Rainer approached the gate at an unhurried pace, Hoplite trailing close behind like a specter. His eyes drifted lazily over the guards, then upward to the vexillum that snapped in the wind.
The banner's fine shades of white, green, and brown rippled against the evening sky, its golden tiger gleaming in the setting sun. The tiger lay, ruby eyes glaring at all who passed, ever watchful, ever present, like a talisman warding the camp from unseen threats.
Rainer's lips curled faintly at the sight of the words in red below.
'Tigris Fidelis? Heh! I guess it's a question of to whom the tiger's faithful.'
He soon strolled past the gates, the hum of voices swelling around him. The camp seemed busier than usual, alive with a restless energy.
Fresh‑faced recruits wandered like tourists, eyes wide, taking in the experience of Roman auxiliary life. Some wore determined expressions with ambition burning bright in their gaze; a few others looked overwhelmed, clutching their gear as if afraid it might vanish.
Rainer moved through the crowd with a distant, thoughtful stare. He savored the noise, the thick smell of sweat and smoke, the clash of voices in a dozen accents. Auxiliaries—a hotpot of traditions, beliefs, and people from across the empire—united under Rome's banner, offering their skills in the service of Rome—.
«Bam!»
A shoulder slammed into him, and Rainer staggered aside, teeth clenched.
"What the—!"
Two soldiers laughed, their voices sharp with cruelty as they went on.
"The daemon slave is blind!"
"Return to your tree where you belong, worm! Hahaha!"
Rainer frowned, realizing that it was the same pair who had mocked him that morning. He exhaled furiously as his eyes narrowed. Taking a step forward, he stabbed a finger through the air.
"You should look where you walk!"
His reprimand tore through the air like a whip. And immediately, the laughters died. Not just theirs, but the entire area fell silent. Soldiers turned, surprised expressions freezing mid‑motion.
Their expression asking the same thing, 'Did a slave just raise his voice at a soldier?'
Rainer's gaze swept the crowd, and Hoplite shrank back.
A hum of whispers soon arose from the crowd, rippling outward like fire catching dry grass.
"Are they not Cormac and Bato?"
"That slave talks back to them!? Does he want to die?!"
"I want his sandals after his death. Mine don't fit well."
"I heard rumors of the Praefect's daemon slave. Maybe that's him."
"Really? Some officers said he's the son of a god!"
"Feh! Lies!"
The susurrus grew, recruits chattering intensely, eyes wide with morbid curiosity.
Cormac and Bato exchanged a look, then began to advance. Bato spread his arms wide, voice booming to the crowd.
"Milites! My brothers! Do you see how this slave has no regard for us?!"
Fury burned in his eyes, and the emotion spread like contagion.
"The Lord Praefect's possessed slave roams freely in our camp! Eats our food! Pushes our brethren aside! Spits insults in our faces! Tell me, auxiliaries—do you condone this?"
"No!"
"He should be punished!"
"Away with his tongue!"
The din rose, and soldiers banged their weapons together, the chant swelling into a roar.
Bato smiled, thrilled by the response.
Hoplite's trembling hand clutched Rainer's tunic, head bowed. Rainer's scowl deepened as his eyes swept the faces of those baying for his ruin.
Bato seized the moment. He stepped closer, gladius flashing free. The blade hovered inches from Rainer's forehead.
"Bow down before me. Apologize to me as a representative of the milites insulted here today. Do this, or I will rid you of your tongue!"
Rainer tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard correctly. His eyes locked onto Bato's.
"Bow down, you say?"
He stepped forward, the blade's tip piercing skin until blood streamed down his face.
Soft gasps rippled through the crowd, as Rainer glared into Bato's eyes.
"If you don't get your mole‑rat looking mug out of my face this instant, I'll pull out those ridiculous teeth of yours."
Bato's eyes widened. One look into Rainer's dead‑serious gaze made him gulp involuntarily.
He faltered, glancing around, lips parting to speak—but Rainer moved first.
"Time's up," he muttered, fist clenching.
Before he could strike, a voice cut through the chaos—young, commanding, cold as steel.
"Bato. You dare delay Lord Praefect's slave. He called for him, you know..."
Kotys strode forward, clad in his officer's lorica segmentata, his Gaelic helmet crowned with a forward‑facing green crest. He radiated authority, and presence heavy enough to silence the crowd.
"Not only have you made the Prefect wait," Kotys glanced away at the men, "but stirred unrest amongst the recruits!"
His gaze swept across the soldiers, then returned to Bato, gaze icy.
"A flogging would be an injustice for such a crime."
Rainer's eyes flicked to Kotys, concerned. He was grateful for the intervention, but wary of it. Punishing a soldier on behalf of a slave would certainly ignite backlash down the road. He could already feel the discontent simmering in the crowd.
Kotys stood calmly as his calculating eyes read the room. Then he inhaled deeply, and spoke with measured mercy.
"Such is the case. However, I am generous. I will not begin my office by bleeding the backs of my brothers." His eyes flicked to Cormac as well. "You may leave."
The tension broke, and the wind seemed to finally stir again, running cool against sweaty bodies.
Bato sighed and withdrew his gladius. Glancing at the recruits he felt his reputation would take a blow if he just turned tail and left. So he decided to do damage control.
He stepped close to Rainer, whispering loudly in his face.
"You are lucky, worm! I would have used this opportunity to teach the recruits a lesson on slaves!"
His gaze shifted to Hoplite, still clinging to Rainer. And with a powerful shove, he sent the boy sprawling back into mud and horse dung. Hoplite's white tunic now stained brown, his body trembling as he struggled to rise.
"I'm sorry." He muttered softly to no one in particular.
Rainer's eyes widened, stunned, and instantly fury flared beneath. The torches now lit against the approaching night flickered, their flames reflected in his eyes symbolic of what he felt.
Bato smirked darkly. Laughter rippled through the crowd, cruel and mocking.
Kotys' gaze followed Bato with warning, but Rainer stood frozen, numb with rage.
When Hoplite looked up and saw the bloodlust in Rainer's eyes. He couldn't help but smile faintly, flattered. But then he pleaded lightly.
"D‑don't worry, Rainer. It's just a little dirt. Please, let's leave."
Rainer inhaled sharply, palm dragging across his face. A chuckle escaped his lips, then laughter, spiced with a dash of madness. The crowd murmured amongst themselves, unsettled.
"You are right!" Rainer declared, turning suddenly.
Bato and Cormac halted mid‑stride, and looked back in bewilderment.
Rainer's smile sharpened, eyes alight with mischief. He then gestured wildly toward the recruits.
"We should teach them a lesson! A combat exercise between us—with real weapons!"
"Rainer." Kotys frowned, perplexed, as his eyes seemed to ask. 'What are you doing?!'
Rainer placated him with a wave of his hand.
"Don't worry. I have this under control."
His eyes then fixed on the duo.
Bato laughed darkly, seeing through the ploy.
"You want to spar, to take revenge?! Bold, slave."
He raised his shield and assumed a fighting stance, gladius gleaming.
"Find a weapon." He ordered, expression solemn.
Rainer shook his head, eyes sliding past him. "No. I'll leave wrecking your ugly mug for later."
Then his gaze locked onto Cormac.
"I'll spar with you first."
Cormac's eyes narrowed.