For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 27B3 : Hail the Conquering Heroes

B3 Chapter 27: Hail the Conquering Heroes

Quintus rode into Novara’s capital on the back of a borrowed horse. He would have much preferred to march, of course. But his mangled foot made that prospect even less appealing than the current situation.

The fresh reinforcements had allowed them to relieve his men, but Quintus himself had insisted on continuing to lead from the front. Which made the fact that he’d even allowed himself to become injured to this extent… embarrassing, to say the least.

He blocked the memory out of his mind to avoid cringing at it. But two and a half days of near-constant skirmishes was enough to try even his stamina. Enough to make him slip up.

Of course, that hadn't stopped him from fighting. He'd simply commandeered a horse. Not that he was a particularly fine horseman, as Devin was more than happy to point out. It also didn’t help that this supposedly “gentle” horse was still a warhorse capable of caving in a man’s skull with its hooves. But they were getting along. They’d reached a point of mutual tolerance of the other’s presence.

Still, Quintus was looking forward to being off the beast. The Legionnaire [Surgeon]s with his men had done what they could, but there were some wounds that they weren’t quite equipped to manage at the moment. And for this one, the damage was severe enough that it would need attention from a dedicated [Healer]. And in the meantime, he felt like a damned officer. Riding in on the back of this stallion, elevated in status and stature as his men marched on foot… It just felt wrong.

He didn't enjoy the sensation. Not at all. Although the fact that his own men still felt quite comfortable calling him “Hoppy” due to his injury did ease his discomfort slightly. Even a few of Devin’s men joined in with light jabs at his riding. Fighting alongside them for these days had done much to grow the bonds between the two groups of soldiers.

He led the columns of cavalry and infantry into the city, their pace relatively sedate compared to their usual speed. Some of his Legionnaires had been left behind to defend the pass—ones actually fit for fighting in the mountains rather than cavalrymen—though hopefully they would see no action for a little while. As fast as the orcs apparently reproduced, they would hopefully still need time to regroup. In the meantime, he would report to his emperor.

Immediately upon their entry, it was clear that the city had undergone quite a change. People were out in the streets, going about their business once more, although the signs of the orcs' assault were clear. The area nearest the gate had taken significant damage, though Legionnaire work crews were already working to patch it or rebuild from scratch. Groups of his brothers patrolled the streets, while the telltale green cloaks of elves were just visible atop the wall above.

To Quintus's utter shock, their approach was not met with hostility or even suspicion. Rather, it was met with celebration. The citizens pointed and even cheered as they made their way down the broad main streets. More emerged from buildings to watch them go, and soon a respectably sized crowd lined the streets.

Quintus couldn't help but frown. “This is unexpected. Was your king truly so hated that his people celebrate our arrival?”

“Personally? I’d say so.” Devin grunted. “Me and mine have no love for the man, but that should come as no surprise. When it comes to the common folk, though, I doubt that’s the case. Seems to me like there might be something else going on here.”

As they continued on, the cheers soon gave way to something else—the words of a song echoed across many throats.

Can you hear Novara cheer?

Cheering for Rome and all her men,

It is the anthem of the brave few

Who refused to flee and bend!

Stand and fight beside our own,

As we ride to save our home,

We shall not hide behind a throne

When the warbands come!

It was an unfamiliar tune, like most that Quintus had encountered in this world. Yet quite catchy in its own right.

“Looks like you've got admirers.” Devin jerked his chin towards a particular group of young women. As Quintus noticed them, the group began whispering excitedly to each other, their eyes never leaving him.

Quintus looked across the crowd. He spotted a few more groups of women, many of which had eyes for the Redcliffe heir. When he pointed them out, the man sighed.

“You'd think I'd be excited about the idea, after so long on campaign. But honestly? Right now, I just want a bed of my own. And maybe a drink, if I can stay awake that long.”

Of course, women weren't the only ones who had come out to see them. Plenty of other faces among the onlookers betrayed some level of suspicion at the red-plumed Legionnaires marching in their midst, though most made an effort to hide it. Even those individuals seemed set at ease somewhat by the presence of Devin and his men, however. The Redcliffe’s presence seemed to legitimize Quintus and his own men.

The grand procession delayed their return to the command center by several hours. But overall, Quintus judged the diversion worthwhile. It gave his men even more time to rest, and the boost in morale was certainly nothing to scoff at.

By the time Quintus awkwardly slid off his horse and knelt before his emperor, the sun was already high overhead. Its rays glinted off of Tiberius’s laurel crown as he nodded, bidding Quintus to rise.

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The centurion did as he was bid, wincing as his weight shifted to his ruined foot. Tiberius raised one thick eyebrow as he took in the sight.

“You are injured.” It was a statement of fact. The emperor gestured to a nearby messenger. “Fetch the [Healer].”

The soldier was off on his mission before Quintus even had a chance to protest. Moments later, he returned with a young woman in tow—the same adventurer woman that had become a mainstay of the Legion’s medical staff.

“What’s this about? I already finished healing the worst of the Legion’s wounded, and the emperor said that I could spend the rest of the day tending to the Novarans. I’ve only got so much stamina to go around, you know—”

The woman’s prattling cut off as she lay eyes on Quintus. Or, to be more precise, his foot. The [Healer] sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Ah. That makes sense now.”

