Note from Kanuro5: The 20th chapter of Invictus, it surely has been a long time coming. There were times that I thought I wouldn't even get this far, but I'm glad that I made it here. I'm quite happy that my fall semester had ended, now I can truly relax. Also, my laptop has been acting buggy lately with a broken internal fan, so new chapters "might" be uploaded at a slower rate. But I will find a way. Enjoy.

XIX

Power and Strength

Day 35 of the Campaign

A week had passed since the Twenty-Eighth discovered the remains of Cunovindus, but their progress was not as productive as they liked. In the middle of the week, the snow had accumulated greatly within the Germanic territory, coming up past the men's ankles. The bitter sting of the wind and the constant frost dampened the men's spirits whilst on the march, and one inexperienced Tenth Cohort soldier forgot to forgo the proper process of foot care and succumbed to frostbite in his feet.

Today, the legion had retired for the day as sundown was in effect. The men of the First Century, First Cohort were lining up to receive somewhat warm supper after a hard, bitter day's march. But due to the frozen conditions, the Romans were not able to pillage the land for their food, resorting to the use of their reserved rations. Consequently, this led to the rationing of normal portions for the legionaries. As the Mighty Three went through the meal line, Metellus got his portion, and was the most vocal out of everyone about his amount.

Metellus gave the head cook the most puzzling of looks, "Is this a jest? These portions are smaller than yesterday's!"

"I am aware," the cook replied rather disinterestedly, "It is something called, "rationing", has the word ever graced your skull?" The cook looked down the mess line and shouted, "Next!"

"Hold a moment!" Metellus rebuked, "Open ears and listen good, your food is so droll my shit tastes better. But seeing as I cannot shit as much as you make food, I am forced to settle with this malcontent gruel. Now wipe eyes and observe me closely, I am a big man; a big, big man! And as such I deserve a larger portion!"

The cook leaned in closely to Metellus' face, their noses barely touching, "If you claim to be a 'big man', than why do you act like a big bitch? Move along, I have more pressing matters than you."

"Hey! What gives pause?" a legionary near the back of the line yelled out. "Make like the wind and move!"

"Oh fuck off!" Metellus yelled back, then he turned his attention back to the unyielding cook, "Do you know who I am?"

"Metellus, not this," the cook sighed in dismay.

"Come Metellus, let us move," Arminius urged.

"Stay out of this, you Germanic shit! Cook, who am I? Who is the man that stands before you?"

"Ugh…" the cook groaned loudly, burying his face in his hand, "…You are Metellus—"

"Spurius FUCKING Metellus! You are correct! The bastard of Mars and Bellona! The man who singlehandedly took the walls at Osca!"

"The thorn in our ass!" another legionary in line jeered at the boisterous Roman for delaying his meal.

"Seize your fucking tongue!" Metellus roared back. He jabbed his strong, meaty finger in the cook's barreled chest and hissed, "I even killed a fucking Berserker…By! My! Self! That should entitle me to a much larger portion."

"Oh yeah? So did Arminius! Aelianus even killed three Berserkers by himself, including their damn leader! By the logic that you have spoken, Aelianus should have the entire pot of food!"

Aelianus raised an eyebrow and looked to the sky with a grin, "Hmm, that I do not mind."

"Silence!" Metellus snapped on his friend. "Where is the respect that Metellus deserves?!"

"It is in the wind along with your pride," the cook scoffed with a chuckle, "I heard tale of your foolish antics which awoken a slumbering bear. And how you squealed like a virgin being deflowered as it chased you like a frightened rabbit."

Metellus lunged forward at the cook, wanting to strangle the mouth of the lowly cook who never had to fight a day in his life, but Aelianus grabbed Metellus from behind and yanked him away before he had time to attack. The rest of the men cheered and shouted, expecting a show to improve their sour mood.

Metellus walked away irritated, being escorted by Aelianus and Arminius. The cook yelled at Metellus, "Remember Metellus, I am the head cook! I know what you are allergic to!"

"Oh take knee and suck my cock!"

The line began to move along as if nothing had happened; they were too tired and too cold to particularly care. But watching off to the side was Antonius, wrapped in a blanket, silently observing the entire amusing scene. After he had his fill of observance, the Captain silently walked back.

Antonius walked his way towards Lucius' tent, where he was saluted by the posted sentries.

"General Julius, it is Antonius," the Tribune announced.

"You may enter," his voice came from the tent.

Antonius strolled on in and was embraced by the warmth of the tent. Lucius Julius was busy scribbling in his ledger with a slave holding a torch overhead; providing him light and keeping him warm.

"How fare you, Antonius?" Lucius asked, without raising his head.

Antonius moved over to the torch to receive some warmth. "My ears are thawing, so it provides much expected relief. But that is not the nature of my visit. My eyes lingered upon a most curious scene; it was legionary Spurius Metellus, shouting with fire at his food portions being scarcer than yesterday."

