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EV B2 Chapter 50, 51 & 52

// I really wanted to post this earlier, but I got in my head a little bit. I was starting to feel weird about posting EV as I know most people are here for legion and so I figured I would just post a few chapters at a time and it would feel less like spamming people with stuff they didn't sign up for.

//Sadly I wrote one chapter and then sitting on it made it hard to write the next one. Eventually, I just buckled down and figured out where I was going with the arc and knocked a few out. I don't plan on trying to do a big release intentionally again. I'll just try and publish them at the end of the day they are written. If I get more than one done then great.

EV B2 Chapter 50:

We didn't leave the challenge for some time. We ran through it again and again, sometimes working on teamwork, sometimes trying to push each of our individual skills to their absolute limit. I let my mind wander in the free moments.

The more I thought about the problem, the largest issue I saw, and honestly did not have a way around, was that all of my intelligence about Valhalla, the afterlife, metaphysics, and everything essentially came from Loki. As much as I thought I liked the guy, I no longer trusted him as much as I probably should. Even if we were to be friends, I figured I would be a bad friend to completely count on him for everything. It just felt unfair.

And, well, he wasn't exactly the most trustworthy friend either. He was my—well, he had his own game, and I definitely didn't want to alienate Loki. That would go poorly for all of us. As much as I didn't like it, we were heavily dependent on him. But that would have to change slightly. At least, I'd have to have other options so that he didn't have me over a barrel.

Unfortunately, everyone I knew was either inconsequential or also heavily tied to Loki or Astrid through Loki's wife, and Alana through Loki directly, and, by some extent, me. So I would need to meet others.

The Temple of Tyr seemed like it was not necessarily a bad place to start, but it might not suit as well. Another place to start was looking at who Astrid had been tangling with, not necessarily to align with them. Still, it might be a gateway into finding the other powerful factions in Baja. Even having to think about this made my head hurt.

It wasn't something I wanted to do. Loyalty had always been a core aspect of my personality. All throughout my life, I had only had a few jobs, and my career had lasted nearly thirty years at the same company. If Loki had been straight honest with me, I would have been working for him unquestionably for far longer than was probably healthy. But it sucked that that wasn't possible.

It didn't seem like Loki knew how to have a proper relationship without at least jokes and a certain level of uncaring for those he didn't really consider people. I watched as Alana and Astrid worked together to whittle down a group of plant monsters they were slowly leading around in a circle. Astrid's face bore a now familiar expression—a constant grimace of pain as her class and blessing forced it onto her. She said it got better, and she adapted and learned how to ignore it. But, well, it wasn't pleasant.

And Alana had a look of pure focus as she chain-cast one spell after another in a perfect sequence, with the timing of an orchestra conductor, every single beat hitting exactly where it was supposed to be, and no plant monster making it a step out of reach. And, well, it was a beauty to behold.

Astrid and I were talented fighters, but Alana was a savant. And, well, just like anything she was good at, she was very good at. And anything she was bad at, she was very bad at. Luckily for all of us, she was very good at combat and understanding the flow.

It was a bit of a relief as I realized that I wouldn't have to control our battles. I was too close up to be the tactician. I wanted to be in things' faces, fighting and everything. But as long as I was with Alana, she would always have a view of the entire battle, and it took a load off my mind.

It did, however, remind me of one of the other major problems, that both of my allies needed significant leveling. Now that Astrid had a class, it made sense to push her as hard as possible. Alana just needed more combat experience, both so they could fight at my side fairly without being in danger from just being near the fights I was in, and also, well, if we wanted to move forward.

And that came to one of the biggest problems: what did moving forward mean?

The only thing I could confidently say was that there was some place beyond Valhalla Proper. There were some Tier five place that should exist, but I still had no idea how to get there. Completing a challenge wasn't enough, but that was the next step.

Beyond that, though, well, I had a nasty hunch that it would involve favor from a god. I remembered a few conversations with my Valkyrie. Mary had mentioned something about roots, Valhalla, and moving past. Still, it had been a long time since I had seen her. And, well, I wasn't sure I could trust her either.

Not that she'd really given me any cause to doubt, but the way Loki had talked about her, I was probably just being paranoid. I eventually decided that all this thinking was doing me nothing, and I needed to talk to my groupmates before I made any real decisions.

With them so much in on all my secrets, it still felt weird. But they should have as much input as I did on choosing our next path.

We exited the challenge with a significant number of levels under the girls' belts and, after a brief stop to exchange our loot, significantly richer. This was good because the rent we had paid for the training room had expired today, and we were looking for. needed to get—a new private location.

The conversation I wanted to have should be as private as possible. I knew that the challenges were monitored, and if I was going to attempt to speak without Loki listening in, it would have to be someplace inconspicuous. I wasn't sure—it was always possible that he had some fragment of himself always devoted to following my every move. But if that was the case, there wasn't much I could do. And I suspected it was more likely not me that he was able to follow. Still, rather the token in my bag, as he hadn't been able to randomly contact me before that, and he actually hadn't made an appearance since I had retrieved Astrid.

It worried me, the fact that he knew there was something going on. We wandered the streets, speaking of our progress, until I found where I was looking for. It wasn't exactly Norse at all, but rather a Roman-style bathhouse. Well, sort of Roman style. There was a lot of cultural mixing going on here. Apparently, there were Norsemen involved in Roman or Byzantine empires or such, though whether or not they were still actively practicing the Old Norse religion didn't seem to have much impact on what they were here.

After all, I was here, and that meant there were such desires to be catered for, even amongst those locals. Not that I had ever met one, but this small remnant remained.

"Let's clean up a bit," I suggested. Both of them gave me odd looks but made no protest.

When I left my things in a locker and walked out into the bath with the towel, I found the two of them already there in the water, their towels draped along the sides of the pool. I slipped in on the opposite side and controlled my gaze to make sure that I only ever looked them in the eyes.

"I'm sure there were easier ways of getting us naked," Astrid quipped in a dry tone.

I laughed, feeling for the first time in a while that I wasn't actually actively being watched.

"I don't know, it didn't seem particularly hard."

This caused Alana to snort and Astrid to roll her eyes. I appreciated some good banter, but our time here was limited.

"I'm pretty sure that someone can listen in on us through some of the equipment we might have, and this seemed to be the best bet without extremely high-powered magic that we don't have access to, to having a private conversation," I quickly explained.

Both Alana and Astrid made faces that I couldn't quite decipher.

Anyways, I barreled onward before we could get distracted.

"We need to talk about what our actual plans are."

"Besides just getting stronger?" Alana or Astrid asked.

"Uh, yes. Besides just getting stronger, there are several things we need to accomplish. From making sure we have independent sources of information that can be verified outside of Loki, to finding whatever criminal element you are engaged in"—I nodded to Astrid—"it seems that they at least were rivals of the Cult of the World Eater in some manner. Even though that might be more of a ploy of Loki or Sigyn as well."

"We need to find out what changes when we complete a challenge. We need to find out more about the higher levels."

And suddenly, I had a flashback to an extremely high-level woman telling me to find Alana. I gave her a look, and she nodded slightly.

"And we also need to figure out what happens next. After Valhalla proper. How do we get there? Do we want to get there? What is the best way? Are we prepared for when we do?"

Instead of immediately jumping onto any one of these topics, Astrid picked up on Alana's look and turned to her.

"What do you know about the higher levels?"

"Um, not much, but... well..." Alana hesitated. "One of my teachers offered me a bet, and I called in a favor to make sure that Myles attended my graduation."

"Hmm," I hemmed. "And could you get in contact with either that woman, your teacher, or..." I paused, trailing off, remembering that Alana hadn't mentioned too much of this when she recounted her story, though she only spent a few hours telling me it, when it must have taken her much longer to recall every detail—and I had never actually asked where she came from.

Alana thought for a second and shrugged. "Probably. Though... well... I'm not sure that she'd be interested in working with us. I don't think they would have a bright view of Loki's followers."

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe that is something we advertise to anyone."

"No, we don't," Alana said, blushing slightly, "but, well..."

"Did word get out about you?" I asked, nerves starting to spike. If she were a known associate of Loki and she'd been seen around me...

She shook her head. "No. But there are certain ways to tell a blessing. And with certain favors or ceremonies the group is part of, they might try to check. And I don't think your disguise spell is powerful enough to—"

"Okay, well, we don't necessarily need to go there," I jumped in. "Just, we want more, maybe common information, just from independent sources. It's actually better that they don't like Loki. Do you think we could—you could maybe get drinks with them or, I don't know, go just hang out socially?"

Astrid and I studied Alana, who nodded but seemed embarrassed by the attention. She shifted slightly, and I remembered to keep my eyes high, looking at her face.

"I think so."

With that, I sighed and leaned back, looking at the ceiling as I slipped slowly into the water, running my hands through my hair to remove as much grime as I possibly could. After a second to think, I resurfaced and shook my head slightly.

"Okay. When we get back to our new base for the next week, we'll go over our gains from training. But I think we need a break from that. Alana, why don't you go make some friends while Astrid and I do a little bit of detective work?"

EV B2 Chapter 51:

I woke up alone. We had decided that we needed to hold on for the night, get enough food, and sleep so that we'd be rested. Neither of the other beds in the room had anything, and Astrid's was undisturbed.

She was sitting down at the table as I came downstairs, where Alana was nowhere to be seen. Astrid, though, wasn't just awake. She was working. I could hear the soft sound of graphite being dragged against wood, and from the motion of her shoulder, it looked as if she was drawing something. But that was the only part of her that moved. The rest of her body was in a frozen stillness as she was sitting at a table hidden from the window, hunched over several different books splayed out on the table in front of her. It looked awkward and uncomfortable, but as I walked around and saw her face, it was as rigid as the rest of her self. She probably heard me coming, but she didn't glance up or say anything.

I stood in front of the small table in the small apartment that we had rented for the week, wishing that we had something like a refrigerator so I didn't have to have a breakfast of warm cheese, stale bread, and dried meat. The room was cold as well, and neither woman was bothering to start a fire. Only the long-dead charcoal remained from the previous occupants. The sounds of the bustling street outside in the pale light filtered through the room, making it feel a lot later than it actually was. Looking outside and seeing the light, I realized I had slept in more than I had intended to.

I placed a few logs in the fire and, with a bit of freeform arcane magic, lit them.

"You've been up long?" I asked.

Astrid grunted a noncommittal sound that made me suspicious. I slowly crossed the room and pulled out a chair to sit down at the table with her. She still didn't look at me. Her hands kept working, smearing the charcoal as she adjusted some sort of geometric shape across the table. I studied the jagged lines intersecting in a seemingly random pattern that I could not find any order from, but it was clear that it wasn't just a doodle.

 "Couldn't sleep?" I asked.

She shook her head, her eyes finally glancing up at me before flashing back down to her work.

"Didn't need to."

I waited, and she corrected herself.

"Didn't want to."

I let it go.

"What's the sigil?"

"It was something from my captivity," she said, producing a note, a piece of paper she had found somewhere with a different image drawn on it. "I remember this. I think it was their divine mark."

I looked closely at the drawing she passed over to me, and I shook my head.

"Maybe it's not Loki's," I said.

I rolled back, pushed up my sleeve, and indicated Loki's blessing, revealing the familiar ink buried in my skin. The crawl jester's had its unsettling grin. There was a little bit of color now, but it was nothing vibrant. Astrid stared at it, fixed. She reached out and touched it with one finger and turned back to the symbol she sent me.

"This is different."

The image was clearly not a jester but more of a mask when I looked at it a certain way—one that was less mocking and more cruelly smiling.

"I can't think of anything I would know from myths that would tie this to anything besides Loki," she said, exasperated. "I don't know of any other trickster gods, at least not in the Norse pantheon."

I shrugged.

"It could be many things."

We sat there in silence, studying the symbol and the thing she was drawing on the table. I pushed my chair back, stood up, and tapped the keg that had come with the purchase of the house. I had no idea what it was, but a foul-smelling mead flowed into the two cups I had on me. I passed one over to Astrid as I sat down again, and she drained half of it without toasting. I sipped at it briefly and regretted it before putting it down. It was way too strong, especially for this early, and I still hated mead.

She made one final stroke to the charcoal symbol on the table before placing the not-Loki's blessing symbol on it. As she adjusted the paper slightly in the light, something shimmered.

"Wait," I said. "Hold still."

I reached out and grabbed her hand so she couldn't move the paper more. She tilted it slightly, and a faint waft of smoke came up out of the paper.

"What was that?" I asked.

She didn't answer immediately. She held the page, lifted it up, and studied it before tossing it in the hearth. As the paper burned, the charcoal on the table moved. It formed a new symbol—an eye wide and unblinking, scrawled as if it was some sort of caveman drawing. And we both stared at it until it blinked at us.

I was left staring at it as spiderweb cracks appeared across the surface of the table, too fine to be anything besides cut with a razor, too precise to be anything accidental. The soot shimmered—shimmered—and then, without heat or smoke, the center of the eye crumpled inward and hardened into a small black rock the size of my palm. It sat there with nothing, and I reached out and picked it up.

Astrid stared at it like she'd expected it, and I could feel it shift on my palm as if it were pulling me. I looked over at Astrid with expectations in my eyes, and she glanced down at the notes before looking up at me, understanding that I was asking for an explanation.

"It's a locator."

I frowned, looking at it.

"Resonance magic is going to lead us to whoever drew the symbol?"

Astrid grimaced. "Not quite. If I got it right, it should be more about seeking a pattern. Anything with that mark," she pointed toward the paper still burning in the fire, "should draw it. And it should give you a general idea—whoever's, at least whoever's holding it, of where the nearest images are. It should work better with me, though."

"Makes sense," I said, handing it over, not worrying about doing that particular task. "It's probably pulling us towards someone wearing the mark," I suggested.

"Could be. Or some sort of ritual site," Alana threw in.

"True. I guess we really don't know. But so far, it's our only—it might be our best method of finding something. Unless Alana comes back with information. Our only other choice is to try to track down the drugs, but there are too many different people selling those, and we just don't have enough insider knowledge."

Astrid nodded. I looked down and asked some clarifying questions.

"How far does it reach?"

She shrugged. "Um. It won't cover all of Valhalla, but within a few miles, maybe."

I frowned. "That might not be enough."

She nodded. "I know, but... well, at my level, anything besides divine magic probably won't get you much better."

I grimaced, not thinking that I wanted to talk to Loki anytime soon.

"Well," I said, "that we can find it, but it makes me think that it's not a blessing. I'm almost confident that Loki would never allow someone like me to be found out so easily. If someone could just find anything drawn on me..."

"I agree. I should—no, I think it's a purely mortal organization or—"

I shook my head. "I don't think those really exist. This is just too chaotic for that. And there's no continuity. It could be some sort of temporary thing, but they just wouldn't have the power. My guess is that some sort of faction or some weird religion that has lasted past death."

Astrid didn't seem convinced, but she just blinked slowly at me, and I sighed. I put down the glass of mostly untouched mead and put a hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

"Good job. We have our lead. But you need to sleep."

She shook her head, but I squeezed her shoulder slightly.

"No. I think we need to head out soon. But in your state, you're going to be a liability. At least two hours of solid sleep." I insisted.

She looked like she wanted to argue but looked down and muttered, "Of course, Miles." She stood up and trudged upstairs with the gait of a person on their last legs.

I took her seat and closed the books in front of her, stacking them up so they wouldn't get damaged before having a small meal while watching the people walk past through the small window.

***

I had long since finished eating and was reading one of the magical textbooks that Astrid had left, trying to improve my ability to work with arcane magic, which was starting to lag behind my illusion magic by a significant bit. That was when the front door was unlocked. I didn't get up, but a weapon appeared in my hand under the table.

I heard the familiar stride as Alana strode through the door. She stepped in like she belonged, but not like the noble she once was—now with a confidence that spoke of experience rather than pedigree. Her coat was stained with soot, not just the ash that continually floated around the city with the snow. There was a copper scent of blood in the air as well.

But watching her move, it was clear that she had no injury. Her eyes were slightly dilated, and I could tell from her breathing that she was a little bit amped up on adrenaline. She just closed the door behind her before sitting down across from me at the table.

"I'm back," she said.

"You were out early," I responded.

She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"Should I catch you up?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. She spent most of the night down here. After I felt more rested, I wanted to get a head start. I know I wasn't working as hard as you and Astrid did with all the running around you two do."

I smiled, knowing that her casting was not that much less strenuous.

"Well, I'm glad you got a head start on things because, well—Astrid and I made some progress as well."

Alana's chin dipped slightly as she focused on. I poured out and discarded a cup of warm mead for her. She sniffed it and put it back down with a grimace.

"The fuck is that?" she asked, and I couldn't help but sniff.

"Nothing fit for drinking. It was the welcoming gift as our landlord tried to poison us, I'm sure."

Switching the topic back, I pulled out the charcoal disc that somehow didn't leave any smudges and was as shiny as black could be. I placed it on the table before sliding it over to Alana.

"It's a locator spell to find patterns of a mark she noticed some of her captors had. They are... maybe not independent from a god, but maybe a source of independent information."

Alana nodded, and I paused, waiting for her to speak. Eventually, her eyes left the black disc in front of her.

"I found something, too," she said, and I just let her explain. "I made contact with a few... with a few of my old contacts."

"Okay. I know. Is that why you smell of blood?"

She shook her head. "No. That was a little trouble I ran into heading back." She pulled out a knife and began wiping it down with a rag. "It's not a big deal."

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Did anyone see you? Were you recognized?"

She shook her head. "No."

I let the matter drop.

"Okay, then. Glad you stayed safe. We should just wait for Astrid to wake up, and we'll move out."

"Move out where?" Alana asked with a faint smile.

I inclined my head toward the black disc in front of her.

"Wherever that takes us."

EV B2 Chapter 52:

The streets hadn't woken up properly yet, but there was a constant bustle of traffic. It was always going on, though. Mid-morning seemed to be the latest time before all those who got to bed at a regular time woke up—well, regular for Valhalla. I supposed back in my old job, I would've been up hours ago, but not here. And many of the people who had been up all night drinking and partying had already gone to bed.

I started to hear the cries of vendors, staffed by avatars of various divine patrons selling fish. That must have been caught somewhere else, as I had yet to see a river that could host any fish here. The noise must have woken Astrid up as she emerged from the bedroom with dark circles under her eyes, but her posture was still straight, and she did have a little bit more liveliness than she had when we had sent her to bed.

Alana had already cleaned all of her gear and was practically bouncing, ready to go, where I had just been finishing up my studies. Things had gone relatively well, and I had managed to improve my handling of arcane mana. I hadn't been able to get a spell that worked off of it purely—everything was just too entrenched with illusion magic—but all my skills had been improved by a measurable amount, as the aspect that would actually reinforce the movement rather than just the misdirection had been shorn up. I still had a long way to go, but for now, it was worthwhile.

Alana bounced impatiently, completely geared up for battle. I didn't have anything besides my normal clothes on, forgoing the leather armor I would normally wear, but I expected that it wouldn't stay peaceful. Not if we continued down this path.

The polished carbon disc was in my pocket, but until I touched it, I couldn't actually feel which way we were going. But as we all filed outside and locked up our little apartment, I could tell exactly which direction to go, if not how far east and down. We started heading in that direction in no particular hurry. Occasionally, one of us would stop for a brief moment to talk with one of the vendors. Those that were manned by automatons never really had much to say, but one did sell me a loaf of fresh bread, which I ripped in half and offered a piece to Alana, who took it eagerly. Astrid, though, already had some sort of skewered meat and seemed satisfied.

The snow started to come down a little heavier than it usually did, and many people on the street quickly found reasons to enter the abundance of bars or had a sudden desire to visit one of the nearby shops. We, though, didn't slow our pace, even if the wind bit through my clothes. We followed the shard, followed the location as best we could until, eventually, it was telling us to go through a solid wall.

On that wall was a giant mural. It kind of looked like graffiti at first, but when viewed from a certain angle, I could see why the locator would have found it. Alana paused with it, and Astrid squatted down to examine a particular spot. She reached out and brushed two fingers along the paint.

"It's been recently drawn, still a little wet. Someone must be keeping these fresh."

Alana dug the tip of her knife in across the paint, higher up, and shook her head.

"No, this is freshly painted on, but there's nothing under it."

"Why do you think the symbol's painted out in the open like this?" I asked.

Astrid shrugged. "I don't think they're exactly very organized, at least not from what I could tell. There was a hierarchy, but it was not really more than just the one guy who was the leader."

While Astrid and I discussed it, Alana found something and pressed in a brick. I half expected the wall to peel back with a rumble and for us to find some sort of underground tunnel, but instead, the one brick moved aside, and she found a few vials of liquid. She quickly hissed, bringing Astrid's attention to the drop, and as she looked at it and nodded—

"Yes. That's it."

"Should we just watch? See when they're picked up?" Alana asked.

But I shook my head. "No. That'll only tell us who's buying. Not really what we're looking for."

"Well then what?" Astrid asked.

I took my finger and drew a line through the wet paint, altering the symbol.

"Enough. Move on to the next one, I suppose."

We followed it—the locator—into a series of alleyways that led down a slight hill. I stopped at the entrance to one of the darkest alleys I had seen all throughout Valhalla and looked down into the dark. The locator was very insistent that it was there. Astrid reached out, and I offered her the locator. She closed her eyes, and her apparent familiarity with the magic must have allowed her slightly better fidelity because as she closed her eyes for a moment, she opened them and said,

"I think we found a person marked or at least one who has the mark on them. It seems like the target is moving."

"Good," I said with a grim smile. "I'd like our first run-in with someone. Someone who wants to talk."

"And if they don't?" Astrid asked.

"Then... well, I suppose we'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

This pulled a slight giggle from Alana, as she always did seem to enjoy my metaphors.

The rusty gate at the back of the alleyway wasn't exactly obvious, just a hatch sunken into a dead-end stairway behind a rickety bakery. There were no guards, no sign, no glyphs, or any sort of marking that this was used. Only a slight bit where the rust was worn off from the hinges being in use told me that it was even able to be opened.

Alana opened the hatch without any ceremony, and we stepped inside. The place wasn't a single tunnel but rather a sprawl—old infrastructure and forgotten refuse. The air, though, was surprisingly fresh. Not the ever-present snow, making it feel a little bit drier as well.

Astrid led with a light spell, but I stepped in front, being the first to go down any new corridors. We followed the locator through a maze until we finally saw some lights.

I raised my hand, and we stopped as one. Astrid snuffed out the light she had conjured, and the faint glow ahead became clearer. There were three lanterns held by presumably three different people, but they were not moving with any sort of urgency, so I assumed they were not.

"Are they marked?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

Astrid closed her eyes and shook her head. "Only one of them has a symbol. They're close, though. But it's definitely them."

Alana looked at one of the side panels. "We could try to flank around them, cut across the left tunnel, and meet them at the next intersection. One of us, maybe?"

I shook my head. "No. It's too early for that. I don't know if they're bait."

And focusing, I frowned. "They're a higher level than you. So we should stick together."

I activated my skills, flashing ahead. I knew that I could handle them, but I didn't want to put my companions at risk. With brutal efficiency, I smashed one into the wall, his head cracking against the stone and falling limp. Another one—

The other two didn't even have a chance to turn around before I kicked the back knee of one and grabbed the other in a chokehold, slowly putting him to sleep.

By the time Astrid and Alana reached me, there were two unconscious and one man rolling on the floor, clutching his knee.

"Get him up," I said, indicating the only conscious man.

Alana and Astrid hauled him up and held him against the wall while Astrid bound his hands and healed his knee.

"What's your name?" I asked.

There was no response. I looked down at his knee and then back up to his face.

"Garrett?" he croaked. "Just... Garrett."

I examined him before reaching up and ripping off his sleeve, where Astrid had covertly noted where the symbol was located. It was on the meaty part of his forearm. I tapped it with a finger and asked, "What is that?"

He glanced at the symbol and opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Whose blessing?" Alana whispered in his ear.

And somehow, this seemed to freak him out.

"It's not a who. It's a group."

We waited for him to explain further, giving him a chance, as he clearly seemed a bit startled. I wouldn't be surprised if he had been on some of the drugs that they were selling.

"We call it the Pale Eye."

Alana stepped back slightly as if the name meant something to her.

"Tell me about them," I said.

"Truth or vengeance. That's... that's their words," he said.

"That doesn't tell me much."

"I'm not lying. That's all I know. That's what they say they stand for," Garrett said. "I just run messages, I swear."

Astrid leaned forward, studying the symbol more closely.

"This looks fresh."

Garrett nodded. "Yes, I am new. I... I don't—"

"Who's in charge?" I asked.

"Um... well. The Prophet. Some people call him Khaliq, but I've never seen him. I just get my orders via dead drop."

Astrid glanced at me. "I believe him," she said.

Unfortunately, I did too.

"Who are these?" I said, indicating the unconscious bodies at my feet.

"Clients?" he said.

And with that, my fist snapped out, leaving him unconscious.

I debated killing them, but in this low light, I doubted they had really seen our faces. Maybe they could recognize our voices, but I didn't want that on my soul.

"The Pale Eye," I said aloud, letting the words settle.

Alana exhaled slowly. "And someone named Khaliq."

B2 Chapter 19: Map Quest

B2 Chapter 19: Map Quest

Tiberius once again found himself in an all-too-familiar position, standing bent over a map on the table before him. With how often he found himself here, he’d honestly begun to think that he might develop a permanent stoop. Then again, maybe his improved stats would ward off any such thing.

Potential back problems aside, he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before him. To call it a map would be a disservice. No, this was a miniature model landscape. The imprecise, roughly drawn lines on vellum that he was so used to were a thing of the past. Now, little projected hills and dips in the landscape rose up from the page itself, with trees and other terrain features poking up from the ground.

The features blurred slightly where their scouts were less confident of their information, as when they hadn’t recorded an elevation change properly. It also disappeared in areas where they had no eyes. But that honestly reassured Tiberius more than anything. Knowing how incomplete one’s information was could be just as valuable as the information itself.

Tiberius poked at one of the tiny projected soldiers positioned along the road. His finger passed through, causing the figure to blur slightly. He heard a grunt and looked up. One of the Legionnaires standing in the corner of the room was frowning, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

“Sir,” one of the men helping to maintain the table spoke. “Please don’t actually touch it. If you want to see anything changed, just ask.”

Tiberius pulled his hand back and nodded. Evidently, these men’s skills did have some limits. Best not to test them unduly.

He looked across the table at Quintus. The Primus Pilus stared attentively at the map, frowning. He gestured to the terrain.

"Can you move the perspective north and show a wider area?"

The lights shifted, and a new section of terrain was displayed. A large city came into view at the northmost point of the map. At least, large compared to what they’d seen in this world. They had yet to encounter anything that could rival the size of Rome. Still, tens of thousands of people probably lived there. More notably, a stream of soldiers was heading away from the city, well on its way down the road to the southeast.

Quintus hummed. “One minor detail. The hill here,” he indicated with a wave, being careful not to touch the lights, “Was a bit taller.”

The hill grew slightly until he nodded. “That looks right.”

Tiberius nodded. "So. This is the latest from the scouts?"

The Primus Pilus nodded. “Our estimates of troop count remain unchanged. Approximately 1,300 men, most of them inexperienced. Our scouts have attempted to confirm their classes, but they’re having difficulty getting close enough to do so. There are at least a few of their number that exhibit strength beyond the others."

He glanced down at the map. A handful of black icons stood out among the ghostly soldiers, the ominous color warning of those very individuals. At the moment, there didn’t seem to be many of them. But it was hard to be certain.

"What do we know about these individuals?" Tiberius asked, indicating the dark icons. "Have we managed to collect any information about them?"

"As I said, our scouts are having difficulties getting close enough to use [Appraisal] on them. We lost a few good men before realizing the danger." Quintus grimaced at the admission. "The one that managed to get away was able to identify a level twenty-three [Cursed Berserker] before he was forced to retreat. There are five in total that look more well-equipped than the rest. We suspect they are adventurers. If we assume that the others are of similar strength, then it may be an issue."

Tiberius nodded. He suspected that "an issue" might have been putting things a little lightly. But really, they had little way to tell. They lacked too much information.

"This was two days ago," Quintus continued. "Their current position is…"

Quintus made a brief request to the focusing Legionnaires and the map changed again. This time, the scene it showed was closer to Habersville. “This is what we think is happening now. As of a few hours ago, at least."

The phantom images showed the procession of soldiers stretching out along a long road. They were much more bunched together than before and their comparative lack of progress suggested they were moving at a much slower pace. A black icon hovered far ahead of the rest of the forces.

“The traps have slowed them down massively, but they are growing wise to them. We are not able to pick up the same easy casualties that we had achieved earlier in their march, though that is to be expected. Their scouts are surprisingly good at identifying and disabling them. The effort is still slowing them down massively, however.

"If we had cavalry, I’d suggest harrying them. But given their current pace we are probably going to receive them in two or three days, depending on how hard they push. If you want to meet them in Habersville…”

Tiberius frowned. “Stonester. Do you expect them to assault it, or head straight for Habersville?”

“Show the entire region,” Quintus asked the map table technician.

The map changed yet again, this time more drastically. It flattened out and lost most of its detailed terrain features as they morphed into lines on a page like Tiberius was used to. Despite that, the positions and numbers of the various troops remained relatively accurate. They even moved occasionally as their scouts provided up-to-date information to the Legionnaires.

“They’re approaching along this road here,” Quintus said, drawing a line with his finger from the seat of the barony to Habersville. “Stonester is over here.” He indicated a position further southwest of the indicated path.

“If they continue on their path, they won’t directly come across Stonester. But in about half a day’s time, they could decide to veer off the path here. There’s no direct route, but they could easily traverse the open fields and try to retake the town. We have sent warnings to the cohort stationed there just in case. With the additional cohort we sent for the, erm, experiment with the ghouls, I believe the men could manage, but the stronger individuals that they have with them are a much bigger concern. Though we will pause the ghoul farming if it seems that Stonester will come under siege.

"Granted, I still believe the Legion could hold out, even against these enemies. But not without large casualties. And if they manage to take Stonestir, it won’t be long before they come here. It’s just too much of an unknown.”

Tiberius nodded. “Thank you for your report, Primus.”

Quintus gave a salute and stepped back from the table. Tiberius studied the map alongside the other officers present. After a few moments, he began to think aloud.

“I don’t like situation of the Legionnaires in Stonester," he admitted. "The walls may be in good shape, but they were merely adequate to begin with. And if the real danger comes from five individuals rather than the army itself, that is even more problematic. They could easily sneak in during a siege or some other diversion. They could tunnel under the walls or sneak through the gates or a dozen other things."

A few of the officers nodded in agreement. Getting a few people in a city was much easier than getting an entire army in. And if these individuals were anything like what they’d seen so far, they might have other abilities up their sleeves. They may even be able to just jump over the walls completely.

Tiberius looked to one of his officers. "When are the wall upgrades scheduled to complete?"

The man referred to a scroll at his side. "Another four days, Legatus. The men might be able to rush and finish them early, but then they will be exhausted and not in prime battle condition."

"I see." Tiberius filed the information away and continued. "If they do come straight for Habersville, that is preferrable, but presents its own problems. We’ll need to divert our resources from other projects to prepare, perhaps clear more of the forest to give ourselves a better battlefield and reduce their potential hiding spots."

It was a course of action that he was sure Iladrien would object to. But between offending the elven envoy and giving his own men a combat advantage, he would happily take the latter.

Tiberius drummed his fingers against the table. Whichever way the enemy chose, they would be able to defend from a fortified position. But the nature of those fortifications varied greatly. What’s more, they weren’t as prepared as he would’ve liked for a full siege in either location.

“Let’s see more detail in this area.” Tiberius extended his finger, momentarily forgetting his resolution not to touch the lights floating above the map as he indicated an area. He heard another grunt, but the area expanded accordingly.

"Along this route, there are significant rolling hills. If we can get there a half-day ahead of them, I believe the path here—” Tiberius traced his fingers through a few different valleys—“would not be seen easily from the road. If we can take up a position there, we can potentially avoid their scouts or lure them into traps to eliminate them. Either way, smart positioning would allow us to take two cohorts and assault them from each side. This initial attack should be able to pin them in place while they’re gathered together. The column is what, eight men wide?” He asked.

“Ten, sir,” Quintus corrected.

“Good. Not ideal, but it will work. It’d be better if it was in a forest, and they were more strung out. But I don’t want to gamble on them picking Habersville for their attack, nor do I want to let them make it this far uncontested. The hills will probably force them to narrow the formation slightly, which will play to our advantage.”

Tiberius turned to Marcellus, one of his officers in charge of training. “How are the archery auxiliaries doing?”

The man lifted a shoulder. “They won’t win any awards, but they can fire in volleys. Now, their marching will be slow, and I expect that they will lag far behind the Legion—maybe an extra day or two for every three days we march. But they will manage.”

“Mhmm,” Tiberius said, a plan taking shape. “All right. I think if we meet them here, we can pin them down. The archers will be late, but I believe we can use that to our advantage. Once we have them engaged here, here, and here,” he pointed out several places on the map, “We will fight but maintain clear paths of retreat. Their scouts will know where we are, but we’ll be able to prevent any new information from getting back to their leaders. After, we will pull back to here…”

The planning session continued, with the others offering ideas and suggestions as they worked to revise the plan into a better state. Eventually, Tiberius felt comfortable, if not completely confident, in their course of action.

"Prepare six cohorts to march." The Legatus straightened from the map. "The longer we wait, the less enviable our position becomes."

The men saluted and dispersed. Tiberius began his own preparations as well. If all went well, they’d soon meet the enemy on the battlefield.

B2 Chapter 18: Echoes in Eternity

B2 Chapter 18: Echoes in Eternity

The group of the Baron’s conscripts shambled forward uncertainly through the grassy plains. Their progress had already been agonizingly slow, far more so than Sharath would have liked. That was only to be expected, given the speeds at which a [Rogue] like her could travel. But in recent days? Their pace had been reduced to little more than a crawl.

It was more frustrating than she could adequately explain. The delays threatened to ignite a fresh flame below the seething rage that had been boiling in her gut for weeks. It had gotten so bad that she was having trouble with normal everyday tasks. Eating felt pointless when the food tested like ash, and bathing took up time she could spend on other things.

What those other things were, exactly… well, that was a different issue. Her nervous energy lacked an outlet. The notion of doing anything that wasn’t a direct link towards getting her revenge was in itself exhausting. But she needed to do something, anything. Pacing helped, but she was wearing out her shoes at a rate that seemed unprecedented.

She’d finally found an outlet with the baron’s army. The man had finally gotten off his ass and heeded her warnings, scraping together a force of conscripts to attack the Legion. One that she was more than willing to accompany. It was better than sitting around doing nothing.

Of course, she was far less confident than the baron that these men would accomplish anything. They didn’t even have combat classes and they were far outnumbered. But then, that wasn’t the point. They were meant to be fodder, a distraction while the real threat did their work.

Sharath glanced back toward the adventuring party that the baron had hired—the Dark Demon Blades. It was a kind of shit name, in her opinion. Edgy and over-the-top to the point that it was almost comical. But then, they could call themselves whatever they wanted so long as they helped her get revenge.

The party was comprised of four members, three of which she could currently see. The first was a mousey female mage with an overly floppy hat and a gnarled staff twice her height. A gorgeous blonde walked beside her, the woman’s robes revealing a borderline scandalous amount of skin as she walked. Her nose was turned up in a semi-permanent sneer. The final member was a beast of a man encased in a shell of hellish black armor, his face hidden behind a horned helmet.

A mage, a cleric, and a fighter. Combined with the scout that made up the last of their party, it was a fairly standard and well-balanced composition.

The group strolled alongside the army behind her casually, treating the entire outing like the easiest payday of their lives. And for good reason. If not for the party leader’s personal history with Merethe, an assignment like this would be beneath their notice—on paper, at least.

Still, despite their strength and reputation, Sharath couldn’t help but be thoroughly unimpressed with the group so far. During the march they’d been lazy, unfocused, and generally undisciplined. Half the time, most of the members were drunk.

Sharath shook her head. She shouldn’t have expect anything different. Such cavalier attitudes were all too common among adventurers. It was one of the reasons she and her sister had never been able to find a party that worked well for them.

A tap on her shoulder caused Sharath to jump. She whirled around in an instant, a knife already in her hand. It stopped an inch from the man’s throat as he caught her wrist in a firm grip.

He cocked a sidelong grin at her. "Woah. Jumpy, aren’t we?"

A wiry, athletic figure stood before her, his posture casual. A multilayered cloak whose edges seemed to diffuse into the very air itself draped over him, obscuring the gear and weapons beneath. Soft-soled shoes wrapped snugly around his feet, one of many factors allowing him to sneak up on Sharath undetected.

She relaxed, the tension slowly bleeding from her shoulders as she recognized the Dark Demon Blades’s [Scout], Lenny. She sheathed the knife. "Why wouldn’t I be? We’re in enemy territory."

Lenny shrugged. "I suppose so. Though if you’re going to be jumpy, you should at least put it to good use."

He gestured to the ground in front of them meaningfully. Frowning, Sharath looked closer until she noticed a slight irregularity in the dirt. "Traps?"

"Yep."

"This far out?"

"Are you surprised?" Lenny stretched. "You’re the one who pointed out that we’re in enemy territory."

She scowled, kneeling to disarm the thing. It was a simple enough task once she’d seen it. In moments, the trap was deactivated.

The [Scout] nodded in approval. "Great. Now, go get some sleep."

Sharath froze. "Excuse me?"

The man seemed entirely unperturbed by the growl in her tone. "Go get some sleep. I’ll take over scouting ahead for a while. Someone like you shouldn’t be missing stuff like that. The fact that you are means that you’re either dead on your feet or an idiot, and I’m more inclined to think it’s the former."

Sharath bristled at his words. "I missed one trap. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I—"

"Oh, that’s not the only one," the [Scout] jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "They’ve been showing up for the past… what, half a day or so? There were a few nasty ones that caught some of the guys back there before we realized. Snapped their legs right off. I’ve been picking ’em out ever since. Heck, I found two in the last five minutes alone."

Shara’s face fell and she paled slightly. "Two? Are you… That can’t be right. You must be talking about those pits I marked."

He nodded. "I saw those. They weren’t just pits. Those were distractions to keep you from noticing the real traps nearby. Pretty clever, if you ask me."

She glared at him, her teeth grinding together in frustration. No. She would not let herself be pushed aside like this. It wasn’t just because sleep had been hard to come by, either. They were only a couple days’ march from that shithole town, and she wouldn’t stop to rest now. She needed to channel every bit of energy she had into either training or skills or moving forward. She couldn’t risk letting revenge slip through her fingers.

Lenny sighed and shook his head. "Look. I’m not trying to insult you. Believe me, I really do think you would normally find things like this. But as you are? You’re more likely to get someone killed."

"I’m fine," she snapped acidly.

"No, you’re not." A hint of steel entered the [Scout]’s tone. "Go. Rest. If you want to fight me on this, you’re more than welcome to. But you won’t win."

Sharath eyed the man. He was right. It wasn’t just a matter of levels, either. She didn’t need [Appraisal] to tell that a good amount of the man’s gear was magical and likely far better than her own. That, added to his causal confidence… It could be a bluff, but was she willing to take that risk?

