Note from Kanuro5: Feels good to update again, college papers/professors have been keeping me busy, but I still find time to update Invictus and have fun. I recently started playing Rome II again after realizing most of the problems were fixed in the Emperor Edition. I forgot how fun the game was, and I am truly excited for Attila Total War! This new game is truly going to be messed up on all sorts of levels! But what I am really waiting for is Empire II and Medieval III. Hopefully, that would come down along the way. Enjoy.

XVIII

Just Another Day on the March

Day 28 of the Campaign

Small flurries of snow fell gracefully on the barbaric land, covering the bleak forest in a thin veil of snow. The morning air of winter was sharp and brisk, making the whiskers on a man's face stand on end and their lips chapped to cracking. Yet the Twenty-Eighth Legion braved this cold weather and marched once again on the soft, damp road to Samarobriva; just two days after their Heroic Victory on Praxus Hill.

The citizens of Rome are seasoned for the warm and arid weather of Italia, only ever reaching freezing when they traveled up north for the winter, but the Roman populous did not care for the freezing environment. The men of the Legio XXVIII however, were hardened by their experiences in Gallia, enduring frightening snowstorms and blistering winds. Their flesh was toughened against the cold more than any other Roman could endure, and yet they were not completely impervious to frost. Thanks to the preparations of Lucius, the men of the Twenty-Eighth donned their winter clothing to combat the snow.

Every legionary was wearing a cloak that covered their entire torso and was made of thick material that Lucius had to pay extra for, he wanted the best for his legion and they got it. They also wore woolen leg and arm wrappings to cover their skin and to still feel their limbs as they marched, a design they stole from Gallic warriors who were adept in fighting in cold weather. To protect their face and necks, they were provided with long scarfs that they wrapped around several times, and to protect their head and ears, they wore caps under their helmets.

There they were, the best legion within the Republic, completely winterized and ready to face any adversity that crossed their path. Trampling the snow into the soft dirt road beneath their feet, constantly moving at a good pace in tight formation to keep warmth between them, yet the men themselves were silent, refusing to speak so that they may reserve any form of energy. The only sound that came from the men was the sound of their feet marching in unison and their armor and equipment clanking together in rhythm. Cassius looked down on them from his horse and shook his head at them.

"Is this not quite the sight?" Proculus said with a smile, coming from behind Cassius.

Cassius looked back and noticed that Proculus was wearing the fur pelts of grey wolves that Cassius stitched into coats for the Julius family to keep them warm in the winter. The coat looked well on Proculus, giving him an even larger appearance than he really had; it even hid his wounded arm that was resting in a sling.

"Do you not agree, Cassius?" Proculus asked.

"Apologies, what were you asking?"

Proculus rode up besides Cassius and extended his good arm out to the marching legion and said with a smile, "The Legion. I noticed your gaze linger on them, they are a sight to behold, are they not?"

Cassius nodded and stated without emotion in his voice, "Oh yes, quite. They are as good of a sight to behold as a rotting open wound."

Proculus chuckled hard, "Well, try not to focus on their filthy bearded faces and slime inducing eyes, and look upon them as soldiers of greatness. We ride with these men who are marching to glory, to save the Republic."

"Apologies for being prosaic, Proculus, but before we save 'the Republic' we have several obstacles that we must overcome."

Proculus raised his eyebrow, "'Obstacles?' So you mean more than simply besting the specter of the barbarian horde?"

"Oh yes, the biggest obstacle we must overcome is the winter. We need constant shelter to stay warm, the men cannot pillage from farmlands for food, and the snow will slow down the campaign. It all comes down to logistics, Proculus."

"I am not worried. Neither should you be, Cassius. My father has a plan for this." Proculus raised a smirk, "He always has a plan."

"And where is the General?"

"He is at the front of the legion with Antonius and Vitus."

"Well I bet that he is having trouble seeing the 5,000 mouths he has to feed behind him while he is up front, while we are in the middle of the legion."

Proculus laughed, "Oh don't be so glum, Cassius. What is wrong? Slept on the wrong side of the snow?"

Cassius smirked back. "I did in fact, still trying to thaw my balls even now."

At the front of the mobile legion, Lucius, Antonius, and Vitus were marching by the golden standard waving high within the air, raising the spirits of the men to always follow the eagle, even through the arduous conditions of the weather. Vitus was wearing a fur coat made out of the pelt of a snow wolf that covered his entire body and kept him moderately warm. Antonius also had a snow wolf on him that covered his entire form. Lucius was wearing a coat skinned from a large black wolf, which draped over his built body, giving off a truly menacing appearance from afar.

Coming from down the road, the young Thracian, Drenis, galloped on horseback to relay news from the extensive scouting network of the now mounted Thracian Auxilia. Vitus had sent out 30 scouts to perform reconnaissance of the woods and roads ahead of the legion, while keeping Oroles and the rest of the Thracians with the main body of the legion. Drenis at first smiled when laid eyes on Vitus, the only Roman that many of the Thracians respected, but as he noted that Lucius was by his side; Drenis knew that he had to act professional around the Romans.

Drenis slowed down his horse and saluted Vitus, "Commander. Auxilia scout, Drenis, here to relay report from Ligadis."

"Give voice and see news received," Vitus replied.

"We have moved across the road and scouted the woods up to the valley, we have made no encounter with any barbarians and the area is clear up ahead."

