B3 Chapter 2: Lost and Found

Marcus pumped his legs to the absolute limits as he sprinted toward the cloud of dust on the horizon. Based on the few brief questions he'd asked on his way out of Hausten, it seemed that the Legion had only recently mustered their forces to march on Novara's capital. Still, given the speed that their marching skills allowed them to travel at, even a small head start was liable to leave the [Royal Bard] in the dust. Even if his own [Running] was nothing to shake a stick at.

Yet to his astonishment, catching up to the army as they marched didn't take nearly as long as he'd feared. He didn't even have to wait for them to make camp—he was making up ground as they moved.

It was only a few hours later that he discovered why. Rather than the red and gold forms of Legionnaires, the first thing he set his eyes on was a sea of armored elves clad in shades of the forest. The columns of pointy-eared men moved in unison with the lithe grace that one would expect of their kind. Yet they didn't move nearly as fast as Marcus might have expected. They moved fast, to be sure, but they clearly lacked any sort of marching-related skill like the Legionnaires ahead of them had. Though the Romans did seem to have slowed their own advance to accommodate.

As Marcus adjusted his path to follow the army, he noticed something else as well. It felt somehow easier to follow along behind the mass of soldiers than to run on his own. It was as though there was a tailwind at his back that urged him on. And the path itself…

He looked down at his feet and frowned. Just like the last time he'd marched with a group of Legionnaires, they left quite a distinct path in their wake. The dirt behind them had been trodden down until it formed a well-packed dirt trail. Which made some amount of sense until one realized that it was all dirt. There was no trace of the grasses or any other vegetation that should have been trampled underfoot.

Marcus took a moment to check behind him. The path stretched on for a few hundred feet before, inexplicably, disappearing back into perfectly normal grassy plains. As though the pristine path hadn't even been there in the first place.

He blinked and shook his head. One more oddity to look into later.

Marcus redoubled his efforts to sprint past the line of marching elves. Their aloof, steely expressions and the unwavering set of their eyes on the path ahead made it clear they had no desire to talk. These were professionals, beautiful in their stoicism and unwilling to abide any distractions. The Legion, however, were a different story.

"Is that the bard I see?"

"Hey! Marcus!"

"About time you showed up! What kept you? I was starting to think that some woman had finally managed to tie you down for good!"

"And I thought… that you lot were trying to… sneak off without me noticing." He tried to muster a retort between panting breaths. "Or is there some other reason you ran off like lovers after an ill-advised tryst?"

"Ran off? This is merely a casual stroll, friend. It hardly feels like we're marching at all." A familiar voice called over. "Luckily for you. You look as though even this pace is set to make you keel over."

"Ah! Cassius!" Marcus grinned. The shout turned more than a few heads in Marcus's direction. Evidently, there was no shortage of Legionnaires by that name among the group.

His fellow theatrically-inclined friend returned the grin as Marcus fell into step next to him, slowing his pace to a quick jog. "Cassius, my good man. It's been a while."

"I'll say. It seems as though you've been too busy to visit our cookfire as of late. A pity, I have a few stories I've been meaning to run by you."

Cassius was one of the few Legionnaires who truly seemed to appreciate the arts as Marcus did. For that reason, the [Royal Bard] had been more than happy to provide feedback and advice to his more militant counterpart, in exchange for tellings of some of Rome's own stories. Of course, such conversations had been lacking recently between how busy each man had been. But perhaps this was a good opportunity to catch up on a few things.

Marcus took a moment to recover his breath before answering, appreciating the fact that he was able to find a familiar face this far back. "Ah, well, you know how it is. Legatus Tiberius has kept me busy. Or rather, should I say Emperor Tiberius?"

"Ah, you saw that as well." Cassius nodded sagely. "Right. It did say that it was a System-wide announcement."

"What exactly happened?" Marcus pressed. He'd known that the man had claimed the title of emperor before, of course. But for the System to not only confirm it with a class change, but one that deserved a global announcement… He'd never even heard of a mythical class before. Not outside of stories, of course. They were the realm of, well… myth. Obviously.

"Well, let me tell you…"

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

The man launched into quite the dramatic retelling of a scene from earlier in the day. How the elves had pledged fealty to Tiberius and Rome, Gaius's promotion to Legatus, the twin eruptions of light from their new allies and the emperor himself… It was all very cinematic. And frustrating.

As Cassius concluded his tale, Marcus could only curse and spit on the ground with frustration. "Gods damn it all. I swear, I take half a day to myself after a long time traveling and a job well done, and I miss something like that?!"

"The gods do indeed have a sense of humor." The Legionnaire chuckled. "Fortunately for you, I was paying attention. Perhaps I'd be willing to work with you to refine the tale?"

"Ugh, please." A jeer came from nearby. "So long as it makes it shorter. I swear your retelling took almost as long as the thing itself."

