B3 Chapter 69: Outer Orbits

Marcus had never really considered the logistics of having thousands of men use a skill stone in quick succession. Why would he? Checking one’s status was a commonplace activity for any person, but rarely so pressing. Having to wait in line for a short while was about the worst that someone could deal with—though Marcus had found himself stuck behind a few individuals whose slowness prompted a visit and an insistent nudge from the town guard. Some major cities even had multiple stones to avoid those problems and ensure their populace had adequate access to the things.

But now, he honestly appreciated the delay. It was a welcome reprieve amidst the flurry of activity they’d been subjected to lately. And given that the Legionnaires were also able to utilize the break, it meant that he finally had an audience to enjoy his songs—and to gamble with.

He lifted the cup off his dice, prompting a round of swears from the men gathered around. Marcus grinned. “It seems as though I win this time, Barnabus. I’ll be taking back my coin now.”

The soldier scowled and glanced to the side. “Claudius? He has to be cheating, right? No man is that lucky.”

Claudius shook his head. “I don’t believe so. I saw no evidence of foul play. Then again, I was a bit distracted.”

“Distracted? By what, the smell of your own farts?”

Claudius shrugged. “Who’s to say? Perhaps if you hadn’t emptied my own pockets a few minutes ago, I would have been paying more attention.”

“Why you—!”

The onlooking soldiers chuckled. Marcus joined in, pulling the stack of coins in the center toward himself. He really hadn’t cheated. The prospect was a risky one, especially with someone as keen-eyed as that Claudius around. And besides, though he’d mostly recovered from his stamina drain, bandying about skills thoughtlessly still wasn’t the most enticing prospect. Thankfully, he really was that lucky. If only fate would stop spending it on gambling and start diverting some to the rest of his life.

Barnabus let out a long and frustrated sigh. “Fine. It’s no matter. I’ll simply win it back.”

The men played a few more rounds of the game before Marcus heard someone approach. One of the Legionnaires raised his head. “Looks like your squire is headed this way, Lord Marcus.”

Barnabus shook his head and grumbled. “Honestly. That boy has to be blessed by Neptune himself.”

“Neptune?” Marcus asked with confusion. “Isn’t he the god of the seas?”

He’d put some effort into learning the Roman pantheon, as any good chronicler of history would. Still, that didn’t mean he was an expert by any means.

“Yep. Horses, too.” Barnabus confirmed as he poured the dice into the cup and shook. “But the sea’s the big one. Doesn’t see as much worship as Mars or Jupiter, though.”

“...Why?” Marcus couldn’t help but ask.

“That should be obvious,” Claudius said. “When have you ever gotten the impression that Legionnaires liked the seas?”

“No, I mean… water and horses? Why those?” Marcus clarified. “I don't know if you're aware, but horses aren't particularly well known for their ability to traverse water.”

The Legionnaires looked at him strangely. “What do you mean, ‘why’? That’s just how it is.”

“You’ve never asked what could have possibly led to a god representing such disparate domains? What else does he preside over, dice?”

“Not dice, per se, but I believe he is a patron of horse racing,” Claudius chimed in.

Marcus spread his hands wide. “That at least makes sense with horses! But why—”

“Bah,” Barnabus. “Sounds like philosopher talk. Make your bet already so I can relieve you of that extra coin.”

It was at that moment that Abel arrived at their little gathering. The boy bowed to Marcus before speaking. “Milord. The Legatus wishes to see you.”

Marcus smiled at the men and rose. “It seems that I'll need to take my leave for the moment. Ah, but don't worry, Barnabus. I'll return soon to relieve you of the remainder of your wages.”

He turned, ignoring the man’s accusations of cowardice as he followed Abel toward the command tent. He’d heard worse during the march. Especially given that he’d needed to ride with Abel for no small amount of it, seeing that [Mythchaser] was out of commission. Though even without [Silver Tongue], he found it a small matter to return such jabs in kind.

Once they’d put some distance between themselves and the Legionnaires, Marcus raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised. Does Gaius have you carrying messages now as well?”

Abel shook his head. “No, milord. I simply happened to be nearby and offered to find you.”

“I see, I see.” Marcus mused. They walked in silence for a few steps as he regarded the boy. “And what of your horse? It’s unlike you to be seen without him.”

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Abel immediately perked up. “Oh! I’m letting Gerald rest. He’s had a hard march, so he’s earned that much. I even managed to barter with one of the elves for some apples to give him. Not even dried ones—real, fresh ones. All the way out here! Can you believe it, sir? Oh, and one of the men offered to help me improve his saddle, too. Said it’s good training for his [Leatherworking] skill, he did…”

He listened as the boy talked on and on about his steed. It seemed to be the one subject that would let him open up, even causing him to forget some of his stiff formality in his excitement. Though that was no surprise, given the legacy of his house was so deeply tied to them. And the boy’s skill certainly matched his enthusiasm.

The more Marcus saw, the more he was convinced that the boy was a savant. Not that he was particularly dim or incapable in other areas. But it was becoming quite clear that, for all of his talk of becoming strong and a “hero” like Marcus, this was where his true passion lay. The boy wanted to protect his family, but more and more it seemed as though their steeds were just as much family as the humans themselves.