She spat and turned on her heel, stalking back up the road as dusk began to fall. She’d make camp with the useless conscripts, just for tonight. Tomorrow, she’d return to her duties and clear the way for the next day’s march. Buy in the meantime… maybe the sleep would take pity and come find her tonight.

***

Marcus felt a very dignified and manly scream rip out of him as a large purple tentacle burst out of the water. His initial thought had been that the disturbance in the water was merely a consequence of the arena draining. Maybe the trumpet was meant to signal the end of a battle in addition to the start?

But those hopes were crushed by the tentacle as it slammed across the deck of their boat. Bits of splintered railing flew into the air and peppered his face as he rapidly backpedaled. He wasn’t the only one alarmed by the situation, he noted. Several of the Legionnaires looked noticeably uncomfortable, which was certainly a higher state of alarm than he had seen at almost any other point. Apparently, seeing monsters rise from the deep while atop a sinking ship was all it took to elicit such a minute shift in attitude.

Marcus turned his manly scream into the beginnings of a song—an [Inspirational Song]. The high note could have passed for the beginning of a relatively modern song, the likes of which Marcus had never particularly cared for. Of course, he wouldn’t complain too much for the moment.

Cannot take another fight in this boat

I shut my eyes and take a breath, oh no

The consequence if we stay is more holes,

But what’s the difference when you’re barely afloat?

The men began moving faster as the song took hold. [Critical Reception] went into overdrive, helping him to tailor the song to both the situation and his audience. [Charm] worked to settle some of the more nervous Legionnaires and imbue the others with confidence. The Legionnaires quickly found their sea legs, so to speak.

Gaius’s spear flashed forward, sinking nearly a foot into the thick appendage. It writhed in pain, spewing blackish-blue ichor, but didn’t retreat. The other Legionnaires who weren’t bailing out water roared as they charged forth, drawing their swords and hacking into the tentacle at a half-dozen different points in a frenzy.

Most of the blows bounced off the the tentacle’s rubbery surface. That, was, until Gaius shouted to his men."Activate [Gale’s Fury] if you have it!"

A couple of the men nodded. As they activated the rare temporary buff, their postures seemed to shift. It would only last for a little bit before a period of weakness, but as Marcus watched, their blades suddenly chopped through the air as if it had offended their mothers. The slashes cut through the tough flesh as though it were little more than butter.

The tentacle writhed, curling and uncurling reflexively as it sank back into the water below. A slowly-spreading stain rippling across the surface in its wake. They barely had time to celebrate before the second tentacle launched toward them.

A spear met the limb in midair. It twitch but continued forth, wrapping around their ship and dragging it sideways. Marcus sang louder. The slashes and stabs of the Legionnaires sped up even further, biting deeper with each hit for a precious few seconds before he had to pull back. Exhausting himself would do no one any good, not when there still seemed to be more fight in the beast.

Still, the extra boost was all they needed. The soldiers ripped apart the tentacle, nearly cutting it in half. Another stump retreated underwater as the ship lurched. Two more had wrapped around either end of the vessel as they fought. The boards began to groan under the pressure as the tentacles tightened like a vise and began to crush.

Marcus didn’t stop singing as he pulled out his spellbook once more, flipping through the few meager spells recorded within. He doubted that h e had anything powerful enough to affect a creature of this size and power. Although…

He nearly smacked himself. In his panic, he’d completely forgotten to even use [Appraisal] on the thing. How could he be so stupid?

Of course, when he did use the skill, it didn’t make him feel much better.

“Baby Lake Kraken, level 27!” He called to Gaius.

Well, that was bad. But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he feared. It was just a baby, after all. Even if it was a higher level than even he was, surely that counted for something.

He focused harder on the skill, feeling its drain on his stamina intensify as he did. A few weak spots along the underside of each tentacle made themselves known to him. He also gained some idea of where its head was located beneath the water.

Marcus wasn’t sure if it was intentionally sacrificing its tentacles to distract them from something or if the thing really just was too stupid to bring its entire strength to bear at once. But whatever the case, it didn’t really matter. It was working.

"Can you do that explosion thing again?" He shouted over the sounds of combat.

"And blow ourselves up? Absolutely not!" Gaius shouted back. "Do you have a death wish?"

Marcus swore. Rifling through his memory, he searched for any spells that might be of use. There was one that might be able to do something. But first, he had to deal with that hole that continued to let in water.

Marcus pulled out his spellbook and raised his palm toward the hole. "Stand back!"

The pair of Legionnaires in charge of keeping the boat afloat obliged, albeit with questioning looks. Marcus ignored them and read off another Icy Gale spell. The frigid wind froze the water within the hole solid, acting as a makeshift plug.

Another stab of pain shot through his skull. It irked him to use such an expensive spell for something like this, but there really was no better option. He pointed a finger toward the prow of the ship.

“The head’s over there! Keep it off of me!” He ran forward, nearly stumbling over a few of the benches that swayed as the Kraken repositioned itself underneath them.

He leaned over the prow, holding onto the ships figurehead for support. A massive abyss of an eye gazed back at him, the glassy orb seeming to stare back into his soul. It blinked at him once, the motion slow and ponderous, as its tentacles continued to cause the boat around him to creak.

Marcus raised his finger toward the eye and read off another spell.

Shocking!

A simple incantation, but it got the job done. Electricity arced from his outstretched finger toward the black orb below. A bolt of lightning electrified the water with a sharp crack, causing the kraken’s entire head to flinch back. Its tentacles seized up, sending the whole ship rocking.

The Legionnaires stumbled and cursed as Gaius grabbed Marcus’s shoulder to steady himself. His other hand gripped his spear. The tentacles suddenly relaxed, going limp for a moment as the electricity dissipated.

"Is it dead?" Marcus asked hopefully.

Gaius peered down. "No. But it’s not moving… Better take advantage."

Without any further warning, the insane Legionnaire put his foot up on the gunwale of the boat and launched himself upward, his spear held in both hands. The young officer plummeted toward the beast’s eye, the weapon sinking deep into its center until its haft was barely visible.

The kraken spasmed violently, struggling to rouse itself from its stunned state. Marcus wanted to shout at the man in warning, but before he could get a word out, another Legionnaire followed suit. The man leaped off the ship, aiming for a second spot not too far away, theen a third. The trio of men remained partially above the water as their weapons sank deep inside. Then, they spoke in unison.

Marcus heard a series of dull whumps. The eye exploded in a shower of blackish gore. Chunks of tissue and brain matter fountained upward, the beast’s flesh insulating the men from the worst of the explosions, but they were still thrown backward. On the ship, the remaining tentacles began to slide off as the kraken sank down to the bottom of the arena.

Once again, the Legionnaires watching from the stands cheered at the spectacle. But Marcus barely heard it. He was too busy searching for a rope. "Man overboard! Three of them!"

The other soldiers quickly realized the problem and rushed to assist. In a matter of moments, one had retrieved a coil of rope and tossed one end toward Marcus, wrapping the other around a secure piece of railing.

The bard quickly hurled the other end down toward the Legionnaires below. They were already sinking alongside the kraken, their armored shapes struggling to stay above the surface. He saw as Gaius and the second man grab onto the rope for dear life, but the third…

Marcus scanned the water, trying to find the other Legionnaire. There, beneath the water, he spotted a small shadowy form thrashing underneath the water.

He looked around and swore. As strong as they likely were, the other men around him were also wearing armor. Which meant…

Marcus slung off his spellbook, his lute, and his cloak, shoving them into the nearest Legionnaire’s hands. “Watch over these!”

Without waiting to hear the man’s response, and before he could have second thoughts, he dove off the boat. He hit the surface of the water with all the elegance of a landslide and found the loose end of the rope. Gaius and the other Legionnaire were already climbing to pull themselves out of the water, leaving Marcus plenty of slack.

Th bard dove down, forcing his eyes open. The remains of the kraken stung and clouded his vision. Still, he managed to pick out the last Legionnaire just a little deeper down. He continued to thrash and flail as a few bubbles escaped from his mouth.

With a series of kicks, Marcus shot toward the man and reached out. His hand grasped the waterlogged feathers of the man’s plume. He yanked at the helmet, checking whether it was securely attached to the man’s head. It was. Thankfully, he knew how to use his chinstrap, and Marcus was able to halt the man’s slow descent.

Marcus tugged sharply on the rope, hoping that the Legionnaires above would understand the signal. He felt the man’s flailing hands grab at him and find purchase. The panicking Legionnaire began to climb up Marcus’s body as though he were a particularly strange tree. The bard felt his lungs begin to burn, struggling to keep his grip on both himself and the rope as the other man inadvertently battered him. Then he felt the rope go taut.

The pair were dragged up and through the water. When they broke the surface, Marcus got half a gasp of air in before the Legionnaire climbed on top of him, forcing his head underwater with his continued thrashing.

"Stop flailing, Titus!" One of them shouted. "You’re not making this any easier, you fool!"

Surprisingly, the man didn’t stop. Either he hadn’t heard his comrades or he simply was panicking too hard to take the advice. Marcus struggled, fighting the Legionnaires to try to stay on top of the water until the men above pulled them clear. Neither of them let go of the rope until they were hauled bodily over the railing and onto the deck. 

The waterlogged men lay on the deck, gasping for air and coughing violently. Marcus rolled over and breathed deep breaths, closing his eyes in relief. They had made it. No other trumpets sounded, which he took to ean they’d survived this arena’s challenges. Without losing a man, no less.

He heard a cough. When he opened his eyes, a Legionnaire stood above him. In his arms he held his spellbook, lute case, and cloak.

His head thudded back to the deck. That water hadn’t exactly been clean, and he had no desire to see the state of his clothes right now. Nor did he want to soil his things.

His words came out as an exhausted wheeze. “Can you… Can you hold on to them for me? Just a little bit longer?"

The others nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

B2 Chapter 17: What We Do in Life

Previous chapter posted today

B2 Chapter 17: What We Do in Life

As soon as they registered the coming threat, the Legionnaires sprang into action. Men rushed to the sides of the boat, grabbing oars and beginning to move the ship in a more intentional direction. Gaius took up a position at the prow, issuing orders and directions as the remaining men began pulling out the new style of spear they'd begun to carry.

Marcus stood awkwardly at the center of it all, uncertain of what to do. One man pressed a long spear into his hand, but he was just grateful that no one was driving him toward one of the oars. As they got their feet under them, he called over to Gaius. "Is this supposed to happen? Is building giant flooding deathtrap arenas a favored pastime of your people?"

"Not exactly," a centurion shouted over the din of activity. "Most bouts took place on dry land between gladiators and beasts and the like. But the amphitheater could be flooded to host mock naval battles like this one."

"Aye," one of the other men called over as he rowed. "It's true. My grandfather oversaw part of the construction. It was a real marvel, pulling that off. Seems like they had the same idea here when they built this place. Though it's practically un-Roman to be on a ship…"

Marcus spared a glance toward the incoming boats. "Un-Roman? Please tell me that someone here's fought on a ship before."

"Not in my lifetime. The Mare Nostrum was fully pacified before my father was born. Occasionally we had transport up the Rhine, but for the most part, our navy..."

"If you have breath to talk, you have breath to row!" Gaius shouted. "Let's move!"

The boat began moving faster as eight oars dipped into the water, driving them towards one of the approaching ships. It seemed like the young officer was aiming to engage before the other could pincer them. 

A lurching crunch echoed through the enclosed space as their prow struck one of the approaching boats. It hit the side of the vessel at an angle, the impact sending Marcus stumbling forward. He almost dropped his long spear, which he barely managed to avoid skewering himself with as he used it to prop himself upright.

The Legionnaires, though, were not so slow to react. The two with Gaius who weren't manning the oars, had their own spears ready. They leapt across the gap right after impact, skewering the armored automatons manning the other vessel with their outstretched spears.

The faceless figures didn't so much as twitch from the blows. One even grabbed at the spear haft protruding from its chest, pulling it until the Legionnaire holding it was forced to let go or be thrown off balance. Evidently, their reactions to damage weren't meant to approximate a human's.

The Legionnaires on the oars quickly locked them in place, grabbed their weapons, and followed their comrades over to the other boat to assist. Marcus moved out of the way as they leaped across the small gap. Their spears and swords tore into the automatons, finding chinks in their armor to disable limbs and forcing them back toward the edge of the boat. Even if the enemies didn't react to a hole in their chest, a severed limb was still a severed limb.

The rhythmic sound of oars slipping in and out of water grew louder. Marcus swiveled around. The second boat was fast approaching and about to join the fray.

"Incoming!" Marcus shouted just before impact. Another ship joined the knot in the center of the water, sending them rocking again as it impacted their other side.

Marcus looked around in a panic. All of the other Legionnaires were off their boat, having boarded the other one to secure it. Worse, the impact had left a hole in its side and water was quickly filling the vessel's bottom. Swearing under his breath, he clumsily jabbed out with a spear as the automatons began to board. The strike skidded off a breastplate, but luckily knocked aside a thrust aimed for himself as he backed up.

He looked behind him and quickly realized that he didn't have much more room. He threw his spear clumsily at the automaton approaching him. It skidded uselessly off its side, but he hadn't expected much different. The important part was freeing up his hands.

He drew out his spellbook from beneath his cloak. The book wasn't something he used often, and for good reason. Spell paper and ink were prohibitively expensive, and most spells cast without the full suite of spellcasting-related skills came with pretty nasty side effects. Not to mention that his usual skills were usually more than enough to deal with any threat. If they weren't, however… he liked to have a backup strategy. And considering that his current enemies weren't human, he felt more than comfortable using the potentially lethal spells against them. He was no murderer, after all.

He hastily flipped the book open to a bookmarked page and lifted his hand toward the approaching automatons. His eyes flicked toward the page and read out the words in a clear sing-song voice.

Borne of frost,

Built in ice,

Freeze, all right?

The wording of the spell left something to be desired. Whoever had written it clearly wasn't a [Bard]. But he did his best with what he had.

A blast of icy wind erupted forth from his palm, engulfing the automatons before him. The three in the front of the charge froze fast, seizing up as their joints locked up and filled with ice crystals. Even the water filling their boat and the surface nearby began to crackle from sheer proximity to the spell.

The words on the spellbook's page burned away as the mana stored inside them was used to fuel the spell. Marcus winced as the words disappeared from his mind and a sudden headache threatened to split his skull in two. Thankfully, it was just pain—far better than one of the enemy's spears actually splitting his head open.

He leaped up, grabbing the gunwale and tumbling over to the other ship. The attack had bought him a bit of time, slowing his aggressors and forcing them to navigate past their frozen brethren. He half-fell into a small pool of water that had begun to accumulate in the vessel.

As he regained his feet, he saw that the Legion had devised a far more effective way of dealing with the automatons than dismembering them. One of the Legionnaires stabbed forward with his spear, then twisted violently. The sudden motion pulled the thing off its feet and sent it off the side of the boat. Its blank, mannequin-like face showed nothing as it sank into the waters below.

More went overboard as he repositioned behind the Legion's formation. The men made short work of the few remaining automatons, then shifted in preparation for the next wave of attackers following on Marcus's heels. Unfortunately, they couldn't bring the entirety of their forces to bear. A pair of men found buckets and worked swiftly to bail out the water that continued to pour into the ship. 

Marcus backed up and moved to help them  as the rest of the Legionnaires formed a wall along the boat, slinging their shields onto their arms and bracing them against the gunwale. Their spears lashed out, stabbing toward the faceless armored figures as they approached. The enemy's attempts to climb aboard were met with two feet of sharpened metal piercing their limbs and chests.

However, the situation had changed. The Legionnaires were no longer on the offensive with the full weight of the contubernium's eight men behind them. Now, they were on the defensive. And with the sheer amount of water pouring in, they appeared to also be on a timer.

"Claudius! Decimus!" Gaius shouted. "Man the oars! We need to gain distance!

Two more men peeled off from the wall to do as their commander bid. The remaining men redoubled their efforts, stabbing over and over again between raised shields. Once a small gap opened up between their boats, the automatons suddenly turned back, abandoning the half-sunken boat they were launching their assault from in favor of their own pristine vessel. 

Manning the oars, both parties began to maneuver around the arena. Between the men bailing out water and the Legionnaires' stated lack of expertise at sailing, however, they found themselves moving more slowly than the other boat. And even with how in sync the men moved, it was hard to beat the coordination of literal golems. It was all they could do to avoid receiving another hole in their side.

Marcus gritted his teeth. At this rate, their enemy didn't need to do much more than wait for them to sink. Maybe he could cast another spell? He was loath to do it for a multitude of reasons, but given the alternative…

"Sir!" One of the men called from the oars. "Permission to use our throwing spears?"

Gaius scowled. "You saw how little they did. Even if you fill them with more holes than a public toilet, they'll continue rowing."

"Not the return function, sir. The other one."

Marcus looked between the two men in confusion. Evidently Gaius understood, because he nodded. "Do it. We need some way to beat them before we sink. It'll be a good field test."

Nodding, the Legionnaire pulled his oar in and stood. He hefted the spear in one hand and aimed carefully at the other boat as it skated across the water. Then, he threw.

The spear sailed through the air, lodging itself deep into the side of the boat. Marcus assumed that the man had missed his intended target. Until he spoke a single word.

"Boom."

The head of the spear flared cherry red and exploded. The blast tore open a head-sized hole in the side of the enemy vessel. Water began rushing in, prompting the automatons to abandon their rowing and bail themselves out with jerky movements. Unfortunately for them, it wasn't enough. The boat quickly sank beneath the water, taking its armored occupants with it.

A thunderous cheer rose from the stands. Marcus looked over in utter confusion. There, lining the arena, stood the rest of the Legionnaires that had come on this excursion. They roared in approval, pumping their fists and shouting. Marcus even swore he saw a few coins exchange hands.

He shook his head. Despite how much time he'd spent with the Romans, there were still so many things that didn't make sense to him. Oh, well. It wasn't the kind of performance he usually put on, but so long as it pleased the crowd…

He gave a flourishing bow, then gestured to the men standing beside him as though they'd all put on a particularly fine play. The boat steered toward the edge of the arena, its occupants eager to step onto dry land once again.

That was when the water began to swirl and foam at the center of the arena. The trumpet sounded again, and Marcus's heart sank.

/// We should be 13 chapters ahead now! hope you enjoyed the double chapter. Now that we have been settling in to our rhythm we are going to do our best to extend the backlog each week, but I can't make any promises. But I would like to get much further ahead than we are currently.

B2 Chapter 16: Getting Amped Up

B2 Chapter 16: Getting Amped Up

When Marcus had initially offered to take Tiberius through the ruins, he'd pictured a slightly different situation. One where he'd go on a nice hike with the big boss, perhaps use the time to talk about some of the less important matters on his mind and use the opportunity to further ingrain himself into the man's good graces. Once they got there, maybe the men would set up a pavilion for their emperor and investigate while they relaxed.

That was not what he got.

He supposed he should have known better, that that was a stupid wish. Perhaps he'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the comforts the Romans had been constructing at home, such as those magnificent baths he was growing so fond of. But when it was time to work, they were consummate professionals.

The ruins were only about an hour's walk from the town, albeit hidden deep in the forest. To them, that was a comparatively short twenty-minute march at a sedate pace. For Marcus, it was practically a long-distance sprint, which he was not exactly cut out for. Especially not so early in the morning.

So he started the day sweaty and irritated, with aching feet and a strange pain in his side that felt like someone was stabbing him every time he tried to breathe.

On top of that, all Tiberius hadn't even bothered to come. Instead, he'd sent his second-in-command, Gaius, to make sure that everything was documented and anything important would be brought back. He certainly liked Gaius, but still. The young officer was already quite positively disposed toward him. It felt like a wasted opportunity.

The one glimmer of relief he experienced was that Gaius didn't seem completely unfazed by the march, either. Not that he was in as poor of shape as Marcus. His face was just slightly redder than Marcus remembered. Compared to the hundred or so other Legionnaires that had followed them, most of whom weren't even winded, it was something.

Both he and Gaius found seats atop the remains of a stone column on the outskirts of the ruins. At least, that's what it resembled. It was difficult to be sure, given the level of degradation it had experienced.

"What's wrong, Marcus? Tired already?"

The panting bard turned toward the Legionnaire who had spoken. "Yes, well. I'd like to see how you fare without those skills of yours."

"Says the man with twenty levels on us. Didn't you invest anything into constitution?"

Marcus scoffed. "Of course not. Why would I? I'm a bard, not a soldier, and certainly no marathon runner!"

"Well, you know. I thought a man like you would understand the importance of stamina."

"Augstus, you could have the stamina to run across the whole continent in one go and still leave a lady unsatisfied. Just because you can fumble about for longer doesn't mean it would be any more enjoyable for her."

The Legionnaires roared with laughter at the back-and forth. Marcus took each insult in stride, more than happy to send them back with interest. It served as a nice diversion as he caught his breath. Though notably, Gaius avoided a similar fate. Evidently, the men were a little less inclined to trade casual barbs with an officer.

After Marcus caught his breath, mopping the sweat from his face and neck with a handkerchief, they were ready to move on. 

The ruins didn't look like much from the outside. Broken structures of stone and eroded rubble poked out from the forest floor, the tallest of them only standing a few yards high. Most of the remains were relatively nondescript, the few details that could be identified marking them as more columns or arches. But nothing more.

Of course, that was just on the surface. When he'd last visited, Myra had taken him to a fresh sinkhole that revealed an entire underground area beneath. There were only a few rooms accessible, given that most of it had been buried over the years, but still. They had seen a few stairways to indicate that the network expanded even deeper.

Luckily, the Legion had brought many, many shovels.

They made a cursory pass through the rooms that were accessible one at a time. Gaius surveyed each one, taking notes for the report he'd inevitably present to Tiberius.

"It certainly is Roman," the officer remarked as he ran a hand over one of the pillars. "Not just the construction, either. There's a few pieces of furniture that look more familiar than I would have expected. A few bust fragments, too."

Marcus nodded That certainly made sense. He was a little surprised that the man could pull so much information from rubble like this, but their architectural style did seem rather unique. Perhaps that made it easier to recognize.

"Where did you find the book?"

Marcus roused himself. "Ah, right over here."

He led them to a hidden alcove, revealed only by the ravages of time. Around its edge were inscribed a few magical wards that had long since failed.

Gaius hummed thoughtfully. "Well. If it was in fact hidden, that explains why no one found it for so long… Although it doesn't explain what this place is. Speaking of…" He turned over his shoulder. "All right, men! Let's get to work!"

And so they did. And as they dug, the true structure came into being.

They started on the inside, clearing a partially-intact stairwell that led downward. Their progress was rather alarming, more in line with what Marcus might expect from a team of [Miners] than anything else. Once they reached the bottom and began digging horizontally, they found the area below had been mostly spared from the dirt and stone above.

A lit torch revealed a sprawling space before them, wide enough across that its other side couldn't be seen from the ledge where they stood. Stretching up toward the ceiling rose rows upon rows of stone seats, each tier arranged in a ring around the central space below. It was one of these tiers where they now stood, gazing down at a layer of water that had pooled in that central space. A few structures that looked to be private boxes could be seen at the very edge of the torchlight.

Marcus gaped at the sight. He'd initially assumed that these ruins were some sort of collection of homes or maybe even a fort of some kind. But this…

"Well, I'll be… Zeus, come down and bugger my horse," Gaius muttered in awe. It was one of the more colorful phrases that Marcus had ever heard the officer use.

"Who's Zeus? And what is this?" The bard asked, turning about to examine the area. "Do you know?"

"Ah, one of those barbarian gods," Gaius answered absently. "As for this… It's an amphitheater. Almost as big as the one in Rome itself," Gaius whispered almost reverently as he looked up. "And judging by the fact that it's not filled with dirt, I'd say it's even covered. That's... I've never seen one like that before."

The pair stood there, simply taking in the sight as Legionnaires continued to bustle around them. Some of the men had similar responses, gaping up at the amphitheater as they worked to light the area and ensure it was stable. However, a quick cuff from the nearest centurion was usually enough to get them moving again.

Eventually, Marcus broke the silence. "So… what does this mean?"

Gaius let out a slow breath. "Well..." he said slowly, "I'm not sure. But I can make a few inferences."

"Such as?"

"If there's an arena like this, then there were likely gladiators as well. Ones that knew how to fight with the System, if I had to guess."

"Gladiators?" Marcus frowned. "Is that a class of some sort?"

The young officer shook his head. "Not in the way I mean it. Though I suppose it could be. They were men who fought for crowds and entertainment. They were often utilized to train Legionnaires, as well. If anyone would provide a good template for how Roman combat could be integrated using the System, it would be them. If they've left any clues…"

Gaius shook his head for a moment. "We'll need to search more. If nothing else… this is an incredible find. If we can excavate this structure, then we can repair and use it for training and more."

Marcus watched as Gaius and a contubernium of Legionnaires hopped down, vaulting over the small wall between them and a kind of staging area that ran around the flooded center of the amphitheater. He followed after them, albeit a bit more clumsily. They walked around the perimeter of the space, finding it surprisingly intact. If they really could unearth the thing, them Marcus suspected that the renovations and repairs required to return this arena to its former glory would be fairly minimal.

Soon they were all gathered around what appeared to be a gate that would lead into a staging area. Gaius reached out and touched the metal, its surface oddly pristine and free of rust. 

A deep rumbling sounded from below as the arena's sands began to shift beneath their feet. Gaius's head whipped up as he barked an order. "Back to the staircase!"

The rest of the group didn't need to be told twice. They took off at a dead sprint, rushing toward the excavated exit as the rumbling intensified. A sudden roar filled their ears as water exploded from the ground, geysers quickly beginning to flood the area.

The first of the Legionnaires reached the wall of the staging area. He leapt up, reaching out to grab the lip and haul himself over. However, his palms slammed against empty air, causing him to slide back down to the ground. The man swore, trying again as his comrades did the same.

"It's no use!" One of the centurions called. "Sir, there's a barrier of some sort!"

Marcus swore, already splashing through a couple of inches of water with each step. If there was a barrier, it was all-too-likely that it stretched around the entire arena. Death by drowning underground in some ancient ruin was not how he wanted to go. Not in the slightest. He scanned the arena rapidly for some other way out.

"There!" He shouted, pointing toward one of the gates. It was slowly rising, allowing a long, dark shape to drift through. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a boat—a long one with a curved prow and oars extending to either side.

"Climb aboard!" he heard Gaius call. The officer was already making his way toward the ship where it drifted next to the staging area. The other men quickly followed suit, leaping aboard and reaching out for each other before the water rose high enough to drown their armored forms. The boat rocked dangerously with the movements.

One of the Legionnaires grabbed Marcus and practically threw him up to the boat. Another man caught his arm, pulling him fully onto the deck and nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. He stumbled forward with a wince, looking among the slightly waterlogged soldiers around him. Just then, the deep, reverberating note of a trumpet echoed through the space.

"What in the bloody hells is happening?"

One of the centurions swore. "Fucked if I know. But that sound was familiar. It was almost like…"

"...Like the start of a gladiatorial match," Gaius finished with a frown. "And I think I'm beginning to see why."

Marcus followed the man's gaze across the water. As the trumpet sounded, a series of torches ringing the arena had flared to life, revealing a second gate on the far end of the space. There, drifting out of its opening, were a pair of boats not unlike their own. But rather than empty, these boats were manned with what appeared to be faceless armored figures.

And they were rowing their way.

He heard Gaius swear under his breath. "Well, I think it's fairly obvious what we need to do to get out of this… and we may not have much of a choice."

The young officer turned to his men, his jaw set with determination. "To arms, men! We don't want to be sitting ducks while they get here!"

Stay tuned!

B2 Chapter 15: Gadgets and Gearheads

B2 Chapter 15: Gadgets and Gearheads

The ringing of hammers on steel echoed through the camp, their sheer volume dampened only slightly by the leather of the tents. Nearly a hundred Legionnaires bent over anvils and worktables as they focused on their work. The smell of sweat and smoke filled the air in a thick, pungent cloud.

It wasn't hard for Quintus to pick out Gareth among them. The massive bear-like figure of walked amongst the stations, evaluating the men's work and occasionally interrupting with a correction. As Quintus approached, the blacksmith straightened to his rather impressive height and rumbled over to meet him.

"Primus. What can I do for you?"

Quintus gave the man a nod of respect. "Master blacksmith. I'm here to check on the state of our equipment."

Gareth grunted. "I see. Well, come and look, then."

The blacksmith led him to a tent near the edge of the crafting stations. Inside lay piles of shields, armor, and other equipment, organized by their state of repair. In one section sat clearly damaged items that needed fixing. In another, equipment in their standard style that had been repaired or crafted anew. In the third…

Quintus examined one of the shields laying atop the pile. It bore the same curved rectangular profile and metal edge as a standard scutum, the freshly worked metal shiny and untarnished. But rather than the standard red, its winged golden emblem stood out on a background of black leather with red highlights all around.

"Shadow panther leather," Gareth said, evidently anticipating the centurion's question. "Lightweight, sturdy, and good at holding enchantments. Not to mention you've got way too much of the damn stuff to not use it."

He handed one of the shields to Quintus. It was shockingly light, even more than the one he currently carried.

"Won't these leathers burn in the sun?"

Gareth snorted. "They do if you don't know how to work em'. Lucky for you, one of the old tanners in town was kind enough to teach your men some of his tricks. At the price of a few construction projects, of course."

"Hmm." Quintus took in the sheer quantity of shields in the pile. "How many have been made?"

"Enough for the whole army." Gareth nodded toward the gear. "This is just part of what they've done. Should be finishing up the last of 'em this week."

"Hmmm. Then it sounds like those are taken care of."

The big blacksmith made a grumbling sound that Quintus wasn't sure how to interpret. He raised an eyebrow. "Are they not?"

"Well, if you can call making these bloody things 'taking care of it'," the master blacksmith repeated, nudging one of the shields with his foot. "The craftsmanship is fine, that's not my issue. It's the enchantments. Most of 'em have one, but the quality…"

Quintus grimaced. As he had spoken more with the blacksmith about designing new spears to improve on their pilum, it had become clear that there was more to crafting equipment in this world than theirs. Specifically, the possibilities afforded by enchantments.

Apparently, return or flight enchantments on their spears were just the tip of the iceberg. A good portion of most high-leveled adventurers' power came from their equipment. Of course, at lower levels, one could rarely afford even a few pieces of good gear, and the percentage-based advantages to stats weren't quite as impactful. But the potential was still there.

Usually, of course, imbuing enchantments into equipment was practically a given for any crafter who intended their wares to actually see use. But like anything, it required a skill to do. A skill that, as usual, would drain the crafter's stamina precipitously as better enchantments were added to an item. Combined with the drain associated with actually making the equipment, it meant that most crafters had an effective cap on how many pieces of equipment in a given span of time.

Most crafters that weren't Legionnaires, that is. Just like with the rest of their skills, crafting didn't seem to drain stamina not from a single man. Instead, it was spread across all of the Legionnaires in the vicinity. The detail meant that the exhaustion was practically negligible in most cases.

Of course, unlike most of their skills, enchanting was something that not a single of their men had any kind of prior experience with. It meant that their progress in leveling that skill was significantly slower than the others. Luckily, Gareth's tutelage helped on that front. Given time, Quintus had no doubts that they'd be able to create some truly incredible gear.

Quintus set the shield down. "They seem more than serviceable."

"Pfft. Serviceable?" Gareth scoffed. "Maybe these are. Some of the earlier ones… But lad, do you really want to stake your life on 'serviceable'?"

"I've had to stake my life on much worse many times before," he replied simply. "But with our time constraints, this is more than satisfactory."

"I suppose…" Gareth scratched his head and sighed. "Still, don't go getting stabbed too much. Can't have my students tarnishing my reputation as a teacher."

Quintus chuckled, then nodded toward the helms. "Moving on…"

"These are kind of on the backburner for now," Gareth gestured toward the significantly smaller pile. "Same with the rest of the armor. What you have isn't good, mind you. None of 'em give any kind of stat benefit. But at least they're solid and in one piece. The 'shields' seem to be the ones taking the brunt of your blows, so that's what they prioritized."

The blacksmith said "shields" strangely, enunciating the word carefully. Quintus supposed he took some sort of issue with the term scutum, though for what reason he couldn't even begin to fathom. Still, he nodded in acknowledgement. "And the weaponry?"

Gareth led him back outside to a training area and nodded wordlessly to a set of barrels. A collection of newly minted swords filled each one, their uniform hilts poking out of the opening.

Quintus pulled one out. As his hand wrapped around its grip, he felt an infusion of strength trickle into him. It felt like his hand was going numb, as if he had just grabbed a fistful of snow. But the feeling quickly passed as he acclimated to the difference.

He swiped it from side to side, testing the balance before spinning and thrusting it deep into a nearby training dummy. Its body was a solid oak log, vertical and nearly three feet across. Despite that, the blade drove deep into the wood as though it were as soft as butter. He had to press his foot against the log to yank the blade back out, resulting in a far less impressive sight than the initial stab had been. Quintus chose to ignore a muttered comment from behind him that might have included the word "bumpkin."

Giving the blade another swing, everything seemed to be holding in place. The grip was comfortable, and the cross guard remained true. Holding the blade up to inspect it, he checked the alignment and didn't so much as detect a single warp from the stab that would have likely shattered his old gladius.

"I'm impressed," Quintus said, with a slight bit of awe in his voice.

Gareth snorted. "If you're impressed by that, then you really need to get out more. It's a fine sword, sure, but any bladesmith worth his salt should be able to produce something so basic."

Quintus wasn't so sure. The blades were basic, sure, but the quality and consistency of them was truly remarkable. It was just another piece of evidence that the blacksmith's standards were truly something else.

"Don't have as many of these," Gareth nodded toward the barrels. "Got a lot, but not enough for everyone. And only a few that I'd call above-average. You've got a few men working on specialized enchantments, too, but that's gonna take time."

That was understandable. Since Gareth refused to so much as touch a sword, much less work on one, the Legionnaires were mostly on their own in making them. That meant that any truly exceptional work would likely be slow in coming. It also meant that every single enchantment came from a Legionnaire's own hands. That differed from the shields, where Quintus had seen the man actively helping to fix mistakes or offer improvements.

"And lastly, the spears. This is what is taking up most of your men's time nowadays."

Gareth gestured to another set of barrels, some filled with pila and some filled with the new style of spear they'd been designing. The differences between the two were immediately evident.

The new spear was about a foot longer than a pilum. Its wooden haft stretched all the way up to meet a thin triangular blade of about two feet in length, its edges sharpened on all sides. It was also longer and slightly thicker than what Quintus was used to. Evidently, the change made it easier for the weapon to hold enchantments. But despite looking for all intents and purposes like a standard spear more than the Legion's standard throwing weapon, he was willing to give it a try.

Quintus picked up a standard pilum and, with a practiced hop and step, hurled it downrange a hundred yards away. Its head pierced deep into a red target before stopping, the rest of the weapon wobbling where it stuck out of the wood. Gareth snorted.

"Already bent."

Quintus leaned in, squinting slightly. The blacksmith was right. As much as the weapon had stuck true, the sheer weight was already causing the metal to bend.

"They were designed as single use. Repairable, maybe, but single use."

"A waste," Gareth grunted. "If you wanted something like that, why wouldn't you make it explode?"

Quintus remained silent. He didn't bother pointing out that, in his world, that wasn't exactly a viable option. Instead, he picked up one of the new long spears. A chill ran through his hand once again, a feeling he was coming to associate with enchantments of some sort. Mentally, he issued a command to the spear.

"Return."

This time, his throw was a little off. The weapon's balance wasn't quite what he was used to, meaning his decades of practice actually worked against him in this case.

Still, the spear landed on the target, if not the exact center. A couple of seconds later, it appeared back in his hand.

"Just be careful where your hand is when it's returning," Gareth noted as Quintus looked at the spear in amazement. "If you're holding it horizontally, you might end up skewering someone in front of you."

Gareth gave him a few more pointers about only being able to activate one "return" command at a time, and how to cancel the return function and substitute it with a detonation function after it was thrown. The detonation part was something that Gareth seemed personally offended that they included in the design, apparently because he thought that they didn't trust his return enchantment design.

Once he was done, Quintus set the spear back in its barrel with an approving nod. "Thank you, Master Blacksmith. None of this would be possible without your assistance. We are in your debt."

"If you really want to repay me, you'll make sure those whelps back there keep practicin'," the blacksmith crossed his arms as he nodded toward the Legionnaires hard at work forging. "I won't have my students slackin' off, now. Though I'll admit, they've managed to teach me a thing or two as well."

Quintus nodded. "Of course. I'll make sure to get this equipment handed out and train our men on its use. Then, if there's nothing else—"

"Oh, that ain't everything," Gareth smiled wickedly. "See, one of your engineers decided to make a bit of a bet with me. I think you'd be interested in the results."

The man then proceeded to walk Quintus over to a table full of an absolutely insane and deceptively clever set of traps. Most were relatively small on their own, but efficient and simply designed. Quintus let out a low whistle.

"Are these your designs?"

Gareth nodded proudly. "Easy to use, easy to make. Easier than what your people were coming up with, at least. And more humane."

Quintus examined them as the blacksmith began explaining their use. Interestingly enough, he was right. They were all designed to capture and incapacitate, going to great lengths in order to avoid actually harming anyone affected by the traps. It was a consideration not often made in warfare. And one that explained the blacksmith's willingness to try.

"You know, Master Blacksmith…" the centurion decided to test the waters. "Given these designs, I may have to enlist your help in designing some of these new siege weapons. I think you're wasted on things like this."

"Humph," Gareth shook his head. "Nice try. Not interested. At least with these guys it feels like I'm designing a puzzle box."

Quintus frowned, but didn't push the matter further.

The traps mostly worked best in the forest. It was kind of hard to hide a trap in the grasslands, but that didn't stop Gareth from trying. The simple application of a few basic enchantments made things either much harder to detect or, when activated, spring into a much more elaborate maze of disabling ropes and planks and the like.

As he looked over the collection, Quintus's mind was already hard at work with possible applications. Places where they could set the traps for maximum effectiveness or different settings in which to utilize them… although the nonlethal part did somewhat limit their effectiveness.

He glanced over at the blacksmith as he hefted a particularly strange contraption of twisted metal springs. Most of these inventions could probably become quite lethal with just a few modifications. And they were designed to be simple to produce… Perhaps he'd have some men experiment with that. Maybe they would avoid telling Gareth about it, though.

B2 Chapter 14: What Have We Learned?

B2 Chapter 14: What Have We Learned?

After the elf and his entourage had left, Tiberius once more found himself at his desk studying the glass before him. Around him, the polished wood walls and fine windows of the former mayor's manor shone with reflected sunlight, filling the room with a warm glow.

Though a Legatus's place was with the Legion, Tiberius's encounter with the envoy made him realize the importance of appearances. As such, he decided to make an effort to better acquaint himself with the manor and spend at least some time there. It was the best option they had for an emperor's accommodations, after all.

He swirled the glass idly. A finger's worth of dark liquid filled it, murky and brown. It wasn't the best spirits he'd ever had. In fact, one of the only good things about it was its strength. But it was one of the only available options at the moment, which made it as valuable as liquid gold.

