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

"Marcus. Marcus!"

The thin, reedy voice brought Marcus to a halt, his humming cut short as he looked around. To his right, an assortment of freshly-washed clothing hung from a line, the garments fluttering gently in the breeze behind the safety of a fence. Next to them leaned Margaret, her rheumy eyes bright as she gave him a toothless smile.

"Ah, Margaret," Marcus said, doffing his cap in a flourishing bow. "You're looking as lovely as ever."

"Oh, you flatterer!" The washerwoman flapped a hand at him. "Why, if I hadn't heard you were already spoken for, you'd have me think'n you might be interested in lil ol' me!"

Marcus blinked, pausing as he replaced the cap upon his head. "Spoken for?"

"Oh, don't be so coy," Margaret's eyes seemed to sharpen with interest. "I heard about the lil spat you had with Miss Myra the other day. Oh, to be young and in love again! Why, there's nothing quite like it!"

Marcus grimaced. Evidently, the woman's grapevine of gossip was even better than he'd given her credit for. That hadn't even happened within the town. "Yes, well… saying I'm 'spoken for' may be putting the cart a bit far before the horse."

"Keepin' yer options open?" Margaret chided. "I'd be careful of going down that path, mister. That's a quick way to find yourself in heaps o' trouble. And besides, a man like you could certainly do worse than Myra. Why, she's just about the prettiest girl I ever did see in this town of ours!"

Marcus's smile tightened. That last part was certainly true, from what Marcus had seen. Still, being a standout in Habersville didn't mean much to him. Even the best bakers here couldn't hold a candle to the average corner shop in any major city. He could easily find better options elsewhere—and had, plenty of times. Though he had no intentions of settling down anytime soon, either.

"I'll keep that in mind," he reassured the woman, intending to do no such thing. "But enough about me. How have you been? How's your grandson?"

The woman chortled, seemingly content to let the conversation shift to a different topic. "Oh, you know. With the weather the way it is, I've been feeling fit as a fiddle! And Gary doesn't seem to be doin' half bad, neither. At least, he's still out of trouble for once in his life, praise Kyraz. Those Legionnaires certainly seem to keep him busy."

"Wonderful, wonderful." Marcus nodded. "Have you heard from him much?"

"Heavens no. He's come by once or twice, but they work those conscripts to the bone, I tell you. But neither I nor his momma have heard a peep about him runnin' off or doin' anything stupid. That's enough for us."

Marcus nodded. That lined up with what he'd heard as well. Honestly, he was genuinely glad for the guy. And not just because his drinking buddies would never let him hear the end of it if one of his personal recommendations had turned out to be useless. Given how much they enjoyed poking fun at him, it was better to leave them with as few arrows in the quiver as he could manage—or, rather, stones for the sling.

Margaret scratched her chin and continued. "Though you know, I'm pretty impressed with how these men operate. I've been out to see their training a few times—purely outta curiosity, mind you," the old woman gave him a mischievous gap-toothed smile, "—and they really do seem awful professional. So much better than those adventurer types."

"You think so?" Marcus prodded.

"Yep, yep. I tell ya, you never know if they're gonna show up in the first place, and if they do, there's a good chance they'll just cause all kinds o' trouble while they're here. Why, I've heard tell of types that'll fleece you for everything you've got, even with the whole 'Adventurer's Guild' rules in place. Honestly, it's like they let just anyone call themselves an adventurer nowadays! It's not like it used to be, where we had standards…"

Marcus listened to the old woman rant for a while. While her experiences clearly weren't extensive, being a resident of an out-of-the-way place like Habersville, they weren't completely unfounded. The corruption of the Adventurer's guild had become a growing topic of debate over recent years as demand for the profession had increased. The growing prevalence of bandits and other criminal activity throughout Novara meant that the guild was stretched thin, leading to a loosening of their standards. It certainly didn't help that the most capable adventurers also made their ways to the front lines of war to defend their country or as glorified mercenaries seeking a payday.

The trio that had come to Habersville were a prime example of the newer crop, in Marcus's mind. Their obvious inexperience made it clear that they'd been rubber stamped and let loose to do as they would without much vetting or oversight at all. The fact that they hadn't been able to manage a handful of Legionnaires didn't help their case, either.

Eventually, Marcus decided to rejoin the conversation. "Well, I suppose you must be pleased with recent developments, then. It seems that the Legion's gotten most men in the town involved somehow—whether in training, trade, or teaching."

"Oh sure. Most of 'em," Margaret adjusted a piece of cloth hanging from her clothesline. "But I'll tell ya who they haven't pulled in… those ol' town guards."

Marcus cocked his head. "Really? Still?"

The woman nodded, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Yep. Word is that they ain't too pleased about it, neither."

"I would assume they'd be thrilled, if they're being spared from all of that training."