"Excellent news."

"But there is something that we have seen in the distance, about two miles out. An encampment that apparently was burned to the ground."

"An encampment?" Lucius spoke up.

"Yes, General. The rest of the scouts are investigating as we speak."

"I see," Vitus said to himself. "Return to the rest of the scouts and tell Ligadis to hold his position at the encampment and that we shall join him shortly."

"Understood, Commander." Drenis saluted Vitus and made off on his horse back to the rest of the Thracians.

"You handled new position well," Antonius mentioned with an amiable smile to Vitus.

"Gratitude Antonius, and gratitude to you, Father, for giving me such command."

"I do so because I believe you are ready. And do not grow haughty; this is only your first day commanding these men."

The young Roman nodded, "I shall remember that, Father. Father, what was your first command?"

The old Roman laughed nostalgically as he searched in his mind to the days of his youth. "I was around Proculus' age. I was 22…no, wait—I was either 21 or 20…bah! I cannot remember, but I was about Proculus' age. My father, your grandfather Manius, gave me my own contingent of Equites, mind you Vitus, this was shortly before Gaius Marius made his colossal reforms of the Roman army. 40 of them were my exclusive bodyguards, sworn to obey whatever I saw fit."

Vitus looked over and could see that his father was smiling ever-so warmly as he was caught in his memories. "Must have been easier times, right Father?"

Lucius snickered, "It was. More easier than leading a legion of 6,000 men. But those Equites, they were all good men. Except Drussus, that bastard was a thorn in the side for me. Except him, all were good men."

"What happened to them?"

Lucius fell silent for a moment. "Most of them are dead, half of them were killed in battle when I rode with my father against the Gauls, and the other half died of natural causes. One of them, Gracchus, he was actually cousin to the Gracchi brothers, yet I digress, he died about three months ago."

"Apologies, Father. I did not mean to open old wounds."

"Keep the apologies, you do not press poor subject. Just a man in his years rekindling the graces of his youth. You know, Vitus, they did a lot for me. They provided me a comfortable bed to sleep on when they had none, and would give me the last piece of food that was available to us all. They were good men…they were entirely selfless, they even allowed for me to keep all the accolades that could be bestowed on me…"

The nostalgic mood instantly whiplashed into an atmosphere filled with discomfort as both Romans well silent for a moment. Vitus softly chewed on his lower lip, knowing full well that his father was still angry that he refused the honor of Spolia Opima. Vitus decided to get it over with and spoke first, his voice hesitant as he spoke.

"You are still sour about that, are you not?"

"I am. But what has happened is in the past, and we cannot reverse the sun, even if we wanted too. We have left the body and it will most likely be lost to the snow when we return with Praetor Maxentius."

Vitus was surprised that the tone in his father's voice was mellow, nearly bordering on uncaring. "Father…I told you why—"

"I know you have, and I have come to accept it." Lucius sighed and looked at him with mild pained eyes, "Vitus, I know you have a gentle and humble soul. You have a noble air around you, a certain…virtue that shines out to other men that you are the most moral being in Rome. Such is a good quality to own." Vitus cracked a very small smirk to himself from hearing such praise from his father. "And yet, it is a poor quality to be a slave of." Just as quickly as he smiled, it faded away from his face in an instant.

"I do not understand, Father. You preach how men should be moral in front of others to remind them of how a true Roman should behave."

"Exactly, in front of others. If there is one thing you should take away from me it is this: Appearances are everything in this world. For my profession as Rome's greatest general, how do they know that I am great? They never saw the battles, they do not know what plan I used. I could have used the most disgraceful tactics and won and yet they would cheer my name because they know I am victorious. For you, you humble boy, you shall get far with such a noble exposition. But that does not mean for you to ignore the joys of expense and pleasure for yourself when you are alone."

"Yes, Father. I understand what you mean," Vitus replied blatantly, hoping to move past this uncomfortable conversation. Yet his father continued.

"Who are you trying to prove yourself to?"

"No one, Father."

"I presumed as much. So you do not need to answer this question, but if such is the case, why did you not accept the laurel? Why do you try to prove yourself so noble? I know you are noble and honest, so does your mother, and your brother. Even you view yourself on a grand pedestal of righteousness."

"I do not, Father." Vitus lied.

Lucius replied without breaking his firm tone, "Yes you do. Do not lie to me, boy. I am your father, I sometimes know you more than you know yourself. What do you seek to prove to me by not taking this greatest achievement?"

Vitus sighed uncomfortably and thought of his response for a moment. "Because…I guess, I desire to move against the Roman standard of immoral compromise, if that makes sense?" Vitus didn't even believe the answer made sense to him, he just wanted to give an answer to move the subject along.

The Roman father made an emotionless grunt, "Life is about compromise, my son. You shall realize this when you enter the politics of Rome. You will need to make compromises towards corruption or gluttony for the greater good."

What is the "greater good?" Vitus remembered reading scrolls and listening to scribes when he was younger about the conquest of Rome and how it was for "the greater Roman good," and Vitus honestly believed that it was Rome's right to rule. Yet upon visiting the last Gallic village and watching its massacre come forth; the butchering and rape of defenseless men, women, and children...was that truly for the greater good of Rome? Was this the little evil that must be done?