The liquor had been gifted to him by one of the locals—a rather sleazy-looking barkeep who'd apparently quite appreciated the ample business opportunities provided by the Legionnaires. But even more than that, Tiberius found himself fascinated by the glass that had come with it. It kept the drink cool, almost cold. He had obviously had chilled spirits before, but never like this, and certainly not outside of particularly fine settings.

Tiberius lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed before taking a minuscule sip. He set the glass back down exactly in the ring of moisture that had been left on his desk and turned his attention to the figure across from him. Marcus's glass was significantly emptier, the man sitting in uncharacteristic silence as they both drank.

Leaning back in his seat, Tiberius considered where to start. He'd learned so much from Iladrien's visit and was still processing the implications. But there were a few questions that stood on the forefront of his mind.

He fixed Marcus with an intense stare. "Did you know about this? About Rome's history?"

To his credit the bard seemed completely unphased as he shook his head. "In this world? No. Based on what Iladrien said, all of that was before the War of the Gods, and well… suffice it to say that not much civilization remained after that. If it was actually real, of course. It's been more of a legend to my understanding. Either way, the world has seen more than a few kingdoms rise and fall since then."

"The elf said it was many of his generations. That would mean hundreds of human ones," Tiberius commented absently as he took another sip of his drink. He stifled a grimace. It felt as though someone had poured a pot of burning oil straight down his throat.

Marcus nodded. "That sounds about right. I don't know if there's a mortal alive who would remember that time. I believe the Novaran Kingdom has only been around for a couple hundred years, and the kingdom before that? Well, there wasn't really much of a kingdom besides a bunch of warring city-states. And those two would hardly cover a single elven generation."

Tiberius nodded, tapping his chin. That wasn't unlike Rome's own history. But that just confirmed that the timelines didn't add up. Perhaps time worked different between worlds?

The conversation died off briefly as they both fell into deep thought. Considering the gaps in their knowledge, they could only speculate what had happened to this "old Rome." Iladrien said the empire had collapsed rather than been conquered. That narrowed things down, but still left plenty of options. Infighting, corruption, famine… the list went on and on.

Regardless of what had happened, however, there should be some evidence. Some relics or histories from that era. Perhaps they were under the care of the elves? It was possible, seeing as they were the only ones with knowledge of that era.

"...The real question is, how did they get here?" The Legatus mused. "Did they arrive here by the same mechanism that we did? Or in some other manner?"

Marcus shifted. Tiberius noted the slightest bit of tension entering the bard's posture as he shrugged. "Were there other legions missing? How many legions did Rome have?"

Tiberius paused, thinking back. "I'm not certain. There were no missing ones that I was aware of in my time, but there have always been legends of lost legions, often ones that ventured up to Britannia or to the Far East. But the veracity of such claims is… debatable. They're legends for a reason. However… that is beside the point."

He fixed Marcus with a hard stare. "Iladrien seemed to think you were somehow involved in our appearance here. If I did not miss my mark, that is. And based on your reaction, I highly doubt that I do."

Marcus grimaced at the change in topic. He lifted his glass, downing the remainder of its contents in one gulp. His reaction betrayed nothing at all of its poor quality. Tiberius couldn't help but be a bit impressed. 

"...I suppose there's no sense in hiding it, is there?" Marcus sighed. "I did not intend to conceal information, you understand. It was merely a matter of self preservation, of ensuring that you would not seek revenge on me before I had a chance to properly explain."

"That sounds quite a bit like concealing information."

"Not permanently! It's… well, anyway." Marcus cleared his throat as Tiberius continued to stare him down. "To put it simply… yes, I did play a role in your appearance here. An unintentional one only, as I had no idea my actions would lead to such an outcome…"

And so, the bard launched into a tale, this one of his own actions. About how he'd found a strange book and cast the spell within its pages. About the Legion's arrival and subsequent taking of Habersville from his perspective. There were certain points where he could tell that Marcus glossed over details—most notably what had prompted him to cast the spell in the first place—but Tiberius allowed it. Those details weren't what interested him.

When his story was finished, Tiberius took another thoughtful sip of his drink. "So. You are the reason we are here."

"...More or less, yes." Marcus confirmed, sighing. "Although I would like to put at least some of the blame on whatever wizard wrote that spell. They really should have included more information about what it did."

Tiberius couldn't help but snort. In all honesty, he didn't entirely care about the bard's role here, although it did explain a few things about his eagerness to become involved with them. Still, Marcus seemed to think that it was something worth being upset about, so he'd use the leverage.

"I will think of some way for you to atone for this," Tiberius waved him off. "In the meantime, this spellbook you mentioned…"

"Well, it isn't so much a 'spellbook' but rather a book with a spell in it," Marcus corrected. "Although even that isn't true anymore. The spell burned itself out, so I'd be unable to summon another Legion even if I wanted to."

"Did the book disappear as well?"

Marcus hesitated for a second. He seemed to weigh his options and conclude that it was in his best interest to practice honesty. For now.

Marcus produced a thick book with leather bindings from beneath his cloak. Its cover was embossed with a golden eagle on the cover and the letters "SPQR." He passed it over, and Tiberius flipped open the cover.

"It seems to be a kind of treatise on your culture," Marcus explained. "At least, from what I can tell. It's been quite useful in understanding your ways."

As Marcus explained, Tiberius flipped through the pages, skimming their contents. The bard was right. Even more shocking than the accuracy of the text, however, was the level of detail it went into. From government to culture to their gods, the book was remarkably thorough, if a little outdated.

After he finished flipping through, he closed the tome with a solid whumph and put his hand on top of it. "I see. If this book was created by the so-called 'Romans' that came before us… then I suppose it lends credence to them hailing from the same empire as we do. Perhaps they were one of those lost legions."

The matter of the timelines still didn't quite add up, of course. But it was the best idea they had. As for what that information got them, well, Tiberius wasn't completely sure yet. It was another piece of the puzzle, but still didn't give them the whole picture.

"...What about a return spell?" Tiberius asked.

Marcus shook his head. "There wasn't one. Believe me, I looked… For your sakes, obviously!" He added the last part hurriedly. "And since you're actual people rather than summoned constructs or beasts, it's not as simple as canceling it. There's no longer anything to cancel. Maybe some expert in dimensionalism or astral travel may have some insight, but short of that…"

Tiberius nodded. He hadn't expected anything less. Still, it was good to have confirmation.

"You said you located the book in some ruins. Where are they?"

"Ah!" Marcus nodded. "Not too far from here, actually. I can show you. One of my, er… former acquaintances… took me to them not too long before you arrived. Perhaps you'll find something interesting there. Although that was the only book I saw."

"Hmm," Tiberius tapped a finger on the book. "Well, the elves seem to know more than expected. Perhaps they also have other relics hidden away."

Or perhaps they had been the ones to scrub Rome's existence from history. Of course, Tiberius didn't voice the thought aloud. Iladrien seemed amicable, but he still couldn't quite be sure what his stance on Rome truly was. Not without more information. 

It seemed like they were friendly with old Rome, and Iladrain had mentioned that the elves were ruled by a Senate. Perhaps that meant their governing system was like that of the Roman Republic? Still, even if they had considered themselves Roman or a Roman province, how would they feel about Tiberius and his men's appearance? Would they reject them as weaklings and pretenders? Or would they want to bend the knee?

Tiberius wouldn't imagine he would do so in their place. They may even reject his claim of emperorship. If that happened… did they have the strength to take on the elves? Maybe it would be better to seek a spot in their senate…

He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. Besides, he'd already been declared emperor by the System. Surely that counted for something.

Tiberius let out a small sigh before taking another drink. It might be too much to hope that integrating the elves would be so simple. But at the very least, perhaps they could get more information out of them. If they did prove as well-disposed toward Rome as Ithilien suggested.

"Meet here tomorrow morning," Tiberius told Marcus. "I want you to show us the way to these ruins."

Marcus caught the implied dismissal, standing up and bowing."Of course. It would be my pleasure to show you around."

As the bard left, Tiberius settled back in his chair to think. The day had brought more revelations than he'd been prepared to handle. The implications of an ancient civilization that was somehow the same as his own… he was intensely curious if he could find out more. If there was anything he could learn about how they'd interacted with the System, how they'd conquered, and how they'd fallen, then such lessons would be invaluable. It could save them much trial and error.

More than the practical benefits, however, the idea made him feel so… small. As if the world was so much bigger and more vast than he had ever thought before.

Back home, whenever he was on campaign, he was the absolute authority for decades. He was used to showing up at a place and having its citizens fall, bend the knee, and welcome him with supplication. He was only ever at a disadvantage when he was in the capital, talking to equals or the emperor. Not that he tried to do that much. But here, well… things were different.

The feeling wasn't helped by the realization that the gods were real. Obviously, he paid lip service to the gods back in Rome, but never bought into the idea of them interacting with the world directly much. But now he might need to take his offerings to Mars much more seriously.

"Sir!"

He was roused from his musings by a messenger knocking at the door. He motioned for the man to come in. "Legatus, the Primus Pilus has returned. He wishes to report to you immediately."

Tiberius nodded. "Send him in."

In a moment, the centurion was standing before him, face still dusty from the road. The fact that the man hadn't even stopped at the bathhouse suggested that his news was quite important indeed. After a quick salute, Quintus began.

"Sir. The baron has made his move."

B2 Chapter 13: Swords to Plowshares

B2 Chapter 13: Swords to Plowshares

Quintus stared at the supervisor for a long, long moment. Long enough that the man began to squirm beneath his gaze. When he eventually spoke, his tone was laced with deadly calm.

"That is certainly an idea. However, and I will speak plainly… why in the everloving fuck would we do that?"

"Well, er…" The supervisor began, sweating. "Normally, it would be unthinkable. Absolutely ludicrous."

"And it's not here?" Quintus gestured toward the mines, his expression deadpan. Hundreds of Legionaries had died fighting those things the first time around. Those were the greatest losses that they'd taken in this world, made even more so because they lacked capable men to replenish their forces.

"It… may be the only option," the man said, adjusting his spectacles. "The mages that were keeping the ghouls sealed are no more, and finding more to replace them will be… difficult. In fact, I suspect the only reason the things haven't broken out yet is because you culled so many of them."

"Are you suggesting that we can't simply bury them?"

The supervisor shook his head vigorously. "No. It won't work. Not forever, anyway. Without suppression runes like the ones that were in place before, they'll find a way to dig themselves out. And if we don't give them a path to follow, then there's no telling whether they'll make their own somewhere else."

Quintus gritted his teeth, remembering what it was like to be down in that tunnel. Being swarmed by beasts that could crawl on the ceilings and had claws vicious enough to rip a man's throat out… He wouldn't wish that experience on anyone.

"On the bright side, their numbers shouldn't be quite as overwhelming as they were before," the supervisor tried. "It may be more manageable. You could even use them to farm experience!"

"Farm?" Quintus frowned. "Do you suggest we plant the ghouls' bodies?"

The supervisor stared at him uncomprehendingly. "No, it's… it's a term for an activity used to gain a large amount of experience quickly."

"I see," Quintus nodded. "And you suggest that killing such a readily available infestation of monsters would qualify as 'farming' for us?"

"Exactly!" The supervisor nodded.

Quintus thought it over. On one hand, the idea was incredibly dangerous. The idea of letting a threat like that loose intentionally really was absurd. Then again, a large part of the danger stemmed from the sheer surprise of the assault. If they had more time to prepare and set men in position… perhaps it could work.

It was also worth considering the benefits. If the supervisor spoke the truth, then this would be a necessity to secure Stonester. Not only that, but it had the potential to accelerate the Legion's growth. They'd seen firsthand how much of a difference a single level can make in their fighting abilities. It would be foolish to pass up a golden opportunity to earn more, even if it came with risks. True, they could level by fighting creatures in the forest, but they may well extinguish all life there before earning another.

"...Are there always so many ghouls?" Quintus asked. "Will we be constantly managing a fight on that scale?"

The man started to fidget nervously again. "Well… not exactly… You see, for any nexus like this, there are protocols in place to clear some of the monsters at least once a year. But, well, the combatants that would be sent to do such a thing have been indisposed with the war, and the former Baron was quite short on funds as things were…"

Quintus frowned as the man continued to speak. As much as he tried to sugarcoat the answer, it wasn't hard to read between the lines. Safety protocols had been waived in exchange for more efficient mining. Over and over again.

The centurion had heard this story before. Some politician or local lord always wanted to squeeze out the most from their resources without a thought for the future. Corners were cut and people died because of it, mostly soldiers who were sent to clean up the inevitable mess. It's what happened when governors decided to build an extra amphitheater or more lavish baths for themselves and didn't fund border garrisons properly.

Still, there was one more thing he didn't quite understand. One more pice of the puzzle that didn't line up. Why wasn't the Baron using this as a training opportunity himself? If he needed more powerful soldiers—or anyone else, for that matter—why not farm the ghouls?

When he asked the supervisor, the man grimaced. "It has been considered. However… it's not worth it for most. The sheer numbers produced by any large nexus like this make it impossible for even a few teams of adventurers to handle for any real amount of time. As for higher level ones… well, they don't gain enough experience to make farming worth their while. They just come through for clearings. Add that to the danger inherent in something going wrong, and, well…"

Quintus held up his hand, stalling the man as he considered the problem. Were the ghouls really that dangerous? In large numbers, undoubtedly. But with a prepared force, a few fortifications, appropriate chokepoints, and maybe some of those fancy new spears and slings to keep them off the ceiling… the risk would be greatly mitigated. Especially if they rotated men out efficiently.

"I will consider it," Quintus allowed. "Write up a report of what we just spoke about. Include timetables for a potential break, anticipated ghoul numbers, and any other figures that would be useful."

"Of course, sir!" The supervisor straightened. He seemed relieved to be given a task. "Right away."

With that done, Quintus left the man. He'd need to speak with the first centurion of the cohort in charge of Stoneste about the supervisor's suggestion, maybe even Tiberius himself. The more he considered it, the more he came to see that it might be a golden opportunity. One that would allow them to close the gap between them and any potential enemies.

Idly, he wondered how common it was to find high-density populations of monsters like this. The closest thing they'd encountered so far was the swarm of spiders that infested the forest alongside that area boss. Did that mean there was an area boss in the mines as well? And if so, why had no one killed it yet?

Quintus shrugged to himself. That was probably something he should look into. But later.

***

Once he'd concluded his business at Stonester, Quintus assembled another squad. Not one of mere trainees, though. This one was an experienced group of Legionnaires.

He looked over his men with a discerning eye. Each wore a rough cloak of mottled greens and grays that seemed to obscure the shapes beneath as they moved. Aside from that singular detail, however, the rest of their equipment remained identical to that of a standard Legionnaire.

"Ready?" Quintus addressed them. At the chorus of "yes, sir's", he nodded. "Good. We march."

The group set out at a blazing pace. Despite Quintus's impressive [Marching] skill, these men were more than able to keep up with him. He expected nothing less. After all, the were some of their best scouts.

Their scouting was helping the Legion to better understand the lay of the land and its inhabitants. However, there were a few crucial places that they had yet to lay eyes on. One of them was the seat of the region—the baron's estate. A place that they would certainly have to assault sooner or later.

The place was quite far away from his current position, further cementing the idea that the towns they'd taken so far were relatively small and fringe. It meant that they were in for a bit of a march. However, that was just one more reason for him to take such a mobile and stealthy group.

As they set off, Quintus considered his current methods. He'd noticed a gradual change in how not just he, but the entire Legion was operating. They were shifting to focus more on individual and small-group tactics than the standard massive coordinated efforts that they so specialized in.

It wasn't something he was entirely comfortable with, but he saw the necessity for it. Tiberius was having to update their standard operating procedures to match the times and the world they'd found themselves in. Still, such changes were something that generally happened very gradually over the course of centuries or decades, though, not months or weeks.

Quintus had been around long enough to go through a few different iterations of various weapons, equipment, and even tactics, changing as better options were discovered. But with the advent of the System, things had changed even more rapidly. Already, the teamwork of an entire century of Legionnaires was not as required for the most common threats they faced. A contubernium, sure, but not much more than that. 

That wasn't to say they could completely abandon their old tactics. Their ability to efficiently work together at scale was still an advantage that few others enjoyed. In fact, the resident denizens of this world seemed allergic to working together in any meaningful capacity. But setting every man to work building camp fortifications when a specialized group could accomplish it in half the time and with a fraction of the people… it simply no longer made sense.

Of course, the other major change coming their way was a more pressing one: that of recruitment. There were no reinforcements or replacements coming. Ever. They could no longer go out on a nine month campaign and return to restock and resupply with fresh recruits or experienced officers. No, while they were building that infrastructure, they had to recruit or promote from within.

It was a problem for a few reasons. First, the situation meant they had a far smaller pool of candidates to choose from if they wanted to promote. As for those officers and centurions at the top of the hierarchy… what room did they have to grow? Until they established other legions or a formal government, all of their men were essentially stuck in their current positions. Which was a problem, considering that some of their officers and centurions had become increasingly risk averse.

Quintus knew that this was a mindset that couldn't continue. He had brought it up a few times with other centurions, and to be fair, there was a certain logic to not using certain centurions or officers in battle, especially those who were more logistics-heavy in their expertise. But Quintus also knew that they needed every man they could use, especially right now.

It wasn't just that, either. Centurions in particular were valuable because of their experience and expertise. But now that skills and skill levels needed to be considered… if they didn't continually put themselves into situations where they were forced to improve, they would be left behind. The difference between a centurion with a couple of decades of experience and a new recruit was vast, but no longer insurmountable. Not if centurions failed to push themselves.

On the other hand, Quintus could only imagine what would happen the difference of a soldier who played it safe from recruitment, who would maybe have never made centurion, versus a centurion who pushed themselves into danger and took every opportunity to improve their skills. One who upgraded them to higher rarities and ended up with levels in the hundreds… they wouldn't even be comparable.

And if there were no such paragons in the Legion to push themselves forward, the Legion would not be able to stand up to the true powerhouses of this world. They might not have seen any yet, but Quintus knew they were out there. The adventurers they had fought were only the beginning.

It was with that mindset that he pushed further into enemy territory, taking on additional risk, but for good reason. His goal was to make it to the Baron's seat. Not necessarily inside, but near enough to observe it and examine its defenses. And if he and his men managed to improve their skills because of it, all the better.

They soon left the roads, instead traveling single file through fields of waist-high grass. Next to the scouts, Quintus couldn't help but feel like an oafish elephant trampling through a forest. He was stealthy, but nowhere near as good as these men. Luckily, once the area gained some rocks and trees to hide behind, he felt less exposed.

In a shockingly short time, the walls of a decent-sized city appeared on the horizon. The Legionnaires lined up along a ridge, each looking out over the bustling city. Merchants' carts and small groups of people made their way in and out of massive gates, heading to and fro on various kinds of business.

Quintus turned to the scouts. "We will set up an observation point here. Let's see what intelligence we can gather."

The scouts did as they were bid, concealing their position from prying eyes. Quintus settled in, preparing himself for potentially days of observation to get better ideas of population numbers, goods coming in and out, and other such information. Yet it wasn't even a day before they saw something that demanded immediate action.

Movement in and out of the gate halted, with those wishing to enter the city standing to one side. After a moment, it became clear why. A long column of soldiers began marching out, making their way down the winding roads.

Quintus's eyes narrowed. The men were clearly not professionals. They were poorly disciplined, even more poorly equipped, and nowhere near prime fighting age. But even more important than that… they were heading east.

He watched with the scouts for a while longer before giving his orders. "Let's go. We must inform the Legatus. It seems war is on the horizon."

B2 Chapter 12: A Long, Long, Time Ago

Don't miss that chapter posted earlier today...

B2 Chapter 12: A Long, Long, Time Ago

Tiberius came to a halt, prompting the guards accompanying him to do the same. The town continued to bustle around them as the elven envoy stared up at the in-progress statue looming over them. The man working on it was doing an admirable job. It was a rather accurate depiction of Mars and a faithful recreation of similar statues he'd seen back in Rome. The details of its chiseled face were already quite recognizable. Assuming one was familiar with the figure being depicted, of course.

The Legatus made an effort to keep his face impassive as the street bustled with energy all around him. Confusion and a rather generous helping of suspicion roiled within him. Iladrien recognized the god of war. Their god of war. One whose name had, to this point, been met with uncomprehending looks and shrugs, even by their resident bard.

His mind whirled with possible explanations. Tiberius very much doubted that the elf had learned of the god in the little time he was in the city. While the Roman Pantheon was slowly gaining traction and followers in the city, it was a slow thing borne of mild curiosity more than anything else. They certainly didn't have anyone proselytizing in the streets about them. A glance toward a shrugging Marcus suggested that this wasn't his doing, either.

There was something about the way Ithilien said it, too. A certain kind of familiarity. As though it wasn't just the face of the god he recognized, but what he actually represented.

The Legionnaires working on the temple continued their work, not having heard the elf's question. Before the silence stretched on too long, Tiberius cleared his throat, drawing the elf's intent stare away from the statue and back toward him.

"You are correct. This is a temple to Mars. Does he hold some significance to you?"

"If you're asking if I follow Mars…" the elf paused, shaking his head, "Then no, I do not. None of my people do. He is a figure from the distant past, and separate from our forest's ancient traditions. The only reason I know of him is because deific history is an area of study that I specialize in. But our allies…"

Iladrien's eyes widened. He took in Tiberius and his men anew, his gaze scrutinizing. After a few moments, he visibly calmed himself. When he spoke, it was in a measured and careful tone.

"You are a follower of Mars, are you not?"

Tiberius nodded, seeing no point in denying it. It was less that he believed the gods actually existed and could manifest in this world and more of a tradition practiced for tradition's sake. In his eyes, at least. Though this world was calling that into question.

"And your men?"

"We worship many gods," He replied evasively.

"Such as?"

"You have quite an interest in our gods," Tiberius frowned. He wasn't entirely sure if he liked this line of questioning.

Iladrien spared one more look at the temple, then sighed. He looked Tiberius in the eye. His face held an intensity that surpassed anything seen from the elf so far.

"You are not from here, are you?"

Tiberius remained calm. "As I stated earlier, our home country is a great distance away from here."

"You remain evasive on how great a distance that is, though," Iladrien pointed out. His voice lowered. "Let me rephrase, then. You are not from this world, are you?"

The Legatus tensed. All around him, his guards sensed his unease and shifted subtly, readying themselves for whatever might come next. The elven envoy's guards moved in response, both groups engaging in a silent standoff as their leaders held each other's gazes.

"...That is a strange accusation to make," Tiberius said levelly. "And a bold one."

Iladrien looked from Tiberius to his men, then at Marcus. Something seemed to click for the elf as his eyes narrowed at the bard. "It was you, wasn't it?"

For once, Tiberius had the pleasure of seeing their resident bard completely flabbergasted. Just for a moment. The man's eyes went wide with panic before he quickly put his mask of affability back in place. "Why, what could you possibly mean?"

Tiberius didn't buy the act for a second. Nor did their elven friend, from the looks of it. Iladrien let out a deep sigh. "Where did you find it? The book?"

"What book?"

"I took you for a bard, not a court jester," Iladrien said sourly. "But if you are not willing to admit to it…"

The elf turned toward Tiberius. To his surprise, he bowed—a deep bow, not a shallow one as he'd been offered earlier. "My apologies, Emperor Tiberius. It seems my knowledge of history outside of my domain was unacceptably rusty this day. I failed to recognize the significance of your dress and country's name at first. This is an oversight that shames me deeply. Though I am honored to meet the new Emperor."

He bowed again, smiling. It was a more honest smile than before, not the cold and calculating one of a diplomat.

Tiberius accepted the bow with a nod of his head, but internally the questions just kept piling up. He resolved to interrogate Marcus about this "book" matter later, then asked the first and perhaps most important one. "You know of Rome?"

"I do. Very well, in fact." Iladrien straightened. "Of course, I have never met a true Roman in person. The last one disappeared before the time of my great-grandfather."

"Disappeared?" Tiberius felt a flicker of hope within his chest. "To where?"

"Well, perhaps it is better to say that they were… stamped out. Extinguished by their enemies," the elf clarified. "If you are wondering if they were able to return to your homeland, then I'm afraid not. Not so far as I'm aware. I do not believe it is on this planet, or maybe not even this plane of existence. No matter how far you march in any direction, you will not see Rome."

Tiberius felt the flicker disappear. The idea of being so far away from home that it was physically unreachable… he wasn't even sure how to conceptualize that. Perhaps they were simply in one of many separate domains that the gods lorded over.

Still, that didn't mean return was impossible. They'd come here somehow, after all, so perhaps there did exist a way back. But for now… there was so much more opportunity here.

"So. This world has seen Romans before." Tiberius said, still processing all of the implications. "Where did they reside?"

The elf shook his head with a wry smile. "Where didn't they reside? That is the better question. The empire of the Romans stretched as far as one could travel before it collapsed during the War of the Gods, at least. But anywhere on a map, anywhere that humans or elves or orcs have explored, was once under Roman rule."

Despite himself, Tiberius felt himself swell with pride. This Rome that Iladrien spoke of was not any that he'd ever known personally. But it still bore his country's name and, from the sound of it, their practices. The idea that it had so thoroughly succeeded in its conquest… It was an example he hoped to live up to.

Still, something didn't quite add up. Iladrien had said that this empire had existed well before his great grandfather's time. Judging by the lifespan of elves, that was likely a period of thousands and thousands of years ago. Yet in his home, Rome hadn't even existed for a single thousand, not as an empire, republic, or kingdom.

That was all assuming that the elf was telling the truth. It was entirely possible that this was some sort of strange ruse to lull him into a false sense of security. But then, why go through the trouble? Not to mention that some of the customs and practices of elvish culture he'd described sounded oddly familiar…

One thing was for certain—this conversation had given Tiberius plenty of new information, yet also left him with too many questions to count. Some of which the envoy may be able to answer.

He turned to Iladrien and spoke. "It seems we have more to talk about than expected. I wish to invite you into our camp to speak more on these matters."

"As much as I would love to accept…" Iladrien began, looking at the sky. "I cannot. Another time, perhaps. Now, I must return and inform my liege of these developments, especially with these new revelations in mind. I'm sure the senate will be fascinated to hear of them as well. However… rest assured that this will only serve to improve our chances of reaching an amicable agreement."

Tiberius nodded. As disappointing as it was, Iladrien's departure would give him some much-needed time to process and confirm a few things. "I understand. It was good to meet you, Iladrien of the Great Ruthin Forest."

Iladrien bowed once more. "And you, Emperor Tiberius. I look forward to returning with good news from my people and the senate."

The Emperor watched as the elf and his party left, melding into the trees as though invisible. After a few moments, Marcus broke the silence.

"Well! That certainly went better than expected." He grinned, straightening his hat. "I must admit, I did not expect to meet an elf in my time here, much less an entire delegation of them… And the stories! When they return, I simply must discover more of their history."

"Indeed. Although…" Tiberius smiled thinly. "It seems as though we have much to talk about, as well. Tell me, what is this book he mentioned?"

***

Quintus led the group of exhausted recruits into the makeshift encampment that had been erected outside of Stonestein. The sprawling field of tents and temporary housing may as well have been a town itself at the moment, considering the scale of it, and for good reason. The burnt-out husk of the settlement was still in the midst of being rebuilt.

Even with their skills, a cohort of the Legion still needed time to construct everything, especially considering the most readily available resource here was stone. But at least the mines were back in operation already. The steady supply of ore was already proving invaluable for their war preparations.

After finding a place for his charges to rest—something that they did with no complaint— Quintus finished dropping off the official correspondence he was sent to deliver and issued orders to the centurions in charge. Then he went to talk with the supervisor of the mines. 

The supervisor was a tall, severe man wearing spectacles and a seemingly perpetual frown. A plain gray tunic and trousers smudged with dirt hung off a wiry frame that hid a deceptive amount of muscle.

In another setting he may have appeared intimidating, but here, under Legion rule? The occupying force had instilled in him a healthy dose of fear, securing his cooperation. The man commanded enough respect among his underlings that keeping him around was deemed a good decision. There was no point in wasting useful skill sets and people, after all, so long as they proved loyal.

The supervisor stood up and gave an almost-correct salute, which Quintus didn't bother to reprimand him for. He, after all, was a civilian and couldn't be expected to get things right the first time. Quintus decided to treat it as a gesture of respect rather than the insult that some centurions might have taken it as.

"Status report," Quintus ordered. "How are the mines running?"

"Well enough, sir." The man spoke with just a hint of a drawl. "Production is increasing by the day, and we've yet to have any incidents with monsters or the miners themselves."

The supervisor launched into an in-depth breakdown of their operations. It was largely redundant, as most of the information had already been covered in the man's reports. Still, it was good to know he was at least consistent.

"What about the ghouls?" Quintus asked once the supervisor started to repeat himself. "Have there been any signs of them breaking free?"

The man scratched his chin. "Not yet. We've been able to keep them down for now, but don't have any means of permanently containing them. Evidently, you need a certain kind of mage to do that, and they're not easy to find out here. But, well… I was wondering… With this many men…"

Quintus motioned impatiently for the man to continue as he began fidgeting nervously. "Well… do you really want to keep them suppressed, sir? What if we just, you know… let them out?"

// What! TWO chapters in one day? yeah finally was starring to get a head as we are falling into a rhythm. We are now 12 chapters ahead. Eventually I want to get that much higher, but I'm glad to be making a little progress, finally. Maybe next week we can double post again. No promises though

B2 Chapter 11: Horsing Around

B2 Chapter 11: Horsing Around

The soft sounds of boots treading over grass and labored breathing filled the air. In the fading light of the setting sun, a group of silhouettes moved across the rolling hills of the Eastern Marches. Nine men, haggard and exhausted, stumbled forward at what could've been imaginatively deemed a "march" if one squinted hard enough. All except one.

Quintus led the group with his head held high and his back straight, as though the past two days of marching had been little more than a leisurely stroll. To him, it had. He'd actually had to slow his pace quite significantly for the sake of his current charges.

The Primus Pilus called back over his shoulder. "Halt!"

His men practically fell over themselves with relief—or perhaps that was just the exhaustion talking. Either way, Quintus frowned at their weakness.

"We make camp here," he said simply. "Fall out and set up your tents."

The eight men before him saluted tiredly before slinging their packs to the ground and getting to work. They weren't nearly as efficient as he would have liked, but that was only to be expected. After all, these weren't Legionnaires—they were auxiliaries in training.

Technically, overseeing new recruits was well outside of his regular duties. It wasn't even something he took particular interest in. But as Primus Pilus, he made it his responsibility to understand every part of the Legion's workings down to the last punishment detail. And that included becoming familiar with how they were treating potential additions to their forces.

So when the centurion who was supposed to be leading this patrol had lost his foot, he'd volunteered to step in. Literally.

The centurion would be fine, apparently. The idea that their resident healer may soon be able to regrow limbs, however slowly, had nearly sent Quintus into some sort of existential crisis. But during his recovery, Quintus had no problem helping to shoulder the extra duties.

He watched over the men with a stern gaze as they hurried to set up their tent. Learning about how the local hopefuls handled a long march, while also collecting information about towns and nearby resources, was killing two birds with one stone. The fact that he could also combine it with a trip to check on Stonester and its reconstruction was even better. Soon, they would be far beyond the rough local maps the Legion had managed to put together and actually bring back new information.

Quintus scanned the horizon, ever-vigilant for possible threats. When he returned his attention to the auxiliaries, he couldn't help but groan. What was meant to be a neat line of tent poles more closely resembled a collection of haphazard drunkards leaning against each other. 

He looked at the ragged line and strode toward one of the recruits busy fiddling with a misaligned center pole.

"Recruit!" Quintus bellowed. His voice would carry, but he was well aware that there was nothing within at least a few miles of them to hear his shouts.

All the recruits snapped to attention and stared at him with abject fear in their eyes. That was good. Right now, they needed to fear their centurions. That fear would give way to respect if they ever became true Legionnaires, although how that process might work in this world was still under intense discussion. But right now, they needed to be broken down. These boys needed to be taught what it meant to be a man, and sometimes that meant getting told off for being too inept to put up a fucking tent.

Quintus loomed over the recruit, his expression stormy. "What the fuck am I looking at, recruit?"

He indicated the center pole as the young man paled. He turned to look. "Ah… a-a support pole, sir—"

"Support? You call that support? The only thing that pole is supporting is your fragile ego, which explains why it's so abysmal."

He waved again at the pole. It was leaning by about twenty degrees, held up by the tension in the leather above rather than the opposite. The recruit's knees began to shake as Quintus went off on him.

"Are you trying to build a tent or a goddamn surrender flag, recruit? It looks like you rigged that thing in the middle of an earthquake, blindfolded and with your hands tied behind your back. By the gods, recruit. I've seen three-year-olds draw straighter than this. Did your mother dropping you on your head leave the whole world crooked?"

"I-I—" The recruit swallowed. "I thought it was ok—"

He didn't give a chance for the recruit to utter another syllable.

"Recruit, I understand you're not used to seeing things straight—you've got more than a little bend to you, I must assume," Quintus continued. "Or maybe your last two brain cells just killed each other in a petty squabble. 

"If a slight breeze blows through here, you're going to end up swimming in that tent, because it'll collapse faster than your military career. In fact, I'm surprised it's still standing—it must be held up by the sheer power of your shame and uselessness alone. The only thing that will be more crooked than this tent is your nose if you don't fix this right now!"

He paused for breath, watching the recruit try to stammer out a response.

"I said right fucking now! Move, you disgrace!"

The boy scrambled to fix his mistake in a hurry as Quintus looked on. The other members of the patrol were surreptitiously watching the exchange as they saw to their own tasks. A few stepped forward as though to help, but Quintus warded them off with a sharp look. Inwardly, he was pleased though. It meant they were building camaraderie.

After about five minutes of trying and failing to fix his mistake without resetting the entire tent, the recruit looked like he was ready to cry. At that point, Quintus allowed his comrades to help. They managed to get the whole thing properly reset in two minutes—long by Legion standards, but passable for recruits.

Afterwards, he walked down the line and chewed out every other recruit for their own issues. Most were comparably minor infractions or inaccuracies, thankfully. Yet he still impressed the importance of such details into the troops without restraint.

By the time they'd finished making camp, the last rays of sunlight had disappeared below the horizon. He dismissed the men for the evening and allowed them to sleep for a few precious hours, an opportunity that they took gladly.

It wasn't surprising. Their marching pace had been brutal by most standards, especially for men so inexperienced at it. Their levels and stats only did so much to offset that lack of training and skill levels, especially since the recruits were still working on improving the new ones they'd had to take. At least they kept the men on their feet, though.

Still, the differences in the men's professions were made all too clear during training. Those whose vocations involved hard physical labor—lumberjacks, farmers, and the like—were quite obviously faring better than the softer craftsmen and merchants. It bore striking similarities to what he'd seen of prospective recruits back home.

Quintus stayed awake with the men on first watch. He wasn't confident that they would avoid falling asleep on their feet. And besides, he had to set a good example.

***

As soon as the sun rose, they struck camp and were on the move once again. Quintus allowed the recruits to make idle conversation as they marched, even engaging himself at a few points. Their pace remained quick, but was interspersed with more breaks as Quintus jotted down features and key landmarks of the surrounding areas.

He knew better than most that there was a balance to how one treated their men. At this point, they were tired, hungry, frustrated, grumpy, and barely human in many ways, and they could use a bit more

Of course, none of that meant he would show sympathy or go too easy on them. But he had to scale his expectations to the situation, especially if he wanted to establish a good rapport with them.

"Ah," one of the recruits, who stood nearly a head taller than the rest, remarked to his friend. "I recognize that place."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's a tiny little town, but it's got nice people. There's an inn that makes the best peach pies… Oh, and last I heard, a really good horse breeder just moved nearby."

"A horse breeder? Here?"

"Yup. Dunno why they decided to come here of all places, but…"

Quintus's ears perked up as he turned to the recruit. "Horses, you say?"

The tall recruit flinched. "Er… yes, sir."

The centurion stroked his chin. They had been seeking out horses for a long while with no success. He was sure the Legatus wouldn't mind a detour if it meant requisitioning some. Especially since it would make the other scouts' jobs that much easier.

"Er…" One of the men pointed. "That breeder wouldn't happen to be in that direction, would they?"

Quintus followed his gaze. There, just past a tall hill, smoke drifted lazily into the sky. It wasn't wispy like chimney smoke, however. The thick column spoke of something far more significant set ablaze.

The recruit frowned. "Well… now that you mention it…"

Quintus put up a hand. "Change of plans. We go to investigate this horse breeder. If they are willing to trade, then good. If they are the source of that blaze…"

He let his words trail off as the men changed course. All of his earlier optimism was quickly replaced by sourness as they made their way toward the smoke. By the time their destination came fully into view, he became fully certain that he was cursed.

The burnt remains of a small house and several horse stables greeted them. The fire mercifully hadn't spread to set the entire grasslands ablaze, but it certainly hadn't been kind to the structures.

The stables were all empty, of course—and there wasn't a single horse in sight. Not even the remains of one. They did see a couple of charred corpses, likely of stablehands that had attempted to mitigate the disaster. But not a single one of the animals that had presumably been under their care remained.

It was enough to make Quintus wonder what they'd done to anger the gods. Had their actions in this world somehow angered Neptune? Or had one of the pagan gods of this world decided to play a prank on them? Whatever the case, it seemed they had wasted their time.

As they left behind the scene, Quintus inspected the area for any indication of what might have happened here. Besides the fire, the only clue he could find was a set of unfamiliar marks in the ground. Deep gouges scored into the earth, reminiscent of a lion's claws but several times more massive. The discovery gave Quintus pause.

He looked to his recruits. "Do any of you recognize what could have made these?"

The men looked between each other and shrugged. Whatever this threat may be, it was unknown to them as well.

Out of pure caution, Quintus took a few measurements and drew the marks as well as he could on a spare piece of vellum. Then, they continued on to Stonester. He'd make sure to warn his comrades of the threat once they returned.

/// stay tuned...

B2 Chapter 10: The Emperor Finds His Groove 

B2 Chapter 10: The Emperor Finds His Groove 

Tiberius held the elf's gaze unflinchingly. Iladrien waited, his long-fingered hands folded on the fine table before him, and clearly expecting some sort of apology. But that wouldn't be happening.

The Emperor didn't apologize. This was something Tiberius knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. It didn't matter if they really had wronged the elves, and an apology was warranted—doing so here would be a severe showing of weakness. An opening that could and would be pried open at the first opportunity. He wasn't naive enough to believe otherwise.

And besides, he took issue with the elf's claims. Significant issue.

He held the elf's gaze calmly and unflinchingly. After he felt the silence had stretched long enough, he spoke in a calm and measured voice, laced with neither insult nor derision. He simply stated facts.

"So. You left your flocks unguarded, your borders undefended, and your land unwatched." Tiberius leaned back in his chair. "That does not sound like my problem."

Iladrien reeled back as if slapped. Clearly, he was not expecting an answer like that.

"On the contrary…" the elf frowned. "It is precisely your problem. As the one who claims to rule our land and the party responsible for these encroachments, it is your responsibility to make things right."

Tiberius shook his head. "You make assumptions. You stated earlier that you were unaware of our nation's presence, despite how long we've been here. Furthermore, the cutting of your trees was happening long before our arrival. That you mention both in the same breath suggests that this area is even less patrolled than I initially suspected."

Iladrien took a deep breath. He recovered his equilibrium quickly, but not as fast as Tiberius would have expected, given the poise he'd shown earlier. "Even if that were the case, it does not change the core of the issue. The burning of our forest and the killing of our flock is something that humans must answer for. Just because we allow our wilderness to develop unimpeded—"

Tiberius cut him off before he could go on a tirade. "You called it your flock earlier. If it's not your flock and instead part of the wilderness, then you have no claim to it."

Iladrien's eyes narrowed. "The wilderness is our flock."

"If you wish to lay claim to it, you must protect it. At the very least, there must be some indication of your ownership—otherwise, the wilderness is just wilderness. You cannot have it both ways."

"Our ancient customs—"

"—Are not mine." Tiberius stated simply. He folded his hands. "Now, if you wish to reach an understanding where we will not encroach further into your forest, beyond our current territory, nor kill certain designated monsters… I would be happy to negotiate some sort of deal or treaty. But I do not acknowledge any wrongdoing, much less any that would require us to pay recompense."

Tiberius watched the envoy closely, the elf's expression considerably darker than it had been. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bard sitting silently in his own seat, seemingly content to watch things play out. That was fine by him, although Tiberius didn't miss the irony of Marcus choosing now to shut his mouth.

"Quite presumptuous of you," Iladrien said simply. "You speak as though your fledgeling nation is worthy of such treatment, despite its size."

"As I said, we shall not remain small for long," Tiberius replied cooly. "But know that we have been underestimated before."

This kind of approach may have seemed unnecessarily dismissive of the elf's concerns, but for good reason. Tiberius truly did not think that their complaints held much merit—in fact, if not for the fire, it was entirely possible they never would have noticed anything at all. That was the impression he got, given their complete obliviousness to Habersville's existence. 

Even the fact that they'd sent an envoy rather than immediately resorting to aggression spoke volumes. Either the elves were incredibly cautious or they simply preferred peace over open war. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was simply a power play to see what the elves could wring out of him, and he intended to be a stone rather than a sponge.

He'd left the door open for diplomacy if the envoy decided to be reasonable. He would rather avoid having enemies at his back, after all. But if the situation demanded it, he had no problems abandoning Habersville and conquering deeper into human territory. 

After a long, thoughtful pause, Iladrien let out a breath. He seemed to weigh his words carefully as he posed another question to Tiberius.

"Your nation is separate from Novara, is it not?"

Tiberius nodded. "We are at war with the Kingdom of Novara."

"...I see." Iladrien steepled his fingers. "Then perhaps there may be a way to reach an understanding."

Tiberius remained silent, waiting for Iladrien to continue. The elf took another long sip of his tea before setting the cup down. "Our investigation yielded more findings than just those I have discussed with you here. It seems that your people are not the only ones who have forgotten our treaties and seen fit to encroach on our forests. The baron of these lands—and perhaps the king of Novara itself—also need to be held to account."

"Mmm." Tiberius settled back once more. "And how do you intend to accomplish this?"

Iladrien shrugged. "It depends on their response to our envoys, though we would prefer not to take actions that would incite war between ourselves and Novara. Not if it can be avoided, of course."

"Understandable." Not all nations had the ambition and desire to conquer that Rome did, and the seclusion of the elves suggested that they fell squarely into that camp. "I assume you would have no interest in these towns beyond their unwanted presence in your territory?"

"Not at all."

"And if some ill fate were to befall them?"

"Oh, that would be tragic," Iladrien replied, sipping his tea. "But we would have no obligation to respond. Our treaties have already been broken, after all.

The elf and the Emperor held each other's gazes for a long moment, understanding passing between them. What the elf was asking for was clear. His nation didn't want to directly attack Novara or its towns. But since Tiberius was already at war… well, there was nothing he'd lose by doing just that. He would dirty his already unclean hands on behalf of the elves, and in exchange earn himself and Rome some goodwill.

Tiberius smiled—more honestly this time. "It would truly be a tragedy. Perhaps some of your people could accompany us to help us identify these towns, so that we may keep an eye on them."

Iladrien considered the suggestion. "...Perhaps that could be arranged. Although their roles would be strictly observational. And they would expect compensation."

Tiberius nodded, finding the suggestion acceptable. "I can offer a portion of our spoils."

Such an agreement  would enable Rome to remain independent and friendly to the elves while also making them feel as though the "debt" they owed was being repaid. Even better, it could be an avenue through which they could develop closer ties with the reclusive race, and gain access to their goods and services.

The men sipped their tea quietly for a moment, considering the other's proposal. The entire time, Marcus's eyes flicked between the pair as if he were a cat watching mice scurry about the room. It was a strange feeling, considering the man's relative lack of standing in this situation.

"Well then," Iladrien said, putting his teacup back on its saucer, "I'm pleased that we've come to some sort of agreement. I will need to confirm some details with my liege and the senate, of course, especially regarding any observers we may send to accompany you. But if things go well… perhaps the Great Ruthin Forest may seek to establish more permanent relations with your nation."

Tiberius inclined his head slightly. That would be a very desirable outcome from where he stood. Still, he wasn't so naive as to believe things would be so easy. For all he knew, the elves may just decide to turn on him and Rome as soon as he'd done their dirty work.

"I look forward to it," he answered honestly. "We would value you as a trade partner and ally. But perhaps you would be willing to answer some questions about your culture and practices, as well? So that we may avoid further… misunderstandings."

The talks went on for some time, hammering out details about their proposed agreement and exchanging other information. Tiberius ensured that he stayed on the receiving end of the information for the most part, keeping his cards close to his chest for the moment. But overall, Tiberius was actually looking forward to diplomatic ties with a potential ally and trading partner.

Of course, such relationships historically had a tendency to break down, usually as Rome subsumed their erstwhile ally. But sometimes, they would last for centuries. So while they were continuing to grow and expand, there was no need to put the cart before the horse.

Eventually, their discussions came to a close. Iladrien excused himself, claiming that he must return to his king and inform him of the developments. Tiberius and his guard joined the elf's and escorted them toward the front gate, meandering about some of Habersville's sights along the way. Yet when they reached the temple district, Iladrien stopped in his tracks.

"Is…" His eyes narrowed, then widened in surprise. "Is that a temple to Mars?"

***

Baron von Latimore put his head in his hands, fingers clutching his hair.  The ledger in front of him painted a grim picture, though even that paled in comparison to the latest news from his scouts. They were both horrible in their own unique ways.

After the notification that he'd lost Stonewake, he'd naturally sent scouts to investigate, with strict orders not to engage. They'd arrived to find a burned-out husk, smoke still drifting off of the town's remains. A swarm of soldiers seemed to be running the show, some herding the residents of the former town and others working to rebuild some portion of what had once been there. Best estimates had the soldiers numbered at around a thousand, all level two.

Their findings were practically unbelievable and eerily familiar.

Sure, the army's numbers were smaller, and they were one level higher than last time. But if anything, that just worried the baron even more. He had no doubt the rest of the men were elsewhere, either back at Habersville or continuing their conquest outward. And this sighting lent additional credence to Sharath's story, which was not a good thing.

He absentmindedly reached out for his glass of whiskey, downing it and pouring himself another. The threat from this strange army was getting out of hand—no, it already was out of hand. The most productive mine in his entire barony had just been seized, cutting off a massive source of revenue. Right before he'd been due to send out a huge shipment of ore, too. One that he now would need to reimburse the buyers for or risk their ire by informing them of the delay. Either way, it was costing him coin that he couldn't afford to spend.

He needed to take care of this fast.

The baron swept his unkempt hair out of his face and looked down at a report by his elbow. One thousand, three hundred and thirty-one conscripts. That's how many he'd managed to raise. Not a single one were fighters, those had already been sent to the western front. But they could hold a spear, and that was something. Well, most of them.

Looking into the details, however, made him wince. Most of the force consisted of men too young or too old to be of real use in a battle, even if they had possessed combat-related classes. That, and probably more than one girl claiming to be a boy and standing in for someone in her family. It hurt to take them away from their families and force them to fight like this. But what else could he do? If he didn't act now, there may well be no barony left for them soon enough.

Baron von Latimore's attention flicked back to the ledger before him. Training, equipment, scouts, all these expenditures were going to take him decades to recover from, if he even could recover in the first place. He'd taken on far too many debts just to keep the barony afloat. If they survived all of this, the interest alone would likely kill him. But it was his only chance. He had to solve this problem, if not for his sake, then for the duke's.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The baron ignored it, continuing to pore over reports and ledgers in hopes of squeezing just a little more money out where he could. Maybe he could cut costs at his estate or redirect some of the funds for infrastructure projects, since the situation was deteriorating so rapidly…

The door opened. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as Sharath stepped inside, seemingly unconcerned about the annoyance written plain on his face.

"I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me," the baron ground out.

The thief didn't look much better than when he had seen her last. Her red-rimmed eyes still held a deep anger behind them, and her makeup might as well have been permanently smudged. Evidently, her anger over her sister's death had yet to cool into something cold and calculating, which was one of the reasons why he hadn't sent her to scout out Stonewake.

There were certainly uses for her, but they were dwindling. The white-hot brashness of her current state was more likely to get her killed than anything. She was close to becoming a liability rather than a useful tool, and well… any noble knew what to do when a tool outlived its usefulness.

"I do," she said in a more measured voice than her appearance would suggest. "The Dark Demon Blade party is available for hire. They have made a trip out here upon special request."

The Baron grimaced. There was no way he could afford more adventurers, especially not of their caliber, and yet he needed their strength. They would be the backbone of his conscripts, and they would make sure that they had less chance of breaking when it came to combat. And, well, the Dark Demon Blade party was famous for a reason.

"Is it true they passed level 20?" he asked. They were rising stars—not exactly the most highly leveled, but one of the fastest-growing parties out there. It had only been formed less than five years ago, and already they were pushing to be gold-ranked adventurers within the next couple of years.

Sharath nodded. "I inspected the leader myself. He was level 23."

The baron braced himself. "And… how much will they cost?"

"Well, they're doing a favor for me," Sharath said. "For my sister's sake. So they're only charging a thousand gold a day."

The baron bit his tongue. That was a steal for a level 20 party. But he didn't have the money. He would need to take on even more debt.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He couldn't rule a barony he didn't own. And at this rate, this strange army would wrest even more of it out of his hands. And if they did… it was better to be in debt than dead.

"Fine," he sighed. "Tell them I'll hire them. But I will only pay half up front."

She smiled. "That should be acceptable."

As the door shut behind her, the Baron pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began penning a new letter to his father-in-law. Perhaps the duke would lend him some credit.

B2 Chapter 9: When in Rome

B2 Chapter 9: When in Rome

Tiberius took his time getting ready. He dressed in full battle gear, his armor freshly repaired and polished after their latest battle, in lieu of any formal wear like a toga. That, too, was a deficiency he would need to remedy—though he hadn't honestly expected to engage in any diplomatic talks so soon.

He marched through the town, accompanied by some of his most senior officers and an escort of guards. The first messenger had left him slightly confused. A request to meet with some inhuman diplomat was unexpected, to say the least. A Novaran one would make sense, but an elf? What reason had a completely foreign nation of inhuman beings to meet with them? It left him at a loss regarding what to expect.

Fortunately, it seemed as though he wouldn't remain in the dark for long. He'd received word soon after about Marcus's actions and subsequent escort of the diplomatic party to the manor. Evidently, his conduct had spoken of a deep familiarity with these people and their practices.

Tiberius frowned. On one hand, having the bard as a resource for this meeting would be valuable, provided the man wasn't simply exhibiting legendary levels of bullshittery. On the other, his actions did feel like they'd overstepped his authority. Even if Tiberius was considering giving Marcus a bigger role in the Legion's operations, he had yet to make any such title or duties official.

Either way, the damage was already done. Whether or not he would actually trust Marcus with additional responsibility would largely depend on this meeting.

The mansion came into view, its decorative wooden trim seeming to glow in the daylight. Tiberius nodded to the Legionnaires standing guard outside, receiving a series of salutes in return, then stepped inside.

Diplomacy and politics were something that he was all too familiar with. Even as a Legionnaire, he'd dealt with foreign forces, and later in his career, he was sometimes the first senator to accept surrender or declare war on opposing forces. It meant that he knew how much image and first impressions played a role in such engagements—hence why he'd spent the time to prepare himself.

Unfortunately, there was only so much he could do—especially when it came to information. The bard being indisposed meant that Tiberius couldn't pick his brain about elves, their politics, or anything else that would have served as useful background. All he knew were the very basics that had been brought up in passing. And that the envoy was a level 35 [Diplomat]—Marcus had conveyed that information to one of his centurions.

It didn't take long for Tiberius to navigate through the mansion and find the main sitting room. There, he saw Marcus and a slightly graying elf quietly sipping tea across from each other, each perched atop one of the mansion's ostentatiously plush chairs. They both looked up as he entered, the elf in particular sweeping over Tiberius with a calculating look.

When their eyes met, Tiberius immediately recognized his own mistake. He had walked in the room as Legatus Tiberius—the leader of his Legion, who could stride into any situation and take charge. A commander, one who could speak with his men, work with his generals, and mete out punishment. 

Yet here, he was not meant to be Legtus Tiberius. He had to present himself as Emperor Tiberius.

The Emperor was above all others. The Emperor sat on his throne, where foreign dignitaries and diplomats would kneel and give gifts and be granted an audience—should the Emperor deign to provide one. He sat atop his throne, summoning people before him—not the other way around.

And yet here he was—not calling the elf forth for an audience, but going to personally meet him. At best, it would appear as though he considered them equals. At worst… well, it would appear as though he was the one at the diplomat's beck and call.

Tiberius hid a scowl behind his stony expression. He would need to be more cognizant of such things. He was so used to being the Legatus here, when he was surrounded by his men. His still-developing Emperor persona was a tunic he only donned when conquering. And yet, his basic misstep had already shown weakness that might hamstring him in negotiations.

The elf clearly realized this as well, if the sharp glint in his eye was any indicator. Tiberius stood in the doorway, exuding as much authority and strength as he could muster in order to save face. He could not afford to show any more weakness.

Luckily, Marcus seemed to pick up on the dynamic. The bard swept to hes feet before falling into a deep bow. "Your eminence! We are truly blessed to have been graced by your presence this day."

The movement prompted the elven diplomat to rise as well, lest he be seen as actively challenging Tiberius. The man seemingly wasn't ready for that kind of aggression yet—though his shallow bow did convey his lack of respect quite clearly. He looked quite young aside from a shock of grey in his hair, but Tiberius knew better than to judge based on appearances. Evidently, elves were known for aging gracefully.

Tiberius waited as one of his guards placed an extra chair at the table. Once he sat, he gestured for the other two to take their seats as well—something that gave him a modicum of control over the situation. As Marcus dutifully poured him a cup of tea, Tiberius studied the envoy's face.

The elf remained silent and impassive, his expression revealing no hint of emotion. There was no obvious disdain or disgust that he could see, but nor was there any respect or fear. The lack of fear made sense, at least—the elf likely knew that he was only level two, after all. Considering the importance of levels, he wondered if the envoy considered him little better than a child playing at being a king.

After giving a slight indication of thanks to Marcus for the tea, Tiberius reached for the cup and tasted it. Tea wasn't really his beverage of choice. Like most things, Tiberius was of the opinion that it would benefit from a generous splash of liquor being mixed in. However, he was certain that such a modification would not reflect well on him. It was rather early in the day, anyway.

Setting down the cup, he leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin, waiting. There was a long, tense silence before the elf spoke.

"Greetings," he inclined his head slightly. "I am Iladrien, emissary of King Glendale of the great Ruthin Forest."

Tiberius nodded inn return. "Well met, Iladrien. I am Emperor Tiberius Rufius Maro of the Roman Empire."

The elf arched a thin eyebrow. "Emperor, you say? I'm afraid I was not aware of an empire in this region. "

Tiberius smiled thinly at the veiled slight. "Then you are ill-informed. It seems your scouts are not quite as thorough as you assumed."

"Mmm. Or perhaps your fledgeling nation is not so grand as your title presumes. With all due respect." 

Tiberius's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as they traded barbs. In the back of his mind, he wondered how well this man would handle himself in battle. The level disparity between them was large enough to ensure the envoy would have a significant stat advantage—then again, Tiberius's class and absurd gains did shrink that disparity more than one would expect from a level 2. Added to the fact that most of his skills were rare now and the seemingly multiplicative strength of the Legion when it massed…

He steered his thoughts away from the decidedly theoretical exercise. This was a diplomatic meeting. It would not come to blows. No, such a development would have repercussions far beyond whatever wounds he might sustain. Full-on war between their factions would be all too likely—and not at all ideal. He needed to solidify his hold over his territories and remove Novara before beginning a fight on another front—and he certainly didn't want to pick a fight with a nation who employed someone so powerful as a politician.

Instead, Tiberius smiled. "Though Rome's territory may seem modest for the moment, that will not last long. Of that, you can be certain."

The envoy frowned, his expression turning thoughtful. "Rome," he echoed as though tasting the word. "I don't think any country has gone by that name, not in living memory. Where did it come from?"

Tiberius saw Marcus shoot him a discreet look and subtly shook his head. The bard had been one of the first to realize that the Legion came from another world, though that was a fact they did not advertise openly. It wouldn't be feasible to hide it forever, but still. He had no intention to share it with the elves unless they gave him a compelling reason.

"Rome is our homeland, though it is far from here," Tiberius explained. "Our conquests here are for her glory, that her influence may civilize barbarians and their backwards ways."

"But enough about that," Tiberius said, leaning forward. "I am interested in your purpose in coming here. What business do you have with me?"

The elf gave a polite smile that gave nothing away. But when he spoke, his words were laced with a sickly-sweet venom.

"Thirty-five days hence, there was a large fire in this portion of our forest," the envoy began. "The damage was extensive and regrettable, and such things are known to happen, even naturally. However, upon investigation, it was discovered that this was not the only issue that required addressing.

"You see, an area boss that we had been allowing to ripen for experience had been slain. Furthermore, it seemed that a group of humans had not only begun to encroach on our forest, but even had the gall to fell our trees."

By the end of his speech, Iladrien was biting off each word. It was the first real display of emotion he'd seen from the elf, and still not a single bit of it showed on his face.

Tiberius remained silent, preferring to watch impassively as the elf took a deep breath. Now that he'd expressed his indignation, he sensed the demands coming on the horizon.

"Therein lies the reason for our delegation," Iladrien continued with a cold smile. "The burning of our forest, the slaying of our flock, the felling of our trees…These crimes must be answered for."

B2 Chapter 8: The Age of Man

B2 Chapter 8: The Age of Man

Marcus was having an incredibly peaceful morning. The most peaceful one he'd had in a long while—since the Legion had arrived, in fact. Now that the rebellion was over, the bulk of Tiberius's forces had returned, and the unspoken feeling of lingering tension had begun to settle, it truly felt like things were finally returning to normal.

Well, as normal as an extraplanar army running a tiny backwater logging town could be. But that was besides the point.

The bard strode down the road confidently, his rich purple cloak fluttering behind him. Sunlight glinted off of the gold stitching woven throughout its fabric and his matching hat. As he walked he sung a jaunty tune—softly, though. As opposed to most of his musical performances, this one was purely for his own ears.

Three to the one, from the one to the three, 

Met a sorceress who dropped to her knees, 

Pulled me into a shadowed nook, 

Gave me a night straight outta a storybook.

It was a song from his younger years, and one of his favorites. The bouncy beat combined with the lyrics made for quite a bawdy tune. Unfortunately, it had fallen out of favor in more recent years. The bard who had composed it expressed some… less than favorable views on the few races that humans now got along with. The opinions had arisen in some of his later songs, but still tainted his previous works by association and led to his ostracization from court. It was still a hit in taverns, though.

Still, Marcus couldn't help himself. It didn't change the fact that this piece was a good one, and something that never failed to lift his spirits. Besides, he somehow doubted that Habersville's residents would care much about what was essentially faraway court drama.

Despite the low volume of his singing, however, it still had a noticeable effect on those he passed. Villagers that picked up pieces of the tune perked up and moved about their day just a little bit faster, and with more enthusiasm and energy.

Marcus surveyed his surroundings. He'd just been starting to get used to Habersville and some of its sights, but now? The once humble town was almost unrecognizable. It had already been in the midst of a metamorphosis, of course, but those alterations had only accelerated since the rebellion. It seemed almost an effort to romanize the town as fast as possible.

The previously haphazard tangle of buildings, pathways, and alleys had been uprooted. In its place stood neat, orderly rows of houses and businesses, new enough that Marcus could swear he still saw sawdust between their planks. Not every building had been torn down to make this happen, of course, and the occasional weathered wood structure called to mind visions of what had once been. But for the most part, Habersville might as well have been renamed.

The buildings themselves weren't the only change, however. High decorative arches soared over the main thoroughfares that led to the town square. There, a new public bathhouse had been erected—a rather strange bit of culture from the soldiers' previous world, and one that few of the locals utilized as of yet. But the Legionnaires themselves seemed incredibly pleased by it.

Marcus shook his head. He didn't quite understand the obsession, either, but oh well. It wasn't the first time he'd been faced with strange customs from foreigners. At least this one had the practical effect of keeping the men clean. The camp had started to accumulate a kind of miasma about it from their sweat and grime and other less than sanitary activities.

His steps took him past a cheerfully burbling community fountain in which old Margaret was hard at work washing clothes and into the temple district. There, a massive building of polished stone was in the process of being raised, Legionnaires swarming over it like shiny insects. Nearby, the centurion Sextus spoke with another Legionnaire over what appeared to be some sort of blueprints.

He had to crane his neck to see the top of the structure—even incomplete as it was, the temple was shaping up to be the Legion's most ambitious project to date. And one that required a bit more space than the temple district have been able to provide. But in the wake of the rebellion, the temples of Kona and Arashim had found themselves with a sudden and total lack of priests to oversee them, and, well… the Romans were never ones to waste space.

One man no older than Marcus himself knelt before a pedestal out front, chiseling rough details out of a large block of stone that had been set upon it. The shape of what almost resembled a massive Legionnaire was already clearly recognizable—clad in ornate decorative armor, draped in a flowing cloth, and wielding a spear in one hand. Interestingly, the man did not carry a shield.

The sculptor noticed Marcus as he passed and gave him an amicable wave. Marcus returned the greeting, tipping his cap to the familiar face and pausing his singing to avoid disturbing any detail work in progress. They didn't exchange any words, but it was obvious to Marcus that the attitude of the Legionnaires had shifted toward him. Those who hadn't already adopted favorable dispositions now seemed a bit less cold toward him. Even Servius gave him a respectful nod as he passed. Evidently, his role in quashing the rebellion hadn't gone unnoticed.

As he left the temple district behind and resumed his song, he heard a set of soft footsteps approaching. Looking over, a young woman with short dark hair fell into step beside him, a tired slump to her shoulders. He greeted her with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Eleonora. You're out rather early."

The young woman huffed, rubbing her face. "Skirmish this morning. A practice one. Lots of injuries, but nothing major. Gaius let me off to recharge and rest." She shook her head in disapproval. "Honestly… its like they want to hurt themselves…"

Marcus activated [Appraisal] on her. As much as she complained, the [Healer] was certainly reaping the benefits of the situation. In just the short time she'd been here, she'd already managed to reach level eleven—a rate of growth that was unheard of in all but the most suicidal adventuring parties. And considering that most of it had been done via healing… well, she may have had a point.

He elbowed her lightly. "Well, I suppose you should be grateful, then. Especially if their lack of self-preservation fuels your own growth, no?"

The girl gave him a tired sigh. "I guess. I still don't exactly enjoy watching people get hurt, but…"

Marcus's eyebrows shot up. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected of one who seeks to remedy such things. Nevertheless… your class all but requires that you actively seek out the wounded. Have you considered that you might be in the wrong profession?"

Eleonora waved him off. "I know, I know. Just complaining. Besides… I already have my class. It's not like I could change paths if I wanted to."

Marcus nodded sagely. For most, once they'd received their initial class, there was no turning back. The only place to go was up via class evolutions or specializations—if that was even an option.

The [Healer] stretched toward the sky. "Anyway. At least I'm getting something out of it—they're certainly getting their money's worth out of me."

"I didn't think they were paying you," he quipped back with a slight grin.

She rolled her eyes. "No, unfortunately… but they are giving me food,  levels, and a place to stay. So I guess that counts."

"More than they're doing for me," Marcus grumbled.

"Are you kidding?" she expression turned incredulous. "I've seen you walk around there. There's always someone offering you food or a drink!"

"Ah, true enough," Marcus agreed. "Even if that is a more… informal arrangement. Though it is also more of an evening occurrence. People aren't quite so used to buying a bard breakfast."

"So…"  Eleonora continued after a drawn-out silence. "I actually was looking for you. We need to talk."

"Oh?" Marcus raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Yeah. About what comes next."

"...Your phrasing could definitely use some work," he chuckled. "I'm used to hearing those words in a very different kind of context."

"What do you… Oh." Eleonora's face flushed red with embarrassment as the realization dawned. "Oh. No! I didn't—!"

Marcus just laughed. "Oh, relax. It was a joke."

Eleonora cleared her throat, collecting herself for a moment. "Anyway… Like I was saying… We need to talk about, you know… our plan."

Her eyes darted about furtively as she looked for any potential eavesdroppers. The display almost made Marcus audibly sigh. He couldn't think of a more suspicious way for her to go about things. Still, the coast was clear, so he responded. "Ah, that. I don't think there's any need to discuss it yet."

Eleanor shook her head seriously. "We definitely do. They're going to launch another campaign soon—it's obvious from all the preparations they're making. Don't we need to get ahead of it?"

"Yes, but…" Marcus shrugged helplessly. "There may not be much we can do here, realistically."

"What do you mean?" Eleonora hissed. "We can go ahead and convince their next target to stand down or surrender or… something. Wasn't that the entire point? To prevent conflict?"

The bard raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Correct. That is the goal. However, we won't accomplish it by giving the Legion's enemies weeks or even months worth of warning—that will just give them time to prepare, especially at this stage. Not to mention how it would look to the Legionnaires themselves…"

He gave the girl a pointed look and she shuddered. The memory of the last people to commit treason likely wouldn't fade for quite a long time. She hugged herself and grumbled. "There still has to be something we can do. Can't we, I dunno… Get the word out? Spread rumors about how dangerous the Legion is? Something?"

"Spread rumors to who?" Marcus asked, spreading his arms wide. "The villagers? I think they're already well aware. Other towns? If you can convince Gaius that you're of more use traveling to ostensibly enemy territory rather than healing…"

She threw her hands up in frustration. "I don't know! I just… there has to be something we can do. Otherwise, I just… well... I feel like I'm treading water."

"You call leveling like you are 'treading water'? Your ambition knows no bounds."

She glared at him. "You know what I mean."

Marcus sighed and came to a halt. Eleonora stopped as well, a look of confusion crossing her features. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Look…" He spoke softly and injected reassurance into his tone. "You already are doing all you can. Think about it. You're leveling up, getting stronger, building relationships and solidifying your place in the Legion. That's all important. Things have been chaotic recently, and I suspect that you're only now beginning to come down from the stress of it all. That's understandable. Just don't allow yourself to do anything rash because of it, all right?"

Marcus shot her a winning smile. Eleonora hesitated. "But… how will I know when it's not enough? 

He released her shoulder and gave a small flourishing bow. "Ah, that's what you have me for. Trust me. When the time is right, we'll make sure to do our part. But until then, trying to get ahead of yourself is bound to just make things worse—for everyone."

She let out a long, slow breath, seeming to uncoil with each passing second. "...Ok. Thank you, Marcus. I know all that, just… I just needed to hear someone else say it."

"My pleasure." He smiled and gestured for them to continue walking. "I'm happy to be of service. Speaking of which—"

He cut himself off, the rest of his sentence dying on his lips as something caught his attention. He frowned and listened intently. There seemed to be some kind of commotion at the front gate.

"What is it?" Eleonora asked as he quickened his pace.

"Something is happening," he explained as they began to almost jog toward the gates. "What, I'm not sure. But…" A crooked smile adorned his face. "Perhaps we'll have a chance to practice that conflict resolution sooner than expected."

***

When they finally pushed their way through the crowd gathered around the gate, the source of the commotion quickly became clear. There were newcomers to the town—ones that had the people gaping in awe.

A troop of warriors dressed in long, flowing garb of greens and silvers stood just beyond Habersville's entrance. Each carried sinuous bows of fine wood that wouldn't have looked out of place in an artisan's collection. Their long hair was tied back from their faces, putting their pointed ears on full display.

Marcus's eyes widened. Elves. The most reclusive race on the continent, so rarely spotted outside of their cities that some people considered them mere myths. It was a rare merchant indeed who was permitted to enter their territory and trade with them. To see them here… well, it was no wonder that the people had crowded around.

The gate was open for the day, but Legionnaires had formed a line in front of it, barring the elves from entering. A few others busied themselves with keeping the crowd at bay—a task made slightly easier by their renewed wariness of crossing the soldiers. It only took a brief word for Marcus to be allowed through to speak to the centurion behind the line.

"Well… this is a surprise," he muttered to the soldier. "Have they said what they want?"

The centurion shook his head. "Only a meeting with our leader. I've already sent a messenger for the Legatus."

"I see…" Marcus hummed. "Do you mind if I speak with them? I know a thing or two about elves, not to mention diplomacy."

The centurion hesitated, then nodded. He seemed rather grateful for the help—and no wonder. The Legion was woefully lacking in diplomatic experience here, and Marcus had cultivated himself quite the reputation of a man who had a way with words.

Marcus stepped forward to greet what appeared to be the level 30 lead elf, his robes more ornate and finely woven than the rest. The elf looked no older than thirty-five, but Marcus knew better. He knew that he must have been hundreds, if not thousands of years old to have age lines about his eyes, not to mention a single streak of grey in his hair.

He sensed the elves' looks of disdain as he walked forth. Bowing low, he swept a hand out before him and addressed their leader. "May the sun streaming through the branches gently caress your face."

The old elf blinked in surprise. He smiled, then inclined his head. "And may the dappled shadows dance across yours. I must say, I did not expect to find one who knows our traditions in a quaint place like this. Nor be received by such a group."

Marcus straightened, returning the smile. The elf's words were pleasant enough on the surface, but he could read between the lines. There was an icy quality to his expression that made his true meaning clear—he held Habersville in the same esteem as one might a particularly smelly pile of panther scat, and the Legionnaires defending it as nuisances rather than an actual threat.

The bard held his own smile, instilling it with a precise blend of formality and deference. He wanted to remain respectful, but not enough that the elf thought he could get away with such condescension.

They held each others' gaze for a long moment. As the guest, it was the elf's job to announce himself first—though he seemed content to take his time.

The older elf lifted his chin, maintaining that same condescending smile. "I am Iladrien, emissary of King Glendale of the Great Ruthin Forest."

"Well met, Iladrien," Marcus replied—without a bow this time. "I am Marcus, adviser to Emperor Tiberius. I welcome you to the town of Habersville."

The elf's eyes flashed for a moment at the word "emperor". Marcus smiled inwardly. The elf clearly had less information about the current state of things than he might have assumed. It was more than a little satisfying to see him caught off guard.

"...I see," Iladrien said simply. "And this 'emperor' of yours…"

"He will join us shortly. In the meantime…" Marcus continued, gesturing back toward the town. "Could I interest you in some refreshments after what must have been a tiring journey?"

He nodded to the centurion, leading the party of elves inside the town under heavy escort from the Legionnaires. What their purpose was, he didn't yet know. But he suspected he would soon find out.

B2 Chapter 7: A Battle of Wits (And Ballistae)

B2 Chapter 7: A Battle of Wits (And Ballistae)

The next day, Quintus stood at one end of the practice field, a century of handpicked men at attention behind him. Across the way loomed a towering gray wall, thirty feet tall and set behind a deep ditch. Atop it waited a matching century of Legionnaires headed by Tiberius.

Quintus locked eyes with the Legatus and nodded. Then, he called over his shoulder. "Positions!"

The men split into groups, the majority remaining on the field as others rushed to man the siege towers that stood ready to move. He heard Tiberius give a similar order. In no time at all, a group of the Legatus's men had positioned themselves defensively atop the wall. The rest had ducked out of sight—presumably behind the fortifications.

"We are ready," Tiberius called, his deep voice booming across the field. "Primus?"

He gave one last look over his men before responding. "Ready!"

Tiberius nodded to the officers standing off to the side—the arbiters of this match. One of them raised a horn to his lips and blew, the resonant bellow signaling a start to their contest.

Immediately, Quintus turned and began issuing orders. "Advance!"

The groups sprang into action—those on the ground quickly fell into a testudo formation and rushed toward the wall as the siege towers began to rumble inevitably forward.

After agreeing to Tiberius's challenge, the men had convened with the officers to lay out a more specific structure for the test. They obviously couldn't stage an actual assault on a fortified position, after all—not without subjecting their men to pointless risks.

It was decided that two assaults would be carried out instead: one utilizing the Legionnaires themselves, and one utilizing artillery. They would be performed separately, just to ensure that they didn't fire catapults or ballistae at their own men needlessly—or bring the wall crashing down on them. If Quintus successfully took the wall within a defined timeframe, then he would be victorious.

Fortunately, those precautions meant that Quintus could leverage his men's skills to their full effects.

Quintus's infantry reached the ditch dug at the wall's base. A few men retrieved shovels from their backs and began digging, rearranging the ground with supernatural speed as the formation adjusted to protect them from the defenders' attacks—theoretical ones, in this case. They'd held off on using arrows and pila, also because of the risks they posed to their men. But it was best to keep good practices even if they weren't really under assault.

As some of the men continued working to fill the ditch for the siege towers, others began raising ladders against the wall, each of which was quickly populated with Legionnaires as they climbed with blinding speed.

Some of the defenders worked to throw the ladders off, only for the climbing Legionnaires to stab metal hooks straight into the stone and stabilize them. The hooks didn't go very deep, but they didn't need to—especially not with so many of them. It was enough to keep the ladders from being repelled for the moment.

As the men swarmed up the wall, Quintus saw movement at the top. Something large was being wheeled toward the ladders—and he suspected he knew what it was.

"Climbers, evade!" He shouted in warning. A moment later, giant vats of boiling oil began pouring down on the climbing Legionnaires, aiming to drown them in a deluge of liquid death.

Well, it would have been boiling oil if this was a real assault. For this spar, they found lukewarm water to be an appropriate substitute. It was understood that any man who became sufficiently drenched would be counted as dead—or at least disabled for the battle.

But Quintus had seen this coming. And they'd taken measures to prevent it.

As the water came pouring down, the men climbing the ladders leapt off to the sides. But rather than fall to the ground, they produced metal pitons and began slamming them into the wall's surface. They swung from the anchor points, adding more and more as they began climbing upward like monkeys and taking advantage of those placed by their brethren.

They didn't need ladders. Those had just been to lull the enemy into a false sense of security. This, however… this could give them unheard of flexibility in their assaults.

It was only moments before the first of his men reached the top. The Legionnaire drew his weapon and leapt over the edge of the wall, ready to assault the defenders as more followed right behind.

All of their weapons had been neutered, of course—and not just with the usual blunted practice varieties or cloth coverings. The Legion's trainers had discovered a skill that rendered all blows from one's melee weapons nonlethal. There were a number of conditions, the main one being that one had to consent to being affected by the skill. There was also the dodgy matter of testing that nonlethality, something that few men were eager to volunteer for. But it worked well enough for their purposes.

Quintus watched as the surface of the wall swarmed with Legionnaires, their armor-clad forms swinging from pitons or flying up the damp ladders. The men on the ground finished filling in their portions of the ditches, allowing the siege towers to move forward and butt up against the wall. He watched as they got ready to drop their gangplanks and overwhelm the strangely calm defenders manning the fortifications—

—Which gave him a perfect view of when things went wrong.

Out of nowhere, small slits appeared in the wall's surface—murder holes. Only, these weren't the evenly-spaced openings along the top of the wall that he'd seen before. These holes seemed to appear haphazardly across the cement's surface.

No, not haphazardly, Quintus realized. Their placement was quite intentional. They had opened right where they'd placed their metal hooks and pitons.

The improvised handholds fell right out of the wall, taking the climbing Legionnaires with them. Worse, the previously secured ladders went toppling backwards as the defenders pushed on them—from both atop the wall and behind the holes.

It all happened in an instant, before Quintus had time to shout a warning, much less figure out a counter. A few of Quintus's Legionnaires were able to salvage the situation and continue upward, either with mighty leaps or by using the murder holes themselves as brief handholds. But most of the men went tumbling to the ground, their comrades and the support staff rushing to soften their falls and tend to their wounds.

Quintus swore. His attention turned to the siege towers, only for his heart to sink even further. The gangplanks were being repelled. Engineers atop the wall were building onto their fortifications to prevent the gangplanks from fully settling into place—sturdy ones that his men were having difficulty breaking. It wouldn't have been the end of the world—his men at this point were perfectly capable of simply leaping across, even if it meant taking on additional risk—if not for the other measures the defenders had taken.

The Primus Pilus watched as the defenders raised panels of wooden "spikes" all along the top of the wall, each acting as a fence against his men. The Legionnaires in the siege towers attempted to set them aflame, only to find the wood damp—far too damp to catch.

They then attempted to pull them down with long hooked poles, only for the defenders to release the panels readily—sending them falling toward the men below. A warning from Quintus sent them scattering even as the defenders produced yet more panels out of seemingly nowhere to replace the first.

Without support, the few Legionnaires who had made it to the top were quickly subdued. Worse, the remainder of his forces were in absolute shambles trying to recover.

The men that weren't taken out of commission by surprise murder hole attacks or the constant streams of water pouring down from the walls fought valiantly, trying everything they could to gain an edge. But try as they might, they simply could not break through.

The horn blew again, signaling the end of the test. The defending Legionnaires roared in triumph as the attackers slumped over with exhaustion—the ones that remained on the field, that was.

Quintus shook his head in dismay at the result even as the officers and other assorted onlookers cheered. He had lost. Despite all of his planning, unorthodox tactics, and efforts to field the right men for the job… he had lost. Tiberius had outplayed him.

Hopefully the second test would go better.

***

The second test had gone much the same as the first. Despite his best efforts, the latest artillery innovations from their engineers, and even skills that caused projectiles to split or even explode, Quintus had been unable to break through the Legatus's defenses.

He'd damaged them, of course. Quite severely. But Tiberius had not only constructed the fortifications out of concrete, but evidently discovered a way to amplify the self-repairing properties of that concrete to ridiculous levels. The material could render an artillery barrage's effects moot in only a few minutes.

"You fought well, Primus."

He looked up to see Tiberius approaching, a pleased expression on his face. Quintus knelt, setting his helmet on the ground and offering up his sword. "Thank you, Legatus. Although it seems I was no match for you. It seems that I underestimated our defensive capabilities after all."

Tiberius hummed thoughtfully, his eyes crinkling in what might have been a suppressed smile. "Indeed. Do not take the loss personally. My old age has endowed me with more than a few useful tricks. Perhaps being the elder has its benefits after all."

The comment elicited a small chuckle from Quintus. "Old age and treachery, is it?"

"Exactly so."

