Chapter 14. The Two Sides of a Coin (3)
The barbarian tribes were ready to flip their swords and butcher the legion the moment Heigirt made any concessions. But a strange rumor began circulating among them, putting their plan on hold for the time being.
'In truth, most of the tribes have already allied with the legion. They're just pretending to betray us, waiting to strike when we lower our swords— to eliminate their rivals.'
Once that whisper spread, the barbarians grew warier of each other than of the imperial forces. Thanks to Callis spreading the disinformation, they hesitated to act. These were men who had already resolved to betray the empire once; betraying again wouldn't raise eyebrows.
The barbarians had never truly trusted one another enough to watch each other's backs. They were bound only by shared interests, perfectly willing to stab each other in the back for greater gain.
Of course, as long as the massive bargaining chip named Heigirt held firm, their conflicts would remain mere suspicions. They were human, after all— capable of thought.
While the barbarians simmered in taut tension, I gathered the legion officers and plotted our escape from Sian.
We'd bought some time, but facing the full barbarian horde with several times our numbers lurking inside was suicide.
I was prepared to die for the empire, but not some worthless death— not like a dog, stabbed in the back and crumpling in an instant. Where was the honor in that? The meaning?
Offering our necks so meekly would only make Heigirt, the architect of this mess, laugh. We had no intention of handing them over easily.
After huddling with the officers, we settled on escaping through the city's sewers. True to imperial design, Sian's fortress city had a full sewer system, leading all the way to the distant Rean River.
That route would let us slip past Heigirt's eyes and flee south. A bit of filth was a small price to pay for survival.
It was a path I hadn't even considered when we'd steeled ourselves for total annihilation against the barbarian alliance and Heigirt. But to live, we had no choice.
The sewers weren't some shit-filled nightmare, either. Imperial engineering ensured a constant flow of clean water through the conduits, flushing away waste the moment it dropped.
"I'll need the 11th Cavalry to abandon their horses, too. No way around it if we're heading into the sewers at dusk. 7th Centuria, make sure the arson starts simultaneously— no mistakes. One slip in coordination, and we're all dead."
I drilled the key commanders on their roles. The officers saluted gravely, hands to chests.
It was a tightrope gamble, but our only shot at survival. I clapped their shoulders and said,
"Alright, then. Let's all meet alive in the latrines."
"Victory to the eagle standard."
Cogol, the young centurion I rarely spoke with, and the other officers murmured their response in low voices.
I nodded to them. We could trust only ourselves.
As withdrawal preparations began, Rikius went around inviting the chieftain proxies and high-ranking barbarian warriors to the banquet. If we didn't kill them at the critical moment, they'd inflict devastating losses during our retreat.
We planned to eliminate the barbarian commanders to clear the path for our withdrawal. No point leaving the snake's head intact.
Fortunately, they had no inkling of our intentions. With Callis's cooperation, nearly all the barbarian leaders accepted the invitation without hesitation.
Truth be told, their eagerness stemmed from fear that we or rival tribes might flip our swords first. Mutual distrust clouded their judgment— a stroke of luck for us.
I never breathed a word of the withdrawal to the rank-and-file. They were loyal, but loose lips could sink us.
A single careless or subconscious slip could doom us all.
'Stay sharp, Ain. One mistake now could destroy the legion.'
I constantly reminded myself to be meticulous, double-checking every detail of the plan.
As evening fell, the barbarian commanders arrived at the communal mess hall, grinning. As host, I returned polite smiles. Purely ceremonial, of course.
Behind my smile, I concealed the murderous intent to slaughter them.
The barbarians were no different. They warily watched for who might ally with us and strike from behind.
Yet here they were, feigning camaraderie with false grins and greetings. Disgusting hypocrites. Talking of honorable warriors while rotting like imperial politicians. I masked my contempt and offered handshakes.
"Thank you for the invitation, Commander."
"After shedding blood together, this is nothing. Come, sit before the food gets cold."
I'd emptied the officers' private reserves— the fine rations they'd saved for their last meals.
These men were doomed anyway; I could afford a lavish last supper. I wasn't stingy with the price of necks.
They gawked at the feast, delight undisguised. Barbarians rarely ate like this.
