The Sun Sets (1)
We had achieved a victory far greater than we'd anticipated.
The troops cheered their triumph.
But.
I gazed at the civilians who had been freed from captivity and now slumped to the ground in exhaustion. Though victory was ours, the damage inflicted on the empire was immense. Seeing these people weeping, too overwhelmed by grief to even rejoice in their liberation, I felt a sharp pang in my chest.
We won, but we lost.
I lamented our failure to stop the barbarians at the border—our own shortcomings.
As I knelt before the golden eagle standard, Rikius approached.
"Sir, we need to clean up the battlefield. The battalion commanders are asking how to handle the spoils."
Spoils of war.
I pictured the mountains of plunder the barbarians had looted: gleaming gold and silver coins, tableware wrought from precious metals, silks, and all manner of luxuries. It was impossible for soldiers who laid eyes on such treasures not to feel the stirrings of greed.
I sheathed my sword and stood.
"Dispose of them as per custom."
"Yes, sir."
I made the decision coldly. The ideal course would be to distribute everything to the refugees, but the men who had risked their lives in battle wouldn't understand that.
Discontent among the troops toward their commander could shake the entire legion. We had to adhere to standards the soldiers trusted and respected.
"And."
As I added that, Rikius looked up, then paused.
"Distribute my share of the spoils to the refugees."
"Are you sure that's wise?"
"I've won the victory I wanted—the greatest prize of all. What use have I for mere wealth?"
Rikius placed his fist over his heart.
"If you're doing this, sir, then I'll offer my share too."
"No need for that."
"When my commander shuns riches, what reason do I have to cling to petty greed?"
I gave a wry smile.
Yeah. You've always been like that.
I nodded, letting him do as he wished.
Soon after, the soldiers began clearing the battlefield. The thousands of wagons and carts the barbarians had brought, laden with loot, became the objects of division. The men beamed with joy as shares worth a decade of campaigning fell into their hands.
A bizarre scene where some wept and others laughed.
This must be the tragedy of war—a single act in its grim theater.
I swallowed my bitterness.
Once the cleanup was done, the refugees—given just enough traveling money—set off for home, pulling wagons and carts. I watched their retreating figures, then mounted my warhorse.
"Long live Imperator Ain!"
The soldiers hailed my name with unprecedented vigor.
I raised a hand in brief acknowledgment and, with the standard-bearers at the fore, hastened our withdrawal north.
The barbarian incursion across the border had been annihilated, but our duties didn't end there. I stationed garrisons in the vacated border fortresses and sent messengers to the nearby barbarian tribes, proclaiming our victory.
The chieftains, skeptical, dispatched envoys to verify the claim.
I showed them the handiwork we'd crafted over a few days.
Behold. This is the fate of those who challenge the empire!
"……!"
The barbarians froze at the sight of our legion's masterpiece arrayed along the riverbank.
Thousands of corpses were impaled on sharpened wooden stakes like skewers. Birds descended on the stripped bodies, screeching gleefully as they feasted.
A massive eagle shook its beak, crunching an eyeball.
Against this gruesome backdrop, I addressed the barbarians.
"This is the end for those who invade the empire. Those who defy the golden eagle become crow fodder. Do you intend to test the empire's wall, guarded by me, Ain?"
"Our tribe has never harbored disloyal thoughts toward the empire."
"I'll take you at your word. Should we contact you again, I trust you'll cooperate fully."
"Of course."
The envoys bowed and scraped.
I waved them off dismissively.
While Sartia and Goti raided across the border, the other barbarians had watched and waited. Had those raiders succeeded, the tribes were ready to adopt a more aggressive stance toward the empire.
Their overt tree-felling near the border was a ploy to extract more concessions.
But their shallow schemes were over.
With Sartia and Goti's armies crushed by my hand, the empire had reaffirmed its dominance on the northern frontier. Even with our main forces stripped away, we'd smashed a massive barbarian host—leaving them no choice but to wag their tails and watch our every move.
Wolves, every one of them.
I watched the envoys cross the river, then turned back to camp at the trumpet's call. There, Praetorian Guards sent by the emperor awaited me.
The guards knelt at my approach.
"Glory to the empire! We behold our Imperator!"
I saluted with fist to chest in reply.
"Seeing you lifts my spirits. You've come at His Majesty's command?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did His Majesty say?"
"Yes. He rejoices greatly at your victory and decrees special rewards for the troops. And..."
"And?"
"He intends a grand punitive expedition against the barbarians once the Northern Army regroups. His Majesty wishes you to take command."