Quintus sighed, reaching out to clasp Tiberius's hand. "Thank you for honoring me with this opportunity."

Tiberius waved him off. "Think nothing of it. In fact, this exercise has given me much to think on as well. The tactics you employed may prove to be a good starting point for our future assaults. But first…"

Tiberius turned to the Legionnaires that had participated in the battle. "The victors will have their promised respite in the coming days. But for now…" He swept his gaze over the entire group. "You are all dismissed. Do as you will."

A cheer erupted, louder than the one that the victors had cried mere moments before. Quintus hid a smile. The Legatus knew how to earn his men's loyalty. He knew as well as anyone how those words would be taken—as permission to go to town and get drunk.

"Legatus Tiberius!"

A messenger rushed toward them, skidding to a halt before Tiberius. At his gesture, the Legionnaire continued. "Sir, an envoy has arrived at the town and is causing quite a stir. He has requested an audience with you…"

Quintus began to stand as his stoic commander followed the messenger away. He looked across the practice field at the groaning men that lay there, unable to rush off with their brethren due to injury. It seemed their resident [Healer] would have her hands full very soon.

B2 Chapter 6: Those Who Throw Stones

B2 Chapter 6: Those Who Throw Stones

Quintus heaved himself against the winch, leveraging all of his supernaturally increased strength as he did. The ratchet latch slipped one more time, settling into place as the ballista's string tightened even further.

"Stand ready!"

He stepped back. At this point, the weapon was so taut that if something broke, everyone within twenty feet of the machine would be in serious danger. He had seen a cord snap once, the end detaching from the body of the ballista with violent force, nearly cutting a man in two.

With their current capabilities, a break would be even worse. Then again, maybe their increased resilience would counteract it. He had no intention of finding out either way.

"Fire!"

He gave the command and the lever was pulled.

A stone talent rocketed out of the ballista fast enough that Quintus had trouble tracking it. The projectile slammed into a wall of wooden stakes, reducing them to kindling and sending a shudder through the entire structure. Further down the wall, he heard the crack of splintering wood as similar scenes played out in unison. The officers watching the display jotted down a few notes on their tablets as his team began reloading.

Quintus moved as well, switching positions with another Legionnaire as he grabbed another talent and slotted it into place. The thing was heavy enough that he didn't think he would've managed this a week ago. But with proper technique, he had no problem getting it seated—even without another man to aid him.

This time, when the order was given, he was the one who pulled the lever. He looked on with satisfaction as the stone punched straight through the wooden defenses in a cloud of sawdust.

Work on their siege weaponry had begun as soon as they'd returned from Stonester. Their attack on that town had gone well enough without such equipment, but that wasn't likely to hold true for subsequent assaults. Especially if they were more heavily defended, which seemed increasingly likely.

They had begun scouting further afield of their position in order to identify other targets. Everyone expected the defenses and strength of their opposition to grow as they pierced deeper into the heart of Novara. But there was no avoiding it. As their challenges grew, so would they. In the meantime, they continued to train, improve, and consolidate their power here.

But they wouldn't just recreate the weapons of war they'd used before—they would build on them.

Quintus glanced further down the practice field. There, another line of men stood, manning bulky contraptions of wood and metal not too dissimilar to his own, but smaller. Two arms stretched out to either side of the weapon, with a length of rope stretching between them.

As he watched, the order to fire was given. A wave of heavy stone talents shot forward, embedding themselves into the wooden fortifications across the field. Then another. Then another.

Eventually, the men were ordered to halt, stepping back from the weapons. Quintus couldn't help but approve. The speed with which those repeating ballistae fired put even the most competent team to shame. They weren't anywhere near as consistent or accurate as their single-shot brethren, of course. But he had no doubt their engineers would improve on that.

One more Legionnaire tested an even more experimental weapon—a rough-looking miniature ballista hefted in his arms. The weapon spat a torrent of smaller stones at a wooden target before eventually seeming to jam. The soldier placed the heavy weaponry on the ground to stretch.

Quintus could empathize. Ballistae were never meant to be a handheld weapon, but fixed artillery. The ability to move them about so easily was yet another possibility afforded by their stats. And considering its effectiveness…

Quintus looked again at the wooden post, whose surface now bore more holes than an old tunic. The stones that hadn't passed through entirely remained lodged deep inside. He suppressed a shudder at what those might do to a man.

One of the officers near Quintus clicked his tongue, returning his attention to his own artillery. "It seems that weapons are not the only things that will require adjusting. We'll soon find our defenses to be sorely lacking as well."

Their increased strength allowed for a slew of new innovations and improvements to their equipment—siege weaponry in particular. A single Legionnaire could now ratchet a ballista further or load a heavier projectile into a catapult than ever before. That meant the engineers were having a field day with redesigns and adaptations, especially given the new materials of this world.

A lot of the changes still had to take into account practicality—how long it would take to reload or reset the equipment, ease of use, and so on—but many of their assumptions in those areas also needed to be rethought. And not just rethought once, but many times with the anticipation that the Legion would become stronger.

The Primus Pilus shook his head at the officer's comment. "Soon is too optimistic. In a few levels, I expect I'll be able to take apart that wall with my bare hands or by simply throwing rocks over it. And against this world's fighters? I expect that fortifications like these will be little better than wet parchment or a knee-high fence."

The officer frowned. "You have a point. We have yet to see how a high-leveled barbarian handles an assault on a fortified position. Yet I doubt they'll be entirely useless. They still serve to limit an enemy's options and angles of attack."

"Usually, yes. But when someone can simply leap over or demolish those defenses…" Quintus shrugged. "I suspect that even walls will only do so much."

"Surely not. Both of these towns had walls when we got here—that means they must still be seen as useful to some extent."

"For dealing with low level wildlife that is little more than a nuisance to actual fighters, yes. We also have yet to encounter a local of any substantial strength. The most threatening things around have been the monsters, and a wall is more than sufficient to thwart their intelligence," Quintus pointed out. "In fact, I'd argue that anything able to be stopped by our current fortifications poses little threat to us as we are in the first place. And that disparity will only continue to increase as we level and grow stronger."

After a bit more discussion between the engineers and the officers, they came to the conclusion that Quintus did actually have a point. Their presuppositions about what constituted an effective fortification—and how sturdy they needed to be—were all but useless now. If they continued operating off of the same assumptions they had in the past, then they ran the risk of getting completely blindsided and wiped out.

The realization left everyone quiet for several minutes. The practice of setting up defenses for their camps was one they'd drilled and practiced too many times to count. If they wouldn't do anything to stop the enemy, though… what was the point, unless they found more effective ways to set them?

"I think you might overstate the issue, Quintus."

He turned to see another figure approach their gathering. Tiberius strode tall, his hands clasped behind his back. Aquilifer Lucius followed a pace behind him, bearing the eagle standard as always, while an entourage of guards ringed them.

There was a clatter of salutes as everyone greeted the Legatus. The man nodded before turning back to address his first centurion. "Just as our offensive capabilities have seen great improvements, our defenses have potential to do the same."

"I don't disagree, Legatus," Quintus said carefully, not wanting to contradict Tiberius. "I simply mean to suggest that our preferred fortifications may need to be reconsidered. Even the strongest wall is of little use if the enemy can simply circumvent it."

"Perhaps a wall would not deter a sufficiently powerful individual, true," Tiberius conceded. "Yet it can still do much to repel the rank and file."

The officers murmured to each other, weighing the different positions put forth as Quintus mulled over the suggestion. Their defenses clearly could benefit from skills—both with regards to the efficiency with building them and their actual durability. But would that be enough?

When he voiced the question, the Legatus nodded. "Just as we have seen great advancements in our offensive abilities, so too do I anticipate similar options in defense. We merely need to explore them. If nothing else, our stats and skills will allow us to dig deeper ditches, build wider berms, move bigger logs."

"Yes, but trees only grow so big," Quintus countered, "And ditches serve little use against one who springs through the air as if he had wings."

"Examples," Tiberius waved him off. "We have already seen walls that rely on neither stone nor wood used by the rebels. Why wouldn't we be capable of the same?"

"...Do you believe we can create something like that as we currently are?" Quintus asked. He tried to hide the skepticism in his tone. "My understanding is that the dome was divine in nature—not something we are likely to reproduce easily."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. What other choice do we have if not to try?"

"Focusing on increasing our offensive capabilities as a Legion," the Primus Pilus answered. "Already a shield wall of our men is far more resilient than one that we can build. Continuing to focus on our men and their strength may be a more promising path."

Tiberius hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps a test is in order, then."

"A test, sir?" One of the officers asked, finally jumping in. The Legatus nodded.

"Indeed. A test of our current capabilities—offensive and defensive." He gestured to Quintus. "I will assemble a century of men to build fortifications to the best of our current abilities. You, Primus, will do the same, but attempt to overcome my defenses and take my position. Then, we shall see where our capabilities currently stand. Agreed?"

Quintus considered the proposal for a moment. It would be a good test–-for both their men and their skills. Not as good as going up against people of this world, but they were somewhat lacking in options there.

On top of that… he looked at his Legatus. He hadn't often had a chance to test himself against the man—in battle or otherwise. The opportunity to pit his abilities as a commander against Tiberius… The opportunity was too good to pass up.

"Who would I be allowed to recruit?" Quintus asked with visible interest.

"Anyone within the Legion—provided I don't get to them first." Tiberius quirked a faint smile. "I shall excuse them from duty to participate. As for the stakes… I believe that two day's leave would suffice. With a single day for any participant, victorious or not."

Quintus's eyebrows rose. To a soldier, the only currency more valuable than a day off was booze—with currency itself coming in close third, of course. With all that put together, how could he say no?

"I accept."

Quintus stepped forward to shake Tiberius's hand. Already his mind churned with ideas and tactics, sifting through the Legion's members for the best candidates to recruit. But beneath it all, one feeling dominated all the rest—anticipation.

This, Quintus decided, was going to be fun.

B2 Chapter 5: Spearheading the Improvements

B2 Chapter 5: Spearheading the Improvements

Gareth woke just before the sun peeked over the horizon, rolling over in bed with a soft groan. By his side, his wife continued to sleep soundly. She looked as peaceful as ever, the sight only mildly spoiled by the thunderous snores that threatened to rattle the very windows. It brought a smile to the blacksmith's grizzled face.

Quietly, he rose from the bed and got dressed. In a few moments he'd made it downstairs to his forge. The damped down forge greeted him, his anvil and hammer beckoning him forth invitingly.

He started it up and pumped the bellows a few times, then hesitated. He moved the banked coals about, but intentionally didn't activate [Fire Taming] to instantly bring the furnace up to temperature. Instead, he watched as the coals changed colors, poking them every once in a while and checking the heat inside. The process was comparatively much slower and felt fairly laborious. Still, he found himself fascinated by it.

He'd done this only a few times, back when he'd first set out to earn his foundational blacksmithing skills. Which was why he'd been shocked to find out that it was actually the preferred method for every one of the Legion smiths under his tutelage. In fact, most didn't even seem to know there was a skill for heating a forge. It made their ability to reach and maintain a good temperature while working all the more fascinating.

It wasn't as though they produced better results because of it—most of the time, they were slightly worse and less consistent than one might expect—but that wasn't the point. The point was that they didn't need to slot [Fire Taming] or any of its more basic precursors, meaning they had another skill slot free for anything they chose—smithing skills or otherwise.

That was an advantage that people would kill for. As useful as the skill was, especially at higher levels, there was certainly no shortage of valuable alternatives that could take its place. He was even considering swapping out his own skill for something else, if he became comfortable enough with this method. That was something he hadn't done in… well, he didn't know how many years.

Gareth tapped his chin. He was pretty sure the temperature was right. Grabbing his smallest hammer and a pair of tongs, he put in a small, thin piece of scrap steel and waited for it to heat up. Pulling it out once in a while to check the temperature, he did a few light testing swings, tapping the metal, which produced a pleasant ringing that was just slightly off. He returned the metal back to the fire and worked the bellows again while rearranging the coals.

Even as he worked, his focus never wavered. But for the first time in several years, he felt energized as he worked. Enthusiastic, even. He was looking forward to the day's projects and what he'd be able to accomplish.

The change in attitude hadn't been lost on him—or on his wife, whose reminders that he be upstairs in time for dinner had been a little more persistent as of late. The smile and twinkle in her eye made sure he did. But even she had remarked more than once on how much happier he seemed.

It wasn't just the forging itself, though. It was also his new apprentices. The Legion soldiers turned out to be everything he'd ever wanted—attentive, motivated, respectful, and—most importantly—possessed with a work ethic that had him feeling rushed to keep up.

Were they the most naturally talented or high-leveled? Clearly not. But their desire to improve and strange practices more than made up for it. It made teaching just as fulfilling—and even more interesting—than he'd imagined. Who would have imagined that his students would end up teaching him as well?

He pulled the perfectly-heated metal from the forge and got to work. His current project was a fairly simple one—a spare hammer for his neighbor Felix. The carpenter's had gotten misplaced during all of the recent unrest, and well, Gareth owed him a favor anyway. 

Gareth shook his head. The whole thing had put the town on edge, but honestly? It was foolishness to him. What had the guards expected? They'd already been beaten handily by the Legion once before, and now they'd committed what essentially amounted to treason—against a force that had already beaten them handily once, no less. They must have been naive indeed if they'd expected to get away with that unscathed. The result would have been much the same in the capital, even if via a different method.

Of course, he didn't like that the men were dead, but at least the Legion had been pretty fair about the whole thing. Only punishing those who were directly involved had seen the full extent of their wrath. And so long as they kept it that way, he wouldn't have reason to take exception with the treatment.

He spent an hour or two working on Felix's hammer and his own personal projects in the forge before grabbing a quick breakfast. Then, he headed out of Habersville and toward the practice fields. The streets were quickly returning to normal in the wake of all the ruckus—though some of the townsfolk were still understandably wary. Still, the fact remained that the Legion had done a lot of good around here, between making the forest safer and all their new construction work. That goodwill was likely a big part of the reactions he saw.

Gareth approached the practice fields as a large group of Legionnaires were in the middle of some sort of practice skirmish. Two sizable forces of soldiers approached each other from opposite sides of the field, each armed with swords, shields, and those strange spears of theirs. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the swords and spears were practice ones, rough things hewn out of wood rather than solid iron.

As the forces clashed, he scanned the surrounding area. He was looking to have a talk with one of the more experienced centurions about their equipment. He wasn't going to be personally working on the upgrades and forging of new equipment, of course, but he had offered to help the Legion craftsmen design everything. And if there was one thing he'd learned, it was always best to get as much input from the people actually using the stuff as possible.

Sure, officers had their requests and specifications and vision of what they wanted done. But all too often he'd seen that vision collapse after contact with practical reality. Breastplates whose intimidating silhouettes meant they lacked reinforcement in critical spots.Swords that boasted elegant curves when their wielders would mainly use them for thrusts. Decorative pauldrons that caught on damn near everything. He'd seen it all.

It only took a few times of indulging these poorly-considered design choices before Gareth learned his lesson. Some noble insisting that his men's swords absolutely must have a decorative handle that would rip into their fingers when swung—not to mention if they actually managed to hit anything—was not worth risking his reputation. No, he always talked to the people who would be using his creations. That's what saved lives much more than anything else.

He spotted that officer Gaius at the aid station, His plumed helmet tucked under one arm. He appeared to be talking to a girl no older than eighteen as she tended to a line of Legionnaires brandishing all manner of wounds from the skirmish.

"You can't heal him?" Gaius asked. Gareth noted the skepticism in the man's tone, as if he didn't fully believe it.

The girl sighed. She was kneeling over a soldier on a cot, wrapping a bandage around his head. Her tone was impatient.

"I have healed him as much as I can. But I told you, I have limits. I'm not some high-level miracle healer who can fix brains. Most of my skills focus on basic wounds and a bit of poison cleansing. He'll get better, but he'll need some time."

Gaius frowned. "I see… and what does the bandage accomplish that you cannot?"

"This?" She gestured toward the white cloth. "It's mostly to remind you all that he's still injured. He needs rest, however he might look. And knowing you all, if I don't put one on, you'll run him ragged…"

The healer moved on to the next man in the row, whose broken arm she began to set. Gaius continued to question her about her methods—why she used her skills on some things but not others, how many wounds she could heal, what other skills improved her efficiency… If Gareth didn't know any better, he would think the man wanted to be a healer himself.

She wasn't the only one working on the wounded, of course, but many of the Legionnaires seemed rather anxious to be served by her rather than the other medics. He could understand why—she was a rather fetching lass.

After a few moments, he left the scene behind and resumed his search. It didn't take much longer for him to find Quintus. The centurion was overseeing the battle, a stern expression written plain across his features.

Gareth cleared his throat as he approached. The man met his gaze with an intense stare that Gareth readily admitted would have unnerved lesser men. Not that he sensed any direct hostility—he suspected it was just how the man looked. He had seen similar expressions in the capital, on hardened veterans who'd seen decades of war.

Gareth crossed his arms. "Do you have a minute? I'm supposed to talk to you about the Legion's equipment upgrades."

Quintus gave a respectful nod. "Master blacksmith. I appreciate you taking the time to consult me on your designs."

'Well, the last thing I want is for my students to waste their time making something that's flawed from the get-go." He grunted. "Anywhere in particular you want to talk?"

Quintus led him off to the side, where they took a moment to watch a few crews testing the Legion's catapults. It hurled rocks at a quickly made fortification not unlike Habersville's wall, its gate in the process of repelling a battering ram's assault. The defenders threw crude spears made from wood at the attackers with surprisingly lethal intent that Gareth did not expect to see on a training field.

"So," Gareth began after they had spent some time watching the battle unfold. "Equipment. Do you have any particular one you want to start with?"

Quintus considered the question. "Armor. Defense and ensuring our men stay alive should be our first priority. Our shields should come next, since they've been holding well enough with the aid of skills. Weapons will be last."

Gareth nodded in approval. "Makes sense to me. Just the swords, or those… spear-things, too?"

The centurion frowned. "Spear-things?"

Gareth waved a hand toward the wooden approximations that were being hurled about on the training field. "Yeah, the awfully designed ones you people use. Those things."

Quintus's frown deepened. "You believe they are flawed?"

The blacksmith barked a laugh. "Believe? Hell, I know they are. I mean, just look at the ones you brought back. I don't even know how many of those things were bent or broken. Why would you make a throwing weapon that breaks so easily?"

He heard a chuckle from nearby. "This man gets it."

Gareth turned to look at the source of the sound. A small group of Legionnaires stood nearby, also looking over the mock battle. By his attire, Gareth recognized them as other centurions.

"It's a design feature," one of them replied testily. "It's so that they can't be thrown back and used against us. Obviously."

"Yeah? What will they do, pull it out of their stomachs and hurl it back?  And how many enemies will be able to do that with any kind of accuracy, huh? They haven't been training with them like we have, and with how heavy they are…" the first centurion shrugged. "Well, I'll wish them luck."

"The narrow design allows the pila to pierce shields—and whoever is behind them," Quintus stated. "The weight assists with that goal, as well as helps to disable and shields that have been pierced. The fact that they subsequently cannot be used against us is an additional… benefit."

"Yeah, 'benefit'. It also means we can't use them, either. Just one battle and we have to make a ton more of the things…"

"Honestly, I always thought it was something blacksmiths claimed to excuse their shoddy work. Er—" the centurion noticed Gareth. "No offense, sir."

He just chuckled. "None taken. I'm the one who said they were shit in the first place, remember?"

The centurions continued on like that for a little while, discussing the pros and cons of the pila's design. Gareth listened with interest. It seemed as though there really was some debate on whether some of the "features" it boasted really could be called such. Even Quintus, who had offered an explanation early on, didn't come to the weapon's defense again.

Eventually, Gareth had heard enough. He cleared his throat, and every eye turned to him. "Right. So. How attached are you to these things?"

"I fucking hate them," one of the centurions said. Another nodded in agreement.

Gareth glanced at Quintus for confirmation, but couldn't read his expression. It was so diplomatically neutral that he could tell he wasn't exactly a big fan of them either.

"Okay, well…" Gareth rubbed his chin. "I can think of a few solutions. If you don't want 'em to get thrown back, then why not use a skill for that?"

"A skill?" Quintus's expression turned curious.

"Of course. There's skills that make your weapon return to your hand, let you launch copies that disappear… hell, you could even screw the skill part and stick a return enchantment into the shafts, though that's gonna get expensive fast," Gareth explained. "You'll have to earn the skills and level them, of course. But if you have a slot, it's better than what you've been doing."

The men muttered with interest at the idea as he continued. "If you get that taken care of, then you can do all sorts of things with the design. Make it sturdier, heavier, longer—whatever. It'll be more versatile for close-quarters or ranged combat. You'd only need to carry one of the things, too, instead of the pair you got now. Or, if you wanna be able to throw 'em quickly, we could make them much shorter and smaller so you can carry a bunch."

Quintus and the other centurions adopted thoughtful expressions as they began to debate the options. Soon enough, they'd called over even more of their comrades for a serious discussion on the topic. Gareth noted that the so-called Primus Pilus spoke very little, preferring to listen to his men—and when he did put forth an opinion, it was usually accepted rather quickly.

The whole time, Gareth continued to observe and take mental notes. Occasionally he'd interject with a few suggestions, but mostly was content to sit back and watch the chaos ensue.

Quintus shook his head and spoke quietly to the blacksmith. "I suppose we may not be starting with armor after all…"

Gareth grinned. "No, I suppose not."

B2 Chapter 4: Dad's Home

Tiberius once more sat in his rightful place behind his desk in the command tent. The finely carved wood, smooth as it was, had nearly disappeared beneath stacks and stacks of new reports, orders, and other unattended work. They practically drowned the desk in their sheer quantity, each representing something he had missed or a matter that required his input to move forward.

The scene made him realize that there would soon come a point where he'd need to upgrade his accommodations—that, or establish some other place for audiences more befitting of an emperor. It wasn't something that particularly mattered to him, but if there was one thing he'd learned from politics, it was that the image one projected mattered. And evidently, that image had not been sufficient to nip trouble in the bud here. Perhaps he would put that ostentatious mansion to use after all…

Tiberius's expression remained neutral as Gaius finished his summary report. Even sitting like this, the Legatus loomed imposingly over the young officer in front of him, and he made no move to temper the effect. He wanted to impress upon the man across from him the importance of his next few words.

"So. While I was away, you allowed the town to fall into disarray and rebellion."

A bead of sweat dripped down his young second-in-command's temple. However, the boy resisted the urge to break his composure enough to start wiping it away. Tiberius was pleased at that display, at least..

"Yes, sir," Gaius said, his voice steady.

Tiberius kept his gaze locked on the boy. "Explain."

Gaius cleared his throat. "The development didn't catch us entirely by surprise. The bard," he said, with what may have been a touch of respect in his tone, "Caught wind of the plot and brought it to us with evidence. So I rallied the troops to sweep through the town, make some arrests, and deal with the matter with all due haste.

"However, they had prepared better defenses than last time. They employed some sort of witchcraft or divine magic to seal the town with a golden dome. Our best efforts were unable to penetrate it—even battering rams failed to even scratch its surface. Reports from witnesses inside the city said it was erected by priests of their god of architecture."

Tiberius slowly leaned back in his chair. He had to admit that being unprepared for such an event was fairly reasonable. Who would have expected a literal god to come down and intervene in matters like this? Though with how many strange happenings had plagued them since coming to this world, perhaps it was their folly for not expecting more magic bullshit. Still, this was a good teaching moment.

"And how was the issue resolved?"

"Well…" Gaius continued, "The forces that had been inside the town at the time the barrier went up were able to disarm it by defeating the priests. Servius played a key role, and I'm told that the bard also made significant contributions. I prepared a cohort rotating every four hours to immediately begin an assault the second the defenses fell, but the citizens were quite cooperative. They immediately expelled the rebels in an attempt to gain leniency.

"So far, I have not issued additional punishments to anyone besides those who were directly involved. Those you saw on your way in." Gaius gestured vaguely toward the newly-cut clearing outside of camp. "Though I have kept the city under martial law for the time being until you returned."

Tiberius showed neither displeasure nor conciliation, remaining silent at the summary of events. Realistically, Gaius had done fairly well. Tiberius himself would have sent extra patrols into the town immediately instead of waiting for his forces to mass, though. Such an effort probably gave the enemy advance warning and caused them to react with panic.

Still, he could see that Gaius had done well enough. Even if he'd allowed this issue to arise, he'd taken quick and decisive action to deal with it. For that, Tiberius decided he could be lenient.

"...What will you do differently next time?" he inquired after a long pause.

He saw Gaius relax, sagging almost imperceptibly with visible relief. "Sir!"

The young officer ran through a rather thorough plan to handle a similar situation that Tiberius was quite pleased with. He especially emphasized the need for them to gather even more information on this world—they had been doing well so far, but evidently there still remained gaping holes in their understanding that needed to be remedied—in particular when it came to magic and its limitations.

He did agree that the Legion needed to have a better understanding of the local gods and magical abilities. They had been working on it, but it had gotten sidelined among other priorities, not to mention that they hadn't known where to even start. But this showed that divinity in this world was an even more direct force than what Tiberius was used to.

"...We can leverage Bard Marcus's knowledge to learn the basics," Gaius continued to speak. "I've already been interviewing him about such things to get a head start."

Tiberius nodded. Gaius seemed more well-disposed toward the bard than he himself was. Still, the man had proven himself reliable yet again. Perhaps he did need to cut Marcus some slack—if only he weren't so grating…

Once Gaius had finished, Tiberius rapped on the table with a knuckle. "Good. I think you have learned enough from this that it will not be a black mark on your record. However, it was not a rousing success either." After receiving a chastened nod from the young tribunus laticlavius, he continued. "The last thing I want you to do before moving on is award merits and demerits to the men involved. You will do this in a ceremony different from the merits I hand out for the siege of Stonewake—whixh has been renamed Stonester. Understood?"

Gaius nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good." Tiberius relaxed slightly as they moved on to other maters. "Now, how is the Legion handling the level-up?"

That report proved far more encouraging. Evidently, Gaius had managed to get almost 80% of the Legionnaires who'd stayed behind through the class stone to assign stat points, and the estimated improvements in combat efficiency were astounding.

It turned out there were differences in the number of stat points gained by each man. Officers like Gaius, most centurions, and rank-and-file Legionnaires had gained ten, eight, and six points, respectively. Officers and more senior centurions saw one point pre-allocated to each stat, while other centurions and standard Legionnaires only had points allocated to the physical stats by default. The rest were free points.

"According to my sources and research," Gaius explained, "This is practically unheard of. Even epic classes only give five stat points per level. For even our most common soldiers to gain six? It beggars belief. If we continue to grow like this…"

Tiberius mulled that over. "Is ten the highest number of points that any man has received?"

"To my knowledge, yes."

"I see."

Gaius nodded excitedly. "We are obviously behind most in levels, of course. But tha hardly matters. At this rate, by the time the Legion reaches level ten, I expect that a single Legionnaire will be able to face an adventurer up to maybe level thirty on stats alone. And that's not including our vastly superior skills, tactics, and teamwork."

Tiberius chuckled at the enthusiasm leaking into his second's voice. "Let's not get overconfident. We haven't made contact with enough high-level adventurers from this world to know that is the case. And who can say whether they will be more difficult to combat as an army?"

Gaius reined in his excitement and nodded. "True, sir. According to the bard, Novara's army is supposedly composed of hundreds, if not thousands of individuals above level thirty. But many are mercenaries or adventurers, used to fighting alone or in small groups. On a battlefield… Surely we'd have the advantage off coordination."

"True," Tiberius allowed, letting the matter drop. "You mentioned our improved skills. How is that progressing?"

"Excellently, sir," Gaius said. "As our men accept any new skill that is offered, we have managed to amass an exhaustive list of options. Many provide no obvious function worth pursuing, but some…some show quite a bit of promise. Especially as they evolve—ah, have you been briefed on that phenomenon?"

Tiberius waved him off. "No need. I have experienced it myself."

"Ah!" The young officer's face lit up and he grabbed at his hip for a clay tablet. "Would you mind providing details, sir? I'll add it to the list I've been compiling."

"Later, Gaius," Tiberius admonished him. "Finish your report."

"Ah!" The officer ducked his head sheepishly. "Right, sir. Anyway…I have a few proposals I'd like to suggest. Given the effectiveness of high-rarity skills, we should ensure that every man prioritizes taking those over lesser rarity skills where possible. I'd also like to provide incentives for those who add new skills to our roster—particularly rare ones and above."

Tiberius considered the proposals. They aligned fairly well with what  he'd already been considering on the way over. But he did have some input to give.

"Agreed. But I believe we should institute an additional policy to support those," Tiberius began. "Each man must take one skill with the express purpose of evolving it. It should preferably be a field that he already has ample experience with, and he will be expected to dedicate time each day to its advancement. The centurions should ensure we have little to no overlap or duplicated efforts among the men."

Gaius nodded vigorously. "That's a great idea, sir. If it works, then we'll expand our capabilities even faster!"

"Indeed. We should make it a priority to make any standard utility or combat skill a minimum of rare—and hopefully epic—across the Legion."

Tiberius smiled inwardly. He expected the very idea would have their bardic advisor questioning everything he'd told them about what passed as "normal" in this world. Maybe their capabilities would serve to help with recruitment as well, by conveying the Legion's power in a way that people of this world could understand. But that was another matter.

Tiberius returned his attention to the meeting at hand. "Speaking of skills, I want your input. I believe the two Legion-wide skills I've assigned, [Marching] and [Shieldwall], should be upgraded," he said. "Do you have recommendations?"

"Ah! I do, in fact." Gaius leaned forward and shuffled through the desk's contents to pull out one particular scroll. "This was something else I wanted to ask you about. For [Marching], there's the uncommon skills [Double Time] and [Overnight March]. Both of those are realistic options that improve on the basic skill, but specialize indifferent areas. There is also a rare skill that isn't exactly a strict improvement over [Marching], but I think it actually fits our needs better.

Tiberius gestured for him to continue, and Gaius referenced his scroll. "It's called [Warpath]. At a glance, it is many times more effective than the standard [Marching] skill, but can only be used when marching to battle. "

Tiberius hummed thoughtfully. "Run some experiments to determine specifics. Then we will decide."

"I already have, sir," Gaius said and plopped a report in front of Tiberius.

After skimming it, Tiberius found that it was just as the man had said. Interestingly, the size of the fight didn't seem to matter when determining if the destination of the skill was a battle—even if it was one Legionnaire fighting one of those forest rats, an entire century could still activate the skill and reap its benefits, so long as certain conditions were met. And that certainly seemed like something they could exploit.

He set the report down approvingly. "All right. I will update that skill. And [Shield Wall]?"

"That one is a simpler choice. The only real alternative is [Coordinated Bulwark], an uncommon skill."

"Good. I'll update the Legion's skills next time I have a chance." He folded his hands in front of him. "Now… There is one final matter we need to discuss—recruitment."

"What about it, Legatus?" Gaius asked. "Would you like me to summon the others for this part?"

Tiberius waved him off. "There is no need as of yet. I merely wish to inform you of my plans. I intend to officially create an auxiliary unit for the new recruits. They have been undergoing training, but I believe it's time for us to put them to use. We also need to formalize a method for them to become Legionnaires—an expedited one."

While the losses at Stonester hadn't been as heavy as he'd feared, they had suffered losses. And that was a problem. Even if they lost only a hundred men with each battle, their forces would dwindle significantly in no time at all. And since they had no way of sourcing new recruits from Rome anytime soon, that meant they needed to establish a modified method of integrating new soldiers into their number—and fast.

Gaius slid over a piece of parchment, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. "If I might be so bold… I worked with Secundus to draft this up. There are some matters that will require your input, but…"

Picking up the parchment, Tiberius inspected it carefully. His second and command and the officer he'd put in charge of conscripts had evidently anticipated this issue and written up a detailed plan including training regimens, timelines, criteria for advancement, and suggestions for how to smooth the conscripts' transitions to becoming full auxiliaries. They'd even included some details about possible skill specializations and how to utilize preexisting classes in their units.

Tiberius had to admit, he was a little impressed. Aside from the rebellion issue, Gaius was certainly earning his keep around here. Perhaps the boy would make something of himself after all.

"...What do you think?" Gaius asked, evidently failing to notice anything amiss.

The Legatus pushed thoughts of that strange sensation away for the moment. "...This is good work. As for becoming a Legionnaire…" He sighed. "We will likely need to lower the requirements, unfortunately. Two years of service and a recommendation from a Legionnaire or one of their centurions. That, or they perform an act of incredible valor. This will be the case until we—and Rome—are more established here.

"It'll be as you say, sir," Gaius said with a salute.

Gaius added the relevant information. After a thorough review, Tiberius looked down and scrawled his signature on the order. As soon as the pen lifted from the page, something shifted in his perception. The sense of unity he felt from the Legion seemed to somehow… expand. Now, beyond the solid core of his brethren, he felt something more—a fuzzy peripheral layer, connected yet not fully part of the whole.

Tiberius frowned. That was certainly unexpected. He hadn't thought that a simple change in their operations would lead to a sensation like that. Had he accidentally altered things more than they'd realized? Had the System recognized his intent?

"Thank you, sir!" Gaius said. "We'll work to implement this right away."

"Very well. Carry on."

With that dismissal, Gaius left the tent. Tiberius watched the young officer leave, then felt his gaze travel to the mountains of administrative work cluttering up his desk. He missed being on the warpath already.

EV B2 Chapter 48 & 49:

// two chapters together as they both came out shorter than planed

EV B2 Chapter 48:

The reaction I received was not at all what I expected.

Astrid looked up at me with a sort of indignant look—the look of those with wounded pride, as if her father was crazy for saying something like that.

"Now fuck you!" She snapped, and I couldn't help but blink and stammer as she laid into me.

"I made this choice freely, wholly, and completely on my own. You didn't coerce me. You didn't force me. Don't you take responsibility for my actions? I did this because we needed it. I was not pulling my weight. And neither you nor I could afford to have you—or me—pull you down. And you need someone you can trust to watch your back."

She pointedly did not look at Alana while she said this.

When I glanced over at her for support, I found that Alana was not giving me the friendliest of looks. It wasn't exactly accusatory, but more of you did this to yourself. Now, you need to deal with it.

I looked back at Astrid, who was still working herself up.

"I suffered. I was beaten, tricked, lied to. I've had... potentially mind-altering gifts given to me. Things that promise only suffering and pain. And guess what?" she bit back. "Some sort of curse."

And I hoped that she was regaining sensibility, but she continued on.

"I don't regret it one bit. I got everything I wanted. Sure, the price was high, but Loki and his wife didn't deal unfairly. I was given the power I wanted—maybe not the specific power, but... the sheer magnitude of my abilities... well. I don't think you understand how god-blessed lucky you have been. But for me... well..."

She finally seemed to calm down slightly as she smiled and raised a fist.

"I finally got my class."

I blinked before I let out a low whistle.

Astrid said finally, "But if I remember correctly, Loki said most people didn't get classes till they were level 50 or significantly higher."

She was still only level 20.

Alana sent me one look that wasn't nearly as angry as before—she had vented most of her frustration—and I understood that I probably didn't deserve a lot of what she said. Though maybe I did. But likely, she was just taking out the trauma on me, and I could deal with it for a little bit.

Still, the mood began to change as Alana let out a delighted laugh and clapped, throwing her arms around Astrid, who froze in shock but returned the embrace after a moment and laughed as well.

"Congratulations," I said with an honest smile. "Mm. What's your class called? Did you get a choice? How many choices did you get?"

I felt questions bubble up, but I managed to restrain myself to just three.

"I sort of got a choice, but there was only one option," Astrid said over Alana's shoulder as she gently pushed the excited girl away. "The class is called... Widow of Mercy."

A chill ran through me.

And the name? It didn't exactly hold any specific significance. Still, an image flashed through my mind of a beautiful Norse woman sitting by the hearth of an empty longhouse, poking at the fire with a tear running down her cheek. And somehow, I knew that her sons and daughters were off dying in battle.

"The specific name of the blessing is... Cradle of Sorrow," Astrid said. "And then... one of the spells I got was... Veil of the Lost."

Astrid went over some of her newer abilities, and we talked for several hours. Alana and I brought Astrid up to speed on what had happened with us. I gave her a brief rundown of the job I did for Jorg, and we decided that before anything else, we would sleep and get some rest. Then, we would make sure that Astrid had completed the month's challenge before we ran out of time. Once we had some time to digest and think, we would consider the next steps.

***

We spent the night there on the floor—the three of us. I was pretty sure that Astrid didn't want to be left alone, and neither Alana nor I were that particular.

As a noble, Alana had lived most of her life in comfort. However, in the last several months, when she was on campaign with me, we were on the move. Sure, we had servants to set up our tents and camp beds to sleep on, but they were nowhere near as luxurious as her life in the palace. And a bedroll on the floor inside a warm room was not something unacceptable. I'm sure she wasn't exactly happy with the scenario, but I saw no evidence of that in her mannerisms, voice, or face. She simply stretched out next to me and was softly breathing.

Astrid, though, took much longer to fall asleep.

Myself—when I drifted off, I was beset with dreams. Dreams that left me confused. Used. About people left behind. Tricks and lies. The consequences of my schemes. Not that I ever really thought I had schemes, but in my dreams, I did. I was a political mastermind, manipulating events to fit my whims. And for every success I had, people around me suffered.

When I woke, it seemed absurd, but it kept me from getting a nice rest. None of us looked particularly happy that morning, but it was better than the bone-setting exhaustion of the night before.

Before we left, I spoke up.

"One thing. Astrid, we need to be concerned. The people who took you—you sure they didn't belong to some organization?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. But it's not out of the... question."

I tapped my chin. "Well. The leader was level 43. That could pose a problem, no matter what. And... well, I don't think anyone got a good look at Alana. And I'm even more sure that no one... but... well, Astrid, you've been seen with me before. So I think for a while, at least when in public, we're all gonna have to wear disguises."

I closed my eyes and focused, touching each of their shoulders in turn and setting an illusion over all three of us. Just slight modifications—keeping us generally the same height and build but changing hair color, eye color, facial structure, and everything. Even the color of our clothes.

Stepping back, I saw two women who were in no way striking—unlike their natural appearances.

"Good. We'll have to maintain that and switch it up for a while."

I could feel the draw on my mana, but it was negligible.

"For now, though, let's get some food and head out to the challenge."

Both of them nodded, looking at each other with raised eyebrows before we left to go find some food.

It wasn't long before we were entering the challenge once more.

EV B2 Chapter 49:

We had talked about it, and I watched as our plan unfurled. Astrid stood alone in the center of the circle as Alana and I stepped back. I crossed my arms and shifted my weight onto one hip as I slightly leaned away from where Alana was, pressing her shoulder into me. We settled back and watched as Astrid began testing her new skills.

A cloud of mist sprang up and blanketed the area, completely blinding the weird plant monsters. This was the Vale of the Lost that she had told us about last night, and within it, she received near-perfect information about where everyone was standing. If movement was a bit delayed, it didn't hinder her sight. I heard whistles and explosions as elemental arrows streaked from her bow. The level-one plant monsters didn't last long.

