I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 109: The Idle Hands of Mars

Peace, Alex was discovering, was a far more complex and dangerous beast than war. War was a thing of terrifying simplicity: you identified an enemy and you destroyed them. Peace, on the other hand, was a sprawling, multifaceted organism, a delicate web of competing interests and simmering resentments, any thread of which could snap without warning.

He was seated at the head of the great table in the war room, the same room where he had planned the glorious conquest of Parthia. The mood, however, could not have been more different. The fiery certainty of the war council had been replaced by a fretful, uncertain anxiety. The legions were returning from the East, their Eagles held high, their men covered in glory and laden with plunder. They were, without a doubt, the most powerful and effective military force on the planet. And that was precisely the problem.

"We have nearly one hundred and fifty thousand men under arms, Caesar," stated General Aetius, the Praetorian Prefect, his meaty fingers tracing lines on a map showing the legions' return routes. "Veterans of a victorious campaign, battle-hardened, and supremely confident. Their morale has never been higher." He paused, his expression growing grim. "And they have nothing to do."

The unspoken words hung heavy in the room. An idle army was a cancer in the heart of the Empire. History was a bloody testament to that fact. Legions left to grow bored in their frontier garrisons were ripe for the plucking by any ambitious governor with a silver tongue and a full treasury. A victorious army, still tasting the thrill of conquest, was even more dangerous. They were a loaded catapult with no target, and eventually, they would turn and fire on the nearest thing. Often, that thing was Rome itself.

"The traditional solution is clear," offered another general, a leathery old veteran named Tacitus. "We must demobilize a significant portion of the force. At least a third. We have the new veteran land grants, the finest program of its kind since the time of Marius. We can settle fifty thousand men on their new farms, reward them for their service, and reduce the strain on the treasury. It is the prudent, Roman way."

The other generals nodded in sober agreement. It was the sensible, historical solution.

Alex listened, his face a mask of thoughtful consideration. But in his mind, and in his ear, Lyra was presenting a different analysis. Demobilizing one-third of your most experienced troops represents a 42% reduction in overall military effectiveness, she stated, her logic cold and precise. This would leave the frontiers vulnerable to opportunistic incursions and would discard the immense investment in training and equipment made during the recent campaign. It is a suboptimal use of a strategic asset.

Alex agreed. He had not just spent a fortune in gold and blood to forge the greatest army in the world only to send them home to grow soft and fat on their farms. That was the thinking of the old Rome, the Rome that was always reacting to crises. His new Rome would be proactive.

"No," he said, his voice quiet but firm. The generals stopped their murmuring and looked at him, surprised.

"To demobilize our best-trained men now, at the peak of their skill, would be a monumental waste," Alex declared, rising from his chair. "We have just proven that the Roman legionary, properly equipped and led, is the master of the known world. We will not now send that mastery home to be squandered on tilling fields." He began to pace, his mind alight with a new, grand vision. "The Legion is the embodiment of Roman power. It has been our sword and our shield. But it can be more. The Legion is not just a weapon of war; it must become an engine of the state."

He unfurled a massive, newly commissioned map of the Italian peninsula, so detailed it showed not just cities and roads, but forests, swamps, and mountain ranges.

"For a century, we have neglected the heart of our own Empire," he said, his hand sweeping across the map. "Our roads, the very arteries of our civilization, are crumbling. Our great aqueducts, the envy of the world, are leaking and inefficient. The vast Pontine Marshes to our south," he tapped a large, dark green splotch below Rome, "remain a festering sore, breeding disease and wasting hundreds of square miles of potentially fertile land."

The generals looked at the map, then at him, their expressions a mixture of confusion and dawning horror.

Alex unveiled his radical new doctrine. "I am creating a new designation: the Legio Artifex. The Artisan Legion. From this day forward, the Roman army in times of peace will not be idle. A legionary's time will be divided. One-third of his service will be spent, as always, on combat training and drills, to keep the sword sharp. One-third will be spent on active duty, policing the frontiers and keeping the peace. But the final, revolutionary third of his time will be spent in service to the state, on massive new infrastructure projects that will remake the face of this land."

He pointed back to the map, his voice ringing with purpose. "I am commissioning three Great Works to begin immediately."

"First, the Via Commodiana," he announced, tracing a bold, straight line from Rome to the deep-water port of Brundisium on the heel of Italy. "A new, great road, built to the highest engineering standards, that will cut the travel and supply time to our Eastern provinces in half."

"Second, the Pontine Reclamation Project," he continued, his finger circling the vast swamp. "My engineers have a plan to drain these marshes completely. The legions will dig the canals and build the dykes. We will turn this malarial wasteland into a new breadbasket for our city."

"And third," he said, his gaze softening slightly as he looked towards the city of Rome itself, "the Aqua Sabina. A new, great aqueduct, named in honor of my future Empress, that will bring millions of gallons of fresh mountain water to the underserved, working-class districts of the Aventine and the Subura."

The generals were aghast. The silence in the room was thick with disbelief and a hint of outrage.

"Caesar," General Tacitus finally managed to say, his voice strained. "With all due respect... you want our legionaries, the conquerors of Parthia, to be... ditch-diggers? Stone masons?" The insult was clear. This was work for slaves and common laborers, not for the proud soldiers of the Eagle.

"No, General," Alex countered, his voice like steel. "I want our legionaries to be the men who build the future of Rome with their own hands. I want them to see the fruits of their labor not just in the plunder they bring home, but in the bridges they cross, the roads they march on, the clean water their families drink. An army that builds the empire it defends will be twice as loyal to it. They will not be ditch-diggers. They will be builders of civilization."

He could see the stubborn, traditionalist resistance in their eyes. They saw this as a diminishment of their role, a stain on their martial honor. He knew he needed to reframe the entire concept.

"Perhaps you are right," he said, his tone shifting, becoming more thoughtful. "Perhaps the task is too complex for a common soldier. Perhaps it requires a new level of skill." He turned to an aide. "Summon the engineer, Celer."

Lucius Vitruvius Celer entered the war room, his simple artisan's tunic a stark contrast to the gleaming armor of the generals. He was no longer the disgraced, shuffling man Alex had first met. His eyes were bright, his posture confident. He was a man with a purpose. He bowed to Alex and then set up a series of models and diagrams on a side table.

"Generals," Celer began, his voice clear and strong. "The Emperor has tasked my Institute not just with improving our weapons of war, but our tools of creation." He unveiled a series of breathtaking innovations, all presented as "rediscovered" Republican techniques. He showed them a scale model of a new, massive crane, its lifting power multiplied by a complex series of gears and pulleys derived from the high-axle wagon. He demonstrated a new, water-powered stone-cutting saw that could do the work of fifty men. He presented them with samples of a new concrete formula, one containing volcanic ash, which could set underwater, allowing them to build bridge foundations and harbor piers with unprecedented speed and strength.

He finished with a simple, devastating calculation. "A single cohort of legionary engineers, trained at my Institute and equipped with these new tools, can build a mile of road or a section of aqueduct ten times faster and with greater precision than a full legion using traditional methods."

The generals were stunned into silence. They stared at the models, at the elegant diagrams, at the sheer, undeniable power of the new technology. Alex had done it. He had masterfully rebranded manual labor as a form of advanced, technological conquest. Their men would not be common laborers. They would be an elite corps of military engineers, wielding tools as revolutionary and potent as the Ignis Steel gladius. Their resistance crumbled, replaced by an eager, ambitious curiosity. They were not being asked to command ditch-diggers; they were being invited to lead the greatest engineering force the world had ever seen.