Chapter 66: Armed and Dangerous

Quintus darted around the practice yard, his feet a blur across the hard-packed dirt below. His body pivoted and twisted with the fluidity of a dancer as his twin blades lashed out at the ring of practice dummies arrayed in a circle around him. Each strike sliced through their thick wooden bodies as though they were made of paper.

His bout in the colosseum had made the importance of skill training more clear than ever. As such, Quintus had spent every day since waking up even earlier than before for training. He’d allowed himself to slack off on it because of all his other duties, even though evolving new skills was among the most important things he could do for the Legion. Not the most important, of course. But if the Primus Pilus wasn’t doing his part in that area, then how could he expect his men to do the same?

Pivoting on one foot, Quintus activated both [Rend] and [Tear] at the same time. His slashes seemed to accelerate mid-swing, cutting deeper into the wood than his blades were long. A ripping sound tore through the air as the wind behind the blow shredded the wood around the gouges into splinters.

Evolving skills seemed to come only if he pushed himself and showed true mastery of them. But considering that he had yet to evolve a skill from Rare to Epic, he suspected that showing mastery wasn’t going to be enough. That was why he was experimenting with using them in different ways however he could. Using two swords at the same time to evolve [Swordsmastery] was his latest idea.

It wasn’t a particularly Roman style, nor was it one that he expected to use often outside of a colosseum bout. But it may help him perform even better the next time he stepped into the arena. Next time, he wouldn’t settle for a measly 87th place. He would come in prepared and crush his previous record.

After a few more rounds of practicing his footwork and combos both, he took a seat on a nearby stump to rest. It was at that very moment that he saw a messenger emerge from the nearby town and begin making a beeline towards him.

Quintus suppressed a groan. It was almost as though he’d been waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting centurion and drag him back into the bureaucracy that filled his days lately. Still, he’d gotten enough practice in that morning that he supposed he’d have to be satisfied.

“Primus Pilus, sir!” The messenger called as he drew near. “Urgent orders from Hausten, sir.”

Quintus rose to his feet as the man skidded to a stop before him and saluted. He accepted the envelope and cracked the wax seal with his gladius. As he read, he couldn’t keep a smile of relief from creeping onto his features. Finally. After what had felt like an eternity, the orders he’d been waiting for were finally here. He was leaving.

He looked up at the waiting messenger. “Gather the senior centurions,” he ordered. “We’ll be mobilizing soon.”

“Sir!”

The messenger sped off to do as he’d been ordered. Quintus followed not long after him. He had his own preparations to make if they were to move out. His orders had indicated that they’d be leaving one cohort behind to oversee the auxiliaries and construction, as well as maintain order in Habersville. But everyone else was to march to Hausten for a general muster of the Legion.

Walking quickly through the town, Quintus made his way toward old Habersville. If Tiberius was preparing for a campaign, this would probably be the last time he’d be here for a while. And that meant he had to tie up some loose ends while he had the chance.

The clanging of hammer against steel confirmed he was in the right place well before the building itself came into view. The two-story blacksmith’s shop no longer towered over its neighbors along the street due to all of the renovations. Yet it had clearly seen upgrades of its own. Fine columns of stone sat at the corners of its brick walls and rendered the place far more fireproof than it had been before. Black smoke poured out of a tall chimney at its top, while a small pipe diverted water from a nearby aqueduct to the house specifically.

The quality of the work was a step above any other building in the area. Between that and the colorful murals that decorated most surfaces, it was clear that the man was well-liked by the Legionnaires he worked with.

Quintus knocked on the door before entering, though he wasn’t certain whether the sound could even be heard above the din. Inside, a burly mountain of a man stooped over his anvil with hammer in hand. Blow after blow rained down on a sheet of flat metal whose purpose he couldn’t divine. Nearby, two Legionnaires wearing blacksmith’s aprons busied themselves with tending to the forge and polishing a piece of armor.

At his entry, Gareth straightened. The blacksmith wiped sweat and grime from his brow before nodding. “Ah. There you are, lad. I was expecting you.”

“Master blacksmith.” Quintus addressed the man respectfully. While the blacksmith wasn’t smiling, he certainly didn’t look as dour as he had the first time Quintus had seen the man. From the reports he’d seen, the man had proven quite satisfied with the diligence of the Legionnaires who learned under him. And while he’d finished the lessons he’d promised for the Legion as a whole, it hadn’t stopped him from taking a rotation of their most promising smiths into his shop to learn further—and subsequently teach their brothers.

“I’ve come to check up on those items I commissioned. Are they ready?”

Gareth snorted. “‘Are they ready’, he asks. ‘Course they’re ready. They were ready three days ago. I thought you’d forgotten about ‘em.”

Quintus couldn’t help but chuckle. The blacksmith had originally informed him that his order wouldn’t be ready until yesterday. “That was faster than anticipated.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Yeah, well, things went pretty fast once I got these two sluggards off their asses.” He jerked a thumb to the pair of Legionnaires behind him. Despite the words, Quintus could tell that the man was making a friendly jab rather than a legitimate complaint about the men’s work ethic. “Though I did need to overhaul things more than expected. The materials were good, but the craftsmanship… I practically had to melt some pieces down and start over.”

As he spoke, Gareth moved about his shop and began taking down pieces of armor. A banded chestplate of gleaming silvery metal came first, then a pair of matching armguards and greaves. The helmet came last, its design more similar to the Novaran style except for the red plume that had been added down its center. Each piece appeared simple at first glance, but a closer inspection revealed an astonishing level of artistry that went into the streamlined and practical presentation of the pieces.

