Chapter 22: Northern Advance (4)
Two days had passed since we crushed the barbarian coalition led by the Red Fox Tribe. While we erected our flagpoles, envoys began trickling in from the barbarians, terrified by the might of the imperial army.
They claimed their previous betrayal hadn't been intentional, and that fighting us so insolently had been entirely Heigirt's doing.
I sat arrogantly in the seat of honor and ordered them to kneel before speaking. They grudgingly dropped to their knees and looked up at me as they talked. This was my chance to drill into them—and the empire—the vast gap in our stations.
Of course, with Heigirt still out there, none of them would truly submit to me.
Still, I was the fist right in front of their faces, while their revered Heigirt lurked beyond the mountains.
No matter how much they resented it, they couldn't afford to piss me off.
I demanded a "gesture of sincerity." I was in a position to ravage their families on a whim, and there were no lines we wouldn't cross. They couldn't hide their hesitation at my terms.
But none of them dared attack.
We'd demonstrated overwhelming power.
"Legion Commander, sir, some of your demands are a bit excessive for us."
"By imperial custom, tribes that challenge order are burned to the ground, their men slaughtered, and their women dragged off as whores. Do you want me to follow custom? Compared to that, my demands are downright merciful."
"Those are outdated customs, sir."
The barbarian envoy said.
As the empire declined and lost influence beyond the borders, punishments for raids grew lax, rendering those ironclad old customs meaningless.
But who cares?
"Whether we do that or not is up to the legion commander. Not for you to whine about."
"You're right, sir."
The bastard bowed his head low.
"Or should we go by your favorite barbarian custom? Cut off the traitors' heads, impale them on spears, and sell men, women, and children alike into slavery. That doesn't sound bad either."
"Legion Commander."
I replied coldly.
"The empire isn't kind to traitors. No changing the terms. You have two days. Bring what I demanded, or watch your women, children, and homes go up in flames. Or end up like those fools spiked on the poles ahead. Go wash your necks, charge us, or meet the terms—your choice."
The barbarian envoys paled at my words.
They were the type to eye the strong and scheme for their own survival, but I felt no pity.
If they hadn't betrayed us, Heigirt never would've eyed imperial heartlands.
It was fitting retribution.
The barbarians forced down their displeasure, saluted me, and withdrew.
My centurions watched them go with satisfying smirks.
"Filthy scum. Feels like all the pent-up rage from before the war is draining away. But if they think the terms are too harsh, they'll never accept."
"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm hoping for."
"You want to fight them again?"
"Right. If they can't meet the demands on their own, they'll borrow strength from other tribes. And right here, they'll try to catch us."
"So your plan is to wipe them out here anyway?"
"Exactly. Fewer enemies means an easier time hitting Heigirt's tribe. And if we win again, the barbarians won't dare lift their heads before Heigirt returns. We'll reestablish the border formally and control their trade."
"Clever thinking. Hard to believe you planned this far ahead."
I gave a bitter smile at Rubiot's words.
"Heigirt... Pondering that bastard's methods forced me to get smart too."
"I could never wrap my head around that stuff."
"You just use your head as a club."
"You bastard. Want a taste of my club after all this time?"
We traded jokes, lounging easy.
It was our ritual to shake off the anxiety.
Victory or not, our forces numbered barely twenty-five hundred, while the barbarians commanded more than double.
Even the local tribes we'd just beaten could muster a coalition larger than ours.
We were fighting a brutal, uphill battle on the frontier, against near-equals.
Less than four days later, the barbarians sent their answer. I'd demanded sons and daughters of surviving chieftains, all their gold, and two thousand young women. It was essentially sacrificing their future, so they couldn't swallow it easily.
But they accepted. Whatever schemes they harbored, on the surface, they complied fully.
Wagons stretched along the highway, loaded with young girls, maidens, and gold. The escorting barbarians looked none too pleased.
I watched them approach and said to Rikius,
"Arm three centuries and have them stand ready."
"Yes, sir."
As Rikius dashed to the rear centurions, I clasped my hands behind my back and strode toward the incoming barbarians.
An old man on horseback at the lead glared our way with a sour face. Spotting me approach, he dismounted.
"I'm Kumtran, chieftain of the Red Fox Tribe."
"Ain, acting commander of the 16th Legion."
I responded curtly. No point sweet-talking blood enemies whose feelings were already raw. Sure, I'd coax them if I wanted alliance, but neither of us had that in mind.
Kumtran said,
"We've prepared the women and gold as demanded. With this, let's wipe the slate clean and make peace. Mark my words—we have no more intent to challenge the empire. We'll gladly submit to imperial order and bear our share if needed."
"Rejoining imperial order, eh? Interesting words, Chieftain Kumtran. Fine. No law says we can't accept such humble submission. Agreed. Your lands are guaranteed in the empire's name, and border trade permitted—once everything's back in place."
"Thank you."
Kumtran forced a smile.
I knew it wasn't from liking my words, but the hunter's grin to lull prey.
Too obvious—no need to meet his eyes. I'd felt zero trust before even meeting him.
I let him draw near for the ritual: pouring deer's blood into cups, sharing half. The imperial pact with barbarians, sworn in the empire's name.
Rite done, I walked the camp alongside Kumtran.
He scanned our legion's might with conflicted eyes. Plenty to mull over, no doubt.