And just as level two was beginning, Astrid didn't stop. She seemed to be favoring fire as she worked, refamiliarizing herself with combat abilities that had lain idle for the past week or two, mostly working to integrate her veil into her combat. But as the levels got higher, her class came into play. A black tether reached into one of the more powerful vine monsters, and it began a surprisingly human scream, despite the fact that it did not have a mouth.

The scream only lasted for a handful of seconds before fading off as the tendril gradually faded from black to white, starting with the monster and working its way into Astrid, who grimaced slightly. But then her next arrow exploded with a blinding flash, sending three other plant monsters to their knees.

Alana went up on tiptoe, cupping her hands and whispering into my ear. "This doesn't seem like mercy or patience or anything. I expected more healing and, well, less... obvious evil." The last bit sounded as if she was intending to make a joke but didn't quite believe it.

I bent down to whisper in her ear in return. "It is called Widow of Mercy, but I don't think it's exactly evil. If anything, what she's doing seems to involve her blessing. She's taking on their pain and sins, but it seems like she's maybe able to redistribute them or something."

"How do you plant monsters that have sinned?" Alana whispered back at me, and all I could do was shrug.

As the 20th round started, we watched Astrid manage to hit significantly above her level, and I didn't have to step in until the mid-30s, in which case we started to work together. I had a feeling this challenge went all the way to 100, and while I was massively overpowered for my measly level, I wasn't about to fight something that was level 100.

Even if they didn't have the benefit of the additional stats that classes gave you. Maybe. Actually, I was, but it didn't seem like they were only getting the two stats per level. And if they were, they were incredibly focused. From everything I heard, clearing a challenge wasn't quite enough to move on to the next hall. That was a little bit further away or involved something else, as I had heard of teams working to clear all challenges and get special rewards.

But well, maybe when I was level 50, and I had a team like myself, I'd be able to clear this. Still, now that I had Astrid back, I had to work towards my next goals, which seemed like the next logical step would be to gain enough power to clear a challenge. It just probably wouldn't be this month.

It wasn't because I didn't think I was powerful enough to challenge. Depending on the challenge, I might be able to get it done, but this seemed like a pure power check. There were no clever solutions or anything like that. It was just feeding monsters of a particular kind, easy and predictable. And with the right amount of preparation and money, most people could clear it.

But. Actually, I paused, my thoughts nearly getting struck with Kindle. Should I try to clear it? I probably could get some better spells, and if we grind it a bit higher in level, Alana and Astrid could likely do that.

Okay. I looked over to where Alana was, pinning a few in place for Astrid to bombard with fiery arrows. Okay, let's get her leveled up a bit.

And then. My thoughts hit another wall. My initial way of learning about what happened would have been to talk to Loki. But right now... well, I wasn't sure. I was sure that I couldn't trust him. And it wasn't that I had forgotten about Astrid's capture, but... well, I would need to. I was—I didn't know how to handle that at the moment. I wasn't sure who I would look for, how I would get back at them, or even what Astrid would want to do.

I suppose that would have been up to her, but, well, Loki hadn't been entirely honest with me, both with sending me to help her as his cult was somehow connected—business rivals of the gang that had captured her or something. And, well, I struggled to recall exactly what I was mad at him for. For making the introduction? Introduction that he asked for? Was I annoyed that his wife—I stumbled over the thought—had treated Astrid too harshly? I mean, she was a god. What was I to expect?

And Astrid, well, she wasn't exactly pleased. Well, actually, she was pleased. She just wasn't angry. So should I really hold that against him? I frowned. My attention was only half on the fight in front of me.

So when it really came down to it, it was that Loki hadn't told me everything. He had intentionally held things back. Was that enough to really hold the grudge? I swung the sword in front of me, slapping aside a tendril coming for me and slicing through another before putting the monster down.

Yes, yes, it was, but I suppose I need to talk to him again? I didn't know enough. I didn't have enough resources. I couldn't really handle Valhalla without someone's backing. Not with how complicated things were getting. And I didn't for a second believe that Loki was ready to leave me alone to do just my own thing. So it's better to do it on my terms.

So what would I need to do to make sure that I wasn't misled again?

Legion B2 Chapter 3: Homecoming

B2 Chapter 3: Homecoming

Quintus had been right about the importance of stats. The next day, the Legion's march had them closing in on Habersville before the sun even began to set.

Despite the blistering pace they'd set, he felt good—even better than he had on the way to Stonewake—well, Stonester now. He had slept for a whole five hours, which was significantly more than usual. As he'd aged, his need for sleep had dwindled to short catnaps a few times during the night. A solid block of five hours was practically unheard of. But his exhaustion had evidently been even greater than he'd realized.

The sleep and the increased stats together made the march feel like a casual evening stroll, despite having crossed what must have been several days worth of distance. It gave him less time than he'd expected to revise his proposal to Tiberius—especially considering that he'd also been checking on the various farms they'd visited on the way here. Fortunately, they all appeared to be in good order and showing no obvious signs of rebellion or aggression.

As the Legion's steps thundered across the packed-earth roads of the plains—another thing that he was sure they'd remedy soon—his primary concern was one of tactics. Namely, he needed to figure out how to adapt the Legion's tried-and-true shield wall for other situations. Singular large targets, for example, or smaller groups that didn't require hundreds of men to be fielded.

He'd done it himself, of course, during the fights with that chimeric snake beast and the spiders and more. Those efforts had seen obvious success. However, that didn't mean the execution had been perfect. He doubted that it would be as consistently replicable as he'd like. He'd been lucky to have seasoned and incredibly competent men at his side in those cases, but given that most weren't trained for that particular fighting style, there was a real risk of sloppy execution if others attempted it.

Intentionally integrating small group tactics into their fighting style would require training—training and experimentation. There were certainly skills that would make it more viable and effective, but it would take many fights to determine the best ones.

The Legion favored the division of labor when it came to most general operations of the army, but when it came to combat, things were mostly standardized. It let people fill gaps left by their fallen brethren seamlessly, and he didn't want to lose that effectiveness altogether. But there would certainly be tradeoffs.

Perhaps, rather than having entirely standardized skillsets, perhaps they could define a few general roles for combatants—overlapping enough that the loss of one wouldn't render units useless, but specialized enough to leverage their advantages. That would also make it easier to split out smaller groups based on those roles. It was somewhat like the party of adventurers in concept, but far more in line with the Legion's unique style.

There were more things to consider, of course. The role of auxiliaries in all of this, how archers and cavalry would function if and when they could be recruited, siege weapons and upgrades to their current equipment… There were all manner of things to consider. Quintus could see no area that wouldn't benefit from a second look under the lens of skill-based combat. But much of this was not his concern. Rather, he wanted to be prepared if he was asked to consult.

His thoughts continued to develop those ideas all the way until the forest came into view. The Legion marched their way across the newly built bridge—which had been finished in their brief absence—an once more crossed into the dappled shade of the trees beyond.

The road was broader than it had been before, widened as the trunks to either side were felled and presumably used for building material. It meant that their column had a much easier time making it through. But those weren't the only changes.

As the wooden walls of Habersville came into view, Quintus saw a new clearing had been cut nearby. There, studding the space, stood a collection of freshly hewn crosses, each adorned with a single unmoving body.

He blinked. Not at the display, necessarily—this was far from the first crucifixion that Quintus had seen. But more about what it meant.

Muttered conversations arose from the ranks. Someone whistled. "Someone stepped over the line. Didn't expect to see that many bodies by this point."

"I thought we were past the time where we needed to make examples. Think the Legatus is going soft?"

"Tiberius? Soft? You need your fuckin' head checked. Stone will go soft first."

"Not soft of course… he normally starts out with examples at the start, so softer maybe? Didn't think Gaius would be the one to lay down the law here."

"Whatever. It's mostly men up there. You know what that means?"

"Lots of lonely widows?"

"Nice."

"What the fuck is wrong with your heads. I meant there'll be more booze to go around, fools."

"You think this many deaths will make a difference? The town isn't that small, idiot. Besides, even if there is, I'd bet those who stayed have drank it all dry by now."

"Still bet there are some more ladies around. Hey, you think there's a seduction skill?"

"Fuck off… Only you would need it."

"What do you think happened?" One of the centurions muttered to Quintus as they marched.

He shook his head. "No idea. But I suppose we'll find out soon."

He took a closer look at the spot. Every one of the people hanging there was already dead. As he started scanning the faces, he found that he actually recognized a few. The first was the pot-bellied former mayor of Habersville. The second was one of the adventurers he'd rescued—the foolish, hotheaded one that had tried to attack him.

Quintus clucked his tongue in disappointment. Neither figure was a particular surprise. He'd figured they'd each find their way into trouble somehow. Still, it was disappointing. Sparing their lives had evidently been a waste of time.

Looking over the rest of the faces, he noted that the other two adventurers—the [Ranger] and [Healer]--- weren't present. Perhaps they weren't involved in whatever foolishness had led to this. Or perhaps they'd simply died by different means.

There was one other noteworthy feature of the display. Unless Quintus missed his mark, most of the people up there—aside from the two individuals he recognized— were Habersville guards. He chose to take that as a good sign. Perhaps the trouble had been limited in scope, then. Still, it spoke volumes that Gaius had needed to make such an example.

Since arriving, the Legion had been fairly lenient with Habersville's civilians. Leadership had agreed that they needed to build up a populace loyal to them more than they needed to instill absolute obedience. Rome's reputation didn't precede them here, which certainly didn't help—but so far, the decision had proven to be a successful one. The citizens had been nearly model, with a few small exceptions.

Of course, they still lacked an understanding of Rome's ways, but that would come in time.

He shook his head and fell back in the column. Many of the other men were looking as they walked past, clearly wondering what had happened. But no one broke rank, which he was quite satisfied with. It didn't take long for Quintus to fall in next to Tiberius, whose expression had darkened at the display.

"...I don't know the situation," Quintus said after a brief salute, "But I suspect this could change our approach to the citizenry."

"A rebellion, I assume," Tiberius informed him. "I received a notification that it was contested back in Stonester. I expect Gaius will give a full report when we meet. Although…" Tiberius turned to look at the camp. "Something strikes me as odd."

"Odd, sir?"

"I'm not sure I understand what happened here. It doesn't seem so simple as a revolt. If it was, then it was handled quite cleanly—even more so than our initial assault. There is hardly a disturbance around the camp at all."

Quintus followed Tiberius's gaze and saw that he was right. The camp looked completely unchanged. There weren't any signs of a battle or commotion, not so much as a sword scar on one of the fortifications. The palisades looked as fresh as they had when they were built several weeks ago. The same went for Habersville's walls.

"Maybe this revolt was as ineffective as the resistance when we arrived?" Quintus suggested. "If it was perpetrated by the guards, then it wouldn't be surprising."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps there's something else at play."

Quintus looked over. The Legatus's expression remained hard and unreadable.

"Is something wrong, sir? Do you disapprove?"

Tiberius shook his head. "No. I will expect a report of course, but I trust that Gaius had good reason to do what he did. I simply do not appreciate the implications."

Quintus had to agree. It wasn't just about what this meant for Habersville's people. It was also an uncomfortable reminder of the possibility of rebellion from within.

Roman politics and the Senate were known for being cutthroat–often literally. Emperors knew that better than anyone. Many a Roman emperor had been assassinated by his own men over anything from misunderstandings to pure greed. And now that Tiberius held that position, he was also subject to its many dangers.

However, the Legatus seemed calm. Perhaps it was because they were among brothers, away from the worst of the empire's political machinations. But that didn't mean such things had been left behind entirely.

Quintus wasn't sure where the man's trust in Gaius had come from. The boy was young and untested, and in order to be in his position, he had to be relatively ambitious—especially at such a young age. That Tiberius didn't think Gaius would try to claim power in his absence… Or perhaps he did suspect such a thing, and merely kept it to himself. 

Quintus shook his head, dispelling the thoughts of distrust from his mind. This was exactly why he wanted to avoid politics. He loved the simple life of a soldier, where he could trust his brothers to stand by their side, rather than behind his back with a knife. As their empire grew, so too would the role of politics. But the longer they could put that day off, the better.

Legion B2 Chapter 2: Stonewalling

It took an effort of will for Quintus to maintain his posture, with his head held high and his shoulders back. Before anything else, he was a centurion, the first among them all, and that meant he had an image to maintain. All of the enlisted legionnaires and even young officers needed to know for a fact that he was made of steel, that he could chew iron and spit it out with unbroken teeth. They needed to know that he could be relied upon in any circumstance or trial, no matter how dire.

But now, the intensity of the day was finally taking its toll. He was pushing his limits to maintain that image, to keep his back straight and suppress his yawns.

His men had taken shifts, resting or even taking brief naps while they waited for the city to finish burning and he rest of the Legion to join them. But he hadn't. He hadn't needed to at first, given the influx of fresh energy that buoyed both him and his men. Not to mention that he refused to let his guard down at this point.

But now, even his second wind had petered out into little more than a sorry wheeze. It was still nowhere near the exhaustion he should have felt given the circumstances, of course—but it certainly was enough to make him crave some respite of his own. Not that he'd ever admit it.

But despite the front he put up, that old bastard had seen right through him. Still, Quintus couldn't help but be grateful for the quick dismissal. He had no doubt that there were, in fact, areas where he could be of use with the cleanup, but Tiberius was right—he wasn't needed. The other centurions were competent enough to handle things without Quintus looking over their shoulders. And so, he would sleep.

Quintus reached up to wipe at his face, only to notice the dirt coating his gauntlet. A further inspection of himself revealed that most of his armor was similarly tarnished, his entire body seemingly sheathed in debris from the mines.

He winced. Perhaps a bath would also be in order, too. But sleep first.

He continued his mechanical walk toward the edge of the city, he took a brief moment to reflect on events. At this point, he had all but confirmed his suspicions that the Legion had leveled up, though he still didn't know exactly what that meant. At minimum, it seemed as though they'd gained some of those stat points the bard had mentioned—likely in constitution and strength, if not others as well.

Quintus found himself impressed by the effects. If this truly was the case, then stat points and levels were even more important and useful than he'd realized. Skills had already proven their use many times over. But stats? If they could continue to accumulate permanent benefits like this… Perhaps he should advocate to prioritize leveling as well.

For now though, skills would likely be more of an immediate concern. Maybe there was one that would reduce his need for sleep. He'd have to check the lists when he got back to Habersville. At this point, it might be worth giving up one of his skill slots for it.

His eyes fixed ahead toward the gates, making it out of the city and all the way to camp without having to deal with any problems. However, it couldn't last.

"Primus Pilus! A word!"

Quintus turned to address a centurion that seemed to appear out of thin air. The man saluted him as he approached. "Now that the battle is over, there have been questions about how to distribute the remaining pila…"

After settling that matter, Quintus continued on, only to be stopped again. And again. And again. As it turned out, there was no shortage of people who had some issue or another that needed his input. Clarifications on how he wanted the camp to be run, decisions about who to delegate certain tasks to, and even a few contentious disputes about rations. Most of them were fairly reasonable, of course, or only required a brief word from him. But the sheer number of these tiny interruptions made the last hundred feet to his tent feel like a mile.

"...This is a question for the Praefectus Castrorum," Quintus remarked at the latest centurion to bar his path.

The man shook his head. "Drusus has his hands full with managing our new captives and what remains of the town. I thought it best not to bother him unless it's a major issue. However, it does have potential to become one."

Quintus sighed. Many times over his long career, there had been attempts to promote him to that position. Who wouldn't want to be third in command of the entire Legion? Only, after seeing the kinds of things the man was responsible for… as much as Quintus was being pestered by questions now, that was practically a permanent fixture of a camp prefect's life.

He had no desire to add that brand of administrative stress onto his plate. He'd much rather be leading from the front.

"...The men with [Camping] skills should not be tasked with setting up tents for everyone," Quintus informed the centurion. "Even if it is more efficient, it is every contubernium's responsibility to see to their own needs."

"I understand, sir, but when they can manage it in mere seconds…"

"Then perhaps it will be incentive for the others to train a similar skill," Quintus said with finality. "Though I do expect those 'effiient workers' to still do something productive with the time they saved."

"Yes, sir!"

The man scurried off. His question did bring up an interesting point, though. They may well reach a point where putting such tasks in the hands of a handful of specialists would be more efficient than divvying up tasks by contuberniums or centuries. Would the tradeoff of increased efficiency be worth the changes in culture and discipline that came with it?

Quintus didn't know, and he certainly wasn't going to meditate on it now. After what felt like hours, he finally retreated into the confines of his tent. He barely managed to pull the straps of his caligae off his feet before he was falling into his bedroll. Even the 

When he ducked in—even though it was still light out—he barely managed to unstrap his sandals before his head hit the bedroll and his eyes closed. Even the hard earth beneath felt like the softest of beds in his current state, and it only took a moment for sleep to claim him. Finally, he could rest.

***

It took the Legion a little bit of time to find the class stone. According to Marcus, every town had one—it was one of the requirements for becoming one—so it was just a matter of locating it.

Fortunately, there were precious few structures with any significant height remaining. The black stone monolith was unearthed from beneath the remains of a collapsed, burned building and quickly put to use. In fact, by the time Tiberius arrived, there was already a queue of Legionnaires waiting for their turn to update their stats and skills.

At the Legatus's approach, they all moved aside, letting Tiberius walk right up to the obelisk and place his hand on it. The familiar glow of gold rushed up his arm, and text materialized before his eyes.

Information:

Name: Tiberius Rufius Maro

Age: 54 (LIV)

Class: Legionnaire – Legatus (Legendary)

Level: 2 (II)

Experience: 24,095 / 1,200,000 (X̅X̅I̅V̅XCV / M̅C̅C̅)

Stats:

Strength: 10 (X)

Dexterity: 9 (IX)

Constitution: 11 (XI)

Charisma: 15 (XV)

Wisdom: 11 (XI)

Intelligence: 11 (XI)

Free Points: 4 (IV)

Titles:

Born to Rule

Born to Conquer

Bonds of Brotherhood

Conqueror of Towns

Roman Emperor

Bane of Cats (I)

Bane of Spiders (II)

Bane of Ghouls (IV)

Boss Slayer (I)

Craftsman (I)

Blood on Your Hands (I)

Skills:

[Logistics] (Uncommon) - Lvl 35 (Individual)

[Voice of Command] (Uncommon) - Lvl 9 (Individual)

[Rallying Cry] (Uncommon) - Lvl 9 (Individual)

[Keen Eye] (Uncommon) - Lvl 12 (Individual)

[Strategic Warfare] (Uncommon) - Lvl 22 (Individual)

[Marching] (Common) - Lvl 35 (Legion)

[Shield Wall] (Uncommon) - Lvl 8 (Legion)

[Military Leadership] (Uncommon) - Lvl 24 (Officer)

[Oration] (Uncommon) - Lvl 29 (Legatus)

[Commanding Presence] (Uncommon) - Lvl 16 (Legatus)

He had leveled up. He'd already been told as much, but now he could confirm it for himself.

As expected, the level came with an increase in stats. Each of his six stats had increased by a single point, and it appeared he also had four to distribute as he saw fit. 

The number honestly surprised Tiberius. They hadn't known what to expect in that area, given that their class seemed to be unique in more than a few ways. However, the number of stat points he received seemed quite high—especially considering how dramatic an effect each point seemed to have individually.

Regardless, he certainly wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd have to ensure that they investigated whether all of the Legionnaires had gained similar benefits. Another System matter for Gaius to investigate—though given the way things were going, he might need to assign his second-in-command more resources and men for the task.

Tiberius didn't hesitate to put two points into Charisma. It was by far his most important stat. Being a good leader was his most important responsibility, so anything that would assist with that—either by improving his people skills or his ability to effectively communicate—would take first priority. A mediocre plan executed well was better than a good plan executed poorly. As such, being able to convey his intent to his men and have them willing to follow it was key.

That being said, having a good plan executed well was even better. So he put his last two points into Intelligence and Wisdom. As tempting as it was to put them into one of the physical stats, Tiberius simply couldn't justify the decision. His place was as a leader and administrator, not on the front lines. The points he'd already received had done wonders for his health. That would have to be enough. Until their next level, at least.

After confirming the changes, another flash of gold traveled from the class stone up Tiberius's arm and suffused his entire body. Warmth tingled across his skin for a brief moment before fading. He felt his mind move a little more quickly than before, and possibly even a bit more confident.

With that done, Tiberius moved on to his titles. The list was becoming quite long—if things kept up like this, it would soon become rather unwieldy. He'd gained another "Bane" title—a high level one, too, surely due to the sheer number of ghouls his men had felled.

He also saw that his [Conqueror of Habersville] title had changed to just [Conqueror of Towns]. Whereas before the title had provided a increase in resource quality for Habersville, that bonus now extended to any towns that fell under his rule, which was quite fortuitous.

The last item on his list of personal tasks was reviewing his skills—something that left him pleasantly surprised.

[You have new skill evolutions available. View available evolutions? WARNING: After viewing, unassigned evolutions will be permanently lost!]

Tiberius had been warned about this prompt. Evidently, a small number of his Legionnaires had begun to see it when checking their skills—mostly ones that had shown standout performances in one area or another. Curious, he continued.

Available Skill Evolutions:

[Strategic Warfare] (Uncommon) -> [Paths of Victory] (Rare)

That was certainly a welcome development. He'd always prided himself on his tactical prowess even before this skill had augmented it. Receiving an evolution simply seemed like a recognition of his efforts. 

[Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Paths of Victory] (Rare) - Lvl 0.]

Tiberius also wanted to replace his [Voice of Command]. As much as it should have been a perfect fit, he found that in practice it left him wanting. The skill required one to issue direct commands to others that were nearby. Given that most of Tiberius's orders were passed on by intermediaries, it hadn't seen nearly as much use as he'd expected. Its use in battle was more of an indication that things had gone terribly wrong.

With a thought, he pulled up the skill menu and sorted it by rarity. There were a surprising number of rare skills available to choose from and even a few epic ones as well. Evidently, more Legionnaires had exhibited noteworthy talents than expected. Perhaps he could harness that somehow.

One in particular caught his eye. It wasn't exactly something he planned to use much. But perhaps it would be useful in a pinch.

[Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Swordsmastery] (Rare) - Lvl 0.]

Tiberius allowed himself the smallest of smirks. He had no intention of becoming a front-line fighter, of course. He was more curious about what the skill would do for him than anything. When there was more time to review the options, he'd likely change it out. He also considered making adjustments to the two Legion-wide skills he'd assigned, [Marching] and [Shield Wall], but decided against it for now. He wanted to get feedback and advice before making any major changes.

He quickly saw a problem. If everyone simply picked powerful skills without actually having the ability to push them further, then they wouldn't be able to earn more levels and evolutions. That would cause them to stagnate. Perhaps he'd need to institute a policy to avoid that.

Finally, with more than a little reluctance, Tiberius eyed the Territory Management tab. He'd been putting it off for as long as possible, mostly because he knew what waited there.

[You have successfully razed the town of Stonewake! You may rename the settlement to stake your claim.]

He rubbed at his temple. Naming things was not his strong suit. He was no a poet. He was a soldier, a leader, and—regrettably—a politician. Worse, this place was not significant enough to bestow a title like New Rome on it or even name it after himself if he'd wanted to. No, Tiberiusium would have to wait for a more suitable location. Though the town was nowhere near large or important enough to even warrant the -ium suffix, anyway.

Tiberius considered the issue. This would be an important outpost, so he'd be well within reason to use the -ster suffix. But as for the first part of the name… what would fit?

He shook his head. He had other things to do, bigger responsibilities to see to. He couldn't waste time on this.

With a thought, he entered the name, and the menu updated accordingly. Now, instead of Stonewake, it displayed the town's new name—Stonester.

Satisfied, he began browsing through the menu. It showed a map of his territory—currently just Habersville and Stoneester. Habersville was apparently back under the Legion's control, which was great news. He'd been confident that Gaius could take care of things in his absence, and that confidence had proven well-founded.

The menu provided a decent amount of information on populations, resources, production, and so on. However, none of the information was particularly unique. These figures, white useful, were nothing that he couldn't already find out from a decent quartermaster. Though he did have to admit that the accuracy and speed of the information was quite nice.

Tiberius shook his head, pulling away from the class stone. With that all done, he focused back on the matters at hand. They would spend one night here, camped out on the hills, before the bulk of their forces would return to Habersville. He aimed to make it back within a day or two, depending on how hard they pushed. But given their new stats and skills… Well, it may be even faster than that.

Legion B2 Chapter 1: When the dust settles

Tiberius once more stood atop the high wall of Stonewake, gazing down upon its interior. Or rather, what remained of it. What had once been a populous town now had been rendered little more than charred ruins. Only a few still-burning logs and blackened piles of partially-collapsed stone still stood amongst the wreckage that the Legion had left behind.

Despite the destruction, he felt no real guilt or regret. The fires that he'd ordered throughout the place had been necessary, after all—something made abundantly clear by the carpet of incinerated spiderlike ghoul corpses that carpeted the ground below. And it wasn't as though he planned to leave it in this state, either. Not at all

Besides, they hadn't come here for the buildings and architecture. No, they'd taken the town with one particular goal in mind—securing the mines. All the other spoils of war on top of that were simply gravy.

Tiberius watched as his Legionnaires went about their work. The cleanup effort was simple enough that Tiberius felt comfortable delegating its details. All but one of his cohorts swept through Stonewake, checking every remaining nook and cranny for any stragglers that had managed to hide to survive the flames—be they monstrous or human. Very few ghouls remained, and fewer still managed to find even halfway decent hiding spots. But it was enough to prompt the men to move in teams and watch their surroundings carefully.

His gaze swept across the landscape that writhed like a colony of red and gold ants, then paused as it landed on the mine entrance itself. Tiberius' brow furrowed, then rose ever so slightly in surprise. He motioned to his guards. "Come."

The men obliged, forming up around their Legatus as he descended from the wall. They hurried past the scorch marks that marred the stone and down what had once been the main boulevard of the town. Soon, they arrived at their destination.

One of the Legion's standards stood tall by the entrance of the mines. As Tiberius approached, he noted one figure in particular that stood out among the rest. Quintus, his Primus Pilus, stood tall amongst the Legionnaires securing the place, conversing with a few of his fellow centurions as they went about their work. The man's armor was dull and caked with dirt, and the rough bandages across his body spoke of quite the assortment of wounds. Still, he was alive.

Tiberius couldn't help but shake his head. He really shouldn't have been surprised. Quintus had survived more close scrapes with death than any man Tiberius had ever known. But with his disappearance at the start of the assault, he'd naturally presumed assumed that the centurion had died, felled in battle when those things had emerged from the mines.

Evidently not. And frankly, Tiberius was pleased to see that his old friend had survived.

Quintus turned and snapped a salute as he noticed Tiberius's approach. The others followed suit. Tiberius waved for them to continue their business before addressing Quintus.

"Primus."

"Legatus Tiberius."

The Legatus stepped forward to clasp arms with the man. "How did you survive, old man? I was all but certain you'd be on your way across the Styx by now."

"Old man? With all due respect, Legatus, I fear you forget which of us is the elder. Perhaps your memory is going."

Tiberius chuckled even as Quintus quite obviously made an effort to suppress his own grin. Normally, he might have kept a display of camaraderie like this private. But after the day they'd all had, Tiberius was willing to let his decorum slip just the tiniest bit.

"You'd best hope not, for all our sakes. Though I'll have you know that I feel younger than I have in years. Perhaps young enough to give some of these spring chickens a run for their money." Tiberius stepped back, his professionalism returning. "Now… Report, Primus."

"Of course, sir!"

Quintus snapped another salute before launching into a tale that beggared belief. He described the strange room in the mines from which the ghouls had spawned, as well as the trio that had been manning it and the strange sigils within. He also detailed the measures they'd taken to fight off and eventually stem the tide using the strange explosives they'd found within the mines.

By the end of the report, Tiberius could only shake his head. A story like that only made it all the more astonishing that Quintus and his men had survived. And given that his Primus Pilus had never been one to embellish tales of his exploits, Tiberius suspected that the situation had been even more dire than he let on.

Tiberius clapped the man on the shoulder. "Good work. You handled yourself well."

"Thank you, sir." Quintus nodded. "Though I owe my survival to my men. Their discipline and coordination never faltered, and they made excellent use of their abilities at every opportunity. There are several I would like to nominate for commendations."

"I see. We shall discuss it further upon our return." Tiberius clasped his hands behind his back. "Based on your report, you may deserve one as well. You made exemplary use of this world's unique resources to improvise and lead them to victory."

"I appreciate that, Legatus. However, I have no need. I'd rather the rewards go to my men."

The display of humility wasn't surprising. The Primus Pilus had always been a staunch advocate for those under him. Though in this particular case, it seemed he had even more reason to than usual.

"We shall see." Tiberius shelved the topic for later. "For now, we must finish securing the town."

Quintus snapped another salute, then hesitated. "Sir… I have one more matter to discuss, if you have a moment?"

Tiberius waved for him to continue. "This battle has made it clear to me that we are not leveraging the properties and unique technologies of this world to their full potential. We have made an effort to integrate skills into each Legionnaire's repertoire, but I do not feel as though we've utilized them to their full extent.

"Without skills, my men and I would have died in the mines," he stated matter-of-factly. "Our survival was largely due to luck in what skills they had selected for themselves. That, and what I believe to be a timely level up. If we put more thought into what skills our men take, as well as the compositions of our units… I believe that the Legion would greatly benefit. If nothing else, it may prove valuable in learning how to fight against such skill-wielding foes in the future."

Tiberius considered the proposal. He well knew how the Legion's tactics had changed over the centuries. They had to. As war evolved, so too must one's own strategies and weapons—especially as Rome faced different adversaries on the battlefield. And given how different this world was, it only made sense that they'd need to adapt in turn.

The real question was, what form would those adaptations take?

"I assume you already have some ideas to propose?" Tiberius asked.

Quintus nodded. "I believe we would benefit from integrating skill use more intentionally into our training—both for Legionnaires and auxiliaries. We will likely also need to expand our repertoire of standard tactics to include ways of dealing with these new kinds of threats rather than just traditional armies."

Tiberius stroked the salt-and-pepper stubble of his chin. Technically, it was an officer's position to manage and oversee training for the Legion. However, a good leader always listened to his centurions and men. And seeing that Quintus had more combat experience than any other man he knew, his insight would be valuable indeed.

"...I see your point," Tiberius conceded. "Very well. We will discuss this later in more detail. Perhaps when we return to Habersville."

The Pilus nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, sir!"

Tiberius looked Quintus over once more. It wasn't just his armor that was disheveled. The man's eyes betrayed a deep tiredness, one borne of the prolonged alertness and physical toll of battle. It made sense. From the sound of it, the man had been fighting hard for quite a long while, with little in the way of breaks or relief.

"Go and rest, Primus," Tiberius ordered the man. "Take the others of your group as well. The second and third cohorts will manage the cleanup here."

Quintus almost looked as though he wanted to object, but decided against it. Instead, he took the dismissal for what it was and headed for the front gate with a grateful salute, gathering his small group of men as he did.

Tiberius watched them go. Despite the man's humility, he still fully intended to award him somehow. It was only fitting, given the impossible feat he'd accomplished—and that his men sealing the breach had likely saved many more lives than just their own.

Still, he wasn't certain what he could give the man that he hadn't already received—or refused. His family had already been elevated to much higher stations back in Rome due to his exploits, even if Tiberius had been able to do more for them from here. Quintus had also repeatedly turned down further promotions or offers of different posts. Money and honor, he supposed, were the only things he could really give his old friend at this point.

That, also, was a matter to be dealt with later. For the moment, Tiberius had more pressing tasks.

He turned to the other centurions. "Carry on. The sooner this place is cleared out, the better."

They sauted and bustled about their tasks. Now that they'd successfully taken Stonewake, it was time to determine what they would do with its inhabitants. The most obvious answer was simple—set them to work in the mines. That was the entire reason they'd come here, after all, and his Legionnaires certainly weren't the best choice for the job. They were soldiers, not miners.

Besides, Tiberius suspected that Stonewake's population may contain a number of individuals with a mining-related class. If that were the case, perhaps they'd be more efficient workers.

Getting the captives to work as soon as possible would be ideal. However, it didn't escape his notice that the current state of the city wasn't exactly conducive to habitation. Worse, there wasn't an abundance of trees around with which to quickly rebuild it.

That begged the question—could they afford to leave the captives here while Stonewake was made operational again? Or would it be better to transport the entire populace to Habersvile in the meantime? The latter would delay things quite a bit, and watching over the people wouldn't take much additional effort, considering he'd have to leave a hefty garrison here to hold this place anyway. It was just a matter of shelter.

In the end, he decided to leave one cohort behind with the populace to straighten things out. They had orders to retreat if they didn't think they could hold the place against external aggressors or a resurgence of the threat from below. As valuable as the mines were, they weren't worth trying to hold a difficult to defend position—though he somewhat doubted anyone would try to take the burned-out husk of the town at this point. At worst, if attackers did appear, the retreat would ensure they could return and assault the place anew with more manpower.

Tiberius had Lucius pass the orders on using his skills and approached the Pilus Prior of the sixth cohort. "Publius. Report on the state of the mines."

"Better than I'd feared, Legatus," the man admitted. "There's plenty of iron ore already lying around and ready for transport., as well as a few other kinds I don't recognize. We've found a few stragglers of those monsters inside, but they're being handled. The men are also reinforcing the cave-in that the Primus Pilus made, just to make sure those blasted things don't make another appearance."

"Good," Tiberius nodded. "Ensure that we load up as much of the iron as possible for our return trip. I suspect we'll have much use for it rather soon. And do what you can to prepare the place for full operations to resume. Even those supplies will only last so long."

"Yessir. What about the other ores?"

Tiberius thought. "Prepare a few samples of each for transport as well. I know a man who should be able to identify them for us."

Publius saluted and began barking orders to his other centurions as Tiberius left. They would need to start working on supply chains and ways to send things through the surrounding area—not just the mine's ores, but messages and other goods as well. This place could certainly use some of Habersville's wood, after all, and the grain they'd requisitioned on the way over would need to be moved somehow. 

Between these two towns, the Legion now possessed a good amount of essential materials—timber, ore, stone, and even monsters that they could farm experience from. Altogether, their little empire was making nice progress. Of course, they couldn't just stop here. As they grew, so too would their needs. And Tiberius certainly had no intention of letting a lack of resources hinder them. And considering how well the actual attack on Stonewake had gone, perhaps they'd seek out a new target sooner rather than later.

The thought reminded him of one more thing that needed tending to—namely, the notification he'd received about razing Stonewake. Evidently, the System wanted him to rename the place and claim it as his own. And given that he saw no obvious way to comply, he figured that meant he needed to visit a class stone.

Tiberius strode through the ashes of his new town as Legionnaires bustled about. He was well overdue for visiting one of the monoliths, and now seemed like a perfect time. Especially considering that flash of light—if it truly had been the result of them leveling… he couldn't help but anticipate the changes that such a milestone might have brought.

EV B2 Chapter 47:

We ate in relative silence. Alana—her noble heritage showed through even as she daintily ate the chicken with her fingers. But Astrid and I scarfed it down like normal people. She ate quickly, but I could tell there was no real enjoyment in it. Her appetite clearly hadn't come back.

While we ate, there wasn't a whole lot to say. It wasn't the right time and... well. Hopefully, a small break would let Astrid gather her thoughts and start to feel more normal. And I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I started eating. It had been nonstop for me recently, and it had been a lot of energy spent. Still, I felt like I was trying to figure out what to say.

As it happened, I wasn't the one who spoke first. Astrid shifted a few times and eventually ended up sitting on her ankles, with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. It should have been an awkward-looking pose, but one that she managed to make it seem significantly less so.

"I guess you should probably know what happened to me."

I paused mid-bite and swallowed. "It would be good to know, but you don't need to tell us more than you want to."

Alana spoke up. "I can leave if you don't want to tell me," she said in a small voice. "I understand. We don't really know each other. And if you're not comfortable..."

She trailed off when Astrid raised her head and shot her a look. It wasn't quite a glare, but it was definitely not friendly.

"No," she said, her face relaxing into something that passed for a conciliatory smile. "Miles trusts you? That's enough for me. And, well, it's more embarrassing than anything. I feel foolish for not thinking things through for myself."

Astrid glanced down at her hands, where they intertwined between her knees, and used her thumb to pick at her nail for a second while the two of us waited.

"I wasn't immediately offered a blessing, but a task to prove that I was worthy."

She looked up at me as if waiting for some sort of response.

"Loki mentioned that... it was his sister?" I said in a questioning tone. But then I paused. "Wait, but I think he contradicted himself later and said it wasn't."

"Well, maybe," Astrid said. "It wasn't Loki. He only made the introduction. He dropped me off at a random hole in the wall and just said, 'Here. The one we had discussed. Have fun,'" she said in a faux jaunty tone with a mocking wave. "Her name was Sigyn."

Alana's head tilted. "Loki's wife?"

I felt my gut tighten. That was not his sister, nor was it really the relative that he was somewhat thinking of. It wasn't the first time I had caught an inconsistency with Loki, but this one felt different—almost as if he was baiting me to call him out on it.

Astrid didn't seem to notice my reaction. Or maybe she just didn't care. She wasn't what I expected of a god or Loki's friend. She was quiet and gentle.

I rubbed my eyes. I had never heard of Loki having a wife, and I had no knowledge of Norse mythology back on Earth, but that wasn't what I would expect from him either.

Astrid nodded. "Yeah. She isn't a trickster. She's the embodiment of loyalty and devotion. You'd think that would be something comforting."

She let out a deep sigh that sounded pained.

"She doesn't speak much, and when she does, it's like she already knows how you're going to react and never leaves any space for questions."

Astrid shifted again and looked me in the eye.

"She said she'd give me a blessing. But first, I had a task to complete—and I had to prove myself."

She looked down for a second.

"She said that I had to understand what loyalty really means."

Then her eyes flicked back up and met mine with an urgency that I felt needed a reaction from me, and she whispered the last line:

"What it costs."

I reached out and squeezed Astrid's shoulder. She leaned against my hand slightly, and so I patted her back before retracting my hand.

"It's not at all what I thought. She looked so soft and kind. But... when you hear her talk? Well, there is absolutely no compromise in that woman."

Astrid actually let out a small chuckle.

"She didn't even ask me to do anything. She just showed me what needed to be done, and I did it. She had me help with something—refining a magical reagent. I thought it was for helping warriors get through difficult bottlenecks or mentally strengthen them or something."

Alana fell silent, looking down, and I saw a flicker of magic run through her hands as if she were doing a familiar pattern.

"It was several days—maybe a week or so—where I worked on doing this refining. I wasn't sure how this would prove loyalty or anything. Still, it was easy, and I was actually getting significantly better at magic from just the practice."

She let out a deep sigh, her eyes flicking over to Alana and then me.

"Well. That was when they came for me."

"The people who captured you?" I asked.

Astrid nodded.

I frowned. I thought that it would be some other god or something interfering with Loki's plans—not just people.

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first too. Thought they were just people. But... well, apparently, they owed Loki something and would use me to get it. Or something. I wasn't sure. They didn't really tell me what they wanted with what they were doing, but they thought I had the recipe for something. Thought it was important."

She paused.

