Crossing the Long Wall (1)
The pursuit of the barbarians resumed as the sun began to set. Cavalry led the chase. While preparing to deploy the horsemen and interrogate the captured prisoners, a messenger arrived from the gorge.
“Sir. A message from the Atillca legion.”
To the Imperator,
“I figured news would come soon enough. Hand it over.”
I took the parchment.
Let's see. The Hiberia army's abandoned most of their wagons to pick up speed? Regulus must've panicked, thinking they'd be the only ones hit in the pursuit.
But their increased pace left a bitter taste. It would make it hard for the Atillca legion to catch and annihilate them.
“How far have the Hiberians gone?”
“We believe they've reached about fifty kilometers from the coast.”
“Tell Rubiot: pursue them to the coastline. Then head north to the Long Wall as soon as the chase ends.”
“Yes, sir.”
I sent the Atillca messenger back and sank into thought.
This means more than half the Hiberians will make it out alive. On the way back after crossing the northern Long Wall, I need to threaten them with a potential invasion into Hiberia itself.
Send someone to Londinium to dispatch ships along the western coast, and the barbarians would feel the threat.
In that state, if I sent envoys to the Hiberia tribes, their chieftains wouldn't shelter a king who'd recklessly made an enemy of the empire.
Then Regulus would die without me lifting a finger.
And I can demand they hand over suitable hostages. The real question is how much damage I inflict on the northern Gelt.
If the Atillca legion joined early, we could strike swiftly up beyond the Long Wall. If possible, even aim for the northern highlands—territory the empire had only trodden in its golden age.
I'll push as far as I can.
I gathered my thoughts and climbed the sloped mound, using my scabbard as a staff. Below, countless barbarian heads—from those our soldiers had slain—were impaled on stakes.
“Kahk.”
With a short, strangled cry, one barbarian's head rolled across the ground.
I gazed coldly down at the bound barbarians before me.
“You field mice who never feared the empire. How does it feel to be at the legion's blade today?”
“Pah. If you're gonna kill us, just do it.”
The barbarian chieftain spat.
“Can't do that. An easy death is mercy for the lowly. You won't go that quick. Fabius!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring the leatherworker.”
“Yes, sir!”
Fabius barked the order.
Leatherworker!
At those words, several barbarians shuddered. Some kept stoic faces, but their flickering eyes betrayed they knew what I intended.
Soon, the legion's horsehide specialist appeared before me.
“You called, sir?”
“I've heard some barbarians skin people alive. They strip enemy hides and dress scarecrows to parade before their eyes. Can you give them a taste of that terror?”
The craftsman grinned wolfishly at my question.
“Skinning a man or a horse—should be much the same.”
“That one first.”
I pointed to the chieftain who'd spat at me moments ago.
“K-Kill me like a warrior!”
“Such mercy's wasted on the empire's foes. We'll flay your hide and carry it back to your homeland.”
I countered coldly and gestured.
The horsehide specialist approached the chieftain with a razor-sharp blade.
“Aaaargh!”
As the chieftain screamed, several barbarians cried out.
“Just kill us, please! We won't beg for our lives. Ask anything—we'll tell you.”
“You can talk when it's your turn. We've plenty to test first.”
I turned my back on them and watched the skinning unfold.
What terrifies humans most isn't pain—it's imagination.
Witness a death beyond imagining right before your eyes, and the thought of worse? Even the bravest warrior crumbles into a coward.
I tortured and killed their comrades one by one, brutally, until the barbarians were utterly broken.
The next day, at dawn, we traversed the central highlands.
The highland folk had much contact with the Gelt beyond the Long Wall, so they eyed our army with open hostility. But even they froze at the sight of the scarecrows our soldiers carried.
Those scarecrows were dressed in human skins flayed from the barbarians.
The imperial army are devils worse than demons.
The highlanders felt fear; when we demanded hay and water during the march, they complied without protest.
Thanks to that, the march was far smoother.
Beyond the highlands, the 320-kilometer-long wall appeared—fortified along valleys and mountains. The Briton Long Wall, the empire's sole defense that sealed the border itself.
Even relying heavily on natural terrain, it ranked among the empire's greatest architectural feats.
I gazed in awe at this relic from the empire's golden age.
To conceive a wall dividing savagery from civilization. That they poured such manpower and gold into this frontier speaks to that era's glory. Truly, the empire was great.
As I admired the Briton Long Wall, a strange rumor spread among the troops.
“The campaign's over. We're heading back.”
It came from the Briton soldiers.
A few officers reported it to me.
“Sir. The men are restless.”
“Restless? Why?”
“Seeing the wall, they're saying the campaign's done.”
My heart sank, but I kept my composure. If I faltered, the officers would too. Calmly, as if unperturbed, I issued orders.
“Assemble the men.”
I knew Rikius's warning from before had come true. Time to act fast.
