Romulus Augustus slumped into his chair, the dim light of the late afternoon casting long shadows across the study. The air was heavy, the echoes of the council’s arguments still ringing in his ears. One by one, his advisors had laid out their requests—each one compelling, each one urgent, and all of them impossible to fulfill. Infrastructure, military reforms, agriculture, the Church—each argument was sound, their logic undeniable. Yet the treasury was stretched thin, and until the next tax collection following the spring harvest, there was no more to give.
For the past two months, Romulus had focused on overhauling the empire’s tax system, a monumental effort that consumed every spare moment. It was not a solitary endeavor. Senator Quintus Marcellus had become an indispensable ally, his knowledge of the financial intricacies of the empire invaluable. The senator had warned from the start that any reform would require delicate compromises with entrenched interests, but his guidance had kept Romulus from making missteps that could alienate key powerbrokers.
Bishop Felix, too, had lent his support, albeit cautiously. The Church had much to gain from transparency and the rooting out of corruption—tangible benefits in terms of moral authority and influence. However, this support came at a price. Felix pressed for assurances that the Church’s exemptions and tithes would remain untouched, a concession Romulus reluctantly agreed to in exchange for public endorsement of the reforms.
Romulus ran his fingers through his hair, the weight of responsibility pressing down like the marble slabs of the Senate floor. His vision was clear: a simplified, progressive tax system that eased the burden on the poor and farmers while ensuring that the wealthy and landowners paid their fair share. But implementation was a labyrinthine nightmare. The system he sought to replace was a tangle of local levies, indirect taxes, and exemptions granted to the powerful. Rooting out corruption was proving even harder. Every attempt to investigate a dishonest curialis—the tax collectors of the empire—was met with resistance, obfuscation, or outright defiance. Bribery schemes ran so deep they seemed as old as Rome itself. Attempting to uproot them felt like trying to fell an ancient oak with bare hands.
A knock at the door snapped Romulus out of his thoughts. Andronikos entered, carrying a stack of scrolls, followed closely by Marcellus. Both men wore expressions of guarded concern.
“More reports?” Romulus asked, though he already knew the answer.
Andronikos nodded, setting the scrolls on the desk. “Yes, but some of it is promising. The grain harvest in the Po Valley is stronger than expected. This could replenish the stores in Ravenna and secure the grain dole for the year.”
Romulus allowed himself a brief moment of relief. “Finally, some good news.”
Marcellus spoke up. “It is good news, Caesar, but there are complications. Reports from Venetia and other regions indicate that some tax collectors are ignoring the exemptions granted to small farmers. They’ve demanded full payments, despite the reforms.”
Romulus’s fist clenched. “Corruption again. Always corruption.” He rose, pacing the length of the room. “What good are reforms if the governors and curiales treat them as suggestions?”
Marcellus cleared his throat. “We’ve known this would be the hardest battle to fight. The governors are entrenched, and the curiales are both their tools and their shields. However, the transparency measures we discussed might start turning the tide.”
Andronikos leaned forward. “Public registers of taxes owed and collected, displayed in every town square. Farmers and merchants would know exactly what they owe. It would make it harder for collectors to demand more.”
Romulus nodded. “And the audits? Have we begun recruiting auditors?”
“We have,” Marcellus replied, “though finding men who are both competent and independent of local politics is not easy. Still, the process is underway. The first teams could be deployed within months.”
Romulus returned to his chair, his mind racing. The transparency measures were crucial, but they were only part of the solution. Severe punishments for corrupt officials would be necessary, but he knew they had to be wielded judiciously. “If we begin enforcing penalties, it must be public and decisive. Let them see that the empire is serious about these reforms.”
“The Church could be an ally in this,” Andronikos suggested. “Bishop Felix has already shown interest in rooting out corruption. Public trials overseen by both imperial and ecclesiastical authorities could lend credibility.”
Romulus glanced at Marcellus, who nodded in agreement. “Felix would likely support such measures, provided we keep the Church’s exemptions intact.”