Without another word, she stepped forward and knelt before the centurion. Her hands glowed with golden light as she laid them on Quintus’s leg. The limb filled with a comforting warmth completely at odds with the sickening pops that immediately ensued.

When she lifted her hands, Quintus’s foot was mostly back to normal. It could take the majority of his weight without pain again, though the skin still looked red and tender. The woman stood, only looking a little more tired than before.

“Thank you.” Quintus nodded appreciatively as the woman stepped away.

“Good,” Tiberius addressed the [Healer]. “That is all. You may return to your other work.”

The woman sketched a brief curtsy before hurrying away once more. Once she was gone, Quintus began his report. Afterwards, Tiberius gave him an approving nod.

“The efforts of you and your men do the First Legion—and Rome itself—proud. I will see each of you amply rewarded."

“Thank you, emperor.” Quintus bowed his head. “If I may, I have a few men who I believe deserve particular recognition…”

He began to list off the promotions and rewards he had in mind for those who had distinguished themselves during the last few battles. A centurion promotion for a Legionnaire that had led a countercharge to prevent the collapse of their position after his own centurion had fallen. Another for a man who had managed to singlehandedly ward off a charge of orcs with an inhuman barrage of sling stones. Things like that.

They also spoke about several other bonuses and awards for valor and particularly impressive feats. Awarding such honors would naturally fall to the emperor, a role that Tiberius agreed to fulfill. They would also come with more material rewards, something that they would find themselves much more able to provide after the castle itself was taken.

As an aide finished taking down the last of the names, Tiberius sent the man off to make preparations and finalize things. Then, he spoke again. “Now… there is one more matter that must be tended to. That of the castle itself. You and your men should take the day to rest. For tomorrow, we have a kingdom to topple.”

***

King Gerald was having a rough morning.

It was bad enough that the castle gates still had an obvious hole through them, what few repairs his subjects had managed doing little more than preventing a child or blind man from stumbling through. Apparently, none of the people he'd so graciously allowed in were [Architect]s or [Builder]s or any manner of useful class for the situation.

It was all incredibly frustrating—not nearly as frustrating as the rest of the situation within the castle, however.

“What do you mean they're dissatisfied?” Gerald scowled. “They should be thanking me for saving them from those bloodthirsty barbarians out there—both the green and red ones.”

His chamberlain paled slightly. “It is as you say, my liege. However, there are quite a number of individuals currently residing within the castle—enough that quartering them all has become a challenge. And considering that this has turned into quite the lengthy affair… many of the adventurers are demanding additional compensation.”

Gerald’s eye twitched. The absolute gall of these people. Did they think they could take advantage of his charity? As Novara's king, it was only right that they should protect him. Everything he offered them in “compensation” was merely a token of his appreciation, not something to be expected. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

“Absolutely not,” he shot the very notion down without hesitation. “As for quarters… tell anyone who's dissatisfied with their arrangements that there is plenty of room for them in the dungeon.

“Actually, my liege, the dungeon is also—”

Gerald sent the man a withering look that stopped him mid-sentence. The chamberlain gulped and bowed his head. “It shall be done.”

The man scurried away to do as he was bid, leaving Gerald to relax in his cellar. He bit down on another biscuit, only to grimace. How on earth had the cooks allowed something even slightly stale to reach his lips?

“My liege.”

He turned to see a hulking figure in ornate armor kneeling before him. His [Royal Guard Captain].

“What is it?” Gerald asked with irritation. At this rate, his tea would get cold.

“Marcus D’Angelo has been sighted within the city.”

The king reflexively crushed the biscuit in his fist. His vision went red at the mere mention of the name. He was on the verge of ordering the guard captain to be whipped before the rest of his words registered.

“He's here? That utter miscreant dares show his face in my city again?!”

“The spy master has confirmed it,” the captain said simply. “He appears to be allied with the Roman invaders.”

Gerald closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn't care less about the bard's affiliations. Even if he'd come as an emissary of the draconic kingdom itself, it wouldn't have stopped Gerald from visiting his wrath upon the man. He had turned his already disappointing daughters into the laughingstocks of the kingdom—and, by extension, him.

When he opened his eyes again, they were alight with a petty malice that no one in his life had ever dared call out. This was an opportunity. A chance to finally take care of that blight on his reputation.

"I want him dead.” Gerald demanded. “Ready an execution squad to hunt him down. I want his head by tomorrow morning, no excuses. It’s embarrassing enough that he’s evaded you for this long. I won’t tolerate any more failures. Oh, and be sure to make it painful.”

He leveled a look at the captain that made it abundantly clear what would happen if the bard escaped again. The man didn’t so much as flinch.

On one hand, it was nice to have such an intimidating man as the leader of the royal guards. On the other, it did backfire in times like this, where he wanted the man to feel cowed. Only the fact that the king could revoke his class at any time made him feel secure in the brute’s loyalty.

The [Royal Guard Captain] rose, giving one final bow before heading out of the wine cellar. Gerald sat back, satisfied. Finally, that waste of space would get what he deserved. It was enough to take his mind off of his other troubles. Such as the cold tea sitting before him.

Gerald sighed. Now, at least, things were finally looking up.