"Nope. They've just got their britches in a twist about gettin' ousted like they did. Some of em' are still bitter about the whole thing, feelin' like they're bein looked down on."

Marcus shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I suppose that's only to be expected. Them and the mayor both. But, well, given how their last confrontation went…"

Margaret nodded. "I hear ya. Some people'll take any chance they can get to grouse about things. Why, I've heard the same people that used to complain about ol' Mayor Blaufort out there complainin' about the Legion now… But they've never done anything more than grumble. Not in a sleepy lil' town like this."

Marcus wasn't particularly surprised. Still, calling Habersville a "sleepy little town" after all that had happened didn't feel particularly accurate.

The washerwoman shook herself, seeming to banish the darker topic from her mind. "Anyway, where're you headed, young man?"

"Ah!" Marcus gestured down the street. "I was just on my way to the temple district. I've heard so many things about them, and yet I realized I hadn't quite made the time in my busy schedule to pay them a visit."

"Oh, you're certainly in for a treat," the woman chortled. "They're somethin' to behold. The new ones, 'course, but even the old ones to Lenare and Zabit look better'n ever!"

"Really? They put that much effort in?"

"Oh, yes! Why, they're no works of art on their own, but they never were to begin with. They certainly didn't skimp out on makin' the things, even though they went an' built their own temples too. That went n' surprised a lotta people, 'specially the priests. The Arashim ones're still all pissy, though."

Marcus could understand why. Building a bigger and more impressive temple for one's own god was a tried-and-true method of getting potential followers to come take a look at what they had to offer. It was why followers of Arashim, the god of wealth and architecture, always invested unfathomable amounts of time and money into their buildings. But actually putting their best foot forward for the other temples suggested that the Legion really wasn't trying to foist their deities onto others overmuch. Even if he had heard about some interest in them already.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"I suppose I'll have to see for myself," Marcus concluded with a grin. "Who knows? Maybe I'll become a devout worshipper of one of those new gods they brought along."

"You wouldn't be the first. I've heard some of em' are pretty popular with the lads nowadays," Margaret began taking down her laundry to fold it. "A bit foolish, if you ask me. Kinda strange to worship a god you can't even feel, much less one the System don't recognize. Guess that's why most of the priests ain't too worried."

The two of them bantered back and forth for a while longer, talking about various important people and developments in town. Even before this, everyone had been expecting war, and the townsfolk joining the military ended up being a catalyst for a great many things—most of all, weddings. It seemed like half the people who had joined as recruits were trying to get married before they went off to war.

Unfortunately, it was apparently against the rules for auxiliaries to actually be married, and the same went for Legionnaires. But that rule often seemed to be overlooked in practice. Centurions oftentimes seemed content to turn a blind eye to the rush of weddings, so long as the ceremonies were kept low-profile and out of view of the Legionnaires.

"Downright silly, if you ask me," Margaret noted. "A man with a woman to come home to'll fight twice as hard to stay alive!"

Marcus held his peace and just shrugged.

***

Merethe and Sharath spent the rest of the day—and some of the next—watching the strange army from afar as it camped outside of Habersville's walls. Though "camped" felt like a fairly loose term for the town-sized fortification that had been erected there. They even watched as one patrol dragged back the corpse of what looked to be a weak roaming boss. It had almost looked familiar at first, but a careful inspection suggested that it was actually a chimera type—meaning it may not have been as weak as they'd thought.

Given the average level of things found in the Evergreen Seas, it was likely that the two of them would have been able to beat it themselves. Still, that wasn't the issue. Neither Merethe nor Sharath was comfortable with the idea that a group of low-level soldiers could take down a boss like that—even if the three adventurers with them had probably done the brunt of the work.

“This whole situation reeks of… something,” Merethe told her sister. “Things just don't add up."

Sharath nodded in agreement. "I feel you. But the question is, why?"

Merethe nodded to the rows of training soldiers before them. "It's their bearing. I know they’re all level one, but they don’t move like it. The way they run their drills, the way they’ve set up their camp, the way they walk... It all screams of someone who has fought hundreds, if not thousands, of battles. Not all of them are at that level, of course. But the number of veterans in this army is absurd."

"What level do they act like, d'you think?"

"Somewhere between 20 to 40," Merethe answered instantly. "For the veterans, at least. I've only seen the capital's elite troops a few times, but that's what they remind me of.”

Sharath frowned in thought. "Look, I get what you mean. But how they hold themselves and act doesn't mean a thing if they don't have the numbers to back it up. You can swing a sword like Thelynn Bronstone, but it's not gonna split a mountain in two unless you have his monstrous strength and skill levels."