Romulus exhaled deeply, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Then we proceed. Begin drafting the edict for public tax registers. Deploy the first auditors to Venetia—make it clear that they act with my authority. As for punishments, I’ll need to discuss this with Felix. If we move forward, I want the Church at my side.”
Romulus leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the wooden armrest as his mind raced. The room grew quiet, save for the faint rustle of Andronikos’s scrolls. Marcellus, standing by the desk, adjusted his posture, his expression measured, his words careful.
“Caesar,” Marcellus began, his tone slow and deliberate, “if we are to send a clear message about corruption, we must start at the top. Problematic governors and officials who flout your authority—they cannot be allowed to remain unchecked.”
Romulus narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing where this was leading. “I agree, Senator. Their defiance not only undermines the reforms but threatens the stability of the entire empire.”
Marcellus inclined his head, his voice lowering. “Indeed. And for the worst offenders, their wealth could serve a better purpose. Seized and redistributed to loyal men—those who can be trusted to uphold the reforms.”
Romulus’s gaze sharpened. “Redistributed,” he echoed, his voice calm but probing. “To those who have proven their loyalty, you mean?”
Marcellus nodded, his expression betraying nothing but sincerity. “Exactly, Caesar. Men who are loyal to Rome—and to you—deserve to be rewarded. It would strengthen their resolve, ensure their commitment. And with such resources in the right hands, the reforms could take root more quickly.”
Romulus leaned back further in his chair, studying Marcellus. The senator’s logic was sound, but his subtle shift in tone hinted at self-interest. Romulus needed Marcellus—his knowledge, his connections—but he also needed to ensure that the senator’s ambition served the empire, not just himself.
“I see your point, Marcellus,” Romulus said, his tone measured. “Loyalty must be rewarded. But I wonder—how do we ensure that these rewards do not simply perpetuate the cycle of greed and corruption we are trying to break?”
Marcellus smiled faintly, his expression composed. “By choosing wisely, Caesar. Those who have already proven their integrity and dedication to the empire. Men with the vision to see beyond personal gain.”
Romulus let the words hang in the air for a moment before leaning forward, his hands clasped on the desk. “Let me be clear, Senator. Stability must come first. Wealth without order is nothing but chaos waiting to happen. If we invest in roads, security, and infrastructure, your estates—and those of every loyal Roman—will flourish. Prosperity follows stability, not the other way around.”
Marcellus’s brow furrowed slightly, and Romulus seized the moment. “Think of the markets along a repaired road, the farms that thrive under fair taxation, the cities that grow when their people feel safe. These are not abstract ideals; they are the foundation of real wealth. I need men like you to help me build that foundation, not just claim its fruits.”
Marcellus hesitated, his calculating mind weighing the emperor’s words. Finally, he inclined his head. “You make a compelling argument, Caesar. Prosperity through stability—it is a vision I can support.”
Romulus allowed a small smile, recognizing the subtle concession. “Good. Then let us proceed. We will address the corruption decisively, but the wealth seized from these officials will go toward strengthening the empire first. Roads, security, schools. Let the people see the fruits of reform and feel its benefits.”
Marcellus’s smile returned, a touch of ambition still flickering in his eyes. “A wise course, Caesar. And one that will cement your legacy—and Rome’s stability.”
Romulus nodded, satisfied for now. “Then let us see it done. Prepare the necessary steps for auditing the governors, but remember—our goal is not just punishment. It’s renewal.”
As Marcellus bowed slightly and left the room, Romulus leaned back once more, a faint sense of relief mingling with the tension that never fully left him. He knew Marcellus’s ambitions could not be eradicated, but perhaps, for now, they could be aligned with Rome’s needs.