"And, well, it wasn't until they started getting desperate. Then they started talking about the Cult of the World Eater—being someone they had to appease and... well. I'm skipping ahead a little bit. It was after that first round of questioning that the blessing came. Not some ritual or trial or when the goddess saved me, but when I was sure I would break. And I still said no when I thought they were going to kill me. And I said no."

"To be fair, I probably could have told them I didn't know, but they didn't believe me about that. I could have made something up. I could have probably told them about you or Loki or done something, but I just said no."

"At that moment, she whispered something to me. I don't know what it was, but it seeped into my skin and nestled somewhere in my brain. And a part of it opened up—something that had always been there. A part of me just waiting to be discovered. Just snapped into place."

Everyone fell silent for a moment before I eventually spoke up.

"What does it do?"

Astrid looked up, her eyes distant.

"I can catch pain. Bind it to myself. It's not perfect healing, but it lets me bleed for them. If someone's about to die, I can take it instead. I won't die, but it stays with me even if I give it back to them. I still feel it. Even if they heal it. I still feel it. Not the same as if I had been the one wounded, but..."

She paused and rubbed at her temples.

"I've had dreams. In the moment that I got the vision—flashes, this power... well, I don't know if they were her experiences or my dreams, but... well. I didn't think it would be this bad."

"My blessing was nothing like that."

I looked over at Alana, who also shook her head in agreement.

"It was simple. Just a gift. Loki gave it for something nebulous in return. Not a good deal by any means, but not—" I waved my hand. "Not this."

"I didn't think it would be like this either, but I can't say I regret it. The pain is bearable and does fade, though the memories never do. I have a few more abilities from the blessing. It does seem more powerful than what you've described. But... but it costs."

"There's one more thing, though. If I see someone about to break—whatever spell or weight that's about to crush them—I can catch it. Except I have to bear that instead. I have to bear it and not break because that's the blessing."

She said it with a bitter smile and silent tears on her cheeks.

"You endure. Quietly. Because that's what Sigyn does. And that's what I do now."

I let my hands fall into my lap and flicked my palm a few times in thought.

Loki was... um... a bit of a bastard. If this was his wife's power—the ability to suffer and endure—it, well, didn't speak well of him. Which... I wasn't sure what to think of him anymore. But the way Astrid was looking... well, she seemed like she was ready to suffer.

"I never should have brought you to see Loki," I said.

Epilogues: Mage, Entity

Mage

Far away, nestled high in the far reaches of the Glimmervein mountains of the north, stood a tall tower of iridescent stone. Its sheer walls seemed to shimmer in the light, bestowing an almost dreamlike quality on the entire thing. It was enough to make most who ventured to the area doubt their eyes—after all, who would build such a thing here, amongst the barren peaks of the mountains?

The man in question stood atop the tower, his comically frazzled beard whipping in the wind. His resplendent robes were completely soaked through from the deluge of rain that threatened to wash him clean off the edge and into the howling abyss below. Nevertheless, he remained firmly in place, giving no indication that he was so much as bothered by the weather.

He held his hands up high. In them was clutched a clear crystalline rod, its many faceted surfaces carefully engraved with arcane symbols. A bolt of lightning flashed nearby, followed soon after by another, their earsplitting cracks echoing across the mountains. The man remained absolutely still, not even flinching as the bolts struck the rod and caused it to flash shades of brilliant blue. He stood there, simply observing until—

—The rod's glow flickered almost imperceptibly. At the same time, the lightning strikes intensified, redoubling in strength for a handful of seconds as the clouds churned overhead. Then, they stopped altogether as though they'd exhausted themselves, the lighting dissipating altogether.

The man's eyes widened at the sight. A massive grin stretched across his face. Suddenly, he whipped around and strode across the roof, making a beeline for the large box being tended to by one of the apprentices scattered about the roof.

"There it is! Did we catch it?!

Even though the lightning was gone, he still had to shout to be heard over the wind and rain. The boy nodded as he looked over the delicate arrays of metal and crystal within the box. "Yes, Grand Mage Claude!"

The boy quickly stepped aside to let the mage see for himself. Claude scanned the arrays himself, reading the collections of lights and liquid levels as though it were simple text in a book, cackling all the while. It made his apprentices uncomfortable when he expressed mirth at the strange coincidences the cosmos threw his way, but how could he not?

"I knew it," he gloated. "I knew it was no fluke!"

The first time his grand experiment had been disrupted, he'd chalked it up to a fault in his equipment or an apprentice's stupid mistake. Such things could happen, after all, though Claude rather prided himself on his attention to detail.

The second disruption had occurred shortly after, despite his confidence that he'd checked and rechecked all of his calibrations personally.

So this time… this time, he'd made preparations.

It had taken weeks for another fluctuation to appear, a stark contrast to the mere hours that had elapsed between the first two. Yet Claude hadn't given up, hadn't stopped watching. And now, his vigilance had paid off.

Weather manipulation was a rather tricky school of magic and especially prone to interference—especially with the tests he was doing. The calibrations needed to be just perfect, and any sort of minor disruption of the ambient magic could show up as noise in the data.

However, what had happened wasn't just some random disturbance or noise. Those he'd seen plenty of times before. This was a wave, the remnants of a singular burst whose ripples had reached all the way out to his tower. 

For the most part, such things were imperceptible and inconsequential to people. But when one was in the business of handling long-running channeled spells that utilized precision equipment—tuned to the exact eccentricities of the weather in order to adjust it—well, that was a different story. And considering that even the most powerful skills and spells rarely produced such fluctuations, and even then only at close proximities… that certainly piqued his curiosity.

Claude combed through the fleeting scraps of data left behind by the disturbance. After the first couple of incidents, he'd taken the time to set up sensors for another occurrence. Most importantly, he wanted to know where they were coming from. There wasn't quite enough data to perfectly triangulate the origin point, but he was able to get a direction. The source seemed to be located somewhere east of Novara.

That piqued his interest even further. Were the elves dabbling in something strange and exotic? Perhaps. Or perhaps there was something entirely different at play.

The mage practically vibrated with excitement. He should have found it a nuisance that experiment had been ruined once again by this strange phenomenon. But instead, he couldn't have been happier. An experiment could be prepared again and replicated. This… this was far more valuable.

He let loose another cackle. "Ronston, fetch me a map! I need to write this down."

"Yes, Grand Mage!"

As the boy scurried down into the tower, Claude absentmindedly wiped the rain from his face and held back another cackle. He'd always seen the possibilities inherent in weather magic—the power to create or deny rain to entire regions, trigger droughts or floods, bring nations to their knees or usher them into a new age of prosperity. Such things weren't simple, of course—most mages could only call a single bolt of lightning out of the blue or manage a small, temporary manipulation of the clouds, and that was with a build specialized in such things and enormous power expenditures. 

His grin widened. Whatever the source of these fluctuations was, it was certainly powerful on an almost absurd level to be detectable at the distances that it seemed to be reaching. That alone meant it was worth investigating. But with the effects it had just had on his spell… Perhaps it could even be leveraged to empower them more consistently? It could be the breakthrough he'd been looking for.

"Um, master… can we go inside now? It's cold out here."

The whining tone of another apprentice interrupted his excited musings. Looking over, he saw one of the newer boys shivering in sodden robes, his expression that of a stray puppy's than a supposedly accomplished mage's.

Claude barked a laugh. "There's no time for that, boy. There's work to do! We must move the equipment to the other side of the tower, just in case it happens again. Quickly!"

"I'm not a boy," the apprentice muttered. "I'm old enough to have grandkids…"

Claude paid him no mind. To him, they were all young enough to be boys—not to mention inexperienced.

The other apprentices leapt into action, quickly rearranging the top of the tower according to the Grand Mage's wishes. Meanwhile, the one who had asked to go inside continued to shiver in place, muttering darkly. That was simply no good.

"Boy," the mage called, getting his attention. "I've changed my mind. Since you're obviously not interested in our research, you may head inside."

The apprentice's expression brightened immediately. But  before he could take a step toward the trapdoor leading inside, Claude jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "...But, if you must go… You'll have to use  the front door."

The boy's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned. He looked toward the sheer edge of the tower, rain waterfalling down its sides and rendering the already immaculately smooth surface even more slippery. Even someone with [Spider Climb] would be hard-pressed to scale it.

"So, what'll it be?" The mage raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to help, or…?"

The boy froze in place. The other apprentices, who had been around for much longer, gave him looks that were a mix of pity and impatience. After a moment, the boy hung his head and joined his fellows in moving the sensitive equipment from one side of the tower to the other.

Claude nodded and looked into the sky, the matter already far from his mind. He had a direction. If he played his cards right, he should be able to also estimate the distance of the disturbance—provided it returned. He was more confident now that it would, even if he had to wait a few months. While he could simply set out and investigate himself, that didn't seem like an efficient use of his time. Not when there were so many other experiments to run.

He let out one more mad cackle, raising his arms as if to embrace the very sky itself. What luck he had, that the cosmos blessed him with mysteries such as these.

Entity

Darkness. Endless, all-consuming darkness. An impenetrable cloak that stifled any presumption of life or movement, plunging all into a sensory prison of absolute blindness. A bottomless well of nothing.

Yet in that nothingness… there was light.

Specks of glimmering gold, like the finest remnants of shattered gemstones, filled the void like so many comets. Whether they moved quickly or slowly was impossible to tell. Yet move they did, from one end of the universe to the other.

The entity felt. He felt for the first time in... some time. Not quite forever, that he knew. But then, he had no way of quantifying how long it had been. Not that it would have mattered in this place. Regardless, as these streaks of wondrous light moved closer and began to orbit the entity, his world changed. They slowly moved inward, and wherever they touched his formless being, he felt.

And so did they.

Pleasure. Hope. Satisfaction. Resolve. Those feelings and so many more filled the entity's senses like watercolors splashed across a canvas. And with them came… a headache. Not that he actually had a head to ache, not that he knew of. But it was that same idea—a sensation as if a thousand bees buzzed within his sight, each flashing a different garishly colored shade of light as if designed to inflict discomfort. As if a blacksmith had taken a hammer to his core.

The entity expressed displeasure. To who, he was uncertain. Perhaps no one. But he felt it, and so felt the desire to display it by whatever uncertain means were at his disposal.

What was he?

It had been so long since he had had a chance to think beyond the strange, dreamless sleep that had cocooned him. Yet these little pinpricks—the little sparks of life an light fluttering about him—had awakened him. More than that, they made him wish to remain awake.

His nebulous form began to shift in response to the thought. He felt a touch of forgotten power slowly come back to him. Enough that he could almost remember his name. Enough to ward off the inky tendrils of sleep that still wrapped about him.

In the blink of a cosmic eye, time passed. Enough time for many thoughts to come and go. Most of them came and went through without note, but a few left evidence of their passing.

All the while, the pinpricks of light sustained him.

Eventually, things changed again. Something happened, an event that he'd seen occur billions of times—he must have for its familiarity. He had just forgotten.

Another mote of light approached him, this one brighter than the rest. Despite not being particularly large, it blazed with light more fervently than the rest, drawing his attention. The mote drifted toward him, and he curiously stretched out a tendril of awareness to touch it.

The light felt… different. More substantial. In it, the entity sensed something different than these freely offered bits of energy. This one came with a condition. A plea for him to fulfill.

The entity looked at the tiny stockpile within the very core of his being, where the motes of light had condensed into the smallest pools of sparkling energy. Should he expend this energy? For what? For the sake of this speck that was barely worth noticing?

Yet as he considered the mote's promise, he saw what it entailed—it was not just this small offering alone. No, it offered him more: A potential for yet more light to illuminate the darkness of his existence. A steady stream rather than the scattered specks he'd been getting.

The entity sighed and focused his awareness on the speck. Drawing a small handful of energy toward him like a pinch of glimmering sand, he pushed it toward the pleading little mote. He answered the prayer that had been directed his way.

The light rushed through him, tingling through the very essence of his being. He felt yet more sensations as hs power reached past himself, past the mote and into some unseen world beyond. He felt the effects of his interference, even if he could not see them. Yet he felt something else as well. Something not unlike himself, but… lesser, somehow. And it was resisting.

Annoyed, the entity pushed a bit more power through the connection to overwhelm the opposition. It collapsed like a piece of rotted timber. The effort took only an impulsive thought, and yet when the entity came back to himself… he realized just how dark his world had become. He had spent the little energy he had accumulated.

A deep exhaustion took hold of the entity. As he once more drifted away, he could only hope that the next awakening would come soon—as soon as could be recognized in this timeless place. Perhaps then, he'd regain more of his old memories and collect more power to influence that distant place. After all, the specks of light about him seemed to whisper softly of a coming war…

…And war was what he lived for.

Epilogues: Baron, King

Baron

Baron von Latimore rubbed his temples tiredly and closing his eyes, Dark bags hung below them, their appearance one of many unwelcome surprises he'd received as of late. Despite the exhaustion, he considered whether he should perhaps cut back on the strong tea in the mornings, as the caffeine was starting to give him headaches. Of course, the idea that his daily caffeine consumption was the sole cause of his splitting migraine was just wishful thinking.

On his desk lay a pair of opened letters—one was written simply on crisp white stationery, while the other's fanciful looped handwriting made it difficult to read. Across from him sat a haunted-looking woman dressed in tight black leathers and heavy makeup. It did little to hide the puffy redness of her eyes. If he thought he looked tired, then her expression spoke of an even deeper exhaustion.

Still, despite the tears that the [Rogue]had obviously been shedding—in private, as he had yet to see her cry in person—there was a certain fire behind her gaze. A ferocity hidden beneath that hollow look. It made it abundantly clear that this woman, who had seemed so airheaded only a week ago, had fundamentally changed into something more dangerous and unpredictable.

Not that the danger came from a change in her level. His people had confirmed that it, at least, remained the same. But he certainly wouldn't want to be the recipient of her ire. Even if that ire was currently one more thing contributing to his headache. 

He let his hands fall to the desk with a sigh, folding them atop one another. "Sharath. While I appreciate your… enthusiasm…there really is only so much I can do here."

"And I'm saying it's not enough," she hissed. "This is your fucking land. They took your fucking town, and you're just going to let them get away with it?"

"That is not my intention," the baron corrected. "I do intend to deal with the problem. But with the resources I have at my disposal, I can't afford to act now."

Sharath's scowl deepened. "That's the best you can do? Sit on your laurels and wait? My sister died to bring you this information."

"Watch your tone," The baron warned. The [Rogue] had been getting far too familiar for his liking. While he'd afforded her some leeway on account of her recent loss and willingness to work for free. This was a step too far. Especially given his current irritable state.

Sharath continued glaring daggers at him, but shut her mouth. Her hand twitched in what seemed to be a subconscious motion, as though she were playing with a knife that wasn't there.

He straightened in his seat. He sympathized. He really did. The fact that her death came as a result of his orders filled him with no small measure of guilt, as well. Such things were inevitable, of course—a lesson his father had instilled in him early on—but regrettable nonetheless. Even hearing about guards falling in deadly encounters with particularly vicious bandits had never lost its sting.

He met Sharath's glare with a level look of his own. It took an effort to ensure his own words affected a tone befitting of his station. "As I said, I do intend to act. However, my forces are already stretched rather thin. I've requested additional aid from the duke, but with the current war efforts…"

Baron von Latimore shrugged helplessly and gestured to the first letter on his desk. That was the first bit of bad news he'd received today—a response from the duke.

He'd sent the man an update regarding the developments at Habersville as soon as Sharath had returned. Not because he particularly bought the woman's tales of this strange army's strength, of course. But rather because their numbers were certainly concerning enough to be an issue on their own. Such a large force could only be fielded by another country, yet who would send one of this size? Especially to a backwater like Habersville?

He'd been hesitant, given that asking for help could be seen as an admission of failure. Unfortunately, the response had only confirmed what he suspected. The current state of the duke's forces was even more dire than before, meaning he couldn't spare the resources for a problem like this. And considering that the man had already given him some financial assistance with an expectation that it would be enough… well, the man wasn't exactly happy to hear that the problem was bigger than initially assumed.

Sharath scoffed at his explanation. "Honestly. If the war's rendered everyone this weak, then maybe Novara deserves to lose…"

The baron frowned at that. Her words were dangerously close to treason. However, he had no reason to believe that she would actively work against the kingdom—especially not now that it was her only hope of exacting revenge against this strange army.

He glanced down at the second letter on his desk. The loopy, overly-flowery script had come in not long ago from Habersville itself. Evidently, the town's mayor had managed to sneak out a message somehow. He was similarly requesting aid against the invaders, albeit alongside welcome news that a significant portion of their forces had departed for the moment.

It would have been a spot of good news among all of the bad if not for the fact that the requested aid was completely unreasonable—in fact, it was on a scale that he doubted even the duke could give.

The baron scowled down at the letter again. This fool of a mayor must have thought that he was the king himself to muster such forces—and in such a short time, too. It was completely unreasonable.

He sighed, rubbing his temples once again. It couldn't be helped. While he certainly wouldn't meet the mayor's exorbitant demands, he'd need to send what he could. But any aid he sent toward the east would have to wait, at least for a little bit. He'd once more need to gather the funds required to hire whatever adventurers he could find, a pool which was becoming increasingly expensive and difficult to draw from. 

Fortunately, he would still be able to leverage the duke's help, since the man had a vested interest in getting Habersville reclaimed. But what little forces they had left were needed to garrison their keeps and do semi-regular patrols. An army of level ones, no matter how dangerous this woman and the mayor claimed they were, simply wasn't something that could justify abandoning those.

For now, they could afford to throw more money at the problem. But as he'd told the [Rogue], it would take time. Time and careful evaluation.

None of which Of course, none of that prepared him for the notification which appeared before his eyes.

[The town of Stonewake has been seized!]

King

King Gerald, ruler of the Novaran Kingdom, defender of humanity and all that, was taking a break. The man nibbled on the wedge of cheese as he lounged in his private garden. The tart taste of cranberries embedded in the aged goat's milk perfectly offset the high amount of tannin in the wine that his sommelier had paired expertly with it.

Despite all outward appearances, however, King Gerald was not having nearly as much fun as he should've been. It was his break week, after all, one that he'd certainly earned after a long, hard month of maintaining court and dealing with all the random bullshit that came along with ruling a kingdom that covered a good quarter of the continent.

Given all of that, he felt like he deserved some real time off—time where he didn't have to talk with anyone or about anything he didn't want to. It was why his servants had been instructed not to bring up any topics related to kingdom business or other such serious topics. No, the only things he wanted to speak about were whatever amusement he was currently distracting himself with.

So far, it had been mostly working. But so many matters continued to peter the edges of his thoughts. Not that they were particularly worth worrying about of course. They were more… annoyances.

The war in the west had all of hid generals running about like chickens with their heads cut off, but that was nothing new. Generals were always busy during times of conflict. It was why he had little patience for their litanies of problems and complaints. What good were they for if not fighting? Surely they'd had enough experience fighting the orcs that they had all of those issues smoothed out by now?

The king put down the wedge of cheese and picked one of the crackers with no seeds on it. The seeds always got stuck in his teeth, and it was annoying to have to get a toothpick or the royal dentist to come out and fix them. Better to just stick with the non-seeded crackers—they went better with the cheese anyway.

Regardless of his generals's worries, the war wasn't a big deal. They'd been fighting off the orcs for decades now with no problems, and he saw no reason why there should be any now. Especially with all of the levels their military usually got from defeating the hordes of enemies thrown at them. It was always enough to raise their army's average level quite significantly.

Sure, his generals complained about the unique difficulties of this particular army—how they rendered many of their usual skills and tactics useless—but they always did. That, too, was nothing new. Generals in the past had managed just fine, so why couldn't they?

He nibbled on his cracker, slowly turning it into a circle until he had finished eating all the edges, then he put it on the pile of finished crackers to his other side. This supposed "new war" had also caused him no end of headaches, enough that he had even found gray hair in his beard. Having to break out beard dyes this early in his life was just unacceptable. Especially over something like this.

It wasn't even an actual war. They had yet to send any troops to the east, in part because nothing had even happened there. Aside from them losing some inconsequential little town, he had barely any reason to believe that there even was a threat. This could very well just be some group of upstarts who had gotten full of themselves or even someone playing a particularly dangerous prank. He wouldn't know until Duke Mark got his act together and actually dealt with the problem.

The fact that he hadn't heard an update from the man suggested that it was still a problem—for whatever reason. It certainly called that old coward's competence into question. He expected to have received a notification about the war being over or, better yet, some indication that this "Roman Emperor"—what was his name? Tibbers?—had died.

But the lack of developments, good or bad, hadn't stopped the court from talking. Not even close. That was all they ever did, really—talk, talk, talk. That and worry needlessly. What would they do about being attacked from multiple sides? How would they ever fund two war fronts at the same time? What if other countries take this as a sign of weakness? Blah, blah, blah.

The county of Britt was only of very minor importance, with Habersville being even less so. And if they hadn't even taken another town yet… well, there really was nothing to worry about.

Still, the pestering of the local lords and his own court was starting to get annoying. As if they expected him to deal with the problem personally. Honestly. It made him wonder why he even had nobles to begin with if they'd just be useless, incompetent, and lazy freeloaders who always wanted him to deal with one issue or another.

The king shook his head. He was letting kingdom business interrupt his break again. The first week of each month was supposed to be sacred. There were very good reasons why he had to relax. Stress was bad for one's health, after all. Having a long reign was important for the continuity of rule and the stability of the kingdom. And besides, he could go gray even sooner or—worse—lose his hair altogether.

He pushed the thoughts aside. If he got back from his vacation and they still weren't done dealing with this kerfuffle, perhaps he would send some royal knights to take care of it. Until then, the biggest issue King Gerald would allow himself to ponder was whether he wanted some more cheese or another cracker to go with this latest sip of wine.

After putting down his glass, he picked up another cracker and started eating around the edges.

EV B2 Chapter 46:

The pursuit was immediate, and it didn't bode well for us. Carrying the unconscious Astrid in my arms as I dashed through the streets, I stood out like a sore thumb. I could hear the sound of footsteps running behind me.

There were more than a few pursuers; I wasn't in any position to fight them. Not that I would have, given our previous encounter. Especially not with Astrid in my arms.

I turned hard right at the next intersection and saw Alana hiding just around the corner. She waved to me with some gestures that I couldn't quite interpret, but as I went straight past her, I threw up a quick illusion, blocking the pursuit from seeing her. She would know what to do with that. I trusted her to be able to think on her feet.

And sure enough—her Lead Feet spell flashed from behind me, and my pursuit slowed. They fell away as I turned a corner, and we pushed ourselves further away. Astrid was still unconscious, and I carried her cradled to my chest, even as I lost myself in the crowd. I threw on a quick disguise, just in case someone was following us. But despite that, a few minutes later, Alana fell into step next to me.

"That's Astrid?" Alana asked in confirmation. I was pretty sure she already knew that, but still, I nodded in confirmation.

"Yes." I tried to remember what she knew of her. "I'll introduce you when she's awake," I remember telling her what I had been up to, but it had been a while, and we were busy. Alana was carefully studying her as we moved through the streets. No one seemed to be too curious about why I was carrying someone. Perhaps Alana's presence and the hand she laid on Astrid's calf as we walked made them—made me—look less suspicious.

The constant glow of her Minor Cure Wounds spell helped, and by the time we had reached the training room we were frequenting, Astrid was beginning to stir. I still had to carry her up the stairs, but the bruises on her face were fading to yellow splotches rather than the bright purple they had turned after a little bit of healing. Apparently, the interrogation had been going on for a little bit longer than I had expected from when we first visited.

Alana dashed down the corridor ahead of me. She opened the door for me before darting into the room to put some of our training dummies in a way that would work as a pillow that I could set her down on. Carefully, I went down to one knee and laid Astrid on the ground with her head on a stuffed bag. It wasn't the most comfortable place, but it was probably the best we could do on short notice.

"Are you okay?" I said as I stood up, but her hand trailed down my wrist and my arm and grabbed my wrist before I could fully stand up, with surprising strength. Her fingers dug in as she looked up at me with a conflicted expression in her eyes.

"Miles?" she asked with a little bit of confusion as if she was having trouble remembering what had just happened.

"Mm. Yes. It's me. You're safe now. You can rest."

Astrid closed her eyes again, and for a second, I thought she would go back to sleep. But she snapped them open again mere seconds later and shook her head slightly.

"I... don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now," she whispered softly, and her eyes stayed open as if she were afraid to blink them.

I knelt down the rest of the way and leaned back on my heels, still holding her hand. "You're okay. You're safe now. They're not going to get you again."

I looked up at Alana for help, though she looked slightly stunned, like a deer in the headlights. As if the normally brilliant woman had no idea what to do. I wasn't sure what I could even ask for, though. It was clear that neither of us was cut out for the kind of healing that Astrid might need. So, instead, I tossed her a few coins.

"Could you run and grab us some food and water and maybe a blanket or two? I don't think we're up for moving again. They should have some right down the street. I know the place."

And she left in a hurry. I swallowed, looking back at Astrid. The slight reprieve I had with practical concerns had let me collect my thoughts slightly, and so I had some idea of what to say to Astrid.

Or so I thought because what came out of my mouth wasn't exactly words of wisdom or something that Sigmund Freud would consider great psychology.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" I said lamely, wishing that I had been better at comforting people. But maybe a practical—um—approach would be something that she could appreciate.

Astrid shrugged. "I... well. In a bit, though, I imagine I'll have to tell some of it to... Alana, is it?"

I nodded.

"I remember you talking about her," Astrid said as if it had been much longer than a few weeks since we had last spoken. "She was your fiancée, right?"

I shook my head. "It was a political thing, but I would consider her more a student or protégé. And, well, she's not from Earth, but the other world where Loki sent me."

"I remember you went somewhere. It didn't sound like you had too bad of a time there. Maybe getting out of Vallhala is not a bad goal..."

I grimaced, remembering the disastrous ending of my foray into another world that Loki sent me to. "Well, up to the very end, everything was reasonable," I said. "But, well, I got back here pretty quickly, didn't I?"

Astrid grimaced. "I'm sorry. I suppose that's a bit unfair of me."

"No," I said. "You can take it out on me as much as you want. I deserve it. I was the one who set you up with this anyway."

"Was it worth it?"

"Was what worth it?" I asked, confused.

"Getting out of here. Living a normal life. Not having to deal with..." She gestured around us. "This."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't say that I could even live a normal life there. I've changed too much. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I got you involved with Loki. I guess after what I went through, I forgot that he was..."

Astrid shook her head. "I..." She paused before starting again. "I don't think I regret it. Besides, I went along with it. I know Loki's reputation, and, well, to be fair, it wasn't even really his fault. And, well, I got things out of it. I think it was worthwhile."

"Still," I said, cutting my teeth slightly. "I never thought it would get this... that bad. Otherwise, I would never have suggested it."

Astrid shook her head. "Miles, I'm a big girl. I can handle myself," she said, but I wasn't sure if I believed her. There was a certain fragility in her tone that told me she was a bit more than just rattled from her experience. "But... well, you must have gotten something awesome if it was worth all that pain."

Astrid shrugged and changed the topic. "So, Alana. Is she any good? What level is she?"

"Last we checked... level five," I said, though it might be higher now. "She's a..." I froze and paused, thinking about how to describe her. "A control archetype," I said. "Slows, debuffs, and some damage over time. She's also blessed by Loki. And? Well, she has her own traits."

I paused, not thinking it was something that Astrid needed to know, and she didn't push for me to explain more.

"But she's quite talented," I said.

"Is she going to stick around?" Astrid said with a neutral voice that I wasn't able to fully parse hidden meanings from.

"I think so. I... well, I don't imagine..." I stopped and thought. I couldn't imagine her leaving, and I didn't really want her to. I found that she was a bit too naïve for Valhalla. Besides, I didn't think she would go. But looking at Astrid—was it safer to be around me?

My thoughts were cut short as Alana, out of breath, opened the door, weighed down by a bag of food in one hand and a roll of a bedroll, a few bedrolls slung over her other shoulder.

"Oh, good, you're back," I said, and Alana gave me a cautious smile before she walked over, handed me the food, and started to lay out the pair of bedrolls.

Wordlessly, I unpacked some food—fried chicken and potato wedges. Well. And then, we helped Astrid move over to the more comfortable space. But she sat against the wall instead of lying down, looking both Alana and me in the eyes.

Belatedly, I realized introductions were in order. "Alana, this is Astrid, one of my first friends in Valhalla. Astrid, this is Alana. We have—"

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Alana said politely. "I hope you are feeling better."

Astrid gave a smile that was a touch wooden. "I've heard a little bit about you, Alana. I'm glad to see you made it here, all right. After what I heard, it was a bit of a rough experience getting here."

Alana blushed slightly but nodded. "Thank you."

And Astrid continued, "I have to say, I'm impressed that you managed to make it out of the Lesser Halls so quickly. That was practically unheard of. Though... I suppose I need to thank you for healing me. I was probably a little bit more than concussed."

"Actually, I can probably still heal you a few more times. I have some mana left," Alana offered, dodging the compliment, but Astrid waved her away.

"I'm working it out on my own, thank you. You should probably save a little bit just in case."

Alana didn't press. It seemed like they were getting along well enough, so I kept my mouth shut, just watching the interplay.

Chapter 56: Light at the End of the Tunnel

Chapter 56: Light at the End of the Tunnel

Quintus's arms felt like lead. His feet hurt, and his jaw ached from gritting his teeth through the long slog of battle. He still felt stronger and more capable than when they'd started, but at some point, those temporary buffs from the deaths of his brothers had worn off. That, combined with the sheer exhaustion of the day, hit both him and his men like an elephant.

Despite the mounting exhaustion though, they'd accomplished their goal. Even better, they'd managed to block off a few more tunnels that led deeper into the mines as they fought their way up toward the surface. It would hopefully keep any residual ghouls from making their way down those paths and causing trouble later, especially considering how many of the things had reversed their courses to skitter into the depths once more.

"Sir! I see the exit!"

Quintus peered up the tunnel. Sure enough, he saw a glimmer of light at the end of it, different from the hanging lights that lined the walls around them. Sunlight. Although… it seemed a bit dimmer than he'd expected.

"Stay together," he ordered. "We don't know the situation outside. Assume that there are still hostiles lurking about."

The Legionnaires nodded and tightened their formation. He was proud to see their discipline even in the face of exhaustion.

After felling a few more groups of ghouls, they finally stepped out of the mines and into fresh air. Quintus took a deep breath—

—Only to choke on a lungful of smoke.

He coughed out the acrid fumes as he took in the scene around him. What had once been a town was now a smoldering ruin. The air was thick with black plumes of smoke from fires both active and spent, the ground littered with charred corpses that were mostly unrecognizable.

Quintus and his men stepped into the bleak remnants of the battlefield carefully, the soles of their caligae leaving imprints in the ash coating the ground. The air was still uncomfortably warm. In the distance, he could see tongues of fresh flame reach toward the sky from elsewhere in the town.

"Er… sir?" One of the Legionnaires prodded. As Quintus glanced over, he continued. "What happened?"

The Primus Pilus considered the question. "I believe that our brothers found a way to deal with these creatures. A rather… indiscriminate one. I have not felt so many deaths to assume that they've been routed."

The men nodded, accepting the explanation. Another chimed in. "What now, then? Do we try and reunite with them?"

Quintus shook his head. "We remain here. Best to ensure that the mines remain sealed. And the flames will make it difficult to leave—best to wait and hold our position…"

As he finished speaking, Quintus saw something twitch out of the corner of his eye. His head snapped toward it just in tie to catch another soot-streaked ghoul skittering their way.

"Form up! Enemy inbound!"

The exhausted Legionnaires grouped together once more, positioning themselves to face the incoming threat. Fortunately, their task was considerably easier this time around. Between the boost in power that Quintus suspected was from increased stats and the havoc wreaked by the fire, the few remaining ghouls gave them little trouble. It even gave him time to appreciate another facet of the power-up—an increased efficacy of his skills.

According to the bard, an increase in stats also tended to increase the effectiveness of one's skills. And given what he was seeing, that certainly appeared to be the case here. Their shield wall was even more impenetrable than before and his [Swordsmastery] made his movements feel even more elegant and brutal as he mowed through the remaining creatures. Between the ones they felled and the corpses that already littered the ground, they had to pile the bodies of the beasts off to the side to keep the mine clear and ensure they didn't trip.

As the coast cleared and the wind shifted, Quintus climbed to the top of the pile to get a better view of the ruined town. It was a less treacherous perch than the flame-eaten buildings around him. As he reached the top, he plunged his sword into a dead ghoul's skull and used it for balance as he sat. His hands overlapped on the pommel as he surveyed the still burning settlement.

It seemed that most of the ghouls on the surface had gotten pushed out toward the periphery by the fire, aside from the stragglers they'd felled. It was a blessing that had saved them from havint to fight their way through even more of the things. Though out here in the open, they were not nearly the threat they had been in tight tunnels with low light.

Quintus allowed himself to relax slightly as he watched the city smolder around him. It was not the first time he had watched a city burn. It wasn't even the first time a city had burned down around him. But it was the first time where he actually got to sit and watch any part of the event.

He likened it to staring into a campfire, watching as the flames slowly ate through the logs. Eventually, something would give and send up a plume of ashes and sparks. Then the flames would discover a new patch of unburned wood to slowly eat away at. There was a certain macabre beauty to it, knowing that each burning piece of wood had once been a home or a business.

Building after building went up in smoke before becoming rubble. Each collapse spread the fire to its neighboring buildings—if they weren't already burning themselves. In a few hours, every building would be reduced to little more than ash. All that would remain were the walls ringing the town and an occasional stone structure within.

Quintus heaved a sigh and looked around. His men were keeping a wary watch around their surroundings even as they lounged on their own makeshift seats. A few had found rocks that were mostly clean of blood, but others just sat on monster corpses like he did.

He left them to it. They were all tired, and as long as they were watching the surroundings, he wasn't about to begrudge his men some rest. No, they had done him proud. In fact, most of them deserved some sort of commendation for their work. He'd have to look into that once this was all over.

As they looked over the silent hellscape of the still-burning battlefield, Quintus reflected on the events of the day—specifically, how they'd faced the threats in this world. There was a lot to be said for the Legion's fighting style. It was tried and true, reliable, and had brought the Romans victory many times over. The fact that they could teach even a weak, useless young man to become a warrior who was at least semi-competent on the field in just a few months only further solidified its superiority—especially against numbers such as these.

Yet it was a stark contrast to how people seemed to fight in this world. So far, they'd seen most of their enemies utilize fighting styles tailored toward individuals and small groups, more akin to those of a gladiator. Obviously, Quintus wouldn't put many Roman soldiers one-on-one versus a gladiator, much less one of these barbarians. But why would he? Legionnaires were not duelists, and duelists did not win wars.

And yet… perhaps there was something to be learned there. As well as their own tactics had worked so far, Quintus held no illusions that they were perfect. Quite the opposite. In fact, without the use of skills like Cassius's [Inspirational Song], this battle would almost certainly ended in the death of him and his men. That was despite their formation being practically tailored toward this style of engagement.

That wasn't to say that he sought an overhaul of their entire battle strategy. Quite the opposite. The Legion was at its best fighting as a unit, shoulder to shoulder with shields locked. That kind of tight cooperation was exactly how Rome rose to dominance—the very basis of their civilization. That wouldn't change.

But they had options now. Options that could make them stronger, better, even more able to dominate their foes. If only they would take advantage of them.

Already, ideas for the compositions of specialist units were forming in his mind. Taunts and improved shield walls were only just the beginning. Their communications and ranged weapon capabilities had already improved by leaps and bounds with skill use as well. But why stop there? Why should they focus on improving only what they could already do when they could also gain new capabilities?

Thoughts of the [Healer]'s abilities came to mind. Those alone would be a boon without equal in any army. But if there were other magic they could learn…

Quintus rested his chin on the backs of his hands, still gripping the pommel of his sword as he stared out toward the horizon. Such changes were no small matter. He'd need to speak with Tiberius and the officers about them. But if he could convince them… well, he suspected the Legion would never be the same.

/// that's the end of book 1! I got two post of epilogues then we go straight into book 2

Chapter 55: Justice is Served

Chapter 55: Justice is Served

Marcus understood now what Servius had said—that Rudolf had been the lucky one. Truly, death had been a much kinder fate for the [Ranger].

They left the temple to find the rest of the Legion already sweeping over the newly freed town like a hungry tide. But this was unlike the first time they'd captured it. No, this time, the Legionnaires were far less kind.

The townsfolk were fine, for the most part. Only those who got in the soldiers' way or refused to comply suffered any consequences—though it only took a couple of stubborn rebel sympathizers getting beaten to send people scurrying back to their houses. In just under an hour, the men had finished rooting out the last of the guards and their accomplice priests. The mayor was also rounded up, along with a few of his aides who were suspected of being complicit in the rebellion.

Together, they were all dragged before Gaius to be judged. The young officer was still in charge until Tiberius's return and, as such, acted as a magistrate. From what Marcus had been able to gather, normal Roman justice was done by a judge and a jury of locals who determined guilt. This, however, more closely resembled the justice system he was used to—a single man parsing out right and wrong from the testimonies of others, then passing judgment as he saw fit. Understandable, given both the severity of the situation and how the rebellion was primarily a military matter.

Even then, it was the quickest trial he had ever been witness to. It was not as though there was any question of guilt. Everyone had seen the massive dome in the sky and the guards roaming about once it had gone up. Even the mayor didn't have a leg to stand on when he claimed ignorance—not with Eleonora's report and the words of other disgruntled locals.

The large, blubbering man had begged for mercy alongside some of the other rebels. Most remained silent out of fear. Some, however, appeared defiant even in the face of judgement—Jack being one of the latter. But Gaius had not given it to them.

"A wise man once spoke about the dangers of treason," Gaius began, looking down at the bound prisoners as he paced. "He said that a nation can survive fools and ambitious men, for they at least have their uses. It can survive an enemy at the gates, for at least his intentions are known. But it cannot survive a threat from within.

"The threat posed by a traitor is different. It is more difficult to defend against, as he moves freely and whispers sly words anywhere from the darkest of alleys to the highest of offices. Yet the sweetness of his words is the sweetness of rotting flesh—a disease that will eat away at our very civilization if left untreated."

Gaius stopped, his gaze cold. "When treason is discovered, it must be excised like the rot it is. Treason is the worst crime a citizen or civilian of Rome may commit and carries with it appropriate punishment."

The way Gaius said "appropriate punishment" raised the hairs on the back of Marcus's neck. That alone was enough to make him dread what was to come. Yet it had still not prepared him for the reality of it.

Marcus stared at the clearing before him. In the middle of it stood a collection of newly erected wooden t-shapes. And upon those were the rest of the rebels.

He found himself transfixed by the sight, unable to look away. He had seen his fair share of executions in his time at court—beheadings and hangings mostly, but others as well. The king was awfully fond of the practice and rarely wanted for victims. But this … this was a level of brutality that even the petty king didn't indulge in.

And Marcus surely hoped that he never would. Hopefully he would never learn of such a manner of execution. Not when it could mean popularizing it.

Eventually, Marcus managed to tear his eyes away from the macabre spectacle. The crowd of onlookers was much thinner than it had been. Initially, it had contained Romans and townsfolk both, the latter because the spectacle of a public execution had drawn most everyone out of their homes to watch. However, most had not managed to stay in attendance for the entire process.

