismissal in stride. It wasn''t the first time that an important figure had required his urgent and immediate presence, only to make him wait. At least this time, it was quite clear that Tiberius was doing more than just engaging in a political power play.

    Marcus settled in to wait near the other returned Legionnaires, watching them work. A few of the more medically-inclined from the Legion tended to the wounded, although their work was rudimentary at best. The bandages and salves they used were a far cry from a real [Healer]''s work. Still, a scattering of newly-conscripted auxiliaries from town hovered at their elbows to learn and assist where needed. Evidently, this was a golden opportunity for instruction in such things.

    "By the gods¡­ is that what I think it is?"

    Marcus''s ears perked up at the hushed conversation. It didn''t take long for him to spot the young villagers muttering to each other nearby as they shadowed their superiors and helped to care for the wounded. But their eyes were fixed on the pile of long, black chitinous sticks that the nine soldiers had brought with them.

    "Can''t be. Shade slingers don''t even get that big."

    Marcus focused on the items in question. At first, he mistook them for blackened tree trunks. But as he looked closer, he realized it was something far more unsettling¡ªa bundle of massive spider legs.

    His eyes widened in astonished horror as the young auxiliaries continued to mutter to each other.

    "I mean, they do get pretty darn big. My grandpappy said he found one as big as a pot under his porch once. Nearly scared the daylights outta ''im."

    "Yeah, your grandpappy also said that he was drinking buddies with Silas the Whip," another snorted derisively. "I wouldn''t trust a word outta that old coot''s mouth."

    "Hey!"

    "Don''t talk about Clay''s grandpappy like that. I mean, sure, everyone knows the guy couldn''t count to five on his fingers and toes, but¡ª"

    "Hey!"Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    As the group devolved into arguments about the aforementioned grandpappy''s trustworthiness and intelligence, Marcus searched his memory for information about shade slingers. They were a fairly basic type of stealth monster, though dangerous nonetheless. Staying away from their territory where they were most numerous was a given for all but the most prepared adventuring parties. Otherwise, one could quickly find themselves overwhelmed and immobilized by their webs and venom.

    Such things were not unexpected in a place like this. Still, the times they''d been referenced in local stories and tavern songs had implied that they resided much deeper in the forest¡ªtoo far to be a threat to the local populace on a regular basis. Had the Legion truly delved that deep? And how in the world had they found one so large?

    Marcus eyed a collection of other spider corpses as another auxiliary carried them past. The men hadn''t brought back many, but even these appeared far larger than anything he''d heard of¡ªeven the "pot-sized" specimen that the village boys continued to argue about in the background.

    "Attention!" barked a centurion. The recruits snapped their jaws shut, scrambling to stand up straight at the Legionnaire''s glare. With a quick order, the man sent them off to carry loot and spider remains back to camp. Some of the wounded were also being shepherded that way, once their treatment was complete. The three bound prisoners, however, remained where they were.

    As a group of soldiers began to escort the captives away, he saw Quintus break off his conversation with Tiberius and raise a hand to stop them. His voice carried across the clearing enough to hear. "Leave them for now," Quintus ordered. "And set a close watch on them. The burly one possesses much strength, and the woman is a witch-healer of some sort."

    Marcus frowned at that. Curious, he focused on the trio and used [Appraisal]. To his surprise, they were all level five and six. That seemed quite high given their youthful appearances. That, and their current predicament.

    His frown deepened. How in the gods'' name had a group of level ones managed to capture a bronze-rank adventuring party? They didn''t give those plates out to just anyone. And a quick glance around confirmed that the soot-streaked Legionnaires were in fact still level one.

    Marcus''s gaze lingered on them, his unease deepening. Something was clearly wrong here.

    It didn''t take much longer before Tiberius seemed to finish his conversation with Quintus. Sensing an opportunity, Marcus stepped forward. "You wished to speak with me, Legatus Tiberius?"

    "Yes," The man replied, his tone measured. "Tell me, do you know what an area boss is?"

    Marcus felt his eyes widen briefly before catching himself. He schooled his demeanor to emulate that of a placid lake before answering. "Yes," he said carefully. "I do. Area bosses are monsters that in some sense preside or rule over a given area. Usually, that involves driving out most everything that is not their own species. Such creatures are well-known for being larger, stronger, and higher level than the norm, as one might expect. As such, they are either avoided entirely or else hunted by parties of experienced adventurers¡ªor, in the cases of more powerful bosses, multiple such parties."

    Tiberius fell silent as he considered the explanation. Marcus, for his part, felt his unease only grow. He did not like where this was going. Area bosses were no joke in any location. Usually, their influence and growth was kept in check by Adventurers Guild regulations and activity. But out here on the fringes of the kingdom? Such a thing could quickly spiral out of control and become a real threat if prodded.

    His stomach dropped as the pieces began to fall into place. The villagers had made mention of the unusual shadow panther activity in the forest, something he''d even experienced for himself. Could it be because an area boss had risen deeper within? Such a creature could push the panthers out of its territory¡ªor simply be expanding its claim toward the village. And with how strong the cats were on their own¡­

    Icy fingers of dread crawled down Marcus''s spine at the thought.

    "Are there rewards for killing one?"

    Marcus blinked. It took him a moment to understand Tiberius''s question. "Mostly experience, of course. Such is the currency of the System, after all. One might also be able to earn titles for the deed. Beyond that¡­ the benefits are mostly practical. As you might expect, it''s quite difficult to settle territory with a powerful monster claiming it¡ªofficially or not. Clearing out an area boss renders its territory available to officially claim, should a country or nation so desire."

    Tiberius nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Then we shall claim its territory. Is there any procedure involved in doing so, aside from the obvious?"

    Marcus''s head whipped around to stare at Tiberius, then at Quintus. "What? You¡­ you''re kidding. You killed one? You killed an area boss?"

    Quintus nodded, his face impassive. "Yes. It was a difficult fight."

    Marcus blinked, his mind racing. His gaze swept over the remaining soldiers once again with disbelief. The golden text shimmered before him just as it had a few minutes before, once again confirming that they were level one.

    He took a deep breath. "I¡­ see. And you''re certain that it was an area boss?"

    "That is what the notification said."

    Marcus nodded in a daze. Somehow, a group of nine level one soldiers who barely understood the System had taken down an area boss. That wasn''t just improbable. It was absurd. Absolutely impossible. Especially given that the shadow panthers in the area averaged around level six or seven. Sure, the Legion had managed to deal with those well enough, but this? This was an entirely different level. Especially given that area bosses usually had minions about them.

    His attention flicked over to the bound adventurers. Perhaps they had helped with the assault somehow. Yes, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made any small degree of sense. The realization helped to center his thoughts. And besides, just because the soldiers were level one now didn''t mean they would stay that way. They likely hadn''t touched the class stone since returning. Obviously, if they had, their levels would have updated to reflect such an accomplishment.

    Still, the entire situation felt absolutely absurd. An area boss would be much higher level than anything around here, possibly even rivaling Marcus himself. Of course, he would never dare to even try taking one on, as he wasn''t even a combat class. But if it really happened¡­

    What a story that would make.

    All at once, his concern and disbelief faded into the background as his poet''s spirit grabbed hold of the idea. Of course, no one would believe such a tale if he told it as it was. He''d have to adjust the details¡ªperhaps increase a few of the men''s levels, for example. But it was just the kind of legendary act he''d been anxiously anticipating out of the summoned soldiers.

    He realized he''d been silent, simply staring at Tiberius and Quintus for far too long. "I need details," he blurted out, barely able to contain his excitement. "All of them. If you please."

    Quintus and Tiberius exchanged looks, and after a slight nod from the Legatus, Quintus began to recount the event.

    To Marcus''s dismay, it was the most painfully bland retelling of what should have been an exciting story he''d ever heard. Bland, yet simultaneously unbelievable. Even as he listened, he couldn''t help but be amazed at both aspects. Somehow, Quintus''s ability to make an exciting story dull may actually exceed Marcus''s own ability to make a dull story exciting.

    Still, he listened carefully, filing away the details and mentally drafting a skeleton of the story. The core was there. The battle did indeed have the qualities of a legend in the making, as much as Quintus tried to hide it. Still, it wouldn''t be easy to distill. Perhaps he could get accounts from the other men first. Although the retelling made it abundantly clear that this tale would need to be tested a few times before it was finalized. How much embellishment and adjustment it would need to pass as even remotely plausible was a tightrope he''d need to walk with acute attention.

    As Quintus finished and the remaining men began to disperse, Marcus''s mind continued to work furiously. It might not be a full ballad, but this story¡ªtweaked, of course¡ªcould certainly become part of a greater work. He was sure the local inns would appreciate a new song, especially one so heroic.

    He already had a few verses ready as he noticed Tiberius turning toward the camp. Putting a brief pause on his mental composition, Marcus rushed forward to catch him, cloak fluttering in the gentle breeze.

    "Before you retire¡­ you should make sure these men touch the class stones soon," he said, lowering his voice. "The levels and skill increases they undoubtedly gained from this encounter would be very interesting for your research on classes. I''m certain of it."

    Tiberius gave him a long, measured look, then nodded. Marcus knew the Legatus still didn''t trust everything he said, but providing him with actionable and good-faith suggestions seemed to be one of the best ways to build that trust. It had been working so far, at least.

    Marcus spared one last look at the retreating figures of the soot-streaked Legionnaires. His mind spun with unknowns and odd details, each tracing back to one central question¡ªwho were these men? Where had they come from, and how in the world were they capable of all this?

    He shook his head and turned, putting the distant glow of the burning forest behind him.. Those were concerns that he had no answer for today. Perhaps he would soon. But for now, he had a tale to craft.

 Chapter 18: Reporting for Duty

    Darkness. Endless, all-consuming darkness. A thick covering that permitted no light or sound, submerging its inhabitants in a timeless void without meaning. An endless slumber of unknowing.

    Yet in that nothingness, something shifted.

    The entity blinked¡ªa slow movement, one that might have lasted a minute or a month. It was so hard to tell here, where time itself felt like an unspooled mass of tangled yarn. Yet the very act itself was noteworthy. How long had it been since he last opened his eyes? Months? Years? Decades? He didn''t know. There was so very little he remembered.

    He pondered the strangeness of his consciousness in the unmoving quiet. Then, a flicker disturbed the void. A small thing, as if a faint light were shining down a distant tunnel. Yet in the emptiness it was a shining landmark.

    Even stranger, the entity felt it. The light resonated with him, called to him in a way that the empty darkness did not. It spoke to something deep inside of him, like someone shouting a name he had long since forgotten.

    A name¡­ What was his name? He couldn''t remember. He had one, possibly more, of that he was sure. But though the memories existed, they felt disparate and fleeting. Each time he reached for the knowledge, it scattered before him like ash on the wind.

    The faint speck of light grew, its brightness intensifying as it soared across the endless expanse. He felt it moving toward him with alarming speed. It accelerated even as he watched, streaking forward and stretching into a long, thin line of light. Before he could even consider what to do, it slammed into him.

    The impact rocked the entity. He reeled at the sudden intensity of sensations returning to him. He had a form. He could experience things besides the darkness. Compared to what had come before, it was almost too much to bear. Yet it did not hurt. He remembered pain, and this was not it.

    Once he''d collected himself¡ªminutes, days, weeks later¡ªhe inspected the strand of light that hung from him as though attached. It was a thread. A single thin thread, tenuous and fragile in its youth, yet achingly familiar. Touching it elicited more sensations, familiar ones.

    His scattered memories coalesced into a vague picture. One of a man sitting beside a warm hearth, the smell of burned offerings wafting up into the sky. A man that was not him, yet that he knew. It all felt so¡­ right. How long had it been since he''d experienced this? Or had it been no time at all?

    Even as he considered the question, the entity felt his eyes droop once more. He fought with all his might to keep them open, but he was tired. Even this small period of wakefulness had drained him. His eyelids continued sliding shut as though pulled by teams of horses. Slowly, inevitably, he lost his valiant fight and felt them drift closed.

    Sleep clawed at him, pulling him back into oblivion. The last thing he saw before succumbing to the darkness was a second speck of light appearing in the distance.

    ***

    Tiberius leaned forward, his chin resting on one fist. Before him, a group of his officers stood in a semicircle within the confines of his command tent. One of them¡ªSecundus¡ªhad stepped forward to give a status report, as the one in charge of recruitment and training.

    "...The new recruits are on average older than we would normally scout for¡ªan effect of this place''s culture considering men to be adults at eighteen¡ªyet that should not pose a problem. They seem to be confused by our methods, but most are willing to adopt them fairly quickly¡­"

    Recruitment was going slightly better than expected. Tiberius kept his face impassive but was inwardly pleased with the progress the new auxiliaries were making. They wouldn''t be ready for a real battle for a few months, but apparently, a few of them had the option to change their class into something related to the Legion. Of course, this would reset their progress, but it was still worthwhile in his opinion.

    After finishing his report on the new recruits, Secundus stepped back and allowed the next officer to take the floor. This one detailed the firebreaks they had cut in the forest to prevent the continued blaze from spreading further. Evidently, Quintus and his party''s actions had resulted in quite a large swath of forest being burned to the ground already, and that damage would only spread if left unattended. But considering their situation, Tiberius was not particularly inclined to say they had acted rashly.

    He only paid the minimal amount of attention needed for the report. It was clear that the rest of the forest would not burn down, and so he trusted his officers to take care of the assortment of other small issues and considerations raised without his direct input. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to be diverted toward the other numerous tasks that required his attention.

    Eventually, the meeting ended, and the other officers took their leave. After they''d filed out of his command tent, leaving him alone with his aide, Tiberius pulled out a wax tablet from his desk to review. Inscribed on its surface was a record of Quintus''s newest status sheet.

    Information:

    Name: Quintus

    Age: 43 (XLIII)

    Class: Legionnaire ¨C Primus Pilus (Legendary)

    Level: 1 (I)

    Experience: 141,924 / 600,000 (C?X?L?MCMXXIV / D?C?)

    Stats:

    Strength: 13 (XIII)

    Dexterity: 12 (XII)

    Constitution: 11 (XI)

    Charisma: 11 (XI)

    Wisdom: 9 (IX)

    Intelligence: 9 (IX)

    Titles:

    Born to Fight

    Bonds of Brotherhood

    Bane of Cats (I)

    Bane of Spiders (II)

    Boss Slayer (I)

    Titanslayer

    Skills:

    [Swordsmanship] (Uncommon) - Lvl 5 (Individual)

    [Voice of Command] (Uncommon) - Lvl 3 (Individual)

    [Heavy Blow] (Uncommon) - Lvl 3 (Individual)

    [Battlefield Intuition] (Uncommon) - Lvl 6 (Individual)

    [Sure Footing] (Common) - Lvl 1 (Individual)

    [Marching] (Common) - Lvl 8 (Legion)

    [Shield Wall] (Uncommon) - Lvl 5 (Legion)

    [Unity] (Rare) - Lvl 1 (Cohort)

    [Stab] (Common) - Lvl 9 (Century)

    [Group Tactics] (Uncommon) - Lvl 3 (Contubernium)

    After his latest expedition, the Primus Pilus had made a point to visit the class stone and transcribe his status¡ªhelpfully including roman numerals in addition to the strange shorthand numbers that seemed unique to this land. Various notes, improvements, and detailed descriptions filled the margins of the tablet in a tight scrawl, while additional tablets from Gaius and Quintus provided additional explanations and insights about the changes.

    Tiberius frowned at the tablet. Despite his exploits, Quintus was still level one. All of the Legionnaires were. While he obviously was new to the strange magic that this world called the "System," even Tiberius could tell that wasn''t normal. Marcus''s information had indicated very clearly that defeating an area boss should earn at least one of the things, if not more.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Still, the shortcoming did not bother Tiberius as much as it might have. It didn''t seem to pose a problem. His men were obviously still quite capable and effective in combat. And besides, they had seen plenty of improvements in other areas¡ªspecifically, in skill levels.

    Tiberius scanned Quintus''s report. His skills had seen quite an impressive rise in levels¡ª[Swordsmanship] in particular. The man had already been among the best of the Legion, but now? He stood head and shoulders above any other soldier in proficiency. The man himself noted as much, and after seeing a few practice spars, Tiberius knew for a fact that it was no exaggeration. The fact that his abilities also corresponded to a higher skill level than any other man seemed to indicate that the System''s numbers really did mean something.

    The other matter worth noting were the new titles listed on the man''s status. All members of Quintus''s contubernium had gained a few after fighting the area boss.

    [Boss Slayer (I): Defeat an area boss. +5% to all stats.]

    [Titanslayer: Defeat an enemy 10 or more levels above you. +10% to all stats.]

    At first, Tiberius had assumed that the titles were just that¡ªdescriptors and awards for achievements that the System considered noteworthy. Yet apparently they also came with benefits of their own. According to Marcus, that was one of the reasons such things were widely sought and considered quite desirable. Even if most were exceedingly difficult to actually acquire. Most people would never earn a title in their lives, so the bard had more or less skimmed over the point in his initial explanation about this world''s magics.

    Fortunately, that hadn''t been a problem for Quintus. The man had quickly gathered an assortment of mostly combat-oriented titles in their brief time here. And he wasn''t the only one. Many of the ones listed on his status were shared across the entire Legion¡ªTiberius included. Bane of Spiders and Bane of Cats in particular fell into that category, each granting a damage bonus to the respective creature type as a reward for defeating large numbers of them. Considering that Tiberius himself had not engaged in combat with the local wildlife, they clearly operated off of different logic than the more personalized ones.

    Of course, Tiberius had his own collection of useful titles as well.

    [Emperor of Rome: Recognized ruler of the Roman Empire. +100% to effectiveness of charisma and charisma-based effects. Increased resistance to charisma-based effects of Roman Empire citizens and other recognized rulers.]

    According to the bard, charisma apparently encouraged people to follow him, but also shielded him from such influences when exuded by others It also helped one become more sensitive to social cues and other people''s emotional states. Despite that, Tiberius wasn''t exactly sure what to think about the title. Being emperor required a lot more than simply charisma, after all. But being insulated from manipulations and understanding people''s motives better would be quite useful indeed. He''d wished he had something like this back in the Senate. It would have saved him many years of headache, especially when he first joined.

    Tiberius read one more time through all of Quintus''s data before moving on to Gaius''s report. Whereas Quintus had written about his personal developments and the praiseworthy actions of his men, Gaius''s report took a more generalized approach. The man continued his work on researching the intricacies of the System and applying his findings to the entire Legion. And Quintus''s exploits had apparently yielded quite a bit of information.

    "...The Legion appears to share a common experience pool between its members. An inspection of different members'' status screens yielded identical values in the ''Experience'' field across the board. Not only that, but these numbers uniformly increased in conjunction with the destruction of captured monsters. Such findings suggest that the Legion''s level will remain at one until such time as its collective experience pool is filled, at which time it will enjoy the benefits of leveling in unison¡­"

    Tiberius frowned. For all of the positive traits that Gaius possessed, it seemed brevity was not one of them. Still, the information was valuable. The idea that the Legion''s slow leveling would continue on into the future was frustrating, but not entirely negative. The report even theorized that continuing to have such large level differences between themselves and their opponents would offer ample opportunities to gain more titles and larger amounts of experience than most. At least, so long as they were prepared.

    "...In addition to experience, the Legion also appears to share a stamina pool of sorts with regards to skills. When physical exertion is outputted, each individual Legionnaire still takes the brunt of their own exhaustion. However, when the strain comes from skill activations or actions of a more mystical nature, such actions seem to draw from the energy of one''s brethren in order to lessen the burden. A single man utilizing a [Reckless Charge] skill, for example, will find himself able to perform the feat many more times than would be expected before beginning to feel exhaustion in conjunction with other men standing idle nearby. While it is apparent that these effects have a limit, the exact range is still under investigation¡­"

    That particular passage proved a bit difficult for Tiberius to parse, and not just because of the wording. The very concept felt difficult to grasp. One man''s efforts at making camp couldn''t exhaust another. How did that make any sense? Perhaps he''d have to ask Gaius for more details on that front, or even some demonstrations.

    "...Skill levels, however, do not appear to operate by the same shared principle. Skills are leveled individually and reflect each man''s personal proficiency in an area. Those who have previously demonstrated a high degree of expertise in a skill experience accordingly swift rises in their associated ranks. However, attempts to level a skill novel to a man¡ªfor example, a trade blacksmith attempting to learn [Basket Weaving]¡ªare comparatively quite slow.

    "As such, specialization according to one''s own training continues to prove a particularly viable option. This also explains why the skill levels achieved by the vast majority of Legionnaires already far outstrip the norm that would be expected of a level one individual, based on information from our bardic ally. One notable exception can be found in the [Breathing] skill, which appears to level incredibly slowly regardless of user. Of the three members of the Legion assigned the skill, only one¡ªSeptimus of the second cohort¡ªhas managed to raise it to level three. I have removed the men from the project, but Septimus has requested leave to continue working with the skill¡­"

    "Lucius?"

    His aide responded from where he stood. "Yes, Legatus?"

    "Remind me to speak with Gaius about the value of more concise reports."

    The man stifled a chuckle. "Yessir."

    Tiberius mulled over the information. The mechanics of skill leveling seemed to make sense. How could one man''s practice with the blade grant knowledge and expertise to another? Yet despite that, the note on [Breathing] baffled Tiberius. He''d assumed the skill was one of the many common ones granted only for posterity''s sake. Indeed, it seemed as though such an essential skill would be easy to master. But apparently it wasn''t.

    He signed off on the request. He had no problem with allowing Septimus to continue exploring the skill, so long as it did not affect his other duties. Still, the fact that Tiberius even had to weigh in on this matter struck him as odd. He made a mental note to speak with Gaius about delegating such decisions and taking initiative to decide minor matters on his own.

    After finishing the reports, Tiberius settled back in his chair. All in all, the information painted quite the picture of their situation. The general conclusion was that the Legion would level up slowly, as they needed to do so all together.. However, with their skills progressing at their current pace, they would be able to fight enemies and take on challenges significantly above their own level. This, in turn, would help them level up faster, gain more titles, and further increase their skills.

    The recommendation, therefore, was to ensure that everyone had a few core skills related to combat that they could fall back on while also selecting other skills to suit their individual needs. Tiberius had already directed his centurions to oversee most of these skill assignments and ensured they had the authority to assign group skills. He himself had ensured that all Legionnaires had [Marching] and [Shield Wall], something he could do as the Legatus. Quintus''s reports on how effective the [Shield Wall] was against monsters only reinforced its necessity.

    After storing the information away in his head, Tiberius looked over one last tablet that Gaius had left him. It contained a list of all the new skills available to the Legion. Apparently, they had discovered that the Legion also shared unassigned skills. Any skill that was assigned by a single Legionnaire immediately became available for any other to assign going forward. Even better, if a Legionnaire was offered a skill and rejected it, other Legionnaires could still be offered that skill in the future. This made their situation extremely different from the perilous one Marcus had described when Tiberius first picked his skills.

    Now, it had become standard practice for every Legionnaire to accept any new skills offered to them, no matter how useless they might seem. This ensured those skills would be permanently available to the Legion. And that meant that their list was constantly growing. Gaius had enlisted the scribes'' help in categorizing and documenting each and every one on a regular basis.

    As he scanned the list of new skills from yesterday¡ªthis one shorter than the last, yet still quite long¡ªhis eyes lingered at one entry in particular.

    "Lucius?"

    "Yes, Legatus?"

    "Do you have any idea what¡­" Tiberius squinted at the unfamiliar word. "[Voodoo] is?"

    The aide paused in thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Can''t say I do, sir. One of this place''s strange practices, I''d imagine?"

    "Perhaps." That was likely true, but it certainly didn''t explain how one of his men had earned it. He penned a quick request for more information on the skill out of curiosity.

    Tiberius set the request aside, pulling another stack of tablets toward himself. Many centurions had spent several hours poring over the skill lists and submitting requests with one to three core skills to assign to the men under their command. He scanned through them, stamping them all with his seal with only a few brief comments at most. He didn''t want to interfere with operations at this level. Still, he noted that the centuries generally seemed to choose specialization as he''d hoped. The variety of approaches could prove useful and informative.

    Eventually, a messenger poked his head into the tent and saluted. "Legatus Tiberius? It''s nearly time for your next meeting."

    Setting the tablet in his hands back onto the desk, Tiberius stood. "Very well. Let''s be off."

    Tiberius and his aide followed the man out of the tent and toward his next destination. His legs appreciated the opportunity to stretch as he considered his approach for the coming meeting. With everything else going on, the three individuals that Quintus had found in the forest had not been the absolute highest of priorities. However, it was finally time for him to determine their fates.

 Chapter 19: An Old Flame

    Chapter 19: An Old Flame

    Marcus casually strode through the town, humming a soft tune. He kept his pace slightly slower than normal, engrossed as he was in his own thoughts. Still, to any outside observer, he would appear just as affable and approachable as his usual persona demanded.

    As he walked, he scanned the populace of Habersville with an attentive eye. Villagers bustled about their work or aided with construction efforts right alongside the Legionnaires. He even heard an occasional greeting called out to the passing patrols. Compared to even a few days before, the level of respect and deference that the Legionnaires enjoyed had once again risen. They seemed to be held in higher favor than even the town''s previous guardsmen.

    The reason why was clear. After a bit of asking around, Marcus quickly realized that he''d underestimated how much of a threat the shade slingers had posed to the town. Evidently, the threat of the shadow panthers had been dire enough that they had been petitioning the mayor to call in adventurers¡ªfor months. No one had even known about the spiders nesting deeper within. If they had¡­ well, evacuating the town wouldn''t have been out of the question.

    And now, within a mere week of arriving, the Legion had already dealt with both problems. Without any harm coming to the locals, no less. That alone had gained the summoned soldiers more goodwill than any other constructions or improvements they''d accomplished so far.

    And yet, after all that, the soldiers were still level one. Even Quintus, who Marcus knew for a fact had visited the class stone by now. Something was very clearly wrong here, to the point of ridiculousness, and he suspected that Tiberius knew exactly what it was. The next time they met, he''d utilize every trick in the book until the man yielded some answers.

    He continued humming as he meandered toward the town''s front gate. He passed by Margaret''s house and tipped his hat to the old washerwoman as she merrily joined in. Smiling, he opened his mouth and began to sing one of the verses.

    "On the mountain, high and broken,

    Stood a wizard, robes of blue,

    Casting runes and speaking omens,

    While the storm above him grew¡­"

    It was one of the first songs he''d ever learned, from a rather gravelly-voiced man performing at a harvest festival, and one that made him want to be a bard. It was still one of his favorites to this day. He often sang it to close the night out in taverns, its melody a lullaby to the sleepy patrons who were just a little bit too deep in their cups.

    As he went, he saw no small number of heads turn as they stopped their work and listened for a moment or two. A few of the village children even began to play and run alongside him for brief stretches. Marcus couldn''t help but smile, basking in the attention. He briefly considered pulling out his lute from where it was slung over his shoulder, just to add some accompaniment. But that could become a bit disruptive. He had no desire to completely arrest the town''s productivity, and the Legionnaires usually weren''t fond of people clogging up their streets.

    "Oh my darling, oh my darling,

    Oh, my daring valiant knight¡­"

    Marcus stepped through the open front gate and turned back to wave at the guards. They were a pair he recognized, though their names weren''t known to him. Learning the names of six thousand individual men took time, after all.

    "There you are."

    Marcus''s song abruptly cut off as a familiar voice sent ice down his spine. He spun to face its source¡ªa previously unseen figure pushing off from the outer wall and stalking toward him.

    The woman before him was no simple peasant girl like those he''d grown so accustomed to seeing amidst Habersville''s populace. Rather, she was an immaculate lily, bursting forth proudly from among the grasses. While her beauty would have been only passable among the women of Novara''s capital, even that much set her head and shoulders among the rest in a backwater like Habersville. Which was exactly why he could recall her face.

    "You''re a hard man to find, Marcus." The mayor''s daughter said with a smile that didn''t quite reach her eyes. Those honeyed brown pools, which sparkled with starlight and intelligence in his memory, now held a clear edge of wrath.

    Marcus quickly rifled through his memory for her name, backing up as he did.

    "Ah! Myra!" He affected an open, amicable tone as his brain tried to catch up with the current situation. The wall made contact with his back, cutting off his best avenue of retreat. Reflexively, a dazzling smile slipped onto his face like a well-worn mask. One hand reached out to tuck a lock of lustrous brown hair behind her ear. "How have you¡ª"

    Before he could finish, the woman reached up and smacked his hand away. She leaned in closer and jabbed him in the chest with a single finger, effectively pinning him against the wall. "That''s it? That''s all you have to say?"Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    If Marcus hadn''t been aware of his situation before, he certainly was now. It was one that he''d seen so many good bards fall victim to over the years¡ªthe consequence of overstaying one''s welcome in a single place. Usually, he was quite adept at avoiding such situations, with a few notable exceptions. But with how interesting the Legion had proven, moving on simply hadn''t been a compelling prospect, loose ends or not. Still, he hadn''t quite expected this level of bitterness out of the woman.

    Marcus let his smile dim slightly, from radiant and charming to more agreeable and concerned. "Well, I simply didn''t know you were looking for me. Is something the matter? How can I help?"

    The earnestness in his tone combined with [Charm] and [Silver Tongue] to make the pressure on his chest lessen ever so slightly. He decided to press the advantage while he could. "I''m sorry I haven''t had a chance to visit, but, well, things have been quite lively around here." He gestured toward the Legionnaires manning the walls. "They''ve kept me quite busy around the clock, and I''m sure all of this tumult has made quite the splash in your day-to-day life as well. Social calls are simply a luxury I cannot afford at the moment."

    The guards had made no moves to approach or assist Marcus, which only made sense. Myra had done a fairly good job of ensuring that her actions didn''t come off as too aggressive, much to his chagrin. To any observer, this would just appear as a disagreement¡ªand not one likely to come to blows. Yet.

    Myra''s jaw clenched. "I suppose¡­" After a moment, she removed her hand from his chest and crossed her arms. However, she remained where she stood, barring his escape. "I suppose that is a reasonable explanation. However. Busy or not, we still have things to talk about, Marcus."

    The way she stressed his name sent shivers down his spine. Hiding his unease, he nodded agreeably. "Yes, of course! We certainly do."

    Frantically, he ran through what he could remember of their conversations. He was fairly certain he hadn''t actually promised her anything, but, well¡­ sometimes women read into a man''s words far more deeply than he ever intended.

    "However¡­" Marcus continued, edging along the wall slightly. "As much as I would love to stay and talk, I have prior engagements at the Legion''s camp that I must see to. The Legatus will be expecting me, and he''s certainly not a man to be kept waiting."

    Technically, his meeting wasn''t actually with Tiberius. Not this one, at least. But appealing to the highest authority possible would give him a better chance of escaping this conversation.

    He stepped to the side, moving past Myra to return to the road. To his surprise, she made no move to block him. Instead she simply fell into step next to him as they walked. "That''s alright. I''m not busy. We can talk on the way."

    Marcus suppressed a curse. Once they arrived at the camp, he doubted that Myra would be let inside, but that still left him with a few minutes in which he''d be subject to her interrogation. He did his best not to look like he was hurrying while simultaneously walking as fast as possible.

    "About the Legion¡­" Myra began, wasting no time. "That is an interesting matter. I had a few questions I wanted to ask about them."

    Marcus kept his eyes planted firmly ahead, not willing to help her one bit.

    "You see," she continued, looking at the camp that seemed all too distant, "They have quite an interesting architectural style. All of this new construction is making that quite clear. I went and visited the beginning of what they claim is an aqueduct, and I can''t help but think it looks¡­ awfully familiar. In fact, it looks quite similar to those ruins we explored together. You remember that, don''t you?"

    Marcus flicked his eyes over to glance at her face. Despite his skills'' attempts to neutralize her anger, Myra''s delicate features remained accusatory¡ªif less angry than he''d initially feared. Most of her wrath had been replaced with curiosity and suspicion at this point.

    Hopefully, it would stay that way.

    "I hadn''t noticed the similarities," Marcus said honestly. Perhaps he should have, but there had been so many other things vying for his attention. Besides, he''d had better things to focus on during their little excursion.

    "Well, I certainly have. Although I''ve yet to return to the ruins and confirm." Myra hummed thoughtfully. "It''s strange, isn''t it? A mysterious group appearing out of nowhere, just a single day after we explored those ruins. A group whose structures bear an uncanny resemblance to ones made thousands of years earlier. That is quite the coincidence, isn''t it Marcus?"

    "Perhaps," Marcus allowed, drawing out the word. "Stranger things have been known to happen."

    He could tell that the woman was building to something, and quite frankly, Marcus wanted no part of it. Thankfully, the gate to the camp loomed only a short distance away. Cassius and Sextus stood among the Legionnaires guarding it, their shift having taken them to this post for the day.

    Before they quite reached the camp, however, Myra quickly stepped in front of him. "I don''t believe in coincidences, Marcus. Especially not like this. I seem to recall telling you not to touch anything in those ruins, especially if it could be of historical importance. You didn''t happen to find anything like that did you? A relic, perhaps, or some sort of rune circle that you simply forgot to tell me about?"

    "Of course not!" Marcus lied through his teeth.

    "Mmm-hmm." Myra gave him a dubious look and crossed her arms. He did his best not to look down from her face to the ample cleavage she was showing off. He was pretty sure she did that on purpose. "You''re certain? Because¡ª"

    "Marcus?"

    He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods as Cassius''s voice rang out. Leaning over to see past Myra, he saw the Legionnaire raise a hand in greeting as he called out again. "You''re running late! They were just about to send a runner looking for you!"

    Marcus leapt at the opening, quickly stepping past Myra as she looked back at the guard. "Ah, apologies for my tardiness! Myra, as much as I regret cutting our conversation short, duty calls. I''ll talk to you some other time!"

    By the time he finished speaking, he was already level with the pair of Legionnaires. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "Thank you, friend."

    Cassius shot him a wink as he fell into step with Marcus as his escort. "You owe me one for this. Perhaps a round of drinks and another story or two."

    Even as Marcus disappeared into the bustling camp, he felt Myra''s dark eyes drilling holes into the back of his head.

 Chapter 20: I Wanna Go Home

    "So, what was that all about?"

    Cassius waited until they were safely away from the camp''s entrance before breaking the question. In all honesty, Marcus had hoped he would let the matter drop. But curiosity about such a thing was only to be expected.

    "Well," Marcus began to spin the relevant details into a tale, "That woman back there was the mayor''s daughter."

    Cassius let out a low whistle. "Truly? How did such a public shit heap like that end up spawning such a fine specimen? I figured his stench would ward off most any woman, even if he were competent enough to procreate with one. Someone must have taken pity on him or had far too many drinks."

    Marcus blinked. He hadn''t honestly expected the man to hold such strident opinions about the mayor. He didn''t even know whether Cassius had seen the man. Were such ideas unique to him, or prevalent among the whole Legion?

    Not that he disagreed with the Legionnaire''s words. They were perhaps a bit more extreme than Marcus might voice himself, but well¡­ the mayor wasn''t exactly an endearing figure.

    Cassius nudged Marcus with his elbow. "So. What business did that young lady have with someone like you, hmm?"

    "Someone like me? I''ll have you know that I am considered quite charming, especially by women." The bard narrowed his eyes as Cassius chuckled. "Which is actually the crux of the problem. You see, that application of that charm may have given her a¡­ misconception of our relationship. Specifically, how permanent it was meant to be."

    Cassius raised his eyebrows, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. He barked a laugh before clapping Marcus on the back. "You scoundrel! You absolute scoundrel!"

    Marcus couldn''t help but smile. "I would never claim such a title. My actions are those of a perfect gentleman! I simply could never deny a lady a night on the town, much less her¡­ other requests."

    Cassius shook his head in disbelief. "Still, that is quite the sticky situation. A mistress who wants to be more than a mistress¡­ It seems I''ve spared you from a lion''s den."

    "Indeed. Hence why I''m so grateful for the assist. Thank you friend, truly."

    "Of course. Though it seems as though that favor may be worth a bit more than I initially realized."

    Marcus sighed at the greedy glint in the man''s eye, clapping him on the shoulder as they walked. "Unfortunately, you may be right. Especially since I''ll need to hide in camp for a while until something else demands her attention. Or perhaps she''ll just give up and leave."

    "Mmm. I wouldn''t count on it. She had quite the stubborn look in her eye¡­ but then again, your business around here has never exactly been quick. Where are you headed? Did they summon you to help with those three newcomers?"