Lucius laid down his stylus and sighed cantankerously, "If it is Metellus you speak of, for why should I lay concern with his food problem?"

"Because as you are aware, Metellus is the most vocal soldier we have. If dull wit could be honed, he will prove a most discernable orator, yet he hits the problem with a needle. If he is addressing the problem early, then it is a drastic problem that requires to be addressed before others become as vocal."

"A problem that is clear as the snow. I am aware of our food supply and I ordered them to be rationed."

"How are we situated?"

"Quartermaster Sculpius has given me the corn, grain, and bread provisions for the legion. We are in adequate standing, but he estimates that the food shall be gone within 17 days. And with the added snow which hinders our progress, we shall not reach Samarobriva until 25 days. So the rationing has to begin now until we find a more bountiful source of food."

"How have the hunting parties fared?"

"Below expectation, most of the game has fled below ground, and what they have been able to procure is barely enough for five people."

"I would hate to be heralded as morose for this comment, but it may have been a hidden blessing that we lost a thousand men in the last battle, a thousand less mouths to feed."

Lucius snapped his head at the lax Tribune, and stared at him with furious eyes, yet spoke in a calm demeanor, "Never speak ill of the dead who fought so bravely, you of all should know."

Antonius gulped, yet still carried on a neutral expression, "Apologies, Julius. I do not think before I speak, and I meant no harm with such comment."

Lucius stared at the man for a little longer, until finally dropping his stare. "Our food supply is running low, and I would rather deal with this sooner than later, yet we are in no immediate risk of empty bellies."

Antonius found his way to a chair and breathed easier, "Not yet."

"Right…" Lucius groaned, "…not yet…"

As Antonius reclined further in the chair, scratching the elongated scar on his cheek that itched from time to time, he could see the inner machinations of the mind of Rome's greatest general begin to turn as he stared fiercely into a map on his desk. The second-in-command cracked a toothy grin, "What sorts of schemes are you hatching in that mind of yours?"

Lucius focused on Antonius and smiled back. "Just pondering how predators act, when they procure no food for themselves. Like a pack of wolves, if all the wildlife is absent from their den, what do they do then?"

Antonius thought over it for a while. As he reached an answer, he chuckled and grinned more, "They steal it from another pack."

"Exactly, I would have you do something for me."

"Speak, and see my hands set to task," Antonius said as he stood to his feet.

"Send a messenger to fetch Proculus for me, will you?"

"Proculus?" Antonius' face contorted at the mention of his least favorite of the sons, "To what purpose?"

"To one that is suited for him."

The Julius brothers were spending their freezing afternoon doing the same thing they have done since the last seven days, warming their bodies by sparring with Oroles. Within the seven days, the brothers' fighting has improved greatly, even Proculus whose left arm was still held in a sling. They have advanced so far that Oroles discarded his shield and took up a second sword for a greater challenge. Even now, the brothers stood side-by-side and faced the Thracian Captain with confident gazes, bordering on smugness.

Oroles smiled at the brothers and commanded them, "Alright, come at me!"

Both brothers charged at him at 45 degree angles; Vitus to Oroles' right, and Proculus to Oroles' left. The brothers had already figured out a strategy to toppling the Thracian. Oroles was right-handed, so by Proculus using his strength on Oroles' left side, it would throw the Auxilia Captain off balance.

Proculus went for an overhead slash whilst Vitus did a leaping overhead slash, within perfect sync of one another. Oroles raised both of his blades over his head and blocked them at the same time; but Proculus, putting his strength in his attack, forced Oroles back on his weak arm and got him off balance. The brothers then raised their legs up and kicked Oroles in his sternum, sending the Thracian to the dirt. But the seasoned warrior rolled back to his feet and promptly went on the attack. The brothers were on their guard, deflecting each attack that came at them, as the sound of clanging steel resonated in the frosty afternoon sky.

Oroles slammed his sword down on top of Vitus' guard, yet as soon as the blades made contact with one another, Vitus quickly grabbed Oroles' wrist with his free hand and locked it tightly. With one hand secured, Proculus took his moment and went on the attack. Oroles however would not be deterred and thrust his sword to keep Proculus back. The elder brother swatted the sword to the side, then the Roman did the unexpected; he dropped his sword and wrapped around Oroles' extended arm with his own. Proculus used his own body and leveraged the Thracian's arm upwards, painfully torqueing his shoulder. Oroles grunted loudly, briefly closing his eyes in pain. Seeing an even better opening, Proculus delivered a vicious headbutt, striking above the Thracian's left eye.

Proculus released Oroles' arm and watched as he reeled back in a daze, however, Vitus still held on to the Thracian's arm. Vitus, with his grasp still intact, spun around behind Oroles and moderately hammered the back of the man's head with his pommel, paying him back from all the blows he suffered in the week. Vitus released his hold and kicked the back of Oroles' knee and made him kneel. Vitus angled his blade down until the tip was pressed against the defeated man's collarbone; as Proculus picked up his sword and slid the edge against his trainer's throat.

