The horn sounded a second time.
It was no longer a warning. It was the beginning.
The Roman standards rose. The cohorts advanced. The XIII Gemina marched steadily, shields tight, spears raised. In front of them, the Helvetii stirred like a sea of bodies and steel, shouting war cries that blended with the trembling earth.
Sextus walked beside Scaeva, head high, vitis in hand. Each step felt a pound heavier than the last. His heart didn't race — it hammered like a war drum.
At barely thirty paces, the enemy launched their first volley of javelins. Some fell short. Others crashed into shields with sharp thuds. One struck the legionary to Sextus's left, who fell without a sound.
"Close ranks! Shields up!" Sextus shouted without hesitation.
The line obeyed.
The impact was brutal.
The Helvetii struck like an avalanche: axes, spears, knives, bare arms, and burning eyes. The clash of lines was a roar of splintered wood, torn flesh, and shattered breath.
Sextus had no time to think. Only to act.
He saw a gap open on his flank when a soldier went down, and without hesitation he leapt into it, blocking with his shield, striking with his gladius, shouting orders through the chaos.
"Fill that gap! Don't let them in! Together, damn it, together!"
An enemy came at him with a curved axe. Sextus deflected it with the edge of his shield and drove his blade into the man's gut without losing his balance. He stayed upright. Kept shouting. Kept commanding.
Scaeva saw him from his position.
"Optio, reinforce the second line! Shields to the left flank!"
"Understood!" Sextus replied, never stopping.
He ran between men, calling out names, directing rotations. The left wing, which had started to waver, regained its footing thanks to his orders. The movement was clean, fast. Effective.
An officer from another century stared at him, surprised. He hadn't expected a young optio to command with such clarity.
But in the middle of that storm, Sextus did not falter. He was a fixed point. A firm knot in the wall.
The line held.
And when the first assault was pushed back and the Helvetii pulled back a few steps — panting, wounded, and angrier than ever — the XIII was still there. Shields high. Feet grounded.
With Sextus standing. Eyes forward. Unblinking.