The Eternal City, nearly a week later.
The war room was quiet save for the low crackle of the oil lamps and the rhythmic scratching of quills against paper.
Julius stood before the wide arched windows of his private strategy chamber, arms folded behind his back, eyes narrowed against the gentle glow of the midday sun.
Before him, hovering in the air like some ghostly map, was his System Interface — a lattice of gold-etched borders and pulsing markers that detailed the movements of his empire’s armies with divine precision.
At a glance, he could see it all.
The border walls along Carthaginia still held strong, no activity reported coming from the Principality as of yet.
The Iron Cavalry — his Iron Cavalry — had already reached the Germanian heartlands and had carved out their designated corridors as ordered.
Small skirmish reports flashed along the north-eastern frontier: ambushes sprung, Francian scouts wiped out, early supply lines burned.
He allowed himself the ghost of a smile.
Elheat had wasted no time.
Every move the cavalry made was a stroke across the continent — painting the battlefield long before the true war even began.
The blood was flowing as it should.
As he looked more towards his own lands
He could see that General haddin had already followed in Elheat’s wake mobilizing the first and second legions to cross over into Germania chasing after the iron legion.
Meanwhile the other legions here at the Eternal City were forming up and would be setting off towards the latest warfront before the day was out.
Julius exhaled through his nose.
The gears were turning.
The great machine of Romanus was in motion now — and it would not stop until the soil of Germania, Achae, and Francia itself ran red with their enemies’ blood.
He dragged the interface down to focus on the movements from the south.
Two more golden banners moved at a rapid pace from Greecia — bearing the emblems of Generals Haddin and Sabellus.
The two legions that had pacified the old Greecian territories were already underway, fast marching north along the rebuilt Imperial roads, leaving the empire behind and entering the Germanic forest lands.
Their target: the northern line.
To link up with Gallius and the northern Iron Cavalry.
To seal the hammer blow that would crush the Francian incursion at its neck, while they waited for the bulk of the Romanus armed forces to arrive upon which they would become the invaders and push the Francians back.
All of it was working.
And yet Julius’s brow furrowed as he watched the red markers appearing every so often on the screen — small clusters of enemy forces moving along Francian supply routes or as his forces encountered further scouting forces.
They had not yet realized what was happening.
The Francian nobles still believed they had months to press their advantage over the Germanian frontier before Romanus would react.
They did not yet know the full weight of what approached them.
Julius moved to his desk and pulled a fresh sheet of paper from a nearby stack, scrawling quick, precise orders:
To All Marching Legions:
- Maintain pace. Force march when possible.
- Foraging parties are permitted within Germania but maintain discipline among the tribes.
- Prioritize reaching the Iron Line established by the Iron Cavalry.
- Reinforce strongpoints as marked.
- Confirm loyalty of Germanian warbands before proceeding to direct engagements.
— In the Name of Romanus and Her Eternal Emperor.
He set the wax seal swiftly — the golden eagle of Romanus pressed into the cooling scarlet wax — and passed it to his steward for urgent dispatch.
The whole world must move in time now.
And upon ringing of a simple bell a runner came in took his order and ferried it out to be duplicated and provided to the various legion commanders before they set out.
The doors to his chamber creaked slightly open, and Serena entered.
Clad in a tailored military riding cloak trimmed with imperial purple, her hair tied back in a high braid, she looked every inch the Empress of War he had named her.
she asked simply, glancing at the map still floating in the air.
"They are doing better than even I expected."
Serena stepped beside him, folding her arms.
"The Iron Cavalry rides faster than rumours had stated. Our own navy is still days out from arriving to begin their raiding and harassment of the Acheaian and Francian coasts."
Julius gave a short, approving grunt.
"Soon our enemies will have only ashes."
He traced a finger along the system map, outlining a growing crescent of Romanus gold swallowing the Francian advance.
"This is only the beginning,"
"Soon the main body will arrive. The Iron Cavalry will have broken their lines. The Legions will have crushed their spirit."
Julius said, his voice cold and sure,
"we will break their crowns. One by one."
He looked out across the horizon once more.
The wind carried the faint scent of forge smoke and fresh parchment — the smell of an empire preparing for total war.
Outside, beyond the palace, the great horns of the city began to blow.
The Third Legion — the heart of the Romanus infantry — was setting forth at last, thousands of boots hammering the stones of the Sacred Way, the sun gleaming off polished shields and razor-sharp pilums.
Roman banners fluttered proudly, the gold eagle glinting above the iron tide.
They would not be the last.
Legion after legion would follow, a ceaseless tide that would cross the rivers of Germania like a flood sent by the gods themselves.
Julius watched for a long moment.
Then turned back to his desk.
There was still much to do.
He would not ride yet.
An emperor’s place was at the center of the web — until the moment came to strike with his own hand.
And when that moment arrived...
Gods and men alike would bear witness to the fury of a world reborn.