"But allow me to speak to you now, as a father. Vitus, when I am gone, do you know what my legacy shall be? I will be known as the Conqueror of the West and the North, the Vanquisher of the Spanish and the Gauls. I shall have my own glory that will follow me into the afterlife that no other Roman shall have. Proculus…well, he will have his own legacy in due time. But you, Vitus, you would have the honor of receiving the rarest laurel that no other Roman could claim, in which you have done it by your own hand, without the influence of me or another. This title would have been yours, even after death. If you did not make any more history in your life, then this would have been your stamp in history. But it is over now, you have made your decision. I am just speaking with hopes that if such an honor shall cross your path again in the unforeseen future, you remember my words."

Lucius sped his steed on ahead with Antonius following, leaving his son with his paternal wisdom to mediate on. As much as it irritated Vitus to admit it, his father had a point on the matter. Maybe…maybe he was too rash in the decision. Was he really that foolish in giving up a title that only three Romans ever received in Rome's history? Maybe…he should have taken it when he had the chance?

Coming up to a large wooded area, Lucius gave the order for the legion to enjoy a thirty minute rest and eat. The legionaries groaned with relief as they relieved their shoulders with their burden filled packs, and enjoyed their time to the fullest, knowing that once their break was over, they would be on a continuous march till sundown.

Vitus and Proculus made their way to the Thracian Auxilia who were resting in a large semicircle next to their horses. Oroles gathered in front of the two brothers and said to them, "It lifts heart to see you two here, it shows that you are serious about your training."

Proculus held a focused expression on his face, showing he was ready to learn; but oddly, Vitus looked a little discouraged, as if his soul was not in his body.

"Vitus? Are you well?" Oroles asked with a measure of concern.

"Yes, I am fine," Vitus replied, snapping his head up to attention, although still looking distracted, "I have…quite a lot on my mind."

"Well move it from thoughts, I will have your mind clear for instructions. Now as promised, I shall instruct you in the better ways of fighting. Draw your swords so we may start."

Proculus looked down at his wound left arm and said, "Even I? My arm is still wounded."

Oroles placed his thumb on a small yet noticeable scar on his neck, "I would have you aware that I once fought two days with an arrow in my throat against the Gauls. You will often fight while you are wounded. For you, you will have to adjust to the same. Which hand holds more dominance?"

"My right."

"Then you shall be fine. When do you think you shall be healed?

"The medicus gives me three weeks or less."

"Then you shall learn all you can within that span of time."

Vitus slowly showed interest, "So what shall we learn, some special Thracian techniques?"

"No. You mistake intent. Such advance methods of battle are best saved until the end. We are to study under the basics of the sword."

The brothers gave each other quizzical looks. Vitus spoke first, "'Basics?' We have already learned the basics in the study of the sword."

"Ah yes, you have. But a guided reiteration will undoubtedly help you on your path."

"What do you mean?"

"Roman training teaches you to end a fight before it starts, to go straight for the kill by stabbing an enemy in their belly. A practical fighting style, but not overly possible all the time."

"Hurry and clarify thoughts," Proculus blurted out.

"Your styles seek to gut the enemy like fish or to part head from shoulders." Oroles unsheathed his sword and gently caressed the back of Proculus' knee, side, and arms with the sword, "But there are places where the damage can be done greater which provide greater openings."

"You offer to instruct us how to wound our opponents? We were instructed to kill them, not wound them."

Oroles cocked his eyebrow, "Is that so? Fine." Oroles picked up his shield and got into a defensive stance, "Then draw swords, and come at me with killing intent and end my life."

"You desire us to kill you?" Vitus asked, the fear of doing such an act evident in his voice.

"Such is the only method for you two to progress further."

"We…could kill you…you are aware?" Proculus said uncomfortably.

"The chances of you two killing me is the chances of Jupiter dangling his cock from the sky. Especially you, Proculus."

The elder Roman twitched his head perplexedly, "Repeat those words?"

Oroles smirked, "You're the weakest of the two. And you have never even taken a life before, so I do not expect someone of your caliber to even do the deed."

Proculus gritted his teeth. He quickly, yet awkwardly drew his sword in anger. Vitus looked unsure as he removed his sword as well. He knew that Proculus took Oroles' bait.

"Come at me now!" Oroles ordered.

Vitus made the suggestion first, "Brother, let us take him the same way we did the Germanian—"

"Oh yes, because bear eyes to the result of such tactic," the elder brother said as he motioned to his wounded shoulder, "Fuck that, I will end the bastard's life now!"

Proculus charged forth first and lunged his sword at the Thracian's stomach with a threatening shout. Oroles simply guarded his stomach with his shield and sent a quick jab to Proculus' square jaw and dropped the Roman to the ground.

"You charge like a bellowing goat!" Oroles condemned, "Giving voice before action. Do not give into anger!"

"I feed off my anger!" Proculus sneered through his teeth while still on the ground. Proculus swung his sword at the heels of the Thracian, yet Oroles raised his leg and dodged the sword and then kicked the sword out of Proculus' hand with his other foot, and then kicked Proculus back in the dirt. Vitus sprang into action. He dashed towards Oroles in the blink-of-an-eye, nearly catching the veteran warrior off-guard, nearly. Oroles blocked Vitus' lightening quick strikes with only his shield, still maintaining his ground. Vitus kept hacking away at Oroles' shield, believing his speed will somehow navigate through the shield wall, but the shield wall was still up. Vitus spun out to Oroles' right to get around the shield wall, yet when he swung his sword out, Oroles pivoted in the same direction and stopped Vitus' sword with his own. Oroles used his shield and rammed it into the back of the young Roman's forearms; with enough force to cause Vitus to drop his sword and yet without enough force to shatter his arm. The Thracian, using the ball of the Gladius, hammered Vitus in his ribs—right under the right armpit—and then slammed the ball at the base of the back of Vitus' skull.