"I know. That's why I'm saying something stinks. Those movements suggest that their skills are way above where they should be, but…"

"Even if that is the case, it doesn't change the facts," Sharath argued. "[Appraisal] says they're level one. Which means that, somehow, they haven't fought pretty much anything in all their years. Unless there's some sort of artifact that can make up bogus info for several thousand people at once…"

Considering the sheer absurdity of what they were seeing, Sharath wouldn't discount the possibility entirely. But she well knew how expensive it was to get an item that blocked [Appraisal] for one person—much less faked it like this.

Merethe sighed, turning to look at her sister. "Whatever the case, there's more at play here than we realize. We can’t simply return to the Baron without investigating further."

"Agreed," Sharath nodded. "Even if we did, he'd probably send us right back to find out more. And I feel like 'yeah, we saw like, a few thousand level ones' doesn't really capture the full picture here."

The pair fell silent for a moment, watching as the mysterious soldiers continued their drills. It was easy to tell which groups were more or less experienced based on the coordination with which they moved. The newer ones maneuvered their shields and stabbed their weapons forward as a cohesive group, but the veterans? They looked as though they truly were a single organism."

"...I think we need to see them fight," Sharath eventually said.

"We have. We've seen their patrols take on shadow panthers, have we not?"

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

She saw Merethe grip her bow more tightly. Tension lined the ranger's face and stiffened her muscles.

"...I do," Merethe begrudgingly admitted, "But I want you to know that I still think it's a bad idea."

“I don’t disagree, but I don’t see any real other way." Sharath spread her hands. "We were hired to investigate and neutralize the threat if we could. Now, I'm not saying we take on the whole army or anything like that—we're scouts, not idiots—but some firsthand battle experience against these guys is exactly the kind of thing the baron wanted from us.

"And besides… they’re clearly our enemies. They’re standing against Novara, which seems like a rather stupid position unless they've got something to back it up, especially if we're right about their levels."

Sharath wasn't what one might call a patriotic citizen of the kingdom, exactly. As strong and stable as her homeland seemed, she could see the corruption and rot that infected it as well as anyone—an issue that had only intensified since the new king had taken over and elevated the cowardly politickers up with him. Still, it was leagues better than the other countries that came to mind. She had no desire to see it come under siege by anyone, not when there were already other wars making life difficult for everyone.

“Have you considered the fact that they probably do have something to back it up? If they’re willing to take a bold stance like this…" Merethe objected. "We might be getting in way over our heads here.”

"True. But if they do have some kind of trump card, would they really waste it on two random adventurer scouts? Not to mention that poking the hornet's nest might help to expose whatever they've got going on. And that's the kinda info that a baron would pay premium for."

"Little sister…" Merethe's extra emphasis on the word made Sharath bristle a little. Some of her reaction must have showed, because her sister allowed a flicker of condescension to tinger her smile. "We can always turn back. We could just abandon the quest and move further south. It's not like we couldn't find other work, and I doubt the baron would send anyone after us."

"Eh. I wouldn't be so sure." Sharath crossed her arms. "The baron who gave us this quest has some pretty powerful relatives. His uncle's a duke, one of the old ones too. I wouldn't be surprised if he dished out some money to have us hunted down."

Merethe frowned. "A duke? Would he really care that much about something like this? To him, we'd just be two low-level adventurers. For all they know, our disappearance may just mean that we were unlucky and got killed on this quest."

"Maybe. Maybe not," the rogue mused, rubbing her chin. "He could also see it as a betrayal, if he found out that we didn't die. And a man like that's got reputation on the line—his own and his family's. We'd want to lay low to be safe, potentially for a long time. And even then… do we really want to do that? Spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?"

Her sister grimaced. Merethe had never been one much for politics and the games that nobles played. But that didn't mean she couldn't understand Sharath's arguments. "...I suppose you have a point…"

"Look. We don't have to kill them all," Sharath tried to seem reasonable. "We can even just chase them off if you want. Let's just go after one of the smaller patrols, confirm that they really are what they appear to be, and get out. That's all we need to do. Deal?"

"...Deal," Merethe sighed in defeat. "I suppose it's a reasonable course of action. But if anything unexpected happens, we prioritize fleeing over fighting."

Sharath grinned broadly. "Of course. Who do you think I am?"

It didn't take long for them to make a plan. When night fell, they'd follow one of the patrols away from camp. They would pick an ambush location close enough to the road to expedite their escape afterward. Then, they'd strike hard and fast, gathering as much data as they could before making a clean getaway.

Sharath nodded as they finalized the details. “I don’t think we're in any real danger of getting lost in the forest with you here, but yeah. Better safe than sorry. Even though we'll have them away from camp, they're pretty good at making sure they've always got backup in range, which could be a problem. It means that we'll have to be fast if we don't want to risk a second patrol making their way over."

"We can always lure them further out," Merethe pointed out. "Test them with a distraction."

"Maybe. We'll see how we feel when the time comes."

The sisters pulled back from the edge of the trees where they had been watching the encampment. Together, they retreated deeper into the forest and started plotting out the best place to stage their ambush.

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