For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion

Marcus whistled a jaunty tune as he headed away from the Legion's camp and toward Habersville. The darkening sky heralded the coming end of a long and productive day. Alas, his work was not yet finished. Not quite yet.

His talk with Secundus had gone well, far better than he'd hoped. The man was a worldly fellow—not exactly quick to laugh but pleasant and familiar with the ways of the world. As such, reaching an understanding was not difficult. Of course he was more than willing to give a specific auxiliary some special treatment, given the right motivations.

Luckily, these "perfect soldiers" were not the paragons of moral virtue he'd initially anticipated. It seemed that in this army, like almost any other, purchasing commissions or similar "arrangements" were commonplace. If that meant having an important person's son on lighter duty rather than digging ditches every day, well, that could be arranged—so long as you knew the right questions to ask of the right people and their price.

It was particularly fortunate that Margaret's wishes for her grandson involved both a greater burden of responsibility and difficult work. That made the ask far more palatable—and less expensive—than it could have been. But the specifics didn't concern Marcus. The washerwoman was sharp enough to put the information and connections he'd gathered to use. If everything went well, her grandson might be in for a potentially long and lucrative career in the military.

He intended to pay her a visit to inform her of the news before taking care of a few more errands. Yet before Marcus made it to the gate, a relatively young Legionnaire ran up to him.

"Sir! Legatus Tiberius requests your presence!"

Marcus frowned. Their last meeting for the day had long since ended. "Did he mention the reason?"

The Legionnaire shook his head. "No, sir. But I think it might have something to do with that."

He followed the Legionnaire's arm as he pointed westward. It only took a moment to pick out the source of his comment—a growing plume of smoke, the orange glow at its base peeking above the trees as though the sun were having second thoughts about retiring.

"Well, fuck," Marcus muttered to himself, briefly forgetting to mask his language. He quickly recovered himself to address the messenger. "That is certainly a real possibility, my good man. I personally have little experience with putting out fires, but living in a forest that's burning down does not strike me as an ideal situation. Is the Legatus in his tent, or shall I follow you to his location?"

"Right this way, sir," the Legionnaire replied before turning on his heel.

Marcus followed at a trot as they quickly headed back into the camp. But even before they reached the command tent, he knew that the stony-faced Tiberius wasn't inside. That faint tugging sensation that accompanied him at all times—like a thousand invisible threads pulling in every direction—drew him further past the structure.

Sure enough, the messenger continued his jog past the command tent and toward the fire. It was exactly in the direction of the strongest thread that Marcus had come to associate with the Legatus, as well as a few others.

As they neared the opposite edge of the camp and headed out toward the forest, Marcus noted the bustle of Legionnaires heading in the same direction. Many rushed past with medical supplies or weapons in hand, a sight which didn't exactly bode well.

It didn't take long for them to spot the targets of their concerns. Nine soldiers rested in the open field between forest and camp, each streaked with some combination of soot, blood, and some other yellowish-white fluids that Marcus couldn't immediately place. Their appearances made it abundantly clear they had come from the source of the blaze—or perhaps had even caused it. Among them he recognized Quintus, the so-called Primus Pilus and first centurion of the Legion.

Those soldiers weren't the only figures, however. Between the comparatively clean Legionnaires that rushed to assist their battle-worn brethren, Marcus noted three more individuals who he didn't recognize. Judging by their attire and the plates hung around their necks, they seemed to be young adventurers. Two lay unconscious on the ground, while one sat and shot baleful glares at the men bustling about. All three were bound.

Marcus and the messenger made a beeline through the makeshift field hospital springing up around them and toward Tiberius. The leader's imposing figure was hard to miss even amongst the flurry of activity. He and a few of his officers seemed to be in the midst of questioning the senior centurion, their conversation low and urgent.

The bard tried his best not to appear too out of breath as they jogged up. As the young messenger announced his arrival, he greeted the leadership with a flamboyant bow—though not quite as over-the-top as usual. He got the sense that Tiberius may not have the patience for it at the moment.

"Good evening, fellows! I was told that my presence was requested?"

Tiberius barely glanced over before nodding to one of the other officers. The man—who resembled a rather stocky bear clad in armor—stepped toward Marcus. "Good. You have arrived. The Legatus will speak to you once his men are taken care of."

The officer guided Marcus away from the conversation with a firmness that brooked no argument. He took the dismissal in stride. It wasn't the first time that an important figure had required his urgent and immediate presence, only to make him wait. At least this time, it was quite clear that Tiberius was doing more than just engaging in a political power play.