Oroles inhaled sharply and quickly released his swords, both brothers cracked smiles; Proculus winked at the kneeling Thracian before removing his blade and assisting him back to his feet.

"Very good!" Ligadis applauded, sitting next to a fire alongside several other applauding Thracians who were observing the exhibition. Vitus waved somewhat modestly, if not with a tinge of shyness at the well-placed applause, while Proculus waved extravagantly as if he conquered Mt. Olympus by himself.

"Oroles, are you alright?" Vitus asked.

"I am well."

"I did not hit you that hard, did I?" Proculus smirked in a patronizing tone.

Oroles chuckled lightly, "I have received worse wounds. For a moment, I believed a woman was trying to capture my attention," he smirked back at the Roman.

Both men stared at each other for a brief moment, and then broke out into laughter. Oroles placed an amiable hand on Proculus' good shoulder and said, "That was an adequate hit, most men will not see it coming. But I do advise with the utmost caution, not to drop your sword like that."

"But it worked."

"It was reckless and could get you killed in the future."

"But it worked." He emphasized more. "You could not escape."

"Do not bother, words hardly ever breach such thick skull," Vitus playfully chastised.

"For you Vitus, you moved quick and with precision, especially spinning around my guard. If you can get around your opponent with deadly skill and ease, the day shall be yours." He then turned to both brothers, "Your teamwork was impeccable, playing off on each other's strength. This week of training has proved most beneficial. But it shall continue until we reach Samarobriva." He erected a warm, familial smile to his students, "But I am proud at the progress you both have made within one weeks' time."

Both brothers looked at each other and shook hands fraternally with hearty laughs. They have worked hard to get better, and they had the bruises and cuts across their bodies to prove it. Each day they were improving and they believed that next time when they faced the enemy, they shall be more than ready.

"Commander Proculus Julius!" a call rang out. Everyone turned in the general direction and noticed a messenger running towards them, out of breath and calling for the elder Roman.

The messenger caught his breath and saluted Proculus, "Commander Proculus Julius! General Lucius Julius summons you!"

Proculus squinted hard, the thoughts of him in trouble racing in his mind, "Did he reveal upon what intent?"

"He did not, Commander. He only issued that you be brought towards his tent immediately."

"Very well, you are dismissed."

The messenger saluted and quickly ran back to the main camp, leaving a confused Proculus to ponder over his father's summoning.

"Oh, Proculus, you are in dire trouble!" Vitus teased, erupting in a juvenile laughter, using a mocking tone.

"Hold your tongue! It is not funny!" Proculus replied.

"It is probably nothing of major import," Oroles reassured.

"Just move with haste," Vitus stated with all seriousness, "Father, hates to be kept."

"Do not tell me what I already am clearly aware of," Proculus said earnestly, leaving his brother and the Thracians to speak with his father.

Proculus arrived on the outside of Lucius' tent, standing in place to prepare what he was to be accused of. He tried to think hard on what he could have done. That was the only reason that his Father would call him by messenger, only if Proculus did something wrong. However, Proculus could not really recall what he did wrong. Maybe it was training with Oroles? He knew how much his Father disliked Thracians. But was that really it?

Whatever he was blamed for, Proculus entered the tent and was greeted by his father sitting calmly behind his desk and Antonius sitting off to the side, staring at him with a displeased attitude.

"Reporting as ordered," Proculus saluted, trying his best to maintain his innocent face, despite not knowing what crime he was probably associated with.

"How is your arm?" the father sincerely asked.

"The pain is nearly absent, and more strength is returning…however…" He got an idea, "Some nights the pain returns, some lovely remedy in the form of wine may ease great burdens."

Lucius laughed at him with an obnoxious, "HA! You shall need to be wiser than that to trick me."

Proculus playfully shrugged, "It was worth the effort." Antonius shook his head while Lucius looked on with an amused grin. That was a good sign if his father was smiling, that meant whatever it was that Proculus did was not that serious.

"I shall require you of sober mind for tomorrow."

"To-Tomorrow? What shall happen tomorrow?" Proculus asked.

"Where is that bodyguard of yours?" Antonius interjected.

"He is out hunting while he still has the sun, but what is happening for tomorrow?"

Lucius unraveled a scroll of paper and looked at the food accounts written on them, "Proculus, what do you know of our food supply?"

This was a strange question. Proculus was not expecting this. "I—uh, I believe we are running low on food?" He said, unsure of his answer being the correct one.

"And why do you say this?"

"Because…I notice how the food is being provisioned, each meal is slightly smaller than the last."

Lucius looked up from his papers, "Such an astute answer. Do you hold idea of how many more days we have until provisions have diminished completely?"

"I do not."

"According to the quartermaster, we have 17 more days."

"That is it? '17 more days?' Father, then our food is not running low."

Lucius and Antonius looked at each other and sighed in disappointment. Antonius turned to Proculus in an apparent condescending tone, "17 out of 25 days. If the weather permits, we shall cross Samarobriva within 25 days."