Vitus fell to the dirt wallowing in searing pain. Proculus recovered his sword and rose to his feet, bringing his sword down in a heavy, vertical slash. Oroles raised his shield up and deflected the vertical blow, and pounded Proculus in his stomach with the ball of Oroles' gladius. As the Roman bent over in pain, Oroles weaved out to the side and kicked out the back of Proculus' knee, sending him tumbling to the frost-covered earth.

Oroles shook his head in mild disappointment. This was not the level that both brothers fought on when they battled the lone Germanian. From what he recalled, they were able to dodge and block the Germanian's incoming strikes; but here, their skills were below his expectation. Maybe it was under the threat of death that increased their combat prowess? Such a thing was possible, as fear of death always heightened a warrior's senses. Yet he knew that since they had no practice swords to substitute for real steel, he couldn't actually push them to limits without greatly injuring them.

He also recognized the shortcoming between the brothers. Proculus held power and strength and could build up his speed through momentum, yet his technique was average and he was prone to anger; an unfortunate combination to have. Vitus had amazing speed and great technique, yet did not hold impressive strength and was somewhat short which dictated a smaller reach. Also, it seemed to Oroles that Vitus was innately holding back. He witnessed the young Roman's ferocity in battle, the eyes of an absolute warrior as he killed the Germanian, yet it seemed here that Vitus never had a ferocious spark in his soul. He had to draw out that potential in Vitus; and he knew he had to draw out some potential in Proculus.

"Was that the best you both can do?" Oroles asked the defeated brothers. "Because if so, then I fear that Mars is suffering from your showing?"

"You bastard!" Proculus sneered as he stood. "That hurt!"

"That is the purpose of training! It allows you to learn from your mistakes here than on the battlefield at dreadful cost. And why do you offer complaint? What I did to you should feel like a kiss compared to what that Germanian did to your shoulder. Vitus, rise to your feet. I did not hit you that hard."

Vitus slowly stood up, the back of his head throbbing, annoyed that Oroles did not know the output of his own strength. "What was the lesson you taught us?"

"That despite both of you trying to kill me as quickly as possible, I still had my defense which gave you both pause. Like the Germanian, you will face enemies who you will not dispatch in a few blows, but I shall teach you the pragmatic route to conquer them. By using your body to strike where they do not expect, and allow openings the crumble their defense."

"I still do not follow."

"How did I lay contact upon you two?"

"You used your fist," Proculus answered, massaging his jaw.

"And the end of your sword," Vitus added.

"Exactly." Oroles showed the brothers the pommel at the end of the Gladius. "Do remember, the blade is not the only weapon on your sword. Using your wrist when you use your sword, you can use this pommel to strike where your blade cannot."

"Let me try again," Proculus offered.

"By all means." Oroles said, throwing his shield away.

Proculus moved forth and engaged in a few quick strikes with his sword, bouncing off of Oroles' blade. Both men locked blades together in a test of strength, then Proculus quickly released the lock and hammered the pommel down on top of Oroles' skull. But the veteran warrior seized Proculus' wrist with his free hand and stopped the attack.

"Good! You did it well, that would have cracked my skull," Oroles smiled, still holding on to the Roman's wrist. The Thracian twisted his arm out to the side, nearly spraining his wrist, and painfully forcing Proculus to drop his sword. With the one-arm Roman weaponless, Oroles quickly but carefully forced the tip of his sword into Proculus' throat.

"Good show! Good show!" Cassius jeered from afar whilst laughing at Proculus' misfortune, casually watching the whole thing while eating an apple. Oroles quickly released the defeated Proculus.

"Oh drop dead you bastard!" Proculus said back half-heartedly.

Cassius laughed and replied, "I told you before, always watch the other hand of your opponent! But do you listen to me?"

"Cassius," Oroles called to him, "Why do you not train with him? You both will need the training."

"Gratitude for offer, Thracian, but I must decline. I am quite confident in my skill."

"No, let him remain where he was." Proculus issued, "I do not seek for him to bodyguard a weakling. Focus your instructions on me."

"For you two, in your positions as Roman Commanders—you two have the distinct notion to fight with a sword in one hand, and absent a shield in your other hand. Having a free hand in combat may seem like a distinct disadvantage; but with proper training and ruthless intent, it can and will be your greatest asset."

"How so?" Proculus asked.

"For you, Proculus, with your strength and power, using your free hand you will be able to seize an opponent's sword arm, stopping them at the apex of their attack. When you grab their hands, it gives you the chance to redirect their momentum and attack, and allow you to halt it—which gives you opportune time to strike back and deliver the kill."

"And what of me? I am not as strong as Proculus." Vitus admitted, much to his chagrin.