Marcus settled in to wait near the other returned Legionnaires, watching them work. A few of the more medically-inclined from the Legion tended to the wounded, although their work was rudimentary at best. The bandages and salves they used were a far cry from a real [Healer]'s work. Still, a scattering of newly-conscripted auxiliaries from town hovered at their elbows to learn and assist where needed. Evidently, this was a golden opportunity for instruction in such things.

"By the gods… is that what I think it is?"

Marcus's ears perked up at the hushed conversation. It didn't take long for him to spot the young villagers muttering to each other nearby as they shadowed their superiors and helped to care for the wounded. But their eyes were fixed on the pile of long, black chitinous sticks that the nine soldiers had brought with them.

"Can't be. Shade slingers don't even get that big."

Marcus focused on the items in question. At first, he mistook them for blackened tree trunks. But as he looked closer, he realized it was something far more unsettling—a bundle of massive spider legs.

His eyes widened in astonished horror as the young auxiliaries continued to mutter to each other.

"I mean, they do get pretty darn big. My grandpappy said he found one as big as a pot under his porch once. Nearly scared the daylights outta 'im."

"Yeah, your grandpappy also said that he was drinking buddies with Silas the Whip," another snorted derisively. "I wouldn't trust a word outta that old coot's mouth."

"Hey!"

"Don't talk about Clay's grandpappy like that. I mean, sure, everyone knows the guy couldn't count to five on his fingers and toes, but—"

"Hey!"

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As the group devolved into arguments about the aforementioned grandpappy's trustworthiness and intelligence, Marcus searched his memory for information about shade slingers. They were a fairly basic type of stealth monster, though dangerous nonetheless. Staying away from their territory where they were most numerous was a given for all but the most prepared adventuring parties. Otherwise, one could quickly find themselves overwhelmed and immobilized by their webs and venom.

Such things were not unexpected in a place like this. Still, the times they'd been referenced in local stories and tavern songs had implied that they resided much deeper in the forest—too far to be a threat to the local populace on a regular basis. Had the Legion truly delved that deep? And how in the world had they found one so large?

Marcus eyed a collection of other spider corpses as another auxiliary carried them past. The men hadn't brought back many, but even these appeared far larger than anything he'd heard of—even the "pot-sized" specimen that the village boys continued to argue about in the background.

"Attention!" barked a centurion. The recruits snapped their jaws shut, scrambling to stand up straight at the Legionnaire's glare. With a quick order, the man sent them off to carry loot and spider remains back to camp. Some of the wounded were also being shepherded that way, once their treatment was complete. The three bound prisoners, however, remained where they were.

As a group of soldiers began to escort the captives away, he saw Quintus break off his conversation with Tiberius and raise a hand to stop them. His voice carried across the clearing enough to hear. "Leave them for now," Quintus ordered. "And set a close watch on them. The burly one possesses much strength, and the woman is a witch-healer of some sort."

Marcus frowned at that. Curious, he focused on the trio and used [Appraisal]. To his surprise, they were all level five and six. That seemed quite high given their youthful appearances. That, and their current predicament.

His frown deepened. How in the gods' name had a group of level ones managed to capture a bronze-rank adventuring party? They didn't give those plates out to just anyone. And a quick glance around confirmed that the soot-streaked Legionnaires were in fact still level one.

Marcus's gaze lingered on them, his unease deepening. Something was clearly wrong here.

It didn't take much longer before Tiberius seemed to finish his conversation with Quintus. Sensing an opportunity, Marcus stepped forward. "You wished to speak with me, Legatus Tiberius?"

"Yes," The man replied, his tone measured. "Tell me, do you know what an area boss is?"

Marcus felt his eyes widen briefly before catching himself. He schooled his demeanor to emulate that of a placid lake before answering. "Yes," he said carefully. "I do. Area bosses are monsters that in some sense preside or rule over a given area. Usually, that involves driving out most everything that is not their own species. Such creatures are well-known for being larger, stronger, and higher level than the norm, as one might expect. As such, they are either avoided entirely or else hunted by parties of experienced adventurers—or, in the cases of more powerful bosses, multiple such parties."

Tiberius fell silent as he considered the explanation. Marcus, for his part, felt his unease only grow. He did not like where this was going. Area bosses were no joke in any location. Usually, their influence and growth was kept in check by Adventurers Guild regulations and activity. But out here on the fringes of the kingdom? Such a thing could quickly spiral out of control and become a real threat if prodded.

His stomach dropped as the pieces began to fall into place. The villagers had made mention of the unusual shadow panther activity in the forest, something he'd even experienced for himself. Could it be because an area boss had risen deeper within? Such a creature could push the panthers out of its territory—or simply be expanding its claim toward the village. And with how strong the cats were on their own…

Icy fingers of dread crawled down Marcus's spine at the thought.