"You're certainly one to talk, Agrippa." Marcus retorted. "I don't think I've ever heard a man retell the same long-winded tale of losing at dice so many times. Truly, I thought you were practicing to be a bard yourself."

"I'm telling you, I was cheated!"

Marcus spent the next couple of hours getting every detail he could out of Cassius. They did end up with the beginnings of a ballad about the event, even among the constant heckling and unasked for feedback of the Legionnaires around them. But before long, it came time for the army to stop and make camp—albeit much earlier in the day than Marcus had expected.

By the time the rear part of the column arrived, the Legion's standard fortress of a camp was already nearing its completion. Tall walls of sharpened logs from who knows where stood behind deep trenches. Behind them, cookfires sent swirls of gray smoke into the air and heralded the coming of that precious resource for any soldier—food.

Marcus talked with Cassius for a while longer before bidding the man farewell. He then made his way through the camp and toward the command tent. Best to let Gaius and Tiberius know that he was here, just in case he was needed. Besides, perhaps if they weren't busy, he could get additional information about recent events.

Yet as he walked, he spotted movement outside the camp. There, atop one of the hills, a group of figures seemed to be gathering. Frowning, Marcus shaded his eyes and peered closer. Not just any figures. Cavalry. Hundreds of mounted fighters armed with spears and swords, each astride a horse of their own.

That made his eyebrows rise. Marcus immediately began looking around for the nearest centurion. He couldn't imagine that no one else had spotted the group. And yet no one seemed to be reacting to their presence.

"Excuse me!" Marcus jogged up to a brawny, athletic Legionnaire. The plume of his helmet indicated that he was indeed a centurion of some sort. The fact that his armor was of far finer make than he'd seen on any Roman so far only confirmed it.

The centurion turned to face him with a stoic frown, and Marcus found that he recognized the man. Quintus. The Primus Pilus of the Legion, the first centurion… and one that wasn't particularly well-disposed towards him. Still, like him or not, surely the man would not complain about a report that was for the good of his men.

Marcus pointed in the distance. "It seems that we have guests of some sort. Are they expected?"

Quintus raised an eyebrow at the bard's sudden appearance, then turned to follow his outstretched finger. The man nodded. "Ah. They are likely the troops of Duke Redcliffe."

"Redcliffe you say?" At that, Marcus broke out into a wide smile. "By your lack of concern, might I assume that they are counted as allies, then?"

The centurion grudgingly nodded, confirming Marcus's suspicions. He let out a light laugh. "Ah, wonderful! It seems that diplomacy was worthwhile after all!"

"In this case." Quintus admitted.

"Although…" Marcus peered again at the group. "Will they be really able to help?"

"Hmph. Given that we lack cavalry of any kind, even a few hundred of such forces can be exceedingly valuable. And my understanding is that these are not the totality of his men. Simply his personal guard."

"Ah, that's not what I meant." Marcus clarified. "It's less about their number. It's more about the fact that they're on horses. The last time I saw horses in this area…"

As if on cue, a pink dot appeared on the horizon and began to grow with alarming speed. A few Legionnaires stopped what they were doing to point it out, calling to their superiors in alarm. Yet despite the looming threat that they all knew was careening toward them, the camp maintained its order.

Interestingly, Quintus seemed relatively unperturbed by this as well. The centurion calmly turned toward a messenger. "Find the Grand Mage. Inform him to handle his… pet."

Marcus's eyes widened as the messenger flashed away. "Pardon me… did you say pet?"

Something blue and white streaked into the air from elsewhere in the camp. Marcus watched as it rushed to meet the dragon, whose not-so-distant form had been noticed by the increasingly nervous cavalry unit below. The massive pink creature began to dive, its scaly maw opening wide to reveal a yellow-orange glow within—

"RUFUS! No! Leave it!"

The words rang out across the plains like the crack of a magically-enhanced whip. Grand Mage Claude interposed himself between the dragon and its would-be prey below. It pulled up short, flaring its wings wide to halt its descent before flapping in place before the ancient wizard.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to eat people's horses, boy? It's impolite!"

The dragon's head visibly drooped in disappointment. A thin trail of smoke escaped its nostrils as it sent an almost pleading look toward the mage. Marcus's jaw fell open at the sight. He'd known that the Grand Mage was powerful, and he could maybe accept that such a man had made a dragon his pet. But this…

It was only a moment later that Claude led "Rufus" back down toward the outer perimeter of the Legion's camp. The dragon shot a longing look back toward the duke's calvary, only to be rewarded with a quick swat on its snout by the mage.

Marcus couldn't help himself. He had to see this thing up close.

As he rushed out the nearest exit to the camp, he found the Grand Mage standing beside his pet, scratching its brow ridges with obvious affection. The beast's tail lashed from side to side, plowing furrows in the earth nearly as deep as Marcus was tall.

"Good boy, Rufus! Oh, I've missed you so much…"

Marcus just stared.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.