A Warm Spring in Romano-Britain: The Emperor Washes His Hands
A warm spring day in Romano-Britain. The emperor—the real one—had cut ties. It had been fifteen years since I opened my eyes in this world. The fifteen-year-old Roman youth, Artorius, thought so.
Now, there are two points to note in that sentence. First, the number fifteen. Second, the word Rome. Fifteen years and Rome. That's right. It had been fifteen whole years since I was reborn in the Roman Empire.
"Quiet...! Please, be quiet...! Everyone, I beg you, silence!"
"What in the world is this? Just a single herald and no support whatsoever!? First they took the legions, then the highborn officials and priests started leaving one by one, and now they've outright...!"
"Silence! Silence, I say! This is the emperor's herald! Not some pretender from Gaul—the true emperor from Ravenna has sent—"
"And who decides what's false and true!? That fake's been around for three years now! If there've been two emperors in Gaul and Ravenna for three years, then who the hell is the fake!?"
"Enough! Be quiet! He has a proclamation to make!"
The timeline of this world where I was reborn was the eighteenth year of Emperor Honorius's reign. I'd never heard of the AD calendar. Last year, I asked a church priest heading to the mainland, and he said it was roughly four hundred ten years since the birth of Jesus. Yes, the world I was gazing upon was the spring of AD 410.
Camulodunum, the Roman Empire's Britannia—the very first fortress built when Caesar himself crossed the sea four hundred years ago. Spring sunlight poured reliably into Camulodunum as always...
...Of course, unlike butterflies fluttering amid blooming wildflowers, a tense, murderous air hung over Camulodunum's square.
"Here—I'll read it!"
"We're Romans too! Haven't we fought for Rome these past centuries!? What kind of emperor abandons his own citizens!?"
"Hadrian the Great would weep! This is shameful! Where have all the victors gone!? I've never heard of an empire without legions!"
"Our—Ravenna's emperor, unable to contain his sorrow, has decreed—"
"Why did Ravenna's emperor personally drive away the empire's loyal servants!? If that's the case, why did the Gallic emperor take Britannia's legions!?"
"Britannia's defense has been effectively abandoned! And even then, they can't defend the mainland properly! These incompetents!"
"I said be quiet!"
The white-haired gentleman, Comes Uterius, who had initially tried to calm the uproar, now seemed to realize it was impossible to quell the crowd's frenzy. And who could blame him?
For five years—save winter—the raiders and pirates had targeted the seas, coasts, and rivers without fail. The legions meant to protect us had long since departed Britannia under the pretext of not bearing the gold burden, and even the high church clergy, the city's prominent families, their scholars, administrators, and soldiers had trickled away. What an exodus that was.
Noah's Ark might have been grand, but this was a spectacle of ugliness to rival it. That's why men like Comes Uterius, who had the means and prestige to leave but stayed, commanded such respect.
Even he now stood dazed, half his soul fled, staring blankly at the square's center. Curses, sorrow, distrust, rage—all mashed into a single mass, directed at the Roman emperor's herald on the modestly raised dais.
The true emperor—the legitimate one from Ravenna—had sent him, as he proclaimed. He must have traveled far from Italy to Britain. Italy or Britain, all under Rome now, but still a long road for this dutiful man. What sin had he committed?
The people gathered in Camulodunum's square knew he was blameless. They just needed someone to grab onto.
"The emperor! The emperor decrees... that the Romans of Britannia must henceforth fend for themselves against the dangers to come...?"
The faithful herald seemed to have carried the emperor's document like a precious treasure. Otherwise, his face wouldn't have drained to blue as he read it. He'd clearly never peeked at the contents before. A rare man of honor in these times.
"What? What did you just say?"
"?"
"Hah—"
"Fend for ourselves...? Protect ourselves? Ourselves? Ourselves!?"
The pallid herald trembled violently in shock. His eyes bulged at the gold-embossed parchment, unable to tear away. A pitiful sight. Truly heartbreaking.
Even the crowd, poised to rage, fell silent at his appearance, words failing them.
"..."
"..."
Could silence be this sorrowful? Those who clamped their mouths shut stared at the sky, the ground, or closed their eyes, tears streaming.
"One might think the heavens themselves had fallen. Wouldn't you say?"
A voice incongruous with the mood whispered from beside me—discreetly, as if valuing his life.
I turned my head slightly. Sure enough, a familiar face had returned to my side, still kicking.
"Shouldn't you be in Londinium?"
"Hah. With the sky crumbling, what does Londinium matter? I held faint hope, but... it seems Ravenna and Rome's exalted names lack the capacity to handle this crisis."
"What did you tell me before? That they'd struggle too, no? Looks like you were right."
"No great prophecy. Anyone paying attention to the empire's state could foresee it. They've driven out and slain the loyalists holding it together... Now the doable becomes impossible, and the impossible turns to utter ruin. This is just the beginning."
He tried to sound wryly humorous, but even he seemed shaken by the herald's sudden proclamation. Always so composed, with serpents coiled in his gut. For such a man to waver meant the Roman emperor's decree was monumental.
Britain, you're on your own! What manly resolve. A great fellow, that Roman emperor of Ravenna.
"Honorius. His name and his father's evoke the empire's greatness. But when calling this Ravenna emperor, Honorius alone suffices."
"...What do you mean?"
"Hah. Just this worthless man's feeble insult toward that Ravenna fool."
"If you're cursing him, no need to beat around the bush."
Look over there. The square. Honorius's name was being torn apart and burned alive, filling the vast space.
"Honorius! You cursed coward!"
"What emperor abandons his people...? Or is this payback for minting the Gallic emperor's coin!? But how is this our fault alone!?"
"What the hell is happening...? Son, did I hear that right?"
"Dishonor! This denies everything the empire built! What does Honorius take this place for? What do Ravenna's Romans think of Britannia's Romans!?"
The aimless fury could no longer be contained. I was reborn, but closer to awakening by a small lakeside between Camulodunum and Londinium. It took time to grasp the situation, why I'd been reborn(?), why my body was so massive, my strength immense, and strange sensations crawled over me.
Somehow, I'd adapted well to this world, only to find many orphans like me—parentless. Those without homes sought protection from the "lake monster(...)." Beyond human monsters like bandits, slavers, there were beasts: wolves, wild dogs, bears.
The ones I took in worked under me diligently. But every orphan here harbored a hot, primal rage in their hearts—a feeling born of this era's darkness, unknowable without experiencing Roman-Britain's shadows.
Fragments of that raw, thick fury flickered in the square's crowd: furious glares, accusatory voices, tearful wails. Each sprang from profound despair, strikingly similar.
Was it the vivid sting of abandonment?
"Hah. Even those who came here amid the chaos must have some leeway left. But look at them—like citizens rioting after losing at the chariot races."
"..."
The middle-aged man muttering beside me: Londinium, administered by Prefect Merlinus, lacked Camulodunum's tradition but boasted more people, wealth, work—and a grand chariot track. To me, remembering my past life's glittering cities, it paled...
Still, this city administrator, unburdened by local duties, watched the massive turmoil like a fire across the river.
I preferred smaller towns over big ones, so I'd settled east near Camulodunum, not west by Londinium's lake. With the crowd ready to torch the city, I had to act—especially owing Comes Uterius a debt.
Shh—
"...Ho. Going to move?"
I abandoned lurking in the corner and stood. I eyed Merlinus rising beside me like some scheming villain.
"Move? If I leave them, they'll burn the innocent city. I owe Comes Uterius, so I can't sit idle."
"Of course. Go do what must be done, Artorius."
"You're leaving?"
"I'll depart after watching you resolve this. Tell Comes Uterius I'll see him in three days?"
"Understood."
"Then go. To the anxious people's side. Artorius Invictus."
"That damn Invictus. So you coined that nickname, Prefect."
I shot a glare at the smirking Roman-Briton's face and strode forward.
Strut proudly! My friend Gigachad said men must always be bold. In my past life, I was indecisive, but surrounded by human and beast monsters here, I quickly learned weakness had no place.
Thus, I synced with my inner Gigachad—and so far, successfully. Boldness stems from strength, after all.
Thud—thud—
"Honorius! You chicken-headed— Huh?"
"What!? We were cursing freely, why— Big... huge..."
"So big and broad..."
"Human? No, no—a bear...?"
"A man's back like that? Nothing like mine."
"...Who the hell is that guy?"
"Master, that's—"
The herald frozen in place, the good citizens turning villainous—all eyes stolen by my steps.
Comes Uterius, staring blankly skyward from the dais's edge, turned to me.
I strode up, mounted the dais, gently lifted the trembling herald who'd collapsed at my sight, set him down.
Then I met the crowd's eyes calmly.
And spoke.
"Romans of Camulodunum. What crime has this brave herald committed? The northern wall legions left ages ago. Why fear now?"
"Artorius. It's Artorius."
"That man's..."
"The Skull-Crusher."
"Yes, guardian of the eastern coast."
Reborn into this world, I'd earned many empty titles through deeds. Pride isn't manly, so I ignored and forgot them. But people dubbed me as they pleased.
And every nickname carried a thread of fear.
"Those who wished to leave are gone. What we remaining need isn't fear—it's courage. Bottle that rage for the herald. Fear not. If need be, I'll fight at the forefront."