Tiberius strolled through the bustling camp, his hands clasped behind his back. At his side, Lucius kept pace with him, a slate held ready to jot down any notes or orders the Legatus might send his way.

His afternoon inspection of the camp was an important part of the day. If asked, Tiberius would explain that it was an opportunity to keep himself abreast of the Legion’s day-to-day operations and observe any problems that may otherwise go unnoticed. It also was a good show of leadership. Being seen among the men ensured that he did not become some faceless authority figure, one too far removed from their lives to deserve respect or consideration, aside from what his rank afforded.

All of that was true, of course. But also, it was a perfect excuse to stretch his legs and get some fresh air between meetings and reports and all of the other administrative work that he so often found himself saddled with. Because of that, he safeguarded his “camp inspection” time rather strictly.

As the pair made their way through the rows of tents, noting with approval their precise placements, Tiberius considered his recent conversation with the master blacksmith. He’d found other townspeople to train his men on leatherworking and tanning techniques of this world, though none as experienced in their crafts as the gruff smith seemed. It made him even more grateful that someone of Gareth’s talent somehow decided to retire to such a quaint, tiny town. He felt as if he had found a kindred spirit of sorts. Not exactly a peer or equal or anything along those lines. But someone who he could talk to. Someone who had enough life experience to relate to Tiberius himself.

As much as he loved his Legionnaires, he obviously recognized that there remained a distance between he and them—and not just one of rank. Most of his men weren’t anywhere close to his own age. In fact, Tiberius had about twenty years on all but a few of his oldest veterans, the ones that had dedicated their lives to a career of soldiering even more than himself.

When properly compared, he supposed they might have approximately equivalent amounts of time on campaign. Yet he had other duties and responsibilities to contend with. Most of his leave ended up filled with senate meetings and even more dangerous work—politics.

Tiberius shook his head ruefully. The only ones with some insight into that part of a Legion were the staff officers, many of whom were young and fresh. Few understood the struggles of getting out of bed when the rain made one’s joints ache—especially before a long march. The fact that officers usually rode on mounts made the disparity even more clear. Though that may not be the case for long. Until they’d managed to replace the horses they’d lost in coming to this place, everyone would need to march.

Fortunately, there had been no immediate need to make a quick march across any far distance yet. Though that may change soon.

“Lucius,” Tiberius said over his shoulder, “I need to inquire more deeply about the armor styles and capabilities of soldiers in Novara. Have someone ask Gareth or the bard about it.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide confirmed, his stylus quickly jotting down the note as they continued onward.

Tiberius’s gaze roved over the massive pavilion in the process of being erected to his left. Chunks of cut granite were being carted in as makeshift anvils, some of them already in use to hastily convert portable equipment into more permanent forge implements. Nearly a hundred forging stations would soon populate the space, ready for use by his Legion’s aspiring crafters as they honed their skills and learned from a more experienced master.

The men called out to each other as he walked past, pausing in their work to salute. The Legatus saluted back, motioning for them to continue on. The progress filled him with pride. When the call for students had gone out, he’d expected at least a few eager volunteers, seeing that each contubernium had men that could at least sharpen a blade or do some simple smithing work with basic of camp forges. Perhaps fifty, with their numbers rounded out by some willing conscripts. What he’d gotten instead was a veritable deluge of applicants.

In hindsight it made sense. Approximately eight hundred Legionnaires had taken the [Blacksmithing] skill according to the last census, after all. Still, the fervor with which those men competed for these spots surprised even him. It meant that his officers truly had the pick of the litter with regards to their trainees. And so, the selection process had winnowed down the applicants, and only those that the centurions felt were a good fit and could be spared from their other duties were accepted. They’d also instituted a rule capping participation at no more than two men from each century.

Perhaps the enthusiasm had to do with the System and its incentives. Even Tiberius had to admit that leveling skills was strangely attractive. It wasn’t something that he would center his entire life around, of course, but he did find himself putting more effort into the activities his skills related to. There was an element of efficiency to it, as skills allowed one to learn something much faster and with greater ease than usual. But part of it was also simply addictive. There was something satisfying about seeing those numbers increase day by day.

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He set the thought aside for the moment, inspecting the crafting pavilion one final time. There was an undercurrent of excitement among the would-be smiths, just as promised. The clang of hammers already echoed through the camp as men prepared themselves, the sound amplified now that they had gathered in one place rather than being spread out among the tents. Of course, those flames were sure to dim before long as everyone settled into their roles. But for now, Tiberius felt confident that Gareth would find that he’d well and truly fulfilled his promise.