It was scarcely recognizable as the man had warned, yet Quintus knew. These had been forged from the plate of Baron von Latimore himself. The man’s bulky and ornamented suit of armor would have been all but useless to Quintus, so he’d asked the master blacksmith to convert it into something more along the lines of his own. And the man had delivered.

Quintus smiled, appreciating the armor. This was something he could use. And despite hailing from Novara, Gareth had managed to create something that felt truly Roman.

“Just need to size it.” The blacksmith grunted. He gestured at Quintus. “Go on, strip.”

The centurion nodded and shucked off his current armor without question. Gareth moved with the help of the other Legionnaire apprentices and slid the armor onto him piece by piece. Quintus had worn banded armor of this style before and knew to be wary of it chafing. Yet the blacksmith had managed to include padding such that the armor felt actually comfortable. It was as though he were wearing a second skin instead of a complex rig of interweaved metal.

Once everything was all strapped up and the leather had been cut to size, Quintus tested the mobility of the armor. It hardly made a sound as the pieces glided across each other smoothly.

He was still admiring the work as Gareth pulled out his hammer. Flipping it in his hand so that he held onto the metal head, he nodded toward Quintus. “Good. Now stand still.”

Quintus eyed the hammer suspiciously, but did as he was told. The blacksmith reared back and swung the wooden shaft toward Quintus’s protected arm. The centurion prevented himself from dodging the blow, simply bracing instead.

The hammer haft bounced off with a hollow sound. He felt the force behind the blow, but it didn’t seem to transfer to his arm as completely as it should have. It merely stung rather than breaking the bone beneath.

Gareth nodded in approval. “Good. Seems like it’s working.”

Quintus gave the man a look. “Was that really necessary?”

He crossed his hairy arms. “If you wanna test your protection enchantments in live combat, be my guest.”

“What, do you lack confidence in your work?”

“There’s confidence then there’s foolishness. And I’m no fool, lad. I don’t take you for one, either. Now let me test the legs.”

After being assaulted a few more times by the gruff blacksmith with similar results, he appeared satisfied enough. Striding over to the counter, Gareth bent down to retrieve a handful of other items—common ones like pots and pans and flasks, albeit made with the same quality as the armor.

“And here’s the other trinkets you wanted.”

Quintus thanked the man and paid for everything. Gareth’s work was by no means cheap, and it stung to feel the lightness in his pouch after shelling out so much gold. But it was worth it.

After leaving the blacksmith behind, Quintus headed back to headquarters to meet with his centurions. On the way, he inspected his collection of goods. They were meant as rewards for the engineers and their efforts to improve the Legion’s siege weaponry. He’d been uncertain how much progress the men would make, but after seeing the results? He was more than satisfied.

Most of the new designs had more or less abandoned the idea of hurling stones. Instead, their innovations had focused on firing bolts and spikes of metal at speeds that Quintus could hardly even track. The majority utilized a combination of physics and skills to propel their payloads, though several incorporated some rather unique enchantments as well. One ballista-looking contraption glowed blue and could fire a slug of lead so hard that it could pierce through nearly three paces worth of granite.

Such power did come with drawbacks, of course. The downside was that the weapon took nearly half an hour to charge. But when one was talking about a potentially multi-day siege, half an hour was nothing.

There were also weapons that had iterated on the other end of the spectrum as well, prioritizing number of projectiles and firing rate over a single display of raw power. Some had taken inspiration from those repeating ballistae that were being developed and could fire wooden spears several times a second. Those had hit a bit of a snag with their projectiles beginning to splinter in flight, but there were even plans to use a similar mechanism for lead projectiles to compensate. Only if they found an appropriately rich source of the metal though. Otherwise, the cost would be prohibitive, even for just testing.

All in all, Quintus was quite pleased with the new capabilities of their army. He planned to bring some of the winning engines on their march to Hausten to show Tiberius. But before that, he’d need to reward the men.

He looked over the items again. Most of them were simple things, though lightweight and well-crafted enough to become family heirlooms. Others he’d requested minor enchantments for. Evidently, the parts of Stonester’s mines that had been previously inaccessible due to ghouls housed quite an impressive amount of ores that were useful for such things.

Quintus read over the descriptions Gareth had attached to each. There was a cookpot that would salt whatever was cooked inside of it, a shovel that would dig through stone as though it were mere sand, and a cooking skewer that would multiply itself as needed—to a point.

All of those were plenty useful. But Quintus had his eye on the grand prize.

A simple, innocuous-looking flask sat in his hand. It was small, not even a third of the size of the waterskins the men carried. But then, it didn’t need to be large. Not if it did what Gareth claimed.

Quintus read over the description again.

“Flask of the Drunkard. Creates more of any liquid put inside the flask at a relatively fast rate. Effect ends if the flask is emptied completely.”

The Primus Pilus smiled. He suspected that the winning Legionnaires would be quite pleased with their prize. And judging based of the name, the blacksmith knew exactly what the men would be using it for.

Stowing his haul away for now, Quintus continued on toward headquarters. His centurions were sure to be assembled by now. And while he did want to get these rewards handed out sooner rather than later, he had his priorities. The Legion would march by this afternoon.

He quickened his pace, the bright red plume of his helm seeming to almost glow in the morning sunlight.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep