The butcher's fury

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The fervor among the legionaries after the victory was palpable. As I moved through what remained of the Sundogs' camp, I saw many of my men celebrating, offering prayers to Mars and his son, Caesar, thanking them for granting such a decisive victory. The prayers were fervent, almost euphoric, as this battle had not only reaffirmed the Legion's power but had also settled old scores with the Sundogs.

Legionaries raised their bloodied weapons to the sky, shouting praises to the glory of Caesar. Some traced the symbols of Mars over the fallen bodies, honoring war as the path to transcendence. It was a common sight in the Legion: victory wasn't just a military fact, it was a divine manifestation, a reaffirmation of the destiny the Legion had embraced.

One of the few who wasn't caught up in the frenzy of celebration, however, was Lanius. I found him standing apart, staring at the horizon. His breathing was heavy, and though his mask, bearing the visage of Mars, hid his face, it was evident that the battle had left its mark on him. He was covered in blood, and at his feet lay several tribal bodies, their wounds bearing the brutal slashes of his sword.

I approached him cautiously. Lanius was a man who didn't know fatigue, but this battle, which had been personal for him, seemed to have affected him in a different way.

"The honor of Lord Caesar has been avenged," Lanius said without turning, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. He didn't need to turn to know it was me approaching—the heavy and distinctive sound of my power armor was unmistakable.

I stopped beside him, looking out over the battlefield from his perspective. The remains of the Sundogs' camp lay silent now, only disturbed by the distant sounds of legionaries securing prisoners and collecting equipment.

"It's been a bloody battle, but the legionaries have far outmatched the profligates," I said, glancing at the scattered bodies of the tribals who had fought to their last breath.

Lanius, still drenched in the blood of the fallen enemies, turned slightly toward me, his mask hiding his face but not the intensity of his gaze. This battle was not just a victory for the Legion—it was a chance to erase the failure of Paullus, a debt Lanius had been eager to settle. Lanius would not be another Paullus, and that weight seemed to be a constant burden on his shoulders.

"How are your men?" he finally asked, his deep voice carrying the authority of a seasoned warrior.

"Alive, Legate. Ready for whatever comes next," I responded, considering what lay ahead after this victory.

"Your mortars... they're a powerful weapon. They could serve Lord Caesar well in his conquests in the west," Lanius said, his tone contemplative, already thinking ahead to future campaigns.

I nodded, knowing the mortars had been crucial in this battle. We had decimated the Sundogs before they could even muster a proper counterattack, and that advantage hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Legate, they're at your disposal," I replied calmly. "We can produce more and even manufacture mortars capable of firing heavier rounds—120 mm or even 240 mm. However, those would require vehicles for transport, which wouldn't be as easy to manage on the battlefield. But if you order it, we can make it happen. Though I must warn you, they won't come cheap. It would mean shifting production away from the smaller mortars and adjusting the lines to accommodate heavy ammunition."

Lanius studied me in silence, weighing my words. I knew he was always interested in any tactical advantage, but he also understood the logistical challenges the Legion faced. Slaves and animals could only carry so much, and vehicles remained a limited resource.

"Understood, Legate," I affirmed with conviction. "The next shipment of light mortars will be dedicated to Lord Caesar's legion. I'll make the necessary preparations."

"Take your flying machine and inform Nicodemus to advance. There shouldn't be much resistance left in the profligates' cities. We need to seize control of the entire territory before Caesar's captives escape," Lanius commanded, his voice as severe and calculating as always. He paused, then added, "Speak with the decanus in charge of inventory and choose what you desire from the captured equipment. I'll assign more legionaries to your cohort. They'll be useful in the vanguard."

"At your command, Legate," I replied, hesitating for a moment before adding, "But I would like to make a request."

Lanius turned his masked face toward me, his silence heavy with evaluation. Finally, he spoke.

"Speak."

"I've noticed that much of the healing work is done by slave women, but their work is subpar. I request permission to train some legionaries in the art of healing. I don't mean using forbidden medicines, but improving their skills in basic operations and sutures. During the skirmishes, we had too many legionaries suffer infections or be crippled due to poor treatment. Much of what determines survival is how quickly someone is treated, and we can't always transport them back to camp in time to save them," I explained.