    Marcus searched his memory for a moment before recalling what Cassius meant. "Ah. The adventurers?"

    A nod confirmed his guess. "Right, them. The ones the Primus Pilus brought in."

    Marcus paused, frowning. In truth, he actually didn''t have much immediate business to tend to at the moment. He''d mostly been coming over to make his usual rounds and listen for any gossip before his later meetings. That was, until Myra struck. But if there was an opportunity here¡­

    "Right you are, my friend," Marcus straightened and adjusted his cloak. "You wouldn''t happen to know where they are at the moment, would you?"

    "Of course. Follow me."

    ***

    As they approached the far edge of the camp, a group of figures came into view amidst the bustle of activity. Three were sitting on short stools that were spaced an awkward distance apart¡ªclose enough to hear each other, but not close enough that their occupants could reach out and touch hands. It wasn''t hard to identify them as the adventurers. Two staff officers¡ªGaius and Maximus, Marcus knew¡ªstood before the seated adventurers, clearly asking questions.

    Marcus scanned the adventurers. Their arms and legs were no longer bound as they had been before, which was an improvement. However, given the several Legionaries in full kit standing guard around the trio, it was clear that the Legion still didn''t trust them in the slightest. Which was admittedly reasonable. Though the image of level ones holding a level five to six adventuring party like this did threaten to make him chuckle.

    Drawing closer to the group, Marcus began to hear what manner of questions the officers were asking.

    "You say that you were sent to this area by the ''Adventurers Guild.''"

    "Yes," the brawny youth answered testily.

    "What claim does this guild have over this land?"

    "Why are you asking me something that even a toddler knows?" The adventurer all but growled. "I told you! We just got a quest to help clear the road through the forest. That''s it. We''re just doing our jobs! And we''d be doing them a hell of a lot better if you''d just let us go already!"

    "Watch your tongue, boy," one of the officers growled¡ªMaximus, if he recalled correctly. "And your attitude. Given what you''ve already done, it would not be difficult to have you tried as criminals. The assault of a Legionare carries heavy punishment. Your lack of cooperation will only expedite that."

    Marcus frowned. It seemed that things weren''t exactly going well. Not for anyone.

    Thanking Cassius for the escort, he stepped up to greet Gaius and Maximus. "Officers," he said, "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

    Gaius looked over, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Ah, bard Marcus! What brings you here?"

    Marcus swept into a flourishing bow. "Well, I couldn''t help but overhear the rather¡­ spirited discussion you seem to be having here. I wondered if perhaps you could use a mediator to bridge these cultural gaps that you''ve encountered."

    "Cultural gaps?" The brawny [Fighter] scoffed. "More like foolishness. Everyone knows what skills a [Healer] or a [Fighter] gets! They''re some of the most basic classes around! Go find a child to interrogate instead."

    As the man continued to glare daggers at the Legionnaires¡ªwho appeared to share much the same opinion of him¡ªMarcus took note of the dynamic between him and his party members. Based on him being the designated speaker for the group, it was fairly clear that he was this party''s leader. However, the female [Healer] was shooting him acidic looks whenever he said something particularly ill-advised. In contrast, the meek-looking [Ranger] kept his gaze all but glued to the ground in some mixture of embarrassment and fear.

    Marcus fixed a smile on his face. "As I was saying¡­ it appears that much of the information you seek from these fellows is rather basic in nature. I''m more than happy to confirm or even provide such information in their stead, if you so require."

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Gaius, though, shook his head tiredly when Marcus glanced at him. "That was by intent. The Legatus ordered us to interrogate these three before anything else, but as you can see¡­" He gestured helplessly to the trio. "They are not making it easy to trust them. Nor are they particularly cooperative. And so, the matter of what to do with them remains."

    "Let us go," the party leader insisted. "It''s that simple! We''ll leave this backwater and be out of your way in an afternoon!"

    Gaius and Marcus exchanged a meaningful glance. Both of them knew it wasn''t nearly that easy. The Legion had done an incredible job thus far of controlling the flow of people¡ªand information¡ªout of Habersbille. Letting these adventurers return to Novara would all but ensure they''d leak information about the army massing here. Perhaps the trio could be sworn to secrecy, but given how uncooperative they were being¡­

    At their silence, the [Fighter] turned red in the face and began to haul himself to his feet. A few of the Legionnaires stepped forward, hands darting to the pommels of their gladiuses. At their stony looks, the party leader froze and slowly began lowering himself down once more. That didn''t stop him from opening his mouth, though.

    "This is insane. Why are you keeping us as prisoners? We were just doing our jobs!"

    Gaius shot the youth an annoyed glare¡ªa scene made slightly comical by the fact that the two looked of similar age. "That should be obvious. It''s because you have proven yourselves to be untrustworthy by attacking our men."

    "I was defending my party. You people were kidnapping them!"

    Someone cleared their throat. Looking over, Marcus saw Maximus standing with his arms folded, his ornate officer''s helm gleaming in the sunlight. He stared down at the [Fighter] with a cold look that could have frozen the fiery pits of Vernal. "Adventurer, your party was being rescued. Without the help of the Primus Pilus, you all would have either been food for the beasts or fuel for the flames. And considering how you repaid that help, you should be grateful that our Legatus''s generosity has given you a path forward aside from imprisonment. Now, if you ungrateful sops would just finish answering our questions, we could move on to better things."

    "I told you, my name is Jack."

    "I know. I shall use your name when you earn a modicum of respect."

    Marcus took note of the name as he took in the situation before him. Jack''s two other party members continued to remain silent in judgement or fear throughout the argument. But given Jack''s winning personality, it was quite clear that they would be getting nowhere anytime soon. Not without a bit of help.

    Marcus turned to the officers with an apologetic smile. "Do you mind if I speak to them for a moment, in private? Perhaps a bit of diplomacy is called for in this situation."

    Gaius opened his mouth, then hesitated. "I would prefer to be present for any discussions. Especially given their¡­ history."

    He waved a hand dismissively. "It won''t be long, I promise. And besides, even if they did try something, I doubt they''d get far." Marcus swept an arm around the camp. "There is no shortage of capable fighters surrounding them, after all."

    The young officer mulled over the suggestion for a moment. Between Marcus''s charisma, skills, and the amount of rapport he''d built with the man, he was fairly confident in his chances here. However, Gaius wasn''t the only one he had to worry about.

    The Legionnaire looked as though he was about to agree before Maximus stepped in, his face impassive. "We have orders to keep these three under heavy guard. As such, I will not let them out of my sight. If you wish to speak with them, speak plainly where all can hear."

    Marcus internally cursed. He''d been sure that he''d get his way, especially given the low levels of the Legionnaires. [Harbinger of Rome] even gave him bonuses to his charisma-based effects when targeting them. So why had they been able to resist?

    It was something to consider later. For now, he just nodded agreeably. "Of course, of course. Orders are orders."

    With that, Marcus turned to the low-level adventurers and activated every single charisma skill he had, ready to plow over them with the full force of his charms. It wasn''t something he did often. He preferred more subtle approaches. But given everyone''s apparent impatience and how much salvaging this situation needed¡­ well, he could justify it. Besides, they''d thank him later.

    "Noble adventurers," Marcus began, squatting down to appear on their level as opposed to standing with the Legionnaires. "I can see that you''re eager to get back to your duties as soon as possible. Who wouldn''t be? Given your ages, you certainly strike me as an ambitious party indeed.

    "However," he tapped the side of his nose knowingly, "I think you may underestimate the opportunity you have at your fingertips here."

    "What opportunity?" Jack asked. His arms remained crossed, but already his shoulders were relaxing ever so slightly.

    "Well, you see, there''s more than one way to improve than simply questing. As lucrative as those may be, they''re rarely the quickest way to increase one''s level¡ªsomething I''m sure you''re eager to do. No, far quicker is the tried-and-true tradition of monster hunting. And an area like this seems like the perfect place to do such a thing."

    Jack''s eyes narrowed. "True. But we could do that while questing. Otherwise, how would we make any money? We need to eat and repair equipment, you know."

    "Fair enough, my friend. And perhaps some sort of arrangement on that front could be made. I have some pull with the local leaders." Marcus smiled indulgently. "But consider the other benefits that you''d gain when hunting here¡ªspecifically, that you''d have a safety net."

    "A safety net?" For the first time, one of the other adventurers spoke up¡ªthe young [Healer] woman.

    "Of course. Consider this proposal." Marcus straightened. "You remain in Habersville, utilizing the low-level monsters of the Evergreen Seas to level yourselves and increase your power. However, whenever you go out," he extended an arm to include the Legionnaires around him. "You will be accompanied by a contingent of men. This will protect you in case of another shade slinger-type incident, while also serving as a gesture of goodwill."

    Jack frowned at the soldiers. "They''ll just take our experience."

    Marcus waggled a finger. "Not so. If they don''t join your party or directly involve themselves in combat, you''ll reap all of the rewards."

    "What have we to gain from babysitting these whelps?" Maximus asked with a glower.

    Jack bristled, but the bard quickly interrupted before he could speak. "Well, for one, you''ll be able to ensure that these three are exactly what they say they are¡ªadventurers looking to improve themselves. But more than that," he looked to Gaius, "You''ll be able to observe the combat style and skill usage of actual adventurers up close. Something that I''m certain that you''d find value in."

    The officers exchanged a look. While Maximus didn''t seem entirely sold, even he could understand the benefit of knowing one''s enemies.

    The female [Healer] muttered where she sat. "I don''t want to be stuck in this backwater any longer than I have to."

    "Eleanora!" Jack nearly shouted, cutting her off. "Look, I don''t want to be here any more than you do, but he makes a good point¡ªwe need to level more. We need to get stronger if we don''t want to get our asses handed to us again. And this is about as good a place as we can find."

    "There are other low level areas we could go to instead. Ones that are actually low level."

    "Well, we need to challenge ourselves at least a bit. Otherwise we won''t grow. So really, this seems like a good deal. Especially if these people really were trying to help instead of attack you guys."

    Eleanora shot him a look that, had it been directed at Marcus, would have made him backpedal immediately and turn his [Silver Tongue] up another level. However, the leader remained blissfully unaware of her malicious intent.

    "...We do have a quest to turn in¡­" The ranger muttered quietly.

    Marcus smiled at him. "Quests will keep for a long time. Why not take advantage of what''s right in front of you? The rewards will be there when you return."

    The trio seemed to reach a hesitant agreement as Marcus turned back to the officers. After a silent conversation, they also nodded. Gaius stepped forward. "Agreed. We will need to work out some specifics and get this plan approved, however."

    "Of course!" Marcus bowed. "I''d be more than willing to help with the former, if you''d like¡­"

    It took them a little more negotiation to hash out the specifics. The adventurers would not leave the surrounding area of Habersville, and they''d have a full complement of Legionaries accompanying them when hunting. They''d also do their best to answer whatever questions Gaius and the Legionnaires had, though Marcus didn''t put too much stock on that condition. The arrangement would last until the Legion decided otherwise¡ªor until the adventurers hit level 15, which wasn''t likely to happen here.

    With that all taken care of, Marcus allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Things had gone better than he''d hoped. He''d managed to once more prove his usefulness to the Legion and even help their "prisoners" in the process. What''s more, it would keep the adventurers here for a little while longer¡ªat least, until they figured out what to really do with them.

 Chapter 21: Come Out Swinging

    Gareth Irontongs was not having a good day. Or a good week. It wasn''t his year, either.

    Retirement was supposed to be peaceful and relaxing¡ªtime to really focus on his craft and dive into his passion. An opportunity to ignore the pressures of fast-paced city life with its demanding clients wanting everything done now, now, now. He was done with that life and the weapons that came with it¡ªespecially swords. If he never had to make one of those gods-awful gem-encrusted hilts again, it would still be too soon.

    No, he just wanted to relax and spend an afternoon on a single project. Like making a beautifully-filigreed teacup for his wife. Or fixing his neighbor''s plow such that it would last a hundred years longer than its original maker intended.

    However, life had other ideas. Things in Habersville were not nearly as quiet as his niece had promised. Not anymore. Mere months after his arrival, the sleepy out-of-the-way town had become a war zone.

    Well, not really a war zone. There weren''t any battles actually being fought, really, aside from those against the forest''s monsters. But it was hard to see it as anything else given the gargantuan army camp that had spring up overnight. And that wasn''t the worst of it. Temples were being taken down and constructed anew. Houses had been demolished and replaced. There were great works of moving water in progress, and even the walls were rebuilt in a day.

    It was all very exciting¡ªand Gareth hated it.

    He let out a resigned sigh as he headed back toward his workshop. After an initial period of tumult, things had slowly begun returning to normal¡ªas normal as they could be under the Legion, at least. But now there were rumors that this army was preparing for war. Actual war, against actual people. That didn''t exactly inspire confidence that such a state would last. Especially given that the iron ore in his shop was starting to run low.

    Talking to the merchants he knew confirmed that a new shipment was supposed to come in later next week, long before it would actually run out. But would that even make it to the town? The Legion had been pretty strict on the movement of things in and out of town, so he wasn''t exactly optimistic. It wasn''t like anyone would prioritize the needs of the local blacksmith among all this..

    As he stomped back into the smithy, Gareth frowned in distaste. The blast of heat he''d been expecting was nowhere to be found. It barely took him a glance to realize that the bellows had been allowed to grow cold.

    "Ratcliffe!"

    He shouted the name of his last remaining apprentice. He''d originally had three of them¡ªuseless, incompetent louts who could barely tell the horn of an anvil from its heel. But despite that, they were still his apprentices, and it was his responsibility to whip them into shape. A few months of pumping the bellows would have put some meat on their bones, and then they would have been allowed to get near the furnaces. But no. The idea of hard work and actually learning something useful apparently paled next to these fanciful ideas they''d gotten into their heads.

    Despite none of them receiving a combat class from the System, that didn''t mean they ever stopped dreaming of adventure. What boy did? And so, with the Legion going around conscripting all the young men, offering the promise of battle and being part of a "real" military, regardless of their classes¡­ it was no wonder where they''d gone.

    Not that Gareth approved in the slightest, of course. He was all but certain that the soldiers would use them as shock troops, sure to die in the first engagement. Especially given their lack of combat skills. But that kind of levelheadedness simply never got through to the youth.

    Gareth stormed back out of the shop, slamming the door and locking it behind him. Not that anyone really would bother stealing from him. Carrying heavy loads of iron really wasn''t worth the effort for most thieves, and he didn''t have any sizable commissions anyway. But still¡ªhabits were habits.

    He headed toward his apprentice''s home with a heavy glower that turned aside most of the villagers he passed by. It was entirely possible that Ratcliffe was simply sick or slacking on the job. But given how he''d been acting all week, it was pretty unlikely. Still, if the boy was home, then he''d have a chance to chew him out in person.

    Gareth did his best to withhold most of his prodigious strength as he pounded on the door. A startled, slightly exhausted-looking mother emerged from within, blinking up at his towering form. "Gareth?"

    "Nancy. Your son ''round?" He crossed his arms, eschewing any polite greetings. He just wasn''t in the mood.

    She paled. "No. I thought he went to your smithy. Tell me he didn''t¡­"

    Gareth blew out a long breath. "Yep. Seems like it."

    A whole range of emotions paraded across Nancy''s face, finally ending on a fearsome scowl that made even Gareth wince. "That¡ª that bumbleheaded fool! I told him, I did, nothing good would come of it! Why, when he gets home¡­!"

    Gareth found himself nodding along with the woman''s tirade. At some point, she whisked him inside and insisted that he join her for tea while they commiserated over the foolishness of her son. Her furnishings were clearly not made for someone of the blacksmith''s size¡ªeven the teacup was barely bigger than his thumb¡ªbut the hospitality was much appreciated. The drink even had actual honey in it.

    For a while, he listened to the good woman complain about how yet another one of her sons had run off to war. He felt for her, he really did. Especially since that was his fucking apprentice. That shit-for-brains maybe would have been good for something ten years from now, once Gareth had managed to knock some sense into him. But now¡­

    After pacing himself so as not to finish the tea in one gulp, Gareth got up very carefully so as not to destroy anything. A half-hour later, he was on his way once again. His glower returned, albeit slightly softened¡ªthe tea had actually been really good. But instead of heading back to his forge to continue on what little work he had, his feet took him on a different path. Enough was enough. It was time to find one of those Legion recruiters.

    It didn''t take long. They were all over the town, after all. But as his shadow fell over the soldier, Gareth realized for a moment how absurd this scene must look. He knew he was a big man, and so most people gave him space. But the tiny recruiter in front of him, who was at least a hand span or two shorter than him and probably was less than half of his weight, simply maintained his gaze like a hardened veteran with absolutely no fear. He could likely have folded the man around his fist with a single punch, but something in that look told him that starting a fight with this man wouldn''t go as well as he wanted.

    That was fine. Gareth wasn''t here to fight in the first place. He didn''t even like making weapons, and the last time he had thrown his fists in anger had been almost thirty years ago after a night of too much drinking.

    No, words would suffice here.

    "Are you people done stealing my apprentices?" He growled in what was lovingly known as his outside voice by his wife.

    The Legion member barely flinched. His eyes narrowed slightly, his hand moving to rest on the grip of his sword, but he didn''t actually draw it.

    Gareth and the Legionnaire stood staring at each other for a long moment. As it stretched on, the blacksmith began to realize that the man had no intention to respond. At all. In fact, once he finally blinked, the Legionnaire began scanning the street once more as though Gareth didn''t exist.

    Gareth sighed. As satisfying as it had been, he couldn''t help but admit that the outburst probably wasn''t the best approach here. He tried again, this time using his inside voice. "...Tell me. Why are you people so intent on stealing all the young men in this town?"

    The soldier finally acknowledged Gareth, nodding in approval at his shift in attitude. When he spoke, it was in a surprisingly reasonable tone. "We do not steal anyone. The Legion only takes volunteers and conscripts given to us rightfully by a judge or magistrate of your town¡ªfor example, those who have committed some sort of crime. In fact, given that we haven''t had any conscripts in the last several days, it''s likely that your apprentice came to us of his own free will."

    Gareth crossed his arms. "Well, we can''t have all our young men runnin'' off to fight some war. Not if you want this town to keep running. Otherwise, you can say goodbye to the farming, the crafting, the trading¡ªall of it."

    "The Legion doesn''t¡ªand won''t¡ªprevent anyone who wants to join. Especially when there''s much need of auxiliaries."

    He snorted. "For what, defending the place? Goin'' to war? Good luck with that if you can''t even leave behind a functioning town. Who''s gonna fix the plows, huh? And the tools? Or are you gonna leave me to do everything myself?"

    It was a bit of an exaggeration. There were other smiths in town, of course. But if he was losing his apprentices, he imagined that they had as well. And besides, despite his personal frustration with the current state of affairs, he really did believe that this path was doomed for failure. The Legionnaires had to stop taking away all their labor, or this town wouldn''t have anything to support itself with.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    "Your complaints are not without merit, though they are not a top priority at the moment. Although¡­The recruiter looked at him and rubbed his jaw. "Am I right to assume that you''re a blacksmith?"

    "Damn right you are," Gareth said proudly. He dialed back his volume just a little bit more.

    "I see. Do you have a specialization?"

    Gareth blinked, surprised by the turn of questioning. His eyes narrowed. "I''m no young man like those fools. If you''re thinking to drag me into this army of yours¡ª"

    The recruiter chuckled. "I understand. Rest assured, I am not attempting to recruit you. You''re far too tall a man for any shield wall."

    After a moment, the blacksmith nodded. "Aye, lad. I used to be something of a weapon and armorsmith, but mostly retired now. Just want to work on my farm tools and the like. Took an oath not to make another blade."

    It was a bit more than he normally told people, but he wanted to make sure they didn''t come to him clamoring for swords and the like. Even if he was damn well good at what he did¡ªbetter than anyone else in this town, certainly.

    The Legionnaire rubbed his chin. "One moment. I need to fetch my superior. I think a centurion would like to talk to you."

    The man turned and headed off, leaving Gareth to wait. He soon found himself tapping his toe with his arms crossed impatiently. He hadn''t expected things to take this long. Nor had he honestly thought that his complaint would accomplish much past letting out some of his frustration. But they seemed to be taking some kind of action, so this was going better than he''d hoped.

    A few minutes later, someone with an even fancier helmet showed up. They went through a quick conversation, and after telling the officer the same information, Gareth found himself walking with the man outside of the town and towards the Legion camp.

    He found himself impressed at the structure despite himself. It was even larger than the town, with walls that towered overhead almost excessively. The place was composed mostly of tents and temporary structures, but over the men''s time here it had also accumulated a few more permanent ones as well. Nothing like their work in the town, of course. But he still couldn''t help a bit of grudging admiration.

    Gareth''s escort remained quiet for the most part, which suited him just fine. It didn''t take long for them to arrive at a tent, at which point he was asked to wait on a small stool that creaked dangerously under his weight. A few minutes later, an aide bustled out.

    "Blacksmith Gareth?" he called.

    Gareth grunted as he stood. "That''s me."

    "The Legatus will see you now."

    Gareth frowned. From what he understood, the Legatus was supposed to be the leader of this group. The fact that he''d been shunted up the chain of command so quickly baffled him. Hopefully, it meant that the man recognized the importance of smiths and wasn''t a portent of something more worrying.

    As he followed the soldier into the tent, Gareth found himself swallowing despite himself. Why was he feeling nervous? He had talked to many more powerful people in his time, intimidating ones too. Yet something about the cold efficiency of these Legionnaires still put him on guard.

    A large wooden desk dominated the tent''s interior. Behind it, a man with gray-streaked hair and a face like weathered rock pored over a collection of tablets and papers. The most opulent helmet yet sat on the desk at his elbow. At the sound of the tent flap, his hard eyes flicked up to see the newcomers.

    "You are the blacksmith, Gareth?"

    As he stood to greet Gareth, the blacksmith once again noted the man''s surprisingly small stature. These soldiers were short, shorter than the average person, yet almost uniformly so. He wondered at that.

    "That''s me."

    The two men clasped forearms. Despite his size, the man''s grip was surprisingly strong. Still, Gareth held back so as not to crush his forearm. Better to be safe than sorry.

    "Legatus Tiberius." The man¡ªTiberius¡ªsaid, sitting back down. "I hear that you have a complaint about my recruiters, Master Smith."

    "That''s right. And just call me Gareth." Seeing the stools in front of the desk, Gareth plopped down onto one himself, unprompted.

    The Legatus gave him a smile and evaluated him with his gaze for a second. The look felt strangely heavy. Not as though the man were using any skills, though. Simply intense, as though he were attempting to peer into the smith''s very soul.

    "Alright. Gareth, then." Tiberius leaned his elbows on his desk. "I see why my men brought you here. You strike me as a man who has been around to see times change."

    He snorted. "You look like you''ve been around the block a time or two yourself."

    The Legatus chuckled. The sound was a low rumble that started deep in his belly. "Mmm. I like you, Gareth. Call me Tiberius."

    To his surprise, the Legatus did not immediately launch into the matter at hand. Rather, he began asking questions about Gareth himself and his trade. At first, the blacksmith assumed they were simple pleasantries. But many of the questions showed actual insight and curiosity about his work. Information about his latest projects, inquiries about his shipments, gossip about the quality of certain metals coming from nearby mines¡­ Before long, Gareth felt as though he were simply talking to another smith. A less experienced one, to be sure, but one with some level of general knowledge.

    Eventually, the Legatus held up a hand. "Gareth, why are you here in Habersville? You clearly are far more qualified than a place like this would call for. What brought you to the fringe of civilization?"

    Gareth''s first instinct was to shoot that question right back in Tiberius''s face. However, he didn''t think that would go very well. As polite as the Legatus had been thus far, it seemed unwise to challenge him like that¡ªespecially without good reason.

    Instead, he really pondered the question. "I wanted to retire. I just want to work on the finer points of my craft¡ªof smithing in general. I want to leave a legacy that isn''t just in blood. I love the fire and the pound of the hammer against metal, the feel of my work transforming a useless hunk of ore into something truly amazing. It''s... there''s a beauty behind it.

    "But war¡ªwell, never been my thing." He shrugged. "Tried making that shit for a while, and it didn''t do it for me. Even if it paid the bills."

    Tiberius leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes locked on Gareth. "You mentioned that, about your oath. And why are you taking apprentices? Surely you don''t actually need them to do the work?"

    "''Course not," Gareth scoffed, "But someone''s gotta pump the bellows. I could do it myself, but... well, transforming the useless into the useful works with people just as well. Give me a decade with any man and I''ll turn ''em into something better, someone actually useful to society. It''s¡­" He paused, hesitating for a moment. "It''s my way of making a legacy. One beyond just the metal I shape."

    Tiberius nodded. "I thought I recognized that in you. I''m not blessed to have children of my own, but if my time in the Senate has taught me one thing, it''s this: that Rome itself is a legacy worth leaving. I don''t need to leave a personal legacy. So long as I do well by Rome, hers will continue on past me for generations to come."

    The Legatus''s eyes went unfocused, as though staring into a spot far in the distance. "We are the burning light of civilization. Under the eagle banner, we conquer, and the world is better for it. The idea of Rome is something worth fighting and living our lives for¡ªeven dying for."

    Gareth shrugged and grunted. "I see you believe that. But it''s not me. I''m more about what I can see. Lofty ideals are something a blacksmith doesn''t really trade in."

    Tiberius nodded. "I can understand that. However, it leads us back to the matter at hand." The man leaned back in his seat. "With all due respect, changing our recruitment process is out of the question. Even if I theoretically could do it, I won''t. Especially not now."

    Gareth crossed his arms. "I get that you need soldiers. Even if I don''t get this war you''re lookin'' to prepare for. But an army needs smiths, too. Even if you got bodies, you need equipment for them, each and every one. And soldiers are shit at keeping their own. Not a single one I''ve ever met wastes time learning to repair his kit, much less make the damn stuff."

    Tiberius stroked his chin as he leaned back, considering. "I can''t give you your apprentices back. They are bound to serve as auxiliaries for their full term. However, I can offer you new apprentices."

    The blacksmith''s eyes narrowed. "New ones?"

    "Indeed. Perhaps not direct ones. But I can guarantee that they will care about smithing. They will want to learn everything you have to teach them. And they will not abandon those efforts partway."

    Gareth considered that. Despite his old apprentices being good-for-nothing louts who had only barely come under his tutelage, he had grown rather attached to them. He wouldn''t simply pretend that replacing them made everything better. However, if there was a chance that he could teach men who actually wanted to learn¡­

    "Where do you plan to find these ''new apprentices?''" Gareth arched a suspicious eyebrow.

    "Among my men." Tiberius held up a hand to forestall the blacksmith''s objections. "Let me explain. Amongst my Legion, we take care of our own equipment. Additionally, while all serve as soldiers, we have no shortage of those with additional responsibilities and vocations. Many of the men are somewhat competent smiths. They might not be able to make a blade, but they can repair it. And many of them prefer doing that over soldiering.

    "I could have a hundred men volunteering by tomorrow to come and work in your forge. For their duty hours, of course, they would work on Legion-related projects for the most part. But if you desire teaching to be your legacy¡­"

    "I won''t be making blades again," Gareth interrupted.

    Tiberius nodded. "I understand. Would you object to your apprentices forging them?"

    Gareth tilted his head and thought about it, considering it deeply. After a long moment, he shrugged. "That''s their business. As long as I don''t need to."

    "Good." The Legatus relaxed back in his chair, apparently pleased. "Then I will be more than happy to provide the manpower. The materials as well, though I expect you will have some specifications on that front."

    The blacksmith shook his head in disbelief. "''Course. Gotta say, though, that''s one odd army you''re running¡ªwhat kind of man puts [Blacksmiths] alongside their [Soldiers]? Or do your [Soldiers] waste some of their skill slots on smithing skills?"

    "Anyone who I send to you will have at least some related skills," Tiberius guaranteed. "Learning which are most worthwhile and valuable will be part of their tutelage."

    An odd army indeed. Gareth shook his head at the strangeness of the request. Still, he would be getting something out of it. Even if he would be working closer to the military than he would have liked, the opportunity seemed too enticing to pass up. It would give him a great opportunity to pass on his craft. If it worked out, of course.

    Tiberius smiled. "I think you''ll find yourself surprised by my men''s dispositions toward learning. A Legion is more than a simple military. Much more. Back home, some of the senators joked that they''re more of an engineer team that occasionally engages in war."

    Gareth threw back his head and laughed.

 Chapter 22: Get Good

    "[Piercing Shot]!"

    An arrow streaked through the forest clearing, striking the shadow panther''s murky form in the hind leg. It growled threateningly at the willowy archer who''d shot it before quickly darting back out of range of the sword-wielding fighter that charged towards it. To one side, the group''s healing witch gathered some kind of strange glow between her hands in preparation for her own attack.

    Quintus wasn''t exactly resentful of having to play babysitter for three young "adventurers." No, he would never feel resentful about that sort of thing. It was part of the Legion''s job to keep those under its protection safe, and so he would do so without complaint. It was just galling that the bard had somehow managed to finagle a situation like this under everyone''s noses.

    How he had known about the interrogation, Quintus had no idea. He had been kept in the dark about most matters related to the adventurers for good reason. Of course, that exclusion hadn''t been an explicit matter, so perhaps Tiberius had decided to change tactics after they''d gotten enough information out of the trio. Still, no one had told Quintus. If they had, he would have at least pushed back. He didn''t want the bard anywhere near these adventurers until they had gotten a chance to independently confirm the information they provided.

    Despite all that, however, Quintus had to admit it wasn''t the worst arrangement. Some begrudging part of him recognized the reason in the bard''s logic. Learning how people born and raised in a world with this "System" fought would be incredibly useful. Having some inkling of their capabilities before facing them in combat may well prove invaluable.

    At least he didn''t have to deal with the Bard directly. That was the job of an officer¡ªlike the one he was currently babysitting alongside the three adventurers.

    Quintus glanced over at Gaius as the walked. The young officer ducked beneath some low tree branches, neglecting to consider the height of his plume as he did. The result was a rather comical look of panic as he had to reflexively clutch at his helmet to keep it on his head.

    The boy¡ªthe man, he corrected himself, as it was a bad idea to call a superior a boy¡ªthe young man certainly showed promise. Despite the slightly uncomfortable motions Gaius was making in his armor, he was still leagues better than it had been when they''d first left Rome all those months ago. That, at least, was heartening. No man would survive long in the Legion without being able to adapt. And every once in a while, he would catch glimmers of the competence that Tiberius seemed to recognize in him. However, it would require seasoning. Lots and lots of seasoning.

    Regardless of the officer''s inexperience, however, one fact remained. He would have bet on him over any one of these adventurers in a heartbeat.

    The shadow panther slashed forward with a paw. Its chest heaved with labored breaths as the numerous cuts and lacerations across its hide began to take their toll. Yet it wasn''t the only one. The trio fighting it were also beginning to show signs of slowing down, though the healer had more or less closed up the worst of their wounds thus far.

    All around them, Quintus''s contubernium continued to keep watch and ward off additional monsters from joining the fray. They''d been at this for a while now, allowing a few monsters at a time to get close enough for the adventurers to train¡ªand hunt. Still, the process of watching them take on the threats made Quintus practically tap his foot in impatience.

    After another moment, he paused and leaned over to Gaius, speaking softly so that no one would overhear.

    "Are you seeing what I''m seeing?"

    The young officer nodded. "I think so. They¡­" he paused, as if considering how to phrase things diplomatically. "They haven''t had any formal training, have they?"

    Quintus snorted. "That''s one way to put it, I was going to say they''re incompetent."

    Gaius grimaced. "Yes. That too."

    The Primus Pilus suppressed a snort of laughter at his companion''s pained expression. Watching the adventurers was an exceedingly strange experience. Their motions weren''t the rigid, practiced motions of a soldier fighting, which made sense. However, they also lacked the grace and style of a gladiator''s one-on-one combat style. If anything, they rather looked like children who were playing at combat, capable of little more than imitating the motions they''d seen even in the midst of battle. They hardly even worked as a team, despite having three of them with vastly different specialties. It was every man for himself¡ªor woman, in the case of the healer that they bizarrely allowed to fight alongside them.

    They also had the annoying habit of shouting out the names of their skills before using them. This, in addition to being one of the dumbest battle tactics Quintus had ever seen, also had the secondary side effect of revealing just how little said skills did to improve their performance. A [Heavy Blow] from Jack didn''t suddenly fix all of his balance, footing, and leverage issues. It improved many of them, certainly, and as such the skill yielded a better end result. But only for a single swing. After a handful of steps, he''d snap right back to the clumsy, ill-balanced trotting that would make him as easy to knock over as a teetering pile of river stones.

    "Is this really the power of skills?" Gaius muttered. "That such untrained, undisciplined people can be turned into moderately competent combatants?"

    "It''s a weakness." Quintus countered. "It takes all of the fundamentals that they should be focusing on¡ªtheir balance, their stance, how to grip a weapon¡ªand ensures that they don''t need to learn them. They simply rely on a relevant skill like a crutch." He raised a finger to point at Jack. "Look at the brawny one holding his sword like it''s a simple club. One solid hit would fling it from his grasp. Only when he starts an attack does his grip shift and lighten to the point where the blade is actually flexible and quick enough to use."

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Gaius nodded in agreement. "Fair point. And given what we''ve been told about the costs associated with using skills¡­"

    The Primus Pilus glanced over. "You''ve mentioned this. Have you made any headway into investigating it?"

    Gaius shrugged a shoulder. "We''ve had quite a bit of trouble identifying the exact effects. Most people report feeling exhausted after heavy skill use, but it doesn''t seem to be consistent with our men. Only when a group of isolated soldiers all use skills together can we eventually observe such a thing."

    "Hmm," Quintus muttered as they kept watching. "Regardless, seeing them fight is useful. I am not so naive to assume that all soldiers in this world are so similar. But if this is a prevailing mentality¡­"

    Gaius tapped his lips. "I''d be careful to make any assumptions. Underestimating them could prove lethal. It only takes half a second of competence for a man to die."

    "True," Quintus grunted. "But in drawn-out combat, it would be easy to find an opening against such an opponent."

    "Not if they''re strong enough to simply smash through your guard. That is what worries me most." Gaius paused. "You recall how each person has different stat values, yes? Some of the testing we''ve done shows quite significant differences depending on those numbers. A man with thirteen strength has a significant advantage over one with eight. And if what we''ve been told is true, there will be people who have stats three or four times higher than that, even in the first twenty levels. They might be able to break your sword with a single swing."

    Quintus grunted. That was a scary thought. Perhaps he was being a little too overconfident. Despite how much they''d learned, the ways of this world were still largely unfamiliar to them. Assuming that he understood more than he really did would be a surefire path to unpleasant surprises.

    He watched as the archer lined up and released his shot, the arrow sailing through the trees with more accuracy than seemed warranted. Afterward, the lanky man slumped, nearly tripping over a root as he tried to reposition for another shot at the panther that their warrior was fighting. His path took him away from a far superior patch of cover in favor of a clearer line of sight.

    It took a few more minutes of gruelling battle for the group to finally finish off the panther. It gave a pained yowl as the fighter opened one last wound in the limping beast''s side, then fell to the ground lifelessly.

    "How much more do you think we can realistically learn from them?" Quintus asked as they cheered half-heartedly and congratulated each other. The rest of the contubernium looked on, still keeping watch over their surroundings.

    "I could use some more observation," Gaius said, "But not more than another one or two trips out with them. After that¡­ we will see."

    ***

    Eleanora was not happy. She had been happy at the whole "not dying" thing, of course. Being able to see the sky again felt like a miracle, even if she''d been covered in spiderwebs and wounds at the time. She had been certain that every god of death she had ever heard of was either breathing down their necks or actively in the process of claiming their souls as they lay helpless in those cocoons. And yet, despite being cradled in the very bosom of death, they''d survived. Some random group of strangers in this backwater had managed to not only find them, but save them.

    But everything after that point had just gone progressively more downhill.

    She somehow expected the near-death experience to change things, to alter her party''s outlooks or behaviors in some deep way. It certainly felt as though she''d changed. And yet, her party leader remained just as bullheaded as before. He couldn''t simply accept the good fortune and be done with it. He''d tried to fight their rescuers.

    It was understandable at first. He''d just woken up and was surely confused, after all. But then he continued to antagonize them even after their rescue. He kept trying to talk Rudolph and Eleanora into planning an escape or fighting back against their captors. The same ones who had managed to kill an area boss.