"Are there rewards for killing one?"

Marcus blinked. It took him a moment to understand Tiberius's question. "Mostly experience, of course. Such is the currency of the System, after all. One might also be able to earn titles for the deed. Beyond that… the benefits are mostly practical. As you might expect, it's quite difficult to settle territory with a powerful monster claiming it—officially or not. Clearing out an area boss renders its territory available to officially claim, should a country or nation so desire."

Tiberius nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Then we shall claim its territory. Is there any procedure involved in doing so, aside from the obvious?"

Marcus's head whipped around to stare at Tiberius, then at Quintus. "What? You… you're kidding. You killed one? You killed an area boss?"

Quintus nodded, his face impassive. "Yes. It was a difficult fight."

Marcus blinked, his mind racing. His gaze swept over the remaining soldiers once again with disbelief. The golden text shimmered before him just as it had a few minutes before, once again confirming that they were level one.

He took a deep breath. "I… see. And you're certain that it was an area boss?"

"That is what the notification said."

Marcus nodded in a daze. Somehow, a group of nine level one soldiers who barely understood the System had taken down an area boss. That wasn't just improbable. It was absurd. Absolutely impossible. Especially given that the shadow panthers in the area averaged around level six or seven. Sure, the Legion had managed to deal with those well enough, but this? This was an entirely different level. Especially given that area bosses usually had minions about them.

His attention flicked over to the bound adventurers. Perhaps they had helped with the assault somehow. Yes, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made any small degree of sense. The realization helped to center his thoughts. And besides, just because the soldiers were level one now didn't mean they would stay that way. They likely hadn't touched the class stone since returning. Obviously, if they had, their levels would have updated to reflect such an accomplishment.

Still, the entire situation felt absolutely absurd. An area boss would be much higher level than anything around here, possibly even rivaling Marcus himself. Of course, he would never dare to even try taking one on, as he wasn't even a combat class. But if it really happened…

What a story that would make.

All at once, his concern and disbelief faded into the background as his poet's spirit grabbed hold of the idea. Of course, no one would believe such a tale if he told it as it was. He'd have to adjust the details—perhaps increase a few of the men's levels, for example. But it was just the kind of legendary act he'd been anxiously anticipating out of the summoned soldiers.

He realized he'd been silent, simply staring at Tiberius and Quintus for far too long. "I need details," he blurted out, barely able to contain his excitement. "All of them. If you please."

Quintus and Tiberius exchanged looks, and after a slight nod from the Legatus, Quintus began to recount the event.

To Marcus's dismay, it was the most painfully bland retelling of what should have been an exciting story he'd ever heard. Bland, yet simultaneously unbelievable. Even as he listened, he couldn't help but be amazed at both aspects. Somehow, Quintus's ability to make an exciting story dull may actually exceed Marcus's own ability to make a dull story exciting.

Still, he listened carefully, filing away the details and mentally drafting a skeleton of the story. The core was there. The battle did indeed have the qualities of a legend in the making, as much as Quintus tried to hide it. Still, it wouldn't be easy to distill. Perhaps he could get accounts from the other men first. Although the retelling made it abundantly clear that this tale would need to be tested a few times before it was finalized. How much embellishment and adjustment it would need to pass as even remotely plausible was a tightrope he'd need to walk with acute attention.

As Quintus finished and the remaining men began to disperse, Marcus's mind continued to work furiously. It might not be a full ballad, but this story—tweaked, of course—could certainly become part of a greater work. He was sure the local inns would appreciate a new song, especially one so heroic.

He already had a few verses ready as he noticed Tiberius turning toward the camp. Putting a brief pause on his mental composition, Marcus rushed forward to catch him, cloak fluttering in the gentle breeze.

"Before you retire… you should make sure these men touch the class stones soon," he said, lowering his voice. "The levels and skill increases they undoubtedly gained from this encounter would be very interesting for your research on classes. I'm certain of it."

Tiberius gave him a long, measured look, then nodded. Marcus knew the Legatus still didn't trust everything he said, but providing him with actionable and good-faith suggestions seemed to be one of the best ways to build that trust. It had been working so far, at least.

Marcus spared one last look at the retreating figures of the soot-streaked Legionnaires. His mind spun with unknowns and odd details, each tracing back to one central question—who were these men? Where had they come from, and how in the world were they capable of all this?

He shook his head and turned, putting the distant glow of the burning forest behind him.. Those were concerns that he had no answer for today. Perhaps he would soon. But for now, he had a tale to craft.

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