For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 8B2 : The Age of Man

B2 Chapter 8: The Age of Man

Marcus was having an incredibly peaceful morning. The most peaceful one he’d had in a long while—since the Legion had arrived, in fact. Now that the rebellion was over, the bulk of Tiberius’s forces had returned, and the unspoken feeling of lingering tension had begun to settle, it truly felt like things were finally returning to normal.

Well, as normal as an extraplanar army running a tiny backwater logging town could be. But that was besides the point.

The bard strode down the road confidently, his rich purple cloak fluttering behind him. Sunlight glinted off of the gold stitching woven throughout its fabric and his matching hat. As he walked he sung a jaunty tune—softly, though. As opposed to most of his musical performances, this one was purely for his own ears.

Three to the one, from the one to the three,

Met a sorceress who dropped to her knees,

Pulled me into a shadowed nook,

Gave me a night straight outta a storybook.

It was a song from his younger years, and one of his favorites. The bouncy beat combined with the lyrics made for quite a bawdy tune. Unfortunately, it had fallen out of favor in more recent years. The bard who had composed it expressed some… less than favorable views on the few races that humans now got along with. The opinions had arisen in some of his later songs, but still tainted his previous works by association and led to his ostracization from court. It was still a hit in taverns, though.

Still, Marcus couldn’t help himself. It didn’t change the fact that this piece was a good one, and something that never failed to lift his spirits. Besides, he somehow doubted that Habersville’s residents would care much about what was essentially faraway court drama.

Despite the low volume of his singing, however, it still had a noticeable effect on those he passed. Villagers that picked up pieces of the tune perked up and moved about their day just a little bit faster, and with more enthusiasm and energy.

Marcus surveyed his surroundings. He’d just been starting to get used to Habersville and some of its sights, but now? The once humble town was almost unrecognizable. It had already been in the midst of a metamorphosis, of course, but those alterations had only accelerated since the rebellion. It seemed almost an effort to romanize the town as fast as possible.

The previously haphazard tangle of buildings, pathways, and alleys had been uprooted. In its place stood neat, orderly rows of houses and businesses, new enough that Marcus could swear he still saw sawdust between their planks. Not every building had been torn down to make this happen, of course, and the occasional weathered wood structure called to mind visions of what had once been. But for the most part, Habersville might as well have been renamed.

The buildings themselves weren’t the only change, however. High decorative arches soared over the main thoroughfares that led to the town square. There, a new public bathhouse had been erected—a rather strange bit of culture from the soldiers’ previous world, and one that few of the locals utilized as of yet. But the Legionnaires themselves seemed incredibly pleased by it.

Marcus shook his head. He didn’t quite understand the obsession, either, but oh well. It wasn’t the first time he’d been faced with strange customs from foreigners. At least this one had the practical effect of keeping the men clean. The camp had started to accumulate a kind of miasma about it from their sweat and grime and other less than sanitary activities.

His steps took him past a cheerfully burbling community fountain in which old Margaret was hard at work washing clothes and into the temple district. There, a massive building of polished stone was in the process of being raised, Legionnaires swarming over it like shiny insects. Nearby, the centurion Sextus spoke with another Legionnaire over what appeared to be some sort of blueprints.

He had to crane his neck to see the top of the structure—even incomplete as it was, the temple was shaping up to be the Legion’s most ambitious project to date. And one that required a bit more space than the temple district have been able to provide. But in the wake of the rebellion, the temples of Kona and Arashim had found themselves with a sudden and total lack of priests to oversee them, and, well… the Romans were never ones to waste space.

One man no older than Marcus himself knelt before a pedestal out front, chiseling rough details out of a large block of stone that had been set upon it. The shape of what almost resembled a massive Legionnaire was already clearly recognizable—clad in ornate decorative armor, draped in a flowing cloth, and wielding a spear in one hand. Interestingly, the man did not carry a shield.

The sculptor noticed Marcus as he passed and gave him an amicable wave. Marcus returned the greeting, tipping his cap to the familiar face and pausing his singing to avoid disturbing any detail work in progress. They didn’t exchange any words, but it was obvious to Marcus that the attitude of the Legionnaires had shifted toward him. Those who hadn’t already adopted favorable dispositions now seemed a bit less cold toward him. Even Servius gave him a respectful nod as he passed. Evidently, his role in quashing the rebellion hadn’t gone unnoticed.

As he left the temple district behind and resumed his song, he heard a set of soft footsteps approaching. Looking over, a young woman with short dark hair fell into step beside him, a tired slump to her shoulders. He greeted her with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Eleonora. You’re out rather early."