"Oh," he said embarrassingly, "So…what is to be done before starvation claims us?"

Lucius spoke, "Fortuna blesses us, there exists a place for us to restock our food provisions."

"So what is this place, and when do we seek it out?"

"We leave tomorrow and it is in the Germanic lands, a village of the Marcomanni tribe."

Proculus' face twisted in confusion, "Father…we have beaten the Germanians in battle not too long ago and you seek to mend bloodied history just to beg for food?!"

Lucius stood up and eyed down his son with steel in his pupils and growled, "We are Romans, we do not beg. Secondly, I am not negotiating with Germania, just the Marcomanni."

"But, they are pagan barbarians!"

"Indeed. Pagan barbarians with food," Lucius emphasized. "Food we require before the weather turns worse."

"But why the Marcomanni? Is Germania not united? We have defeated the king and he was killed by his own men, so for what reason shall they barter with us."

Lucius ordered a slave to pour him a cup of wine while he spoke to his son, "It is strange in this world of ours, do you not agree, Proculus? If a great leader falls in battle, be it across the lands or across the sea, then such news spreads faster than light. News of Cunovindus' Shattering Defeat by my hands has already stirred into the winds in every part of Germania. They know that Lucius Julius the Mighty and his Twenty-Eighth Legion has crushed the Germanic army. Now imagine this, what would their minds believe if the man who bested their king approached their defenseless lands with his army behind him?"

"'By the gods! We are surely fucked!'"

Lucius burst into laughter at the well-placed joke, even Antonius chuckled lowly to himself. "You have it right, my son. With my legion as leverage, I can take what I desire from any village we approach, they would have to be foolish to rebel against me."

"This now leads to the Marcomanni," Antonius spoke up, "Out of all the Germanic tribes, the Marcomanni are the most "sympathetic" to Rome. They adopt Roman culture over their own, and are more than likely willing to side with Rome if the unification of Germania dissolves. So once we enter their lands and demand food, they shall be elated to give us what they have harvested, and thus; negating any possible trouble that one is to expect from barbarians."

Proculus nodded, understanding the diplomacy behind this militaristic theft, but there was one thing he did not understand, "I understand, but…why bring me? Father, would you not desire…" Proculus softly bit down on his lower lip, feeling a certain surge of frustration within his soul, "…Would you not desire Vitus by your side?"

Lucius downed his cup of wine and walked over to his eldest son, staring at him with a heartfelt gaze, "You and your brother have many different talents. Both of you have your own strengths which must be prioritized in the right situation. Vitus…he is the better warrior than you and holds a grander mind for strategy and war." Proculus eyed the floor and firmly clenched his fist in mild bitterness. His father continued, "Yet Vitus is weak to his emotions of others, he has grown somewhat but he is still naïve, and his speech with others…is not his strength; not like you." Proculus snapped his head up, his eyes filled with wonder. Lucius continued, "You may not have the combat talent of your younger brother, but you surpass him in speech and personality. Because of your charismatic nature and cunning, you are able to attract many friends and followers. You have the appearance of a leader and unlike your idealist brother; you are pragmatic and know what needs to be done. One must be able to read the delicate air around diplomacy and in your specific talents…" Lucius cocked an eyebrow and cracked half a smirk, "…to be able to lie, is a great asset to such fragile negotiations. I require you by my side tomorrow, for I believe that if you learn how to negotiate with stubborn barbarians, then you shall be capable of handling the politics of Rome."

The elder son looked upon his father with renewed vigor and delight. This was the first time in the longest time that Proculus could remember his father actually praising him for his inner qualities. He has gained his father's favor after the battle, and now, he has regained his father's attention. This was truly amazing for the young Roman.

"Father, do you mean those words?"

Lucius placed a warm hand on his son's shoulders and smiled, and Proculus could see the sincerity in his eyes. "Of course I do. I would have you retire for the night and tell Cassius to accompany you as well when he returns. You shall need your strength for tomorrow."

The son smiled, "I shall, Father. Gratitude, for this chance." Proculus saluted proudly and left Lucius' tent. Antonius watched on with a sour distaste in his mouth.

"General, must we bring him along?"

"Of course we have too. I meant every word in what I said. He needs to understand the arts of diplomacy. Eventually we will come across more hostile tribes and it will be too dangerous for me to venture out, so I require a representative of my voice and my will, it must be Proculus. These patrilineal tribesmen would respect him more knowing that he is my son."

The Tribune's eyes widened at the reveal of the hidden plan, "You are always filled with utmost surprises."

Lucius turned and faced him with a grin filled with hubris. "Of course, we would not have come this far without me."

Day 36 of the Campaign

It was a cloudy morning with a flurry of snow dancing within the nippy air. Lucius and a contingent of men were preparing their horses and carts for travel. Cassius was helping Proculus situate his gear and prepping his horse.

"Tell me Cassius, what do you know about the Marcomanni?"