Tiberius left the pavilion behind, letting the men focus on their preparations before the blacksmith arrived to inspect them. Seeing the scale of this venture served as a pointed reminder of one of his other priorities—securing a source of ore. Any kind of crafting or repairs would necessitate more raw materials, and most of the metal available to the Legion currently was used as valuable tools or weapons that couldn’t be scrapped. For the moment, they could make do with the materials found in town. But Gareth had made it quite clear that those stocks were already running low. They would need to secure additional sources for both this purpose and for the inevitable repairs and replacements that any well-equipped army required.

Fortunately, Gareth had also provided insights as to that particular problem. In addition to explaining much about blacksmithing in this world—which thankfully seemed similar to those Tiberius was familiar with—he’d also spoken about nearby iron mines that could remedy the issue. One such mine resided in the hills west of Habersville, among the grassy plains across the river.

Securing that mine was one of Tiberius’s top priorities. He’d already given orders to repair the bridge and had a temporary set of beams erected so that the men could begin scouting the location. Depending on what they found, he would mobilize the Legion.

The thought assuaged some of the restlessness he’d been feeling as of late. No longer would they remain stationary, building up the small town they’d established as a home base. Soon, they would begin to expand and conquer in the name of the Roman Empire. They would take the initiative. But before that, he needed to make sure his troops were ready.

Tiberius’s walk took him outside the walls and toward the camp’s training fields next. For now, they were relatively simple affairs. Little more than patches of cleared grass and dirt for the centuries to practice on. But further down, the beginnings of more complicated fields involving defensible points and fortifications were just beginning to take shape.

Already, rows upon rows of men were lined up and moving through the new drills that his Primus Pilus had devised after his latest expedition into the forest. Apparently, a lot of their skills worked for man-to-man fighting, but combating extremely powerful individuals or singular beasts required the development of new battle doctrine.

It was a project he had given the man leave to work on, and already Tiberius could see the beginnings of their progress. Quintus had requisitioned several large bulls from local farmers to act as these large monsters, setting them in the fields. With a bit of prodding, the soldiers learned how to brace against single strong impacts or maneuver into smaller groups when facing a larger enemy. The tactics weren’t entirely groundshaking, but then, they weren’t meant to be. The idea was to adapt their current methods rather than completely reinvent them.

Regardless, the Legion would take some time to adapt. It may take a month or two to bring his men to an acceptable standard in the new drills, even if the basic ideas would only take a few days to teach. Then again, with how much skills had changed things, perhaps it wouldn’t even take that long.

One thing that wouldn’t be ready in time for their first real campaign was the auxiliaries. They had accepted enough to form up two, maybe three centuries once the training process was done. But that was nowhere near enough to be a full complement to a legion. There simply weren’t enough able-bodied men in Habersville. Even if they adopted the local customs of allowing women to fight in battles, which Tiberius was wary of, they would still not have anywhere near enough to make a full auxiliary cohort—let alone one of archers or the complement of cavalry they also needed. That was without considering the equipment and mounts those groups would require.

Tiberius sighed inwardly. It all came back to resources. In order to truly be at their best, they would need to find and secure more of them. This first expedition to conquer the mines would be the first of many to come. He needed it to provide good information as to how difficult their conquest might be. The locals’ strength and willingness to fight. How they reacted to an invading force. How their current rulers reacted as well.

It was a risk to be so aggressive, but one they had to take given the declaration of war that had already preceded them. And in his experience, moving fast and hitting hard worked best for the perpetually outnumbered Legion. Already he felt the specter of unseen forces looming over them, threatening to strike before they had made enough preparations to properly fight back. Maintaining the initiative and pressing forward to improve their position was the best thing he could do. He needed to give his men the best chance he could at success. 𐍂ÃƝỌ𝖇ËS

Tiberius continued walking past the training fields and further into the camp. They were still learning about this new world. Based on everything he knew, their position was not nearly as untenable as his fears would have him believe. There may well be time to train some new recruits and perfect their new tactics before taking more drastic measures. But was he willing to take that risk? And if he was, where would they focus their efforts? Would they continue expanding into the plains, toward Novara and invoking their ire? Or would it be best to explore the forest, to try and carve out new resources there while they further fortified their stronghold?

There were pros and cons to both. Tiberius hadn’t fully decided yet. It would all depend on what sort of resistance they faced at the mines.

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