    Needless to say, she wasn''t exactly on board with the idea. As much as she wanted to go home right now, see her family, and try this adventuring thing again in a few years¡ªafter taking some time to unwind and let the stress of recent experiences dissipate¡ªthere was no chance that would happen unless they were released. She wasn''t about to fight literally thousands of people on the same level as the ten who had saved them. That was just one of the dumbest decisions you could possibly think to make in this situation.

    Yet despite pointing out the rather glaring flaws in his plan, Jack was still going on about it. Of course.

    She let out a huge sigh and sent another [Heal] toward the party leader as he partially blocked a paw swipe. No, things were just not going their way at all. At least they had someone to watch their back, though. Fighting a single shadow panther was bad enough, but after what she''d seen in this forest, she was always certain that something else was just waiting to pounce on them at a moment''s notice. Even now, beady black eyes and indistinct shapes seemed to hover at the edges of her vision, only to disappear whenever she turned to look. They just weren''t prepared for this.

    She watched her party fight, looking to see where she might be needed next. Technically, they were a little underleveled, but that wasn''t the biggest problem. It was their teamwork. Jack didn''t deal enough damage himself to take down an enemy without help, and Rudolph had trouble positioning around him to take confident shots with his bow. He wasn''t good enough at keeping watch, either¡ªespecially during fights. She really couldn''t do more than patch them up, which had so far been enough to keep them from dying. Except for that one time. But really, what could she have done about an ambush? Not that she thought she was perfect, but clearly, she wasn''t the one holding them back.

    For now, she''d do her best to keep her party alive. Even if she really just wanted to go home. But if the opportunity presented itself¡­ well, she wasn''t going to try to fight the Legion directly, but if they happened to look the other way, it only made sense to escape at some point. But doing it right now, while they were still being actively watched? No way.

    Maybe when she left, she wouldn''t travel with Jack or Rudolph. To be honest, both of her childhood friends had turned out to be far different from who she''d thought they were all those years growing up. Sometimes reality was just disappointing.

    As another shadow panther fell to Jack''s sword, the trio took a moment to rest under the watchful gaze of the soldiers around them. They didn''t speak much¡ªJack out of paranoia, Rudolph from shyness, and herself from simple bitterness. After a few moments they continued on their shadow pather extermination campaign. Finding another beast only took a couple minutes. Yet as they started to engage with the solitary beast, their situation couldn''t resist sliding downhill just a little further.

    A low rumble echoed through the trees, its bassy tone setting her hair on end.

 Chapter 23: Change of Plans

    Quintus watched as the bumbling adventurers engaged yet another one of the panthers in the exact same way as they had tackled the last several. It was honestly a bit disappointing. They never tried anything new. Instead, they stuck with a method of fighting the beast that worked, but left everyone injured to some extent. It wasn''t even the most efficient method, given their capabilities.

    However, his judgmental musings were interrupted. A loud rumble shook the trees behind their group, making him and every other soldier under his command spin around and draw their swords.

    Quintus slung the shield off of his shoulder and gripped the straps tightly, holding it to his arm in a practiced motion. Without even having to call out a command, half the soldiers grouped up while the other half watched their flanks. Quintus took a half step back, interlocking his shield and forming a wall of three with the men on either side of him.

    Just as he completed the maneuver, a head-sized rock came hurtling toward their chests.

    Ducking behind the shield, he braced, pushing his right foot back slightly and set his shield against his shoulder. The wall angled slightly upward, deflecting the projectile and sending it sailing up and into the trees. The men exhaled with heft grunts as it made contact, and Quintus felt his arm tingle with the impact, but otherwise they were unharmed. Glancing up, he searched for the source of the attack.

    "On the right!" One of the lookouts yelled.

    Quintus glanced a few degrees right of where the projectile had come from. There, a long shadowy shape moved between the trees. It wasn''t tall. In fact, it seemed to keep rather low to the ground. It moved in an odd, sinuous way, as though slithering, though he thought he could make out legs moving along its form.

    The Primus Pilus blinked, and the second his eyes closed, he heard another whistle of something hurtling through the air. He reflexively ducked down again, barely catching a flash of movement as another rock slammed into their shield wall. This time, the impact sent him half a step backward. He managed to keep his shield in place, but the man on his right wasn''t so lucky. Without someone on his other side to brace against, he stumbled slightly, and another rock headed their direction without a second of hesitation.

    Quintus had a half-second to make a decision. He moved on instinct, putting aside the formation training so deeply ingrained in him for a moment to step in front of the stumbling man. His shield slapped the rock aside. His left hand rang and went numb, violently unclenching as it took the full force of the attack alone. The only thing that kept him from losing his shield altogether were the straps further up his forearm. But he''d succeeded¡ªthe stone''s path diverted into the ground nearby, sending up a geyser of soil as it thudded into the earth.

    His move gave the stumbling Legionnaire a second of breathing room¡ªjust long enough to get back into the wall. Quintus rejoined him shortly after, sliding in at the end of the formation, and together the men took another step forward toward the beast.

    As the formation moved closer, Quintus noted another pair of men slotting their shields into the ends of the wall. He allowed himself a smile at the initiative. The rest still kept watch, but it seemed everyone realized this was an enemy that required their full attention.

    Getting a better look at the beast, he noticed that it was even longer than he''d initially suspected. Deceptively so. In fact, from the front, he couldn''t tell exactly how far back its body extended¡ªbut the visible portion was at least twice as long as a horse. Its face was that of a goat, but with a lion''s mane and a forked tongue that flicked between sharp incisors that were evenly spaced in a wicked grin.

    It was so disturbing to look at that Quintus felt his gaze slipping away from the thing''s face to inspect the rest of its form. A hefty pair of thick shoulders ended in two stumpy paws with wicked claws that slid in and out of the tips of its toes. Yet aside from those, he saw no other limbs along the thing''s body to support it¡ªjust a long rib cage that undulated as it walked in its strange, smooth gait. As it crossed into a patch of dappled sunlight, golden fur seemed to shimmer before returning to a matte black appearance in the darkness.

    The thing opened its mouth and let out a low hiss, the sound slowly morphing into a roar that vibrated the air.

    "What the fuck is that?!" he heard Eleanora scream from behind him.

    Quintus readied himself. It seemed that the adventurers had finally become acutely aware of the threat before them. Evidently, they''d been so busy trying to engage with their initial opponent that they had lost awareness of their surroundings. At this point, only a single Legionnaire remained to keep watch on the other side of the forest. The remaining seven¡ªfive in their wall and two flanking¡ªadvanced steadily, stepping in time with their shields raised and angled slightly.

    Yet despite getting a better look at the beast, a question still remained¡ªhow had it flung the stones? Quintus couldn''t see any appendage or physical capability for flinging them, unless it somehow grabbed them with its paws. But there was no time to ponder the question as the thing suddenly crouched, its body bunching together like a spring. Its front claws glistened in the streams of sunlight breaking through the dense canopy as it launched itself into the air and toward their line.

    It telegraphed its leap clearly, but that didn''t make it less dangerous. However, Quintus felt something was wrong. It wasn''t going to impact their wall. Rather, it was going right over their heads.

    He wanted to call out a command¡ªa practiced maneuver where the shield wall disengaged, spun around, and reengaged. It was a rather specialized tactic that worked best for a single line like this, but could save an entire regiment from a surprise attack to the rear.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Instinct stayed the command in his throat just in time. A pair of back legs just as muscular as its front ones, in addition to a long tail, emerged from the dense forest and rocketed toward their position. The beast''s rear claws slammed into their formation, one into his shield and one into the shield on his right. The locked strength of the men braced for impact and held. The thing tumbled forward at the unexpected resistance, seeming to almost trip over their line rather than slicing through their backs as planned. Then, as the thing''s claws flailed overhead, Quintus called to reverse.

    With a practiced motion, he slipped his shield free and spun around. The shield arched over his head, claws skittering against it as he turned. In an instant it slotted back into place facing the monster where it had landed on the forest floor.

    The beast writhed like an overly large ferret, flipping to its feet with unnatural fluidity. The Legion''s shield wall advanced toward it, swords bristling from the wall like the spines of a porcupine. He heard the two flankers, now out of position, rush to catch up behind him. Yet as the monster regained its footing, it didn''t immediately turn to face them. Instead, it spun, a long tail with the size of Quintus''s forearm whipping out at the shield wall even as its claws slashed at the unprotected back of one of the adventurers.

    The healer had called out a warning, but the panther was right in front of them, and they couldn''t turn their attention from it. The gangly archer screeched as his back was flayed open and he fell forward. Yet he hadn''t even hit the ground before a golden glow emanated from the healer and streamed toward the wounded man.

    Quintus nodded to himself. The one advantage the adventurers had over his own men was being able to quickly and reflexively use their skills. Legion members still often forgot to actually engage the supernatural abilities they had gained¡ªhimself included. That was a shortcoming they''d need to address.

    The Legionnaires wasted no time in their assault. They charged toward the sinuous creature''s hindquarters and stabbed into its haunches, cutting at its tendons. Its hissing intensified as that long tail lashed out again, only to clang harmlessly against the wall. Quintus saw its body tense and turn for another leap toward the adventurers.

    Their single remaining Legion member on the other side of the party faced their direction, ready to defend himself and his charges. But without support, Quintus did not believe that his lone shield would be enough.

    "Ricardus! Halt! Hold!"

    At his order, the man remained in place. Charging in without backup would simply get the man killed, not to mention leave the adventurers without any support. Luckily, the monster couldn''t take advantage of the situation. As the beast attempted to turn, one of its back legs gave out underneath it, causing it to stumble partway. It failed to jump, giving the Legionnaires an opening.

    Quintus signaled the advance, the Legion taking several quick steps forward until their wall was nearly pressed up against the creature''s long ribs. As one, all five swords sunk into its side, several glancing off ribs. But some slipped between the bones to find the soft flesh beneath.

    Quintus pumped his arm as his gladius slid in between their shields, stabbing in and out of the monster as it screeched and rolled away from the shield wall. It stood on its one good hind leg, the other hanging useless as it half sprang, half limped off to the side with some fancy footwork. The shield wall rotated to face the creature as it moved to flank them.

    A maneuver like this wouldn''t have been possible with the larger shield wall, but a shield wall of five was much more maneuverable than people gave it credit for. Still, they couldn''t turn quite quickly enough, and its stinger whipped out at the last man on the wall. Quintus flinched as the man obeyed his training and remained in formation, prioritizing the wall when he could have disengaged and blocked the stinger.

    This was perhaps a weakness in their tactics. Those sorts of instructions were essential when it came to facing things like charges or in large-scale combat. One must be willing to take a possibly lethal blow to maintain the shield wall and keep advancing. To trust that, even if injured, someone would pull you back and take your spot in line.

    However, facing off with a single foe that could do things like this might require some changes in tactics. That much was quickly becoming clear. Luckily, those changes wouldn''t require a complete overhaul of their fighting style. Not with the magic of skills.

    The barbed tail ripped into the last man on the wall and plunged into his side. It tore through his armor, eliciting a scream of pain as the man collapsed. Quintus winced as he felt a stinging sensation in his own side, in the exact same spot. The man at the end must have had a particularly high level in the [Shield Wall] skill to share this much of his pain¡ªa suspicion backed up by the fact that he was still breathing and not bleeding quite as profusely as he''d feared.

    Quintus spun as the man next to him fell, and his sword slashed out. His shield left the wall, but the edge of the blade was guided by his own training, his experience, and his [Swordsmanship] skill. It met the end of the tail right underneath the stinger and cut through it in a single blow.

    A mix of golden ichor and red blood sprayed from the tip of the tail as the beast continued its spin, its claws rearing into the air. Quintus could barely angle his shield in time to catch the blow. Something whizzed behind him an instant before an arrow pierced the front shoulder of the monster, causing it to squeal in a strange imitation of the goat its head seemed to resemble.

    It lowered its head, revealing a pair of stubby four-inch horns at the top of its head. This time, when it rammed Quintus''s shield, he had no support on either side, and he was flung back several yards before landing on his back. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs and left him gasping.

    As he struggled to regain his feet, the beast leaped towards him, its injured leg slowing but not entirely stopping it. The shield wall broke as the flankers charged into its side, intercepting the beast mid-leap. The impact of his men sent it several feet off to the side as Quintus rolled away, narrowly saving him from having his chest crushed.

    Quintus scanned the area, evaluating the situation. One of the Legionnaires had lost hold of his gladius. Its blade remained buried deep in the side of the beast, which somehow was still not dead, though tremendously injured and drenched in blood. It limped, but still moved with predatory grace as it began to circle the group of unexpectedly tough prey. It flinched as another arrow sunk into its side.

    Quintus heaved a breath into his pained lungs as he pushed himself to his feet. Looking over, he saw that Ricardus had made a strategic choice. Rather than joining the fight against the serpentine creature immediately, he''d helped the warrior from the adventuring party quickly put down their shadow panther, allowing both the healer and the now recovered archer to assist in the more desperate struggle. Even better, the fallen Legionnaire was now covered in a golden glow that indicated healing. Quintus didn''t know when he''d be back in the fight, but it was one less thing to worry about.

    He rushed to rejoin his men, shouting orders and getting ready for the next stage of the fight.

 Chapter 24: Something Sneaky This Way Snakes

    "Rudolf!" The [Fighter] called over to one of his party members. "What level is that thing?"

    The [Ranger] blinked, then stared intently at the creature. "Er¡­ twelve. Higher than most stuff around here."

    "That''s gotta be some kinda roaming boss," the party''s leader scowled. "That doesn''t look like it belongs in this forest."

    "Be careful¡ªit''s a chimera type," the [Healer] woman called over.

    The adventurers grimaced as if that meant something. Quintus and Ricardus rejoined the rest of the Legion as they formed two walls, one with four men and the other with three. The lines moved to flank the beast from slightly different angles. The adventurers, however, had other plans. Rather than attempt to work with the Legion, their warrior charged toward the face of the beast, screaming with his sword held high.

    The archer continued loosing arrows at the beast, repositioning around the clearing as quickly as he was able. Most of them sank into tree trunks as the creature''s slight movements sent them skittering off its thick pelt. Several, though, struck true and lodged themselves in their foe, slowing it down. Their healer was still occupied by reviving the member of the Legion that had been stabbed in the side with its stinger. From his brief glance over, Quintus suspected that the venom dripping from its stinger must have been difficult to heal.

    All this, Qunitus took in as he slotted himself next to his fellow Legionnaires. They could have used the extra man, but it couldn''t be helped. Right now, he was more worried about driving the beast off than killing it. Especially given its own state.

    The serpentine creature had taken countless deep stabs into its sides, on top of the arrows peppering its face and body. Quintus had even personally hacked off part of its tail. Yet it still showed no sign of retreating. In fact, it was healing. Its hind leg, which had been injured on their first assault, was now moving much more nimbly than he remembered. It didn''t look as though it could pounce like it had done at the start, but it was no longer stumbling over it every time it tried to move. And that did not bode well.

    Whether that really did indicate some sort of supernatural healing or simply its ability to adapt to wounds, he didn''t know. But Quintus did know the thing was clever. Its tactics had proven as much, trying to bait them into lowering their guard for an attack from behind. Only pure chance had allowed them to avoid it. He wasn''t confident that they''d be able to see through its tricks in the future, especially if the engagement dragged on.

    As they approached, Quintus sized the beast up, trying to predict its next move as it slowly backed up. The screaming [Fighter] reached it a moment later, his blade flashing downward as he tried to stab it in the face. The beast slipped underneath the blow and lunged forward, its strangely symmetrical teeth scraping along his armor even as its horn deflected the incoming sword. The warrior desperately brought the edge of his shield around, bashing toward one of the thing''s horizontally slitted goat eyes. However, it didn''t so much as blink. It simply lowered its head, impacting the [Fighter]''s chest and sending him falling back onto his ass.

    The thing leaped onto its prey, its claws slamming into the fallen man''s shoulders. That was when Quintus called the charge. This time, seven swords slid into the beast''s sides in unison. Their blades kept it from jumping up, forward, or back as it hissed its odd roar. Quintus kept everyone in formation as they repeatedly stabbed over and over again. The thing began to thrash, attempting to writhe and roll away but hemmed in by the pair of shield walls.

    In the back of his mind, Quintus made note of another tactic they needed to try¡ªstabbing in a wavelike or alternating series of blows instead of in and out all at once. An approach like that would be incredibly useful in this case. As it was, he simply tried to make sure that  his individual stabs were always offbeat instead of synchronized in the intimidating, singular motion that shield walls were best known for. Pinning this thing in place was almost more important than dealing damage.

    Eventually, though, the beast grew wise to their cadence. When the others drew back for another strike and left only Quintus''s blade inside, it suddenly jumped forward. His arm wrenched up at the sudden movement as the beast threatened to carry it away. He grimaced, activating several of his skills and slicing down and through the bottom of the beast''s belly.

    Blood sprayed the men as the monster screamed. Its nearly flayed rib cage started to peel open in midair as it completed its leap, disengaging from the wall of spikes that had caused it so much pain. The thing roared and spun, pulling the rest of its body clear of the Legionnaires. Yet the sheer amount of wounds finally seemed to take their toll as it stumbled once more.

    Quintus saw the beast turn toward the forest in an attempt to flee. But before it could take two steps, an arrow streaked through the air in a flash of brilliant light. The projectile slammed into its back leg before exploding with a soft whump, like that of a fresh log falling on a raging bonfire. The beast screamed again. This time, Quintus sensed pain and fear in its strange hissing roar as it stumbled. Its still-healing rear leg tried in vain to support its weight as its front two claws dragged itself forward.

    The Legion didn''t need the order to charge. The men rushed forward and resumed their stabbing for several long, gruesome minutes. But finally, the beast gave one last shuddering breath and ceased its movements.

    Quintus turned and looked over his shoulder. The scrawny archer was on his knees, panting as he propped himself up with his free hand. His bow had dropped to the ground, sweat and puke spilling from his mouth as he heaved.

    Ricardus stepped forward and clapped the [Ranger] on the back. "Good work, lad."

    The archer tumbled forward from the impact, sprawling into the dirt.

    ***

    "Isn''t there supposed to be a bridge here?"

    Sharath crossed her arms, frowning at the scene before her. A wide river divided the open plains at their backs from the expanse of tree stumps and forestry that characterized the opposite bank. The rushing water churned with tips of white foam as it swirled about the unseen rocks below.

    Merethe cocked her head, eyes glazing over for a moment as she referenced her mental map. "...Yes. This is the right place. Look."

    She pointed to the riverbank. A few remnants of partially-submerged wooden pylons on either side were all that remained of what must''ve once been the bridge.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Sharath shook her head. This was an annoying development. Not that it was a real problem. Even at level nine she''d had enough agility to deal with an obstacle like this, not to mention six levels later. Still, it was a sign that something was indeed wrong.

    "Think someone took it down on purpose?"

    Merethe shook her head, short blonde curls swinging slightly as she did. "I doubt it. The water level appears quite a bit higher than the bank would indicate. I suspect that this was the result of natural phenomenon. Then again¡­" Her gaze traveled upward to the curls of smoke lazily drifting up from deeper within the forest. "...Perhaps not."

    As they mulled over the broken pillars, Sharath looked over toward her sister. Her mottled green cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, making the edges of her form indistinct and difficult to pin down even now. The longbow slung over one shoulder gave a clear indication as to her profession. Despite that, her sister''s fine features and tall stature gave Merethe an elegant poise that turned heads¡ªat least, whenever she wasn''t trying to remain unseen.

    Sharath herself shared many of the same distinguishing features. In fact, from up close, they were as close to identical as two sisters could be without being literal twins, all the way down to the moles on their left cheeks. It was one of the reasons they''d both found it so important to differentiate their styles. Still, most of Sharath''s preferred black, tight-fitting garb had been tucked away for the moment, stored in favor of more convenient travel tunics and the like. For now, at least.

    Her chosen attire lent itself far better to a more urban setting. Back in the cities, Sharath was the one who blended into the shadows and alleys without effort. But here, in the wilderness? She actually had to work to keep up with her sister. But soon, she would have to don her battle gear and tie up her long blond hair in a braid close to her scalp. Habersville wasn''t far, after all¡ªjust across the river.

    Of course, Sharath didn''t expect to face too much trouble. Not anything that they couldn''t handle, at least. This mission was exactly up their alley, something that was exceedingly rare for a pair of scout- or rogue-types traveling alone. It had been a lucky find on their way through the local barony, and the emergency pay was an even better cherry on top. It meant that they wouldn''t have to scrounge for lower-level quests or team up with larger parties for a while yet.

    That last option wasn''t something either of them were eager to jump back into yet. Currently, they were between parties¡ªfar between parties. Their last one had been a disaster entirely. It wasn''t Sharath''s fault, nor Merethe''s. They got along with people amazingly. They just hadn''t found anyone with whom they wanted to get along in the last couple of years. Duoing like this would slow down their leveling a little bit, sure, but at this point they were still strong enough to make do. A level 15 adventurer could find work in most places in the outlying provinces, if not in the capital or some of the higher-level zones. As long as they stayed in human-occupied areas and didn''t push too far, they would slowly grow. It just took patience.

    "Hey," Merethe said, her [Eagle''s Vision] flashing as she peered past the distant bank. "I see something. It looks like¡­ a group of guards, perhaps?"

    She pointed to a path that wound into the treeline. Sharath shaded her eyes and squinted. Unfortunately, she didn''t have nearly the same vision as her sister. "You''re gonna have to help me out, here."

    "There are ten men, all of them rather short. Their attire and weapons are relatively consistent, swords and some kind of tower shields. They appear to be moving carts filled with¡­ stone, perhaps?"

    "Are they rebuilding the bridge? Why would they use stone when they''re living right next to a forest?"

    "Well," Merethe said, gesturing to the broken pylons. "Wood didn''t seem to work out for them last time."

    "Huh." Sharath snorted. "Well, that doesn''t seem like particularly rebellious activity. We should still take a closer look, though."

    "Agreed. Either way, we should move before we''re seen."

    As they''d talked, Sharath crouched low and activated a few of her stealth abilities to hide among the tall grass. At this distance, it seemed like overkill to go fully prone, but reducing her profile couldn''t hurt.

    "You know," Merethe pointed out, still standing out in the open, "How about we just go talk to them?"

    Sharath looked up. "Really? Do you really think that''s a good idea? They wouldn''t pay for adventurers like us to come and check it out if everything was peaceful. He''d just send a herald or something. Clearly, the baron thinks this should be treated as some kind of insurgency."

    "I don''t know how a herald would cross this," Merethe said as she gestured to the washed-out bridge.

    Sharath shrugged. "I guess¡­ Can we at least scout it out first though? Before we just walk up to an enemy fortification and say ''hi''?"

    "Fine," Merethe sighed, conceding the point. She joined Sharath, wrapping her cloak around herself and crouching low. Only the [Rogue]''s higher-than-average senses let her make out her sister as the green cloak faded into the gentle brown of the tall grass around them. "Let''s go a bit upstream. We can cross there."

    The sisters moved slowly and cautiously, keeping an eye out for any other patrols or signs of life. However, slowly for them was equivalent to a light jog for most normal men. Before long, the group was out of sight behind a copse of still-standing trees.

    In the meantime, they reviewed the quest instructions. They were to scout out the rebellious holdouts of the area and pacify them if possible. If that wasn''t possible, then they were to report back. It was rather light on instructions. The main caveat was that they needed to get it done as soon as possible, which suited them just fine.

    Sharath took a couple of steps backward, then sprinted toward the river. As her foot met its edge, she launched herself into the air, somersaulting gracefully over the rushing water below. Her boots touched down on the other side with only the softest of sounds.

    She grinned back at her sister, who rolled her eyes at the display. Merethe soon joined her on the other side of the riverbank, albeit with a far more reserved display of her dexterity. Once they were in the forest, they began weaving their way back downstream, flitting between shadows and tree trunks as they moved.

    "Huh," Merethe noted.

    Sharath paused, raising an eyebrow. The ranger''s voice came out as a low whisper. "There''s shadow panthers here. Creatures like that usually stay deeper inside the forest, not near the edges like this. Let''s avoid them."

    Routing themselves around the monsters didn''t take much effort¡ªnot that fighting them would have been a problem, either, but it was best to avoid disturbing things where they could. Still, it was unexpected, and unexpected things were never appreciated on missions like this.

    Once they''d made their way back to the road, they edged closer to get a better look. At this distance, Sharath was able to pick out a steady stream of traffic as materials and men trudged to the river and back.

    "Those don''t look like town guards," Merethe whispered. "They look more¡­ militant. Like an army. What''s their level?"

    Sharath focused for a moment and activated [Appraisal]. She had taken the not-uncommon skill, whereas Merethe had not. Wasting an entire slot to simply gain some basic information was not exactly a popular move. However, someone in the party had to have it. And as a rogue, it was a little bit more important for Sharath to know who she was up against than her sister. Especially given how frequently people would try to hide their true nature or class.

    "...Well?" Merethe prodded her after a moment. "Anything?"

    Sharath didn''t respond. Her mouth simply hung agape. They were level one. These men, most of whom had to be in their twenties or thirties, were all level one. There was even an older man with grey in his beard, clearly a grizzled veteran. How? How had they failed to level, even accidentally?"

    "Sharath?"

    She snapped her jaw shut, glancing over at the concerned face of her sister. Swallowing, Sharath narrowed her eyes at the soldiers. "Something is fishy here."

 Chapter 25: A Pleasant Stroll

    Tiberius strolled through the bustling camp, his hands clasped behind his back. At his side, Lucius kept pace with him, a slate held ready to jot down any notes or orders the Legatus might send his way.

    His afternoon inspection of the camp was an important part of the day. If asked, Tiberius would explain that it was an opportunity to keep himself abreast of the Legion''s day-to-day operations and observe any problems that may otherwise go unnoticed. It also was a good show of leadership. Being seen among the men ensured that he did not become some faceless authority figure, one too far removed from their lives to deserve respect or consideration, aside from what his rank afforded.

    All of that was true, of course. But also, it was a perfect excuse to stretch his legs and get some fresh air between meetings and reports and all of the other administrative work that he so often found himself saddled with. Because of that, he safeguarded his "camp inspection" time rather strictly.

    As the pair made their way through the rows of tents, noting with approval their precise placements, Tiberius considered his recent conversation with the master blacksmith. He''d found other townspeople to train his men on leatherworking and tanning techniques of this world, though none as experienced in their crafts as the gruff smith seemed. It made him even more grateful that someone of Gareth''s talent somehow decided to retire to such a quaint, tiny town. He felt as if he had found a kindred spirit of sorts. Not exactly a peer or equal or anything along those lines. But someone who he could talk to. Someone who had enough life experience to relate to Tiberius himself.

    As much as he loved his Legionnaires, he obviously recognized that there remained a distance between he and them¡ªand not just one of rank. Most of his men weren''t anywhere close to his own age. In fact, Tiberius had about twenty years on all but a few of his oldest veterans, the ones that had dedicated their lives to a career of soldiering even more than himself.

    When properly compared, he supposed they might have approximately equivalent amounts of time on campaign. Yet he had other duties and responsibilities to contend with. Most of his leave ended up filled with senate meetings and even more dangerous work¡ªpolitics.

    Tiberius shook his head ruefully. The only ones with some insight into that part of a Legion were the staff officers, many of whom were young and fresh. Few understood the struggles of getting out of bed when the rain made one''s joints ache¡ªespecially before a long march. The fact that officers usually rode on mounts made the disparity even more clear. Though that may not be the case for long. Until they''d managed to replace the horses they''d lost in coming to this place, everyone would need to march.

    Fortunately, there had been no immediate need to make a quick march across any far distance yet. Though that may change soon.

    "Lucius," Tiberius said over his shoulder, "I need to inquire more deeply about the armor styles and capabilities of soldiers in Novara. Have someone ask Gareth or the bard about it."

    "Yes, sir," the aide confirmed, his stylus quickly jotting down the note as they continued onward.

    Tiberius''s gaze roved over the massive pavilion in the process of being erected to his left. Chunks of cut granite were being carted in as makeshift anvils, some of them already in use to hastily convert portable equipment into more permanent forge implements. Nearly a hundred forging stations would soon populate the space, ready for use by his Legion''s aspiring crafters as they honed their skills and learned from a more experienced master.

    The men called out to each other as he walked past, pausing in their work to salute. The Legatus saluted back, motioning for them to continue on. The progress filled him with pride. When the call for students had gone out, he''d expected at least a few eager volunteers, seeing that each contubernium had men that could at least sharpen a blade or do some simple smithing work with basic of camp forges. Perhaps fifty, with their numbers rounded out by some willing conscripts. What he''d gotten instead was a veritable deluge of applicants.

    In hindsight it made sense. Approximately eight hundred Legionnaires had taken the [Blacksmithing] skill according to the last census, after all. Still, the fervor with which those men competed for these spots surprised even him. It meant that his officers truly had the pick of the litter with regards to their trainees. And so, the selection process had winnowed down the applicants, and only those that the centurions felt were a good fit and could be spared from their other duties were accepted. They''d also instituted a rule capping participation at no more than two men from each century.

    Perhaps the enthusiasm had to do with the System and its incentives. Even Tiberius had to admit that leveling skills was strangely attractive. It wasn''t something that he would center his entire life around, of course, but he did find himself putting more effort into the activities his skills related to. There was an element of efficiency to it, as skills allowed one to learn something much faster and with greater ease than usual. But part of it was also simply addictive. There was something satisfying about seeing those numbers increase day by day.

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    He set the thought aside for the moment, inspecting the crafting pavilion one final time. There was an undercurrent of excitement among the would-be smiths, just as promised. The clang of hammers already echoed through the camp as men prepared themselves, the sound amplified now that they had gathered in one place rather than being spread out among the tents. Of course, those flames were sure to dim before long as everyone settled into their roles. But for now, Tiberius felt confident that Gareth would find that he''d well and truly fulfilled his promise.

    Tiberius left the pavilion behind, letting the men focus on their preparations before the blacksmith arrived to inspect them. Seeing the scale of this venture served as a pointed reminder of one of his other priorities¡ªsecuring a source of ore. Any kind of crafting or repairs would necessitate more raw materials, and most of the metal available to the Legion currently was used as valuable tools or weapons that couldn''t be scrapped. For the moment, they could make do with the materials found in town. But Gareth had made it quite clear that those stocks were already running low. They would need to secure additional sources for both this purpose and for the inevitable repairs and replacements that any well-equipped army required.

    Fortunately, Gareth had also provided insights as to that particular problem. In addition to explaining much about blacksmithing in this world¡ªwhich thankfully seemed similar to those Tiberius was familiar with¡ªhe''d also spoken about nearby iron mines that could remedy the issue. One such mine resided in the hills west of Habersville, among the grassy plains across the river.

    Securing that mine was one of Tiberius''s top priorities. He''d already given orders to repair the bridge and had a temporary set of beams erected so that the men could begin scouting the location. Depending on what they found, he would mobilize the Legion.

    The thought assuaged some of the restlessness he''d been feeling as of late. No longer would they remain stationary, building up the small town they''d established as a home base. Soon, they would begin to expand and conquer in the name of the Roman Empire. They would take the initiative. But before that, he needed to make sure his troops were ready.

    Tiberius''s walk took him outside the walls and toward the camp''s training fields next. For now, they were relatively simple affairs. Little more than patches of cleared grass and dirt for the centuries to practice on. But further down, the beginnings of more complicated fields involving defensible points and fortifications were just beginning to take shape.

    Already, rows upon rows of men were lined up and moving through the new drills that his Primus Pilus had devised after his latest expedition into the forest. Apparently, a lot of their skills worked for man-to-man fighting, but combating extremely powerful individuals or singular beasts required the development of new battle doctrine.

    It was a project he had given the man leave to work on, and already Tiberius could see the beginnings of their progress. Quintus had requisitioned several large bulls from local farmers to act as these large monsters, setting them in the fields. With a bit of prodding, the soldiers learned how to brace against single strong impacts or maneuver into smaller groups when facing a larger enemy. The tactics weren''t entirely groundshaking, but then, they weren''t meant to be. The idea was to adapt their current methods rather than completely reinvent them.

    Regardless, the Legion would take some time to adapt. It may take a month or two to bring his men to an acceptable standard in the new drills, even if the basic ideas would only take a few days to teach. Then again, with how much skills had changed things, perhaps it wouldn''t even take that long.

    One thing that wouldn''t be ready in time for their first real campaign was the auxiliaries. They had accepted enough to form up two, maybe three centuries once the training process was done. But that was nowhere near enough to be a full complement to a legion. There simply weren''t enough able-bodied men in Habersville. Even if they adopted the local customs of allowing women to fight in battles, which Tiberius was wary of, they would still not have anywhere near enough to make a full auxiliary cohort¡ªlet alone one of archers or the complement of cavalry they also needed. That was without considering the equipment and mounts those groups would require.

    Tiberius sighed inwardly. It all came back to resources. In order to truly be at their best, they would need to find and secure more of them. This first expedition to conquer the mines would be the first of many to come. He needed it to provide good information as to how difficult their conquest might be. The locals'' strength and willingness to fight. How they reacted to an invading force. How their current rulers reacted as well.

    It was a risk to be so aggressive, but one they had to take given the declaration of war that had already preceded them. And in his experience, moving fast and hitting hard worked best for the perpetually outnumbered Legion. Already he felt the specter of unseen forces looming over them, threatening to strike before they had made enough preparations to properly fight back. Maintaining the initiative and pressing forward to improve their position was the best thing he could do. He needed to give his men the best chance he could at success.

    Tiberius continued walking past the training fields and further into the camp. They were still learning about this new world. Based on everything he knew, their position was not nearly as untenable as his fears would have him believe. There may well be time to train some new recruits and perfect their new tactics before taking more drastic measures. But was he willing to take that risk? And if he was, where would they focus their efforts? Would they continue expanding into the plains, toward Novara and invoking their ire? Or would it be best to explore the forest, to try and carve out new resources there while they further fortified their stronghold?

    There were pros and cons to both. Tiberius hadn''t fully decided yet. It would all depend on what sort of resistance they faced at the mines.

 Chapter 26: Wishy Washy

    "Marcus. Marcus!"

    The thin, reedy voice brought Marcus to a halt, his humming cut short as he looked around. To his right, an assortment of freshly-washed clothing hung from a line, the garments fluttering gently in the breeze behind the safety of a fence. Next to them leaned Margaret, her rheumy eyes bright as she gave him a toothless smile.

    "Ah, Margaret," Marcus said, doffing his cap in a flourishing bow. "You''re looking as lovely as ever."

    "Oh, you flatterer!" The washerwoman flapped a hand at him. "Why, if I hadn''t heard you were already spoken for, you''d have me think''n you might be interested in lil ol'' me!"

    Marcus blinked, pausing as he replaced the cap upon his head. "Spoken for?"

    "Oh, don''t be so coy," Margaret''s eyes seemed to sharpen with interest. "I heard about the lil spat you had with Miss Myra the other day. Oh, to be young and in love again! Why, there''s nothing quite like it!"

    Marcus grimaced. Evidently, the woman''s grapevine of gossip was even better than he''d given her credit for. That hadn''t even happened within the town. "Yes, well¡­ saying I''m ''spoken for'' may be putting the cart a bit far before the horse."

    "Keepin'' yer options open?" Margaret chided. "I''d be careful of going down that path, mister. That''s a quick way to find yourself in heaps o'' trouble. And besides, a man like you could certainly do worse than Myra. Why, she''s just about the prettiest girl I ever did see in this town of ours!"

    Marcus''s smile tightened. That last part was certainly true, from what Marcus had seen. Still, being a standout in Habersville didn''t mean much to him. Even the best bakers here couldn''t hold a candle to the average corner shop in any major city. He could easily find better options elsewhere¡ªand had, plenty of times. Though he had no intentions of settling down anytime soon, either.

    "I''ll keep that in mind," he reassured the woman, intending to do no such thing. "But enough about me. How have you been? How''s your grandson?"

    The woman chortled, seemingly content to let the conversation shift to a different topic. "Oh, you know. With the weather the way it is, I''ve been feeling fit as a fiddle! And Gary doesn''t seem to be doin'' half bad, neither. At least, he''s still out of trouble for once in his life, praise Kyraz. Those Legionnaires certainly seem to keep him busy."

    "Wonderful, wonderful." Marcus nodded. "Have you heard from him much?"

    "Heavens no. He''s come by once or twice, but they work those conscripts to the bone, I tell you. But neither I nor his momma have heard a peep about him runnin'' off or doin'' anything stupid. That''s enough for us."

    Marcus nodded. That lined up with what he''d heard as well. Honestly, he was genuinely glad for the guy. And not just because his drinking buddies would never let him hear the end of it if one of his personal recommendations had turned out to be useless. Given how much they enjoyed poking fun at him, it was better to leave them with as few arrows in the quiver as he could manage¡ªor, rather, stones for the sling.

    Margaret scratched her chin and continued. "Though you know, I''m pretty impressed with how these men operate. I''ve been out to see their training a few times¡ªpurely outta curiosity, mind you," the old woman gave him a mischievous gap-toothed smile, "¡ªand they really do seem awful professional. So much better than those adventurer types."

    "You think so?" Marcus prodded.

    "Yep, yep. I tell ya, you never know if they''re gonna show up in the first place, and if they do, there''s a good chance they''ll just cause all kinds o'' trouble while they''re here. Why, I''ve heard tell of types that''ll fleece you for everything you''ve got, even with the whole ''Adventurer''s Guild'' rules in place. Honestly, it''s like they let just anyone call themselves an adventurer nowadays! It''s not like it used to be, where we had standards¡­"

    Marcus listened to the old woman rant for a while. While her experiences clearly weren''t extensive, being a resident of an out-of-the-way place like Habersville, they weren''t completely unfounded. The corruption of the Adventurer''s guild had become a growing topic of debate over recent years as demand for the profession had increased. The growing prevalence of bandits and other criminal activity throughout Novara meant that the guild was stretched thin, leading to a loosening of their standards. It certainly didn''t help that the most capable adventurers also made their ways to the front lines of war to defend their country or as glorified mercenaries seeking a payday.

    The trio that had come to Habersville were a prime example of the newer crop, in Marcus''s mind. Their obvious inexperience made it clear that they''d been rubber stamped and let loose to do as they would without much vetting or oversight at all. The fact that they hadn''t been able to manage a handful of Legionnaires didn''t help their case, either.

    Eventually, Marcus decided to rejoin the conversation. "Well, I suppose you must be pleased with recent developments, then. It seems that the Legion''s gotten most men in the town involved somehow¡ªwhether in training, trade, or teaching."

    "Oh sure. Most of ''em," Margaret adjusted a piece of cloth hanging from her clothesline. "But I''ll tell ya who they haven''t pulled in¡­ those ol'' town guards."

    Marcus cocked his head. "Really? Still?"

    The woman nodded, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Yep. Word is that they ain''t too pleased about it, neither."

    "I would assume they''d be thrilled, if they''re being spared from all of that training."

    "Nope. They''ve just got their britches in a twist about gettin'' ousted like they did. Some of em'' are still bitter about the whole thing, feelin'' like they''re bein looked down on."

    Marcus shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I suppose that''s only to be expected. Them and the mayor both. But, well, given how their last confrontation went¡­"

    Margaret nodded. "I hear ya. Some people''ll take any chance they can get to grouse about things. Why, I''ve heard the same people that used to complain about ol'' Mayor Blaufort out there complainin'' about the Legion now¡­ But they''ve never done anything more than grumble. Not in a sleepy lil'' town like this."

    Marcus wasn''t particularly surprised. Still, calling Habersville a "sleepy little town" after all that had happened didn''t feel particularly accurate.

    The washerwoman shook herself, seeming to banish the darker topic from her mind. "Anyway, where''re you headed, young man?"

    "Ah!" Marcus gestured down the street. "I was just on my way to the temple district. I''ve heard so many things about them, and yet I realized I hadn''t quite made the time in my busy schedule to pay them a visit."

    "Oh, you''re certainly in for a treat," the woman chortled. "They''re somethin'' to behold. The new ones, ''course, but even the old ones to Lenare and Zabit look better''n ever!"

    "Really? They put that much effort in?"

    "Oh, yes! Why, they''re no works of art on their own, but they never were to begin with. They certainly didn''t skimp out on makin'' the things, even though they went an'' built their own temples too. That went n'' surprised a lotta people, ''specially the priests. The Arashim ones''re still all pissy, though."

    Marcus could understand why. Building a bigger and more impressive temple for one''s own god was a tried-and-true method of getting potential followers to come take a look at what they had to offer. It was why followers of Arashim, the god of wealth and architecture, always invested unfathomable amounts of time and money into their buildings. But actually putting their best foot forward for the other temples suggested that the Legion really wasn''t trying to foist their deities onto others overmuch. Even if he had heard about some interest in them already.

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    "I suppose I''ll have to see for myself," Marcus concluded with a grin. "Who knows? Maybe I''ll become a devout worshipper of one of those new gods they brought along."

    "You wouldn''t be the first. I''ve heard some of em'' are pretty popular with the lads nowadays," Margaret began taking down her laundry to fold it. "A bit foolish, if you ask me. Kinda strange to worship a god you can''t even feel, much less one the System don''t recognize. Guess that''s why most of the priests ain''t too worried."

    The two of them bantered back and forth for a while longer, talking about various important people and developments in town. Even before this, everyone had been expecting war, and the townsfolk joining the military ended up being a catalyst for a great many things¡ªmost of all, weddings. It seemed like half the people who had joined as recruits were trying to get married before they went off to war.

    Unfortunately, it was apparently against the rules for auxiliaries to actually be married, and the same went for Legionnaires. But that rule often seemed to be overlooked in practice. Centurions oftentimes seemed content to turn a blind eye to the rush of weddings, so long as the ceremonies were kept low-profile and out of view of the Legionnaires.

    "Downright silly, if you ask me," Margaret noted. "A man with a woman to come home to''ll fight twice as hard to stay alive!"

    Marcus held his peace and just shrugged.

    ***

    Merethe and Sharath spent the rest of the day¡ªand some of the next¡ªwatching the strange army from afar as it camped outside of Habersville''s walls. Though "camped" felt like a fairly loose term for the town-sized fortification that had been erected there. They even watched as one patrol dragged back the corpse of what looked to be a weak roaming boss. It had almost looked familiar at first, but a careful inspection suggested that it was actually a chimera type¡ªmeaning it may not have been as weak as they''d thought.

    Given the average level of things found in the Evergreen Seas, it was likely that the two of them would have been able to beat it themselves. Still, that wasn''t the issue. Neither Merethe nor Sharath was comfortable with the idea that a group of low-level soldiers could take down a boss like that¡ªeven if the three adventurers with them had probably done the brunt of the work.

    ¡°This whole situation reeks of¡­ something,¡± Merethe told her sister. ¡°Things just don''t add up."

    Sharath nodded in agreement. "I feel you. But the question is, why?"

    Merethe nodded to the rows of training soldiers before them. "It''s their bearing. I know they¡¯re all level one, but they don¡¯t move like it. The way they run their drills, the way they¡¯ve set up their camp, the way they walk... It all screams of someone who has fought hundreds, if not thousands, of battles. Not all of them are at that level, of course. But the number of veterans in this army is absurd."

    "What level do they act like, d''you think?"

    "Somewhere between 20 to 40," Merethe answered instantly. "For the veterans, at least. I''ve only seen the capital''s elite troops a few times, but that''s what they remind me of.¡±

    Sharath frowned in thought. "Look, I get what you mean. But how they hold themselves and act doesn''t mean a thing if they don''t have the numbers to back it up. You can swing a sword like Thelynn Bronstone, but it''s not gonna split a mountain in two unless you have his monstrous strength and skill levels."

    "I know. That''s why I''m saying something stinks. Those movements suggest that their skills are way above where they should be, but¡­"

    "Even if that is the case, it doesn''t change the facts," Sharath argued. "[Appraisal] says they''re level one. Which means that, somehow, they haven''t fought pretty much anything in all their years. Unless there''s some sort of artifact that can make up bogus info for several thousand people at once¡­"

    Considering the sheer absurdity of what they were seeing, Sharath wouldn''t discount the possibility entirely. But she well knew how expensive it was to get an item that blocked [Appraisal] for one person¡ªmuch less faked it like this.

    Merethe sighed, turning to look at her sister. "Whatever the case, there''s more at play here than we realize. We can¡¯t simply return to the Baron without investigating further."

    "Agreed," Sharath nodded. "Even if we did, he''d probably send us right back to find out more. And I feel like ''yeah, we saw like, a few thousand level ones'' doesn''t really capture the full picture here."

    The pair fell silent for a moment, watching as the mysterious soldiers continued their drills. It was easy to tell which groups were more or less experienced based on the coordination with which they moved. The newer ones maneuvered their shields and stabbed their weapons forward as a cohesive group, but the veterans? They looked as though they truly were a single organism."

    "...I think we need to see them fight," Sharath eventually said.

    "We have. We''ve seen their patrols take on shadow panthers, have we not?"

    "That''s not what I mean and you know it."

    She saw Merethe grip her bow more tightly. Tension lined the ranger''s face and stiffened her muscles.

    "...I do," Merethe begrudgingly admitted, "But I want you to know that I still think it''s a bad idea."

    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree, but I don¡¯t see any real other way." Sharath spread her hands. "We were hired to investigate and neutralize the threat if we could. Now, I''m not saying we take on the whole army or anything like that¡ªwe''re scouts, not idiots¡ªbut some firsthand battle experience against these guys is exactly the kind of thing the baron wanted from us.

    "And besides¡­ they¡¯re clearly our enemies. They¡¯re standing against Novara, which seems like a rather stupid position unless they''ve got something to back it up, especially if we''re right about their levels."

    Sharath wasn''t what one might call a patriotic citizen of the kingdom, exactly. As strong and stable as her homeland seemed, she could see the corruption and rot that infected it as well as anyone¡ªan issue that had only intensified since the new king had taken over and elevated the cowardly politickers up with him. Still, it was leagues better than the other countries that came to mind. She had no desire to see it come under siege by anyone, not when there were already other wars making life difficult for everyone.

    ¡°Have you considered the fact that they probably do have something to back it up? If they¡¯re willing to take a bold stance like this¡­" Merethe objected. "We might be getting in way over our heads here.¡±

    "True. But if they do have some kind of trump card, would they really waste it on two random adventurer scouts? Not to mention that poking the hornet''s nest might help to expose whatever they''ve got going on. And that''s the kinda info that a baron would pay premium for."

    "Little sister¡­" Merethe''s extra emphasis on the word made Sharath bristle a little. Some of her reaction must have showed, because her sister allowed a flicker of condescension to tinger her smile. "We can always turn back. We could just abandon the quest and move further south. It''s not like we couldn''t find other work, and I doubt the baron would send anyone after us."

    "Eh. I wouldn''t be so sure." Sharath crossed her arms. "The baron who gave us this quest has some pretty powerful relatives. His uncle''s a duke, one of the old ones too. I wouldn''t be surprised if he dished out some money to have us hunted down."

    Merethe frowned. "A duke? Would he really care that much about something like this? To him, we''d just be two low-level adventurers. For all they know, our disappearance may just mean that we were unlucky and got killed on this quest."

    "Maybe. Maybe not," the rogue mused, rubbing her chin. "He could also see it as a betrayal, if he found out that we didn''t die. And a man like that''s got reputation on the line¡ªhis own and his family''s. We''d want to lay low to be safe, potentially for a long time. And even then¡­ do we really want to do that? Spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?"

    Her sister grimaced. Merethe had never been one much for politics and the games that nobles played. But that didn''t mean she couldn''t understand Sharath''s arguments. "...I suppose you have a point¡­"

    "Look. We don''t have to kill them all," Sharath tried to seem reasonable. "We can even just chase them off if you want. Let''s just go after one of the smaller patrols, confirm that they really are what they appear to be, and get out. That''s all we need to do. Deal?"

    "...Deal," Merethe sighed in defeat. "I suppose it''s a reasonable course of action. But if anything unexpected happens, we prioritize fleeing over fighting."

    Sharath grinned broadly. "Of course. Who do you think I am?"

    It didn''t take long for them to make a plan. When night fell, they''d follow one of the patrols away from camp. They would pick an ambush location close enough to the road to expedite their escape afterward. Then, they''d strike hard and fast, gathering as much data as they could before making a clean getaway.

    Sharath nodded as they finalized the details. ¡°I don¡¯t think we''re in any real danger of getting lost in the forest with you here, but yeah. Better safe than sorry. Even though we''ll have them away from camp, they''re pretty good at making sure they''ve always got backup in range, which could be a problem. It means that we''ll have to be fast if we don''t want to risk a second patrol making their way over."

    "We can always lure them further out," Merethe pointed out. "Test them with a distraction."

    "Maybe. We''ll see how we feel when the time comes."

    The sisters pulled back from the edge of the trees where they had been watching the encampment. Together, they retreated deeper into the forest and started plotting out the best place to stage their ambush.

 Chapter 27: Do You Want to Live Forever?

    A soft wind set the trees to swaying, their branches rubbing against each other with a soft rustle. The long shadows they cast melded into one singular mass as twilight''s last glow began to fade.

    Sharath remained motionless, hiding behind a thick tree trunk and peeking around its side as she waited. Despite the onset of night, the forest remained eerily quiet. Aside from the wind, the only other sounds that reached her were those of insects and a few nocturnal birds that warbled and hooted softly above her¡ªwhich ones, she wasn''t sure. Merethe would probably know.

    Her eyes briefly flicked toward the dark pool where her sister hid. Despite being unable to see the [Ranger], Sharath knew she was there.

    She willed herself to stillness, focusing on the task at hand. She didn''t have to wait long. The birds fell silent as a distant sound of clanking reached her ears, followed by footsteps. A group of eight men stepped into the clearing before her, the light of their torches glinting off of their breastplates and carving out a small island of visibility among the darkness.

    With a final nod to the shadows, she stumbled into the clearing. Her mussed up hair hung about her shoulders, bits of leaves, twigs, and even a bit of dirt stuck within. One of the ragged old cloaks that her sister hoarded compulsively hung about her figure in similar disarray. A look of frightened panic completed the picture of a harried woman fleeing from danger.

    Sharath emerged on the opposite side of the clearing from the patrol, just as they''d planned. Before she could even make a sound, however, one of the patrol members spotted her. At a word, the entire eight-man team snapped to attention.

    "Who goes there?"

    Torches were held aloft as the men peered forward, beginning to make out her form in the dimness. Sharath turned toward them, her eyes wide. "Oh, thank the gods! Help me, please!"

    The patrol exchanged glances. But rather than approach, they began to bunch together and close their ranks, quickly retrieving tall red and gold shields from their backs. One of them, probably the leader, called out in a clipped voice. "State your name and intentions."

    The tone felt vaguely reminiscent of her childhood trainer. For a moment, Sharath almost felt compelled to respond. But [Single-Minded] quickly stamped that urge down. "I-I need help! My sister¡­ please, come quickly!"

    Sharath suspected that staying to talk would only lead to more questions and suspicion. Because of that, she made a quick decision to turn on her heel and disappear into the forest, hoping to draw them away from their patrol route a little further. It would be a good test of their discipline and how they responded to unforeseen situations.

    Unfortunately, the answer was rather well. They continued to tighten their formation, eyes darting about to find threats as the men began to form a defensive wall and coordinate a shuffle out of the clearing. Worse, she saw the leader begin to reach for a horn at his hip.

    "Fuck," Sharath swore. It seemed that they were a bit more cautious than she''d given them credit for. It was good information, to be sure. But it also meant that they''d lost some of their advantage. There would be no surprising them now. Worse, the men were still close enough to other patrols to call for reinforcements, and if they did¡­ well, there were only so many risks they were willing to take.

    Sharath whispered quietly to herself, trusting her sister to pick up the words. "Alright. Plan B. We test them and get out. Make sure the leader doesn''t call for backup."

    She spun and disappeared into the shadows, flitting between them with incredible speed. She closed the distance between her and the patrol in seconds, drawing her daggers on the way in. An arrow whistled by her ear and slammed into the leader''s shield as he ducked down, damaging it but failing to pierce through. Sharath lunged to try and take advantage of the confusion, her blade aiming for the gap, but the strike met only hardened shields and the cold eyes of experienced men.

    She glanced down at the damage. Her quick assault had failed to do more than leave a deep gouge in the surface of the shield. But even as she searched for more openings, she could feel a slight pressure on her mind, pulling her towards the shield wall as if that were the best target for her attacks.

    She shook off the familiar feeling of a taunt skill and threw herself backward as swords erupted from the formation like the quills of a porcupine. The lengths of steel slid out from between the shields seamlessly, narrowly missing her gut. Even as she somersaulted backward on one hand, a horn sounded behind the men''s line, its deep bellow echoing through the forest.

    Sharath swore again. The call meant their time was even shorter than they''d hoped.

    As she landed on her feet and dashed forward again, two more arrows slammed into the shield wall and stuck fast. One man grunted at the impact as the arrow shaft sunk in. Based on on his expression, it must have struck his arm. Not that it hindered their movements.

    An answering horn call from elsewhere in the forest, a little ways off from their current position. Sharath leaped forward and up, aiming to get above the men''s defensive line, but the men raised their shields with surprising quickness. Instead of landing behind them as planned, her feet caught the lip of a shield. Her [Acrobatics] and [Parkour] skills activated, saving her from an awkward tumble as she pushed off the shield to leap back again.

    She shot up into the air, flipping and landing once again in front of the wall. Twice now they had managed to thwart her attacks. They hadn''t come close to hitting her, of course, but still. How were they managing this? It wasn''t like the strange soldiers were astonishingly fast or agile¡ªmore so than expected, sure, but still. She should''ve been running circles around them.

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    Another arrow whizzed out of the darkness and slammed into the shin guard of one of the men before they could lower their shields. The impact elicited a shout of pain as one of the men stumbled and fell. Sharath''s eyes glinted as she dove forward to take advantage of the opening her sister had afforded them. Someone behind the wall grabbed the falling man by his armor and yanked him out of the formation, allowing the gap to slide closed right as she tried to wedge herself into it.

    Unwilling to let them recover their formation, Sharath kicked forward as the shields locked together, putting her not inconsiderable strength behind the blow. The impact bowed the wall slightly, but to her surprise, it didn''t break.

    Once again, she found herself surprised. She had expected to shatter this level one defense with minimal effort. That these men hadn''t fled or been left mortally wounded in the first exchange was frustrating¡ªborderline embarrassing, given her goal to finish this encounter quickly. Even her holding back and testing them wasn''t enough to explain these results.

    For whatever reason, it was clear that these men were not so easily felled. She might need to start using some of her skills soon if she wanted to make any real progress.

    She ran to the side, forcing the wall to shift with her. It curved slightly as the men at the end pivoted to keep their shields raised between them, blades darting out in sinuous motions to keep her at bay. As she tried to circle around the formation to test their mobility, three more men stepped from behind the line to intercept her, maintaining their stoic silence.

    Her sister''s arrows continued to rain down, preventing them from stepping out of line and fully engaging Sharath, but time was not on their side. A level 15 [Ranger] could curve her arrows around trees, meaning that Merethe shouldn''t have any problems sliding shots between the gaps in this formation. However, she also wasn''t shooting to kill. Her projectiles kept hammering the shields one after another, varying in strength and angle as the archer tried to get a better feel for their durability. Occasionally some of them pierced through to the soft flesh below or struck at helmets, but most focused on testing the men''s defenses.

    Clashing with the shield wall several more times, Sharath tried to find an opening wherever she could¡ªover, under, or between the damn shields that kept getting in her way. She managed to land a few superficial wounds with her daggers by taking advantage of slight gaps in their formation, but even those tightened up quickly. Worse, one of her riskier maneuvers earned her a deep cut scored across the front of her leather armor. It hadn''t drawn blood, but repairing the matte black leather would cost her dearly¡ªand she had barely gotten anything in return. The fact that it felt like a lucky shot infuriated her.

    It would be simple enough to leap over their line and attack from behind. However, Sharath held herself back. As agile as she was, being airborne would limit her movement options and make it harder to dodge. It simply didn''t seem worth the risk right now. After all, even if she was holding back, these men certainly weren''t.

    Meanwhile, the patrol moved continuously as they repositioned, filled in gaps, and covered for their wounded. They seemed to adapt to her changes in tactics more quickly than expected. It felt like every time she tried to duck low or exploit a vulnerability, another soldier was there to intercept her.

    It wasn''t until they reached the edge of the trees that she realized they had been retreating. Under the cover of the forest, her sister''s arrows were at more of a disadvantage. Several shafts curved slightly around the trees, finding their marks with more difficulty than before. Instead of crippling shots, these hits simply splintered shields and put pressure on the enemy. Still, the pace of the battle was shifting. She noticed that wherever her sister''s arrows landed, the men were increasingly forced to react to the incoming projectiles rather than Sharath, giving her a window to act.

    Once in the trees, Sharath peeled back and signaled to her sister. A [Volley] of arrows rained down, dozens of shafts splitting the air as the skill caused them to duplicate. The assault forced the soldiers to duck down and angle their shields skyward to defend against it. Taking advantage of the distraction, Sharath darted around a nearby tree, scrambling up its rough surface. She swung silently onto a branch, looking down on their defense from afar.

    As the [Volley] ended, the soldiers straightened slightly, scanning the surrounding area for the [Rogue]. Sharath just smiled. Without line of sight, she could feel their barrage of taunt skills lose their grip on her mind and movements. Now, it was time to see how they''d react to someone getting behind their formation. Assuming they didn''t look up, of course.

    Crouching, she moved stealthily along the branch before stepping off, knives flashing in the darkness. She landed silently behind their line, slashing the back of one man''s leg and kicking out another to send them tumbling to the ground. The patrol scattered, spreading out to either side and facing her renewed threat. They didn''t yell or flee but fought with the same strict discipline they''d displayed throughout the battle. Only the occasional short cry of a command could be heard through the sounds of battle. The lack of warcries felt almost eerie to her.

    Sharath picked a disoriented-looking man who was still standing and charged, her knives a blur. He interposed his shield between himself and her strikes, forgetting all offense in his effort to defend. She landed several cuts, sending him staggering back. When isolated like this, these level one soldiers were easier to deal with¡ªbut the way they moved as a unit and their skills made them harder to defeat than she had expected.

    Just as she was debating about how to press her advantage, she heard another horn call, much closer this time. It was coming from the direction of the town. Reinforcements were almost here.

    "Shit," she muttered. "Merethe! Do we have what we need?"

    She was ready to end this. Fighting these eight soldiers wasn''t too hard, but facing sixteen without killing anyone would be impossible. Especially without taking some bigger risks than she was comfortable with. Flashing between soldiers, she kept them off balance, preventing them from regrouping.

    "Yes! Let''s go¡ªah!" Merethe yelled back.

    Sharath glanced over to see her sister retreating into the clearing, a wall of shields emerging from the forest to hem her in. Eight new soldiers stepped forward from the shadows and began pursuing Merethe. The clearing was becoming a maze of enemies, horns, and movement, and Sharath realized time was running out.

    "Well, fuck," Sharath hissed, dashing toward her sister. She needed to get them out of here, and fast. But three soldiers from the original patrol re-formed a shield wall to block her.

    This time, holding back wasn''t an option. Activating [Backstab], she vaulted over the wall, her hand finding purchase on a shield''s top edge. A nebulous force pushed back against her, but she slipped through it with [Shadow Stream]. Sharath landed behind the trio in a blink, turning to plunge her dagger into the neck of the soldier at the center. Blood spurted from his jugular as he fell.

    The man gurgled behind her as she darted toward Merethe. She really had hoped to get through this without killing anyone. But she''d be damned if she let them touch her sister.

 Chapter 28: Romulus and Remus

    The usually bustling activity of the camp slowed to a more sedate pace as Twilight''s dim embrace fell over it. Night joined them shortly after, her thick blanket studded by the orderly pinpricks of firelight that slowly sprouted into existence as Legionnaires gathered among their tents. From afar, the regularly spaced campfires almost seemed to mirror the gridlike arrangement of the stars above. Gentle curls of smoke and companionable conversation drifted skyward as they settled in for an evening of rest.

    Gathered around one of those campfires sat a slightly larger group than the rest. Their armored plates and helmets lay nearby, discarded for the moment but ready to be recovered at a moment''s notice. They leaned forward with rapt attention from their perches atop stumps and small camp chairs.

    Marcus sat alongside them, resting his chin on one hand. For once, the bard found himself in the rare position of an audience member rather than a performer. That honor belonged to Cassius. The man''s dark eyes scanned the circle of his comrades, ensuring he had their full attention before opening his mouth.

    "Gather round and listen well. For many of us have lived and breathed the legacy of Rome. But how many recall the story of its founding?"

    The men leaned forward a little further as the stout man began his tale. Marcus had finally found the time to stay late around the fire and listen to the stories of the Romans. It wasn''t just a matter of fulfilling his own personal curiosity, either. It also served as a great opportunity for him to learn about their culture as well.

    Over the recent days he''d spent no small amount of time reading through the leatherbound tome that had once held the Rites for the Summoning of a Roman Legion spell. Unfortunately, its contents appeared just as dusty and dry as its pages. Treatises on philosophy and historical records clearly written by someone with no eye for storytelling made the text feel more like reading a clerk''s legalese than anything remotely interesting¡ªeven despite Marcus''s rather immediate and direct interest in learning about these men. He had managed to retain some basic facts about the faraway country that these men seemed to hail from, but things like their values and attitudes remained frustratingly obtuse.

    Of course, Marcus had always learned better from practical experience than from tomes and study. His interactions with the Roman Legionnaires had imparted more knowledge to him than a book could ever hope to. And given that stories were his trade, he felt confident that their legends and folk tales would offer the same. People often underestimated how much those could impart about a culture and its ideals, even simple ones.

    This particular story was that of Romulus and Remus, the two brothers who founded Rome¡ªor so he had been told. He knew that Rome was the name of the country the Legion hailed from. But where that was, or how important a role it held among its neighbors, was still something he had yet to figure out. The way the men talked about it made the place seem like the center of the world, the pinnacle of civilization, but Marcus knew better than to take such impressions at their word. Still, any verification one way or the other may well be impossible, given that the place certainly existed in a different world.

    Cassius raised his hands, gesturing dramatically. "Nearly a thousand years ago, before even the greatest of our ancestors were but a twinkle in their great-grandparents'' eyes, there were born two brothers. Romulus and Remus. Alba Longa was the place where they were born, though neither would call it their home. Yet though we celebrate them now, these two brothers were not meant to be born. No, their birth was forbidden¡ªillegal, downright heretical.

    "For you see, their mother was Ilia, the eldest daughter of the former king, Numitor, who had been deposed by his brother. Yet he allowed her to survive under one condition: she was forbidden to bear children.

    "Now, this was no issue. Ilia was a priestess of Vesta, goddess of the hearth, and sworn to chastity for thirty years¡ªthough that didn''t stop men from admiring her beauty." Cassius shared a grin with his audience. "Despite her vows, many a suitor came to call upon her and vie for her hand. She refused them all. Indeed, she tended the hearth and the sacred groves of the various gods, hiding behind her duties in order to protect herself from breaking her pact."

    Cassius shook his head sadly, a wistful smile crossing his expression. "But the gods care little for the rules and wills of mortal men. That, we know as well as anyone." A chorus of chuckles rose up in answer. "And as it turned out, the priestess of Vesta was fine enough to attract even their attentions.

    "One day, while tending the sacred grove of Mars, Ilia came upon a wondrous sight. The god of war himself, his divine form descended to bless her with children¡ªquite vigorously, I would imagine." Another round of chuckles and jeers rose up at that. "The priestess soon bore two twin boys. Yet rather than joy, the children''s birth spelled doom for them all.

    "Seeing the possible threat to his rule, her uncle ordered the infants to be killed. The two babes were seized and abandoned on the bank of the Tiber River to die. But rather than perishing, the pair were saved by none other than Tiberinus himself."

    Marcus frowned. So far, the story was going well. The setup felt appropriately easy to follow and kept a serious tone appropriate to a legend or epic, rather than something more jovial or comical. Cassius had even done a good job of ensuring that the characters were clearly defined, even for someone unfamiliar with the culture like Marcus. But Tiberinus was the first character to break that trend.

    Cassius glanced over, seeming to sense Marcus''s confusion. To his credit, he seemed to catch his mistake and remedy it in the next lines. "The god of the Tiber River swept the infants down the river until they reached the place where Rome now stands. But at the time, there was no such city. It was naught but bare earth, seven hills and grasslands as far as the eye could see. For all of Tiberinus''s meddling, the twins would have languished there, starving away from the eyes of any man¡­if not for the wolf.

    "There, as they lay crying on the riverbank, a she-wolf happened to wander by and find the pair. She had just borne cubs, and so . And so, she picked them up by the scruffs of their necks, carried them back to her den, and suckled them as her own.

    "Now, some claim that this she-wolf was an agent of Fauna herself, wishing to make mischief for Vesta and her priestess. Some claim that was blind, to mistake humans for cubs," another chorus of laughs met Cassius''s words. He leaned forward a bit farther, voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "But I think that she knew what manner of men these two would grow up to be. She felt a kinship within those two brothers, an understanding of their fates. And so she raised them.

    "The two brothers grew, fighting tooth and nail with their lupine siblings for every bit of wolf''s milk. It wasn''t until later that a shepherd found them and adopted them as his own children. They grew up tending flocks, unaware of their true identities as rightful kings. Over time, they grew tall and strong, becoming natural leaders in their humble community.

    "But when they were young adults, a dispute between their grandfather and great-uncle uprooted their lives. Remus was taken prisoner and brought back to his birthplace of Alba Longa, still unaware of his lineage. Yet his striking resemblance to his grandfather meant that his arrival caused much stir. Both his grandfather Numitor and his great-uncle the king suspected the truth of his identity."

    Marcus listened attentively as the story continued on. The fact that the twins'' upbringings and the inciting dispute were essentially glossed over struck him as odd. Surely there were plenty of noteworthy things that occurred over that period as well. Even little details and hints about such things would be enough to further cement the heroic and unique natures of these two. The story so far had built them up fairly well, but a few more details would really sell it¡ªeven hyperbolic ones.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Unless, Marcus thought, this story was less about the accomplishments of the twins themselves and more about the country they founded. That might make sense, given its introduction. Still, he found himself mentally filling in the gaps with embellishments and additional details of his own.

    "Romulus, however, rallied his supporters from his small community to free his brother," Cassius continued on. "During this time, Remus learned the truth of his heritage. With the help of Romulus and their grandfather, they deposed their uncle and restored their grandfather to his rightful place on the throne."

    Once again, Marcus sensed another story lurking beneath that brief summary. One that had either been excluded for the sake of pacing and brevity, or simply because it had been lost to time. The latter happened more often than any bard liked to admit. But his curiosity about that particular matter would have to wait for another time.

    "Yet, the twins were not content to sit as heirs. They returned to their community, determined to build a city of their own.

    "Upon arriving at the seven hills of Rome, they disagreed on where to build their city. Each had their own idea and stood by it steadfastly. To settle the matter, they agreed to seek the gods'' approval through the use of augury. They both settled onto the ground at their chosen locations, looking up to the skies for signs. Lo and behold, Remus was the first to see six vultures circling above. But soon after, Romulus his brother saw twelve. Each claimed divine favor, one for the swiftness of his signs'' appearance, and the other for their quantity.

    "The dispute escalated. Words that could not be taken back flew back and forth like poisoned arrows, and arguments soon turned to violence. In the chaos, Remus was struck down¡ªwhether by Romulus or one of his supporters, no one knows.

    "Romulus never lost sight of their dream. But regardless of whatever regret he might have felt, he moved on. The city of Rome was soon founded on the hill he had chosen, though it soon grew to encompass both of them. He laid forth its government, its military, its laws, and its traditions. For forty years, he ruled as king, and his kingdom grew ever larger, eventually subsuming that of his grandfather and many of its neighbors.

    "And so, Rome grew and grew until it became what it is today."

    Cassius took a bow as his story concluded. Applause sounded from around the campfire as the Legionnaires shouted encouragements. Marcus leaned back and clapped with everyone else.

    "That was a good story," he told Cassius as he sat down once more. "You truly have a way with words."

    Cassius grinned broadly. "Coming from you, friend? That is a great compliment indeed."

    Marcus clapped the stocky man on the shoulder. Internally, though, he had some critiques. The ending was rather unsatisfying¡ªsimple fratricide, followed by the birth of a kingdom? The buildup was all right, but the resolution and Romulus''s actions afterward felt lackluster. The conflict could have used a bit more spice to really make it hit home, especially in the aftermath. Otherwise it didn''t have the kind of divine tragedy or comedic twist that people loved about stories like this.

    Ironically, that made him think the tale was more likely to be true rather than entirely made up. The wolf detail at least made sense. He''d personally met more than a few royal knights who had been raised by Wolfkin, so it wasn''t even particularly strange, though it seemed to be considered far more strange in Roman culture. But overall, the story was a solid one that made sense. He could see why Cassius had been enthusiastic about it.

    Marcus reviewed the story in his mind. He''d already been running through ideas on how to improve the tale himself for retellings. But perhaps he could do more. Maybe there was a way to overhaul it more completely, refine it, and work the core themes into something a little more thematic for the Legion. Of course, he wouldn''t be able to keep the same names and plenty of details would need embellishing. But the thought was interesting nonetheless.

    The bard glided to his feet with a graceful swirl of his cloak. It was his turn once again to take the spotlight. The story had left his audience in a somewhat somber and thoughtful mood¡ªone that he couldn''t immediately flip. That meant that bawdy drinking songs were out. But he had plenty of options to begin the transition to more lighthearted entertainment.

    "Well, I suppose someone must follow up that performance," he hefted his lute, strumming it with one hand. "But alas, I doubt Habersville has any matching tale of its founding. So instead¡­ perhaps I could treat you to a song?"

    His fingers danced across the strings, weaving a ponderous tune. It was an old standby of his¡ªserious at the start, but with a conclusion that should safely position him for something more humorous later. Marcus activated [Silver Tongue] and [Critical Reception] as he began to sing, more out of habit and to train the skills up than for any other reason.

    Farewell and adieu to you, fair elven maidens,

    Farewell and adieu, you ladies of light.

    For we''ve set our sails to seek out the Kraken,

    And we won''t see your shores ''til the end of the fight.

    Marcus could feel the crowd''s mood shifting with each line, the effects of [Critical Reception] seemingly bolstered by the faint connections he felt to each individual Legionnaire. There was a noticeable dip in enthusiasm when he sang about sailors in the first verse¡ªbut not enough to lose their interest. After the verse, he inserted an impromptu instrumental to help the men gain familiarity with the song''s rhythm. At the same time, he did a quick mental scan through the rest of the song and made a few substitutions on the fly. In the chorus, he replaced "sailors" with "warriors," and instead of "dark sea," he swapped it to simply "great plains."

    We''ll rant and we''ll roar, like true-hearted warriors,

    We''ll sing and we''ll fight ''til the morning''s first gleam.

    We''ll cross the great plains, for treasure and glory,

    Bound by the stars and the mage''s bright beam.

    He began to speed up, the notes growing in intensity as the soldiers warmed up to the song. By the time the chorus came around again, Marcus had more than a few of the men singing along. That number grew to encompass practically the whole group by the third repetition, especially with some encouragement and crowd work on his part.

    Their campfire quickly transitioned from a group of men enraptured by storytelling to an enthusiastic group of comrades singing their hearts out. Marcus allowed himself a proud smile at the sight. All that was missing was a bit of ale or mead and the scene would have looked perfectly at home in a tavern. Though based on some of their complexions, he had a sneaking suspicion that their waterskins may not entirely have been full of what they claimed.

    About halfway through the song, Marcus heard a faint sound echo in the distance behind him. It was barely audible, seeming to come from the other side of the camp. Maybe even from outside given how quiet it seemed.

    A quick glance around showed no change in the Legionnaires'' expressions. They hadn''t heard. That was only to be expected¡ªMarcus''s class had always made him more attuned to sounds, especially those of instruments and the like.

    For the moment, he ignored the horn and kept singing. It was none of his business. Besides, if there was an issue of some kind, then surely the soldiers closer to the trouble would take care of it.

    We''ll rant and we''ll roar, like true-hearted warriors,

    We''ll sing and we''ll fight ''til the morning''s first gleam.

    We''ll cross the great plains, for treasure and glory¡ª

    A feeling of ice-cold dread speared through him. Death herself seemed to reach out, running one cold finger down his spine.

    Marcus gasped, momentarily faltering. His next chord came out with a strangled twang as he reflexively gripped his lute. Instinctively, he looked back over his shoulder. There was nothing there. Nothing but the far distant treeline. That, and a vague sense of¡­ loss. As though something had snapped.

    The discordant sound of his last chord faded away, replaced by the crackling of many campfires. It took him only a moment to notice that those sounds were the only ones audible throughout the camp. The entire place had fallen completely silent around him.

    Marcus felt another chill run down his spine as the realization fell over him. Slowly, he looked around. Every single Legionnaire had stopped in their tracks, their backs as straight as boards where they sat. Their heads all had turned to stare eerily in the exact same direction he had. The joviality of moments before had evaporated. Now, their jaws were set with determination. And their eyes¡­

    Their eyes flared with silent fury.

 Chapter 29: Herding Cats

    The forest around Quintus and his patrol remained dark and eerily quiet. The night had long since lost its youth, the sun having set several hours ago. Back at camp, he knew, most men would still up around the fires or working by candlelight in tents before settling in for sleep. Despite that, It wasn''t yet time to rest. Not for him.

    The Primus Pilus was tired¡ªnot that he let it show. He''d been up early enough to greet the sun as it rose, and now had seen Sol''s chariot retreat below the horizon. But such was the life of a centurion. Always vigilant, always on duty. The best of the best. It was one of the reasons that he was afforded certain privileges and better pay. As such, they could never show weakness to the men. It would be unacceptable.

    And so, Quintus found himself on night patrol more often than the average Legionnaire. Far more often, considering that he was the first centurion. Leading by example was even more important in his case. He was the centurion to which all other centurions would look to¡ªan example to them as they were to their men. That wasn''t official doctrine, but it explained why he was out in the woods so late, even when he was beginning to suspect he might be getting a little too old for this.

    His grip shifted on his torch, illuminating another section of treeline. The forest was too quiet, and it was keeping him on edge. Every other time he''d been out here over the past week or two, the place had felt alive, even at night. Even as the shadow panthers began to give the camp a wide berth. Only the shade slingers had ever really quieted its usual activity, and in quite a different manner than this. The silence felt ominous now. Just the wind and the rustle of the leaves¡ªno birds or chittering of strange insects in the trees.

    The silence and the slight chill in the air put both Quintus and his men on edge¡ªto the point that the sound of a horn cutting through the darkness was almost a relief. It wasn''t the first time a patrol had sounded the alarm to request backup. Normally such events were borne of an abundance of caution more than anything else. Oftentimes it meant that someone had encountered a panther or two, and the team wanted to play it safe rather than attempting to handle it alone. It was all in line with established doctrine.

    Quintus quickly mobilized his patrol to assist, signaling to the neighboring patrols to take over their portion of the forest in the meantime. His group moved toward the source of the horn at a fast trot. They were careful not to make too much noise¡ªthough the additional padding they''d added to muffle their armor only did so much¡ªbut prioritized getting there quickly and in fighting shape. Still, Quintus remained relatively unconcerned. Alert and ready for trouble, but not expecting much.

    But when they arrived, the sight before them gave him pause.

    Another patrol occupied a large clearing that spanned a couple hundred paces wide. They''d been pushed back to one of its edges and divided in half, seeming to struggle as they were kept on the back foot. But it was their opponent that truly surprised Quintus. It was a single woman, clad in dark clothing and wielding small daggers in each hand.

    Quintus blinked at the sight. A single person had managed to scatter an entire patrol¡ªa woman, at that. Yet in the fraction of a second it took to absorb the scene, he realized that something else felt off. This wasn''t the full picture.

    Her daggers flashed, glinting in the moonlight with every slash as they kept his men at bay. So far, all of them remained standing, but it was clear they were at a disadvantage. Especially once he heard the whizzing sound of projectiles from the far edge of the clearing. A pair of arrows slammed into shields, splintering them and confirming that this woman wasn''t acting alone.

    Quintus formed his men up into a line. Standard tactics dictated that another patrol, one immediately behind the one in trouble, would also come to assist. Given the layout of the battle, they were likely already moving into position and coming in from behind, around the position of the hidden second attacker. Maybe they''d catch the archer if they were lucky.

    Confident in his comrades, Quintus turned his focus to the dagger-wielding woman. With an order, the wall began to march forward, ready to engage the enemy. He saw her eyes flick toward them as they approached. At the same time, Quintus saw the rain of arrows cease as the other patrol managed to engage the archer and cut off ranged support. The once-hidden figure, clad in a dark cloak that seemed to shift with the shadows, was forced deeper into the clearing by another shield wall.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Before Quintus and his men could join the fray, the dagger-wielding woman changed tactics.

    Without warning, she vaulted over the patrol leader, plunging a dagger deep in his neck. The short blade tore out the front of his throat before anyone could react. The man collapsed to his knees with a soft burble as she sprinted into the clearing toward the archer.

    Quintus wasted no time, immediately signaling one of the man''s comrades to see if they could save the wounded soldier. He knew the odds were slim¡ªthe pool of blood rapidly expanding around him didn''t leave much doubt that he''d be dead in seconds¡ªbut they had to try. They had to. To the remaining fourteen men, however, he gave a different order.

    "[Taunt]s if you have them! Advance! Keep her here!"

    Quintus led the charge as they began sprinting after the retreating knife-wielder, trying to turn her attention back toward them with their skills. Unfortunately, she proved far faster and more resilient than expected. Each step seemed to widen the gap between them, her legs practically blurring with speed. Still, she was heading straight toward their comrades. He doubted she would be able to pull away too far in the handful of seconds it took to sprint there, and for now, their priority was to keep her in sight. She wouldn''t escape. Not after this. Even if they didn''t catch her now, it was only a matter of time before she was run down.

    A sudden feeling slammed into Quintus like a physical blow, pushing its way to the forefront of everything else. It didn''t take long to recognize what it was. It was a feeling all too familiar to any soldier, especially one as experienced as him. Loss.

    He grit his teeth with determination. He didn''t have to look to know that the man behind him had died. He knew it as certainly as if he''d personally seen the light leave his eyes. Despite all they''d seen, all the challenging foes they''d faced, that was the first man they''d lost since coming to this strange land.

    Now, it was his job to make sure they didn''t lose another.

    A flash of movement caught Quintus''s eye to the left. The patrol mates of the fallen Legionnaire rushed forward in pursuit of their target. Only, they moved as though their feet had grown wings. They bounded past Quintus and his men with astonishing speed, moving far faster than they had any right to, allowing them to quickly outpace him and his patrol to close in on the attacker.

    Quintus didn''t have time to consider the strange phenomenon. Not in the heat of battle. Instead, he quickly adapted, splitting his patrol in two. He sent half of his men to the right flank while he led the other half to the left. They spread out wider, preparing to back up the original patrol ahead of them. Its men were now shouting rather uncharacteristically as they charged¡ªmostly about the women''s mothers and their profession of choice.

    Seeing the difference in speed, one of the men he sent to the right took the initiative. The soldier stopped running, stabbed his sword into the ground, and picked up a stone to load into his sling. A high pitched whirring filled the air as he quickly built up speed with the weapon, followed by a loud thwap. Quintus saw the lucky shot connect with the sprinting woman''s thigh, just above the knee as she ran.

    The woman went tumbling from the impact. Her momentum carried her forward, however, and she managed to turn the stumble into a roll and come back to her feet in an instant. Though it didn''t stop her entirely, the recovery had slowed her down considerably. Her next steps also appeared a bit more uneven, as though she had a new limp. Quintus allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction as the slinger reloaded, even as his next shot smashed harmlessly into a tree.

    Quintus made a mental note to commend the man for his quick thinking later. Recognizing good judgement on the battlefield was one of the better habits he had developed. Tiberius said it was the mark of a good officer to find and nurture the talent of others, and the appreciation of his men certainly seemed to support that.

    Tucking that thought away for later, Quintus and his men managed to advance far enough to surround the pair of attackers. The third patrol had successfully prevented the archer from escaping outright while the supernaturally-fast patrol moved to engage the dagger-wielder. This time, she was the one being pushed back. His own men curved around the sides to complete the encirclement. To Quintus''s surprise, he saw that the archer was another woman who bore a striking resemblance to the first. Perhaps they were sisters? Or maybe this was yet another example of the System''s magic bullshit that it seemed so fond of.

    Whatever the case, the pair were surrounded. As the dagger-wielding woman backed toward the archer, they once again changed tactics in an attempt to escape. Together, they made a dash for one of the slowly closing openings in the circle. The men moved quickly to intercept the move. Though they weren''t as fast as the pair, they had the advantage and managed to cut them off. A quick flurry of blows rang out as daggers and arrows met shields, the sound echoing through the clearing.

    Quintus pulled the horn from his side and blew three long blasts. They needed more reinforcements. Without hesitation, he issued new orders, changing up their tactics. For now, they just needed to hold on and avoid losing anyone else.

 Chapter 30: A Call to Action

    Gareth Irontongs was just settling down for the night, drifting away into a particularly pleasant dream, when a sudden noise jarred him into wakefulness.

    One eye creaked open as he stifled a grumble of annoyance. Beside him, his wife slumbered on, her comparatively petite form motionless except for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. As always, the sight of her peacefully lying there brought him comfort. Even if it was spoiled somewhat by her thunderous snoring.

    He waited a moment, listening for more. The fact that he''d heard the sound at all over his wife was nothing short of impressive. But now that he was awake, he could hear some sort of activity in the far distance. Still, there were no shouts of alarm or follow-up horns closer to town. Whatever the problem was, it seemed to be none of Habersville''s business¡ªor his.

    After deciding that the alarm wasn''t meant for them, Gareth closed his eyes once more and tried to get back to sleep. Only, it refused to come. That drowsy state that he''d been so rudely pulled from refused to reappear as his mind whirred back to life with thoughts and ideas. After lying awake for a long while, Gareth sighed and admitted that his efforts simply weren''t going anywhere. Not tonight at least.

    He carefully shifted the blankets off himself, grasping the handle he had installed into the wall to ease his weight off it without making the whole thing bounce upward. The springs quietly protested, and he steadied them with a hand, slowly releasing them so as not to disturb his wife. Each of those thousand springs had taken him hours to forge, but Gareth had no complaints. Both the time and the extravagant expense had been worthwhile for a bed as comfortable as it was sturdy.

    Sure, goose feathers were comfortable, but they didn''t offer enough support for a man like him. His bulk tended to flatten them so much that they didn''t feel any softer than the wood underneath when he laid down. But these springs? He''d thought the idea was simply the ramblings of a drunkard when he''d first heard it, but after trying it himself, he couldn''t imagine ever going back. The only issue was the disproportionate size difference between himself and his wife. If he wasn''t careful, too sudden of a movement on his part could send her launching straight into the air.

    Gareth stepped toward the window to peek outside. He and his wife lived on the second story, just above his already tall shop, meaning he was able to see a good bit farther than most. His view revealed nothing particularly notable aside from some sort of movement over at the Legion''s camp just outside the walls.

    Nodding, he began to get dressed. With his high-level stats, the blacksmith only really needed to sleep once a week. It wasn''t uncommon for him to just lay in bed until his wife went to sleep, then get up and do something else. Considering how heavy of a sleeper she was, the arrangement worked out quite well. He''d been hoping that this wouldn''t be one of those nights, though.

    With a heavy sigh, Gareth made his way downstairs. Hopefully no one would complain if he went down and got his forge started for a few hours. There were plenty of quieter bits of work he could take care of. He would just take it easy on the hammering. Though honestly, his wife''s snoring might be enough to drown even that out. Maybe he really should look into that soundproofing idea for his neighbors'' sakes.

    ***

    Tiberius stood in his command tent, poring over maps, reports, and troop positions. A few of his staff officers remained close by, ready to jot down notes or fetch someone if the need arose. Many already had messages to relay, but they would wait until morning. He tried to avoid disturbing anyone unless absolutely necessary¡ªit was late, and most of the camp was either enjoying the evening or already asleep.

    Thinking about it, he realized that he''d probably spent more time in a tent like this than anywhere else in his life. It had to be a close contender for first place, even competing with his own bed. Though nowadays, Tiberius found he no longer needed much sleep. Age and duty had whittled down his rest requirements to four or five hours at most. He would wake stiff and sore most mornings, but his mind remained sharp. And that was a blessing he valued even more.

    One finger tapped out a steady rhythm atop a stack of reports. The scouts who had been sent to check the mines had returned. They reported a small force stationed there¡ªmaybe a hundred people at most. The scouts had attempted to make estimates about their levels and classes, but despite taking the [Appraisal] skill, such information wasn''t exactly forthcoming. Apparently, its effects worked best on beings that were at a lower level than oneself.

    Still, the information itself was valuable. The scouts'' own experience allowed them to gain a rough estimate of the skill and temperament of the forces they''d observed, and they didn''t seem particularly troubling. Nothing that would pose a serious threat, though Tiberius remained wary of any System nonsense that would beg to differ. There weren¡¯t even signs of preparations for an invasion. Either word of the war they''d declared hadn''t yet reached this far, or the men were simply too complacent¡ªor confident¡ªto care.

    Of course, taking the mines was one thing. Keeping them was another entirely. Once they''d invaded, Tiberius knew that the overt aggression might spur other troops to come reclaim the mines eventually. But who knew how long that would take? Besides, it wasn''t as though they''d be losing the element of surprise. The System had already declared they were at war for all to see. That was a concern for another time.

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    No, the bigger and more pressing challenge was mobilization. Even if the defenders each fought with the strength of several men¡ªwhich Tiberius highly doubted, given what he''d seen so far¡ªthe mines could easily be taken with a single cohort. Five hundred or so men would put the odds well in their favor. But Tiberius saw an opportunity for training. His troops needed more practice¡ªreal combat experience, not just hunting monsters.

    Hunting had been only a minor part of their duties until recently, with the most dangerous creature they ever encountered being a rogue lion. Even then, the locals usually handled such matters. Now, however, slaying monsters were becoming a more significant part of their duties¡ªand one that he didn''t expect to lessen anytime soon.

    But as much as that rang true, it didn''t change what the Legion was best at. His men were trained to crush armies. And while the force at the mines was small¡ªfar less than a cohort, and even smaller than a century¡ªit was an army nonetheless. Taking them on would be a good experience for his troops, even if most of them wouldn¡¯t directly participate. It would also give them valuable intel on how larger armed forces conducted themselves in this world.

    Tiberius wrestled with the decision of how many cohorts to send. One? Two? Perhaps as many as four? The more he sent, the more confident he would feel in the results, but perhaps a little challenge would make the training aspects more effective. There was also the matter of leaving men here at their stronghold to watch over things. And should he go himself, or use this as an opportunity to test his officers?

    As he weighed the pros and cons yet again, a sudden, chilling sensation swept over him. His skin prickled with dread and sourceless grief, as though a ghost had thrust a blade of ice in his gut.

    He froze, his gaze shifting instinctively to the tent wall. He stared at a precise spot off in the distance without knowing entirely why. His officers did the same.

    Something had been lost. A small sliver of the comfort he drew from his troops and their unity dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming surge of emotion¡ªan almost tangible fury. Not just his own, but that of his men. A feeling of tangible oneness among all of his Legionnaires crystallized for a brief moment, flaring to life as though to contrast the sudden loss. The connections burned with sudden, righteous anger.

    Tiberius was certain he knew what had happened. He didn¡¯t know how or why or even the source of his certainty. But without the shadow of a doubt, he knew: a Legion member had died.

    He turned to one of his aides, his voice low but commanding. ¡°Ready the first and second cohorts,¡± he ordered. Then, to another: ¡°Bring me my armor.¡±

    Within seconds, the signal horn blasted through the camp, and the mobilization began.

    ***

    The sound of the horns blaring through camp snapped everyone out of the spell they''d fallen under. Marcus watched on, taking in the scene around him as time seemed to resume for the Legionnaires. Gone was the atmosphere of rest and joviality. Instead, figures poured from tents and scurried about like an angry tide of ants, each moving with purpose and certainty.

    He quickly stepped back to move out of the way of one such Legionnaire, then forward again to avoid being trampled by another pair. Marcus quickly realized that he''d need a better place to stand if he wanted to avoid dancing around like a drunken heron. But with the camp abuzz like this, no such spot seemed particularly forthcoming.

    "Only the first and second cohorts. The lucky fuckers¡­ they might as well have fallen in a manure heap and found gold.¡±

    Marcus looked over at Cassius. The Legionnaire was standing now, in the midst of donning his armor. A dark expression accompanied his words.

    A centurion nearby gave the man a glare and smacked him on the back of the head. ¡°Stop complaining and get moving. Even if we''re not deployed, we still need to be on guard. We cannot allow an enemy to get close to camp.¡±

    Marcus belatedly processed the words and blinked. The Legion was comprised of several smaller subunits that came together to form a singular army. One of these subunits was a cohort, a large formation led by a relatively small staff of three officers: a centurion, a standard-bearer, and a second. Each cohort was comprised of several centuries, with each century holding somewhere between 80 and 120 men.

    They were sending out two cohorts. If he wasn''t mistaken, that was almost a thousand soldiers. A thousand soldiers, all to deal with whatever had felled one of their number.

    He eventually found a place where he could remain out of the way as the camp erupted like a kicked beehive. Within moments, ranks of Legionnaires had formed facing the direction of the first horn blast from deep in the forest. Centurions started marching forward even as men continued forming up behind them. Marcus couldn¡¯t help but gape at the speed of the response. In less than a minute, the men had gone from resting to armed and on the move. If he didn''t know better, he would have suspected some sort of skill at play.

    Still, as centurions and soldiers continued to fall into place, more and more rows of men marched at an incredible pace into the forest. At the same time, the remaining men began positioning themselves along the camp walls or forming into smaller groups of eight to ten, patrolling the edge of the forest. It felt as though he''d barely blinked before an entire defensive perimeter sprang into existence.

    Marcus allowed himself one more look around before moving to follow the mobilized cohorts. If that sensation hadn''t already clued him in, this whole sequence had made it clear that something was happening¡ªsomething big. And this time, Marcus would not allow himself to hear about it secondhand. He wanted to be there and see the story that was about to unfold. After all, how else could he ensure that future audiences fell privy to the most heroic and juiciest details?

    He broke into a jog, internally cursing the marching speed of the soldiers. He could already feel how sore his legs would be in the morning.

 Chapter 31: A Mismatch of Skills

    Holding the two attackers was proving to be far more difficult than Quintus could have ever believed. Even with three full patrols on top of them, they were struggling. The injury to the dagger-wielding one''s leg had healed after she downed some kind of red elixir, and the speed at which she flashed around left everyone stunned and unprepared for attacks from unexpected angles.

    The archer, though, was much less of an issue now that they had closed the distance. It seemed that she couldn''t use her bow effectively at this range. It was slung over her shoulder as she faced the Legionnaires down with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in another.

    Both women were skilled, far more skilled than the pitiful young adventurers that had become his charges. And based on her speed and strength alone, he''d put her against any one of the members of the Legion, including himself.

    But skilled as they were, it was still clear that they lacked some level of fundamentals. Their movements were carried by their physical abilities and the occasional supernaturally-aided displays of active skills. For that reason, the battle raged on.

    The men grouped together in twos and threes to form a loose encirclement of smaller shield walls. Now that they were out of the trees, most of the men had swapped their swords for spears, hoping to keep the aggressors at a distance in the open clearing. Quintus constantly had people rotating in and out of the loose encirclement whenever there was a gap, focusing on using whatever first aid skills they had available on the wounded.

    A few of the Legionnaires had taken various skills like [Bandage] and [Field Aid] and had become quite good at patching up superficial wounds. But at this point, almost everyone was fighting injured. Even the centurions in charge of each patrol were in rough shape, having never left the front lines for a break. But the fact that there were enough men to pull people away from the fight briefly, even if for only a few seconds, was a relief.

    "Is that all you''ve got, you shameless bitch? You strike with all the force of a wet fart!"

    The ranger''s eyes narrowed at the [Taunt], sending her darting toward the shouting Legionnaire for a precious few seconds before she recovered her wits. He readied his spear to meet her charge. Soon after, another man activated his own skill to send the ranger careening back in his direction.

    It was a tactic they''d been developing recently. Ever since their fight with the strange snake-goat-beast, Quintus had realized just how much the Legion struggled with handling powerful individuals¡ªspecifically, in controlling their movements. As powerful of a tool as their shield wall was, it did nothing if the enemy could simply ignore it.

    Luckily, the magic of the System had a solution for that. The [Taunt] skill drew a target''s attention to the user, forcing them to focus their ire and diverting their attention from things such as fleeing. It had already proved a powerful solution that allowed them to better utilize their best tactics.

    Several times, their enemies had tried to make a break for it. But while a [Taunt] had seemingly little effect on the rogue, it was significantly more successful at diverting the ranger. At least, for a short while. But it was long enough. That, plus the observation that the rogue wouldn''t leave without her companion, had led Quintus to order their current strategy¡ªspamming the skill at the ranger as frequently as possible, keeping her both within their loose formation and too occupied to run. They were lucky enough to have a few men that had picked it up across the three patrols.

    Of course, the rogue could still leap over their heads and attack from behind. That much he''d already seen. But with the way they were controlling the other woman''s movements, doing so risked leaving the ranger too exposed. As it was, the rogue had her hands full keeping the Legionnaires off her back¡ªespecially the empowered ones from the dead Legionnaire''s contubernium. They seemed to give both of the women a difficult time with their supernatural speed and strength.

    Their formation advanced and retreated as they continued to battle. Quintus tried to take advantage of each shift through careful maneuvering and positioning, making it so that their enemies'' only option was to move closer to Habersville and the camp. But whether by luck or planning, they never took that bait. The pair went out of their way to avoid being herded, even at the cost of remaining stuck.

    The situation was incredibly frustrating. On one hand, he was relieved that they didn''t run that way. The last thing he wanted was for incoming reinforcements to be blindsided by an enemy far above anyone''s expectations. But on the other hand, it would have felt like they were making progress and maybe hastened a reprieve for him and his men.

    Just because the pair were skilled fighters didn''t mean they didn''t take injuries though. Sure, almost every one of their slashes and thrusts ended up avoided. But a few went through. A few times, a soldier even managed to surprise them with a sudden shield bash. The intermittent barrage of sling stones from the back lines also helped keep things in check, though their shots had to be carefully aimed to avoid hitting allies. But they were quickly wising up to the situation. Worse, the rogue had seemed to identify him as the main commander directing this battle. And now, the majority of her attention was focused on him.

    He angled his shield to deflect another dagger strike, his shoulder jarring and his forearm going a bit more numb from the slash. What should have been just a small blade hitting a reinforced shield felt like a giant ape had taken a battle ax to his forearm. The fact that he hadn''t been flung backwards several times already was only due to the miracle of skills.

    The idea that a woman could outmatch him in strength was embarrassing, to say the least. But he couldn''t contest the reality battering at his shield. He silently made a promise to himself to train harder. That, and prioritize leveling up his own skills even more. It had become abundantly clear that they were a key part of the fighting style of this world, and too strong to be ignored.

    But focusing on them too much might be risky. The more he used and strengthened them, the more he wanted to use them. It was easy to see how those young adventurers had ended up in the trap of overreliance. He''d have to make sure the Legion''s training emphasized skill growth, but not at the expense of actually learning the basics and practicing proper techniques.

    Quintus was sent skidding backward once more, his [Sure Footing] saving him from tumbling over a root in the ground. He called out another brief order, the few words infused with more intent and meaning than seemed possible due to his suite of command-related skills. His men shifted, seeming to intuitively understand exactly what he''d been trying to convey as they adjusted their formation.

    The rogue turned to meet another pair of Legionnaires, exposing her back to Quintus. [Battlefield Intuition] flared to life at the sudden opportunity. In a flash he had pushed off the root and launched himself forward. His [Heavy Blow] arced toward the woman, coming in from a blind spot as she engaged the other soldier.

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    The noise must have tipped her off to the attack. One of the rogue''s arms bent at an awkward angle to parry his sword with a dagger held behind her back. The positioning was such that the blow should have jarred her shoulder from its socket or at least broken her arm. However, Quintus knew better than to trust his instincts on that front. Not in this place.

    The blow still sent the rogue tumbling backward¡ªthough rather than the graceless tumble of a ragdoll, her movements were closer to those of an acrobat. One fist planted  knuckles-first on the ground as she sprung backward, still holding her dagger. She twisted in the air to flip and land on her feet in a half-crouch, glaring at Quintus.

    Quintus slammed his sword against his shield, aiming to keep her attention on him. He didn''t have a [Taunt] skill, but that didn''t mean he couldn''t try and goad the woman the old-fashioned way. After all, if she was fighting him, then that meant she wasn''t killing any of his men.

    She charged again, and Quintus braced for the impact. They clashed again and again, and the more they failed to hurt each other, the more frustrated the woman became.

    "Why won''t you die?!"

    Her voice held a hint of hysteria as she screamed obscenities at him and his men. Quintus didn''t respond. Aside from the occasional command, he remained stoically silent, his jaw set as he focused on keeping the threat at bay.

    The archer faded to the back of his mind. He trusted his men to handle her. Instead, he kept his concentration on the enemy in front of him. After the first couple of exchanges, she seemed to do the same. Fresh wounds bloomed across his body as blow after blow rang off of his shield. The men that weren''t focusing on the archer did their best to help Quintus, aiming strikes at her back or sending sling projectiles her way. She remained a blur of movement, dodging and twisting out of the way, but unable to truly press her advantages under the onslaught.

    Quintus didn''t aim to win. At this point, it was fairly clear that a stalemate was as good as they were going to get. His men were taking more and more injuries as time went on and even he was barely clinging to life. He was pretty sure that he had broken something in his shield arm, and his knees felt like were having trouble keeping him upright. He was fairly certain that it was only the influence of [Sure Footing] that kept him standing. But the fact that he did stand seemed to frustrate the rogue even more.

    The battle raged on, Legionnaires constantly cycling as they struggled to keep their enemies at bay. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer, and then reinforcements would be here. The men just had to fight, to grit their teeth, to keep each other from bleeding out just a little bit longer.

    Quintus didn''t know how long they fought like that. It could have been minutes or even hours. But somehow, they held out for long enough.

    The first rank of the Legion''s reinforcements marched out into the clearing. The long, unbroken row of shields glinting in the torchlight was as welcome a sight as he had ever seen.

    ***

    The effort of keeping up with the Legion''s pace soon had Marcus panting. That much was nothing new¡ªhe''d experienced much the same trying to catch up after he''d first summoned them. However, the speed at which he ran out of steam surprised him more than anything.

    With his level and stat distributions, his dexterity was nothing to scoff at. He could move with astonishing speed when he wanted to. His constitution left much to be desired, meaning that he couldn''t always maintain that speed well, but still. It should have been more than enough to handle a short jog like this.

    Yet the Legionnaires moved fast¡ªmuch faster than he remembered. What at first looked like a quick march began to resemble something else entirely the more he looked. The earth around the men''s feet seemed to almost blur and smooth as they advanced. It could only be the influence of some kind of skill, though which one he had no idea. Either way, they ate up ground surprisingly fast, and before Marcus could even make it toward the front lines the Legion had already reached their destination.

    A massive clearing sprawled before them, its contents only partially visible from the light of held torches. On its far side, around two dozen extremely haggard-looking Legionnaires gathered in a loose encirclement. Marcus recognized one of them as a fairly prominent figure¡ªQuintus, the Primus Pilus who couldn''t tell a story to save his life. At the center of the formation were two female figures struggling to fight the Legion off, their movements marking them as dexterity-focused fighters of some sort. It certainly explained why the man wasn''t able to land any substantive blows.

    Marcus activated [Appraisal] and felt his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. Both fighters, a [Rogue] and a [Ranger], were level 15. Forget hitting them¡ªthe fact that any of the Legionnaires were still alive was a miracle that practically beggared belief. They should have been cut down in the first few exchanges.

    He couldn''t help but gape at the sight before him. Either this [Rogue] had a build so incompetent and poorly optimized for battle that she might as well have classified herself as a [Seamstress]¡ªto put it mildly¡ªor he''d underestimated the Legion''s skills even more than he''d initially thought. Not just their skill levels, either, but their actual talent and combat experience.

    That conclusion seemed to be supported by the actual fighting before him. While not a fighter himself, Marcus had spent enough time around jousting tournaments and melees to get some sense of what was happening. It wasn''t hard to tell that Quintus was hanging on by his fingernails. Yet no matter how battered the man appeared, he continued to move about with uncanny efficiency. His feet always seemed to find just the right spots on the uneven ground and tree roots, while his sword moved in fluid, graceful arcs with every swing. All that told him that Quintus''s skill levels were no joke. In fact, they had to be quite impressive.

    Marcus shook off his shock and focused on the events before him. He needed to pay attention¡ªnot just to Quintus, but the fight as a whole. It was the entire point of him being here. He certainly knew the Primus Pilus wouldn''t be doing him any favors in the retelling.

    The Legion moved forward at a blistering pace. They streamed through the trees in a veritable tide of red and gold, snapping together into a solid wall as they emerged into the clearing. Marcus paused at what he felt was a safe distance from the fight and watched as the hundred men in the first several ranks crashed into battle. The previously wounded fighters fell back and were quickly subsumed into the greater force. Members broke from the charging shield wall to drag their comrades to safety, the gaps filled instantly with fresh men. Only Quintus remained in the fight.

    Marcus saw the [Ranger] and [Rogue] react to the incoming reinforcements. The fact that it took them this long didn''t speak well of their own talents, though they did seem to have their hands full. Before the Legion could swarm over the pair, the cloaked [Ranger] yelled a warning to the black-clad [Rogue]. Marcus thought her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn''t recognize her face¡ªand Marcus never forgot a face.

    What should have been a fight they could have won through attrition had suddenly turned into a desperate situation. The two women were clearly in over their heads and they knew it. Their panicked faces revealed their thoughts as clear as day¡ªif these new arrivals fought anything like their comrades, then there was no way they could succeed.

    The pair''s eyes met for an instant as they seemed to come to an agreement¡ªit was time to leave. They made a real effort to get away, darting for a weak point in the wall. One of the Legionnaires shouted something at the [Ranger], causing her to turn aside and dart towards him, but the [Rogue] grabbed her shoulder and began to physically pull her away. She even succeeded, but the delay cost them precious time as the reinforcements began to swarm and encircle the pair.

    Marcus tensed, his attention laser-focused on the fight. Who these two assailants were and where they''d come from, he didn''t know. But if the Legion hadn''t arrived so quickly, they likely would have managed to kill far more of the men fighting them and gotten away with it. But now reinforcements were here. And a thousand more were right on their heels.

 Chapter 32: Death in the Family

    The Legion reinforcements streamed forward like a hungry tide, moving quickly to join the fight. What had previously been a dim clearing now glowed as bright as if it were midday, the sheer number of torches banishing the shadows to its very edges.

    Quintus didn''t let his guard down, however. Not yet. He stepped forward and attempted to make another slash at the enemy that had been plaguing him for what felt like an eternity. The woman with daggers had turned around, exposing her back for a crucial instant as she turned to flee.

    He blinked as his arm refused to move. A quick glance revealed blood running down its length¡ªmore than expected. He didn''t recall taking quite that many wounds.

    Suddenly, hands grabbed at his armor, pulling him back into the approaching tide of men. For a moment, he struggled to resist them, but found himself unable to even do that. He stumbled backward, exhaustion crashing over him like a hammer blow.

    "Primus Pilus! Primus Pilus Quintus!" A voice yelled, distantly at first, then right in his ear. He shook his head to clear the sluggishness that had overtaken him, looking around and seeing a centurion from the first cohort and another legionnaire he didn''t know the name of pulling him back.

    "Rest, Primus Pilus. You''ve done enough. Allow the men to handle this."

    Quintus let his shield and sword dip toward the ground. As the fervor of his battle frenzy receded, the full extent of his injuries began to make themselves known. Countless cuts across his skin flared to life, burning with every movement. Most were superficial, but some had made it through his armor or found weak points with less protection.

    He tried to twist and hissed in pain as he discovered one that just grazed his upper arm. Touching it coated his fingertips in fresh blood. Quintus quickly pulled off a strip of cloth to stanch the wound. Thankfully, neither it nor the other wounds seemed particularly life threatening. Nothing that would cause lasting damage, either. Just more scars and lots of pain.

    A hand offered him a length of bandages. The centurion gave him a solemn nod. "We can handle the threat, sir."

    And they did.

    Quintus watched as a [Taunt] rose up from somewhere on the line of Legionnaires, trying to divert the rogue''s attention as she dragged the ranger toward the far side of the encirclement. It only took her a fraction of a second to resist the effect, but two walls of shields were already closing in. Swords snaked out from between them to stab towards her. She released her grip on her companion and tried to vault over the men, but a second rank had already moved into place and pulled their shields above their heads. Their own spears jabbed forward to skewer her in midair, but she kicked off the shields before anyone could actually make contact, flipping as she landed back inside the encirclement.

    With the fresh onslaught of reinforcements, there were even more men capable of controlling the pair''s movement. And now that the formation was closing in, it was only a matter of time before they were completely surrounded or made a mistake. Already, blood stained the archer''s green cloak, and her bow was cut in half, forcing her to rely on a battered shortsword.

    The rogue swore something under her breath, throwing a glance over her shoulder to find yet another [Taunt] pulling the woman with the bow toward the opposite end of the encirclement. She abandoned her attempted assault and sprinted towards the archer, only to hesitate for another fraction of a second as another [Taunt] affected her as well.

    It was enough.

    "Merethe!" she screamed.

    The willowy archer failed to dodge a spear thrust from the back ranks, causing her to stumble and fall to one knee. The soldiers advanced on the downed woman without hesitation. This pair was a proven threat¡ªone that had already killed one of their men and wounded too many more. And that would not go unanswered.

    Quintus''s view was partially obscured as the wall advanced. He heard the sounds of gladii moving in sync as the steel repeatedly thrust into the woman. In moments, he saw a flash of green fall to the ground as she fell over backward, her knee twisted at an unnatural angle.

    "NOOOOOOO!"

    The word was almost unintelligible in its raw, guttural emotion. The rogue went into a frenzy, sprinting forward and lashing out at the Legionnaires before her as they stepped over and in front of the ranger''s body. Deep gouges appeared in their shields, but the wall held her back, swords glistening.

    The rogue got her wits about her long enough to see that she was surrounded. The rest of the Legionnaires continued to stream around their brethren, reinforcing their lines and threatening to cut off her retreat entirely. Already they had managed to add a few ranks to the far side.

    Quintus saw her face contort with rage before she turned and sprinted toward the thinnest part of the encirclement, where only a few lines stood between her and the forest beyond. They braced for impact, but before making contact the woman leaped high in the air, sailing overhead at several times a man''s height before landing among the trees. She began to run.

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    Quintus recovered enough of his breath to bellow an order. "Make ranks and pursue the enemy! Do not allow her to escape!"

    The Legion obeyed, spreading out amongst the trees and falling into formation as well as they could manage. They''d already scored one victory. Now, it was just a matter of finishing the fight.

    ***

    Sharath dashed through the forest, trees and branches blurring in her vision. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and worked with the darkness to keep her from seeing what was in front of her. She could feel blood seeping from more than a few superficial cuts, but she barely paid any mind to any of it.

    Merethe was dead.

    Not captured. Not simply in trouble. Just¡­ dead.

    Even now, her mind rebelled against the very suggestion, jumping through hoops and trying to conjure ways around what she''d seen with her own eyes. Perhaps this army had a [Cleric] or [Healer]. Maybe they could resurrect her, would resurrect her? For information?

    She shook her head violently. No. The idea was absurd. You didn''t stab a potential captive that many times. If they''d wanted to take her sister alive, they would have. And even if they did have a [Cleric] on hand, at Merethe''s level and with that many wounds¡­ the window was just too small.

    Sharath continued sprinting forward, hardly noticing the small branches that whipped at her arms and face as she slowly pulled away from the pursuit behind her. Despite the difficult terrain, the eerie marching of the monsters was proving surprisingly effective, pushing her to run faster¡ªand for a longer time than she was really specced for¡ªto keep away from them.

    This was supposed to be a simple job. A little risky, sure, but not this much. They had only gotten into this situation because Sharath wanted to test their combat abilities. She''d been the one to insist on it. And now¡­

    She gritted her teeth hard enough that they might''ve cracked. Along with the tears came impotent rage. She wanted to turn around, to sprint back toward that wall of faceless helmets and shields, to stab and fight and tear them apart with every last ounce of strength she had. Even if she failed, she''d at least get the satisfaction of taking down some of her sister''s killers.

    But she didn''t. Instead, she kept running, trying to lose them. Sharath knew better than anyone that she wasn''t built to crash through enemy lines like a [Berserker]¡ªeven if she wanted that more than anything at this moment. No, there were too many of them, their formation too tight for her to slip between shields or find some sort of chink in the armor. Even if she did, the sheer number would surround her again, and then what? She couldn¡¯t resist that amount of taunts forever, then she would end up just like her sister.

    Sharath forced herself to keep breathing. This shouldn''t have happened. None of this should have ever happened. Fighting them had already been bad enough, but something had changed after she killed that first soldier. The way it made some of the others faster, stronger, even harder to deal with than before. It was as though they were the real berserkers. Maybe they were cultists of Thrak''nar? The god of revenge was known for giving shitty deals that burned one''s life force in exchange for power.

    But even both of those explanations had limits¡ªones that shouldn''t have been able to overcome a fifteen-level gap. This effect was far too extreme to be normal. Maybe [Appraisal] had lied to her. Maybe they really did have some way to deceive the skill. It was somehow less unbelievable than her sister dying to a horde of useless level ones.

    Sharath kept running, her lungs burning from too-fast breaths, as thoughts whirled through her head in a disordered mess. The sound of marching was finally starting to fade into the distance. She was likely a quarter mile ahead of her pursuers at this point. Perhaps she could hide, take a rest and camouflage herself where they wouldn''t see her. Sneak back to their camp once they''d given up. Find a way inside when they weren''t formed up and ready for battle, weren''t ready to handle a knife in the dark picking them off one by one¡­

    A cold certainty settled over her. She could fight back. She could get revenge. It just had to be her way.

    After a moment of hesitation, Sharath adjusted her route. Not yet. She would make these men pay for what they''d done, but not yet. The chances of her being able to take out a literal army by herself were slim, even if she did play to her strengths. If she wanted to get this done right, she''d need backup. Which meant telling the Baron about what had happened here.

    But what would she tell him? That there was an army of level ones who were disproportionately powerful, dangerous enough that she''d barely escaped? No one would believe her. They''d just laugh. Assume she was lying or exaggerating. Call her weak, or worse¡ªher sister.

    That couldn''t happen. She knew better than anyone how dangerous these men were¡ªif they even could be called "men". Maybe they were actually something else. Some homunculi created by a wizard. Some high-level summon. Or even some secret special forces project from a foreign kingdom. Hells, maybe the elves had decided they were fed up with isolationism. Whatever they were, they clearly had something or someone else backing them up. Something that could threaten the entire kingdom.

    Once she judged that she was far enough ahead, Sharath made a hard turn toward the river. No stopping for her yet. She needed to get back and convince the Baron of the danger. To come back with as much strength as they could muster and crush this threat now. It shouldn''t be too hard to convince him. Especially not if she omitted or embellished a few details.

    Sharath heard the telltale rushing of water ahead. She chanced a quick glance behind her. Moving at an angle had shrunk the gap between her and her pursuers, and she could see the light of their torches seeping through the trees. But they weren''t that close yet. She just had to hope that they''d be unable to follow her.

    She leaped, hurling herself over the water and landing in a roll on the other side. She winced slightly as the grass and dirt of the plains ground into her injuries. Without hesitation, she got to her feet and kept running. By the time they reached the riverbank and stopped, she was already well on her way, eschewing the road to run across the open fields. Their figures faded into the distance behind her.

    But she would be back.

 Chapter 33: Rite of Passage

    The first golden rays of dawn had just begun to stream through the trees by the time everything had settled down. The battle and ensuing manhunt for other threats had occupied much of the Legion''s attention that night, followed by a redoubling of defenses around the camp and town.

    Tiberius hadn''t personally gone out to the battlefield until several hours after it was secured, despite his desire to be on the front lines with his men. The reports of the pair''s skills had made it quite clear that his presence would make him too vulnerable, something that his officers and aides weren''t willing to risk. He had to agree. It was regrettable, but a situation like this called for him to step back as a leader¡ªstep back and carry out his other responsibilities.

    His men were competent enough to handle themselves. Besides, this was no battlefield like he was used to, where army clashed against army. This was a hunt.

    As the sun began to rise, however, the men returned to the camp to regroup and rest. Those who had spent the night on the move were granted a brief respite as they switched with fresh soldiers. A subdued air hung over them all as preparations began to be made¡ªpreparations for a burial.

    Tiberius watched over the digging impassively. Death was simply a part of life for a Legionnaire. From the realities of war to ambushes to the simple consequences of an extended march, he''d seen more than his fair share of it over the decades. It was something he''d gotten used to, at least partially. Though that was not to say it was ever easy.

    This death in particular hit him harder than most. Ever since they had come to this new, hostile, and unfamiliar land, they had managed to avoid losing a single man. Through all the battles and life-threatening injuries, they had been spared that by some miracle of Mars. Sure, they had nearly a score of wounded, including some with more permanent disabilities. A few wore eye patches now or walked with a limp, if they could walk at all. But given the strange magics of this land, Tiberius was no longer confident in saying that those injuries were even permanent.

    This man was the first to fall. Not only that, but his death had taken something with him. It was as though his loss had carved a small hole in his soul, an empty space in the ironclad bond he shared with his fellow Legionnaires. A small hole, to be certain. But a hole nonetheless.

    It wasn''t just him, either¡ªmany of the men seemed to share the same sentiment. He saw it written plain across their faces as they dug and made preparations. Each one of his men had reacted with the same visceral sense of loss immediately after his death. And while some had recovered quickly enough, more seemed to hold on to that feeling with a grip of iron.

    Luckily, they only had to dig one grave. It was something that they hadn''t been certain about, initially. Though everyone had felt that first Legionnaire die, there was no telling whether that phenomenon would be repeated for subsequent deaths. Regardless, whether it was a blessing or a curse to blame, Tiberius felt that it was only fitting to give the man a proper funeral. For his sake and the men''s.

    The body lay beneath a sheet, stiff and unmoving, as the Legion gathered. Not all of them, of course. Patrols and guards still needed to be stationed, especially in the wake of this attack. Still, his centurions had ensured that as many men as possible were allowed time to attend the ceremony.

    He cleared his throat and stepped forward onto a hastily erected stage. Silence spread across the lines of Legionnaires as he did. Once the last of them had quieted, Tiberius began to speak. His voice carried across the men without issue thanks to [Voice of Command]. It made it so that he no longer had to shout his speeches in order to be heard. Small mercies.

    "Men. Brothers!" Titus spoke, and everyone snapped to attention. "We gather today to honor the memory of the fallen¡ªof Sextus, who gave his life in battle for the sake of his comrades. A man whose spirit and actions have brought glory to Rome and her ideals."

    Tiberius spoke briefly about the man. He did not know him well on a personal level, as he regrettably lacked the time to build relationships with each and every one of his men. However, Sextus had been spoken well of by his contubernium and centurion as a dependable soldier. One that served with pride.

    After a brief eulogy, Tiberius gestured towards where the body lay. "Sextus gave his life for his comrades, opposing an enemy with skills beyond our understanding for their sakes. But he was not the only one to show courage. Quatenus, step forward!"

    The man stepped out of formation as Tiberius continued. "Quatenus. You displayed excellent decision-making and decisive action on the battlefield. Moreover, you managed to wound the enemy from over a hundred paces with your sling¡ªall while they leapt about like a gazelle." He tossed the man a bag of coins. "You have done well."

    Quatenus saluted the Legatus. "Sir!"

    Tiberius nodded in approval, his attention turning to the next man. "Octavius!"

    One by one, he went down the list of men that had been picked out by their superiors for meritorious actions. The exception was Quintus. Though he had performed valiantly indeed, he would receive awards in private amongst the officers later. Each received recognition and a bag of denarii¡ªwhich, though foreign to this land, still seemed to suffice for trade among the locals. Gold was gold, after all. Replenishing their supply of currency was yet another item on Tiberius''s list of necessary actions, though saying so to the men would certainly do more harm than good.

    "And so, we find ourselves at a crossroads," he continued after handing out the last of the awards. "This night, we were attacked. Our patrol was ambushed, and one of our own slain. This act of aggression leaves us with two choices. To defend. To stay, protect that which we have gained and built, and call it our empire, meager though it may be. Such a path forward would be simple, to eke out a living and be satisfied with that which we have claimed for ourselves. It would offer safety and security. And it would ensure fewer gatherings such as this," he gestured toward the grave.

    Tiberius paused for a moment as his words sank in. "However¡­ even that is not guaranteed. One of our enemies escaped. They surely flee to their master as we speak, carrying word of our existence and our capabilities. I have no doubt that they will return, and in greater numbers than before.

    "Which leads me to our other path," Tiberius clasped his hands behind his back. "To press onward. To fight back, grow our strength until we march unopposed. To face our foes head-on and take the battle to them, before it inevitably comes to our own doorstep.

    "This, my brothers, is our choice. To hide, or to fight. To allow these barbarians their victory, or to show them the true might of Rome, that they may be brought to heel and know their proper place. I will not lie. This path will be long and difficult¡ªand we shall see many more graves before it is done. But I have no doubt that we shall find victory at its end.

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    "So, men, I ask you now." Tiberius''s voice rose as he drew towards the end of his speech. "Will you live out the rest of your meager lives seeking safety? Or will you stand and press on? Will you allow our brother''s sacrifice to be in vain? Or will you fight for the ideals he died to preserve¡ªthe ideals of Rome and her glory?"

    A shout rose up from the gathered soldiers. "For Rome!"

    Tiberius nodded in approval, then turned toward Sextus''s body and took a knee. Gingerly, he uncovered the man''s face, the pallid skin cleaned of the blood and grime that once covered it. His eyes were closed, a coin already placed beneath his tongue to ensure safe passage across the Styx. Fishing around his neckline, Tiberius found the small leather pouch tied around his neck, the one that contained a lead signaculum to identify him. He retrieved it and stood again.

    "Primus Pilus," he called Quintus forward. "I charge you to care for the names of the dead until they can be presented to their families. When we return to Rome, let Sextus''s name be entered in the ledger of honor."

    The centurion nodded solemnly as he accepted the pouch. Tiberius himself couldn''t be certain when they would return to their homeland, if ever. It was entirely possible that they would live out the rest of their lives in this place. But it was better to give the men hope.

    With that, Tiberius stepped back and saluted. The entire Legion present saluted as the body was lowered into the grave and slowly covered with fresh dirt. Their faces remained stony, many held in tight control as the hole filled in.

    Tiberius allowed himself to glance to one side. Of all the people present, there was only one who was not a member of the Legion. Marcus stood unobtrusively off to the side, his expression somber. The bard had remained uncharacteristically silent for the entire ceremony.

    The Legatus considered him for a long moment. There had been a bit of contention amongst a few of the officers about Marcus''s presence. However, the matter had been quietly resolved with the input of a few of the soldiers. He had marched with the Legion when Sextus had died. That meant something. That, and he''d apparently known the man, at least well enough to elicit a response like this. And so, he''d been allowed to attend his friend''s funeral, so long as he didn''t cause too much of a fuss.

    Tiberius''s fist clenched. He hid it behind his back, ensuring that the men didn''t see his reaction as he stared at the burial. The escape of that enemy provided one more reason to march, to accelerate their timelines and start on the warpath. Not like he needed any more. The Legion''s need for food and supplies would soon become pressing. Hunting had supplemented their rations and stretched them out much longer than they would have lasted otherwise, but reports indicated they would soon run the risk of picking this area clean. That was on top of the need for ore and raw materials and a bevy of other things.

    When they went to take the mines, they would need to either seize provisions or take extra territory that produced food. It was their best chance to sustain themselves into the future. But they would need to move quickly, before their enemies had a chance to prepare or return in larger numbers. And though they couldn''t be certain what faction their aggressors had belonged to, it wasn''t hard to make an educated guess.

    Of course, the savage in him wanted to take his whole Legion, leave Habersville, and march deep into the enemy kingdom, putting everything to the torch. It wasn''t a wise or particularly tactical decision. But would impress upon them respect. No, instead, Tiberius would play the long game and ensure that their funerals were as infrequent as he could make them. Not by hiding or remaining defensive, but by ensuring that they were a force to be reckoned with. He would lead his men to victory.

    Tiberius was pulled from his musings as Marcus sidled up alongside him. The colorfully-dressed bard spoke in low tones pitched not to carry. "Legatus, I have a small request. Might I be permitted to perform funeral rites of my own? After yours are completed, of course. Though you have your own customs, our people also have ours."

    He thought for a second and then nodded. "I''ll allow it. So long as you remain respectful and wait until we have finished. Though I will not press the men to stay if they are not willing."

    Marcus nodded solemnly and backed off. They both watched on silently as the grave continued to fill.

    ***

    It took a while for the digging to complete. After a few more brief words from other Legionnaires, Marcus stepped forward and cleared his throat.

    "Soldiers," Marcus said simply. "If you would allow me to bend your ears for a moment¡­ I would like to make an offering of my own on this occasion. I considered Sextus to be a friend¡ªa new friend, mind you¡ªbut I..." He hesitated. "We''ve spent no few nights around the fire together, speaking of battles long past and his home. He was a good man."

    Marcus clasped his hands behind his back. "Here, we honor the fallen, especially those who defend their comrades, in many different ways. Oftentimes, far away from civilization a burial and a song is sometimes all they ever receive. And so, I thought it would be fitting to offer him that at least."

    Marcus bowed his head for a second¡ªthen he began to sing.

    Who shall sing me,

    Guide my soul through shadowed seas,

    When I tread the path beyond,

    And the stars grow dim

    So dim, so cold.

    It was less of a song and more of a chant, high and haunting. As the words flowed out of the bard, Tiberius could swear he heard the man''s voice echo and redouble as though he were just one of many. His very heartbeat resonated with the words like a bassy drum pounding in the background.

    When you stand before the gates of fate,

    And the silver chains must break,

    Follow you, I shall,

    Across the bridge of souls,

    With my call.

    The chant filled the air like a physical weight. Unlike the jaunty tunes and stories Tiberius had heard from the bard before, this one felt¡­ significant. Not just because of the words and somber delivery, either. It lent an air of importance to the funeral itself, transforming it into an event worthy of an epic in and of itself. All around him, the Legion remained spellbound by the performance, undoubtedly feeling much the same.

    When Marcus had finished singing, the eerie echoes of music faded. He opened his eyes, gaze lifting toward the sky, and spoke once more¡ªthis time, in his normal voice.

    Steel may rust, and banners burn,

    Kings shall fall, and towers turn,

    Yet the deeds of heroes ever shine,

    And your name shall never fade.

    Gold shall dull, and halls shall fall,

    Stone will crack, and time takes all,

    Yet one thing shall never die,

    The memory of those who dared.

    As the last note faded into distant echoes, the whole Legion was quiet for several moments. Marcus simply nodded to himself, retreating back to the sidelines without another word.

    Tiberius looked at the man with a hint of newfound respect. Marcus was clearly not a soldier, not by any means. But the sheer sorrow in his song was not something that could be easily faked. Nor was it something understood by fops or the rich, pampered sons of the elite. No, this spoke to something more. Beneath the surface, Tiberius suspected that Marcus had known hardship. Perhaps he, too, had seen men die¡ªmore than just Sextus. Enough to understand how to truly honor a fallen friend.

    Inwardly, Tiberius allowed himself a grudging smile. Perhaps he''d been wrong about the bard. If so, he would honestly be glad. It would mean he was a better man.

 Chapter 34: The Men Yearn for the Mines

    Fires dotted the camp in the early hours of the day as the men gathered together in celebration of their fallen brother. The mourning celebration had been going on for some time, though not everyone was able to partake in its entirety. Many groups rotated in shifts to go about their regular duties, but only the essential work was being done for the moment.

    Marcus meandered from campfire to campfire, strumming his lute. Occasionally, he shared a song when one was requested of him or when he spotted a particularly morose group. Not all of the men were as successfully stoic as Tiberius, after all¡ªthough [Critical Reception] helped him to pick out even the ones who were putting on such a face. Either way, the general mood had swung from solemn contemplation over to something more jovial, especially with the aid of some alcohol.

    The tradition of drinking and celebration after a funeral, at least, was one custom shared by their disparate cultures. Usually such a thing would be done in a tavern or a pub, of course, but with the Legion''s size¡­ Marcus doubted that any city but the capital would have room for all of them. That was even without considering the fact that the men had long since run the town dry of its liquor, despite Marcus''s rather pointed suggestions to the locals. Even the ones who had begun brewing huge quantities of their most potent stock before this still had some ways to go¡ªeven the quickest brews took at least a week to prepare for all but a high-level [Brewmaster]. And Marcus was sure that one of those wouldn''t be caught dead this far from civilization.

    No, for the moment, the Legion was left to build camaraderie by passing around the last few flasks they had carried with them. It wasn''t too surprising. There were always some secret stashes when veteran soldiers were involved.

    He stopped at one group that appeared particularly glum. It wasn''t Sextus''s contubernium¡ªhe''d already paid them a visit to offer his condolences. Instead, he spotted a few of the man''s other friends gathered around a fire, including the aspiring performer Cassius. He''d considered more than once teaching the man some fundamental skills for performance, or at least advising him on which to take. However, given his current career as a soldier, such selections would likely be seen as wastes of space. Regardless, now wasn''t the time for such things.

    Marcus flared out his cloak and plopped down on a piece of firewood beside the man, clapping him on the shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "Cassius, friend. How are you holding up?

    The Legionnaire shot him a forced half-smile before letting it drop with a sigh. The rest of the circle didn''t look much better. Marcus recognized several of them as men who often pulled guard duty and likely interacted with Sextus more than most. It only made sense that they would be hit harder by the loss.

    He found himself almost surprised to realize how many of them he knew. Marcus had a knack for not forgetting faces, both as an inborn talent and a benefit of his class. But that still didn''t explain the sheer quantity of Legionnaires that he could easily identify. If he''d heard a name once, he remembered it, and recalling past interactions was not as tricky as it perhaps should have been. It seemed as though his abilities were enhanced when it came to them, perhaps amplified through that strange connection that still persisted after the summoning.

    "...I''ve been a Legionnaire for nearly a decade at this point," Cassius finally spoke. "Joined as soon as I turned fourteen. It''s not the first time I''ve seen a man die, and it won''t be the last. You get used to it. But it''s never easy."

    Marcus nodded. The realization that Cassius was only barely older than he was surprised him. He had pegged the man as thirty-five at least, not in his early twenties. Of course, from everything he had heard, the Legionnaires'' lives had been hard and cheap¡ªso perhaps their weathered faces and tired expressions made sense.

    The bard shook his head sadly. "Nor should it be. It is one thing to wake each day and walk alongside Zabit¡ªthe god of death in these parts," Marcus clarified at a few questioning looks. "Yet it is another to become inured to death entirely. The fact that you still feel for a fallen friend is no weakness."

    "Not until it distracts you," one of the other soldiers grumbled. "Thoughts like that are liable to get a man. Especially in battle. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that his brothers kept their heads through whatever witchcraft afflicted us all."

    Cassius shuddered. "Agreed. It sounds like that rage affected them more than most. Though the way they tell it, perhaps it helped in some measure."

    Marcus frowned, making a note to ask for more details. He''d noticed one of the groups of Legionnaires acting oddly during the fight, striking with more speed and power than the rest. However, he''d dismissed it as his imagination. The topic would have to wait for some other time, though.

    "Have you ever lost someone close to you, bard? A brother, perhaps?" Cassius asked.

    Marcus thought about it. "Not to this level. I''ve certainly survived friends though. Being around court, such things are inevitable¡ªa proper court, not just that empty show of dandies you sometimes see."

    A few of the men snorted at Marcus''s mention of court, but others nodded along, listening. He continued. "There''s a decent amount of intrigue, and the military commanders aren''t spared a part. Some fall in combat. Other to less¡­ obvious plots. Sometimes they''re your friend. As I said, however, it''s nowhere near as personal.

    "When were you at court?" One of the men¡ªwhose name Marcus had yet to learn¡ªasked. He appeared to be in his early twenties at first glance, which given Cassius''s actual age might''ve meant he was even younger.

    "Oh, some time ago. I''ve been around more than my fair share." Marcus winked.

    "That certainly explains why you dress like one of those fops," one of the other men goaded him.

    "Surely you jest," Marcus retorted with an affronted look. "I wouldn''t be caught dead wearing what the nobles call ''high fashion'' nowadays. Far too many gemstones for my taste. You all would think me full of myself if I walked around in that."

    "Says the man who struts around in a purple cloak every day.

    "What''s wrong with purple? It''s a fine color!"

    "It''s also the imperial color," one of the soldiers informed him. "Very expensive and difficult to produce. In Rome, only the emperor is permitted to wear it."

    Marcus blinked at that. "Really? Wait, is that why I''ve received so many strange looks?"

    "Well, that''s not the only reason," Cassius cocked a smile. "You''ve done plenty of other things to deserve that. But it certainly doesn''t help.¡±

    Well, that was certainly useful to know. Marcus swept a glance across the circle of Legionnaires again. "I don''t suppose there''s any other colors that hold particular significance to you? Is red a color reserved for military, perhaps?"

    Cassius shook his head. "Not really. But there are some more highly prized than others. None so much as purple, though. In that getup, you might as well be running about proclaiming yourself king of the jesters."

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    Chuckles rose up from around the campfire. Marcus smiled, sensing the mood lift ever so slightly. It was a start.

    He swept to his feet with an exaggerated flourish. "A toast, then! From the king of the jesters to Sextus, warrior of the Legionnaires. May his soul find rest."

    The men lifted their flasks in assent and drank. Marcus did the same. His own was filled with only water. He''d long since bartered away the last of his own booze to some of the other men¡ªat quite a hefty price. His foresight in that regard had paid off.

    Cassius elbowed him in the side as he took a seat once more. "Well, as long as you''re here, perhaps you can grace us with a story, oh grand entertainer. What''s a court jester such as yourself doing all the way out here?"

    Marcus rubbed his chin in thought, considering how to answer. He''d done fairly well at keeping the story under wraps so far. He''d had to, in order to avoid the consequences of his actions. But it wasn''t like these men would turn on him. They were already at war with Novara, after all. Besides, it was quite the story.

    Nodding to himself, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "Well, you see, the king has these beautiful daughters¡­"

    ***

    Aides rushed in and out of the command tent as Tiberius sent out orders, fetching centurions and organizing them for the march to come. It sat apart from the revelry outside its fabric walls as though in a separate camp altogether.

    They''d managed to make it for this long without attracting any attention, despite the System''s apparent notification about Habersville''s conquest. But with the escape of what was likely an enemy scout, Tiberius figured it was only a matter of time before opposing forces descended upon them. They finally had confirmation that the powers that be were taking action. That meant that every hour counted. A day would be too long of a wait¡ªthey needed to march as soon as possible and secure resources before positions were reinforced or assaults were made against them. It was a race against time.

    Thankfully, the lack of alcohol would leave most of the men able to march with at least some level of efficiency¡ªeven if they weren''t completely sober. That would earn them a solid head start of maybe a half day''s march. A full six cohorts would accompany him to the mines. Among them was the first cohort, whose extra size meant they''d be taking well over half of their fighting strength into the field. Almost four thousand men, not including the auxiliaries that they would bring along for field experience.

    Some might have considered it overkill, especially considering the reported size of the forces holding the mines. But Tiberius wasn''t one of them. It wasn''t just because the recent encounter had him on edge, either. The more detailed maps he had acquired from the scouts had identified numerous ranches, farms, and small hamlets between Habersville and their destination. Most were too small to even be generously called a town or village. They reportedly were nothing more than groupings of a few farmhouses here and there. But they represented yet another valuable resource to be secured.

    On their march, he would make sure to pay them each a visit. Each one of those farms would soon know that, come harvest¡ªwhich was not that far away¡ªthey would be sending their grain here. In fact, he would be getting their harvest times and sending out men to collect it if necessary. He wasn''t sure if the System would notify others about the conquering of these places as well. But he doubted it. Habersville had apparently already been on the small side for a System-recognized location. That meant these farms were likely too small to warrant a similar response.

    While he held no illusions that this would deprive his enemy of a significant amount of food, it would provide for his own men into the future. And that was far more important. An army marched on its stomach, after all. And Tiberius wanted to prioritize long-term stability for his men. Everything he knew about armies that only subsisted off what they conquered indicated that they would quickly sputter out. Logistics and supply lines were essential for any sustainable operation.

    Tiberius glanced one more time at the latest ration reports where they lay before him. Of course, they also had to consider their more immediate needs. Unless there was a great deal of grain stockpiled at the mines, they may have to continue on and take some city to keep his men better supplied. It wouldn''t be the worst outcome, but he was wary of hyperextending. Especially before they''d had time to set up better infrastructure. The roads needed to be improved, wagons needed to be built, and cattle and other beasts of burden needed to be seized. He had long and detailed contingency plans drafted up, but this initial strike should help fix a lot of looming problems.

    The flap opened, admitting a stream of sunlight along with the plumed figure of one of his centurions. Looking up, Tiberius found Quintus saluting where he stood. The Legatus returned the gesture before waving the man to be at ease.

    "Legatus Tiberius. The first cohort is ready to march at noon," Quintus reported.

    "Good," Tiberius nodded with approval. "I want you to work with the third, sixth, eighth, and ninth to make sure that patrols of both the city and the surrounding area are kept up while we''re gone. Ensure that they are on the lookout for more scouts and ambushes. Expect to be gone for at least five days, seven for the majority of the force."

    "Understood." Quintus saluted again. Instead of immediately turning to leave, however, he hesitated. "Question, sir."

    "Yes?" Tiberius asked.

    "Will we keep our base of operations here, or will command be moving out into the field?"

    Tiberius tapped his chin. It was something he had thought about. Keeping their leaders here, in a safe location away from front lines, might be a smart move. This was the only official town they had laid claim to so far. But such a move would also stretch their logistics further than necessary at the moment.

    "What do you think, Primus Pilus?"

    Quintus blinked, not having expected the question to be turned back on him. "In my opinion, sir¡­ I think we need a seat of power. If we are to establish a new Roman Empire, we will need a capital. Our men have already put significant effort into rebuilding this place and solidifying our presence. Though it remains relatively humble, I consider it as good a place as any, for now."

    Tiberius hummed. That was not the approach he had expected the man to take. He expected the centurion to be primarily concerned with the battle implications of command''s location, but thinking like this showed a more political mind than he had realized. Clearly, the man was being underutilized at the moment. The politics of Rome were undoubtedly to blame for keeping someone with no connections out of proper command for longer than it should have.

    Tiberius hid a smile. Once they''d more firmly established the new territories and his role as Emperor, he''d be able to promote Quintus earlier than expected. It would be a real boon to have someone as competent as his Primus Pilus entrusted with more responsibilities.

    "I agree that building a capital here would be a good place to start," Tiberius said. "Although perhaps we will relocate it later. Regarding command, however, we will set up a mobile command center as I travel with you."

    Quintus gave a nod of understanding at the explanation. After giving the man a moment to voice any other questions, Tiberius turned back toward his maps. "Alright. Dismissed."

    The Primus Pilus saluted one more time, then turned on his heel and left.

    The rest of the morning passed in a blur as orders were given and a litany of minor decisions were finalized. Supplies were gathered and accounted for, troops and equipment tabulated, and final preparations made. The first cohort began their march right as the sun hit its zenith¡ªjust like Quintus had promised¡ªwith the other cohorts making their final preparations as the columns of men moved out.

    Internally, Tiberius couldn''t help but dread the coming march. His status as an officer meant that he was usually afforded the luxury of a mount. He hadn''t actually needed to travel on foot for such a long distance in who knew how many years. That wasn''t to say that he couldn''t march, of course¡ªbut he knew better than anyone that he was no longer a young man.

    Still, it had to be done. He would not let it be said that the Legatus had gone soft. But with any luck, they might be able to requisition some mounts on the way.

    The Legion began to march, the studded soles of their caligae thudding in time along the newly paved road toward the river. Tiberius bellowed an order as they began to move.

    "Legionnaires! March!"

    His meaning was clear. The men activated their [Marching] skills. In an instant, their already impressive synchronicity became almost supernatural, their movements becoming faster and more precise than any group Tiberius had ever seen. He even felt his own steps lighten as though wings had sprouted from his ankles.

    The men thundered down the road, racing toward the promise of battle and victory. Finally, the Legion was on the warpath once more.

 Chapter 35: Numbers Go Brrr

    The town of Habersville was quiet¡ªmuch quieter than usual for this time of morning. Not that it was ever a particularly rowdy or loud place. Quite the opposite. Still, even the friendly calls of neighbors to one another or the bustle of shopkeepers hawking their wares seemed particularly subdued.

    Quintus strode through the streets, his steps clattering against the newly paved roads as he made his way to the center of town. His gaze swept across the patchwork of buildings, the new sturdy constructions of the Legion standing out in fresh relief to the older and more varied buildings that characterized the old Habersville. People went about their days, their numbers much reduced as they went to observe the massing of the Legion.

    He found himself a little put off by the village''s stillness. It wasn''t that no one was out and about¡ªthey certainly were, albeit few. But even they weren''t talking as much as they normally did. Quintus could also feel a lot more gazes on him than he was used to. The commotion last night and the funeral in the early morning hadn''t been given any official explanation¡ªat least, not yet. Whether they ever would make an announcement of any sort was up to Tiberius to decide. But clearly, the town knew that something was happening. Something big. And that, it seemed, was enough to put them on edge.

    Quintus couldn''t blame them entirely. After all, there had been a great deal of changes happening around here¡ªfor them and the Legion both. It would take years for them to become accustomed to the Roman way of life, perhaps even a generation. Even if they did prove particularly adaptable, however, he still suspected that the sight of the Legionnaires mustering would prove rather alarming. Even true Romans who were used to seeing the soldiers knew that such a thing was typically cause for concern or unease.

    He continued onward, ignoring the surreptitious glances sent his way. Such an occurrence was hardly new to him, even if it was a bit out of the ordinary here. He was used to having to quell the local populace whenever they marched on a new settlement like this. Yet compared to the norm, these villagers had proven rather docile and downtrodden. Whoever had ruled them before had not been a kind master, it seemed, and they had put up practically no resistance to the change in leadership.

    Of course, there were always rebels. Those who would break rules, commit crimes, or simply push the boundaries to see what they could get away with. But dealing with that wasn''t something he was personally in charge of. From what he had heard, though, even those rogue elements had taken little effort to put in their place.

    The segmented plates of his armor clattered softly against each other as he stepped into the town square. A rough-hewn monolith of dark rock protruded from the grass at its center, its surface shimmering slightly with ripples of blue and gold. The class stone.

    Quintus stepped toward the rugged stone. It wouldn''t be long before his cohort moved out¡ªone of the reasons he was in full armor. But before they did, he''d wanted to take a moment to step away and into the town. In part it was to ensure that no last minute matters needed tending to here. But the other reason was the more compelling one.

    His hand reached forward to touch the glassy surface of the class stone. A wave of golden light rose up its length, then burst into motes that swirled into his palm and down his arm. Compared to the Legion''s first activation of the thing, this display was far more tame and standard. Yet it still was quite the sight to behold.

    The miniature lightshow had become quite a familiar one to Quintus. Checking his status was a bit of a bad habit, a vice that he had fallen into. But there was just something so satisfying about watching his skill levels and experience rise. Seeing his work translate into such easily measurable progress was quite motivating. But even if he wasn''t personally always out there on patrols, killing monsters and keeping the town safe, he still found it fascinating to see the number listed beside his experience climb day by day. It had taken significant discipline to limit himself to checking only once per day.

    If he were ever questioned, his official reason would be that he was evaluating the progress of the Legion towards its next level. That achievement would undoubtedly end up being an noteworthy event. But privately he knew it was mostly an excuse.

    Glowing golden text filled his vision. Quintus almost smiled as he scanned over the numbers that arrayed themselves before him. He allowed the System to display both its preferred numerals and the superior Roman ones, though he stuck to reading what he was used to.

    Information:

    Name: Quintus Carius Libo

    Age: 43 (XLIII)

    Class: Legionnaire ¨C Primus Pilus (Legendary)

    Level: 1 (I)

    Experience: 484,724 / 600,000 (CDLXXXIVDCCXXIV/ D?C?)

    Stats:

    Strength: 13 (XIII)

    Dexterity: 12 (XII)

    Constitution: 11 (XI)

    Charisma: 11 (XI)

    Wisdom: 9 (IX)

    Intelligence: 9 (IX)

    Titles:

    Born to Fight

    Bonds of Brotherhood

    Bane of Cats (II)

    Bane of Spiders (II)

    Boss Slayer (I)

    Titanslayer

    Industrious Craftsman (I)

    Industrious Architect (I)

    Blood On Your Hands

    Skills:

    [Swordsmanship] (Uncommon) - Lvl 34 (Individual)

    [Voice of Command] (Uncommon) - Lvl 19 (Individual)

    [Battlefield Intuition] (Uncommon) - Lvl 16 (Individual)

    [Sure Footing] (Common) - Lvl 41 (Individual)

    [Heavy Blow] (Uncommon) - Lvl 7 (Individual)

    [Marching] (Common) - Lvl 67 (Legion)

    [Shield Wall] (Uncommon) - Lvl 41 (Legion)

    [Unity] (Rare) - Lvl 2 (Cohort)

    [Stab] (Common) - Lvl 88 (Century)

    [Group Tactics] (Uncommon) - Lvl 12 (Contubernium)

    The Legion had been making good progress. They''d kept busy enough during their time here that they were close to reaching level two. Of course, Quintus wasn''t entirely sure how long such a feat usually took¡ªin fact, he suspected they might actually be a little behind what the norm was for this world. Gaius had his suspicions and theories about a shared experience pool for the Legion, though they''d been ordered to keep silent about it until further notice. But he looked forward to the achievement regardless.

    If the young officer was right, though, the idea had a variety of implications. It would mean that they were essentially doing work equivalent to leveling six thousand individuals to level two before seeing any benefits. If that trend continued into the future, their progress would continue to be slower than if they could fight and level individually¡ªespecially when many were busy with other tasks that didn''t involve actively patrolling. There were only so many monsters to fight, anyway.

    Despite the apparent strangeness of their situation, Quintus remained confident in the Legion''s abilities. Being at a level disadvantage hadn''t proved an insurmountable obstacle thus far. So long as they continued training and adapting to this world''s threats, he saw no reason why that wouldn''t continue to be the case. Still, he wouldn''t take that as an excuse to slack on levels. There was always the possibility that something new would prove him wrong. Besides, it never hurt to become even stronger.

    He also noticed that he had gained a few more titles. The titles provided boosts that often served to increase their stats, though such increases weren''t directly reflected in the status sheet. That was something left to him to calculate, and he had long since run out of fingers and toes to count the exact bonuses. He usually left it to one of the officers to calculate what the percentage increases added up to in terms of effective stats.

    There appeared to be a few new crafting-related titles since last time. They were rather basic¡ªonly increasing their stats by a small percent and improving the odds of producing higher-quality items. Still, if the entire Legion had received them, that was a notable advantage. Quintus himself wasn''t about to pick a crafting skill anytime soon, but it would be a boon to those who had.

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    The last one sounded more ominous. [Blood On Your Hands] didn''t sound like exactly the kind of title one would boast about. However, the 10% increase in all stats when fighting other humans was certainly welcome.

    After checking on experience and titles, Quintus''s eyes immediately jumped to his skills. He had to will himself to stillness in order to prevent a smile from breaking through.

    [You have new skill evolutions available. View available evolutions? WARNING: After viewing, unassigned evolutions will be permanently lost!]

    It had been a few days since this particular prompt had appeared. After the first week or so of the Legion''s presence here, they''d managed to collect what felt like an unreasonable number and variety of skills through the efforts of all their men. Not all of them were in use, of course¡ªnowhere near all of them¡ªbut having the options was nice.

    Still, this looked a little different from the usual prompt. He wasn''t entirely sure what a "skill evolution" was. Quintus considered waiting to investigate, but couldn''t stifle his curiosity. Besides, they were about to march. Who knew when his next opportunity to look into this would be?

    With a thought, he accepted the prompt. The text before him shimmered and changed.

    Available Skill Evolutions:

    [Swordsmanship] (Uncommon) -> [Sword Mastery] (Rare)

    Quintus blinked. That was unexpected. Evidently, he''d either used or leveled his [Swordsmanship] skill enough to warrant some sort of upgrade¡ªand a rare one at that. Despite all their skills, the Legion had only collected a handful with that designation.

    Not seeing any reason to refuse, he quickly accepted the new skill.

    [Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Sword Mastery] (Rare) - Lvl 0.]

    Curious, Quintus unsheathed his gladius and gave it a few test swings. The movements felt good. Smooth. Before, it felt as though his technique itself was being guided by an unseen hand. But now? It was different. It almost felt as though his will extended through the blade itself.