The young woman huffed, rubbing her face. "Skirmish this morning. A practice one. Lots of injuries, but nothing major. Gaius let me off to recharge and rest." She shook her head in disapproval. "Honestly… its like they want to hurt themselves…"

Marcus activated [Appraisal] on her. As much as she complained, the [Healer] was certainly reaping the benefits of the situation. In just the short time she’d been here, she’d already managed to reach level eleven—a rate of growth that was unheard of in all but the most suicidal adventuring parties. And considering that most of it had been done via healing… well, she may have had a point.

He elbowed her lightly. "Well, I suppose you should be grateful, then. Especially if their lack of self-preservation fuels your own growth, no?"

The girl gave him a tired sigh. "I guess. I still don’t exactly enjoy watching people get hurt, but…"

Marcus’s eyebrows shot up. "Well, I suppose that’s to be expected of one who seeks to remedy such things. Nevertheless… your class all but requires that you actively seek out the wounded. Have you considered that you might be in the wrong profession?"

Eleonora waved him off. "I know, I know. Just complaining. Besides… I already have my class. It’s not like I could change paths if I wanted to."

Marcus nodded sagely. For m

ost, once they’d received their initial class, there was no turning back. The only place to go was up via class evolutions or specializations—if that was even an option.

The [Healer] stretched toward the sky. "Anyway. At least I’m getting something out of it—they’re certainly getting their money’s worth out of me."

"I didn’t think they were paying you," he quipped back with a slight grin.

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She rolled her eyes. "No, unfortunately… but they are giving me food, levels, and a place to stay. So I guess that counts."

"More than they’re doing for me," Marcus grumbled.

"Are you kidding?" she expression turned incredulous. "I’ve seen you walk around there. There’s always someone offering you food or a drink!"

"Ah, true enough," Marcus agreed. "Even if that is a more… informal arrangement. Though it is also more of an evening occurrence. People aren’t quite so used to buying a bard breakfast." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

"So…" Eleonora continued after a drawn-out silence. "I actually was looking for you. We need to talk."

"Oh?" Marcus raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Yeah. About what comes next."

"...Your phrasing could definitely use some work," he chuckled. "I’m used to hearing those words in a very different kind of context."

"What do you… Oh." Eleonora’s face flushed red with embarrassment as the realization dawned. "Oh. No! I didn’t—!"

Marcus just laughed. "Oh, relax. It was a joke."

Eleonora cleared her throat, collecting herself for a moment. "Anyway… Like I was saying… We need to talk about, you know… our plan."

Her eyes darted about furtively as she looked for any potential eavesdroppers. The display almost made Marcus audibly sigh. He couldn’t think of a more suspicious way for her to go about things. Still, the coast was clear, so he responded. "Ah, that. I don’t think there’s any need to discuss it yet."

Eleanor shook her head seriously. "We definitely do. They’re going to launch another campaign soon—it’s obvious from all the preparations they’re making. Don’t we need to get ahead of it?"

"Yes, but…" Marcus shrugged helplessly. "There may not be much we can do here, realistically."

"What do you mean?" Eleonora hissed. "We can go ahead and convince their next target to stand down or surrender or… something. Wasn’t that the entire point? To prevent conflict?"

The bard raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Correct. That is the goal. However, we won’t accomplish it by giving the Legion’s enemies weeks or even months worth of warning—that will just give them time to prepare, especially at this stage. Not to mention how it would look to the Legionnaires themselves…"

He gave the girl a pointed look and she shuddered. The memory of the last people to commit treason likely wouldn’t fade for quite a long time. She hugged herself and grumbled. "There still has to be something we can do. Can’t we, I dunno… Get the word out? Spread rumors about how dangerous the Legion is? Something?"

"Spread rumors to who?" Marcus asked, spreading his arms wide. "The villagers? I think they’re already well aware. Other towns? If you can convince Gaius that you’re of more use traveling to ostensibly enemy territory rather than healing…"

She threw her hands up in frustration. "I don’t know! I just… there has to be something we can do. Otherwise, I just… well... I feel like I’m treading water."

"You call leveling like you are ’treading water’? Your ambition knows no bounds."

She glared at him. "You know what I mean."

Marcus sighed and came to a halt. Eleonora stopped as well, a look of confusion crossing her features. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Look…" He spoke softly and injected reassurance into his tone. "You already are doing all you can. Think about it. You’re leveling up, getting stronger, building relationships and solidifying your place in the Legion. That’s all important. Things have been chaotic recently, and I suspect that you’re only now beginning to come down from the stress of it all. That’s understandable. Just don’t allow yourself to do anything rash because of it, all right?"

