Panta stood on the outer walls of Southtown looking out onto the grassland. To his right was Senator Cross, and to his left was Faction Leader Heckarock. Spread out in front and below them was a sea of humanity, numbering somewhere close to forty thousand.

Panta couldn't say the exact number for sure, as it didn't really matter right now with events still developing. However, he knew there was enough militia to form two over-strength legions, most of a Senatorial Guard legion acting as security, and enough camp workers to keep everything running smoothly. Or so it appeared from up here, reality was different.

While they had the numbers to form a shield wall to make any legion proud, they lacked leadership. Retired centurions within the remnants of Southtown weren't exactly uncommon, but there were far from enough to supply two legions, especially after the Collapse of Southtown, as the recent battle was coming to be called. However, that problem was easy enough to handle by promoting the more abundant retired optios, and while it would take some time for them to adjust, it was a passable compromise.

The various sub-tribunes and tribunes' positions that managed the majority of the bookkeeping were another matter entirely. Proper organization was the beating heart of any legion, and without it, everything would fall apart. Without a continuous supply of food and water, people couldn't fight. When they did fight, they needed medical supplies afterward. Before the battle, they needed shoes to get there, along with supplies to keep their gear properly maintained. None of which was readily available in large enough quantities.

What they did have needed to be gathered, accounted for, and dolled according to rank and seniority so the legion had a standard and no one felt unjustly persecuted. If that wasn't the case, or at least close enough that the men didn't notice or care, the discontent in the ranks would cause problems. But that was only one of many things that could generate discontent, and not the one Panta anticipated causing the most issues. Which brought everything to the main problem involving this entire situation. Money.

Right now, the common people are riled up. They wanted to fight back, and being in a legion was practically the only way to do that. Soon enough, the desire to feed their families and make a living will begin to supersede that transient desire. The longer peace lasts, even if everyone knows it's only temporary, the more likely everyone will start focusing on providing for their families. People are people, and they will tend to ignore the worst possible outcome until it is staring them in the face.

With Panta's position as Guardian of the North, managing the taxes for the Northern Provinces fell under his jurisdiction… technically. Like many things in life, it didn't exactly work out that way.

Right after Cross and Basetown were first established, the duties of managing the taxes of the Northwestern Province and Northeastern Province of the Republic, respectively, were passed off to the cities' ruling families. A scheme that was only possible as the Guardian of the time divided the single Northern Province into three: the Western, Northern, and Eastern Provinces. It was a measure that the Senate demanded to show the Guardian to whom he really answered.

It was the only practical solution, considering the number of troops, the distance between the cities, and the ever-present dangers of beastkin hoards and beast waves threatening them, which made it impossible for the Triad to effectively manage everything. Limitations that only became harsher as time went on.

At this point, the Triad's tax collection amounted to anything passing through and along the river, most of which came from the Cradle, along with some small villages to the south that were hardly worth mentioning. The Cradle is gone now, but even if it wasn't, shipping food, no matter its necessity, isn't the most profitable. Besides, most of that profit was sent off to the other northern fortress cities to help cover the cost of those legions, as they weren't exactly booming with thriving industries these days either.

The little that was left was barely enough to cover what taxes the Senate demanded, along with occasionally adding a fraction of a rainy day fund. A fund that, over the years, had to be dipped into more than once, sometimes for reasons that were less than honest, nearly emptying it out.

What Panta had access to was not enough to outfit and pay two legions. Maybe one, but then he wouldn't be able to feed them as prices for food shipped up the Rush continued to increase, nearly as much as the cost of weapons. A problem that was becoming more severe as the taxes were all but non-existent.

In the long term, Panta could be looking at more taxes and funding than he could dream of, but that would be years from now. At this moment, the Kin weren't making any concerted efforts to offer him food, and the trade was limited, as both sides were hesitant about what their futures would be.

Dumping fuel on the fire was Senator Cross, who expected legions to form without offering any kind of substantial, concrete support to make it happen. Though Panta wasn't sure if it was that he wouldn't help, so much as he couldn't. Either way, Senator Cross simply watched events unfold, and the Senate wouldn't do anything in time to matter, meaning Panta needed to flex his authority and create a third option.

"Are you here to show off your military might? While from up here, it is mildly impressive, I am aware that isn't the case close up. You cannot make civilians into warriors in a matter of weeks, even if they have prior experience." Heckarock said from his position to Panta's left.

"No," stated Panta, "I am here to ask you if you are willing to invest in our united future."

"Am I to assume this investment has to do with these legions?"

"Yes."

Without hesitation, the Kin replied, "I am not willing to put my support behind funding the development of two legions on our border. We may have common enemies and be on friendly terms, but I would lose all support if I were to suggest such a thing to my people."

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"I am not implying you fund the creation of two Olimpian legions. I am suggesting your people participate in the creation of two legions." Sweeping his arm out and gesturing to everything outside the walls, Panta continued, "As things stand, these legions won't be able to do much more than stand guard on the fortress walls. If I needed to defend the Triad, that wouldn't be so bad, but…"

"The purpose of these legions is to close the Gap." Senator Cross finished, his smile not as radiant as it had been, but still present as it seemed to be embedded into his wrinkled face at this point. "A task that two Senatorial Legions would be hard-pressed to accomplish. Which is a far step from what is laid out before us."

