The ground trembled beneath the haphazard march. Dust rose in hazy clouds as Alexios rode at a dignified pace, cloak trailing as his eyes scanned the camp with the calm precision of a commander.
Behind him, hundreds of recruits followed—men chosen at a glance, measured by his judgment alone. They would soon prove their worth in the days ahead, or die soon enough.
At this moment, Chief Clerk Agricola emerged from the camp, his stride crisp, expression relieved but disciplined. He saluted with a bow.
"Lord Kyriakos."
Alexios inclined his head, gaze steady. "Did anything of note occur in my absence?"
Agricola's eyes flicked back toward the camp. "Nothing I could not handle, Lord Kyriakos."
"Good."
Alexios dismounted, boots crunching against the earth. Turning, he walked into the camp and the officers at the gate parted instantly, conversations dying into silence as he passed; the weight of his presence pressing down on the clearing.
Agricola, of course, was quickly in lockstep beside him.
"The next few days," Alexios said, voice hard, "will be well spent indoctrinating the recruits into the cohort's philosophy and tactics."
Agricola glanced back at the disorderly lot, overseen by the officers, brows furrowing. "They will need rigorous training. I will oversee the drills."
Alexios' sharp eyes cut toward him, though fatigue lingered beneath the surface.
"I expect you to. We have little time. A week, at best, before we march for Elysium."
Though his face betrayed nothing, anxiety gnawed at Alexios. Reports from Apulum had painted Elysium as vast—impossibly vast. Four legions had already entered, thirty thousand soldiers including auxiliaries, yet only a small fraction of the region before the entrance had been explored in nearly a year.
The dense forests were the main issue. It strangled progress as traditional Roman formations faltered in such terrain, forcing reliance on Roman auxiliary cohorts to lead the way—men bred in forested areas, from Germania, the Apennines, and even Gaul. Alexios' cohort was one of these, hardened by campaigns in tangled woods. Their successes had earned him renown, and endowed his cohort with the name, Tigris Fidelis—The Faithful Tiger.
But the recent news of Legio I Adiutrix's reckless push northward unsettled him. Their advance left gaps in conquered lands, gaps that monsters—whispered in rumors, some of which their carcass hang in the market stalls of Apulum, might soon fill.
The legion his cohort was attached to would be among those sent to reinforce those vulnerable lands.
Agricola's jaw tightened, but his voice was steady.
"Understood, Lord Kyriakos. They will be ready to march in three days."
Relief flickered across Alexios' features.
"Very good, Agricola."
"It is my duty to match your excellence, Lord Kyriakos," Agricola replied crisply.
Soldiers along the path straightened, their boisterous chatter dying as the Prefect passed.
With business concluded, Alexios allowed himself a quieter question.
"Has my slave tried to escape yet?"
Agricola's scowl betrayed his distaste.
"To my dismay, no. Decurio Sabazios was on standby for nought. I fear the unwritten agreement between yourselves was enough to keep him tethered—for now."
Alexios' gaze drifted toward his slowly enlarging tent, but his eyes seemed to pierce farther.
"Do you think I made the wrong decision, Agricola?" His fist clenched behind his back.
Agricola's eyes widened, shock flashing across his face.
"Never! Lord Kyriakos! Your judgments are near-divine. To doubt them is folly!" His voice trembled with fervor, as though denial itself was heresy.
Yet he bit his lip, anger surfacing. "It's just…how dare he claim to foresee your death! Moreover from a trifling dream?!"
Alexios scoffed, a smile cracking through his mask.
"It gladdens me to be so cared for... But if the gods deem it, a man can only prepare his household."
Agricola began to protest, but Alexios raised a hand.
"Calm, Agricola. In our profession, we fight at the forefront, meeting lances head-on, breaking lines. That I yet draw breath, I count myself blessed. More so, knowing I am invulnerable until I reach Elysium."
His smile widened, and Agricola, despite himself, mirrored it.
Seeing this, Alexios moved the conversation onward.
"How has he handled Commius' proposal for a combat exercise?"
Agricola hesitated. "I have not seen it myself. But reports say he trains even into the night, until he collapses—worrying the guards."
Without warning, Alexios burst into laughter, startling Agricola.
"Pre-Prefect?!" Agricola stammered.
Alexios inhaled deeply, eyes alight. "Good. Very good."
Agricola blinked, perplexed, until Alexios waved him off.
"Worry not. I am fine. Go to your duties, and have a milite lead the guest I brought with me to my tent."
At once, Agricola stopped and saluted, regaining his air of professionalism.
"Yes, Lord Kyriakos."
Alexios walked on, and Agricola watched until he vanished within the confines of his tent.
A short pause, then an instant later. He turned on his heels and strode for the recruits at the gate.
––✺––
Evening drew near...
«Banm!» «Ganm!»
It was late into the evening and Rainer had his fist wrapped in rag cloth. He was in a boxing stance, bouncing and swaying, working on his footwork and punches on the part of the tree he had wrapped around with his rope.
«Bang!»
He sent another powerful punch at the tree and withdrew with a faint smile.
"Finally, I landed a perfect punch!" He exclaimed, exhausted. "That had an excellent form behind it! Haah~ It seems my time spent doing this shit is finally bearing fruit!"
He raised a hand and swiped his forehead, sweat and blood flicking off.
Rainer flexed his shoulders, and shifted his footing to go another round when—he suddenly heard footsteps behind him.
He paused, glanced back and smiled.
"Ah! Hops-kun! Good to see you! It's not yet dinner time, though I am hungry."
Hops casually approached, winds fluttering his long white tunic. He's short hair tousled under their caress like seaweeds in the tide. He shifted it from his eyes, then looked up at him. His smile was radiant, almost divine.
Rainer stood wide-eyed, stunned for a moment.
He soon came to a stop and stood with both hands before him, smiling deferentially.
"Yes, Rainer. It is not yet time for your meal. I am here on Domine's request. He asks to come get you—"
His words trailed off when his eyes drifted to his hands, bruised and bloodied through the wrappings. His eyes widened and he ran toward him.
Grabbing his hands, he carefully unwrapped them to reveal blistered, peeled skin.
"R-Rainer! You are hurt!" His voice cracked with alarm.
Rainer offered a calm smile. "Yeah… sorry. Guess I went overboard a bit."
"A bit?!" Hoplite's eyes bulged. "Doesn't it hurt?!"
Rainer shrugged. "Stopped hurting an hour ago."
But then his grin sharpened. "If you're so worried, you can tend to me after I see the old man. What do you think?"
Hoplite blinked, then nodded fiercely. "Yes! I want to take care of your wounds!"
Rainer chuckled, ruffling his hair.
"Awe. You're so cute!" He teased, walking past.
Hoplite flushed, and turned around, pouting.
"Rainer, please stop teasing me!"