"If that's His Majesty's will, so be it."
I clenched my fist lightly. These were the rats who'd stabbed us in the back during our trials. I'd gladly lead a war to exterminate them.
"Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"You've traveled far—rest now."
"Yes, sir."
The guards saluted and withdrew.
I clasped my hands behind my back and strolled the palisades.
An advance into the north.
Unlike other barbarians, the Sartia and Goti were nomadic horse tribes, masters of cavalry.
They'd suffered devastating losses this time, but considering their ability to field every able-bodied man as a warrior, we couldn't dismiss their remaining forces lightly.
Above all, the land north of the Drvina River was unfamiliar territory. We'd crossed it before for punitive raids, but never more than a few dozen kilometers from the river.
These foes lurked far deeper in the interior.
A high-risk campaign.
Yet the emperor had resolved on it for the sake of the empire's prestige.
Defeat in Ersia to the east and the border breaches had tarnished our dignity. My annihilation of the invaders had saved some face, but it wasn't enough.
We needed thorough retribution.
The tribes that crossed our borders must be uprooted, their people enslaved. Anything less wouldn't suffice.
Only then could legions—budget-slashed by war reparations—hold the frontier.
The problem is, it's not that simple.
I hadn't underestimated the nomads despite crushing them. These foes had been fat wolves, slowed by their plunder, unable to unleash their full ferocity.
Their kin remaining north could fight with the untamed might of steppe nomads.
No room for complacency in this northern expedition.
But.
I recalled the ravaged imperial farmlands and the people's wails.
To ensure barbarians never again held swords to their throats, we had to see this through.
For the empire, we must crush these barbarians. Punish them now, and none will dare flank us when we face Shapur later.
Eyes on the snapping banners, I headed to my tent.
The Northern Army returned to the border line in a week, ahead of schedule thanks to the Goti and Sartia uproar.
I greeted the standard-bearers atop my warhorse as they arrived with the legion flags.
"Our respects to the commander who subjugated Sartia and Goti."
I acknowledged their salute with a raised hand. Behind them rode the legion commanders from the eastern frontier. Spotting them, I grinned broadly and spurred my horse forward.
"With everyone back, I feel secure. Tough road—you've earned your rest."
"How can our hardships compare to yours, sir—fighting in the east, then racing north for this decisive battle? We heard you smashed the barbarians flat."
Boruman asked with a grin.
"Of course. How could I let rats slip through the border you left unguarded?"
"Worthy of you, sir. The messenger relayed His Majesty's words?"
"I heard. He wants us to cross the Drvina and punish Goti and Sartia."
"The issue is our troops are exhausted. We skirmished with Ersia on the eastern border, then rushed back—marching out now would be too much."
Rubiot said.
"I agree—right now's impossible. But the sooner, the better."
The legion commanders nodded in agreement.
Goti and Sartia had suffered a crushing defeat; their main force that crossed the border was wiped out. With many leaders dead, their resistance was weaker than usual.
Hesitate, and we'd pay dearly later.
"So when do you want the legions to launch the offensive, sir?"
"Give the men two weeks to rest in camp, then strike. Sound good?"
"Two weeks."
The commanders pondered.
Two weeks was tricky.
But I wanted war before the barbarians shook off their shock.
"We need more time. Not enough to fatten the warhorses."
Riti said.
His words made me realize I'd overlooked the horses.
Even walking at a steady pace burns more calories than they consume.
The Northern Army's mounts, mobilized for the eastern campaign, had covered at least two thousand kilometers. They were on the brink of collapse.
Two weeks wasn't nearly enough to restore them.
We'd need months of rest for full recovery.
"Right. My oversight. Still, dragging it out too long isn't wise. Could we trade with the barbarians for fresh horses?"
"Even then, we couldn't meet full demand."
Battle-ready warhorses were rarer than thought; not every horse met wartime standards.
I accepted the reality: preparations would take longer than expected.
"We must press the attack for decisive results in this punitive war. A shame."
The commanders smiled wryly.
The empire lacked funds even for preventive wars. War reparations had drained the treasury and the emperor's private coffers. Declaring war on neighbors now was nearly impossible.
This might be our last offensive against peripheral powers.
"But we can do it. Under your command, sir."
Cogol said.
"No. Not me—you, the legion commanders, and the eagles of our legions will make it happen. I trust only you."
I clapped each approaching commander on the shoulder.
They expected me to work another miracle for the empire. To meet that faith, I had to lead this war to total victory.
Riding abreast with my commanders, I steeled my resolve.
(To be continued in the next episode)