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Romulus Augustus rode through the bustling streets of Ravenna, his personal guard flanking him as the afternoon sun bathed the city in golden light. The city, alive with merchants and craftsmen, seemed to reflect the cautious optimism that his reforms had begun to instill. Ahead lay the state-owned workshop, a cornerstone of his vision for a revitalized Rome. It had been two months since the workshop’s construction began, and this was his first opportunity to inspect its progress firsthand.
The facility loomed ahead, its high stone walls a clear sign of its importance. Positioned strategically near both the port and the river, it was designed to facilitate the efficient transport of raw materials and finished equipment. As Romulus approached, he noted the watchtowers at each corner, where guards stood vigilantly. The single entrance, a heavy wooden gate reinforced with iron bands, was flanked by soldiers who saluted crisply as the emperor arrived.
Inside, the workshop was a hive of controlled chaos. Workers hurriedly moved between partially constructed sections of the facility, some areas clearly unfinished, with scaffolding and makeshift barriers marking incomplete walls. The clang of hammers on anvils, the hiss of quenching iron, and the hum of saws cutting through wood filled the air. Teams of craftsmen worked tirelessly, though their movements revealed the pressure of meeting production quotas with limited resources. Standing just beyond the gate was Caius, one of this advisor, waiting to greet him.
“Caesar,” Caius said, bowing deeply as Romulus dismounted. “Welcome. It is an honor to show you what we’ve accomplished.”
Romulus gestured for him to rise, his youthful features marked by a seriousness that belied his age. “Lead the way, Caius. I want to see everything.”
Caius led him deeper into the compound, weaving through the organized chaos of the facility. The air grew hotter as they neared the foundry, where only a few furnaces glowed, their fiery light casting sharp contrasts against the shadowed walls. Workers poured molten iron into molds with practiced precision, but Caius pointed to areas where new furnaces were still being installed. “We’re working to expand capacity, Caesar,” he explained. “The molds are holding up well so far, though we’re keeping a close eye on them. Regular inspections help us catch any wear or defects before they compromise production.” When necessary, we replace them entirely to ensure the integrity of each cast piece remains flawless.”
Romulus nodded, his gaze fixed on a worker carefully extracting a newly formed pike tip, its surface glowing red-hot. The young emperor took a step back, feeling the radiating heat even from a distance, and turned to Caius. “Good. The equipment must not only be functional but dependable. A weak point in a single pike could cost lives in battle. Your vigilance is critical.”
Caius inclined his head respectfully. “We understand, Caesar. This is not merely forging weapons—it is ensuring the survival and strength of Rome’s forces.”
As they moved on, the heat gave way to the earthy smell of wood shavings. Workers in the woodworking area shaped pike shafts and crossbow stocks, their saws and planes creating a steady rhythm. Piles of ashwood planks were stacked neatly along one wall, ready to be transformed. Caius picked up a finished pike shaft, holding it out for Romulus to examine.
“This is ashwood,” Caius said. “Strong, flexible, and light. Perfect for pike shafts. Each one is cut and sanded to the same specifications, ensuring they fit seamlessly with the iron tips.”
Romulus nodded, noting the smooth finish and uniform size. “How many can you produce in a week?”
“At present, Caesar, we estimate producing around fifty pikes per week,” Caius replied. “Once the workshop is fully operational, we aim to meet the goal of three hundred pikes per month.”
They continued to the assembly area, where workers pieced together the components forged and crafted elsewhere. Rows of partially assembled pikes, crossbows, and stirrups were lined up along makeshift racks. Many of the pieces showed signs of rushed production, but their quality was steadily improving as workers adjusted to the new standards. Craftsmen fitted mechanisms to crossbows with meticulous care, their movements precise and deliberate.
“The crossbows were the most challenging to standardize,” Caius admitted, gesturing to a craftsman meticulously adjusting the tension of a crossbow’s mechanism. “Each part must align perfectly for the weapon to function. The trigger mechanism, the bow arms, the stock—even the smallest deviation can render it ineffective. To address this, we’ve developed measuring tools and templates to ensure consistency in every component. It’s a slow process, but it’s paying off.”
He picked up an unfinished stock, pointing out the precise grooves carved into the wood. “These grooves must match the bowstring’s tension perfectly, or it will snap under pressure. The craftsmen have adapted well, but the learning curve has been steep.”
Romulus watched as another worker attached a bow arm to the stock, his hands steady despite the intricate work. “This level of precision is impressive,” Romulus said, his tone thoughtful. “How do you ensure the workers maintain such accuracy over long hours?”
“Regular breaks and supervision,” Caius replied. “We’ve assigned experienced foremen to oversee each station, and they’re responsible for ensuring every piece meets the standard. It’s meticulous work, Caesar, but the results speak for themselves.”
Romulus watched a craftsman crank a crossbow mechanism to test its tension. “And the bolts? Are they uniform as well?”
“Every bolt is cut to the same length and tipped with carefully forged iron heads,” Caius said. “The soldiers will have no trouble fitting or firing them.”
The young emperor’s gaze shifted to a group of workers hammering metal plates into scale armor. Nearby, another team shaped curved shields, adding iron reinforcements along the edges. “The armor and shields—how are they progressing?”
Caius led him closer. “The scale armor is for the pikemen, designed to protect without restricting their movement,” he began, lifting a section of the overlapping iron plates for Romulus to inspect. The plates gleamed faintly, their edges meticulously aligned to allow for flexibility while maintaining robust protection. “Each piece is riveted carefully to ensure that no weak points compromise the defense. This design allows the soldiers to move freely in formation, pivoting and adjusting without gaps in their armor.”
He gestured toward a smith who was hammering out a new plate with rhythmic precision. “The iron is tempered to enhance its durability, Caesar. It can withstand direct strikes from most weapons without significant deformation. While it’s not impenetrable, it offers the best balance between protection and mobility.”
Romulus leaned in slightly, his young features thoughtful as he examined the piece. “And what about maintenance? Armor like this needs care to remain effective.”
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“Indeed, Caesar,” Caius agreed. “The soldiers are being trained to maintain their armor daily. Oil to prevent rust and simple tools to adjust or replace damaged plates are part of their kits. It’s an additional responsibility, but one that ensures their gear remains battle-ready.”
Caius then shifted his attention to a nearby stack of curved shields, gesturing for Romulus to follow. “The shields, crafted from reinforced wood and edged with iron, are equally crucial. The wood is treated with resins to resist moisture and warping, while the iron edges are designed to deflect blows without chipping.”
He picked one up, running his hand along its smooth surface. “Notice the curvature, Caesar. It’s designed to disperse the force of an impact, making it harder for enemy weapons to penetrate. The straps on the inner side are adjustable to fit a variety of arm sizes, ensuring every soldier can wield it effectively.”
Romulus nodded, reaching out to touch the polished wood. “These designs are meticulous, Caius. Have the soldiers reported any difficulties in adapting to the equipment?”
“None so far, Caesar,” Caius replied. “If anything, they’ve expressed confidence in the quality of the gear. Knowing their armor and shields won’t fail them in the field has already boosted morale.”
He placed the shield back among the stack and straightened. “This level of craftsmanship is what Rome deserves. Every piece is made not just to function, but to endure. The men will march into battle knowing they carry the best we can provide.”
Finally, Caius directed Romulus to the storage area, though it was clear this section was still under development. Crates were stacked haphazardly, some covered with canvas to protect them from the elements, as parts of the roof were yet to be completed. Workers moved carefully, loading carts with finished goods for transport. “This is where we store completed weapons and armor before distribution,” Caius said. “Right now, space is limited, but once construction is complete, we’ll have the capacity to handle significantly larger volumes. The proximity to the river and port ensures swift transportation even in our current state.”
Romulus lingered in the storage area, his gaze moving over the stacked crates and the workers bustling to load carts for transport. The air buzzed with purpose, but the faint creak of unfinished beams overhead and the chill of wind slipping through unsealed gaps reminded him of the facility’s incomplete state. He turned to Caius, his youthful face serious.
“Caius, you’ve shown me the strengths of this operation. But I need to know the difficulties. What challenges are we facing here?”
Caius exhaled, folding his hands behind his back. “Caesar, the challenges are many, as expected for a project of this scale. First, there’s the issue of raw materials. Iron and ashwood are transported from distant regions—Venetia, Dalmatia, even Gaul. While the river and port ease transportation, delays are frequent. Storms disrupt shipments, and bandit attacks along the overland routes are becoming a serious concern.”
Romulus frowned. “That’s troubling. What else?”
“Labor shortages, Caesar,” Caius continued. “We’ve recruited skilled craftsmen where we could, but many are already employed elsewhere. Those we’ve taken on are being pushed hard to meet quotas, and the pace of work risks causing burnout. Training less experienced workers is an option, but it slows production, and we still struggle to retain talent. Private workshops lure them away with higher wages.”
He gestured toward the partially constructed section of the workshop. “Construction delays are another problem. The masons and builders we need are scattered across the province, repairing aqueducts, roads, and homes destroyed in past conflicts. Without them, we can’t complete the additional furnaces or expand our storage.”
Caius paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “And finally, Caesar, there’s the matter of standardization. While it’s been effective, it creates dependency on precision tools and molds. Any flaw, even minor, can compromise an entire batch of equipment. Replacing or repairing these tools takes time and specialized skill—something we’re stretched thin on.”
Romulus listened intently, his mind racing through possible solutions. “You’ve given me much to consider, Caius. Let’s address these one by one. For raw materials, are there no closer sources we can utilize?”
“There are smaller deposits of iron in the Apennines,” Caius said, “but they lack the quality we need, and mining them would take time and investment. Ashwood supplies closer to Ravenna are limited. We could plant more, but it will take years for the trees to mature.”
Romulus nodded. “In the short term, we may need to allocate more soldiers to secure shipments. Perhaps a rotating guard detail from local garrisons. It’s not ideal, but we can’t afford disruptions.”
Caius nodded. “That would help, Caesar. But it will require coordination with the military commanders.”
“And labor?” Romulus asked, his tone thoughtful. “You mentioned private workshops—can we compete with them?”
“Not in pay alone,” Caius admitted. “But if we offered housing near the workshop or subsidized food for the workers’ families, it might be enough to retain them.”
Romulus’s expression brightened. “A housing initiative could also serve as a long-term investment for the city. Build modest but comfortable homes near the workshop, and the craftsmen will have a stake in staying.”
“That could work,” Caius agreed. “It would also allow us to attract skilled workers from outside Ravenna.”
“As for the construction delays,” Romulus continued, “could we redirect some masons from less critical projects? Or perhaps incentivize private builders to assist here?”
“We’ve already requested additional workers, but offering incentives might accelerate the process,” Caius said. “If we guarantee payment in grain or goods, it could free up labor.”
“Good. Make the arrangements and present me with a proposal.” Romulus shifted his focus. “Now, about the precision tools—how are we maintaining them?”
Caius hesitated. “We’ve trained a few craftsmen to specialize in their repair, but the tools themselves wear down quickly under constant use. Replacement is a challenge because they require the same level of precision as the equipment they produce.”
Romulus considered this. “Could we partner with other workshops to share the burden? Perhaps create a dedicated facility just for producing and maintaining these tools?”
“That’s an ambitious idea, Caesar,” Caius said, a flicker of admiration in his voice. “It would require significant investment but could solve the problem in the long term.”
“Ambition is necessary, Caius,” Romulus said firmly. “This workshop is not just about today’s needs but Rome’s future. Make no mistake—if this facility falters, it weakens the entire empire.”
Caius straightened, his demeanor resolute. “Understood, Caesar. We will not falter.”
Romulus glanced around the workshop one last time. The workers’ sweat and toil, the clanging of hammers, and the sparks flying from the forges all spoke of Rome’s enduring resilience. Yet every sound and sight also reminded him of the fragility of this progress.
“We will overcome these challenges,” Romulus said quietly, almost to himself. Then, turning back to Caius, he added, “Prepare a detailed report on all these issues and the proposed solutions.”
“As you command, Caesar,” Caius said, bowing deeply.
With that, Romulus departed, his mind already planning the next steps.
As Romulus Augustus left the workshop, his thoughts shifted to the training of the comitatenses—the professional soldiers who would form the backbone of his reformed army. He had heard reports of their efforts, but the lack of a dedicated training field within Ravenna had forced the troops to practice outside the city. This arrangement was far from ideal, but it was a necessary compromise until resources could be allocated to construct a proper facility.
The ride out of Ravenna was brisk, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the open fields. His personal guard, a unit of thirty seasoned men, rode alongside him. As they approached the training grounds, the sounds of shouted commands, clashing weapons, and pounding feet grew louder. The sight that greeted Romulus was both heartening and humbling.
Hundreds of soldiers moved in disciplined formations across the uneven terrain, their armor catching the sunlight. Officers barked orders as recruits drilled with pikes and shields, their movements stiff but determined. On another section of the field, crossbowmen practiced reloading and firing in unison, their bolts thudding into straw targets. Cavalry units thundered past on the far edge, their mounts kicking up clouds of dust as riders practiced maneuvers with lances and swords.
Lucius Varius, the head of the Palatini units around Ravenna and temporary military advisor in Gaius Severus's absence, was present but stood to the side, observing the cavalry intently. His interest in the stirrups, an innovation recently introduced to improve cavalry stability, had brought him to the training grounds today. He greeted Romulus with a respectful nod but allowed the leader of the comitatenses to deliver the formal report.
As Romulus Augustus left the workshop, his thoughts lingered on the reports he had received about the comitatenses—the seasoned soldiers who had been the backbone of Rome’s legions for years. They were veterans of countless battles, men who had marched across provinces and bled for the empire. Yet now they found themselves told that their experience and methods were no longer sufficient, all on the orders of a ten-year-old emperor.
The ride out of Ravenna was brisk, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the open fields. His personal guard, a unit of thirty seasoned Palatini, rode silently alongside him. As the training grounds came into view, the sounds of clashing metal, shouted commands, and pounding feet filled the air. Romulus dismounted near a hill overlooking the scene, his youthful face momentarily betraying a mix of nervousness and determination.
The field below was alive with activity, but it was clear to Romulus that something was amiss. Soldiers practiced the newly introduced pike-and-shield formations, but their movements were stiff, their ranks breaking more often than they held. The crossbowmen struggled with the precision demanded of their new weapons, and the cavalry’s maneuvers appeared halting, as if the riders were reluctant to abandon the tactics they had used for years. Despite their discipline, frustration hung thick in the air.
The man in charge, Centurion Marcus Flavianus, approached Romulus with a deliberate, heavy stride. Flavianus was an imposing figure, towering over most of his men, with shoulders broad enough to make his presence felt even in the chaos of the field. His weathered face was set in a grim expression, his tone barely concealing his frustration.
"Caesar," Flavianus began, his salute precise but his voice edged with bitterness, "welcome to the training grounds. I trust you're here to see the progress—or lack of it."
Romulus stiffened slightly but managed to keep his voice calm. "Centurion, I’ve come to understand the challenges you and your men face and to see how we can overcome them together."
Flavianus’s eyes narrowed. "Overcome them together? Caesar, with respect, these men have fought for Rome for years—some of them for decades. They’ve stood their ground against barbarians, foederati, and worse. And now they’re being told that everything they know is wrong. That their shields aren’t big enough, their formations aren’t tight enough, and their tactics aren’t modern enough. And this comes from a child who’s never so much as seen a battlefield."
