Cyrus pressed his shoulder against the cold stone doorway, glaring at the Sun as it lazily seemingly melted into the land itself, dispersing its light among the world in a dazzling display of orange and pink.
The Decanus grunted, cursing at the quickness of the passing day. He could nigh hear the constant ticking of the death timer. His hand instinctively drifted into his pouch, rummaging around before latching upon a circular object. The metal slid free from its leathery confines. At the centre of the watch face, half-hidden by the ticking hand was a minuscule, rectangular indent. It read, "890."
The roman snorted and roughly shoved the doomsday counter back into its pitch-black prison. With a final glance at the empty, orange-coated sky, the man descended into the torch-lit cavern, closing the stone doors behind him.
With swift and decisive action, Cyrus sprinted through the countless rooms, braving the clouds of dust and smoke and the treacherous sticks barring his legs. His breaths were even and unbothered, not a bead of sweat visible upon his pale face, gently caressed by the orange flames dancing all around him. Several minutes passed.
The roman arrived at the swirling blue gates, guarded by two sentries positioned on either side. Quickly saluting the two men, Cyrus plunged into the blue, silky liquid-like substance.
Piercing the veil of space and time, the roman was catapulted out of the other end, nigh-tripping on the rough concrete in his haste.
He quickly checked in with the 2nd-in-the-command, Shaylah, who after a brief exchange of words, shoved a leather pouch into his waiting hands. With a brief nod and a word of thanks, Cyrus rushed over to the staging area. His feet rapidly approached the podium.
His hands waved in the air. To a casual observer, one might mistake him for a madman having indulged in certain substances. Alas, it isn't true. If one pushes past the surface of visual inspection and proceeds into the realm of mana, the true intent is obvious. His mana, a mix of red and blue, washed over the entire cavern, inserting itself in the body of every soldier without a smidge of resistance.
As one, the soldiers wordlessly dropped all current activities and rushed northward, toward the parade ground. The ground trembled and groaned in bewilderment as the alien yet the regular sensation of two hundred and fifty caligulas pressing themselves into the stone occupied its mind. The tide of red and yellow washed over the white, triangular structures. All congregating in one location, the parading ground.
Cyrus skims over the heads of red and white, taking note of the 10 standards, each imprinted with a variation of the lightning bolt. His eyes continued on their inspection, seeking the target of the eagle and the main banners. A cold glint materialized in his eyes as his pupils scanned through the ranks of legionnaires. His hand unconsciously massaged the hilt of his gladius. His eyebrows furrowed. Born from concentration or frustration, one couldn't decipher.
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Yet the core of the issue was apparent. The two prized possessions of any legion or army, the eagle standard and the flag bearing the emblem of the Legion XXI, the Fulminata, were missing.
"Or rather, lost in the mad rush for the training ground," Cyrus muttered, reassuring himself.
After several minutes, the tide of soldiers ceased to a mere trickle. Then a few drops, some stragglers before ceasing entirely. Not a speck of red remained around the cavern except the area in front of the podium. Cyrus studied the forms of his troops. No weapons or armour, just their standard-issue linen shirts and their caligulaes.
He breathed a sigh of relief upon noticing the proud, golden eagle frozen in mid-flight and the thunderous lightning bolt upon a backdrop of blood a couple meters in front of the army.
The roman opened his mouth, yet once again, his speech was interrupted. In an almost turtle-like fashion, the decanus lowered his head. A heavy object grazed the hairs on his head. His hands instinctively snatched the offending assassin, preventing its escape to the floor below. Without glancing at the object, Cyrus rose back up. Swivelling around in a 180-degree turn, he faced Shaylah. After staring daggers at the officer for a couple of seconds, just enough to convey his disapproval, the roman rotated back.
After glancing back at the fairy-turned-assistant for any other tricks up her sleeve revealed at the last minute and finding none, Cyrus announced "Soldiers of the Reborn Roman Republic! For too long have your equipment been under the jurisdiction of the system! Now, with the power of magic at our disposal, no arrow or sword can penetrate our armour and no armour may resist our swords! FOR GLORY AND HONOUR!"
A roar echoed back, easily covering his own, erupting from the throats of the legionnaires.
Cyrus waited till the sound died down before continuing at a lower volume, "In your companies, approach the podium to receive your equipment."
The first group nearest to the podium rotated to the right and marched to the staircase. The roman gestured at the two soldiers standing behind him, who immediately grabbed the satchel from Cyrus's hands and marched to meet the group. After several minutes, the soldiers had been fully equipped, glistening from head to toe in....something that was not the Lorica Segmentata.
Cyrus, in an exaggerated slow motion, turned around. He glared at the dungeon fairy. Millions of invisible swords launched from his eyes simultaneously, aiming for the treacherous saboteur. And they missed, flying over her head as Shaylah bent double, bursting with suppressed giggles and laughter.
Shaking his head, Cyrus trudged off the platform, bypassing the legionnaires, no uh... His brain didn't have a word to match this...this hideous guise of armour.
Propping his head up in his hands, he solemnly headed for the nearby tent before having a quick change of heart, doing a U-turn and dashing back to the platform.
With his face inches from the legionnaire, Cyrus inspected the armour. He scanned over the headgear, an entire universe away from the roman design...oh wait.
The helmet spanned from the tip of the head to the bottom of the neck. Two slits for vision. And overall spherical shape with a slight ridge at the top like a fin. A strange mouth guard or something similar was located in front of the mouth.
A female voice called out, "That is the armet."
Cyrus grunted, "It'll do... But only this one regiment. A field test tomorrow to see how it holds up to our design."
His eyes quickly drifted down the armour piece, noting the round shoulder coverings, curved chest plate... But before Shaylah could explain the setup, a loud ding intruded into their thoughts.
DING!
[[2] Adven*%% [ERROR]] have entered the dungeon!]]
[Objective: Hold out till external aid arrives] [1 day 10 hours 0 minutes remaining...]
Oh oh...