[Hispania Ulterior, near Corduba, 64 BCE]
My name is Valerian Valerius. "Valerian Valerius" technically makes no linguistic sense in Latin. Because both names come from the same root, valere,"to be strong".
To a Roman ear, it sounds like "Strong the Strong," or "Valerius son of Valerius."
which sounds redundant, like "Marcus Marcius."
My father thought it sounded noble. It doesn't. But he was a proud plebeian, only not a learned one.
He says strength was the only virtue left in Rome , so he gave me two.
I was born into an above-average plebeian family, not noble, but fortunate enough not to be slaves or freedmen. My father is an argentarius, a silversmith with his own small officina, a workshop attached to our domus near the Via Sacra, where craftsmen and metalworkers cluster like bees around honey.
I never knew my mother. All I know is that she was a merchant's daughter, and that her father married her to mine on the condition that he sell his silver exclusively through their trade routes outside Rome.
When the business began to fail, arguments followed, loud, bitter, and endless. Somewhere in that chaos, my mother slipped away with her lover to gods-know-where. A blessing in disguise, my father likes to say. Without her, and without my grandfather's grip, he no longer has to live by their bargain.
My father always said that one day I would inherit the family business.He believed our officina carried the weight of legacy , passed from my great-grandfather to my grandfather, from my grandfather to him, and, one day, from him to me.
He spoke of silver as if it were blood, running through our veins, binding us to the same forge, the same walls, the same life. He'd look at the smoke rising from the crucible and say, "This is how a Valerius endures."
But I never wanted to endure.
I didn't want to open my eyes each morning to the same dim walls, breathe the same air thick with ash and sweat, and wait for death to find me in the same shithole I was born in. I wanted more, to be more.
Besides, my little brother Secundus could inherit the forge. He had the patience, the steady hands, the same quiet heart my father always admired.
So I left home.
Well… I was thrown out.
And I went to the only place where a man like me could become something greater than his name, the Roman army.
"NEXT"
The quartermaster's tent reeked of sweat and vinegar. "Each man was given several days' worth of supplies, one kilogram of wheat, cheese, olive oil, and dried meat. Posca which is just Vinegar, diluted with water, was provided to drink, it helped reduce the risk of disease."
Beyond the tent, the fort sprawled in disciplined precision. Four gates guarded the perimeter, each named for the direction it faced: the Porta Septentrionalis to the north, the Porta Meridionalis to the south, the Porta Orientalis to the east, and the Porta Occidentalis to the west. Between them.
Wooden palisades rose in neat rows, bound with iron clamps and topped with watchtowers that overlooked the surrounding fields and roads. Smoke curled from the mess tents and blacksmith forges, carrying the scent of iron and ash through the crisp morning air.
Soldiers moved in measured lines along the gravel streets of the camp, sandals crunching over the stones, voices calling commands, and occasional shouts of drills echoing off the walls. The fort had been built like a miniature city, each tent, each building placed with exacting order. The layout reflected the discipline and hierarchy of Rome itself: every legionary, from raw recruit to seasoned centurion, knew his place.
"NEXT"
"Good morning sir "The fucker didn't bother answering. He just handed me my supplies and shouted..
"NEXT"
Not paying him any heed I walked back to my tent, Or to be precise, our tent, as in the Roman army, you shared a tent with seven other soldiers, forming a contubernium, Which in turn was commanded by a Decanus.
[Ding]
[Congratulations! You have activated the Two-Fold System by receiving your first hard-earned wage.]
"Wait… this isn't a wage," Valerian muttered. "This is just my supplies!"
[Close enough. Let's call it a win.]
Valerian suddenly froze, realization dawning on him.
The gods are speaking to me?
Then he felt his supplies bag getting heavier opening it to take a look he saw that everything has apparently...doubled he now have seemingly two kilograms of wheat double the amount of cheese, olive oil, and dried meat and even the Posca.
The sudden increase in weight almost made him drop his supplies.
[System activated. Every item you receive through work or service will now be increased twofold. Supplies, weapons, and most material goods qualify. Living beings do not. You cannot purchase a slave or villa and expect duplication.]
[Experience gained through work or training will also be doubled. One hour of training will yield the effect of two. Efficiency applies only to effort you personally expend.]
[You may combine two weapons or pieces of armor into a single, stronger item. Only items of the same class and similar size may be fused. Fusion carries risks! Failure may result in the permanent loss of both items.]
[System Notice: All excess items exceeding carry capacity are automatically stored in a secure dimension-accessible inventory.]
"By the gods…" Valerian's mind was in shambles. Was he really chosen? A gift from the gods? He didn't know what to think, or what to say, but a sacrifice later, that was certain.
Hurrying back to the tent, fearing someone might have heard the gods speak, Valerian threw open the flaps and stepped inside.