Romulus felt the sting of Flavianus’s words, and for a moment, his composure faltered. The centurion’s towering frame, his bluntness, and the murmurs of soldiers who had paused their drills to watch made Romulus’s youth and inexperience seem all the more glaring. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but it was quickly replaced by a spark of anger.
"The changes are not arbitrary, Centurion," Romulus replied, his voice steadying. "They are necessary. The enemies we face today are not the same as those of decades past. Heavy cavalry charges, disciplined formations of foederati—we cannot fight them with outdated methods."
Flavianus’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his voice lowering but growing sharper. "Outdated methods? These 'outdated methods' have kept Rome alive through chaos and collapse. Do you think it’s easy for these men to unlearn everything they know? To fumble with new weapons, to break ranks because some new formation doesn’t account for the terrain? They’re not recruits, Caesar. They’re veterans. And they don’t need lessons in how to fight from someone who doesn’t know the weight of a sword."
The anger in Romulus flared, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He straightened, lifting his chin to meet Flavianus’s gaze. "I may not have carried a sword into battle, Centurion, but I carry the weight of Rome on my shoulders every day. These changes are not an insult to your men’s service—they are a necessity to ensure Rome’s survival. You speak of their sacrifices, and I honor them. But if they refuse to adapt, their sacrifices will be in vain."
Flavianus’s voice grew louder, his frustration spilling over. "And if these changes weaken them? If their confidence is broken because they’re told their best isn’t good enough? Do you know what that does to a soldier, Caesar? It makes him question everything—his training, his comrades, his commanders. And in the heat of battle, hesitation kills."
Romulus’s chest tightened, his youthful face flushing with a mix of fury and resolve. "Do not mistake me for a fool, Centurion. I know what is at stake. But hesitation also kills when men are not prepared for the realities of war today. You think I don’t understand the weight of what I’m asking? I do. I am asking them to trust me, to trust that this is the way forward. And I am asking the same of you."
For a moment, the two stared at each other, the tension between them palpable. The nearby soldiers watched in silence, their own frustrations mirrored in Flavianus’s outburst and their curiosity drawn to how the young emperor would respond.
"At least," Flavianus said at last, his voice dropping to a simmer but still brimming with barely contained emotion, "you’ve got the balls to stand here and argue with me instead of ordering my execution on the spot." His gaze flicked meaningfully to the emperor’s personal guard, who had edged closer, their hands hovering near their sword hilts, their expressions tense.
Romulus caught the look and raised a hand to his guards. "Stand down," he ordered sharply, his voice carrying a command far beyond his years. The guards exchanged glances but stepped back, their hands falling away from their weapons. The tension in the air shifted, but it did not vanish.
The young emperor turned his attention back to Flavianus, his voice deliberately calm and measured. "Centurion, we will continue this discussion civility. My intent is not to silence your concerns but to find common ground. Rome needs both of us—your experience and my vision—to survive."
Flavianus studied him for a moment, his features hard, his eyes searching Romulus’s face. "Fine," he said, his tone begrudging. "Let’s talk, Caesar. But don’t expect me to hold back. You’ll hear the truth, whether you like it or not."
"That is precisely what I expect," Romulus replied, folding his hands behind his back and gesturing for Flavianus to walk with him.
As they moved across the field, the distant clatter of weapons and shouted orders resumed, though the soldiers' eyes frequently flicked toward their emperor and their centurion. The two figures strode past lines of men struggling to adjust their tight pike formations, their movements stiff and mechanical.
"These formations," Flavianus began, pointing at a group of pikemen whose front line had just buckled, "are a far cry from what these men are used to. In the heat of battle, when they’re being charged by barbarian cavalry or swarmed by foederati, their instinct will be to form a testudo or fall back on shield walls. It’s muscle memory, Caesar, drilled into them through years of fighting."
Romulus nodded, watching as an officer barked corrections and forced the men to reset their lines. "And that muscle memory is invaluable in the right context, Centurion. But when the enemy evolves, so must we. A shield wall cannot hold against a disciplined wedge of armored cavalry. The pike-and-shield formation gives us reach and density against charges. Surely you see the logic?"