"True, but you hold speed where he does not. I have seen you in action; you move fast and you strike fast. Imagine what your arm could do absent the encumbrance of a sword? Even if your strikes are not strong, if you hit these four targets, your enemy will stumble nonetheless. The face, the throat, the stomach, and the cock; hit these four targets with your free hand and you shall stun your target, allowing proper opportunity to kill. Also, this is for both of your ears, if possible, try to break their joints. Go for their elbows and their knees, once you cripple them, the battle turns drastically in your favor."

Proculus eyes shout open at the realization, "Whatever it takes to win," he said, mirroring his words he told Vitus days ago. Oroles nodded.

"Exactly. You two must seize whatever approach is possible to emerge victorious…or fall defeated. You both have done so in your fight with the Germanian. Proculus, you went beyond all expectation and actually bit off the man's ear, greatly inflicting psychological damage on him, I could see it in his eyes. And you, Vitus, you delivered a mighty kick to his cock, stunning him and giving you the best time to deliver fatal blow. Such methods are the key to your survival, may you two remember that…now let us resume."

Fifteen minutes of the break had already expired, and Primus Pilus Cossutius had already made his complete rounds of the legion, ensuring that every man had already received their meal and already finished it. To his satisfaction, most of the legionaries were already fed and were standing close together and moving around to keep warm. The only pressing matter that he had was his response to General Julius' life changing request.

He found the general conversing with his Tribune and fellow ancillaries about the progress of the campaign. Cossutius waited patiently for a moment until Lucius recognized his presence.

"Cossutius, what may I discuss with you?"

Cossutius saluted, "Apologies for my intervention, General, but if it is not an improper time, I would like to discuss my solution for the question you posed to me on the eve of our victory."

Lucius understood what he meant. He shooed away his followers so that he and his senior centurion could be alone.

"I trust that you thought over this proposal diligently?" Lucius asked.

"I have General! And I would most graciously accept your proposal of adoption."

The news brought a great smile unto the hardened general's face, "Excellent! I was hoping that you would accept. Yet…if you do not mind me asking, what cause made your answer final?"

Cossutius swallowed hard. "Well, General…my family, the Cossutii, have had a tumultuous history. We have had many hardships, but we have always persevered. My ancestors have worked hard and toiled under the sun for the next generation to have a better life. I would be fool and taint my families' honor if I did not accept your most gracious offer. My father would condemn me to Elysium if he was still alive and knew that I refused. I shall make a bright future for my children, so they shall not endure the hardships I have."

Lucius smiled warmly and patted Cossutius' shoulder amicably, "If your children are half the man you are, then I will gladly accept to call them my kin. I will send news to my brother when we are finished with this campaign."

"You honor me, General."

"And as I said before, you honor yourself in deed and action. Now, I would have you inform Gaius Aelianus, of your adoption and make him aware that he shall be next in the rank of Primus Pilus when the campaign concludes. Now be off, but as of this informal moment, welcome to the Julii. When it is official, you shall be known as Caseo Julius Cossutius."

Cossutius left the General, experiencing a quite jovial mood after changing his life, hopefully for the better. Entering into the society of patricians was a feat that few plebeians could every do, much less in a single generation. Cossutius felt absolutely magnificent, his long, toiling career as a legionary, constantly in morbid danger, had paid off immensely and had borne fruit that was beyond his imagination.

He spotted Aelianus with his fellow friends of the First Cohort simply keeping warm next to a small fire. "Aelianus," Cossutius called out in a warm and calm voice, "I would break words with you."

"Yes Primus Pilus."

"Oi, Primus!" Metellus blurted out, "How come you always seek words with Aelianus? If I were to offer guess, you would off him terms of laurels and honor, am I right?"

"Turn from thoughts that do not concern you, Metellus," Cossutius brushed off.

Metellus continued to ramble on, "Why do you treat me as such? Have I not proved myself time and again? For the love of fucking Mars, I killed a Berserker by my own fucking hands! When will you treat me with respect like you do with Aelianus and Arminius?"

"When you can finally piss in a straight line absent splashing everyone around you," Aelianus replied with a smirk.

The two men left the standing Metellus speechless, with his friends snickering behind him. Arminius stood and wrapped his arm around Metellus' shoulder, giving him a self-satisfied grin, "Ah Metellus, do you desire some balm for that festering sting?"

"Fuck off, Germanian scum!" Metellus grunted as he brushed off his arm and left his friends in a huff, grumbling lowly to himself, "I killed a fucking Berserker, and yet glorious respect and position is absent within my grasp…"

"Metellus! To where do you go?" a legionary called out.

"To take a shit! And to be with more preferable company, myself."

Metellus had to go badly, but at this moment he wanted to be alone and refused to go to the offside of the road to relieve himself. He noticed a cave down the road on the left and took a torch and entered the cave. It was actually a little warm inside the cave, cutting off the cold from entering, this made Metellus feel better; it was better to take a shit in the warmth than the cold. He walked deeper in the cave and threw the torch down the cave and squatted. To get the bowels moving, Metellus decided to sing a little song boisterous and heavily:

Coming from the night sky

Jupiter truly twists and cries

For he forgot to take away

My mighty cock he gave that day!

As I fucked whores up their ass

They cower in fear of my mass

Never again will they say

"That Metellus' cock shall wilt away!"

Metellus relieved himself of most of the bile in his system and began to sing louder, until he heard some heavy "thumps" that emanated deeply within the cave. Metellus quickly brought up his trousers and slowly crept deeper into the dark cave.