Marcus shot her a winning smile. Eleonora hesitated. "But… how will I know when it’s not enough?

He released her shoulder and gave a small flourishing bow. "Ah, that’s what you have me for. Trust me. When the time is right, we’ll make sure to do our part. But until then, trying to get ahead of yourself is bound to just make things worse—for everyone."

She let out a long, slow breath, seeming to uncoil with each passing second. "...Ok. Thank you, Marcus. I know all that, just… I just needed to hear someone else say it."

"My pleasure." He smiled and gestured for them to continue walking. "I’m happy to be of service. Speaking of which—"

He cut himself off, the rest of his sentence dying on his lips as something caught his attention. He frowned and listened intently. There seemed to be some kind of commotion at the front gate.

"What is it?" Eleonora asked as he quickened his pace.

"Something is happening," he explained as they began to almost jog toward the gates. "What, I’m not sure. But…" A crooked smile adorned his face. "Perhaps we’ll have a chance to practice that conflict resolution sooner than expected."

***

When they finally pushed their way through the crowd gathered around the gate, the source of the commotion quickly became clear. There were newcomers to the town—ones that had the people gaping in awe.

A troop of warriors dressed in long, flowing garb of greens and silvers stood just beyond Habersville’s entrance. Each carried sinuous bows of fine wood that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an artisan’s collection. Their long hair was tied back from their faces, putting their pointed ears on full display.

Marcus’s eyes widened. Elves. The most reclusive race on the continent, so rarely spotted outside of their cities that some people considered them mere myths. It was a rare merchant indeed who was permitted to enter their territory and trade with them. To see them here… well, it was no wonder that the people had crowded around.

The gate was open for the day, but Legionnaires had formed a line in front of it, barring the elves from entering. A few others busied themselves with keeping the crowd at bay—a task made slightly easier by their renewed wariness of crossing the soldiers. It only took a brief word for Marcus to be allowed through to speak to the centurion behind the line.

"Well… this is a surprise," he muttered to the soldier. "Have they said what they want?"

The centurion shook his head. "Only a meeting with our leader. I’ve already sent a messenger for the Legatus."

"I see…" Marcus hummed. "Do you mind if I speak with them? I know a thing or two about elves, not to mention diplomacy."

The centurion hesitated, then nodded. He seemed rather grateful for the help—and no wonder. The Legion was woefully lacking in diplomatic experience here, and Marcus had cultivated himself quite the reputation of a man who had a way with words.

Marcus stepped forward to greet what appeared to be the level 30 lead elf, his robes more ornate and finely woven than the rest. The elf looked no older than thirty-five, but Marcus knew better. He knew that he must have been hundreds, if not thousands of years old to have age lines about his eyes, not to mention a single streak of grey in his hair.

He sensed the elves’ looks of disdain as he walked forth. Bowing low, he swept a hand out before him and addressed their leader. “May the sun streaming through the branches gently caress your face.”

The old elf blinked in surprise. He smiled, then inclined his head. "And may the dappled shadows dance across yours. I must say, I did not expect to find one who knows our traditions in a quaint place like this. Nor be received by such a group."

Marcus straightened, returning the smile. The elf’s words were pleasant enough on the surface, but he could read between the lines. There was an icy quality to his expression that made his true meaning clear—he held Habersville in the same esteem as one might a particularly smelly pile of panther scat, and the Legionnaires defending it as nuisances rather than an actual threat.

The bard held his own smile, instilling it with a precise blend of formality and deference. He wanted to remain respectful, but not enough that the elf thought he could get away with such condescension.

They held each others’ gaze for a long moment. As the guest, it was the elf’s job to announce himself first—though he seemed content to take his time.

The older elf lifted his chin, maintaining that same condescending smile. “I am Iladrien, emissary of King Glendale of the Great Ruthin Forest.”

“Well met, Iladrien,” Marcus replied—without a bow this time. “I am Marcus, adviser to Emperor Tiberius. I welcome you to the town of Habersville."

The elf’s eyes flashed for a moment at the word "emperor". Marcus smiled inwardly. The elf clearly had less information about the current state of things than he might have assumed. It was more than a little satisfying to see him caught off guard.

"...I see," Iladrien said simply. "And this ’emperor’ of yours…"

"He will join us shortly. In the meantime…" Marcus continued, gesturing back toward the town. "Could I interest you in some refreshments after what must have been a tiring journey?”

He nodded to the centurion, leading the party of elves inside the town under heavy escort from the Legionnaires. What their purpose was, he didn’t yet know. But he suspected he would soon find out.