    After a few more swings, Quintus concluded that the skill had certainly changed. Whatever it was doing, it didn''t feel like a simple upgrade compared to his old one, though perhaps that was due to the fact that its level had reset. But given what they knew, that just meant that it had more room to grow.

    Quintus''s eyes flashed as he finally allowed himself a small smile. His efforts and training with the sword had been rewarded. That alone was satisfying enough. But now that he''d unlocked [Sword Mastery], that meant that any of the other men would now be able to follow suit and assign it as well. At least, if it behaved like the other skills they''d seen, which was entirely likely. Given how massively skills had impacted their fighting abilities so far, this was an incredible boon. So much so that it might be worth delaying their departure for a few hours to have other men make the upgrade.

    After considering the matter further, however, he decided against the recommendation. Having an army full of swordmasters would obviously be a huge boon, especially considering the fact that they were headed into conflict. However, assigning the new skill to so many on such short notice would be rash. Besides, he wanted to ensure that any man who did take it was prepared and had a firm grasp on the fundamentals already. The last thing he wanted was his men relying too heavily on their skills¡ªjust like those incompetent adventurers. No, any man who wanted to select this skill would need to prove that he''d earned it¡ªthough perhaps they could set the bar a bit below Quintus''s own abilities.

    At least, that''s what he would recommend. He would obviously report the development and see what Tiberius and the other officers thought first.

    After that exciting development, Quintus finally took a look at his skill levels. While he and the Legion may have been lagging behind in levels, their skills certainly weren''t. Everything had leveled up. The uncommon skills had risen a decent amount¡ªmostly around ten levels on average, he estimated. The common ones had seen even more growth, bringing them to what felt like ridiculous levels. And that was before the campaign had even started. By the time they returned, he expected [Marching] to rocket even higher. Perhaps it would be enough to earn an evolution for it, too.

    Quintus quickly noted down all of the information for Gaius. As he turned away from the class stone, he lifted his helmet and placed it atop his head to hide his growing smile. Becoming stronger felt good.

    Checking the sun, it was steadily climbing toward its zenith in the sky. He would need to move a little quicker than he would have liked to return to camp on time. He found most of the centuries already prepared to move while his own centurions had gotten the first cohort prepared. He fell in, did a final walkthrough of his men, then checked the others¡ªjust in time for Tiberius to exit his tent and order the march.

    Quintus felt his [Marching] skill take effect as they began to move. The hard ground beneath his feet gave ever so slightly, seeming to cushion his knees with each step. Even with his well-made caligae, a long day of marching would normally make his feet ache. But with the skill active, it felt as comfortable as a casual stroll. If he was lucky, he might be able to go for several days before he even started to see a blister. Depending on how the skill held up, of course.

    The pace they kept was a bit slower than what Quintus could manage at his best. He knew they were limited by their slowest soldiers¡ªthose with lower levels of [Marching]. It seemed that skills, even shared ones, leveled for each soldier individually. Which meant that those who hadn''t been exercising it would be feeling this trek quite a bit more than he would. Namely, the officers.

    A hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he saw Tiberius and the other commanders marching right alongside their men. It had been a long time since he''d seen any of them doing such a thing. And while Tiberius had clearly kept enough of his conditioning to set a good example, some of the other men weren''t quite so fortunate. He was certain that, after this campaign, finding horses would become a top priority.

    ***

    The entire town had turned out to watch as a massive chunk of the Legion marched away. Eleonora couldn''t blame them. The sight of several thousand men marching in perfect lockstep was something else. She''d only seen anything like it a few times as a child, when armies passed by her hometown¡ªand those soldiers had numbered only in the hundreds, not thousands. Forces this size were practically unheard of among humans. Why field a massive army when a smaller force of high-leveled individuals would suffice just as well?

    But these Legionnaires¡­ well, they were making everyone question that.

    She felt someone grab her arm as the Legion started to disappear into the trees. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Jack pulling both her and Rudolf away from the spectacle and back toward Habersville.

    "Come on," he said. "Hurry. While no one''s paying attention."

    "What?" she hissed back at him, gaze darting about. While the townsfolk were mostly focused on the departing army, she suspected that the remaining Legionnaires wouldn''t be. Which wasn''t a problem unless they were doing something suspicious.

    "Come on," Jack repeated insistently. He refused to elaborate further, pulling his party members into the village. They ducked into an alleyway and began weaving their way between streets. "This is our chance, guys. We finally have an opening."

    "Our chance to what?" Eleonora whispered back.

    Jack''s eyes glinted with determination. "Our chance to escape. To finally get out of this backwater."

    "What?" Eleonora hissed. "Jack, what the hell are you talking about? You do realize there''s still thousands of them here, right? How the hell is that an opening?"

    "It''s less than it was," he responded, undeterred. "It''s as good of a chance as we''ll get."

    "To what, run? If we''re supposed to be running, then why are you dragging us back into town?"

    Her party leader snorted. "Because it won''t be that easy. Obviously. I''m not an idiot."

    Eleonora bit her tongue, waiting for him to explain. Jack peeked around a corner, then turned back to her and Rudolf. "We can''t just run. But we can do something else. We can take back the town."

    She blinked. "What?"

    "It won''t just be us, obviously. Some of the old guards have been talking to the mayor and some of the other influential townspeople. They think they can make something happen. I got a note slipped to me the other night explaining where we could go and find out more. And now, with so much of the Legion gone, I''m positive they''re gonna make a move soon."

    Eleonora didn''t say anything for a long moment, processing what she''d just heard. Jack just looked at them expectantly, as though waiting for their enthusiastic agreement. A glance over at Rudolf revealed that he was just as confused as she was.

    "What the hell, Jack?"

    He frowned slightly, apparently not having expected any pushback. "What do you mean?"

    "You can''t be serious about this."

    "Of course I''m serious. Now come on. We''ve gotta hurry."

    He turned around to keep leading them onward, but Eleonora didn''t budge. "No! No way. Running would be bad enough, but you actually want to fight these guys?! Are you fucking serious? You''ve seen what they can do! The spiders, the roaming boss¡ªeven you already lost to them once, remember?"

    His expression darkened. "That was different. I didn''t have my sword. And besides, I was still recovering from the spider venom, too, and¡ª"

    "I don''t care if you had just woken up in the best shape of your life¡ªthis is suicide, Jack!"

    Jack actually had the gall to roll his eyes. "Not if we''re smart about it. I''m sure the nobility aren''t exactly going to be happy about this when they find out, so they''ll definitely be on the mayor''s side. He''s already working on getting people out here to help. And I''d be surprised if the baron isn''t doing the same thing. We just need to make sure they have support¡ª"

    She couldn''t help but gape. Had he learned nothing at all from all of this? It wasn''t just that the Legion was strong¡ªsomething that couldn''t be denied, especially after that roaming boss fight. It wasn''t even that they technically owed the men their lives twice over. No, it was more that stabbing these people in the back seemed like a terrible idea. She didn''t exactly enjoy being watched with suspicion and condescension, of course, but actively antagonizing them?

    "Jack, listen to what you''re saying." She pleaded. "This is crazy. Who could they send? An army? A group of high-level adventurers? They''d need at least that much to deal with these guys! And if they fail¡­"

    Jack shushed her, glancing around to make sure they hadn''t been overheard. "Stop being so dramatic, Eleonora. This is something we need to do. Now, come on already."

    He stepped toward her, grabbing her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his strength stat was much higher than hers and he knew it. The [Fighter] began pulling her along, ignoring her struggles and attempts to break free. Rudolf followed after, not meeting either of their eyes.

    A dawning sense of horror filled her. She knew exactly what was happening. Jack was going to do this. He''d decided this was the best path, and his damn stubbornness wouldn''t allow him to see otherwise. It didn''t matter if he was far more likely to get himself killed than anything else. Just like in the forest, he had a mission and that meant nothing could happen to him. He wanted to be the hero that took down the Legion.

    And unless she did something, she''d be getting dragged down with him.

 Chapter 36: Something Stupid This Way Comes

    The town watched on from afar, gathered in the field as the thousands of soldiers marched away. Their bearings betrayed a mixture of emotions about their departure. Many of the children ran about, jubilantly laughing, cheering, and pointing as though the event were a particularly exciting attraction at a carnival¡ªan attitude sharply contrasted by the looks of consternation adorning their parents'' faces. In fact, the only ones who appeared even more concerned to Marcus''s eye were those with daughters of courting age. Their stiff demeanors and set jaws remained completely at odds with the girls'' teary eyes and flowers.

    He shouldn''t have been too surprised. Such developments were only natural, after all. But it always surprised him just how quickly entanglements between soldiers and the local folk could spring up.

    Marcus himself stood among the gathered crowd, seeing the Legionnaires off with the rest of them. He had obviously considered accompanying them on their campaign, of course. Such a development was monumental. Their second conquest since they''d been summoned, and their first real move to expand the fledgeling empire they had begun to form¡­ such an adventure would surely prove a crucial part of his epic in the making, not to mention the value of the stories themselves. After all, wasn''t that what he was here for? To chronicle the daring deeds of the bold as they made history?

    But alas, after ample consideration, he''d elected to stay behind this time. He had responsibilities to attend to. For one, a good portion of the Legion would remain behind to oversee the town, albeit without much of their leadership. As the acting liaison between the soldiers and the townsfolk up to this point, Tiberius had personally requested that he help the officers in charge interpret and avoid any potential misunderstandings.

    The request had honestly surprised him. Given the man''s disposition up until this point, Marcus hadn''t expected Tiberius to trust him with such a thing¡ªmuch less when he was away and unable to keep his eye on the bard. It would be simply foolhardy to refuse such an opportunity to curry favor with the Legatus. And given how many other things he had to tend to around town, well, staying behind only made sense. He would just have to trust the Legionnaires he''d tasked with bringing back details and stories for him. Between their penchants for storytelling ability and accuracy, he could surely piece together something quite serviceable.

    His staying behind certainly had nothing to do with the sheer speed at which the Legion was marching. Not at all. His attempts to keep pace with the first group of men had purely been for reference purposes, nothing more.

    Marcus watched the soldiers disappear into the forest in a seemingly endless column, shaking his head in disbelief. They were already moving at a speed practically equivalent to an average man''s run. And that was while moving through the narrow path out of the Evergreen Seas. If they increased their pace once they emerged onto the open roads¡­ He shuddered at the thought.

    Tiberius obviously hadn''t told him their exact plans, but he had managed to piece together quite a bit from the man''s questions. The mines that he believed to be their destination were only a few days travel away. But at the pace they were going, the men would certainly arrive well before that. At least, if skill exhaustion didn''t put an early end to their march.

    He kept his ears open, listening intently to the quiet mutterings of the townsfolk around him. A gathering like this, amongst neighbors and friends, made people feel comfortable with sharing their thoughts and opinions more openly with each other¡ªsomething which he took full advantage of. In this case, those mutterings took the form of rumors about what this march was all about.

    Since Tiberius and the Legionnaires hadn''t told the people about their intended destination or the events of the previous evening, the theories remained quite varied indeed. Some said that the town had almost been invaded and they were moving out to seek retribution¡ªby who varied. Some claimed Novara, others the green skinned devils from the west, and even one young man claimed to have seen them fight off a troop of level 100 elves from deeper in the forest. Others claimed that they were leaving to find the source of some insidious magic that had fallen over their men. Some even guessed that they were off to deal with another monster threat like the spiders.

    Those were only a selection of the ridiculous stories circulating. Despite all of the exaggerations and outright lies though, he''d heard a few people land relatively close to the truth, albeit still a bit embellished. That a party of high-level adventurers had come to take the town back, and the Legion had fought them off. Two wasn''t quite a complete party, and while level fifteen might have been high around here, it wouldn''t have even qualified the pair as trainees back in the capital. Still, it was better than he''d expected them to get. Even if the conclusion that the soldiers marched forth to get revenge wasn''t entirely correct. Not immediately, at least.

    That wasn''t to say that a group of level one soldiers fighting off level fifteen opponents was any less impressive. If they were level one, of course. He still had yet to unravel that mystery but he''d seen enough Legionnaires step away from the class stone with pleased expressions written plain across their faces. Whatever their true level, it was clear that they were making progress of some sort¡ªeven if it was somehow hidden from his [Appraisal].

    Marcus hummed a jaunty march under his breath, keeping in time with the men''s footfalls. He''d considered playing something for them as a farewell send-off, but had decided against it. He''d already done plenty of that in the aftermath of the funeral, and the men were in too much of a rush to entertain any kind of ceremony or delay like that. The best he could have done would be to serenade the troops as they passed by or entertain the crowds here¡ªsomething that might draw the wrong kind of attention to himself, if it meant people would ask for details about what was happening. Besides, considering their speed, he doubted that the Legion would even appreciate an [Inspirational Song] from him.

    As the last troop marched into the forest and out of sight of the town, the spell over the gathered crowd seemed to break. People began turning their attention elsewhere, dragging their children back inside or returning to their fields and businesses to continue their work. Even a few lumberjacking teams set out, each escorted by Legion patrols, preparing to do their sweeps through the forest.

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    Marcus turned toward the Legion''s camp, then hesitated. Was that where he wanted to be right now? Gaius had been left in charge of the camp, and he was on quite friendly terms with the young officer. But at the moment there was no explicit need for him to spend more time in the command tent.

    Shrugging, the bard turned his steps back toward Habersville. He had yet to be called upon for a specific task or report of any kind, meaning he could spare some time for himself. The spectacle of the Legion''s march also had him in the mood for a performance of his own. Perhaps he''d seek out a tavern and play a few songs there. It was a little early, but surely someone was drinking at this time. If they had managed to find more booze, of course.

    Marcus hadn''t made it two steps when he found himself halted suddenly. Looking down, he''d run directly into an open palm held out before his chest. His eyes traced up the slim, feminine hand up to meet its owner''s intense gaze.

    "Oh! Myra! How wonderful to see you again!" Marcus instantly slipped into character, taking a half-step back and giving a flourishing bow. He had made sure to memorize her name after their last encounter, just in case she caught him again. Now he was glad for his foresight.

    "Marcus." His name came out in a sharp, clipped tone that sounded angry. But when he risked a glance up at her eyes, he realized that wasn''t quite the case. The crease of her brow wasn''t quite right for that. Rather, her gaze held more concern than he''d expected.

    Internally, he puzzled over the observation. If she wasn''t angry, then what was it? An attempt to rekindle what they''d had? Was she really taking his distance this harshly?

    "We need to talk." Myra said, invoking the phrase that all men grew to fear more than any other. She lowered her voice, glancing around at the townsfolk that still milled about. "But not here. Follow me."

    "Of course, of course!" Marcus easily agreed, mind whirring with excuses to get out of this. "I''d love to talk, just as soon as I''m done with¡ª"

    "No. We need to talk, now." She insisted, grabbing his wrist and leading him through the crowd. "I''m well aware that you''ve been avoiding me, Marcus, but today you need to listen."

    "Avoiding you? What man would ever want to avoid a beauty such as yourself, Myra?" He reluctantly followed, keeping his tone light. "It''s just that I''ve been so incredibly busy keeping up with the Legion. They keep me on my toes¡ªnever a dull moment with them, as you can plainly see."

    The look she sent him was skeptical at best. Marcus found himself slightly offended at her disbelief. Perhaps his performance wasn''t quite as compelling as he''d hoped. Still, he allowed himself to be dragged along anyway. He supposed that this conversation was well overdue. Enough time had passed that, hopefully, there wouldn''t be any passionate yelling or screaming as he let her down gently.

    He followed along as she dragged him around the town''s wall and out of sight. They weren''t entirely alone, but a far enough distance from others that they wouldn''t be overheard. Good¡ªshe wasn''t planning on making a scene. That would make things much easier for both of them.

    Marcus let out a regretful sigh. From his experience, it was better to take the plunge and begin on his terms rather than allow her the chance to work herself up uncontested. At least, that was how it usually worked. "Listen, Myra. I''m sorry that I haven''t been around. I understand if you expected¡ª"

    Myra held up a hand, cutting him off before he could say more. "Listen to me. Something''s off with my father."

    Marcus blinked, rocking back on his heels. It took a moment for him to switch tracks from his prepared speech to process her seemingly unrelated words. But all his years of performing had given him quite a bit of experience with improvising.

    "Your father? What do you mean?" He asked.

    Myra looked around warily as though double checking that they wouldn''t be overheard. "I don''t know. Something''s just¡­ strange. I''m not talking about him being surly, either¡ªhe''s been that way since the Legion took his authority as mayor. But for the past few days at least, he''s been¡­ different."

    Marcus recalled the embittered mayor that he''d spoken to at his manor. It had been all too clear that the man held a deep grudge against Habersville''s new overseers. Yet he hadn''t seen the portly man around at all since then. Even when he had gone back to pay him a visit, the mayor had always avoided him, perhaps not interested in another confrontation with the bard. But Myra was still speaking.

    "...He''s always been a bit secretive and, well, shady, but now? It''s gotten to a whole other level." Her frown deepened. "And he won''t tell me what''s going on. Normally, he''d at least offer some explanation¡ªsome sort of problem with the guards, funding, or the baron¡ªbut he''s completely stonewalled me. Not that I was ever involved in his schemes, of course, but he''d at least give me hints¡ªespecially if he wanted the gossip to spread."

    Marcus remained silent, waiting for her to continue. Her hesitation said there was something else she wanted to say, but wasn''t entirely sure if she should.

    "...I think he''s doing something dangerous. Really dangerous." She finally admitted. "I don''t know what. I just get this feeling."

    "Why are you coming to me with this?" Marcus asked slowly.

    "Because," she folded her arms in front of her. "You have quite a bit of influence with the Legion, as you are so fond of pointing out. If he is involved in something like I expect he is, then I''d expect it has to do with them. And I''d rather minimize the fallout as much as I can, however I can."

    He frowned, rubbing his chin in thought. This wasn''t at all how he''d expected this conversation to go. There was a chance that it was all a ploy, a cleverly engineered excuse to seek his help and bring them closer together. Myra did seem clever enough to pull something like that off. But somehow, he didn''t think that was the case. And if it wasn''t, then this may prove more serious than he''d originally thought.

    After a moment, Marcus nodded. "All right. I make no promises, you understand. But if he is up to no good, I can do my best to ensure that he remains unharmed."

    "Good." Myra let out a breath of relief. "I appreciate that, Marcus. I won''t say thank you, because¡­ well, you owe me that much at least."

    He winced internally at that. Evidently, she did still hold a bit of resentment under the surface. But if all he had to deal with was snide remarks like that, well, he''d count himself lucky.

    He met her gaze, straightening with newfound confidence now that he had a better grip on the conversation. "So. Tell me everything you know."

 Chapter 37: Death and Taxes

    Quintus had always found himself rather ambivalent toward marching. It had simply been a fact of life, one of those inevitabilities that was neither good nor bad. He had long ago mastered the soldier''s mindset of being able to think of nothing during the long treks, existing outside the pain his body felt as he put one foot in front of the other.

    Now, though, it was different. With how high his [Marching] skill level had grown, the act had actually become enjoyable. He even might have ventured to say that it was fun.

    As the Legion''s strides ate up the leagues like the maw of a hungry beast, he found himself paying closer attention to the movements of his body. It was simple enough to simply retreat into that almost meditative marching state and make progress¡ªeven then, Quintus was certain that he could outpace nearly any man, even one who was sprinting outright. And that was while he continued to stay in formation. But if he made a few small adjustments, correcting his posture ever so slightly, shortening his steps just a touch, and adjusting the swing of his arms, he felt a satisfying kind of feedback that made his travel even easier. While he was still keeping time with the rest of the men, the march took even less energy than before.

    What force led him to make these adjustments remained somewhat unclear. This level of detail was not something that even the Legion tended to emphasize in training. But he had a suspicion that it was the [Marching] skill itself leading him on and teaching him how better to execute the task at hand. By following its prompting and combining it with his experience, he felt that he could continue for days, weeks, or even months, without stopping.

    Then again, perhaps that was an exaggeration. Every man needed to stop for food, water, and sleep. But the fact remained¡ªQuintus felt good. Compared to every other march he''d undertaken in his long career, this one felt almost like a game.

    He glanced around at his brethren to see how they were holding up. Most of them wore the blank, impassive expressions that he''d come to expect from men on the march, not betraying any trace of the same enjoyment he was feeling. That was only to be expected. Not only was he a centurion¡ªresponsible for setting an example and therefore held to a higher standard¡ªbut he was the first centurion of the entire Legion. He set the example for the examples. That kind of mentality and the increased workload that accompanied it meant that he probably outleveled his men in [Marching] by quite a significant margin.

    His gaze picked out a few of the newer recruits from the column. While they were managing to keep up with the hard pace that Tiberius had ordered, many of them were still struggling. The Legion was quite good at maintaining a speed that walked the line between demanding and sustainable. But since coming to this world, that balance had been completely thrown off. Perhaps this experience would provide the motivation his men needed to focus further on leveling their skills.

    Those struggling the most, though, were still the officers. Not all of them had come on this march, obviously, something which he was certain had those stationed in Habersville sighing in relief. Even though every man in the Legion shared the marching skill, the extent to which each had leveled it varied greatly. Apparently, the skill didn''t magically increase based on one''s actual proficiency in the action. Quintus''s [Marching] hadn''t immediately jumped to such heights when he''d first picked it up, after all. But that wasn''t to say that previous experience and knowledge didn''t help. All he''d had to do was practice the action a little for the skill levels to pour in like rain.

    The officers, on the other hand, weren''t so lucky. Though they obviously knew how to march, it was not a skill they''d regularly exercised even before coming to this world. That meant they''d not only had little opportunity to level up their skill, but they also seemed to have more difficulty doing so.

    It couldn''t be helped. Quintus figured that by the time they''d finished this campaign and returned to Habersville, they would have likely improved it significantly. But in the meantime¡­ well, those men would be in for quite a long march indeed.

    A stream of smoke rose on the horizon as they crested the next hill. Quintus held up a fist to signal his men. Around eighty of the men in the first century of his cohort broke off from the column as it continued to move forward. These were some of the best in the entire Legion and, correspondingly, had a rather high [Marching] skill to match. It meant they''d be able to accomplish their task and return to the main force without falling behind.

    Quintus increased his pace, almost tripling it as they veered off the beaten path and headed toward the next farm. He didn''t have to personally lead the men like this. However, he did want to set an example. That, and well¡­ as enjoyable as the march had been, it was still marching. That kind of thing got quite boring after a while. He would take every change in scenery he could get.

    Their small force sped across the hills. Their goal was simple. All he needed to do was visit the nearby farms and inform them that their grain and crops would no longer be purchased by Novara, but rather by the Legion. That, and requisition some food stores¡ªno more than ten percent of anyone''s given supplies. He would even pay them fairly. After all, the Legion didn''t need more enemies. Even if they could take such things by force, their job was to settle and civilize this land, not turn the people against Rome. They couldn''t give the impression of a band of barbarians that would burn and take what they wanted. They would, of course¡ªbut only if the farmers didn''t learn how to act civilized.

    The farmers had all agreed quite easily to their terms so far. Naturally, that''s what any reasonable person would do with an army at their door, one that was completely capable of burning down homes and crops if one didn''t comply. So far, nothing had come to violence though. They hadn''t had any reason to follow through on that implied threat, something Quintus was quite pleased about.

    Of course, whether the farmers would actually follow through when the time came was questionable. He doubted they''d try to resist when the Legion showed up to take them and pay them fairly. But if Novara''s collectors came first, the farmers wouldn''t have much choice. That would be unfortunate. But it was the Legion''s job to protect its civilians, so they would obviously do their best to intercede one way or the other.

    As his band of Legionnaires made it over the last hill, he realized that this particular location was not exactly a farm. Rather, it was a small hamlet¡ªthough certainly nothing big enough to be officially recognized on any map. It boasted maybe four or so houses, clustered together at the spot where the corners of their farms met to form a little community. In the distance, he spotted a shared well and a small river that cut through the settlement and turned a waterwheel. A dirt path led off to where he assumed the nearest road was.

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    Their approach caused a bit of a stir among the locals¡ªas could be expected. The sound of nearly a hundred men marching tended to do that. Quintus heard a few faraway shouts as they began descending toward the settlement. Tiny figures in the distance scurried about like a swarm of panicked ants as they began running into houses¡ªor running out. Based on their varied sizes, he was fairly certain that there were at least some children among their number, ducking behind buildings and into hiding.

    Quintus took note of the movements. Likely, those who were running to hide would do so in some sort of cellar¡ªpossibly the same ones where the farmers stashed some extra food or supplies. Every farmer knew to hide some food in case the powers that be came to collect more than was reasonable.

    He signaled for the men to slow, then stop just outside of the little hamlet. Then he strode forward several paces himself before standing at parade rest, his hand on the pommel of his sword, and waited for whoever was in charge to make themselves known. It only took a few minutes for an old man to come tottering out of one of the houses, his back so hunched as to be nearly parallel with the ground. A gnarled cane grasped in one wrinkly hand stabbed into the ground as he walked. To Quintus''s eye, it looked to be the only think preventing the man from falling the rest of the way in half and smashing his nose into his knees.

    Quintus waited patiently as the man hobbled toward them, cracking his neck to look Quintus in the eye. If the man had been able to stand straight, he would have towered over the Primus Pilus and far too tall for a shield wall. But it seemed that age had humbled him, as it did all brutes of his size. Truly, a compact form weathered the years better.

    "What can I do for you, sir?" the elderly man''s voice quavered slightly as he spoke.

    "I bring news," Quintus responded. "This area is no longer under the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Novara. It henceforth is part of the Roman Empire by decree of Emperor Tiberius Rufius Maro, long may he reign."

    The Primus Pilus received the same befuddled look that he had received in every other place he had stopped. He sighed, relaxing slightly. "I wouldn''t be too concerned, old man. It just means that someone else will be collecting your taxes from here on."

    The man''s eyebrows raised for a half second before he groaned. "Goodness. And I thought that this war business was a problem for the folks in the west¡­ Well, it can''t be helped. And I suppose that you''re right. Who takes our crops is no big deal to folks like us, scratching out a living in the dirt." The old man scratched a bit of wispy stubble on his chin. "What about the tax rates? They''re the same, I hope?"

    Quintus peered at the elder, observing his reaction. "They remain unchanged. So long as your community was paying the standard rate for the farms in this area."

    "Bah." He waved a hand, shaking his head. "Not quite. You see, the crops we grow here mean we''ve been granted a bit of¡­ leeway, shall we say, in our taxes. Not to mention the amount we produce. Why, between us all, we''re one of the best farms in the Eastern Marches¡ªand proud of it!"

    The man preened, attempting to straighten slightly. Internally, Quintus sighed. He had become used to this song and dance. Nearly every farm along their path had tried haggling in a similar manner. "While I don''t doubt the quality of your produce, sir, I do have trouble believing that you are afforded any leeway because of it. Your tax rates will remain the same as anyone else''s¡­"

    The pair bickered back and forth for a bit, with the old man trying to weasel out of paying as much as he could while Quintus tried to call him out on the ruse. Eventually, Quintus had to put his foot down about the final rate the hamlet would have to pay.

    The elderly man sighed, defeated. "Fine, fine. Well, I suppose we''ll be able to survive off of that, but only just barely."

    The Legionnaire nodded, relieved to have the conversation over with. He reached for a bag of coins at his belt. "Good. Now, for today, we will also be purchasing a percentage of your grain from you. At a fair price, of course. Take us to your stores so that we can see what you have available."

    The old man froze. Only for a moment. But it was enough to give Quintus pause. Something was wrong.

    "I don''t think that''s necessary," the man started. "I can simply tell you how much we can sell you."

    "No." Quintus told him flatly. "We may discuss that once I have seen your stores myself. With all due respect."

    "Well, you see¡­ with how this year''s crop has turned out¡­"

    Quintus raised an eyebrow. "Did you not claim to be the most productive farm in the Eastern Marches?"

    The man''s grip on his cane tightened. "Perhaps we can speak about this when you return for the next harvest. For now, I must insist you leave."

    If he hadn''t known before, that confirmed it¡ªthere was something different about this hamlet. He squared his shoulders defiantly, his hand moving to his sword. The entire century shifted behind him.

    They stayed like that for a long moment, the Legionnaires silently staring down the old man. His knobby knuckles had gone white, a dard expression written plain across his wrinkled face. Just as Quintus opened his mouth to speak, another voice shouted from the nearby fields.

    "You¡¯ll never take us alive!¡±

    That saying had always struck Quintus as overly presumptuous.

    Four figures appeared in windows and doorways, filling the air with twangs as their crossbows loosed several bolts at the Romans. Quintus drew his sword in one fluid motion and shocked himself by managing to swat one of the projectiles out of the air before it hit him in the chest. Behind him, he heard shields spring up with astonishing speed to intercept the rest.

    The old man turned, trying to run, but Quintus kicked the cane out from underneath him. The geezer squeaked as he fell, sprawling in the dirt as the centurion sprinted toward their attackers.

    Quintus''s shield slipped onto his arm as he ran, shouting orders to the rest of his men. He slid forward on his knees, leaning backward as another bolt whizzed over his head and popping right back to his feet with [Sure Footing]. His sword whipped around as he used his momentum to cleave through a man''s crossbow and into his face.

    He was already moving again by the time the body dropped. The rest of his men were right behind him. By the time he took down the second of the four crossbow wielders hiding behind the other corner of the same house, the other two had already been handled. Quintus and some of his men circled around the house, checking for other hidden attackers, while the rest charged inside to clear it. It didn''t take long before the sounds of struggle inside to subside and its inhabitants to be pulled into the open.

    Several other men¡ªall of military age¡ªwere pushed to their knees in the dirt in front of the house. They, along with the old man, were quickly searched and disarmed before being bound. Most of them bore basic weapons like swords and daggers. What''s more, their hands didn''t bear the distinctive calluses of farmers. Their hands looked like those of soldiers, though perhaps mercenaries may have been more accurate considering their surly demeanors.

    "Search the vicinity," Quintus ordered a few contuberniums as he eyed the group before him. "Keep an eye out for any escapees or other threats."

    They nodded, quickly moving between the rest of the houses. Quintus and the rest of his men kept watch over the subdued "farmers" as more were rooted out. A few women were also brought out to join them.

    He turned to look over the assembled group. One of the hard-eyed men sitting before him was older, with just a hint of grey at his temples, and held himself straight even despite his captivity. Quintus pegged him as the one most likely in charge¡ªnot the tottering sacrificial lamb they had put out at first.

    "Now," he folded his arms, keeping his voice level. "What exactly is going on here?"

 Chapter 38: Reap What You Sow

    The group before Quintus remained silent. His men had managed to root out around fifty people amongst the handful of houses and outbuildings, but not a single one of them spoke for a handful of heartbeats. The only thing audible was the sound of wind rustling the nearby crops and the light footfalls of the patrols spreading out to search the surrounding area.

    The Primus Pilus counted to five in his head as he waited for a response to his question. Then, he raised his hand to signal his men. As he did, the hard-eyed prisoner spat at his feet, glaring up at Quintus with a defiant spark in his eyes. His grey and brown hair was in disarray from struggling against the Legionnaires, and a small tattoo of a teardrop marked his cheek beneath his eye.

    Quintus stepped forward and delivered a vicious backhand, sending him spinning into the mud at his feet. A few quiet gasps and sounds of outrage rose up from the nearby captives, though they were quickly shushed by their companions. Two Legionnaires behind the fallen man rushed to roughly haul him up by his neck and arms, yanking him to his knees in front of Quintus again. The man spat out a dribble of blood and grinned with reddened teeth.

    "Ain''t gotta tell you nothin''," the man said in broken Latin befitting of a ruffian.

    Quintus scoffed. Despite his apparent seniority, the man''s demeanor spoke of an overconfident youth with no real understanding of the danger he was in. He fixed the kneeling man with a firm stare, speaking in an even tone. "Choose your words carefully. What have you and your men have been hiding about this farm of yours?"

    The bloodied man glanced toward his compatriots, then back at Quintus and slowly shook his head. Internally, the Legionnaire grimaced. Evidently, it wouldn''t be that easy. Either this wasn''t actually the leader or these men had more reason to be tight-lipped than he''d hoped. Perhaps they were more afraid of whoever they worked for than they were of him.

    Well, that could be changed.

    Quintus gestured for the man to be stood upright. With one fluid motion, he drew his sword and drove it low into his stomach. The man''s eyes widened in surprise as a grunt escaped his lips. With a turn of his wrist, Quintus twisted the blade and pulled it out, wiping it on the man''s tunic as the two centurions dropped him back down to his knees.

    One of the women screamed. Blood began to pool below the man as he fell to his side, his previously cocky face now a rictus of pain. A few captives tried to surge forward and help only to be held back by the Legionnaires.

    Quintus had seen many a gut wound before. They were the kind of injury that would fester for days, causing incredible agony and an even messier death. Given that they had attacked his men, it was the least they deserved. Hopefully it would properly communicate both his own seriousness and the severity of their situation.

    After studying his blade for a beat in what he knew was an unnerving display, Quintus turned to another man and gave him the same order. He also bore a matching tattoo to the first. "Will you answer my questions?"

    This time, he was met with a vigorous nod from the blonde man he''d addressed. The dirt on his brow stood out in stark relief to his skin as the color drained from his face. Quintus sheathed his sword and smiled, though it didn''t reach his eyes.

    "Good. Now, what have you and your men have been hiding about this farm of yours?"

    "Um. Well, you see¡­" The blonde man stumbled over his words. "W-we''ve just been growing crops here and... well..."

    Quintus raised an eyebrow with obvious displeasure. If this man thought he could get away with an obvious lie like that, well, he would have to think again. At his look, the man''s face paled further. He spoke more quickly, trying to gesture with his arms as though forgetting they were bound behind him.

    "No! Uh, not... not wheat. It''s, uh¡­ chrysalvenum." He winced at the word as though it were a damning admission. "The wheat hides it. And, uh, the king''s men don''t know about it, milord."

    Quintus snorted. Being called "my lord" was almost an insult, in his book. But the man seemed to be cooperating, so he would let it slide.

    "Chrysalvenum. What are the regulations on growing such a crop?" Quintus asked. Based on the circumstances, he guessed it served one of two purposes. It was either a bumper crop that a bunch of wealthy elites would buy for high prices to avoid taxes, or some sort of drug. His bet was on the latter.

    The man averted his gaze. "Well, it''s uh, it''s strictly forbidden in the duke''s lands."

    "Just the duke''s lands?" Quintus pressed. "Not the rest of Novara?"

    "I don''t be knowing, milord."

    Quintus glanced over his surroundings one more time. With that additional context, he was able to fit a few more pieces of this puzzle together. There were a few different types of people among this hamlet''s residents. The military-aged men could be divided into two categories¡ªone group whose faces were contorted in defiance and anger, and one group that simply appeared terrified. Interestingly, the defiant ones all seemed to share that same teardrop tattoo on their cheeks. Even the ones that clearly were hiding nervousness beneath their brashness.

    The detail made Quintus wonder briefly. Why would someone intentionally make themselves appear as a weakling, permanently weeping like that? Perhaps the brand was an insult or a slave mark. It could also be evidence of some past crime, given the obvious placement. Although he didn''t see any matching tattoos among the women or few elderly residents here. That only made sense, given that they all fell into the "terrified" camp.

    Regardless of the underlying reason, it allowed Quintus to better separate the different groups involved in this operation. One appeared to be career criminals of some kind, while the other might have been farmers¡ªalbeit also of the criminal variety. He chose one of the few men who didn''t have a tattoo at random, pointing to him and gesturing for two Legionnaires to bring him forward. He knelt alongside the pale-faced criminal he''d been interrogating.

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    "You two are going to show me this crop," he stated plainly.

    A complement of soldiers escorted the two men and Quintus as they followed the nervous criminal''s directions. The area he led them to wasn''t too far from the buildings and appeared to be no different from the other fields of wheat. But after walking for a couple of minutes, they found a section that appeared just a little less dense with the crop.

    Quintus kept a cautious eye out, wary of any hidden attackers crouching among the waist-high stalks. Soon, he spotted something different growing near the ground. The plant had long, stringy green leaves sprouting directly from the earth below, the thin foliage not even reaching up to his knees. In the center of each cluster of leaves rested a light purple flower. Its soft petals seemed to almost glow with an eerie luminescence.

    The criminal halted in front of one of the flowers, pointing at it. Only now that they were right above the thing could it be clearly seen. Otherwise, the wheat did its job of hiding them quite well.