"Who's there?" he asked, not noticing the fear of the unknown in his voice.

The thumps grew louder and began to move faster in tempo. Then a low growl-like sound broke the eerie silence. Metellus quickly drew his sword and tiptoed towards the abandoned torch that he threw which was still lit. He leaned down to get the torch and waved it in the darkness to determine who or what was coming towards him. When his torch revealed the origin of the noise, Metellus recoiled in absolute terror.

"You shall be adopted?" Aelianus said, hearing Cossutius news.

"Yes I shall, but only at the end of the campaign. After that, I shall stay with the Twenty-Eighth for maybe a month or two, until all formalities are completed. And then you shall hold new position earned as Primus Pilus."

Aelianus stared at Cossutius, stunned by the reveal, "I shall be...I cannot even fathom this…"

"You should be able." Cossutius smiled, "You are the best man in this legion, so it would only be fitting that you command the men. I would pick no else aside from you because you—"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Every man, Lucius, Antonius, Vitus, Proculus, Cassius, Oroles, Aelianus, Cossutius; twisted towards the cave entrance where the petrified high-pitch scream emanated from. The men of the legion, believing that one of their own was attacked, drew their swords and brought up their shields and surrounded the cave entrance.

"What is going on?!" Cossutius said, rushing to the entrance.

"That sounded like Metellus!" Aelianus replied, concerned for his friend.

As both men got behind the layer of legionaries surrounding the entrance, Metellus came rushing out of the cave in a fervent bead of sweat and dread consuming his face—it was something that none of the legionaries had ever seen before of Metellus. But Metellus was not the only thing to come out of the cave. Right on Metellus heels, was a great and large animal, brown as chestnuts and hairier than a lion. Its teeth were as long a man's finger and its body was just as big as a battering ram. To the men's horror, they were facing against a massive brown bear, which let out a truly frightening roar as the sunlight slammed against the savage creature's eyes.

"By the Gods!"

"What foul creature is that?!"

"It's a monster!"

"Kill it! Kill it!"

"Kill it with fire!"

The only reason that Metellus had escaped the jaws of death was that the sunlight was at the right angle which blinded the bear that had just awoken from two weeks of hibernation. The sudden light stopped the bear, allowing Metellus to scramble behind his friends. When the beast's eyes quickly adjusted to the light, it saw dozens upon dozens of brightly colored red shields in front of it. The bear stood its ground at the entrance of the cave and kept the startled legionaries at bay by roaring at them.

The Julius brothers watched in fixated terror from a safe distance at the behemoth that emerged from the shadows of the cave, threatening all with its unpredictable nature.

Vitus pointed in fear and cried out, "What is that beast?!"

Oroles instinctively got in front of the brothers to protect them, "That is a bear!"

A bear? That was an actual bear? The brothers had never imagined that it was so. The only time they were told of bears was in stories of how ferocious and large they are. They had only seen bears on pottery and murals and even then it looked rather unimpressive, they also saw bear pelts and furs, noting that with its body gone, the flat bear pelt was more of a use for a carpet than an actual so called, "Apex Predator of the Wild." But here, this was the first time that the urban Roman brothers had witnessed a wild bear in all of its ferocity. The mighty beast stood on its hind legs, revealing its titanic body, bearing its sharp fangs against the Romans, and unearthing an abhorrent roar of death. The brothers actually believed that this bear and of its kind were demonic constructs of Dis.

But only one man at that moment was not gripped with total fear. Proculus noticed that this man rushed past him and got on top of his horse, and ran forth towards the creature. The brave man was Cassius, who bore the face of a predator.

"Cassius! Where do you go? Get back here!" Proculus ordered. But Cassius didn't hear him, he was too focused on the bear; and even if he did hear the Roman, he wouldn't have stopped. Cassius had a plan. He dealt with bears before and knew that they can take a lot of damage from swords, arrows, and spears. The best place to kill a bear was around the neck, either the jugular or the base of the skull connected to the vertebra. All that the Romans were going to do was just infuriate the bear even further. He needed to enact his plan, so he galloped over to Cossutius.

"Primus Pilus! Quickly, I have a plan! Give me a pilum and ordered your men to bang on their shields with their swords and shout into an uproar to confuse the bear! I shall solve the rest!"

Cossutius nodded and quickly ordered his men to follow the command. The legionaries banged on their shields repeatedly whilst screaming at the top of their lungs at the massive creature. The bear, seeing nothing but bright red and yellow shields and hearing nothing but constant and grating noise all around it, stood its distance away from the Romans and did not charge. This gave Cassius the time to strike. He got close to the back line of the legionary shield wall and aimed his pilum with great care, and when he found his mark, he threw it with grace and precision and watched as it entered into the bear's hind leg—firmly lodging inside the meaty leg and crippling the beast.

The bear sunk to the earth and roared in agonizing pain and had trouble regaining its balance, providing Cassius with the best moment. With its mobility and speed severely stunted, Cassius estimated that everyone's survival drastically increased. Cassius grabbed a second pilum and made his way through the shield wall despite the protest of the legionaries, all so he could have a better aim. Cassius aimed one last time at the wounded bear, which was facing the opposite direction of the Gallic bodyguard, and threw the pilum and landed a critical blow at the base of the back of the bear's skull.

