Being acknowledged as an official dungeon core is fantastic! No longer was there an aching pain in the back of his head while he worked! The world was his oyster and Cyrus was gonna gobble it all up!
Mob summoning is a mismatch of complexity and easiness. According to his book, only mini-bosses and bosses held intelligence but he had brushed it off as mere propaganda, a restraint to keep dungeon power at the minimum.
Generating a trooper from mana isn't too difficult but it was the intelligence aspect that halted the new dungeon core in its tracts.
All his test models were catastrophic failures, one was an unthinking, obedient idiot while the next went into a state of mindless rage, trying to attack and kill his creator the instant the creature laid eyes on Cyrus. This being the third trial, the roman had decided on a blend of willpower and medical science as his approach. Pushing mana in front of his person, the roman imagined a human and his mana accepted the vision, constructing a man. Midway through the process, Cyrus seized control of the magic particles and caved the top of the model's head inwards. Levitating the diagram next to his project, the Decanus mirrored the picture into the centre of the hollow cavity. Gazing at the fleshy walnut, the roman implanted the doctrine of Sacramentum Militare(Loyalty to the Emperor/Cyrus) and Gloria Exercitus (Glory to the Army/Discipline) in the brain. Satisfied with his intervention, the roman withdrew his presence and let mana take over once more. After a couple of minutes, the mob was complete.
Would you like to add [Intelligent Mob] modification to your catalogue?
Y/N
Cyrus puffed his incorporeal chest out with pride. To have the gods accept his new creation was a feat he could only dream of. He mentally tapped Y. Giddily, he shoved himself into his human body to greet his new trooper. His happiness shattered as he heard the meaty thud of a hand striking the chest and the words "I greet the Imperator!"
His whole being trembled. The last time he heard those words was just before his last battle, before he sent all his men to an early grave. Cyrus felt numb, his throat constricted and his heart plummeted to the ground. Lightheaded, he choked in a mouthful of oxygen. His vision turned cloudy, everything fell out of focus. His fingers grew weak, no longer able to hold up the scabbard. He heard a faraway clang of something hitting the ground. Cyrus dared not turn around lest his new soldier sees a sign of weakness. Weakness in the roman army meant death, execution or otherwise. Tears threatened to break free. He closed his eyes but they did nothing. The once-calming blackness had transformed into his last memory on Earth, the screams of men dying. The hopelessness in his officers' eyes as they looked at him for protection and aid. One by one, the officers turned to smoke, replaced by their stone-cold corpses, their never-blinking eyes brimmed with accusation. That image was swept away, replaced by the blood-stained battlefield, littered with piles of dead men. Their heads turned towards him in sync, all glaring at him with uttermost hatred. They opened their mouths, "Your overconfidence will be your undoing Publius." Their verbal scorpion bolts pierced the mental dam holding back his guilt. Over and over, the words echoed. Dozens of cracks appeared. His best friend's severed head appeared, "Your overconfidence will be your undoing Publius," spoken in that silly accent he always had. The dam broke. Guilt gushed through in a tsunami wave of sorrow and self-hatred. Rain fell from his eyes. Cyrus wept for the dead, for their misfortune, for the families who never saw their children again and for the potential honour and glory that were stripped from their corpses as their strength left them.
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Never again, he promised, never again.
The storm of emotions subsided, replaced a sense of peace, like the rain clouds parting to reveal the sunlight. Conjuring an undershirt as a makeshift tissue, he wiped his face dry. His senses returned to him, the world becoming clear once more. He turned around, greeted by the words "Sir! Are you alright?" Managing half a smile, he nodded, "Let's get some more of your brethren shall we?"
A few hours pass by with the dungeon core summoning more and more troops to join his cause. Summon, apply modification, rest. Summon, apply, rest. Summon, mod, rest. The cap of 20 was nearing. The innermost chamber was filled to the brim, packed with moving bodies. Only after the final soldier saluted, uttered the phrase, "I greet the Imperator," and walked off to join his comrade did Cyrus finally turn around. The sight wasn't pretty.
Two naked men were standing at the centre of a ring made up of more naked men, having a fistfight. The crowd cheered and jeered as the two warriors drove their fists into each other's stomachs, unaware of their commander's stern gaze. Blood trails were splattered all over the makeshift arena yet no wounded men were to be seen, no cries of pain nor signs of corpses. Cyrus merely shook his head and sighed, "some things never change, even across universes." The Decanus cleared his throat.
Moving the same way as firemen reacting to the alarm, the men scrambled from their positions and rapidly formed two ranks in two separate columns, ready to be addressed. Impressive, Cyrus thought, they weren't too shabby but could do with some polishing.
Stepping forward, Cyrus took a deep breath, calming his rapid heartbeat. Inhale. Exhale. "You men are the beginning, the foundation, the rebirth of a great empire! The journey to greatness is filled with uncertainty and danger but none will stand in our way! Some of you will not see the end but I promise you! Your sacrifice will not be in vain! FOR HONOUR! FOR THE ROMAN REPUBLIC! GLORIA EXERCITUS!
The men responded, the words Gloria Exercitus echoed from twenty strong voices, shaking the heaven and earth. As the chant reached a crescendo, a strong sense of nationalism fell upon his heart. His vision was tinged with red yet his muscles felt stronger and his steps lighter. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.
You are under the effect of [GLORIA EXERCITUS]! +25% stat boost for 10 minutes & + 100% morale & -50% intelligence-based stats
The Roman Republic is reborn anew.
It was time for training to begin.