"Only what you told me when I arrived back at the tent. I still cannot imagine this scheme of stealing food from a warring tribe. It seems like madness."

"The only madness is to allow ourselves to starve before reaching our destination. My father knows what he is doing."

Cassius peered from the corner of his eyes and observed Lucius reviewing the plan with his legionaries that would be accompanying them. "I can clearly tell. The man radiates confidence in this plan."

Proculus peeled a smirk, "Then why do you sound so troubled? Find words and see problems vanish."

Cassius chuckled, "From where to begin? We are walking into enemy territory with about 75 men, consisting of your father's bodyguards on horseback, and 50 legionaries from the Second Cohort—"

"An appropriate show of force. We are also blessed that Arminius of the Mighty Three shall act as our translator."

"Even so," the bodyguard continued, "We cannot gauge their estimate number of their warriors, we do not know if they are plotting an ambush for us, and we have no reason of knowing if they have much food, or if they are willing to part with it."

"My father tells me the Marcomanni are friendly towards Rome, they would not act with hostile haste. They also have little to no warriors, since most of the men were forced into Cunovindus' army, which we butchered," Proculus proudly emphasized. "Also, they would dare not attack the man who destroyed their unified army. They are subjugated by fear of my father, and at the same time, will embrace him with open arms when he arrives, and they shall give the food to us, happily."

Cassius raised one eyebrow and grinned heartily, "Even a dog wags his tail in happiness, before one comes to take his food."

"You worry too much."

"And you worry too little."

Proculus shrugged, "When your father is the greatest Roman general in history—" He then leaped on top of his horse's saddle, "—what is there to worry about?"

Coming back from the tents of the Fourth Cohort after receiving orders to inspect them, Vitus arrived on the scene, confused to see 75 men, including his own father, packing as if they were beginning to move.

"Father, what is this? Why has the camp not been dissembled? To where do you go?"

"We go off to retrieve food from some local Germanic tribes," Lucius replied to his youngest boy nonchalantly. Vitus stood there stunned, not knowing where to begin to question the action. Luckily for him, Antonius explained it carefully.

"Listen, we are moving upon the lands of the Germanic Marcomanni to secure food from them." Antonius showed Vitus the large cart that was being prepared. "You may not be aware, but our food supply is low, so we are taking food from the Germanians."

"If that is so…" Vitus turned to his father, "Then why are you going? Why must a general go to perform a courier's work?"

"It shall prove to them that I am serious. And they shall realize the utmost consequences if they decide to harm me, or my men."

Vitus looked around and witnessed several legionaries arming themselves and sharpening their blades. He gritted his teeth; he had seen this before and knew what was coming next. "Father! You are planning to destroy this Germanic tribe such as when you destroyed the Candevaci!"

Lucius looked down at his son and shook his head, "I shall not. The Marcomanni are more valuable to Rome alive than dead or enslaved. Unlike the Candevaci, who were indifferent to Rome and their own blood, these Germanians show favor to Rome, especially after the crushing defeat they had—" Lucius cleared his throat and smiled smugly, "—by my hands."

Vitus still did not feel all that comfortable, given his father's history of misplacing the truth to serve his own interest. But for this moment, he could not see the falsehood in his face.

"For what reason was I not told of this?" Vitus asked, although his question was raised at anybody there.

"Well…you are being told now," Proculus shrugged.

"Vitus, I shall have you to remain here and watch over the camp in my stead."

I am to remain here again?! Vitus combed his hair with his fingers, irritation surging through his face. "What do you require Proculus for?"

"He is to accompany me in our talk and learn Roman diplomacy."

"But what about me? I will deeply benefit from such a first-hand experience!"

Lucius moved his face to the side uncomfortably and bluntly stated, "I hold more of a use for your brother than you."

"What?! For what purpose does he hold that I do not?"

"Well…," Lucius tried to form delicate words, "In a most fragile negotiation such as this, all parties present must show the absolute strength behind their nation, and thus they must look the part."

"'Look the part?' What are you implying?!"

"If they see I have someone…of your height, under my banner, they would not take me with true seriousness if they see I have you who looks like a child."

Vitus' jaw dropped as embarrassment and anger flowed through his body, which only increased due to Proculus' juvenile snickering at the comment. That was the reason his father didn't want him there? Because he looked like a child?! He was an adult! It shouldn't even matter if he looked younger than he was, he was still his son and more of a cable commander than his brother, he should be alongside his father, not Proculus.

"Father, I am sixteen! I am an adult!" Vitus seethed with anger.

"I know you are, but you are still deemed a boy within a barbarian's standards."

"But I am—"

Arminius approached, "Excuse me, General, but we are ready to move out at your command."

"Gratitude, Arminius, you shall be marching out in front, return to the men."

"Father, I am not a boy!"

"Be at peace Vitus, we shall discuss it more when we shall return. Watch the camp and the men, and do not dare leave this camp again!" Lucius threateningly added at the end.

