Rotten Apple (2)
Less than an hour after the public notice went up in the town hall, citizens began packing their belongings and fleeing. The mayor's proclamation warned of the barbarian threat and called for young able-bodied men to aid in the city's defense, along with cash contributions.
The mayor who penned the notice set an example by handing over a hundred slaves and two hundred gold coins to us. It was an enormous sum—hard to believe it came from a private citizen—but hardly a dent in his actual wealth. From what I'd overheard, the man had tens of thousands in gold. It was just a handful compared to what he truly possessed.
Influential figures like the magistrate and city councilors sent over slaves and money just enough to save face. The citizens' attitude toward defending the city was pathetically indifferent, as if the barbarians weren't nearly upon them.
I gave a bitter smile.
What Aren sent to the legion was nothing but scrawny slaves, their faces blank with confusion as to why they were even standing there.
They weren't useless for defense, but not a single free citizen had volunteered. Every able-bodied adult was too busy dragging their families and running away.
That was reality.
The empire wasn't just rotting at the top. The very notion of a community banding together to protect itself had collapsed. I felt anew just how deeply the empire was crumbling.
Does a world like this even deserve our blood to prop it up? Should I just shake off the responsibility and head back to my hometown? Even such thoughts crossed my mind.
I pushed aside the tangled emotions and looked at the slaves. The lowest of the low, gathered in the square with no connection to the war, buzzed with murmurs. I nodded to Rikius.
"The legion commander's proxy has the floor. Attention!"
His shout cut through the murmurs of thousands like a blade. Rikius bowed his head to me, and I spoke.
"You, the lowliest in the empire. I am Ain, proxy commander of the empire's 16th Legion. I can't understand why you're standing here—and I don't want to. You probably feel the same. Your masters probably sent you without explaining a thing. Am I right?"
A chorus of affirmatives erupted from the slaves.
I gave a wry smile and continued.
"Fine, let's say that's true. That's why I still see you as slaves. Property without the freedom or will to pick up a weapon. That's the only name slapped on you."
A ripple of unease stirred their faces. Even slaves don't like being treated as mere goods.
I pressed on, ignoring their reactions.
"That's why this moment is the one turning point in your lives. A chance to go from slave to citizen—with the freedom and pride to defend yourself.
"Sure, you might say what good is that when your life's on the line. Fair point. If you think life is just scraping by on your master's land, fretting over his crops, and feeling joy at fewer lashes, then yeah, living long like that isn't so bad. But do you really believe that?"
The slaves fell silent, their half-formed protests dying on my next words. No slave wants that life forever.
They dream of saving up, buying freedom, becoming freedmen, living like their masters. They're human, with ambitions.
I scanned them and said,
"I don't think so. Because I came from peasant stock not much different from you. If you ask if things are safer now than back then, I'd say no. But if you ask if I'd go back? I'd refuse flat out.
"Even if it's just one day, I want to live with pride in myself—as an honorable soldier, dying as one. From cradle to grave, emperors and slaves end the same. But the journey? That's worlds apart.
"Even one day lived with satisfaction in yourself—that's a meaningful life. At least, that's what I believe. Do you want a long, safe life as slaves? Or will you stand as my comrades, living short but bright?"
Murmurs spread through the slaves at my question.
Soon, one raised his hand.
"Excellency. Even if we fight as you say, we're still slaves. What honor or reward could we get?"
"Wrong. The moment you take the empire's name, you're no slave. Past emperors proclaimed it so, and I'll treat you that way. I promise."
They sank into deep thought at my answer.
I signaled Rikius to bring weapons forward. Spare uniforms and spears, procured from the mayor, were laid before them.
The spear was the simplest weapon for untrained men.
As they stared blankly, I said,
"Decide now. Those who choose slavery, stay put. The rest, don the uniform and take up arms. From that instant, I'll treat you as brothers, not slaves."
Hesitation flickered across their faces. My short speech wouldn't sway them easily. But if they couldn't decide cleanly here, they'd waver on the battlefield too. I resolved to take only those who chose here.
The first slave—the one who'd questioned me—grabbed a uniform and spear.
