Toward the Black Forest (1)
The next day, we set out northward at a leisurely pace, herding thousands of barbarian women. The wagons overflowed with gold and plunder seized from the barbarians. We stretched out in a long column along the road, making a deliberate show of it.
In any standard military operation, this would have been utter madness.
But in the world of the barbarians, it carried a different meaning. It proclaimed that we were strong enough to take all this, plunder it, and flaunt it openly.
We traveled north along the imperial border. Midway, we encountered barbarian tribes. They bowed their heads and offered us provisions.
These were the same fools who had sent soldiers under Heigirt's influence, hoping for a quick windfall. Seeing them kowtow now was laughable.
We accepted their food, then torched their villages and severed every last man's head. We plundered the women without exception. In this way, we methodically laid waste to the barbarian tribes hugging the border. Mercy? The thought never crossed our minds.
The message of our terror strategy was singular and crystal clear:
'Those who cooperated with Heigirt die without mercy. And everyone around their territory dies too. So get far away from the imperial border.'
By speaking through death rather than words, the barbarians came to tremble at the sight of us, dubbing us the 'Army of Death'.
Back when the imperial legions stood strong, these weaklings had sneered at the fading, dying empire as easy pickings. But after two straight defeats, their guts had shriveled.
We annihilated nine tribes and entered the Bratt region, once defended by the 11th Legion. Among the empire's northern frontier provinces, Bratt was particularly thriving. Dense population, abundant resources, and a fair number of cities.
The vast plains and ports typical of lowland regions had made such prosperity possible.
As a result, trade flourished even with the bordering barbarians, raising their standards to a respectable level. It was no surprise that Heigirt hailed from these parts.
After a full day's march, we reached Barak, the southernmost fortress of the 11th Legion.
Barak still housed the soldiers the 11th Legion had left behind for border defense. Spotting our legion standard, they nocked arrows at once.
I rode forward slowly toward the fortress.
"Brothers. We are the 16th Legion."
"We can see that. But right now, you are our enemies."
The fortress commander replied.
I shook my head at his words.
"That was once true. But not anymore—there's no reason for it now, is there? Anpianus, to whom you swore loyalty, is dead. Isn't he?"
"Even so, we uphold his will."
I smiled at the commander's response.
"Then let me ask you this, brother. Are you men of the empire's legions?"
"Are you saying it was wrong to serve Emperor Anpianus? We were legionaries before we served him, and we remain so after his death. We take pride in the legion's banner."
"Then why debase yourselves as dogs for barbarians? The empire ordered the 11th Legion to guard this border—and demands it still. Have you forgotten that command?"
"That's Anpianus—"
"He's dead."
I cut the commander off.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
Yes, he was dead. Charisma or ambition be damned—he was gone. That ended his dreams. Reality doesn't care. Even if Emperor Baccus was the empire's dark tyrant, Anpianus was no viable alternative.
While the commander stood silent, I pressed on.
"We lost our legion commander Cassius too. But headless or not, we haven't forgotten our mission."
"As legionaries, shouldn't we remember that defending the empire comes first? Wasn't the 11th Legion a frontier force?"
"W-we are a frontier legion."
"Then prove it with your actions. We'll gladly come forward. Yesterday we crossed swords, but we're fellow legionaries, comrades guarding the empire. Trusting in the honor of legionaries, I'll walk right up to your gates. Do you have the courage to meet me?"
The commander's face twisted in conflict.
But soon enough, he nodded.
"Very well. You're right—I'm a legionary. Emperor Anpianus ordered me to guard this border. As long as I strive to do that, you're my brother still. Enter. I'll receive you as such."
The fortress commander declared.
The gates swung open.
We marched in, ranks and centuries perfectly ordered.
Once inside, the commander ordered his men to prepare hot food.
While the meal was readied, I spoke with him.
"You've been holed up here since Anpianus died?"
"Any legionary left at a border fortress would be."
"Surprising."
"Not really. After Anpianus, no one left to command the 11th. The main force trails Heigirt out of reluctance, not true loyalty."
"Heard about General Sixtus and the Second Suppression Army's defeat? Even from the homeland."
"The barbarians don't share tales like that with us. The homeland's really breached?"
The commander's face registered shock.
I nodded.
He looked as if the world had crumbled, momentarily speechless.
"By now, Heigirt's cavalry are ravaging the northern homeland, marching on the eternal city—the capital."
"Gods."
"We're here to smash his territory and stop it. We'll seize his women, sons, daughters, grandsons—anyone worth a hostage—and burn his lands and wealth. Make it so he can't hold out without returning."
"Possible?"
I let out a smirk.
"How do you think we got here? Every barbarian in our path died, plundered, smashed. We crossed unclimbable mountains and uncrossable rivers before that."
"Over ten thousand barbarians dead by our hands so far. Even if he pours everything into defending his lands, he won't stop us easily. I'm confident."
The commander wore a complicated expression.
He pondered in silence, then asked:
"Could you take on Heigirt?"
"Not confident yet. But..."
I continued.
"If the brothers of the 11th Legion stand shoulder to shoulder with us, I'll bring him to his knees and plant his head atop a pike."
At those words, the commander dropped to one knee.
"Commander Ain—no, sir. If you keep your promise to sever Heigirt's head, the 11th Legion—no, I and my men will stand and fight beneath your standard."