    "That''s¡­ chrysalvenum."

    Quintus noticed that while the criminal didn''t show any fear or wariness about the plant, the farmer did. He was staying as far back as the Legionnaires would allow, hesitating to come any closer than he had to.

    Quintus drew a small cloth from his belt pouch and bent down to touch the plant. Carefully, he plucked one leaf and one flower, holding them up at arm''s length and inspecting them. Not seeing anything obviously dangerous about it, he wondered what its effects were. He considered asking the pair of captives, but decided against it. Whether or not they would be truthful about the matter was little better than a coin flip. Regardless of what they said, he''d need to test the effects to confirm them anyway.

    He turned to the criminal, and with a gesture, two Legionnaires sent him back to his knees. Quintus carefully crushed the thin leaf in front of the man''s face. A bit of milky liquid seeped out from the broken plant tissue. The man grimaced, but didn''t flinch. When it became clear that nothing more would happen, he moved to wipe a bit of the paste from the lead on the man''s upper lip. Still nothing. The man eyed Quintus with a mix of wariness and utter confusion as he waited.

    As Quintus moved to repeat the process with the flower''s petals, the criminal''s eyes widened. This time, the liquid that seeped out of the crushed plant matter had a purplish tinge to it. The sight caused the criminal to thrash, fighting his captors, but they held him still while Quintus wiped the petal under the criminal''s nose. After a few seconds, his struggle stopped.

    Quintus frowned as the man''s head lolled forward. He could smell a faint tang in the air, but no more so than when he had been near the flowers. However, contacting the sap of the crushed petals had clearly caused some sort of effect. His next step would have been to feed the thing to the man, so it was interesting to see a reaction to just this.

    They waited expectantly to see the result. The man started violently shaking in place, spasming as his eyes slid closed. Quintus looked over to the cowardly farmer they''d brought with them.

    "Is he going to die?" he asked casually.

    "U-uh¡­ I don''t know? I think¡­" The man stammered, now leaning as far away from the spectacle as he could manage, though the Legionnaires cut off any attempts to flee. When Quintus looked back to the criminal, he had stopped shaking. Suddenly, his eyes sprang open to reveal fully dilated pupils. The man lurched to his feet and twisted violently, attempting to wrench himself out of the soldiers'' grasp. The Legionnaires barely held on, one spinning slightly as he was pulled out of place. The criminal twisted again and threw the Legionnaire to the ground.

    The Legionnaire rolled away as the other one backed off. Rather than continue trying to restrain the man, they joined their brethren in encircling the still-twitching criminal as he spun around. He stared at the Legionnaires with wide, almost hungry eyes.

    Quintus stepped back to join his men, barking a quick order. "Shields! Prepare for a charge!"

    The men pulled their scutum from their backs, preparing to receive a charge as if it were from a wild boar. He''d initially thought that this illicit substance would act as some sort of aphrodisiac, hallucinogen, or other mild drug¡ªor perhaps it was just a highly-regulated variety of spice that these people didn''t want to pay taxes on.

    But this reaction showed that it was significantly more. The fumes from the petals acted like an enhancement spell of some sort, one that granted strength and speed at the cost of one''s sanity. It was like something out of myth or legend, as though the man had been blessed¡ªor cursed¡ªby Mars.

    The man suddenly flinched and charged one of the Legionnaires at random. Although, his maneuver could hardly be called a proper "charge." It more closely resembled a mindless shambling sprint. The Legionnaire he''d targeted acted with surprising restraint. Instead of running him through¡ªwhich would have been so easy, given how completely defenseless he was¡ªhe stepped sideways and bashed his shield into the running man.

    The man stumbled. As he did, the Legionnaire smashed the base of his shield into his knee with almost contemptuous ease. Quintus heard the crack of bones snapping as the rabid criminal toppled to the ground. He attempted to rise once again, but his leg flopped uselessly beneath him, causing him to falter. Not that he paid it any mind. It seemed as though the man didn''t even register the pain, attempting again and again to rise and walk forward. He hobbled toward the Legionnaires, who shifted their formation to maintain a safe distance from the unknown threat. It didn''t take long before the criminal stumbled and didn''t get up again.

    After a moment to ensure that he wasn''t moving, a soldier stepped forward and checked his breathing. "He''s alive, sir."

    Quintus nodded. "Hmmm. The Legatus will want to hear about this." He eyed another one of the nearby flowers. "If we can learn more about the effects of this herb, we may find uses for it¡ªbut we certainly don''t want these criminals to be in control of the supply."

    He turned back to the farmer, who now had a large wet spot running down his leg. "You know how to grow this crop?"

    The man nodded frantically "I-I think I can. Yeah. T-they usually did the growing, but¡­"

    "Good. Let''s head back."

    The group turned back toward the hamlet and the waiting captives outside. This discovery could provide them with some interesting opportunities. While Quintus knew little about alchemy and medicine, there were a few among the Legion with backgrounds in such things. He suspected they might be able to find some use for the strange plant¡ªhopefully one with less pronounced negative effects.

    As for those who grew it¡­ Well, that was another matter. Quintus suspected that he knew what the Legatus would decide. Still, it was better to confirm before meting out punishment himself.

    He left two contubernium to watch over the women and men who didn''t bear tattoos. Based on everything he''d seen, they appeared to be mostly innocent¡ªalbeit still criminal by association with the other ruffians. The rest of his men were tasked with escorting the tattooed criminals as prisoners back to the Legion. They marched double-time to reach the army''s main army¡ªa pace which did no favors to their captives, who struggled to keep up.

    Quintus watched the long columns of men as they came into view. These men certainly wouldn''t fare well. But the farmers and their families¡­ well, perhaps they would find some mercy.

 Chapter 39: Everyones a Critic

    The musty smells of stale booze and old smoke hung in the air, the fumes long since suffused into the very fibers of the tavern''s floorboards and walls. Clusters of patrons filled the wobbly benches and scarred tables as they chattered among themselves and nursed tankards of whatever drink was most recently on tap. The worst of the stains and scratches were difficult to distinguish beneath the flickering light of a few dim lamps hanging overhead.

    Even with the heights he''d climbed to, Marcus had a soft spot for the common tavern. Back when he was a court bard playing for the king, every couple of months, he would sneak out and have a night in the town where he dusted off the songs and shanties deemed too improper for high court. They were fond memories all¡ªnights where he made almost no money, but became rich with drink.

    Bars, taverns, inns, and pubs¡ªdespite the subtle differences, they all could be lumped more or less together as part of the same group. They were some of his favorite and most frequented places in the world, yet simultaneously some of the worst. There was nowhere better for any bard seeking attention, craving the high of patrons hanging on their every word or roaring along to a song as they pounded back ales. If it was a good crowd, of course. Some simply couldn''t appreciate a good performance if it were blasted directly into their ears with a full-force [Charm] backing it up.

    Of course, Marcus didn''t entirely mind places like that either. It was usually just a different kind of crowd, a simpler one. They often just wanted someone who could carry a tune and sing lewd songs. But considering his appetite for showmanship, he found it best to limit his presence in such establishments to small doses, so as not to overwhelm the patrons.

    But this particular bar that he found himself in was actually one of the worst types. It wasn''t just that they couldn''t appreciate a good performance. They didn''t even want a performance. If [Critical Reception] hadn''t already clued him in to that fact, the annoyed looks occasionally thrown his way made it abundantly clear. Not a single person wanted to sing along to his songs or listen to even the most popular of tales. In the face of that, Marcus had been relegated to just strumming some pleasant melodies on his lute as background music while the tavern room bustled around him.

    Part of him rankled at the sheer lack of appreciation. He was a level 21 bard¡ª22 now, as composing the Legion''s epic tale and collecting their stories had already earned him enough experience to earn him yet another level¡ªwith skills that punched well above his weight class. The chance to witness a performance from someone of his caliber was an opportunity that people in the capital would leap at, not to mention residents of a backwater town like Habersville. Here, he was practically a nobleman among peasants¡ªin more ways than one.

    But regardless, he stayed. He wasn''t here simply to perform, after all. He had a different goal in mind.

    Marcus passively scanned the room as he transitioned to his next tune, making note of the demeanors and dispositions of the patrons inside. In truth, there were other reasons for the frosty reception here. Most of the men who frequented this establishment were guards. Well, former guards. They''d all been stripped of that title and responsibility upon the Legion''s arrival, deemed worthless and barred from even trying to join the invading forces because of their general incompetence. Not that he suspected many would have been interested in such a thing, but it just rubbed more salt in the wound.

    That was insulting enough on its own. But being fired meant that none of these men had been paid in several weeks, leaving many in need of work or simply rueing their lots at the bar day and night. Not that they could even drown their sorrows particularly well. The town had yet to fully recover from six thousand men''s appetite for drink. It meant that most of the tankards Marcus saw being nursed contained little more than incredibly watered down remnants of grain alcohol or what little the locals had managed to brew in the last few weeks. It was the final capstone on the enormous mound of dung these guards had found themselves faced with.

    Given all that, it was no surprise that they didn''t take too kindly to his presence. It was no secret that he''d thrown his lot in with the Legion and been working as a kind of liaison between them and the town. But the exact extent to which he supported them didn''t seem to be entirely common knowledge. It meant that Marcus could perform here without being thrown out entirely, watching and listening to the muttered conversations that filled the air around him.

    Those conversations were the real reason he was here. Myra had made it quite clear that these men were planning something devious, and he needed information on what. Several hours of talking to his usual contacts¡ªthe washerwoman, bartenders, and a few of the more gossipy shopkeepers¡ªhad led him here, to this bar. A most popular haunt among guardsmen, where they had often come after shifts to drink together.

    Marcus transitioned into his next song¡ªa rather popular number about a proud noble falling in love with a lady of the night. As it started up, he saw a few of the guardsmen shift with recognition. One even went so far as to perk up, tapping his foot at the jaunty tune as he turned to his buddy with a grin. The other guard simply scowled and gave him a sharp elbow. The first guard''s face fell and he ducked sheepishly at the rebuke.

    Marcus watched the man turn back to their table, tossing back whatever weak brews they''d been nursing.

    Between Myra''s story and the tidbits he''d picked up here, it sounded like the mayor had convinced all the guards to rise up in the Legion''s absence. With the promise of support from the baron, they could close the gates, kick the conquering force out of their town, and hold it against a siege until reinforcements arrived. Surely the populace would support them in rebelling against their captors, and the town would be freed from the yoke of these cruel tyrants.

    It was an entirely braindead plan. Never mind that the guards already tried and failed miserably to defend Habersville against the Legion once. Or that the Legion had only become stronger since they''d first come to this world. Or the fact that these "reinforcements" seemed to only exist as some nebulous promise by Mayor Blaufort on behalf of the baron. Even if all of those factors weren''t enough, Marcus still would have called the plan borderline suicidal. He''d seen enough of the Legion in action to know exactly how much of a chance the local guards stood against a hundred of them, not to mention a few thousand.

    Even if every single citizen of the town joined the rebellion, they would almost certainly still lose without the trained soldiers breaking a sweat. And that was forgetting that maybe a good quarter of the town''s populace¡ªalmost every other single fighting-age man¡ªhad already been recruited or conscripted.

    The whole thing struck Marcus as odd¡ªtoo odd. Like he was missing something. Surely there had to be more. Perhaps there was some trump card that was being kept under wraps, something that actually stood a chance of turning the tide. The newly built wall couldn''t be it. He had no doubts that even the improved defenses¡ªones that the Legion had built themselves, a fact that the guards seemed to conveniently ignore¡ªwould easily fall to an assault by the Legionnaires. Nor did he think that the guards had as much support among the citizenry as they seemed to think, based on rumors.

    Perhaps they, too, were underestimating the level ones? Considering that the average guard here was only level seen, that seemed particularly foolhardy.

    Hence why Marcus continued to sit here, strumming away as he listened to the guards talk. To find information. Perhaps more details that would tumble from loose lips, either about the plan itself or a clandestine meeting that would discuss it.

    "...Think they can just come in here and¡­?"

    "...You hear those claims they killed a boss? What bullshit¡­"

    "...Any day now, the baron''s men¡­"

    He was quite confident that none of the men knew of his suspicions, as many had been rather stupidly discussing such matters in the open and well within earshot. Though his hearing was quite a bit better than the average person''s. [Critical Reception] and his class let him pay very close attention to his audience. It was, after all, essential for a bard to know how to work a crowd. And how could one do that without understanding the feedback they provided?

    Granted, the skill was meant to get a general gist of the room, but Marcus had learned how to flex it in certain ways that let him listen in on one particular conversation¡ªor even multiple conversations at once. So he knew all about when and where they planned to spring themselves on the gate guards, close the gates, and then try to find and eliminate all the Legionnaires inside the city. He''d heard plenty about how they would have townspeople yelling their manifesto on street corners to drum up support and other nonsense. All this and more he''d take back to Gaius, who had been left in charge of the camp in Tiberius''s absence.

    It wasn''t just that he wanted to help the Legion. They very likely didn''t need it. It was also that Marcus didn''t particularly want to see the complete slaughter that would result if the Habersville guards did follow through on their braindead plan. As moronic as the men were, they didn''t deserve death¡ªprobably. Hopefully, he could stop this runaway carriage of bad ideas before it went careening straight off a cliff.

    At minimum, he would make sure that his allegiances weren''t questioned. If he failed to act on this knowledge, then all of his work to ingratiate himself toward the new local rulers would go up in smoke. He might be suspected as a traitor and have to move on once more. That was just unacceptable. There was too much to see here, too many interesting stories to tell still.

    Marcus was just about satisfied with his investigation when the door to the bar opened and admitted a new patron. Only, it was someone that he recognized. The [Healer] from that adventuring party stepped inside, her dark eyes roving about the space. The rather prominent point of her nose and short, quick movements of her head made her rather resemble a curious bird¡ªalbeit a stressed one.

    Out of curiosity, he scanned her with a quick [Appraisal]. Evidently, she''d managed to raise her level to eight already¡ªa downright unbelievable pace, even at this stage. It was no doubt a benefit of the Legion''s help. Unfortunately, the skill didn''t allow him to judge skill levels the same way. Though he suspected that she may have been neglecting those like so many did.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Marcus couldn''t help but grimace. It was one of his pet peeves. He liked leveling as much as anyone else¡ªhow else would he have made such great strides this far? But far too many people he''d met acted as though levels were the only thing, like the stats they gained were more valuable than improving one''s skills. Sure, those stats did make skills more effective, but did they teach a person how to use them? Of course not.

    He used to give that advice to people¡ªspecifically younger adventurers or those who hadn''t leveled quite as much as he had. But he''d long since learned that it was not only unwelcome, but usually hated. Especially coming from a "mere entertainer" such as himself. Never mind the fact that his approach had earned him an epic skill and rare skill evolutions on par with people ten or twenty levels higher than him. Of course that didn''t matter. What did he know?

    Marcus was maybe a little bit bitter.

    When the [Healer]''s eyes passed over him, she did a double-take. Then, they locked gazes, the woman clearly making more intentional eye contact. She took a half step toward him, then hesitated.

    Marcus subtly inclined his head toward a booth in the corner. It didn''t take a skill to see that she wanted to talk to him. Maybe she''d even been seeking him out? Why exactly, he wasn''t sure. Either way, it would probably be worth a listen.

    She followed his gaze and nodded slightly. To his relief and surprise, she showed a decent amount of discretion. She first approached the bartender to order a drink, taking her time before making her way toward the seat he''d indicated. For his part, Marcus allowed himself to bring his final song to a natural conclusion before doing anything else. After packing up his lute to a resounding lack of applause, he slung the instrument onto his shoulder and slipped off the stage.

    Within moments of him leaving, the entire atmosphere of the bar relaxed slightly. The shift was clear enough that they might as well have cheered. It was enough for Marcus to grind his teeth in frustration. He could have put his entire arsenal to use and had even a crowd like this wrapped around his finger in moments. Quite easily, in fact. But that would have defeated the purpose of his being here. A completely enraptured audience tended to not talk quite so much.

    Still, despite knowing that, the reception still frustrated him somewhat. He internally lambasted the buffoonish audience as he did his best to quietly make his way to the corner table. Marcus slid into the booth across from the [Healer], who looked up over a pint of untouched and watery ale. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.

    ***

    Eleonora seethed as she stomped through the streets of Habersville. Those idiots. Those fucking idiots were going to get everyone killed. It was obvious to anyone with eyes. And she was going to have no part of it.

    She''d said as much to Jack, even if he hadn''t listened. And Rudolph was too much of a spineless little wimp to back her up or even come with her. He hadn''t even met her gaze when she''d tried to get him to leave. Traitor. She didn''t need him. She didn''t need either of them.

    A small smirk played across her lips. The look on Jack''s face as she''d left was one small consolation, given the current mess she was in. He really had been confident that a healer wouldn''t risk going it alone. It was only the latest in a long line of her party leader''s¡ªno, former party leader''s¡ªlapses in judgement. Even if they hadn''t officially dissolved their party via guild rules, she was done. The rest was just a formality now.

    She shook her head in disbelief. What had she ever seen in those two?

    Putting the matter aside for the moment, Eleonora returned her attention to her surroundings. She needed to find a Legion officer before something happened. Before this plan went into action, or before Jack or anyone else decided to silence her somehow. She had leverage. Maybe if she told them what she knew, they would spare her and give her safe passage home. Maybe even an escort. She would save them a lot of trouble, after all.

    Unfortunately, she didn''t know any of the Legion members particularly well. Even the ones that had been assisting them with leveling had kept a professional distance¡ªnot that she''d exactly tried to make friends with them, either. Even the ones whose names she knew were probably in the camp¡ªwhere she likely wouldn''t even be allowed without proper escort or reason¡ªor out on whatever campaign the Legion had left for that morning.

    No. As she thought more, she realized there was another option. There was one person she felt she could actually talk to. The bard. He had actually been rather reasonable and helpful when they were first questioned. He was a native of this place and clearly held some sway with the Legion.

    It had only taken a bit of asking around to find out where he was: at the very bar she had been dragged to not an hour and a half ago. She poked her head inside and scanned the crowd, spotting him on stage. He locked eyes with her, subtly indicating a booth in the corner of the room.

    Internally, she swore. The fact that he was already here, of all places, couldn''t be a coincidence. It might mean he already knew something, especially if he also wanted to talk to her. But maybe he didn''t. Maybe her plan could still work.

    Stepping inside, she sighed in relief as she realized that Jack and Rudolph weren''t there anymore, nor were any of the guards likely to recognize her. Not that anyone had particularly paid much attention to her¡ªshe had avoided making a scene in the meeting room. When she''d grabbed a drink and the bard finally joined her, she did her best to meet his eyes steadily, waiting for him to make the first move. But he just quirked an eyebrow.

    She grimaced. He was going to make her start, wasn''t he? That also wasn''t good. Everyone knew that talking first in a negotiation wasn''t ideal. But did she really have a choice?

    "I have¡­ information," she said, trying to remain intentionally vague.

    "Everyone has information," the bard said lightly. His tone made it clear he wasn''t taking her seriously. "Why, just today I''ve spoken to many, many people, each with some tidbit of information they want to share."

    "I have information that''s worth something," she whispered, perhaps a little more harshly than she intended.

    "Oh, don''t we all¡­" He chuckled, shaking his head. "How much would you say it''s worth? And to who? Plenty of these men would pay good money to know where they could find a bottle of good wine right now, I''ll tell you that much. But somehow I don''t believe that''s what you had in mind?"

    Eleonora could feel her hands start to tremble. He really wasn''t taking her seriously. No, that wasn''t quite it. She could see something else there, beneath the gleam of amusement in his eye. He was being intentionally obtuse. He was going to force her to be more specific. But how could she do that without losing her leverage entirely?

    She clenched her hands into fists to still them. When she spoke, her words came slowly and carefully. "Something¡­ is going to happen. Tomorrow. Something the Legion should be aware of. Something I don''t want any part in it."

    "Ah," the bard said, inspecting his fingernails. "Yes. You''re referring to the rebellion."

    Eleonora felt her blood run cold. Her eyes darted from side to side, checking whether anyone had overheard the man. He hadn''t been whispering particularly softly.

    He seemed to notice her unease and waved dismissively. "Ah, don''t concern yourself with being overheard. I have a [Glamour] in place to mask our conversation. Quite the useful party trick, that one."

    The bard gave her a sly wink as she slowly let out the breath she''d been holding. That was one less concern, at least. But still, he knew. He already knew. Her bargaining position had just taken quite the hit.

    "I have details," she insisted, still whispering despite the bard''s assurances. "Insider information. But I need something in return. Get me an escort home, and I''ll tell you everything."

    "You know how strict the Legion has been about travel. I doubt they''d be willing to let you leave so readily¡ªespecially with the risk that you''d turn on them or simply return with backup. I''m sure you understand, miss¡­?"

    "Eleonora," she told him. "I swear, that won''t happen. You''ll never see me again¡ªyou or the rest of the Legion. I''ll never say a word or go against them or anything like that. I just want out of this place."

    "Marcus. It''s a pleasure." Marcus shrugged a shoulder. "Ah, but an oath is only worth so much. Besides, an escort is quite the ask. They''re already quite busy with the campaign and local matters. I doubt they''d be willing to spare that many men for a single girl with questionable information."

    Eleonora bit her lip. She''d known that the escort was a longshot. But the longer they talked, the more she felt the walls closing in. Marcus didn''t seem particularly concerned about this rebellion¡ªmaybe he felt like they could handle it, even without her information? Or he already knew it? But then, why would he still be talking to her?

    Maybe he was just playing hardball. The lack of a counteroffer made her suspect that was the case. But still, it wasn''t like she had much choice but to play along.

    Eleonora grit her teeth. "Fine. Then¡­ just let me go. I can travel on my own. I just want to leave."

    Marcus seemed to consider that. "A [Healer], traveling alone? That''s a bit risky, don''t you think? Not to presume, but with the state of the kingdom these days¡­"

    His words trailed off, leaving only lingering suggestions in their wake. It was common knowledge just how dangerous travel had become. With most of the higher-leveled adventurers and fighters off at war, bandits and less savory types had less to worry about than ever when it came to roadside holdups and robberies. It was something she''d thankfully managed to avoid on the way here by traveling with her party. But now¡­

    "I need something. Some kind of assurance, protection, just¡­ something. I''ll be sticking my neck out, here. You need to meet me halfway."

    Marcus tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How about this. I can put in a good word for you. Whatever information you have¡ªif it ends up being accurate and useful," he gave her a pointed look, "Will go a long way towards proving your innocence on its own. But even if it''s something I already know, I believe I can ensure that your involvement won''t be used as cause for punishment."

    Eleonora felt herself pale. "You have to give me more than that," she all but begged. "That''s too little. I was there for a meeting. I know details."

    "I can''t promise anything," Marcus said, his expression smooth and unreadable. "I will do my best to make sure no harm comes to you. I give you my word¡­ if you tell me everything."

    Eleonora grimaced. It didn''t escape her notice that he was offering exactly what she had¡ªan oath, a promise that was only worth as much weight as she gave it. It felt far too flimsy for her liking. But what other choice did she have? To refuse, side with the guards that were almost certainly going to fail?

    "...Fine." she ground out. "But I''m not telling you all this here. I want to talk to the Legionnaires, in the camp. I need protection."

    Marcus looked her up and down consideringly, and Eleonora held her breath. What felt like minutes dragged by before he finally nodded in agreement. Without another word, he subtly directed her toward the back door with a nod of his head.

    She sighed in relief, barely able to keep herself from hurrying out of the tavern. A few minutes later, the bard met her in the alleyway.

    "All right, then." He adjusted his garish cloak with a flourish. "Follow me, miss Eleonora. It seems that we have much to discuss, and not much time in which to discuss it."

    Turning on his heel, he began to lead the way out of town.

 Chapter 40: Actions Have Consequences

    It took Marcus a little effort to get an audience with Gaius. Nothing too extensive, of course, but the recent march meant a bit of reshuffling compared to the command hierarchy he''d gotten used to. He just needed to know who to talk to.

    The young officer¡ªapparently called the tribunus laticlavius, or tribune for short¡ªhad always been a bit more positively disposed toward the bard than the Legatus. Even with all that Marcus''s winning charm and generously offered assistance had served to smooth the edges off the new emperor''s craggy exterior. So it wasn''t particularly surprising when Gaius greeted Marcus with a smile as he stepped into the tent¡ªthough he noticed that the officer didn''t stand up from the desk.

    "Bard Marcus. I was told you wished to speak with me?"

    Marcus stepped aside, allowing Eleanora to follow him in. This made Gaius raise an eyebrow, and Marcus cleared his throat.

    "Officer Gaius, it''s always a pleasure. As much as I wish that this were merely a social call, it seems I must be the bearer of a rather unfortunate and distressing report." He sketched a flourishing bow toward the man, keeping it just a little more shallow than he would have for the Legatus. "It appears that there may soon be a bit of trouble in the town."

    "Oh? What kind of trouble?"

    Marcus nodded. "It seems there are plans for a rebellion in the works. Intentions to evict the Legion from Habersville and close its walls to you. Plans made by a very small subset of people, mind you, not the entire populace by any means. Regardless, I thought it best to come to you with the information directly, as soon as possible." He gestured toward his fidgeting companion. "I have brought Eleanora to tell you more. She claims to have quite a bit of information about the ploy, though I can independently confirm that I have heard rumblings of much the same. I think it''s best if she speaks first."

    Gaius leaned back in his chair and considered his words, then looked at Eleanora. "Ah. The [Healer], correct? I will say, I am pleased that you don''t intend to betray the Legion."

    The young woman swallowed thickly and nodded. It didn''t take an expert to read the sheer terror in her expression. "Yes. Um, well, the Legion has helped me a lot recently, saving me from the spiders and all. And leveling. So, uh it doesn''t feel right. And..."

    She trailed off, clearly not wanting to voice what everyone here seemed to already know¡ªthat the Romans would likely win in a confrontation. And who wouldn''t want to be on the winning side?

    Gaius gave her a comforting smile, albeit a somewhat patronizing one. It gave the impression of a tolerant uncle looking at his niece, despite the similarity in the pair''s ages. Marcus figured it was one of those things the tribune had probably learned from watching Tiberius¡ªor one of the other older Legionnaires, considering how infrequently that man seemed to smile. In fact, with a little more gray in his hair, it would have come off just as intended.

    "So. Tell me, healer. What are the details of this supposed plot?"

    She swallowed and looked between the two men before her. "Um¡­ Well, before I start, I just want to make sure I won''t get in trouble. I''m not involved in any of this, just so you know. I was there for a meeting, but I didn''t want to be. I don''t like any of it."

    Gaius nodded. "I can promise that you won''t be held responsible¡ªshould your information prove accurate. Provided you tell me everything you know, I can mostly guarantee your safety."

    "Mostly?"

    He shrugged. "I can provide clemency regarding the punishments we will mete out among the offenders. But I cannot entirely assure you that these rebels will not seek retribution against you. It may be safer for you to remain in the camp while we handle matters."

    "What if I¡­ I leave? If you give me an escort home¡ª"

    Gaius was already shaking his head. "No. Sending my men into unknown territory in small numbers is too much of a risk. Nor can we spare the manpower to send a more substantial force."

    Marcus saw Eleonora deflate at the news. He couldn''t help but feel a bit sympathetic. Still, he had warned her that this would likely be the outcome.

    "However¡­" Gaius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk before him. "I can make you a different offer. I have been researching skills and the workings of the System since we have arrived, and I find myself fascinated by yours. The abilities of a [Healer] appear to be quite valuable indeed. How would you like to work with the Legion?"

    Eleonora frowned. "I''m not sure I understand. I already am."

    "More directly, I mean." Gaius waved her comment off. "With war looming on the horizon, I expect that we will not be at a loss for injured men. And given your class, perhaps that will provide more opportunities for you to level and develop your own skills. Perhaps we can mutually benefit from having you perform medical duties for us.

    Marcus saw Eleonora''s eyebrows furrow, then rise. For all that she''d said about wanting to return home, the fact remained that she had made incredible leaps and bounds in her growth under the Legion. That couldn''t be disputed. If she wanted to continue that¡­

    "...I don''t want to fight Novara," she said. "It''s where I grew up."

    "You would not be engaged in direct combat with them. Rather, you would be simply plying your trade and working with our medics. Surely that is less objectionable."

    She didn''t look entirely convinced. Still, Marcus could tell that Eleonora wasn''t entirely against the suggestion, either.

    "...Of course, I understand if you still desire to return home," the tribune continued. "As such, we would be happy to retain you in our employ until you have the ability to safely return or move to a new location¡ªwith stipulations, of course. But for a class so vulnerable as your own, perhaps you would find this offer acceptable."

    The girl wet her lips before shooting Marcus a nervous glance. He gave her a reassuring smile that he didn''t entirely feel. Everything he''d seen so far suggested that this wasn''t quite as generous of a deal as Gaius seemed to suggest. It would likely be months before Eleonora was able to move on, if not years. It all depended on the trajectory that this war took. However, he also knew that it was really the only way forward. The only way that would ensure both her cooperation and the Legion''s satisfaction.

    Marcus reminded himself that it wasn''t all bad. After all, it wasn''t like she''d get nothing out of it. Her leveling was proof enough of that.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    "...Ok." She finally agreed. "I¡­ think I can live with that. Only if I''m free to go when I want to."

    "Again, we''ll need to put certain stipulations on that," Gaius reminded her. "At least during the beginnings of this conflict. But that can all be discussed, along with appropriate compensation."

    That seemed to reassure the [Healer]. Her shoulders relaxed visibly, making Marcus breathe a private sigh of relief. He''d kept his end of the bargain. He''d put in a good word. It had been somewhat indirect, of course, but just making this introduction had likely guaranteed her life and gotten her even more. That was good enough in his book.

    Eleanora looked between the two men one more time, as if gauging whether their words could be trusted. Then, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

    Her tale sounded very similar to Myra''s in the broad strokes¡ªexcept Eleanora knew more. A lot more. Not only did she have details about individuals who were involved, but also about the specifics of what they were bringing to the table. Like the fact that the mayor''s mysterious "reinforcements" from the baron not only existed but were expected to arrive in a day or two. Who or what they were still remained frustratingly vague, and he still couldn''t be entirely sure that they were real. She also revealed that the timetable for everything had been accelerated in light of the Legion''s recent departure.

    She did her best to downplay any part that her party had in the rebellion. However, Marcus could read between the lines. It was all too apparent that Jack had put a lot of time and effort into helping to plan this. He could have even been considered one of the ringleaders. How an idiot like that hadn''t managed to get him or his party killed yet was a mystery in itself.

    Gaius listened patiently, making occasional notes on a slate at his elbow. His demeanor didn''t appear particularly concerned. When the [Healer] finished her story, he turned to Marcus expectantly. He stepped forward with another bow.

    "Through my own sources, I have managed to confirm a decent amount of Eleonora''s story," he said, rattling off a few examples of what he could confirm. "However, there are some pieces that I cannot currently attest to¡ªnamely, what form the baron''s reinforcements shall take, if they exist at all."

    "Hmm." Gaius tapped his desk with one finger. "I believe we have a small dossier written up on the local baron from what you''ve told us of him. In light of this, do you have any additional information to share about him?"

    Marcus racked his brain and blew out some air. "It''s difficult for me to recall what exactly I''ve told you. The Legatus has asked quite a number of questions over the weeks, you understand, so many that they run together in my head. However, I am more than happy to look over your notes and fill in any gaps. Perhaps something will rattle my memory."

    Gaius called for an aide and sent them to fetch the stored information. "Excellent. In the meantime¡­" The tribune''s gaze returned to Eleonora. "I don''t believe you have anything to worry about when it comes to your own safety. As for your party members¡­ I can''t promise much for them. Especially if they do side against us as we expect."

    The words were delivered casually, in a matter-of-fact tone. It was not unlike how Gaius had been speaking this entire time. However, there was a difference to it now. There was a certain kind of glint in the man''s eyes, a hint of hardness that Marcus wasn''t entirely sure how to interpret.

    Eleanora paled and swallowed, but nodded and didn''t say anything in protest. After a second of heavy silence, she muttered something under her breath. "I was planning on finding a different party, anyway¡­"

    Marcus frowned as Gaius began sending out aides with additional orders. He wasn''t quite sure that he liked that look of his. He knew the Legion were a strict, no-nonsense kind of people. That much was evident¡ªthough fair about the rules they imposed, they didn''t hesitate to dish out punishment when they were broken. There had even been a couple of lashings he''d heard about for some particularly egregious offenses, though infrequent.

    But something about all of this set off alarm bells in his head. Perhaps the lack of severe consequences had simply been because of the town''s compliance up to this point. He had no doubt that the Legion could deal with this threat, of course. The real question was, what would things look like in the aftermath?

    ***

    Tiberius tried to relax his jaw as he continued marching. As it turned out, the activity was just as bad as he remembered. The skills of this world made it infinitely more tolerable and efficient, to be sure¡ªthey''d already covered at least four times as much distance as he''d normally expect. But that didn''t mean it hadn''t started to wear on his old bones.

    Of course, not that he''d ever admit to such a thing. Not in front of the thousands of men that followed after him. Most of them had likely long since retreated into that distant headspace that every soldier knew well. But just in case any still remained observant through the mind-numbing hours¡­ it was better to be safe than sorry. Still, he couldn''t help but feel a slight touch of jealousy whenever he sent Quintus off to investigate another settlement.

    The best he could say was that the travel gave him time to think. To solidify plans that he''d already set into motion or ones that he would need to soon enough. There were even a few logistical matters he was able to work though in his head¡ªthough those were much more difficult without the numbers in front of him.

    The other officers were faring¡­ considerably less well. That was evident enough. It was to the point that Tiberius had asked Quintus to keep an eye out for any horses on his outings just to improve their pace and silence any complaints. Unfortunately, none had been forthcoming so far¡ªat least, according to him. Perhaps, beneath that professional demeanor of his, Quintus simply enjoyed watching the comparatively soft officers suffer along with the rest of the men.

    Of course, he''d never accuse him of such a thing.

    Tiberius spared a glance toward one of the tribunes¡ªanother young man, older than Gaius, yet also inexperienced. Sweat poured from his brow beneath the sun''s rays as he stubbornly put one foot in front of the other. He''d made the mistake of asking Quintus to requisition "whatever kind of mount he could find" during one particularly rough stretch of hills. The primus pilus had solemnly agreed, returning spoon after with a rather handsome dairy cow¡ªcomplete with a saddle. His stony expression hadn''t so much as cracked in the face of the officer''s sputtering.

    Tiberius couldn''t help but smile at the memory. The little stunt had earned Quintus a smack upside the head, of course. In fact, it would have earned him a lot more had he not been discreet in presenting the "noble steed" to the officers over a hill and out of sight of the other men. It would have been well within expectations to have him flogged for such insolence. But fortunately for him, Tiberius was willing to extend a bit of leeway to his old friend¡ªwell, as much as an officer and a centurion could be friends.

    And it was pretty funny.

    This time, though, when Quintus returned from one of his excursions, Tiberius noticed something different. He and the legionnaires were not alone. Between them, several of the Legionnaires hurried along or altogether dragged a group of bound captives. The Legatus stepped aside and halted, waiting as the ranks of the Legion streamed behind him.

    Quintus stepped forward to meet Tiberius as he and his men saluted. "Legatus."

    Tiberius acknowledged them with a nod. "Report, Primus."

    Quintus began to speak, launching into a story of a captured farm and illicit drugs. It seemed that this latest excursion had proved quite a bit more eventful than the last few. He looked at the bound men who''d been made to kneel before him. "And these are the criminals in question? Can you verify this?"

    "I am certain," Quintus responded, nodding. "Even without the illicit substances being grown, these men attempted to ambush and kill us."

    Tiberius nodded slowly. "Hmm. We will investigate the herb of which you spoke. But later. For now, keep the farmers growing and leave a contingent of guards at that farm. They have orders to retreat if an overwhelming force comes to retake it. Otherwise, they are to keep the farm safe, operational, and leave the illicit herbs untouched."

    Quintus nodded. "Yes, sir."

    "If the plant has any use, we may leverage it in the future. If not, we will sell it elsewhere. Best to make some profit and destabilize our foes at the same time. Or, if it''s not too harmful¡­" Tiberius gave a wry smile. "Well, perhaps we''ll have a solution to the lack of drink."

    "And the captives?" Quintus asked.

    The two men shared a look. Tiberius knew. Quintus knew. But the order needed to be officially given.

    "Take care of them."

    Tiberius turned and increased his pace, returning to his spot among the Legionnaires.