For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 5B2 : 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.

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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."