I asked him,
"What's your name?"
"Clemens. That's what my master called me."
"Then I'll give you a new one. Maximus. Like the great general of the empire—may you become one."
Complex emotions crossed his face at the name. Maximus. Could he dare bear such a great one's name?
I told him,
"My brother Maximus, take your uniform and weapon. Stand in the ranks with our soldiers."
He bowed stiffly and stepped into line.
That was the start.
Slaves followed, resolute, claiming uniforms and spears. I named them, shook their hands. Over half chose to remain slaves, but gaining a thousand with true will was a victory.
I preferred a thousand with resolve over two thousand reluctant slaves. Mere slaves weren't worth calling brothers.
I pointed the rest toward the opposite side.
"Go on, then. Back to your masters. And remember this day—you chose to stay slaves."
They shuffled away, faces conflicted.
I believed it was the right call.
"Chicks! Grip those spears straight! Want to get stabbed and die?"
"If you wanna die free and glorious, don't drop your shield first!"
"You little shit. Who said thrust first?"
Decurions, veterans, and seasoned barbarian warriors from the 11th Cavalry drilled the recruits mercilessly. Curses flew, fists and boots for every mistake.
Not ideal training.
But with Heigirt possibly striking anytime, it was the only way to get them weapon-ready fast and cut errors.
I watched the soldiers, hoping they'd adapt quickly.
"Commander."
"Yeah."
Rikius ran up. Huge and fierce enough to scare barbarians, but always a gentle pup around me. I smiled and asked,
"How're the newbies doing?"
"Abysmal."
He shook his head like they were hopeless. No surprise. Even as the imperial army softened and border legions lowered standards, they were still above slaves. Golden age legions wouldn't have dreamed of enlisting them.
I scolded him sternly.
"Even so, Rikius, don't say that. They chose to take up arms and stand with us of their own will. You gonna belittle that?"
"Sorry."
"I promised to treat them as brothers, and I mean it. Anyone else, maybe—but you know me best."
"Yes, sir."
I hoped this young officer wouldn't judge solely by talent. I wanted him to value their noble will—the courage and resolve no slave should have—and see them highly.
That's how he'd rise high.
He looked a bit remorseful.
Yeah. That's why I trust you most, kid.
Grow strong. Strong enough to protect the empire—and Rica—even if I fall.
I clapped his shoulder warmly and moved on. Riti, our quartermaster and logistics officer, noticed and looked up.
I asked about supplies.
"Arrows? Spears and spare uniforms enough?"
"As you know, commander, time's short—everything's short. We need more. Even full city cooperation would take a week, and we're not getting it."
"Do your best anyway. The legion's fight rests on your shoulders."
"Will do."
Riti nodded.
I checked with each battalion commander, inspecting preparations and issuing orders on controlling and leading the new recruits.
After touring the units, I returned to my assigned lodging—a civilian merchant's house—where the garrison commander waited. His face sour, he confronted me.
"Commander, this is our sector. The mayor said your legion's key to defense, but you should've at least consulted us."
I crossed my arms.
"So your superior should hunt you down, explain every step, beg agreement, just to prepare defenses? Is that how the 12th Legion does things?"
"That's harsh."
"Hilarious. We don't have time for turf wars—or the luxury. We're training soldiers and planning defenses instead of bickering. And now you complain about no consultation? Is that soldier talk?"
"You're the rude one."
"Call it that. But I'm trying to do my duty.
"While we prepped, your garrison vanished. No talks, nothing.
"You shirk responsibility for this city but whine about rights? When do you plan to do your duty?"
"Unfair accusation. We're not slacking."
"Fine. Prove it so I can apologize. Take three watchtowers on the east wall. Prep properly, and I'll bow and say sorry myself."
"Deal. You'll hear it from me."
"Make it so."
I sent the garrison commander off. Cooperation looked tough, so bruising his pride to get him moving seemed best.
Still, defenses were improving from the start.
I prayed we'd have time to finish.
But Heigirt had no such intentions.
That night, as we bustled, five thousand troops from Heigirt arrived from the north.
(To be continued)