Wing-Clipped Eagle (1)
The return journey was tougher than expected. An untimely snowfall in April had blocked the roads, slowing our pace to a crawl.
The soldiers who'd accompanied me to Sian couldn't hide their exhaustion. We'd barely covered a few kilometers before I had no choice but to call for camp.
I gathered some damp twigs soaked by the snow and barely managed to coax a fire to life, but it did little to ward off the chill.
The soldiers' coughing kept me from getting any sleep.
Everyone was bone-tired, trudging along at a snail's pace, when a shout came from the lead soldier.
"Centurion! That's a lion's roar."
A chill ran down my spine. Lions around here meant cave lions—beasts bigger than four grown men combined.
Even the legion suffered casualties from them every few years, sometimes half a dozen men torn apart in a single attack.
But I kept my face steady. The younger troops fed off their commander's mood. No matter how scared I was, I couldn't show it.
"No big deal. I've hunted one before. They're not that scary."
"Really, sir?"
"Yeah. If one shows up, I'll show you how it's done. No need to panic."
I bluffed for the men while silently praying one wouldn't appear.
"We trust you, Centurion!"
One cheeky young pup chimed in with gusto.
His bold declaration—like he planned to hide behind me—broke the tension, drawing laughs from the others who'd been on edge.
"You little shit. The old centurion's got to trust you? Just fall back and trust the centurion."
"Haha, just kidding."
The mood lightened up. That's more like my men.
I puffed out my chest and halted for a moment.
That's when a pitch-black silhouette emerged from the trees ahead.
A lion?
I signaled the men to battle ready and drew my sword. They tensed, eyes locked on the shadowy figure.
Soon, the dark shape stepped from the forest shade.
It's a man?
The mystery silhouette was a barbarian on horseback.
A blond savage in crudely tanned furs, sporting an amber brooch on his chest like he wanted us to know he was someone important. Probably a warrior of rank.
The barbarian glanced at our group, then dismounted with a leap. He spread his arms wide, palms open—no weapons, no threat.
I told my men to stay alert, sheathed my sword, and stepped forward.
"I'm Centurion Ain of the Imperial Legion. Who are you?"
"Jakal, brother of the Blue Bear chieftain. It's been a while since I laid eyes on an Imperial officer."
Jakal's brazenness was almost comical.
Technically, he was on Imperial soil. And here he was, spouting off like that to an Imperial officer?
I debated drawing my blade and taking his head right then.
But there was no guarantee he was alone, and I didn't want to draw blood and lure that lion. I kept my cool.
"This is inside the Empire's borders. Not your land."
"Oh, was it? Got carried away hunting and crossed the line without realizing."
"You think border-crossing is just a minor slip-up."
"We're trading partners. Can't you overlook a little thing like that?"
"Trading means respecting boundaries. I'll take this up with your brother."
"Suit yourself."
Jakal snickered.
He'd revealed his identity knowing I'd protest. This was a test.
Probing if we tolerated open border-hopping.
Or flexing their power—showing they could stir trouble without consequence.
Either way, I didn't like his game.
"If you get it, get out. Now. From our territory."
"Will do."
Jakal vaulted onto his horse and vanished into the woods. A chance encounter, but it nagged at me.
What if the Blue Bear tribe crossed borders whenever they pleased?
The next day back at base, Rikius reported recent events. Warriors believed to be from the Black Wolf Tribe had chopped wood near our watchtowers. Motive unknown, but likely a show of presence.
To nip it in the bud, I sent Rikius to the Black Wolf Tribe.
He grumbled about talking first, but with the Blue Bears already a headache, I couldn't afford another threat.
I had him tell them "higher-ups have approved it."
Luckily, it worked—they stayed quiet for a while.
For the Blue Bears' incursion, a subtle protest via Philip yielded 200 kilograms of iron as "apology."
The legion commander, having talked to the governor, promised 20 recruits.
Green as they were—far below standard—it beat nothing.
For a brief moment, the border forts enjoyed uneasy peace.
But it didn't last. The threat of war came not from outside the Empire, but within.
One day, returning from boar hunting with Rikius, a letter from legion HQ awaited me.
The middle-aged Emperor has died suddenly. The nobles have elevated the old, greedy Baccus to the throne.
Baccus.
He'd ruled a province as governor for nearly 20 years from youth to middle age, infamous as the "Hook Governor."