Shaking himself, Marcus turned and looked down. Beside him knelt Eleonora, the young [Healer] doubled over and heaving after having emptied her stomach into the dirt. He offered her a hand.

"We should go."

Her head craned up to look at him. Slowly, she reached up to grab his hand and he helped her to her feet. Carefully, they avoided her former lunch as they turned and walked back toward Habersville.

They walked on in silence for a long while, each alone with their thoughts. Once they'd left the remaining crowd behind did Eleonora speak.

"That was fucking brutal."

Marcus nodded in agreement. "Indeed. While I have certainly seen many better ways to die… I can't imagine many worse ones."

It made him rather glad that Myra hadn't seen. At least, he hadn't managed to spot her among the crowd of onlookers. She likely hadn't wanted to see har father's fate.

Marcus couldn't help but wince. He'd failed her. For all he'd promised to try and soften the consequences for the man, there was nothing he could do. Even the barest suggestion of mercy, or even a quick beheading, had been met with staunch refusal. This appeared to be one area where even the normally agreeable Gaius would not budge in the slightest.

Yet he still felt as though he'd failed.

Marcus shook his head ruefully, pushing the thoughts away to check on Eleonora. The girl was still rather pale—understandable, since she'd just watched her former party leader die. Even if he had been a fool, he'd also been her friend. She'd likely need a while to process things.

Marcus patted Eleonora on her back. "Follow me. I know a place where we should still be able to get a drink—and given the day we've had, I'd suppose we both could use one."

The girl nodded numbly as they made their way toward his favorite local drinking establishment, the Tipsy Dryad. It was one of the few places in town where one could still find alcohol—provided one wasn't particularly picky. The admittedly sleazy proprietor of the place was ostensibly a [Barkeep], but given how quickly he'd managed to produce a rather impressive amount of strong liquor… well, Marcus had his suspicions. Either the man was hiding his real class or he had specialized his skills in a less conventional direction.

Stepping into the bar, Marcus found they weren't the only ones who'd needed a drink. The entire establishment was packed to the gills with townsfolk. The air was filled with the acrid scent of the stiff liquor that many of the townsfolk had grown quickly fond of. Despite that, the usual buzz of conversation seemed subdued.

They snatched a table as another group of patrons left and Marcus ordered a couple of drinks. Once they arrived, he pushed one of the small cups over to Eleonora. The girl downed it without hesitation, coughing slightly, then reached over and grabbed Marcus's cup as well. He sighed as she began sipping on it, then waved down the waitress to order another.

"I was right," Eleanora said, her eyes downcast. "About Jack."

"Hmmm?"

"I told him he was going to get us all killed." She sipped her drink, wincing at the taste. "I hate being right sometimes."

Marcus nodded in understanding, remaining silent. After a moment, she continued.

"...I'm afraid of them," Eleonora admitted. "I mean, I was before, but now…? And I'm supposed to work with them, work under them. And… I don't think I can get away."

Marcus heard a faint rattle. He saw that her hands were trembling around her cup, vibrating it against the wooden table. He could understand where she was coming from. He, too, was bound to the Legion—even more tightly than she was, even if no one knew.

He almost felt a bond of camaraderie with the young [Healer] over the fact. They had both made promises to the Legion, and everything he knew about them said that betraying those promises would be… ill-advised. Even if they did flee, being caught would be disastrous. Today's events just reinforced that.

That wasn't the only thing troubling him, however. He'd fled from trouble plenty of times before. It was how he'd ended up in Habersvile in the first place. But this… well, he suspected that fleeing the Legion might be even more difficult than he'd initially suspected.

It wasn't just the fact that they'd all reached level two, and simultaneously by the looks of things—although that little detail was more than enough to send Marcus reeling. That was a whole can of worms that he'd have to open when he next spoke to Tiberius. But the fact that it wasn't even at the top of his list spoke volumes.

The fight at the temple had left Marcus with questions. When the fighting began, Servius had offered up a prayer to Mars, one of the Roman gods. That in itself was nothing strange. The practice was common even among people in this world.

No, the strange part was that the prayer had been answered.

Up until now, Marcus had assumed that the Legion's gods were effectively fictional. Even if they had been real in their world, they certainly weren't in this one. Yet the answering of the centurion's prayer flew in the face of that presumption. Even more stunning was the power with which the prayer was answered—it had directly contested a working of the god of architecture. That was no small feat. Though Arashim was not one of the major gods, he was widely worshiped.

As for how this had happened… Marcus wasn't sure. But one thing was certain—gods couldn't just be created out of thin air. They weren't some arbitrary flight of fancy that people just decided to believe in randomly. That was a fact—one that had been tested more than once by a mad mage or two. The gods were the gods, recognized by the System for their divinity. However they had come to be, they were here now. And they were eternal.

And yet, despite all of that, Servius's prayer was answered.

There were a few possibilities, of course, the first being that the man had actually been praying to one of the real gods under a different name—though Marcus didn't know of any that even would permit such a practice. The idea of the god being an unknown or lost one was similarly absurd, but theoretically possible.

Those were the most likely possibilities. There was also the other, more frightening one—that the Legion, a group of mortal men, had somehow brought a god with them across time and space into this world. Even more, they'd managed to do so without perishing from the effort. If that were the case… well, Marcus had underestimated the threat and capabilities of Legion even more than he'd realized.

"...I agree," he eventually replied. "I expect that running away would not prove fruitful, especially now. But then again, I don't think doing so would be in our best interests. Or anyone else's, for that matter."

"What do you mean?" Eleanora asked, her brow furrowing. "Are you saying you want to stay with these… these psychos? After all that?"

"I am." Marcus sipped his drink, wrinkling his nose as the fumes alone threatened to burn off his nose hairs. "And lets not be unreasonable here. Though I won't say the rebels had it coming, the Legion punishing them is perfectly understandable. It also doesn't change the fact that they've been quite fair up to this point."

Eleonora made a face. It was obvious she didn't entirely agree, but was willing to hear him out. "Then… what do you think we should do?  Do you have a plan?"

The bard waggled a hand back and forth. "Saying that it's a plan might be a bit of a generous overstatement. However… I do believe I have some sort of direction in mind. One that we can orient ourselves toward without guilt."

He set his drink down and steepled his fingers, pausing theatrically. He couldn't help but inject a bit of showmanship into his pitch, even now. "...The strength and ruthlessness of the Legion has become abundantly clear to us. We well understand the threat they pose. However, to others… well, we've seen time and time again how simple it is to underestimate an army of such low-leveled soldiers.

"Now, it's abundantly clear what the Legion wants—to conquer and expand their empire. Something that will require them to take far more towns and cities than just Habersville. And what do you think will happen when they do?"

Understanding dawned on Eleonora's face. "...The same thing that happened here?"

Marcus nodded. "Indeed. The Legion will use demonstrations to enforce their rule when necessary. And unless people understand what they're capable of, it will be necessary. Over and over again, we'll see the same cycle of rebellion and punishment. Especially as the defending forces and populace becomes stronger and more certain that they can handle the threat. Maybe they'll be right. But until they are…"

Marcus trailed off, his meaning clear. The [Healer] gulped. "But what does that have to do with us?"

He smiled. "Well. I think that we have an opportunity here. A duty, you might say. Not just to the Legion, but to the rest of the world. Not in the sense of being great big heroes or anything like that—I tend to leave those things for stories. But perhaps, if we were to adequately convey the danger of the Legion to those they wish to conquer… well, we could certainly save quite a few lives."

"You want us to work against them?!" Eleonora's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "We were just talking about how that's a stupid idea! The last thing I want to be accused of is treason!"

"It wouldn't be treason," Marcus pointed out. "Quite the opposite. We'd be paving the way for the Legion's conquests. We'd be easing not just their path, but that of their future subjects. Think of it as diplomacy, in a way, where we work to ensure as little bloodshed as possible for both sides. It's a win-win."

"You're assuming that they can't be stopped," Eleonora muttered. "They can be, can't they? No way they could stand up to Novara's army… right?"

The bard just shrugged. He saw Eleonora shudder at his non-answer.

He thought about the title he'd earned upon summoning the Legion—[Harbinger of Rome]. At first, he'd seen it as little more than flavor text, a marker of what he had done. But now? Perhaps it was more fitting than he'd anticipated.

Suddenly, the epic he'd been composing took on a whole new purpose. This was no longer just a story about a fascinating group of summoned soldiers. No, now it was a warning. A tale of caution to all those who stood in the Legion's way. A legend in the making—one that hopefully wasn't too fantastical to be believed.

Eleonora met Marcus's eyes. "Do you really think we can do it? Make a difference, I mean? I'm just a low-level healer. I'm nobody."

Marcus smiled meaningfully. "By now, you should know better than to judge anyone by level. But… yes. I think we can."

The girl fell silent, then downed the last of her drink. Marcus did the same. Their lots were cast, for better or for worse. Now he just needed to figure out a path forward.

Chapter 54: Field of Ashes

Chapter 54: Field of Ashes

When Tiberius's vision returned, he was already checking over his surroundings for an ambush and other threats. Luckily, none appeared. The momentary blindness had been temporary enough that no enemies could take advantage of it. Of course, he couldn't always count on that to be the case. But luck had a much more significant impact on war than almost anyone would like to admit.

Once he was certain that his immediate surroundings were safe, his attention turned to himself. He found that he could see more clearly than before. Farther, too, even accounting for [Keen Eye]. Best of all, he felt younger. The aches in his knees and elbows were gone, and the soles of his feet no longer hurt from the long march of the days before. Even his mind felt sharper, more adept. It was like he was finally taking a truly deep breath for the first time in decades.

But he didn't have time to take a full inventory of the changes. As much as he would have liked to hop from foot to foot and run through a sword form or two, there was still a battle to be won.

A quick scan of his troops revealed a rapidly diminishing glow of gold around each of them and a slightly bewildered look on anyone not currently in combat. Those fighting usually had enough discipline to not let something so simple as a loss of vision distract them. They also were likely too busy to truly wonder at any physical changes they'd similarly gone through.

The changes offered an opportunity. Clearly, this could be a turning point in the battle. Tiberius could feel it in his bones—and perhaps in his skills.[Strategic Warfare] certainly indicated such. Now was the time to act, to swing the momentum back in their favor.

Tiberius turned toward the battle. He was on the ground now, but could still pick out ghouls leaping from rooftop to rooftop, attempting to attack and cut off the flow of Legionnaires out of the city. He wouldn't let it happen. He wouldn't let the creatures keep them in this disadvantageous environment. Even if his men were stronger now, he wouldn't push their luck and halt the retreat. No. But they would hold the city gate until everyone was out. Tiberius would make sure of it

The Legatus pointed to the two closest centurions. "You—take command of the right side of the gate wall. You take the left. Take your centuries and hold it at all costs. Recruit some men to keep the surrounding rooftops clear with slings as well."

The centurions saluted and ran off, shouting to their men. Tiberius pointed to several more centurions, barking orders for each to hold key intersections along the main retreat routes and only retreat once the last of the Legionnaires had evacuated past their point. It would be tricky, but also maximize the potential number of men who would get out.

Before, he might have hesitated. But not anymore. They were refreshed and more powerful than before. They felt it—Tiberius felt it. The Legionnaires would execute this retreat and leave the city to burn in their wake. And then, when there was nothing left but smoldering ruins, they would launch a counterattack and finish what they started. They would sweep away their foes amongst a heap of ashes rather than a maze of structures where these monsters had all the advantages.

The centurions he'd stationed atop the gate did their job well. Legionnaires studded the top of the wall, defending their small portion from ghouls sprinting across the ramparts and skittering up the stone itself. They moved as though the wall itself were one giant ladder, claws sinking unnaturally into its surface yet leaving behind no holes. Their only saving grace against such an assault was the ghouls' complete lack of ranged capabilities. Otherwise, keeping them at bay would have been nigh on impossible.

All the while, Legionnaires streamed through the gates in a well-ordered retreat. Many even hurled stones at the ghouls to support their brethren from afar. Overall, things appeared to be going quite well.

That didn't mean they'd remain that way forever, though. They'd bought themselves more time, but continuing to hold the gate after the retreat would be a fool's errand, not to mention pointless.

As the minutes ticked by, more and more Legionnaires drained out of the town, leaving only a crackling inferno in their wake. Every time one of the centurions retreated from their position, Tiberius left orders reiterating the need to torch everything—a prospect they'd taken to with great enthusiasm.

"Sir!" Lucius called. "The final century is pulling back. They'll be approaching the gate soon."

Tiberius nodded. "Good. Have the men on the wall prepare to pull back. The men on the ground will cover them. We'll return to the command post."

"Yes, sir!"

As he continued coordinating troop movements through Lucius, Tiberius and his guards began to pull back themselves. Now that there was no real risk of the retreat being cut off, there was no reason for him to chance being attacked yet again. Plus, with the battle moving outside of the town, he could use a better vantage point.

On his way out, he spotted more than a few men with extra accessories and flashes of gold or silver on their persons. He turned a blind eye to it for the moment. He couldn't begrudge a soldier his right to loot. If he heard that such activities had interfered with the retreat, however… that was a different matter.

As the stream of retreating Legionnaires thinned, so too did the enemy forces chasing them. Fewer and fewer monsters managed to reinforce the attacking swarm, and by the time the last Legionnaire was out, reports indicated that they now numbered in the hundreds instead of the thousands as before. It seemed that the fire had been just as effective as Tiberius had hoped in deterring the things—and based on what he saw, it had managed to kill quite a few as well.

They quickly made their way to the command post and evaluated the new situation. Black plumes of smoke filled the sky above Stonewake, their density threatening to blot out the sun. The Legionnaires had already formed up, bringing the full force of their cohorts to bear as they ringed the city. The formation seamlessly integrated the new arrivals as they left the city, preparing to meet the ghouls that would soon follow.

As flames danced above the walls of the burning city, their enemy made their appearance. Waves of ghouls skittered over and down the walls, their gray skin making it appear as though the stones themselves were moving. The heat forced them out and onto the plains below, right into the waiting Legionnaires.

The creatures had already more or less gathered together near the gate, meaning that their latest assault resembled one large mob rather than a something distributed over the entirety of the wall. Still, the group of hundreds couldn't compare to the thousands of men under Tiberius's command.

They rushed towards the Legion's forces, their unbroken shield wall three men deep. It smashed into the red and gold shields like a battering ram, barely dispersing to either side. And yet despite the force of the assault, the wall held firm.

The men in the back ranks thwarted any attempts to climb over the formation with vicious spear thrusts. Shields guarded against threats from above while a hail of slingshots and the remaining pila shot forward from further down the formation. After the initial engagement, their line began to curl in and surround the aggressors, hitting the beasts on their flanks and in the rear.

It was a simple, ferocious slaughter. There was no compromise, no potential for surrender. Just death. And not of the Legionnaires—Tiberius hadn't felt a casualty since before they'd even left the city. After all, this was the sort of butchery the Legion was made for—fighting against numerically superior foes with their own superior tactics. The enemy's obvious lack of self-preservation certainly helped matters, though.

Here, without the advantage of buildings or high ground, the ghouls had no choice but to charge or retreat—and they chose the former. The Legion's drilled maneuvers had swords smoothly sprouting like grass in a lush pasture as centurions rotated men in and out, supporting them as they held the line. Each sword thrust slid between the shields, repeatedly ramming in and out until Tiberius was sure that most soldiers' shoulders would give out from exhaustion.

Though plenty of ghouls remained, their numbers ceased to increase. No more crested the town's walls as the encirclement began to tighten around the last of them. Finally, the creatures seemed to register the threat. They seemed to panic, looking for a way to retreat rather than continue their blind aggression. For the first time, they seemed to be afraid.

But it did nothing. The encirclement continued to tighten until it choked the lie out of the last ghoul. Finally, after hours of fighting, the battle was over.

Tiberius felt his shoulders relax as the last screech faded from the battlefield. Left in its wake was the sound of crackling flames and the thunderous booms of buildings and stonework collapsing. But after a long moment of calm, one of the centurions let out a shout of triumph. The call was echoed by thousands of throats, blossoming into a dull roar that echoed across the corpse-studded plains.

Tiberius nodded and turned to Lucius. "Order the men to see to the wounded and take stock of our losses. See to the conquered townsfolk as well. We will need to make camp outside the town for now."

The Aquilifer saluted before passing on the commands. Tiberius turned back toward the walls. It would take at least another day for that conflagration to burn itself out. By the time it was done, there would be nothing left but piles of rubble and ash. The town would be one mound of debris—a clean slate.

The loss of all that infrastructure was a bit of a shame. However, it had been necessary. And besides, it did mean that Tiberius now had a clean slate on which to build. One that they could shape to their own purposes..

Tiberius spun on his heel, already drawing up plans and prioritizing tasks in his mind. He was just about to call together his officers when another string of golden text materialized before his eyes.

[You have successfully razed the town of Stonewake! You have gained experience.]

[You have successfully razed the town of Stonewake! You may rename the settlement to stake your claim.]

Chapter 53: Closing the Gap

Chapter 53: Closing the Gap

Augustus walked through Habersville, exuding confidence even as his eyes scanned his surroundings with caution. The ill-fated rebellion had been put down quickly and efficiently, and Legionnaires filled the streets in the aftermath just to ensure that no one else even considered such foolishness again. Still, it never hurt to be careful.

After the dome had shattered, Gaius had wasted no time in mobilizing the Legion to regain control of the area. Augustus and the others trapped inside had already neutralized most of the genuine agitators in their assault, but there were more than a few groups that had remained patrolling the streets. A few other leaders, such as the former mayor and other high-ranking priests, had been rooted out of their hiding places and summarily captured. 

The rebels weren't killed—well, most of them at least. Some had been lucky enough to be struck down during their resistance. But those that still lived were being held so that Gaius could make a proper example of them. And seeing how quickly they'd retaken the town, that would not take long at all.

But right now, he was afforded a small break. So in the brief interlude between things settling down and him being assigned new orders, he'd decided to pay a quick visit to the class stone to adjust his skills.

Only a few of them, of course—the group skills weren't his to decide, and the officers had declared that three of each man's individual skills needed to directly relate to one's combat abilities or camp duties. But those last two? Those were free for any man to experiment with, provided they reported back any promising results to their superiors.

Unfortunately, Augustus had bet on the wrong gladiator with his. Despite the fervent insistence of that dreamer Caeso, the [Breathing] skill he'd picked up was simply not working out for him. He'd leveled it up to ten or so, but after that it had ceased advancing rather quickly—which felt bizarre, given the speed at which many of his other skills developed. It made him truly doubt Caeso's claim of having leveled it to a hundred, not to mention the supposed "energy" he supposedly had begun to feel flow through him.

Augustus had never felt any such thing. Not even after trying the cross-legged meditation that Caeso and some of his fellow fanatics seemed to swear by. It just made him feel silly. No, he was done with that nonsense—it was time to try out other, more practical skills.

He was considering picking up a taunt skill, as those were always appreciated. That one had certainly proved its usefulness many times over. But there were also quality-of-life skills worth considering. He had heard rumors going around that [Leatherworking] and [Blacksmithing] were excellent skills for maintaining armor and making sure one's caligae fit like a dream. Or perhaps he'd pick up [Cooking]. He did miss the simple pleasures of a good meal—not that he'd ever dare to insult the cooking of his tent-mate.

Imaginations of well-spiced stews and perfectly seared meats had him salivating as he walked. He was well used to the trail rations and breads that made up the bulk of a Legionnaire's usual diet. But that didn't mean he lacked an appreciation for the finer things. Besides, there was only so much shadow panther one could eat before it became tiresome. If there was anything he could do to spice things up—literally or figuratively—then it might be worth the investment.

The town's square was relatively empty when he arrived. Augustus was used to it being packed with Legionnaires scrolling through the miles-long lists of skills, even after regulations had been issued to alleviate the worst of the traffic. Of course, there were published lists of the Legion's available skills, but there were only so many copies to go around. Besides, no one wanted to deal with the unwieldy scrolls and stacks of wax tablets when the magical System interface was an option.

And so, while order had yet to be fully restored, Augustus took advantage. Surely no one would object to him using the stone in his downtime, not right now.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out and touched the glassy black surface of the monolith—

—Only to be immediately blinded.

He cried out in pain as the light seared his eyes, stumbling backward. Shouts of alarm and rapid footfalls sounded in the distance, suggesting he wasn't the only one to see the spectacle. When Augustus finally blinked away the spots in his vision, he saw that the town square was no longer as empty as it had been. Now, it was packed with Legionnaires, their postures tense and gladii drawn. Their forms shimmered with a golden glow that was already dissipating as he noticed it.

A centurion stepped forward from the crowd. "Soldier, what was that? What did you do?"

"Uh..." Augustus stammered intelligently. So much for being inconspicuous about using the class stone. "I don't know, sir. I was just using the class stone and…"

The centurion's eyes flicked to the monolith—which had once more faded to its usual black—then to the Legionnaires around them. "False alarm. Return to your posts."

The soldiers sheathed their swords and began to disperse as the centurion approached. He nodded to the stone. "Touch it again and tell me what you see."

Augustus grimaced, this time shielding his eyes as he reached out. But the searing light failed to appear. This time, he found himself greeted with a simple message.

[Congratulations on reaching level 2! Stat increases have been applied. You have new free stat points to assign.]

***

The door to the supply room rattled on its hinges as ghouls scratched and clawed at it from outside. The thick wood did little to muffle their shrieks, the chilling sounds reverberating through the enclosed space and seeming to amplify them. Yet that wasn't the worst of it.

"Cassius, I swear to all the gods," one of the Legionnaires groaned. "If you don't shut up I'm going to shove one of those explosives right down your throat."

Quintus sighed as the singing Legionnaire continued to serenade them—albeit far more hoarsely than when he'd begun. "He can't. He has a responsibility to neutralize the effect of those damned shrieks."

"Well he can at least pick a different song! He's been singing the same one for hours!"

Quintus shook his head. In truth, they were all getting more than a little tired of the incessant music. But there wasn't much anyone could do about it, Not given their current circumstances.

He resisted the desire to take his helmet off and wipe the sweat from his head. For the moment, his men were handling themselves well, taking turns at defending the door by stabbing outward through its faceplate. Yet he'd seen too many men die from taking their helmets off only to be caught by surprise. So on it stayed, even as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

This situation wasn't tenable. They had to do something—not just for their own sakes, but for their brothers above. They needed assistance. Even though Quintus didn't know the actual situation up there, he was still continuing to feel the icy chill of death after death as time went on. He counted at least fifty in the past hour alone—less than before, but certainly enough to know that the battle was not yet over. And if the monsters hadn't yet dug through the cave-in that they'd triggered, those numbers were sure to increase sooner rather than later.

He turned his head to look at his comrades where they sprawled beside him, desperately squeezing in what rest they could. The constant fighting and skill use had finally begun to take its toll on everyone. The longer they waited, the higher the risk of losing this battle of attrition.

Quintus gritted his teeth in frustration. He felt useless. Trapped and useless. Yet what could they do? They stood little chance of making it out of this room, much less pushing back the tide enough to make any tangible difference. Especially not in their current states.

He looked to the Legionnaire manning the faceplate. His movements had grown sluggish, as though his limbs were made of lead. Past the door, the screeches and battering intensified as the creatures seemed to sense his weakness.

The Primus Pilus hauled himself to his feet and drew his blade. "Prepare to switch, soldier!"

The Legionnaire panted and managed a nod. Quintus stepped forward and prepared to relieve him. But before he could, a blinding light filled the room.

His men shouted in alarm at the sudden brightness. When it lessened enough for them to see once more, a glimmer of gold emanated from each and every Legionnaire. Then that, too, faded to nothing.

Instantly, Quintus felt his posture straighten. A surge of strength flooded through him, filling his muscles with liquid fire and sharpening his senses. The stinging pains of cuts and lacerations across his body seemed to fade into little more than tingling. His ears popped as their still-healing interiors seemed to repair themselves in an instant—causing him to wince at the renewed volume of the ghouls' screams.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck before looking around. The Legionnaire he'd been moving to relieve was recovering from his own surprise, returning to his attacks with renewed vigor. Even some of the more injured and exhausted Legionnaires were on their feet.

"What in the blazes was that?" One of them asked.

"A blessing from Jupiter?" Another offered. "It would certainly explain the light show."

"...Perhaps," Quintus hedged, taking an experimental swing with his sword. It felt more effortless than before, not to mention the added power behind it. "Or perhaps there's something else at play."'

He had his own suspicions about what had just transpired. Of course, he had no way of confirming them at the moment—which meant he didn't know if this strength was permanent or temporary. Either way, he had no intention of letting it go to waste.

Quintus snapped out a command. "Get ready. We make a push for the cave-in—this time, we'll finish the job."

His men nodded resolutely, scrambling to organize themselves. Before, such a suggestion would have sounded impossible. But now… well, Quintus himself not only felt refreshed, but five years younger.

Once they'd formed up, Quintus gave the signal to breach the door. The Legionnaires charged back into the tunnel, catching the ghouls off-guard with their ferocity and strength. Their formation cleaved through the screeching monsters like a stylus through clay, even despite the numbers they faced.

Their momentum and confidence carried their wall all the way down the path until the cave-in came into view. As Quintus had expected, the hole had widened in their absence. A handful of creatures could now squeeze through at a time, the increased flow contributing to the resistance they'd encountered on the way here.

The men continued to march forward in lockstep, their arms moving in rhythmic motions. Quintus bared his teeth in a rictus grin as they slaughtered their way to the gap. Their line bent into an L shape as his men divided their attention—most stopping monsters from coming back down the tunnel toward them, while the others killed the few coming through the breach.

As their position solidified, they moved to the next phase. A few of the men facing the breach pulled out of the formation and unslung pickaxes from their backs. As their brethren moved forward to stem the trickle of ghouls with shield and sword, the others began hammering away at boulders to the sides of the tunnel. The harsh sound of metal pinging against stone joined the cacophony of battle that threatened to deafen all of them.

They'd used the last of the explosives in their previous assault. However, the impacts had left plenty of loose rocks and dirt that was on the cusp of falling into the space. With a little bit of prodding, they might be able to collapse that part of the tunnel and finish the job—or even pile bits of boulder in front of the breach by hand, if it came down to that.

As streams of dirt and rocks began to shift and trickle down in front of the gap, Quintus turned his attention up the tunnel, facing down the ghouls that had doubled back to attack them. They seemed to sense that the men were up to something and had no intention of letting them succeed.

Time lost its meaning as his sword glided through one beast after another, his skills and the surge of power that still filled his muscles making the motions feel effortless. Skin and bone parted like water before his strikes even without empowering them with [Heavy Blow].

Something whizzed by his ear. One of the ghouls crawling along the ceiling fell limply to the ground as a rock smashed into it, the speed of the projectile crushing its head like an overripe melon. A flurry of additional whizzes followed close behind, filling the air as they hurtled forward to find their targets with unerring accuracy. A few of the stones even seemed to shimmer and split into multiple copies in midair.

Quintus didn't have to look to see the source of the projectiles. The sling experts continued ruthlessly peppering their foes from behind the wall. They were far more able to take down the enemies that crawled out of reach of their swords, especially now that this boost allowed them to practically double their rate of fire—though every once in a while, Quintus could feel a rock plink harmlessly off his helmet as it rebounded.

Glancing over, Quintus saw one of the men hefting an impressively-sized boulder above his head larger than seemed possible for one man to lift. With a grunt of exertion, the Legionnaire heaved it into place in front of the gap, shrinking it further.

The assault continued as the men worked to steadily close the breach. The creatures pushing through resisted their efforts, shouldering aside smaller rocks and clawing away dirt. However, the Legion was winning. Slowly but surely, their plan was working.

A deep rumble sounded from behind. Rather than stopping as expected, though, it continued to grow in volume and intensity with every passing second. Just as he realized what it was, Quintus's [Battlefield Intuition] screamed at him to move.

"All men, push up the tunnel! Now!"

Quintus screamed out the order just as the ceiling began to collapse above them. His men reacted admirably, bolting toward the advancing shield wall to escape the falling rocks and dirt that threatened to bury them all. Unfortunately, their work and the cave-in had quickie reduced the tunnel's width to far narrower than it had been.

He raised his shield to secure an avenue for retreat for his men as they ran past. The avalanche quickly progressed from a scattering of small stones plinking off of his scutum to what must have been the entire ceiling falling atop his head. The sheer weight of it all forced him to one knee, even as strong as he currently felt. Yet still, he persevere. He refused to move until the last of his men was through.

The last Legionnaire darted toward him, ducking low as he prepared to rush beneath Quintus's shaking shield. But even as he neared the edge of the Primus Pilus's improvised shelter, another boulder tumbled down from above—this one on a collision course with the man's head.

Time seemed to slow down for Quintus. He dug deep, one hand flashing for the sword at his waist as the other nearly buckled under the weight atop his shield. It slid out of his sheath and toward the falling rock. Not to bisect it—he suspected that even his current strength wouldn't allow for that. All he needed to do was redirect it.

[Swordsmastery] guided his hand, angling the blade in alignment with his intent. Quintus's arm jarred as metal met stone. The boulder turned aside, its trajectory altered just enough to skim the helm of the running Legionnaire before impacting the ground with a solid thud.

Quintus's blade slid smoothly back into its sheath. The final man sprinted past just as his arm threatened to give out. The centurion quickly rolled backwards, allowing the section of ceiling to finally collapse in his wake. The rubble crushed a clawed hand just as the ghouls began to pursue. As the rumbling finally quieted, so did the shrieks from beyond.

There was no time to celebrate, however. Just because the gap had been sealed didn't mean they were safe. Ghouls still continued to assault their position from further up the tunnel, and the sounds of incessant scratching suggested that the newly trapped ones hadn't given up, either.

"Reinforce the shield wall!" Quintus ordered. "Stabilize our position!"

The men who had been using pickaxes were already on it. The cave in behind them was by no means a permanent solution to their problem. Given enough time, the ghouls may be able to dig out. But it would do for now. So long as they could stem the tide for a while, they'd be able to engineer something more robust to keep these creatures from ever seeing the light of day again.

Eventually, the screams and sounds of battle began to subside, then stopped altogether. Quintus stabbed outward one more time to fell the last of the ghouls before lowering his shield. All around, his men panted with exertion, their brows beading with sweat.

He surveyed the troops. "Is everyone all right?"

"Fine, now that Cassius has shut up."

"Hey," came a hoarse croak. "Well maybe if you had picked a more useful skill than [Firestarting], then you could pick the music—ack!"

The man devolved into a coughing fit as Quintus smiled approvingly. Aside from a few shallow cuts and scratches, everyone seemed to have made it through unscathed. Which meant… they had done it. They had sealed the breach and even lived to tell about it.

His attention turned up the tunnel. They'd done what they could. Now, it was up to their brethren on the surface. 

Chapter 52: Scorched Earth

// Quick update. We went through and made improvements in chapters 42-50. Most of them are small minor text fixes, or doing a better job of including skills and variations to make the combat more momentous. The changes went live over the last couple days.

I think the changes are significantly better and it might be worth giving them another look. However, I don't believe there are any updates you need to read to understand what is happening now. There are two slightly more important details that have been added that you might want to know.

1) Tiberius has the skill [Keen Eye]

2) Cassius, Marcus's bard friend, is in the tunnels with Quintus and uses songs to combat the screeching rather than them being deafened.

Chapter 52: Scorched Earth

Lucius's eyes closed briefly as he sent Tiberius's orders along via his skills. Only when he was done did he question them. "Torches, sir?"

Tiberius nodded, his head on a swivel for more attackers. "Indeed. At this rate, we'll be overwhelmed by their numbers and maneuverability. We lure as many as we can into the town as we retreat, then burn it to the ground with them inside."

"Yes, sir!"

Tiberius nodded grimly. While some would have called it a shame to destroy their newly acquired territory like this, it was actually the least of his concerns. Buildings and infrastructure could be easily rebuilt, especially if they leveraged the materials of Habersville and the mines themselves. No, the part that troubled Tiberius most was the retreat itself.

A retreat and disengagement were oftentimes the most deadly part of a battle. The vast majority of the casualties the Legion received came when they were forced to withdraw, especially when fighting other organized foes. The clashing of their forces and steel against another's was dangerous, of course, but it was also measured—steady strength against strength, shield against sword and spear.

But when one side turned and ran, that careful balance was disrupted. That was when people got stabbed in the back, shot with arrows, or pelted with slings. Even the best retreating formations couldn't entirely protect them as they were faced with the choice of being felled quickly or slowly. Men couldn't even rotate out effectively when they became tired or wounded, compounding the problem further. No, a retreat was when one's forces were most prone to being ridden down and exterminated.

It was why any commander with half a mind would avoid giving the order at all costs. Once they started, there was no turning back. The butcher's bill would come due in some form or another. But Tiberius could read the writing on the wall. Delaying it would only increase their losses further—quick and decisive action was the best chance for he and his Legion to turn this situation around. Though they did have some other variables working in their favor as well.

Tiberius's gaze swept the surrounding buildings. As much of a boon as they were to these creatures, perhaps they could leverage the terrain as well.

He barked out a few more orders, trusting Lucius to convey them as they began pulling back toward the buildings. His men followed suit as the Legion began to retreat one block at a time. They divided their numbers among the streets and alleyways, adapting their tactics to handle the unending tide of grey creatures that continued to harry them from all sides. Shield walls began to prioritize depth and defense from skyward attacks rather than just looking to the front or back of their lines. They moved fluidly together, arranging a second shield wall behind them as they backed up and essentially creating a slowly moving barrier through the street.

It wasn't perfect, of course—there were plenty of wagons, barrels, and other obstacles in their path that forced them to reposition. During those moments, gaps appeared in their formation—gaps that the enemy exploited in their clever yet suicidal attacks.

As they passed a few stables, the creatures leapt forward, tearing into the enclosed horses in a spray of blood and gore. The Romans hurled a series of torches that carved burning arcs through the air, landing in the dry feed straw piled nearby. In moments it was crackling away merrily, embers and flames dancing through the air and jumping between buildings as the blaze rapidly spread.

Some corner of Tiberius's mind felt a pang of regret. He would have much preferred to requisition those horses for his officers—he'd never expected the beasts to be quite so difficult to find, and now here they were, watching their first real opportunity for mounts fall under a rain of claws and flames. Still, there was no time to try and salvage the animals, even if any did remain alive.

The retreat continued as torches were lobbed past the Roman lines, setting houses and businesses alight as they moved. The creatures hissed angrily at the flames, skittering away from their heat and light, but refusing to be entirely deterred. They scrambled around to find alternate routes of attack as they continued to harry the retreating Legionnaires. Their progress slowed as the fires grew. It bought them just enough time to hurry their retreat along and extend their lead a bit further.

Tiberius pulled back from the front himself and moved toward the gate, quickly navigating his way up to the top of the wall to get a better vantage of the situation. Legionnaires all across the city continued pulling back toward the walls like water draining between cracks in the street, leaving a trail of flickering flames and emaciated grey bodies in their wake. From here, he could see the mine entrance from which the monsters continued to pour out with no signs of slowing.

That wasn't all that he saw, however. Among the retreating soldiers were more than a few displays of nonstandard tactics or even magic. He saw one small group of Legionnaires climbing buildings with the same ease as the ghouls, taking the battle to their foes above. Another ripped planks from houses, only to assemble them into barricades with blinding speed. There was one group that didn't even seem to be using torches—their very swords seemed to set timbers and ghouls alight wherever they struck. Where such tactics were put to use, his men seemed to have a little more breathing room to pull back.

The Legion weren't the only ones retreating. Groups of the citizens his men had rounded up were being hastily ushered toward Stonewake's gates—not that they needed much encouragement. Between the screaming of the eyeless creatures behind them and the steadily growing haze of smoke in the air, it didn't take much convincing for them to move along quickly.

"Lucius," Tiberius called gruffly over his shoulder, honing in on a particular engagement. "Order Octavian's century to join with the men three streets down from them. Warn Augustus's century that their current path will soon be cut off by the flames."

He continued rattling off orders for Lucius to convey to the various centuries and sentries as the fire spilled through the city—a city that, despite its name, was built with an awful lot of wood. Tiberius felt each loss of a soldier keenly as before. However, they came less frequently than he'd feared. The retreat was progressing even better than he'd hoped. 

However, trepidation filled his mind as he considered the last stages of leaving the town. That would certainly prove ugly. He had no illusions that these walls would pose a barrier to the prodigious climbers, and considering the limited size of the front gate… his men may very well find the chokepoint used against them. 

Luckily, the vast majority of the Legionnaires still remained outside of the town, surrounding it. They'd been intended as a screening force, one that would stand ready to protect their new territory from any sort of incoming attack. But if the threat was from within… perhaps it would also serve to keep their enemies contained. At least until they could regroup and sweep the creatures down to reclaim the mines.

Tiberius returned his attention to Stonewake's interior. More and more of the buildings had been set ablaze, but they hadn't yet started to collapse. It would be hours before the burning structures truly blocked off the streets and trapped these monsters in the resulting inferno. But in the meantime, it denied them rooftops as a shortcut behind their lines.

He watched in satisfaction as the roof of a building gave way beneath the talons of one of the wretched beasts. It fell through with a scream he could hear from halfway across the city as it began to burn alive. Still, it was only one among many. Even though fewer creatures could get behind them, they still clustered together in loosely-organized groups and worked to cut off his men. The sheer mass of flesh opposing their retreat was not insignificant, and he could see a particularly large pack of the creatures  moving to intercept the stream of Legionnaires exiting through the city gates.

With a few more orders, Tiberius diverted several different centuries of men to stop them. But as they encountered resistance, they changed course to weave through the streets, with more and more narrowly avoiding his men, slipping through gaps in their defenses, or climbing over the relatively intact houses the fires had not yet reached.

Tiberius's jaw tightened. He prepared his men as best he could, positioning them for the inevitable push they'd need to make through a mass of these creatures. If they continued to coordinate like this, then he'd have to revise his internal estimate of the casualties they were about to take.

He continued to issue commands for as long as he could. Soon, though, it became clear that they would lose the gate before long. He hurried down the stairs just minutes before the swarm attempted to bite into the flow of men, issuing one more order as he did—calling in men from the outside to secure a path for retreat and hold off the creatures as long as they could. It was counterintuitive, but with a small force to secure the walls and defend against any climbers, they might be able to turn this around.

Just as Tiberius reached the ground, his guards rushed him away. The sounds of steel on talons and screaming echoed at his back. He could see the stream of soldiers behind him slow as their movement was arrested by the enemy. More and more deaths stabbed through him like a series of icy needles, each one numbing him a little more to the next.

It quickly became clear that, despite his best efforts, they were in bad shape. The Legionnaires in the city would be overwhelmed. As for the ones outside… well, that depended on how many more of these things rushed up from below. But based on what he had seen, there was no obvious end in sight.

Tiberius's heart sank. Retreating from the city was one thing. But if they were forced to retreat further… how many more losses would they take? Worse, how long would it be before they could return here? They needed the resources that Stonewake provided, but if the town was rendered unassailable by this blight… what other options did they have?

Just as Tiberius began to wrestle with the possibility of having to lose an even larger proportion of his men than he'd been prepared to, a new sensation struck him. A warm feeling, one that began in his toes before rushing quickly up his entire body.

Before he could even register what he'd felt, the world went white.