“It sounds as though your steed receives better care than even the officers of the Legion,” Marcus remarked with amusement when Abel began to wind down. “Why, even I’m starting to feel a little jealous.”

The boy’s expression turned stricken at the comment. “Ah! Milord, if you wish—”

“No, no.” He cut the boy off before he could even consider finishing the sentence. “The last thing I want is to give the men any more reason to treat me like a stuck-up noble. Gods know they already enjoy themselves too much at my expense…”

Thankfully, the boy didn’t press the matter. They continued on until the command tent came into view. A few yards away stood the familiar chestnut mare drinking sedately from a bucket of clean water. Its coat shone in the sunlight as an absolute picture of health.

Marcus considered the beast briefly before using [Appraisal] on it. The effort only sent the smallest ripple of nausea through him.

[Horse] (Lvl 10)

He frowned. It was slightly higher level than expected. Common animals such as this rarely leveled beyond five or so, and even then usually lacked the capacity to intentionally activate skills without significant training. Then again, maybe Abel was well on his way to accomplishing just that.

“Remind me of how old you are, Abel?” Marcus asked curiously.

“Fifteen, milord. Almost sixteen!” He puffed out his chest proudly. “I'll come of age soon after we get back home!”

He nodded. The boy certainly had reason to be excited for their return, then. Not that Marcus wasn't. He was as eager as anyone to leave this land of earthen bones and brutality behind. But he wasn't particularly looking forward to picking up his problems where he'd left them. Both of them. Or maybe all four now. There was always the chance that the twin princesses would give birth early.

Marcus cleared his throat and nodded to the command tent. “I can find my way from here, thank you. I’m sure that Gerald misses you dearly.”

Abel looked as though he were about to object, but relented as Marcus shooed him off with a smile. The boy stepped toward his steed and produced a brush, rubbing down its withers with careful, precise strokes. It seemed a slightly redundant gesture, considering the horse already looked as well cared for as an animal could be. But it did cause Gerald to nuzzle Abel affectionately, a snort ruffling the boy’s hair.

Shaking his head, Marcus continued on. The conversation had dredged up thoughts that he wasn’t particularly keen to dwell on. And so, he decided to practice another area of his expertise—running away from them. In this case, that meant focusing on something else.

He focused his thoughts and muttered a quick prayer toward the sky above—specifically, toward the burning sphere that hung so far overhead. He didn’t know if the direction particularly mattered, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Hey, Apollo. I hear that your brother is god of horses. Any chance that you can put in a good word for the kid back there?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then an amused voice answered inside his head.

“Asking me for another god’s blessing? What kind of chosen are you? And he’s my uncle, not my brother.”

Marcus smiled. “Well, you’re more than free to bless him yourself. But somehow I doubt that Abel has any interest in the fine arts, despite his respect for me.”

“Fair, fair… fine. One second.”

The god fell silent. Then, Marcus caught something on the breeze. A hint of salt, one completely out of character with his surroundings. He thought he heard a deep voice grumbling as well, though it sounded more like waves crashing upon rocky cliffs.

He whipped around to look back at Abel. The boy had ceased his brushing, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at his horse. After a moment, he shook his head and continued as though nothing had happened.

“...There,” Apollo’s voice entered his mind once more. “He's blessed. Well, the horse is.”

Marcus blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. Seems that Uncle had his eye on those two anyway. He only woke up recently, though, so he's been pretty stingy with his blessings, especially the human ones. Grumpy old man.”

That was… a bit more than he'd expected. Then again, it was basically what he'd asked for. He just hadn't thought the god would pay that much attention to his request.

“In case you're wondering, no, I'm not just bored. It's not hard to split my attention and multitask every once in a while. And besides, it's in my best interest to see my family's power grow. Especially for a god who's always had some… issues with his popularity. Honestly. Who would have thought that conquering the entire rim of the Mediterranean would have made the Romans less inclined toward naval battles? Sure, they moved all sorts of goods across it, but there hasn't been a good sea battle since Carthage.”

“Carthage?”

“Ah, look at me rambling. It's ancient history.”

He honestly had no idea what Apollo was talking about. But he tucked the names away regardless. Perhaps it would make for good conversation with the Legionnaires.

“I see. Either way, I appreciate the effort,” Marcus bowed his head slightly as he walked.

“If you really appreciate it, then maybe you should consider making an offering of those winnings, hmm?” Apollo pointed out.

“My winnings? Is dedicating several of my works to your name not enough?” The bard raised an eyebrow.

“Just saying. There's something about the scent of freshly offered coin that's hard to beat. Almost as good as the prayers of fresh converts.”

He could almost feel the god's pointed look fall upon him. He remained neutral. Surely the god was aware that he hadn't run across any relevant sun cults yet. Even if it hadn't been at the front of his mind, that was just because he was doing useful things as well, like helping the Legion.

After a pause just long enough to be uncomfortable, Apollo chuckled, and his presence retreated from Marcus's mind. He shook his head. The more he interacted with the god, the more he decided that a casual approach really was the right one. Yet he still remained wary. There was no sense in testing the limits of that goodwill. Perhaps he'd need to take his mission more seriously once they returned to Novara.

Before he walked away, Marcus took one coin and flipped it into the air while saying a brief prayer. It vanished just as it hit the apex of its arc.