Rebellions erupted yearly under him, even drawing in Imperial citizens. No half-assed tyranny could pull that off.
Back in the capital in old age, his habits persisted. As city mayor, he raked in bribes, earning the nickname "Toad Mayor."
Rumors said his warehouses overflowed—no room left for more loot.
Such a man as Emperor?
An omen of the Empire's fall.
Even we on the frontier recoiled at the stench. Who'd accept this?
Reading of the new Emperor's ascension filled me with dread.
Sure enough, within a month, rebellion erupted at the border—right next to our legion.
The legion had to turn swords on yesterday's comrades, per Imperial orders.
Following legion command, I led 40 men from the forts. All outposts stripped to minimums; every available man for rebel suppression.
The longed-for recruits arrived only at legion HQ. I worried if the unit could fight properly.
"Form ranks!"
I drew my sword, lining up my men. Rikius held the century's standard at the front.
Our battalion joined the others; the battalion commander waved us in.
With all battalions assembled, the spectacle was overwhelming.
Though faded and ragged, 4,000 legionaries from the frontier legion on parade filled the world.
Marching not against enemies, but kin—for the first time in years.
What a cursed fate.
As the legion formed up, Legion Commander Cassius took the podium.
Behind him came the quartermaster, judge advocate, and standard-bearer, arrayed like a backdrop. Then he spoke.
Groans rose from the ranks. As Cassius said, legion meddling in politics was taboo.
How much had past interventions weakened the Empire, tormented citizens? The men agreed.
"Oooh!"
Shields clashed on swords in response.
"Long live the Emperor!"
The ritual cheer echoed. I disliked the Emperor too, but joined in. If he harmed the Empire, citizens—not the legion—should remove him. Our intervention would only breed chaos.
Satisfied, the legion commander raised his hand.
Silence fell; Cassius drew his sword.
Ching.
Sunlight glinted off the sharp blade.
Gripping his sword, he bellowed at the troops.
"Legion—advance!"
Rookie or not, he was legion commander. His order rang with authority.
The standard-bearer descended, legion standard high, battalion commanders drawing swords behind. Our first major battle in two years began.
The suppression force comprised three legions: one full central mobile field legion, two from border field forces.
Supreme commander: Creper, Praetorian Guard captain.
Creper was a real general. The Emperor might be a money-grubbing dog, but his connections were solid.
Born to wealth, he was tied by marriage to the Emperor's cousin—a knight with deep legion roots.
His long service gave him prestige among commanders. Few had led beyond legion size, his one flaw.
Creper aimed for swift suppression, basing at Partan, a village near rebel lands.
The goal was sound, strategy decent. Our 20,000 outmatched their 5,000 four-to-one.
Victory seemed certain; defeat unthinkable.
Our legion reached Partan first per orders. True to form, Cassius fortified camp in defensive array.
Some on night watch against ambushes.
I drew second watch, under Battalion Commander Magnus.
Standing by torchlight, staring into empty dark for hours was exhausting.
Bored, I took Rikius to patrol, reining in chattering troops.
"Centurion."
"Yeah. All quiet?"
"Yes, sir. Not even a rat."
A century soldier saluted, recognizing me.
"Bored?"
"Honestly, I'd take a boar right now."
The kid, still boyish, didn't grasp how lucky we were. Even I, ambition-driven in youth, soon tired of war's horrors.
His spirit was admirable, though.
"Good. Catch one, and we'll have midnight snacks."
"I'll bag it for you, sir."
I laughed, clapped his shoulder, and moved on.
Halfway through our sector, Rikius spoke up.
"Centurion."
"What?"
"About rebel commander Anpianus."
"Yeah."
"Heard you served under him. Is he capable?"
Rikius wanted my firsthand take, not rumors.
I scratched my beard.
A tricky question.
"Not what I'd call a standout commander. But he managed people well."
"People management?"
"Under him, auxiliaries to barbarian chiefs paraded through HQ constantly. Looking back, we rarely fought—tension was low. Auxiliaries handled most issues."
"So he could be capable."
"As an administrator, sure. But no praise for combat, and rightly so.
My old centurion—his senior—fought once under him. Lost a third of the men. Even a weakened legion doesn't take those losses against a few tribes. Not capable."
"Fair point."
Chatting idly, we crossed camp. Scout the towers for ten minutes, circle back—done.
(To be continued next time)