I let him stew and said my piece.
"Truth be told, I was hoping you'd reject the offer. If you had, we'd have thrown one hell of a party at your place."
"Doesn't sound too welcoming."
"Just stating facts. Water under the bridge now. We're allied, slate wiped. Remember this: betray us again, and you'll see the world from atop a spike like those."
"I'll remember."
The old man gave a strained laugh.
Age tempered his emotions.
I left him be and received the women he'd brought.
For once, I let the legionaries party with them. Not that anyone meant to enjoy it.
At my glance, Rikius clapped. Our soldiers swarmed the wagons, offering hands to the women. They hesitated, then tentatively took them and stepped down.
Stiff and cold, gripping hands of near-enemies.
"Dance! Smile and dance!"
The soldiers laughed coarsely, yanking their arms.
Only then did tears well as the women were dragged like dolls, limbs jerking. Common tragedy on the battlefield.
But none of my concern. If that happened to our families or my woman inside the empire, I'd lose it—but these were the enemy's women.
Filthy beasts who knew no faith or oaths. Their misery brought me glee.
I eyed Kumtran watching our soldiers mix with his tribeswomen, kindling fires, dancing, singing. His face stayed calm.
Far from the agony of loss.
Definitely planning to hit us from behind.
I told him we'd host a feast for the chieftains too.
He gladly accepted, then turned to leave the camp. As he went, I grabbed a woman and danced.
Kissed her boldly, feigning revelry.
Once he was gone, I stopped cold. My eyes turned icy on the tribeswoman holding my hand. She teared up in terror.
Thud.
I shoved her sprawling.
Then turned to the legionaries with a ruthless command.
"Strip every woman naked and bind them to wooden crosses. Line them up single-file in the camp. Rikius! No exceptions."
My soldiers obeyed without a blink. Sure, they wanted the women, but these were daughters, sisters, of foes who'd targeted our lives. We weren't weak enough to melt in their arms.
Women bound and stood on crosses, we left a fire burning in the camp and slipped away quietly.
How much time passed?
Moans from crucified women gave way to mounted warriors' voices.
Thousands of hooves thundered into the camp without cease. Spotting the bound women and "vanished legion," they panicked, milling in circles.
Idiots.
Thought we'd be drunk on women, dancing and yapping. Especially after seeing their commander—me—embracing one.
But we'd never trusted them from the start. Faith is built on trust. Why give it to oathbreakers who'd repaid alliance with betrayal?
I drew my sword.
"Brothers! Proud frontier legionaries! Those cowards sacrificed their women like rats, sneaking in to slit our throats. So desperate they weaponize skirts? Less than women. Charge! Slaughter the curs, claim their bitches. Tonight's feast honors you!"
"Attack the legion!"
Rikius shook the legion standard; soldiers roared toward the camp. Barbarians rushed to free their women but mounted hastily at our approach.
But between saving women first and tangled units, few charged properly.
Cavalry incoming, our vanguard formed square.
Ershiang bellowed from behind,
"Loose!"
Arrows rained like downpour, riddling the disorganized barbarian cavalry.
Scattered in ones or small groups, they shattered like eggs on our square's wall.
We trampled them, pushing into camp.
Piiiieeee.
Diiiieeee.
Varied retreat horns blared. Even in haste, they fumbled to grab women, slowing them. Understandable—saving your woman is a man's prime duty.
But fatal stupidity for an army needing cohesion.
As they floundered, legionaries entered camp. Remaining barbarians were no match. Soldiers bashed them down with shields, smashed edges into skulls, stabbed to finish.
Rookies thrust spears into gaps veterans' shields opened, skewering barbarians.
"Retreat! Demons!"
Late escapers to the rear met the 11th Cavalry head-on. Against undisciplined rabble, disciplined horse was nightmare fuel.
Lis hoisted the imperial standard high and roared.
"The 11th Cavalry is the empire's blade! Long live the 16th Legion!"
Lis slashed mercilessly, butchering foes. Women tangled in the melee got no quarter—we swung without hesitation.
They'd ravaged imperial lands, slaughtering civilians aplenty.
One border village fallen meant hundreds of girls raped, enslaved. They'd done it; no reason we, defending the empire, shouldn't.
When needed, we had to be brutal, vicious.
Only then would they never dare cross again.
I killed even those dropping weapons to surrender. Only the groveling or cross-bound women got mercy.
We slaughtered over five thousand there. A full battle would've cost us dearly even in victory, but their idiocy played into our hands—they'd bared their necks on their own trap.
Simpler brutes might've been tougher, but their half-baked schemes were our luck.
Standing atop layered corpses, I raised my sword.
"Victory for the legion!"
"Ain! Ain!"
Soldiers chanted my name. I turned, proclaiming triumph.
"The empire won today. We'll win tomorrow, and soon claim Heigirt's head—the king of barbarians."
"Glory to the empire's golden eagle!"
We cheered victory wildly. Sad eyes of women watching kin die? Invisible.
I ordered soldiers to savor victors' rights, then swept my cloak and climbed the camp watchtower. Heigirt—the black star threatening the empire.
We'd mopped up the small fry, but his core retainers in his territory remained. Hopefully not pushovers.
Hand on the rampart, I closed my eyes.
The wind chilled, laced with cooling blood of the dead.
(To be continued)