I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 152: The Mint and the Magistrate

The State Mint of Rome, a squat, formidable building of solid stone, stood at the base of the Capitoline Hill, perpetually shrouded in a haze of smoke from its ever-burning forges. It was the financial heart of the Empire, the place where the wealth of conquered provinces was melted down and transformed into the currency of Roman power. Today, it was the site of Sabina's first battle in her own private war.

She walked through the main refining chamber, the heat from the furnaces washing over her in a suffocating wave. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning charcoal and molten metal. Her fine silk stola seemed out of place amidst the grime and sweat of the smiths, but she moved with an unshakeable poise, her presence more commanding than any of the overseers. Flanked by two of her own hand-picked guards, she was conducting an official inspection.

She stopped at a cooling table where a batch of newly struck coins glittered in the firelight. She picked one up. It was an Argentus Alexianus, the new, pure silver coin that was the cornerstone of her economic reforms. It was beautiful, heavier and brighter than the old, tired denarii, its surface bearing a sharp, high-relief profile of Alex, wreathed in laurels like a god. She ran her thumb over its milled edge, feeling its satisfying weight. It was the physical embodiment of sound money, of her new order.

Cornelius Lentulus, the magistrate in charge of the mint, scurried to her side. He was a portly equestrian, his face glistening with sweat, his toga stained with soot. His expression was a mask of fawning, obsequious respect that barely concealed a deep and profound unease.

"A magnificent coin, is it not, Domina Sabina?" he gushed, his voice a little too loud over the din of the hammers. "A testament to the Emperor's new golden age! We are working day and night to produce them."

Sabina gave him a cool, appraising look. "Are you, Lentulus? My reports suggest otherwise."

Her plan was in motion. The imperial decree revaluing taxes had been issued, sending a shockwave through the merchant class. The first payroll for the legions on the Danube, paid entirely in the new, pure Argenti, had been dispatched. But a critical bottleneck had appeared, right here, in this very building. The output of new coins was a tenth of what it should be. The refining of the old, debased silver, the "alchemical" process that was meant to be the engine of her recovery, was proceeding at a snail's pace.

Lentulus, of course, had an arsenal of excuses. He blamed "technical difficulties" with the new refining methods provided by the Institute. He lamented the "unexpectedly high level of impurities" in the old coinage, claiming they were proving stubbornly difficult to separate. He spoke of smiths falling ill from the strange new fumes. He painted a picture of a loyal servant struggling against unforeseen and overwhelming obstacles.

Sabina was not a fool. She was a woman who had built her life on numbers, and his numbers did not add up.

Before coming to the mint, she had gone to Alex. She had requested, and received, a specific data file from Lyra. It was not a historical analysis; it was a predictive model. Using the exact metallurgical processes Celer had documented, the number of forges and smiths at the mint, and the known purity of the debased currency, Lyra had calculated the maximum potential daily output of refined silver. The data was unequivocal. The mint was currently operating at less than fifteen percent of its peak theoretical efficiency.

Sabina knew this wasn't mere incompetence. This was deliberate, calculated sabotage. Lentulus and his cronies, who had for decades grown rich by controlling the debasement process and siphoning off fractions of precious metal for themselves, were now faced with a new system that was transparent, efficient, and, most importantly, honest. It cut them out completely. Their response was to grind the entire process to a halt, hoping to force a return to the old, profitable ways.

Sabina finished her perfunctory tour and requested a private meeting with the magistrate in his office. The room was opulent, a stark contrast to the grimy workshop outside, filled with Greek statuary and plush couches. Lentulus poured her a cup of watered wine, his hands trembling slightly.

Sabina dismissed her guards, leaving the two of them alone. She did not raise her voice. She did not accuse him. She simply took the scroll containing Lyra's data and unrolled it on his polished cedarwood desk, placing it next to his own falsified production reports. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"Your reports speak of difficulties, Magistrate Lentulus," she said, her voice soft but laced with steel. "This report," she tapped the scroll with a single, elegant finger, "is a projection from the Emperor's own engineers at the Institute. It speaks of potential. Of what should be possible."

She paused, letting him absorb the damning implication. "There is a vast discrepancy between your reality and the Emperor's expectations. A very, very vast discrepancy."

Lentulus's face went from ruddy to pale. He began to bluster, launching into the same litany of excuses about fumes and difficult alloys. Sabina let him talk for a moment before cutting him off with a raised hand.

"Let me be clear, Lentulus," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, which was somehow more menacing than a shout. "The Emperor views the timely payment of his legions in sound money as a matter of supreme national security. It is the bedrock of their loyalty. He therefore views any significant delay in that payment as a potential act of sedition. An attempt to sow discord and unrest in the military."

She let the terrible word—sedition—hang in the air between them. The penalty for sedition was swift and invariably fatal.

Lentulus began to sweat profusely, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape route.

"However," Sabina continued, her tone shifting slightly, offering a sliver of hope, "I have convinced the Emperor that your long years of experience in managing the Empire's finances are too valuable to waste. A man of your talents is needed elsewhere."

She gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I have been authorized to create a new, prestigious position. 'Master of the Treasury for the Provincial Mints.' A vital role. You will be promoted. You will leave for Lugdunum, in Gaul, at the end of the week to begin a full-scale inspection and optimization of their operations. A great honor for you and your family."

Lentulus stared at her, his mouth agape. He was being exiled. Promoted into obscurity, sent to the provinces where he would be far from the levers of power and, more importantly, far from his web of corrupt allies in Rome. It was a political execution, delivered with a silken glove.

As he stammered, trying to formulate a response, Sabina delivered the final, crushing blow. "Your talented young deputy, Marcus Cinna... I have reviewed his record. A man my agents tell me is honest, ruthlessly ambitious, and deeply frustrated by the 'inefficiencies' here at the mint. He will be taking your place as magistrate, effective immediately. I am quite sure that he will have no trouble meeting the Emperor's projections."

She had done it. She had surgically removed the source of the corruption without a messy public trial or a bloody purge. She had used Lyra's data not as a script to be followed, but as a weapon—a scalpel to precisely identify the rot and a cudgel to enforce her own, uniquely Roman solution: promotion as punishment. She had not only crushed the first pocket of resistance to her economic reforms, but had simultaneously installed her own loyal, ambitious man in one of the most critical financial positions in the Empire.

She rose from her chair. "I wish you good fortune in Lugdunum, Master Lentulus. I will expect your first report within the month."

Without another word, she turned and left the office, leaving the disgraced magistrate to contemplate his sudden and irreversible change in fortunes. As Sabina walked back out into the smoky air of the mint, the cold satisfaction of a successful power play was evident in the confident, purposeful rhythm of her stride.