For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 42B3 : Proof

B3 Chapter 42: 200 Proof

“It still wouldn't be enough. Maybe if we got Valerius to pitch in as well…?”

“Fat chance. The man is as stingy as a moneychanger during a famine. You'd have better luck getting the Legatus himself to chip in a few coin.”

Marcus listened to the Legionnaires’ ongoing debate with open amusement as he idly strummed by the campfire. Word had spread that Tiberius would be auctioning off many of the late King Gerald’s fineries—his prized alcohol collection chief among them. And while much of it was comprised of ancient vintages and rare wines worth unfathomable amounts of money, a few of the wines and dwarven brandies were in a more attainable price range. Enough that they had captured the eyes and fantasies of a few particularly hopeful Legionnaires.

In reality, even with the admittedly impressive cellar the previous king had collected, it wouldn’t be anywhere near valuable enough to refill Novara’s coffers on its own. He knew that much from his talks with the emperor. But the statement that such a move made about the current leadership’s priorities was far more valuable. Plus, it would provide a perfect avenue for nobles to show their support through massively overpaying for expensive trinkets.

Obviously, the Legionnaires cared little for the politics involved. They simply wanted to try the best this world had to offer. Marcus telling them about certain legendary brews that had been known to intoxicate dragons only furthered that desire.

“I'm telling you, it can't possibly be worth the price,” one of the other men called over with a snort. “For that much, you could practically clean out a damn bar. Why not do that instead?”

“Tertius, don't even try to tell me you're not curious,” one of the men who had been negotiating with his brethren retorted. “We've already seen the kind of nonsense skills and enchantments can do to equipment. Imagine that level of improvement, but made to a good wine. It would be the best bottle any of us have ever had!”

“Feh. With how many people are in on this deal, you'll each get little better than a mouthful. I'd still rather take a whole bottle of that stuff we had last week.”

“That was dwarven moonshine, Tertius,” Marcus chimed in. “Not even a particularly good one at that. The real quality ones can get over two hundred proof.”

One of the others frowned. “Wait. That’s… how is that even possible? By your system, wouldn’t that be more alcohol than liquid?”

“No idea. The dwarves are even more secretive about their liquor than their blacksmithing. It’s quite an art form there. Though once they get to four hundred proof I’ve heard it all tastes like paint thinner.”

Tertius stretched. “Whatever it was proved plenty good enough for me.”

“It nearly made you go blind!”

“So? It gave you more practice with [Healing], didn't it?”

The debate raged on as Marcus allowed his attention to wander across the camp. The century he was currently accompanying had been tasked with visiting the nobles dotted across the Novaran countryside. Whether such visits served to ensure their loyalties or resulted in slightly less favorable outcomes depended largely on said noble. But so far, Marcus had managed to bring most of them around—some more easily than others.

Despite their numbers being relatively small compared to the full Legion, the men still took the time to set up a full camp each night, albeit a slightly scaled-down version of the one he’d grown so familiar with. Which honestly came as no surprise. Given the monsters roaming about lately, setting up such defenses was simply common sense. Especially when they’d become so efficient at it.

Marcus glanced at the watchtowers and palisades that surrounded them on all sides. When they had first arrived, it had taken these men about half a day to set up a camp like this, digging and cutting everything by hand. But now, with their skills? It took a mere fraction of that time—and a fraction of the manpower, as well. It meant that they could stand up a more well-defended position than any adventuring party he’d ever seen with hardly a consideration.

It meant that they could spend even more time traveling during the day, and given their speed, they were covering ground quite quickly. Marcus was getting plenty of use out of [Mythchaser] as a result. He’d used a horse for a little while, hoping to have a break from running on foot. Unfortunately, even the most well-bred beast tired and required more breaks than he could afford to give them. He was no [Cavalier], after all. And so, he practiced his newest skill quite a bit.

He took a swig from his flask and grimaced as he remembered that it was merely filled with water. Evidently, one of the princesses had heard about his bender and decided to take some preventative actions by laying an enchantment on it. He hadn’t realized this fact until a few days into their march, assuming instead that one of the more dextrous men was simply stealing his liquor or playing a prank on him. But unfortunately not. He’d need to replace the thing as soon as they reached the next town.

Sighing, he drained the rest of it. The two women had refrained from putting too many responsibilities and restraints on him thus far—well, aside from the more mutually agreed upon and enjoyable ones. But even though he had given in and spent time with the twin temptresses, it didn’t mean that the spectre of what was to come wasn’t looming over him. It just meant that he’d gotten a bit more creative with the distractions he chose to get him out of the castle. Like this one.

“Lord Marcus!”

Marcus jolted and turned to stare at a young boy standing at his elbow, posture ramrod straight and chin lifted high as he saluted. “I’ve finished setting up your tent, milord.”

He sighed again and put his head in his hand. “As I’ve mentioned several times, Abel, I am no lord. Nor am I a knight. I am merely a humble performer.”

Abel was one more unintentional acquisition Marcus had made recently. Evidently, his assistance during the last stand of house Aridus had proved quite inspiring to the boy. Never mind that said assistance had involved no manner of fighting whatsoever and in fact placed Marcus as far from the action as he could feasibly manage. But apparently, his [Inspirational Song] had proven a bit too inspirational for his own good.

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“Right. ‘Humble,’” Tertius guffawed. “That’s precisely the word I’d use to describe you, Marcus.”

Abel’s face flushed as he rounded on the speaker. “Do not insult milord so! I will defend his honor—”

“Easy, Abel,” Marcus waved off the boy with an easy gesture. “It’s a comment made in jest, nothing more.”

“I mean, if the kid wants to scrap, I’m up for it.” Terrius rolled his shoulders and stretched. “I could use a bit of exercise. Whaddya say, kid?”

