The drums beat before dawn.

A steady rhythm — not the thunder of marching to war, but the slower cadence of assembly.

Across the sprawling camp of Romanus, legionnaires stirred from their tents, tightening cuirasses, buckling greaves, and lining up beneath their cohort standards.

The air was damp with the scent of wet grass and smoke from the watch-fires, and above the horizon, the first streaks of red painted the sky like a wound.

At the center of it all, Julius stood upon a raised wooden platform.

His cloak was plain crimson, his cuirass polished but unadorned.

No triumphal wreath, no golden laurel crown.

Today was not for glory.

Today was for law.

Sabellus called the legions to order.

From one end of the camp to the other, silence rippled like a blade being unsheathed.

Julius's voice carried, cold and hard as iron.

"Legionnaires of Romanus. The world has changed. Francia has broken the Concordat. Poison has touched the wells of soldiers and civilians alike. From this moment onward, war will no longer be fought as you were taught — shield to shield alone. There will be whispers. Daggers in the dark. And if we do not master this shadow-war, we will fall to it."

A murmur swept the ranks, quickly silenced by the bark of centurions.

Julius's eyes swept across the sea of helms.

"You are the sons of the Empire reborn. The heirs of a discipline that conquered continents. I tell you this now — discipline is what will save you. Not rage, not plunder, not cruelty. From this day forth, each cohort will act not only as soldiers but as sentries. Patrols shall comb every village, every road, every aqueduct. Any suspicious act, any hint of treachery, is to be answered with immediate arrest. If guilt is proven—"

His hand cut the air like a sword.

"—execution. Without exception. For poison kills not only the body, but the bond between peoples. And we will not let fear unmake Romanus."

The soldiers shifted uneasily.

Execution without trial was harsh, even for Romanus.

But none dared question their emperor, since they all knew, to harm his people, his soldiers was like harming himself.

Julius continued.

"You are to understand: even without the Concordat, the rules of Romanus remain. There will be no looting. No burning of homes. No pillage. No taking of unwilling women or children. If one among you disobeys, his punishment will be death. Do not think me merciful or cruel. Think me exact. For when our enemies give themselves to chaos, we must be the wall against it, the force bringing order back to choas."

The words cut deep, harsher than any campaign law before.

But they also struck a strange kind of pride.

To be Romanus meant not to be beast, they were men first and foremost, who cares if the world decided to fight as beasts if the men of Romanus won, it would further prove to the world that, Romanus needed not tricks to have the right to rule over all.

Then Julius raised his hand again, and his tone shifted, lower now, though still cutting.

"I know you are men of flesh and blood. And flesh tires. Flesh aches. Desire gnaws at the heart as hunger gnaws at the belly. Therefore, I shall not tempt you to sin against our rules. From the treasury of Rome, courtesans shall be employed, loyal to Romanus, trained and guarded. They will serve you in your camps, and in them you will find your relief. Not from peasants who may be enemy agents, but from men, and women under imperial sanction. In this way, order will remain."

A ripple of disbelief passed through the ranks — quickly shifting into cheers.

Some laughed in relief, others smirked knowingly.

The centurions cracked discipline back into them, but the men's spirits rose.

The Emperor had found a way to give them release without surrendering to chaos.

Julius let the noise die before he spoke again.

"Do not mistake my mercy for softness. If any man dares break Romanus's law, not even I will shield him. You are soldiers of an empire reborn. You will show the world that even when the Concordat is dust, Romanus stands taller than the shadows. You will be sharper than Francia's daggers, stronger than Germania's wolves, colder than the Slavs' winter. And you will endure. Do you hear me?"

The roar came back like thunder.

"ROMANUS ENDURES!"

The chant rolled across the camp, echoing against hills and trees until even the ravens startled from the branches.

Julius stepped down from the platform, face unreadable.

Only Sabellus, at his side, caught the faint shadow in his Emperor's eyes.

Julius knew what he had ordered was not merely reform.

It was transformation.

The legions would no longer be just an army.

They would become Rome's shield in the night, an empire of watchmen as much as warriors.

That same evening, the reforms took flesh.

Cohorts broke into rotating patrols, their red standards no longer confined to open battlefields but carried into forests, villages, and alleys.

Soldiers knocked on doors, inspected wells, and questioned strangers.

Arrests were swift — smugglers, suspected spies, and any who carried vials or powders without sanction.

Some were guilty.

Some were unlucky.

All were made examples.

By torchlight, the first executions were carried out.

Not with spectacle, but with efficiency.

A sword across the neck.

Bodies burned to prevent rumor of poison.

Fear spread as fast as obedience.

Locals, who once whispered of Romanus as occupier, now whispered of it as a conqueror — harsh but incorruptible, one that would not take any disloyal thoughts or actions lightly so long as they remained rulers of these lands.

The courtesans arrived days later, veiled in crimson and gold, escorted by tribunes.

Tents were erected under guard, their thresholds watched as tightly as an armory.

Soldiers entered with discipline, emerging quieter, calmer, their edge dulled just enough to keep order intact, the assembled Imperial legion was close to 30,000 men and they had to be sated by no more than a few hundred women, and men everyone would not get their taste daily but it was enough, the soldiers had an outlet to release their stress, and this was not local to just the Imperial Legion, all across Francia, and Achae covered caravans delivered pleasure across the legions vast to secure their soldiers compliance with the existing rules of engagement.

It was strange, this new Romanus.

Stricter than ever, yet oddly merciful.

Harder, yet more controlled.

A machine of flesh and steel.

Sabellus reported to Julius after the first week while they preapred and trained for this new style of warfare.

"The legions adapt, Caesar. There is grumbling, but little disobedience. They know the price too well. And… the courtesans do their part. Fights in the ranks have lessened considerably."

"Good,"

Julius replied, though his gaze was fixed on the brazier before him.

The flames seemed smaller than they had once been.

Sabellus hesitated.

"Still, some ask how long we can hold this line. there are whispers that Germania will plunder our supply lines. Of Visigoth pulling forces to the Western border preparing to claim all we've taken these last few months. Not to mention Brittania still continues with its northern assault. With the Concordat broken, the old world is eroding faster than we can brace against it."

Julius's hand tightened around the relic at his belt.

"Then we will not brace,"

he said at last.

Sabellus frowned.

"We will master the storm. The Concordat is gone. Good. Let the world descend into shadow. We shall not follow — We shall lead. Where others fall into chaos, we will show the path. And when they are broken, they will look to us as the only pillar left unshaken."

Sabellus bowed, though unease lingered in his eyes.

The fire crackled.

Outside, the night echoed with the tramp of patrols, the barked orders of centurions, and the muffled laughter of men at ease.

Romanus was changing ever so slightly — not by conquest alone, but by law, by fear, by iron discipline forged into the marrow of every legionnaire.

Julius sat back, shadows long across his face.

The world had broken faith.

He would not.

If the Concordat was dead, then Romanus would become its replacement — harsher, colder, but unyielding.

A new covenant, not of treaties, but of iron.

And those who broke it would learn that even in shadow, Rome still cast the longest light.

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