The bear crumbled to the dirt and did not stir for a good while. Cassius swiftly got off his horse and careful crept on the bear from behind. All eyes were upon him now, every man holding their breath in anticipation of how this would turn out. Cassius drew his sword and crept closer until he was right on top of the bear. It looked dead, but he had to make sure, a wounded predator was totally unpredictable. Cassius drove his sword under the bear's left ear, entering the brain of the fallen beast.

Cassius removed his blood coated blade and triumphantly announced, "Rest easy! The bear is dead!"

A torrent of cheers and applause broke out from the men of the legion. Never before have they seen something like this. Even Cossutius and Aelianus started clapping for Cassius' great feat. Some legionaries, still cautious of the beast, walked up to its corpse and examined it greatly; while other Romans walked up to Cassius and patted him on the back and gave him praise. Proculus came running and hugged his bodyguard in utter amazement, "Cassius! That was incredible! How? How were you able to perform such a feat?!"

Cassius smiled somewhat arrogantly, "I believed I told you. I was a hunter; I hunted bears for pelts and sport. This is nothing truly new to me." He then turned to Oroles and in an even bigger display of pride, told the Thracian with a smug smirk, "I told you that I was confident in my skill."

Metellus approached his savior, somewhat embarrassed and humbly said, "Gratitude…for saving my ass…"

Cassius cracked a smile, rather impressed that this Roman was alive and in one piece, "The gods favor you. Very few people survive awaking a hibernating bear."

Scornful eyes fell upon Metellus. Arminius spoke first, "You woke a fucking bear?!"

"Apologies to everyone, but I did not know a bear was in the cave! I had to shit!"

"And you wonder why I show you little respect," Cossutius flagrantly added on. "You nearly got your brothers sent to the afterlife for your folly! Your punishment shall be swift and—"

"Cossutius!" Lucius calmly walked up to the scene, hearing everything that transpired. The men snapped to attention and saluted; Metellus did the same, but embarrassment prevented him from looking directly at his general. "Cossutius, punishment will not be necessary for Metellus. He has distinguished himself greatly in the past, and I believe firmly that his brush with death has accelerated his heart greatly. Being chased by a hungry and irritated bear, that is punishment enough."

"Yes, General."

"Apologies for what has happened, General. It shall never occur again. And gratitude for your mercy, General."

"If you truly seek to be grateful to me, then take hold of precious mind where you shit next." Lucius turned towards the hero of the hour and proudly smiled at him, "Cassius, if you continue on like this, I may have to find some further use for you."

"It is my honor to be of assistance any way I can," Cassius bowed, "We should take the bear with us, its fur is well needed as well as its meat."

"You raise a great point." Lucius shouted to his men, "Get this beast and put it on a cart, we resume the march immediately! Let us move!"

An hour had passed after the bear incident, and the legion was still on the march, they were nearly on the edge of leaving the enclosed woods surrounding them, when Ligadis, along with several other Thracian riders, came forth to Vitus with news of reconnaissance.

"Ligadis, what news? Has something happened, I gave you the orders to wait for us at this encampment," Vitus said.

The Thracian looked as if he was lost for words, but somehow he managed to form them, "Commander, the encampment in which you speak is within the forest off the road, a trail leads to it…but…but…"

"'But' what?" Lucius inquired.

"You all must stop the legion's movement and bear witness to what we found…it is, quite disturbing."

Ligadis led Lucius, Antonius, the brothers, Cassius, and a small detachment of men into a beaten down trail that led off the road and deeper into the forest. After a minute of riding, the group stopped at the large encampment that was burned to cinders and reduced to rubble and were guarded by the Thracian scouts. The Romans leapt off their horses and walked closer to the encampment noticing a long line of black, charred bodies lying out in a neat pile. Lucius approached the charred remains of the wooden encampment and came to a shocking discovery.

"Wait, the way this wooden garrison was established, the outline, even the way it was carved…" he turned to Ligadis, "This was a Roman camp!"

"We came to the same conclusion, General."

Proculus eyed the remains with a skeptical and somewhat disgusted glance, "Father, are you sure?"

"I am, this camp was Roman." Lucius continued to inspect the wood, and found a small carving within the wood that branded the mark "SPQR". "This is the marking of the Senate, this was Praetor Maxentius' garrison! But…why did he not destroy this when he left?"

"We cannot say," Ligadis spoke up, "But we have estimated that this fire was caused only frequently. Yesterday, or most likely the day before that."

Antonius moved over to the burnt corpses and examined them carefully. A good number of the corpses were burnt completely black, the hair was singed off the heads and the eyeballs and tongues were burned away. The other half of the bodies were only slightly burnt with only some crispy black spots on their upper bodies.

"How many of these husks have you found?" Antonius asked the Thracian.

"We have made appropriate count of 67, and that was only what we could pull out of the rubble."

"They were not lined like this?"

"No, they were all in the encampment, and we dragged the corpses out to identify them. But there are most likely still more in the rubble, some mostly ashes by now. But we have found that these bodies are not Roman, they are Germanian."

"How do you know?"

"Check the markings on the chest on the bodies that are not ash yet."

Antonius moved on to several clean bodies and indeed recognized burgundy tribal markings all over several bodies, along with Germanic charms, trinkets, and necklaces still attached. "He is right," Antonius confirmed to Lucius, "They are indeed Germanians, but why would—" Antonius examined the neck of corpse and found that it was cleanly sliced open. The next corpse had the same, and so did the next, and then the next. "Wait, all of these men had their throats slit!"