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
I'd decided to welcome him as a legion comrade.
"Your name?"
"Boruman. They call me Barak's Angry Bear."
"Boruman. I accept you as my brother. Stand by my side, shield in hand together. From this day, you're a brother of the 16th Legion."
"Thank you."
"Rise, Boruman. My brother."
I watched him stand. His frame loomed like a mountain ridge. Rikius was burly enough, but this man dwarfed him.
He raised his shield before me and spoke.
"Boruman, 11th Legion Barak garrison commander and chief centurion, requests legion redeployment in His Majesty's name."
"In His Majesty and the legion commander's stead, I grant it. Good fortune."
I clasped the bearish man's thick palm.
With this, the 16th Legion recovered from some 2,300 men back to 2,500.
We loaded the wagons with needed supplies, then pressed north along Bratt's highways.
The Thunder Tribe featured prominently in imperial history. Most border tribes leaked fragments of info—lifestyles, culture, social structures—through trade and contact.
But this tribe stood out with an abundance of intelligence. Remarkable, considering they'd migrated to the border only a century ago.
They traded briskly with the empire: warriors crossed as part-time auxiliaries when recruited, and sometimes they loaned tribal contingents outright.
Rich in mines, they had plenty to trade, drawing imperials to their lands often.
Those who'd visited their villages dubbed the Thunder Tribe 'model barbarians'. Their ways mirrored the empire's in nearly every aspect.
They knew much of the empire—and hungered for more than was permitted.
Small wonder an ambitious soul like Heigirt emerged from them, learning the empire's ways, gaining experience, and nurturing imperial ambitions.
One might call it a failure of imperial barbarian policy. But that missed the mark. Only if judging by results alone.
The empire had spent centuries making barbarians aspire to its ways, tempering their ferocity, dreaming of borders held by diplomacy alone.
From that view, the Thunder Tribe was a success, not failure. The empire had simply weakened, lost control.
In the Belanga library—former 11th Legion base—I pored over Thunder Tribe records and sank into thought. Problems I'd overlooked while fixating on crushing Heigirt blindly.
After we smashed him and his tribe? Would the barbarian assaults end?
Strictly speaking, the border barbarians were the 'close' ones—those we could talk to, trade with.
But beyond the veil lurked total unknowns. We'd focused on crushing rebels like the Thunder Tribe as examples, defeating him—but hadn't considered what came next.
The empire's legions lay shattered from battles with Heigirt, scattered. The field armies were half-crippled. Proper border defense impossible for years, win or lose.
What if the outer barbarians pressed in during that time?
A new worry gnawed at my mind. I suddenly understood the philosopher-emperor's torment, spending every waking hour in reflection and deliberation.
The dilemmas multiplied endlessly, answers nowhere in sight.
Was the path I'd chosen truly right?
Emerging from the library with fresh burdens instead of rest, Rikius found me.
"Sir. An envoy from the Eastern Libitus governor just arrived at the council hall."
"Eastern Libitus governor's envoy? How'd they know we're here?"
Rikius shrugged. No idea.
Heading to the hall, I saw a young man draped in an ornate paludamentum and cloak. He recognized me and dipped his head slightly.
"Gaius, envoy of His Excellency the governor."
Gaius was far more deferential than before.
Though my position now was worlds apart from then.
I returned the greeting and asked Gaius:
"How did Governor Lavirando know I was here?"
"Even he doesn't. I heard you'd left Aren, went up to Sian, and saw the battle traces there."
"You spotted our warning markers well enough."
"Yes. Tracked the wagon ruts straight here. A monumental achievement. With the empire in peril, subduing the border barbarians and driving them out—imperial citizens will hail you."
"Not quite here yet. Anyway, Gaius, what brings you?"
"To deliver His Excellency's message."
"Verbal?"
He seemed to carry no letter.
Gaius nodded. Smart—no written dispatch to be seized. If your memory was sharp, verbal was safest.
"Speak."
Gaius cleared his throat, then began.
"Eastern Libitus, in hopes of General Ain's triumph, pledges two thousand citizens, supplies, and eight hundred solitus in gold."
"Unexpected goodwill from the governor. And where are these pledges?"
"Still in Eastern Libitus."
I smirked.
"Thought as much. Send them if I look like winning, pull back if losing. Clever calculus."
"A misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding? Look, Gaius—if he wrote a paper pledging a million-man army and handed it to me. I run to the barbarians waving it, shouting I've a million at my back—think they'd blink? Words on the battlefield are that hollow, that empty."
"Tell the governor this: the day I fall, Eastern Libitus faces danger anew. No need to weigh scales then—you'll offer Heigirt multiples without hesitation."
Gaius's face twisted slightly.
"Excellency. We extended goodwill— this is too much insult."
"The insult was mine. I told your envoy before: prepare to face Heigirt. No reply came."
"Now the imperial armies lie broken, we're the only ones fighting north, and you dangle mouse-fur support without saying when."
"Is this how you speak to those battling for Eastern Libitus and the empire? It rings like polished insult to me."
"Excellency, the governor is no hypocrite peddling empty promises. We care deeply about the border—about the empire's future."
My eyes turned cold.
"Then act now. Bolster us. That's my sole demand."
Gaius departed without further debate.
Still, the governor had sent him with expectations—I felt I'd been a touch harsh.
Damn it all.
I let out a deep sigh.
(To be continued)