"But Father—"

Lucius already trotted ahead on his horse with Antonius behind him. Proculus passed by his little brother, and couldn't help but unleash an arrogant and mocking smile to his brother, showing how he has now received his father's favor. Before Vitus could give him an envious glare, Proculus quickly galloped away with Lucius' men as they left the camp, leaving Vitus standing alone, furious at his exclusion.

Proculus over me?! Over ME?! Vitus clenched his fists so tight they were shaking. This was not fair in the least! He was more of a Commander than Proculus, so he should be receiving this meeting as "diplomatic training," but he is being excluded on the pretense of his appearance?! He was sixteen; he was already a man by Rome's standards, why should it matter to the barbarians?! Even barbarian kings would bring their young sons to important events so they may learn. There had to be a bigger reason for his own father not inviting him. Vitus didn't have to think hard to arrive at the most likely conclusion.

It was about not taking the spoils from the Germanian, it had to be! Was his father truly still bitter about this? That was weeks ago! He could not be bringing this up in the most immature way…could he? After thinking longer, he realized that anything could be possible with his father. Vitus sighed intensely and walked away, sorrow and fury fighting for possession of his soul.

Lucius' forces were moving out along the road with the most precious care, wary of any possible ambushes that they could spring. They were almost at their destination, judging by the cow's skull placed ceremoniously on a wooden stake, which was set as a territorial marker in Germania. As Proculus bypassed the skull, he could not help but feel his stomach twisting in knots as he imagined walking into the lion's den.

"Father," he asked, trying to hide the tremble in his voice, "Are you positive that we shall be most welcomed by the Marcomanni?"

"I am. They shall not harm us. As I have told you, why would they attack the man that destroyed the Germanic army? We shall be fine."

"What would you have me do during the negotiations?"

"To stay off to the side, by Antonius, and allow me to do the speaking. I desire for you to pay close attention to the way I speak. You shall learn plenty in terms of communication, once you've learn to speak to barbarians."

The men had arrived in front of the Marcomanni village, and stood outside the village's large wooden gate. A Germanic sentry looked down from his post and shouted to them in Germanic, "Who are you that approach in Marcomanni territory?"

Lucius simply turned to Arminius and nodded. Arminius stepped up and replied back in Germanic, "These are the men of the Roman General Lucius Julius the Mighty of the Twenty-Eighth Legion, the Conquer of the North and the West, the Destroyer of Hispania and Gallia. The great man himself is in our party, so behold his greatness and recognize his presence and allow us entry! He has sent a message to your chief requesting an audience, and it is in your right as host to allow your guests entry!"

The stunned sentry looked at another sentry beside him who simply shrugged. The sentry looked back down at the Romans and stared at the general who was looking up with dagger-pointed eyes. The sentry relented and opened the gate for Lucius' men to enter.

His first time into a barbarian settlement came as a certain surprise for Proculus. He presumed that all barbarians slept in their filth inside their poor hide tents. But he now realized that they lived in an actual livable environment. Their homes were made with wood and straw with foundations made of stone and their walls were woven by wicker to keep it sturdy against the wild climate. They also implemented the use of tar and straw for their roofing shingles on the outside and wooden beams in the interior. He also was surprised to notice that their individual homes were about half the size of a Roman home. There also existed a good sized well in the middle of the village and even a multitude of stables for their horses and livestock. This entire settlement was a primitive form of a Roman settlement made of stone, but these barbarians were not as primitive as he thought.

A large crowd of women, children, and elderly men armed with spears and shields began to amass in the middle of the village, yet the men carried their weapons at rest, as if the Romans were never their enemy. In fact, the Marcomanni villagers were staring at the Romans in a sort of combination of fear and awe. Proculus figured that they heard tales of how terrible the Romans are and that they are demons that butcher their men and seed their wives and daughters. Proculus couldn't help but crack a smile, imagining how the Germanians are discovering that the Romans are people like them…well, more advanced than them…but like them all the same.

He could see the young ones cling to their mother's waist as they point out the warriors with the shiny armor and red shields. He also noticed the secondary thing that he wanted to receive from the campaign, behind securing his father's favor; the so-called, "Barbarian Beauties." To his left, were standing two teenaged Marcomanni girls who appeared to be 17. They both were skinny, one had brown hair, the other blonde; their faces were long, but curved from their chin to their heads eloquently. Both had curly hair and somewhat crooked teeth, but it added to their "wildness appeal" along with the dirt splotches on their faces that highlighted their eyes.

The girls looked on at Proculus, noting that he was the youngest Roman in the group and couldn't help but look at their feet, small rosy blushes highlighting their cheeks. Proculus smiled victorious, his charm had gotten to them, all he had to do was reel them in. He raised his head up and revealed a controlled smile, shooting across to them with bedroom eyes. Both girls blushed even harder and giggled to themselves. I have them, he arrogantly thought, feeling the inevitable stirring in his loins.

Antonius forcefully cleared his throat and glared at the libidinous Roman and whispered with irritation through his teeth, "Proculus…the first thing you do not do upon entrance in someone's home is covet their women with your eyes! Avert your gaze!"

