[Hispania Ulterior, near Corduba, 64 BCE]
The silence of the road was broken by the crunch of Atticus's sandals. "So, what should I do now?" he asked, his voice low. "Should I go back and make peace with Gaius? Hand him some supplies as a gift, like you did for Consus?"
Valerian shook his head, a look of cool dismissal crossing his face. "Absolutely not."
"You have already established yourself as a man with a backbone, Atticus," Valerian continued. "If you go begging for forgiveness now, like some thrown-out concubine, not only will you lose that status, but you'll be humiliated with no benefits to show for it. You committed to the fight. You must keep the act."
Valerian kicked a loose rock down the road, watching it bounce. "We wait. It's only a matter of time. We need to focus on training, get ourselves stronger, and once we've served in some campaigns and battles, then we will have our revenge."
"How do you know all of this?" Atticus asked, his voice betraying his confusion.
Valerian gave a noncommittal shrug. "My mother's family were merchants."
"Oh," said Atticus simply. Merchants were seen as untrustworthy and were looked down upon, but they knew things, how to read people, how to get what they wanted. Atticus was starting to think Valerian's kind of knowledge was worth the stain of trade.
The sun clawed its way above the mist, turning the air hot and thick. Valerian wiped sweat from his brow, grateful the day's patrol was finished without incident.
As soon as they were safely back inside the fort's walls and relieved of their duty, a Tesserarius, a junior officer identifiable by the wooden baton he carried, barked at them, gesturing toward the center of the fort.
"No rest for new meat! Get to the exercitus! You'll be drilling with the Fifth and Sixth Centuries for the next two hours. Move!"
Two hours of drilling. Valerian could barely hide his smirk. That meant four hours of training experience.
He and Atticus exchanged a look, then made their way to the rack where the rudis, the heavy wooden practice swords, were stacked. They swapped their gladius for the training gear, the wooden edges worn smooth by a thousand hands, then headed to the exercitus, the training ground.
The drill ground was a massive, scarred square where hundreds of men moved in disciplined. The air thrummed with the rhythmic thud of wooden swords hitting posts, the sharp snap of the Centurion's shout, and the steady, crushing weight of command. Valerian and Atticus were absorbed into the vast ranks of the new recruits.
The Campidoctores, the specialist instructors, moved like hawks, correcting postures and screaming orders. They were masters of the gladius and shield, embodying the harsh, unyielding standards of Rome itself.
"Shield forward! Elbow tight! Thrust, not slash! Drive the blade into the post!"
Valerian obeyed, slamming his heavy wooden training sword into a thick wooden palus set in the ground. The blade was intentionally blunted and twice as heavy as his real gladius, designed to exhaust the forearm and build stamina. The Centurion was training them to be tireless killers, not flashy duelists.
They struck the wooden posts over and over until their shoulders ached and their arms felt heavy like stone. every impact sent a dull shock up the arm.
Sweat sheeted down Valerian's back, stinging his sharp blue eyes. His muscles screamed with exhaustion after the first hour of brutal repetition. Every time his shield arm dropped an inch, a Campidoctor's staff cracked against the wood, the sound like a distant thunderclap.
"This will kill me," Valerian thought. He had planned to train more afterward, but right then all he wanted was to eat and collapse.
When the hour ended, the men barely had time to stretch before the centurion barked again.
"Formations!"
The line shifted. Shields locked together with a solid clap as they formed the acies, the standard battle line.
"Step!" the centurion ordered.
They advanced in unison, one measured pace at a time, shields tight.
Then came the wedge.
"Cuneum formate!"
The men shifted inward, forming a triangle. The front rank braced while the rest pushed forward, every man feeling the weight of the one behind him. It wasn't about strength, it was rhythm. If one man falter, the formation broke.
By the time they switched to the testudo, the tortoise, arms were shaking.
"Raise shields!"
The front row held theirs forward; the second and third lifted theirs overhead. The air vanished inside the shell of wood and leather. It was hot, tight, and deafening. The centurion walked around them, rapping the top shields with his vine staff.
"If I can hear you breathe, you're doing it wrong," he said.
Minutes felt like hours. Sweat ran down their necks and pooled at their feet. When the order to break came, some of the recruits nearly stumbled.
The centurion didn't look impressed.
"Again tomorrow," he said simply, turning away.
[Experience Gained: 2 hours of Training.]
[Experience Doubled: Total Effective Training: 4 hours.]
"this will make me"
It felt like a cup of divine wine, not just quenching his thirst, but filling him with strength.
but its not enough to quench Valerian thirst. It filled him, yes… but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
He wanted more.
More drills, more exhaustion, more pain, anything that could make him more.
"Valerian!" Atticus's shout cut through the thought. The new recruit limped up, breathing hard. "I'm starved. Let's go eat."
"Sure," Valerian said. "But grab your gladius first. You don't want the Decanus adding 'lost weapon' to your list of sins."
They went to the arms-rack where the legionaries hung their blades for inspection. Atticus snatched his sword and strapped it to his side, already headed for the mess. Valerian reached for his.
Then the System spoke inside his head, blunt and impossible to ignore.
[INITIATE FUSION? (2x IRON GLADIUS — STANDARD ISSUE)]
[RISK ASSESSMENT: SUCCESS CHANCE 85% | FAILURE CHANCE 15%]
Eighty-five percent. The number was a taste in his mouth, sweet and sharp. One more blade. A small theft and the gods were with him.
[WARNING: SUCCESSFUL FUSION WILL YIELD 1x ACU GLADIUS.][FAILURE WILL RESULT IN THE DESTRUCTION OF BOTH ITEMS.]
Valerian held the thought a moment. He watched Atticus disappear between tents. No one paid attention to the racks at that hour. The centurion's back was turned. A veteran argued with a supply clerk near the forge.
He slid his fingers along the next hilt, felt the leather cold and true. He mouthed a single word, barely a whisper.
"Do it."
The other sword softened as if heated. It ran like molten metal, flowed over his blade, and fused into the gladius at his hip.
[FUSION COMPLETE. YOU NOW POSSESS ONE ACU GLADIUS, SHARPER AND DEADLIER THAN A STANDARD BLADE.
"Interesting… very interesting," Valerian muttered as he drew his gladius. It looked exactly the same, plain iron, nothing special, but when he brushed the edge against his palm, it drew blood instantly.
"Valerian, are you coming or not?" Atticus called out from the path.
Valerian slid the gladius back into its sheath. "Coming," he said, wiping the thin line of blood from his palm.
Atticus's eyes narrowed as he noticed the red smear. "Are you bleeding? What happened?"
"Nothing," Valerian said, voice flat. "Don't mind it."