"The logic, yes," Flavianus said bluntly. "But theory is one thing, Caesar. Execution is another. Do you know how long it takes to make a formation like this second nature? Months, if not years. These men have fought through ambushes, sieges, and open fields. They’re not afraid of blood or death, but they are afraid of change—and for good reason."
Romulus stopped walking and turned to face Flavianus fully, the tension of their conversation building. The young emperor’s voice was steady, but there was a spark of emotion behind it.
"Centurion, I know what I’m asking is hard. I know I am asking these men to change everything they know about how to fight and what has kept them alive. But I ask it because we stand at the brink of collapse. The Rome they bled for—the Rome I dream of—is slipping away. Do you believe for a moment that I enjoy making demands that challenge their pride, their honor, and their instinct? I do not. But without this change, without this adaptation, Rome will not survive another generation."
Flavianus’s jaw tightened, but his eyes remained fixed on the boy emperor. The raw honesty in Romulus’s words seemed to pierce through his frustrations.
"You speak of dreams, Caesar," Flavianus said, his tone still gruff. "What is it you dream of, then? What are we fighting for, beyond survival?"
Romulus straightened, lifting his chin. "I dream of Rome as it was in the days of the legions. When our soldiers marched beneath the eagle, not with hesitation, but with pride and purpose. When the enemies of Rome trembled at the sight of our banners. This new formation, this strategy—it is not a rejection of their service. It is a bridge to reclaiming that glory. And I promise you this: if you train these men, if you transform this unit into the sharp edge of Rome’s spear, I will entrust you with something greater."
The young emperor took a step closer, lowering his voice but making sure it carried the weight of his conviction. "I will give you command of the next legion. You will march beneath your own eagle, Centurion, with men trained by your hand and loyal to your cause. You will make your ancestors proud, and your name will stand among Rome’s greatest. That is what I offer you. That is what I ask of you."
Flavianus stood still, the weight of Romulus’s words settling over him. For a moment, the grizzled centurion seemed stunned, his usual bluntness replaced by quiet contemplation. He glanced back at the soldiers on the training field, their struggles mirroring his own doubts. Slowly, his demeanor began to shift. The hard set of his jaw softened, and his sharp eyes took on a calculating look—not one of defiance, but of purpose.
From the edges of the training field, murmurs rippled through the ranks of soldiers who had been watching the exchange. Some looked to one another with raised brows, surprised by their centurion’s sudden change in tone. Others straightened their postures, sensing that something significant had just occurred. Flavianus’s presence had always been a cornerstone of their discipline, and the subtle shift in his demeanor—a newfound resolve—began to infect the men with a cautious sense of optimism.
"You’re serious," Flavianus said finally, his voice low. "A second legion, with its own eagle?"
"As serious as Rome’s survival," Romulus replied. "I do not offer this lightly. But Rome’s future demands bold action, and bold leadership."
Flavianus nodded slowly, his mind clearly working through the implications. For him, the promise of an eagle was more than a mere symbol; it was the heart of Roman pride, the embodiment of unity and strength. The thought of commanding a legion under its own aquila, marching beneath its golden wings, stirred something deep within—a sense of legacy, of belonging to the eternal Rome that once commanded the world.
"If that’s what’s at stake," Flavianus said, his tone quieter but carrying a new weight, "then I’ll stop asking why this won’t work and start figuring out how to make it work. But I’ll need more time, trainers, and support."
Romulus allowed a faint smile. "You are their leader, Centurion, and they will follow your example. We will get you what you need, but the fire that fuels this transformation must start here, with you."
Flavianus took a deep breath, his broad shoulders lifting and settling. He looked at the young emperor with something that approached respect. "You have a worthy vision, Caesar. I’ll give you that. And if you’re willing to trust me with it, I’ll see that these men become what you dream of."