The tavern doors slammed open, and a wave of laughter, shouting, and music spilled out onto the street.
The Broken Helm was one of the rougher drinking holes in Rome—a place where mercenaries and off-duty legionaires mixed with workers and petty criminals.
He stepped inside and was immediately met with the scent of sweat, spilled ale, and cheap tobacco.
A group of young men were arm wrestling at a corner table, while a bard in the back played a lively tune on his lute.
Julius made his way to the bar and leaned against the worn wooden counter.
The bartender, a thick-armed man with a scar across his chin, gave him a once-over.
His gruff voice simply requesting the customers desire.
"Ale. Something strong."
Julius’s reply came without hesitation, showing he was like everyone else, here with a purpose, a purpose to drink.
The man grunted and filled a heavy clay mug, sliding it across the counter alcohol was still underdeveloped for the time being, mainly because Romanus has only existed for as long as it had, which mean most of the alcohol was imported from other kingdoms, or the swill produced in southern Lunan before its territory was annexed, that or the spoils of war sent back to the homeland by the victorious legions.
Julius took a sip, wincing slightly at the bitterness.
"Something like that, wanted to take in the sights a bit."
"You look like a soldier."
"Posture. The way you move. Seen enough veterans to know one when I see one. Plus only one of the legion bothers being polite in here."
The bartender leaned in slightly.
"You with the Praetorians?"
Julius shook his head.
The bartender straightened, grabbing another mug.
"Well, if you’re looking for work outside the army, I’ve heard those Praetorians are hiring, something about strengthening their ranks. They’re saying there’s good coin in it now, not like the old days when half the men were dogs of the nobles ready to stab their king in the back all because of a slight or whim."
Julius raised a brow.
"Aye. Since the Grand Duke... no I guess he’s a king now, took over, they’ve been offering real pay, real food. Even the training’s better—or so they say and proper training leads to real loyalty."
The bartender took a long sip of his own drink.
"Not that it matters much to men like me. I serve drinks, not Kings. But that being said, even someone as lowly as me is thankful for that young lad, he made the best of a bad situation and gave those of us who were about to lose our world hope, and then a second chance when he founded this place."
"Fair enough, from what I’ve seen he’s trying his best that for sure.."
At that moment, a group of men barged into the tavern, their uniforms unmistakable.
They wore the crimson and black of the Romanus army, their boots polished, their armour well-kept but not ostentatious.
One of them, a tall man with a thick beard, stepped up onto a chair and clapped his hands together.
he called over the noise, his voice booming loudly enough to cause all conversations to cease.
"You lot drink, you fight, you waste your coin on women who don’t even like you!"
The room erupted in laughter.
"Why not do all that while serving your Kingdom?"
Julius sipped his ale, watching as the recruiter continued.
"Romanus needs strong men! The pay is good, the food is hot, and the glory is yours for the taking! Join now, and you’ll be trained by the best—by the Praetorians themselves! First drink’s on us if you sign up!"
That got their attention.
A few men leaned forward, curious.
One of the young drinkers at the bar scoffed.
"And what if we don’t wanna fight some noble’s war?"
The recruiter grinned.
"Then you get to sit here, getting fat off stale beer, while the real men carve their names into history, getting to taste the best wines captured from the enemy nobles stores."
The tavern erupted in cheers and laughter.
Julius grinned to himself.
The recruiter was good—he knew how to appeal to pride, to ambition.
A few of the younger men were already moving toward the sign-up sheet being held out by the recruiting men, encouraged by their drinking companions to put their names down and enlist.
The army was growing, and the people were eager, eager to serve, eager to see where he could lead the nation in the coming years, and eager to be rewarded for their efforts.
Julius left the tavern late into the night, the buzz of ale warm in his chest.
He had seen what he needed to see.
The people drank well.
And most importantly—the people believed, not just in him... no they believed in their new nation one without a storied history or grand founding.
The new reforms completely shaking up how Bridget, Lunan, and Roserun operated now under his unified rule, all the while he had pushed, the training programs to produce a better class of solider, and the recruitment drives bringing together a fully formed professional force that was growing by the day and soon large enough to rival the empires of the age.
He wasn’t just forming an army, he wasn’t just shaping a nation...
He was forging an Empire.
As he walked through the streets, past the glow of lanterns casting shadows as he walked past, and the distant sound of laughter going on inside the homes and taverns he passed, he let himself smile.
Romanus would soon be ready.
And soon, the world would know it, and rue the fact they did not prevent this upstart nation from forming in the first place when they had the chance.