"I would have to agree with the sentiment," Panta said. "While I admire their dedication and spirit, these men are far from the standard of the Senatorial Guard. Most of them are too old, and the rest are still growing into their bodies. There are no knights, and only a handful of archers centuries. Spears with wooden points make up most of their weapons, which is not ideal against beastkin, and not just because of their quality. With their relentless charges, beastkins will always make it within arms' reach, making shield and gladius essential for close-quarter combat. Which is another problem, as their armor is also lacking."

"Quite the serious issues," Heckarock commented.

"Yes. But if some of your mages were in the back lines and perhaps some warriors in the front, I believe we would be capable of quite a lot. More than either of us could alone, in fact. If we can accomplish my vision, it would be quite the display of cooperation and unity."

Suddenly, the fox's easygoing smile vanished, and he spoke in a serious tone for the first time, "So you are willing to potentially compromise two Olimpian legions and make them unwilling to fight us while also sending them far to the west and out of our way… all for the small price of minimal magical support and gear?"

"…Yes," Panta answered, not thrown off in the slightest by the Kin's frankness, "That is essentially my offer. Though I would think it within reason that some gesture on your part is taken to ensure the continued well-being of our troops."

"Yes…" The foxkin said, an almost too wide smile stretching his face, "I believe we can come to an understanding."

**********

Justinian Fridgia rode at the head of a column of sixty-four of his family knights, and a line of mercenaries stretching out along the path winding its way up the third face of the Steps. Slightly over two thousand men and a handful of women who could compete in any dueling tournament within the Republic and have a good showing. On top of that, all of the mercenaries were a half step from becoming knights in their own right. It was a force that any legion would have to respect, though not one Justinian was proud to command.

Mercenaries held a weird position within the Republic. Justinian knew the case was different within the Imperium, but he didn't know the exact details, which also didn't matter. Within the Republic, a noble was any family that had a certain amount of land and managed to hold onto it for a three hundred years. How much land the territory comprised and whether you could get the vassalage of other nobles was what determined your level of nobility, topping out at city lords, who stood as the ruling families of provinces.

With the Republic's eternal wars with the beastkin and the Imperium, constant internal warring with legions would be a quick path to destruction. However, the problem still existed that nobles constantly sought to improve and expand their holdings, and not giving them the option of fighting wasn't a choice they would accept.

As a result, sanctioned duels were implemented to manage disputes and give opportunities to those ambitious, but they also ended up getting out of hand at the higher levels. Anyone within the Superior Tier had the raw power to flatten cities if they were competent and put their mind to it. Losing a single person of such a level was unacceptable to the Republic as a nation.

The fact of the matter was that an individual at such a level was the military equivalent of a thousand people at the Average Tier. More so if deployed correctly. If you just counted the orbs of energy available, it might not seem like the case, but the higher ranks had a weight and solidity to their actions and casting that counted for far more than the simple quantitative amount of psy available to them.

What made it worse was that there was a time those duels were all too common, as anyone at that level also more than likely already had substantial assets or were set to inherit them. When their interests started to be taken over by another, they would quickly resort to what they did best, mass destruction, taking the form of duels. It was simply unsustainable.

Into that gap came mercenaries. Tens of thousands of retired legionaries who were nearly at the level of knights and demanded a price in accordance with that fact. The different bands were paid to follow the commands of high nobles in highly regulated battles. After a certain number of dead, wounded, or any other objective the nobles agreed upon, the battle would be called in favor of one side or another.

Justinian and his forefathers before him hated the practice. Within the circles those of his rank traveled in, it was a commonly held belief that it saved lives, and he supposed it did. It saved the lives of nobles at the cost of commoners, but then again, when everything came crumbling down, it was the high nobles who stepped in to fix everything. But that still didn't negate the fact that mercenary battles were a waste of lives.

It was a point of pride that no one in the north had hired such people for over seven hundred years. Justinian had just done so. It was not for their normal purpose, but that mattered little. Even with all that to consider, he didn't give a shit.

His youngest brothers were dead. Their ancestral holdings were ruined, and tens of thousands of their people were butchered along with them. The last survivors of that catastrophe were holed up in Ironhold. A fortress town that was little more than an afterthought until this moment.

The only point of note of the place was that it was at the midpoint of a route through the northernmost section of the Weeping Mountains and the Steps. It was founded as an iron mine centuries ago, but that mine had long since run dry.

The only reason his family continued to maintain the place was that it served as a back entrance to Basetown, and it could be used when a horde was at the walls… or an escape path. Given the time it had existed, the place should have turned into a real town, but it was never able to do so due to the Steps aggravating feature of repairing themselves. Every road carved into the cliff faces of the Steps would gradually repair itself like the walls of old fortresses.

And now, it was the last remnant of his family's duty and honor. The creak of leather sounded as the young noble squeezed his reins, his emotions momentarily overcoming him. Blowing out a puff of air, he released his grip and relaxed his body. Now was not the time for anger. But it will come.

Looking up the next series of switchbacks leading up the last mile-tall escarpment of the Steps, the noble felt impatient but contained the emotion. After this, and a few more days of travel along the plateau, Justinian would be able to fulfill his promise to his father before he left for the Triad. He would protect the last remnants of their people in his absence.

No matter what came, he would not take a single step back, even if he had to fight all the beastkins alone.

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