Cyrus tapped yes before removing the blue box from his face with a wave of his hand. He twisted his head in his officer's direction, beaming, "Do you know what this means?"
"What?"
"In essence, the Gods have officially gifted this piece of land to us, the sole representative and diplomat of the Roman Republic. This is the first step to planting SPQR onto the map!"
"Why though?"
The comment sliced his thoughts apart like a knife through butter. His hand, which had formed into a fist pointed at the air, wavered. The arm halted in its trajectory upwards and moved south, uniting with his left arm, twisting downwards and out the other side. His smile twitched but remained in place. He opened his mouth. A pause. "I, uh...um..." Cyrus's crossed arms unwrapped themselves, returning to the air in front of his chest in a fanning movement. No matter how they turned, pushing air towards his mouth, no sound left his throat.
His second-in-command sighed, shaking her head before muttering, "We'll be talking about global domination later. For now, let's get on to the consequences and opportunities of this new development in land ownership!" As the words "land ownership," left her mouth, her limbs moved of their own accord. Shaylah jumped into the air, proceeding to punch the air in short, small motions.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow but remained silent. After she returned to the ground, the roman went over his plan.
"So, we'll begin by building a fort around the hill. And then..." The two bulges of flesh at the bottom of his face curved upwards, "And then, we hunt!" His sword hissed in agreement as it left its sheath,
Shaylah snorted and waved her hand at him, "Your theatrics are not welcome here! Your plan isn't as convoluted as it first appeared...I'll give you that one!"
Cyrus's chest heaved, billowing an explosive burst of gas out of his nostrils. He sheathed his sword. Twisting around to face the source of the snark, the roman strode over. His second-in-command tensed. Her hand strayed to the silver scabbard dangling beside her thigh. It stopped briefly before retracting back to her side. She puffed out her chest and stepped forward to meet him.
As their faces neared, Shaylah's mouth opened. However, before she could give him a piece of her mind, Cyrus lifted his hand. A hushed, nigh-inaudible whisper left the small crevice between his upper and lower lip. "Do not say this in the open or within range of the troops' ears. It will damage morale and we will both lose respect. The chance of desertion grows." He stepped forward, his mouth inches from her ear. "We can talk about this in private, but listen carefully. On battlefield and martial matters, the military hierarchy dictates our relationship, you listen to me...unless you have decades of experience in active warfare and is as great as General Caesar himself. As dungeon and helper, we are on equal footing per the agreement."
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Shaylah nodded, stepping backwards to a respective distance and disengaging the conversation. "Just so you know, your "men" are just constructs, incapable of feeling. I'll leave the construction of the fort to you, sir. I'll continue researching and finishing off the world map in the training hall."
"Decanus, address me by my military rank unless others of this rank are in proximity. As for my men not being human, I don't believe it. May Minerva guide you in your endeavour."
"Decanus."
Concluding their discussion with a nod, the two separated.
Watching as his subordinate entered the arc, Cyrus began planning for the castrum. While the building material of his world still existed in this one, the roman had little knowledge of the actual composition of the concrete, nor the framing of houses. That job was usually left to the Camp Prefect. "I should've paid attention. If I only I wasn't so intent on fighting..."
Rubbing his head until the skin burned, taking on a red hue, Cyrus walked back up the hill. "Time for some experimentation," he muttered, giving himself a droopy, insincere smile that wiggled and twitched like a worm. The roman looked up at the Sun, finding it positioned directly overhead. "Work awaits!"
The star wandered across the sky, falling inch by inch towards the horizon.
The roman had been grinding away at the concrete formula. Pebbles and rocks lay scattered around his hunched figure. Hollow stones sat around him, brimming with a greyish mixture. Potholes dotted the landscape, filled with that same half-congealed grey liquid.
Cyrus gritted his teeth in an attempt to shrug off the flaky, dusty grey coating stuck between the crannies of his nails that sent a burning, itchy sensation into his mind.
He was close. The roman could feel it yet every trial ended in failure. A silent scream left his cracked lips.
He conjured up a random rock from his catalogue and raised it over his head, bringing it down upon the stone bucket. The pot cracked. Miniature meteorites showered upon the concrete mimic, sinking into its grey depths.
[Would you like to add [Roman Concrete] to your [Catalogue]?]
[Yes/No]
Cyrus pressed yes. His bones creaked in protest as he staggered to his feet, kneecaps popping and realigning to the regulations of gravity concerning the latest knee position. The roman infused his will into the area, re-absorbing the pore-covered rocks, buckets of water, and the mortar and pestle.
He craned his neck upwards to locate the Sun's position, groaning as his sore muscles communicated their displeasure into his mind through sharp jabs of pain. Determining the time was approximately noon, the roman moved on to the next stage of his plan, the four walls.
Cyrus half-limped and half-stumbled down towards the base of the hill. Reaching the midpoint, the roman began construction. He noticed a circle of tents. Spreading his will through the site to ensure no one was there, the roman disregarded it, mind focused entirely on the task ahead.
He began by displacing the dirt, caving the ground inward to form a ditch. The logical part of his mind screamed at him to use instruments, Chorobate, Hodometer or the Dioptra but his fuzzy, tired consciousness crushed the insolent voice with ease. As he began conjuring concrete onto the ground behind the ditch, the roman felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You need to rest."