Proculus groaned lowly at the spoilsport and was going to reply with a sharp rebuttal, but was interrupted by the Marcomanni Chieftain who exited his hut and approached Lucius' horses with a smile on his face.

"Ave General Lucius Julius, welcome to my village and may Jupiter shower you with many blessings!" the chieftain greeted with open arms in clear Latin. The whole attitude of the chieftain was a surprise to Proculus. Instead of wearing hide pelts that was often see on barbarians, he was actually wearing a Roman tunic, (where he got it from, Proculus had no clue), his fire red hair and beard was long yet well kempt which was accented by his flat nose and drooping mouth which made it particularly awkward when he smiled. But the biggest surprise was that he spoke Latin clearly and he even knew the Roman pantheon.

As the chieftain approached closer to Lucius' horse, Arminius moved in front of his general and unsheathed his sword halfway, reminding the chieftain to keep his distance.

"Ah, Chieftain Hirban, you speak the Common Tongue well," Lucius smirked, still on top of his horse.

Hirban unleashed a guttural chuckle and boasted, "To be wise in this world, a man must prove his merit in the mastery of many tongues."

Antonius leaned closer to Proculus and whispered, "Take note of your father, look at what he does. He is staying on his horse when he speaks and looks down upon the chieftain who is on foot. Remember this, this establishes dominance and reminds the man who is inferior."

Lucius extended his arms in a sweeping motion to the two whispering Romans, "This here is my Tribune and Second-In-Command, Gnaeus Antonius; and my eldest son, Proculus Julius."

"You have an excellent son, General. He holds image of a mighty warrior who shall greaten your name!"

Proculus chuckled to himself and held his head high, Finally! Someone acknowledges my qualities! Antonius simply scoffed, knowing the faint praise was going to his head. He whispered again unto him. "Lesson two, humble yourself and do not yield to flattery. The person you speak to will always offer false compliments to keep you off guard and for you to grow sympathy for them. You must clear your eyes and foresee the shit that spews from the mouth!" Proculus subtly nodded, feeling embarrassed that he fell for that.

"With the utmost respect, General," Hirban said, his head bowed, "Please come into my home and break bread and enjoy the pleasantries of my wine."

"A tempting offer, but one that I must refuse. I have unfortunately come for business, not pleasure. You have received the message that I have dispatched, have you not?"

"I have."

Lucius twisted his head slowly from side-to-side, scanning the village as if he had lost something. "So where is it? Are you hiding it?"

"We are…still g-g-gathering it together for you," the chieftain stuttered.

"The message was dispatched a while ago; I suspected that all preparations would have been meted out to completion."

Hirban chuckled nervously, "It was…a large request."

Lucius' face contorted into a rugged, stern look, "Rome does not request, she demands. And she demands her tribute."

Proculus blinked confusedly and asked Antonius, "'Tribute?' We can receive tribute? I thought we were here for the procurement of their food for our army?"

The Tribune quickly shushed the elder son and explained, "Another lesson in diplomacy, never, never, reveal the state you, your army, or your family are in to a stranger. You must not reveal how weak you are. When you are at your weakest, always show others you are at your strongest."

"I have requested for the tribute, and now it is presented absent," Lucius continued, "This shall not suffice, for Rome demands from all who hold fealty to Rome."

Hirban's smile grew crooked as his voice grew hoarse, "B-B-But, we Germanians do not hold fealty to R-R-Rome…"

Lucius grimaced with insult as he slowly shook his head, as if he was told that the sky was yellow. "Unbelievable," he growled softly, yet loud enough to be heard, "You dare insult my intelligence?"

"N-N-No! Apologies, no insult was meant!" Hirban fell to one knee and bowed lower, the rest of the Marcomanni followed suit. Antonius smirked with pride and told Proculus, who was sitting there stunned at the entire populace bowing, "Now watch your father at work."

"Hirban…" Lucius said, "Fetch the soil beneath you…"

Hirban raised his head, "What?" utterly confused by the request.

"Scoop the snow from beneath you and grabbed the soil." Hirban did as he was commanded and raised the soil in the air. "Now, tell me Hirban, what soil is that? To where does it belong?"

"…Germania…"

"Good. Now…approach my horse."

Hirban rose to move, but Lucius cleared his throat and sneered in a low, booming, yet controlled surge of disgust, "Kneel."

Hirban moved to Lucius' horse, trudging forward on his knees through the snow with his head still bowed, refusing to meet the general's unflinching gaze. He reached the horse's leg.

"Now scoop the soil and raise it." Hirban did as he was commanded. "Now, Hirban, what soil is that?"