“No,” Marcus interjected before the boy was able to dig himself into deeper trouble. “The last time I saw you ‘scrap’ the other man ended up with two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder.”

“Bah, we’ve got a healer.”

“You use that excuse far more than I’m comfortable with,” Marcus muttered.

“Ah, leave that old man to his ramblings.” One of the other Legionnaires stood and gestured to Abel. “C’mon. A squire needs to know how to use a sword, right? I'll show you some drills.”

Abel shot a hopeful glance toward Marcus and received an answering nod. While he didn't trust Terrius as far as the man could throw him, this Legionnaires' heart was in the right place. At least, that's what Marcus's senses told him.

The pair headed off to get in some practice before the camp wound down to sleep. As they left, all heads swung towards Marcus. The mischievous grins they wore gave him an inkling of exactly what was in store, and his suspicions were soon proven right.

“Will you retire to your tent soon, Lord Marcus?”

“Do you perhaps require a bath to soak your aching feet? Or a soft pillow to cushion your noble ass?”

Marcus shook his head. His self-proclaimed “squire” of the much-diminished House Aridus had come with quite the headache. Still, he couldn't bring himself to turn the boy away. Not knowing the alternative was him becoming a ward of the state. Perhaps Rome treated their orphans better than Novara had, but still…

Besides, letting him hang around the Legionnaires and Marcus himself was certain to improve Abel's options when he activated his System and earned his class. And the princesses rather encouraged him keeping Abel around as well. Their ulterior motives did not elude him.

“If I need something to sit on, I'll simply ask your sister,” Marcus shot back at the far-too-entertained Legionnaires. “Although I suppose I'll need to wait my turn first. And should you really be antagonizing someone who can earn several times your salary in a single night?”

“If you're that rich, what the fuck are you doing out here with us?”

He smiled. “Call it a passion project.”

“Well, I don't suppose our lord’s passion includes pitching in a few coin for this little venture?”

“At these prices? Certainly not,” he chuckled. “As much as I'd like to try Aurelian Elvish wine, I'm not willing to go into debt for it. But if we ever find ourselves in dwarven lands, I may have a source you'd be interested in talking to.”

One of the men waved a hand dismissively. “Bah, who knows what the future holds? I doubt we'll be able to afford this shit, anyway. Maybe we should just see if the next noble we visit is willing to generously donate something from their own reserves.”

There was a chorus of agreement at the idea. Marcus simply chuckled.

One of the men turned to regard him. “What say you, my lord? If perhaps negotiations fall through at our next destination, do you suppose anyone would question a few bottles gone missing from the cellar?”

The bard tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm… I suppose not. Even I might be willing to turn a blind eye to a fellow noble’s misfortune, should one of those bottles happen to find its way into my hands.”

The obvious play for a bribe was met with uproarious laughter and a toast. The conversation quickly shifted away from how to afford a single expensive bottle of wine and toward plans to conceal several crates of the stuff. As the debate continued with increasing enthusiasm and volume, the centurion in charge of their century approached their fire.

“New orders from the emperor,” he began, ignoring the men's plotting. “Seems like our campaign is being cut short. After the next stop, we're headed back to the capital.”

There were a mixture of cheers and groans at the proclamation, the latter mostly from those plotting their grand heist. Marcus tilted his head. “Any explanation as to why?”

The centurion grinned. “Training. Seems the emperor's got some new recruits that need to be whipped into shape. And since we're not too far out, we're the best fit for the job.”

“...I see.” Marcus couldn't help but let a bit of disappointment leak into his voice. “Well, I suppose it can't be helped. You wouldn't know if there are any other centuries nearby that I could tag along with instead?”

“Leaving so soon, Marcus?” A Legionnaire called over.

He nodded. “I'm not quite ready to return just yet. I'd much prefer to stay away from the capital for a bit longer.”

The centurion scratched his chin. “There's plenty of centuries running about on monster duty, if that's what you're looking for. I've also heard that the men in the east have turned Habersville into a crafter's dream. Or if you really want some action, I hear they're looking to send another cohort west to fight the orcs.”

The last suggestion was clearly made in jest. Yet at the same time, he was hoping for a more prolonged excuse to be away. He'd missed the initial force marching out, as he'd been… not exactly thinking clearly. But if there was a second force looking to follow after?

The centurion seemed to realize that Marcus was actually considering it. His eyebrows rose with obvious surprise. “Are you sure about that, friend? I mean, I can put in a word for you with their centurions, of course. But it's not the safest place in the world.”

“Alas, that's precisely why I should be there,” Marcus sighed dramatically. “Someone has to tell the tale of the orcs' ultimate demise, after all. Although…” He eyed the water filled flask at his hip. “I may need to trade with one of you before I go.”

It was only about an hour later that Marcus decided to turn in for the night. He would need to get up early if he wanted to catch up to the cohort before they hit Corwyn pass, and there was no way he'd be running through orc lands on his own.

When he reached his tent, he found Abel already inside. The squire was passed out at the foot of Marcus's bedroll, mouth open as he snored at quite an impressive volume.

Marcus stepped over the boy and shook his head. Keeping the boy around for their current mission was one thing. Bringing him into the west? Out of the question. He wouldn't have the kid's blood on his hands. He'd just have to sneak away. With any luck, by the time the boy noticed, Marcus would be too far away for him to catch up.

He shook his head. Fortunately, the Legionnaires seemed to have taken a liking to the boy. Most of them, at least. They'd see him back to the capital, and the coin Marcus had given him would ensure that he wasn't left completely wanting. Until he returned, at least.

Crawling through the flaps of his tent, Marcus composed lyrics for his latest work in his head until sleep took him.