No proper spices or cooking skills— just charred meat seasoned with wild salt. Even legion rations would thrill them; this sent their eyes rolling back.
The young Halcon smiled at me. "I never expected such hospitality amid hardship. It gives me strength. Tomorrow, I could take on ten legionnaires."
"Haha. Music to my ears."
Right— fattened on legion supplies to slaughter legionnaires.
I wished him bon appétit.
No tampering with the food. Instead, I'd dusted their wine cups with paralytic salanis seed powder.
Dangerous stuff in excess— lethal, even. We drank and ate alongside them to allay suspicion.
Once we touched our food, they laughed, chattered, and shoveled it down, oblivious to their doom.
Rikius, I, and the attending centurions watched coldly as they drained cup after cup.
How much time passed?
One barbarian suddenly face-planted into the table. The others dismissed it as weak tolerance for drink, paying little mind.
"That guy's such a lightweight?"
That was their reaction.
But as more slumped over, some caught on that something was wrong.
Young Halcon shot up first, glaring at me. "What is this?"
His face twisted in revulsion as he spat coldly.
"Why ask when you know?"
I replied coolly.
"Is this the empire's answer to our aid?"
He roared in fury.
"Our answer to betrayal. You dare speak of faith while plotting to turn your swords?"
Halcon let out a beastly howl and lunged. True to form, he'd come armed to the feast. But he'd overdone the poison. His legs tangled like a drunk's, and he sprawled forward— straight onto his own blade.
"Grahk."
As he vomited blood, the stunned barbarians drew steel. We did the same.
I commanded flatly, "Kill them all! No mercy for faithless curs."
Rikius whipped out his hidden blade from under the table and swung. The centurions joined; the paralyzed foes couldn't last. Limbs severed, necks hacked.
A few less-dosed ones resisted, but not against veteran centurions. Axes and swords buried in throats and chests. Once cleared, I turned to Halcon.
The young man was gushing blood but still clung to life.
"You're less than a mongrel. No warrior."
"Grk."
He tried to speak through the blood, but my boot was faster. It pinned his throat, driving the blade home.
Crunch.
His head rolled across the floor, spraying blood. The ambitious, cunning young chieftain— idol of the Black Wolf warriors— died by his own sword.
Idiot. If you're betraying, at least expect retaliation.
I looked down at his lifeless eyes, then up. My gaze met Callis's.
He nodded gravely.
With his silent approval, the centurions finished the surviving Red Fox elites. Some begged, lips twitching, but no exceptions. The slaughter ended; Callis spoke.
"I'll handle things here. Go— I'll cover your rear."
"Proxy chieftain, you don't have to go that far. You kept faith with us. Come with us; the empire will protect you."
He shook his head. "I'm a traitor who abandoned his tribe. I gave everything for my family— now I pay the price. Go."
"Callis."
I called his name. The warrior once called father gave a bitter smile. Even in chosen betrayal, regret gnawed at him deeply.
Yet if given the chance, he'd choose the same path without hesitation. His complex expression told me that.
Instead of answering, he waved me off— no more words; leave.
Was that the final resolve of a man torn between blood and honor? If I were in his shoes, would I wear that tormented look?
No way to know without being there.
I hesitated, then bowed. My officers followed suit.
As I left the hall, I glanced back one last time. Callis was quietly closing the door.
What thoughts filled his mind amid the bloodied corpses? Apologies? Or calm lies to stall the barbarians?
I hoped he could hold onto the peace of having done his utmost for his family.
If the gods watched, surely they'd grant that much mercy to the poor man. A bitter aftertaste lingered as I walked away.
We'd barely exited when fires erupted across the city as planned. In the chaos of sudden flames and smoke, we assembled orderly at the legion's designated escape point: the 1st and 2nd latrines.
They didn't grasp our intent until the last man vanished. Without their high warriors or leaders, it stayed that way— all slain in the hall.
As the barbarians panicked in confusion, the troops plunged into the sewer conduits in sequence. I watched them all enter, then turned to the burning Sian.
Our land, our fortress, crumbling in glorious flames. If the barbarians pushed again tomorrow, the destruction would spread beyond Sian to the entire frontier.
I gazed at the vanishing city one last time, then leaped into the sewer.
(To be continued)