As the troops gathered before the wall, I climbed atop it and addressed them.
“Eagles of Briton! You've fought with honor worthy of the legion these past weeks. You stood firm against superior numbers and showed true courage. It was my honor to fight beside you.”
“Hoorah!”
The soldiers roared in response.
“That's why I ask you to stay until this war ends—until we annihilate the Gelt beyond the wall and force them to kneel.”
Silence fell briefly.
“I know it's harsh. But win today, and ten years of peace are yours. No more daily dread of barbarians breaching the wall. Tell me: a short sleep today, or ten years' rest?”
The soldiers met my eyes. Tension gripped me, but I hid it.
Then one shouted.
“We want ten years' peace!”
“The barbarians' submission! Peace tomorrow!”
“We'll cross the wall!”
Their cheers echoed off the stone.
I raised my clenched fist high.
“Honor to Briton's courage! The empire claims ten years' peace! Despair to the barbarians! Victory to the empire!”
“Victory to the Briton legion! Glory to Imperator Ain! Peace to the empire!”
Thankfully, the men figured the campaign wouldn't drag on and bought my persuasion easily. Numbers-wise, the barbarians were nearly annihilated; fighting wouldn't be hard.
But the barbarians beyond the north wall are unknown. Nothing confirmed.
And more could cross from across the northern sea.
No guarantee the war would end easily.
Still, I meant to cross the wall and crush them. Just as I'd shown the continental barbarians: defy the empire, and perish to the bone.
I ordered the legion across and turned my gaze to the northern highlands in the distance.
The legion advanced north at ten kilometers a day beyond the wall. Our deliberate slowness accounted for linking with the Atillca legion trailing behind.
I studied a map bought from locals near the wall, lost in thought.
Not one detail's accurate.
The map was a mess. Rivers and mountains misplaced as basics, roads marked where none existed. Useless for battle, yet I couldn't ignore it—scarce intel on Gelt lands.
Old imperial maps from centuries past would help, but they'd long vanished. I clicked my tongue and scanned it.
At least the overall terrain held. Villages here, highlands there—rough reference at best.
Better than nothing.
As I grimaced, Rikius approached.
“Sir. Barbarian envoys have arrived.”
“Envoys?”
“Yes. They're offering a feast.”
“Who sent them?”
“The Caldea tribe.”
“Caldea—a major Gelt power. Send them packing.”
“Pardon?”
“No talks for now. Swords and arrows speak for us. Remember: this war punishes the barbarians.”
Rikius bowed.
“Yes, sir.”
A feast. Clever ploy.
I smirked inwardly.
Barbarians often propose feasts when cornered—sometimes sincere, often traps. Poison or blades at the table, killing imperials.
If I attended and died?
Campaign ends instantly.
They're no fools.
They knew exactly what ensured survival.
But I'll accept the invite after the campaign—once the ones worth killing are dead.
I rubbed my scabbard with my thumb.
Soon, word came: Atillca legion marching fast from the south, joining in two days.
Perfect.
Our force neared ten thousand again.
Ten thousand elites who'd crushed tens of thousands of barbarians!
Even hostile Gelt would bow to that might.
I planned to march this host straight to the northern highlands.
Raze villages tangled in this war en route, display slain chieftains' scarecrows at their gates.
That sight would break their will to fight the empire.
For a generation.
I halted the legion to await Atillca.
The men built stockades and dug trenches around camp. Two days' stay, but fortifications were legion basics—thorough always.
As soldiers erected the camp, I surveyed the vast steppe. New sprouts pierced the chill; scattered livestock grazed—barbarian herds, by looks.
Been a while. Let the men hunt for practice.
Those beasts were barbarians' anyway.
No loss to the empire.
I pondered briefly, then called Rikius to hunt sheep and cattle.
The troops' joy at the unexpected hunt was plain.
Feed 'em meat to their fill on days like this.
I let them hunt as they wished.
As soldiers scattered chasing steppe herds, I strolled with hands clasped behind.
But didn't the barbarians flee with their livestock?
Abandoning herds happens.
But we'd marched slow enough for them to take valuables like cattle. Barbarians prized them too much to leave behind without greed overriding.
Intentional?
The thought struck me.
Come to think, frontier comrades once mentioned: barbarians release animals to lure legionaries, then ambush.
This could be it.
A chill ran down my spine. I summoned Fabius.
“Sound the horn now. Recall all men. Hurry!”
“Yes, sir.”
Fabius saw my urgency and barked orders.
Bwoooo!
The horn blared; scattered soldiers glanced toward camp. I ordered retreat blasts repeated.
Only then did they drop prey and head back.
Then.
Dudududu!
Horses thundered from the steppe's edge.
Trap, as expected.
I ground my teeth. At least we'd recalled faster than they planned.
Seeing barbarians charging our soldiers' rear, I bellowed.
“Archers, nock and draw!”
(To be continued)