Hirban struggled to find the words, but he already knew the answer, "…R-Roman…"

"Exactly. If such meaning has not penetrated your skull, allow me to offer clarity. I am Rome. I am her voice, I am her law, I am her sword, and I am her wrath! I fought against your king and thoroughly crushed his army; that was the strength of Rome. And for you to show the disrespect unto me by saying you hold no fealty? Each step I take on your fucking land is expanding Rome's territory, this is Roman land, you are just leasing it, do not forget this. You have no major army, your Marcomanni warriors were killed with Cunovindus, this means that Rome is your only source of protection from the other tribes. And as your protector, Rome demands what you owe, and demands it immediately."

Hirban instant rose up and shouted to his villagers in Germanian to hurry up to assemble with the food and the cattle to be given to the Romans. He also backed up nervously and finally spoke up, "Deepest upon deepest apologies to you, oh Conqueror of the North and the West! May Jupiter send his punishment on me for failing my duties!"

"This shall be your first and final warning, Marcomanni!"

"I understand, and gratitude for your warning!"

The villagers had hastily assembled the food into the Roman cart; they have brought 25 bushels of grain, 100 ears of corn, 6 barrels of wine, 2 cows, 15 pigs, 30 skins, and a good amount of Germanic currency. Lucius looked on the food and nodded approvingly, "You have had a great harvest and hunt, is this half of what you own?"

"It is, General." Lucius studied Hirban closely and determined he was speaking truthfully.

"Was the harvest this plentiful across the land?"

"It was not, General."

"Explain."

"Southern Germania has experienced the bountiful pleasure of harvest, while the tribes in the North faced a most terrible harvest with freezing winds. The northern tribes often raid us southern tribes for our food. They are a desperate lot. If you shall enforce tribute unto them, do so with care, for they have little food and might fight against you."

"Gratitude for the insight, remember, the more you inform Rome, the more Rome shall reward you." Lucius dug in his armor and removed a tiny pouch filled with denarii and tossed it to Hirban.

"Why reward the Germanian?" Proculus asked Antonius.

"It shows that you are not a heartless bastard, thus establishing a connection, no matter how sour the negotiation was. It also encourages the continuing supplying of future information. Remember, boy, nothing in this world is free, everything has a price."

As the last bit of supplies was packed on the cart and the animals were firmly leashed, Lucius gave the signal for the Romans to return to camp. Before they left, Lucius turned around and faced the chieftain, "Remember this Hirban, follow all orders that were given to you by Rome, or Rome shall grind you beneath the heel like the insects you are."

Proculus took one last look of the villagers, and could see the faces that once held the mixture of fear and awe, now was filled with terror and sadness. They looked as if they were a small child who had its favorite toy taken away by an older sibling. Were these the faces of a tribe who "sympathized" with Rome? Because if so, then they just had a rude awakening to how Rome truly acts.

Down the main road back to camp, Proculus could not take his eyes off his father. He had heard his father be stern, tough, and strict towards him and his brother; but this was the first time he remembered his father being ruthless. This new side of his father was intriguing, it felt like a new door had been opened up and he wanted to see more of it.

Proculus smirked arrogantly and broke the silence, "'Sympathetic' you called them? More like completely "terrified" of Rome."

Lucius turned with a self-satisfying grin, "Sympathies and terror often become blurred when you rule over others."

"Father, when did you become so…ruthless?" Proculus couldn't help but smile in admiration, "The way you handled him…it was…I cannot even describe it."

"A general is more than his victories upon the field of battle. He is the sum of his actions. Every decision, no matter how small, speaks to the man and about the man. His power must overcome his strength."

"But Father, is that not one in the same?"

Lucius smiled, "No, they are not. A general's strength is measured in the quantity of men under his command. The more he has, the stronger he is. Anyone can have strength. But power…" Lucius exhaled as he felt a rapturous surge that bordered on euphoria course through his veins. "Power, the right given by the gods to hold dominion over men, to bend others to your will, to do what you want, the desire, the ambition to rule, is something you are born with. To have thousands of men swear loyalty to you to fight to the death, that is power. To have those under you who fear you absent hatred, that is power. And to attain whatever you so desire absent the use of force, by using your words alone," Lucius smiled deviously, "that is power."

Lucius faced his son and stared deep into his eyes, "Power is in the blood of the Julii. This can be traced from Aeneas himself, saving his civilization and making a new one, that was power. And Proculus, I can see it in your eyes. You plague yourself with foolish desires, but I know in my heart you hold my intelligence. You have the potential to achieve great things, you just need to set your ambition on your appropriate path and you shall gain all that you desire. So tell me, my son, are you ready to walk this path to power?"

Proculus smiled, this was what he desired. To make his own mark on history, to hold the influence where everyone would respect him, by mastering the power of words and to look awesome while doing it, and to break his enemies by simply talking and without the use of force; to truly have a silver-tongue, that was what he wanted. "Yes Father, I am ready."

Proculus is finally given a role that he desires, what will it entail later on...?

This was a fun chapter to write, especially near the end. I have also been thinking of writing a new Total War story, most likely it will be set in Medieval II. The idea is in my head, but time and my personal free time will dictate whether I follow through with it.

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!

Oh yeah, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

-Kanuro5