"Exactly," Ligadis said again, walking over to the line of bodies, "Every single corpse had either a slit throat or a blade in the back. The fire did not take their life, they were executed within the garrison, and then the garrison was burned down with their bodies still inside."

"Who would do such an act?" Cassius said aloud.

"Maybe it was Cunovindus, he did escape from battle," Proculus mentioned.

"No, it was not Cunovindus, he would not do this to his own men."

Lucius turned his head in bewilderment and walked over to Ligadis, "How do you know these are Cunovindus' men?"

Ligadis sighed and scratched his head uncomfortably, "General, such subject is what I meant to broach you on that was "disturbing." Please follow me."

"Where do you bring us now?"

"Back on the road. I stopped the legion because I felt it best if you saw it first."

Ligadis led the group back the way they came and back on the main road, from there, he advanced several meters until they arrived at an opening in the forest. On the left of the main road, Ligadis extended his hand and revealed the "disturbing" element to the group. Lucius stared on in stoic confusion, Antonius' jaw dropped, Cassius squinted his eyes in uncertainty, Proculus' eyes grew large as the moon, and Vitus covered his agape mouth in terror.

The group slowly got off of their horses and slowly walked into the opening, careful to not allow anything supernatural to arise from the disturbing act of horror that was before their eyes. On the left of the main road, was a colossal oak tree that had been growing for over 400 years. Pinned to the tree was a man who was crucified upside down. The man's legs were pinned together and through the wood, angled straight towards the sky. The man's arms were extended out from his body, nails through each palm. His head was only one meter off the ground, yet the ravens had rested on the man's chin and pecked out his eyes, nose, and tongue. But was most disturbing was that a large flagpole was forcibly shoved in the man's rectum so that it could stay erect, as the flag of the Germanic army blew gracefully in the wind. What quickly got the group's attention was that the man was wearing the armor of the Germanic king. With the armor and the flag of the Burgundy Boar, it was no mistake; this poor soul who was crucified upside down, was the Germanic King, Cunovindus the Butcher.

But what was truly haunting for the group was a message that was laid out for all to see. In front of the body crucified to the tree, was an ominous message written in frozen blood within the snow, written in clear Latin:

MORS OMNES STULTOS.

Vitus' heart nearly stopped as he read this menacing decree. He swallowed hard, as he couldn't help but read it aloud, "…Death to all Fools…"

"What sorcery is this?!" Proculus said aloud, rightly freaked out from this gruesome scene.

"Cunovindus…" Cassius whispered.

"Who would have done this to him?! Why is he up there?"

"Be calm, Proculus," Antonius said, "There must be an answer…"

"What answer? He is crucified to a fucking tree!"

As the group began to converse amongst themselves, Lucius, who remained silent through the whole ordeal, slowly walked up to the corpse; trying to process everything that has happened in the past five minutes. After everything that happened it still made no sense. There exist over 60 burnt barbarian corpses next to a burnt Roman garrison. And the king was crucified upside to a tree not too far from the garrison. This made no sense. He knew Cunovindus was wounded and had escaped, but why was he like this? Did his men betray him? It could be possible. His attacks were rather foolish…But that wouldn't explain the dead Germanian bodies. Maybe it was a civil strife, one half wanted Cunovindus dead and the other wanted him alive. The dead ones were the supporters, and that would explain the Latin message—or did it? Very few Germanians could actually read Latin, let alone spell it, but it was to get a message across to him. But what was it?! What if the Germanians were not involved, but somebody else? But who? The Gauls were destroyed and the Britons were at Samarobriva, so who could have—"

"General." Lucius lost his train of thought and turned towards Antonius. "General, apologies for disturbing you…but I believe we should be on the move."

"Yes Antonius, you are right. We should be."

"What shall we do with him?" He said as he casually pointed at the body with his thumb.

"We will leave him. The men will not be able to see the message from the road, so let them see his corpse and take it as another sign of our victory. Go back to the men and tell them we shall be on the move shortly."

Antonius left to carry out the order, and Vitus came walking towards his father, yet still fixated on the fallen king. "Father, you do not really believe that his own men did this…right?"

Lucius sighed and paused, noting the confusion and fear in his son's eyes, "I honestly do not know. But we must be on our guard, I hold a heavy notion that many things, great and unfortunate shall come our way."

Lucius looked back once more at his opponent just two days ago, and felt a measure of disappointment and anger. His death, was so undignified. Barbarians had to be taught a public lesson, and this would be the appropriate result. But with Cunovindus, this was different. Lucius met him on the field of battle, and he should have died on the field of battle, not in the Germanic wilderness apparently betrayed by his own men. Lucius felt a tinge of regret, if Cunovindus had to die, it should have been from Lucius' hands, just so Germania could properly fear the might of Rome.

A truly ominous message is given to them, but what does it mean...

I loved writing this chapter, you would think that Roman legionaries would be bored out of their mind walking from place to place all the time, but like in real life, anything could happen to spice up their day.

BTW, the website I was using to watch Game of Thrones online was taken down, does anyone know any reliable websites that streams GoT?

I would like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. Truly, thank you all!

-Kanuro5