Lanius remained still, his gaze heavy, before finally nodding. "It's an unusual request, Gaius, but not without merit. The Legion can't afford to lose men to incompetent medical care. However, make no mistake—legionaries are warriors, not healers. If you think you can train them without weakening their combat spirit, go ahead. But remember, their skill with the sword and loyalty to Caesar come first. Healing is secondary."

I nodded, grateful he had granted my request. "Thank you, Legate. I won't fail you."

Lanius turned back to the horizon, ending the conversation. "Go now, Gaius. Inform Nicodemus and choose well from the inventory. Time is of the essence."

Without delay, I headed to the vertibird, knowing that time was crucial. The flight to Nicodemus' camp wouldn't take long, but it was vital he received Lanius' orders as soon as possible.

Upon arrival, Nicodemus' camp was bustling with activity, the legionaries keeping watch over the river crossings and securing strategic routes. The landing was smooth, and as soon as I stepped out of the vertibird, Nicodemus was already there, waiting for me.

"Centurion Gaius," he said, a rare light smile on his face, unusual for a man who normally maintained a stern expression.

"Nicodemus, I bring direct orders from Lanius. The Sundogs have been defeated, and now we must move quickly to take control of the towns before Caesar's captives escape. It's time to advance."

"Legionaries, break camp! We cross the river at once!" Nicodemus shouted to his men, with the same unwavering determination that had marked all our campaigns. The legionaries wasted no time, dismantling their tents, readying their weapons, and packing the essentials for the advance.

I stepped closer to him as we watched his men mobilize. "You didn't waste any time."

Nicodemus chuckled lightly. "You know how it is, Gaius. There's no time to waste when it comes to Lanius; he doesn't take inefficiency lightly. Tell me, how was the battle? Did your mortars deliver?"

I nodded, a smile of satisfaction crossing my face. "More than I expected. We positioned ourselves on the hill and rained fire down on their camp. The explosions tore through their vehicles. By the time the legionaries charged, there was little resistance. When we engaged in close combat, the profligates were already in ruins."

Nicodemus looked at me, impressed. "That must have been quite a sight. I've heard of your mortars, but seeing them in action must have been something worthy of the son of Mars."

"The same Lanius was impressed," I replied proudly. "Enough to ask me to increase production and send more weapons to the Legion, so Lord Caesar can use them in his campaign."

"Weapons worthy of Caesar himself, what envy. Your mortars will aid in Lord Caesar's conquests both east and west," Nicodemus said, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder of my power armor before heading off to guide his men across the river.

I, on the other hand, returned to the camp. I had in mind to take advantage of Lanius' offer and see what I could obtain from the cohort's storage: quality weapons like light or heavy machine guns, and maybe even an anti-material rifle if I was lucky.

Upon reaching the camp, I began searching through the captured equipment depots. Hours passed as I rummaged through crates and cabinets, looking for the most useful items for my centuria. Among the mix of deteriorated weapons and standard gear, I found a few gems: a heavy machine gun in good condition and two anti-material rifles that, with some repairs, could be lethal in the right hands.

I seized the opportunity and ordered the weapons to be taken to my tent. These resources couldn't be wasted; in future battles, this equipment would make all the difference.

While I was busy gathering equipment, I noticed something unusual: all of Lanius' centurions were pale. This could only mean one thing: Lanius was furious. I decided to find out what had happened, so I began talking to other legionaries, seeking information in every corner of the camp.

The truth quickly came to light. Many of the Sundogs' survivors had managed to reach their cities before us. In a final act of defiance, the profligates had forced the men of their tribes to kill the women and children to deny the Legion its most precious prize: slaves. This desperate act and destruction of what Lanius saw as "property of Caesar" had unleashed his wrath like never before.

What was most disturbing was how that fury manifested. Lanius moved through the camp with palpable tension, like a beast chained and ready to break free. Every step he took echoed with the intensity of his contained rage, and everyone in his path did their best to avoid meeting his eyes or getting too close.

Legionaries who had accompanied Lanius confirmed everything: when they reached the main towns, they were met with a scene few in the Legion had ever witnessed. The tribal men, weeping, with their hands stained by the blood of their own families, had committed the unthinkable to prevent their loved ones from falling into Legion slavery. It was an act of desperation, one that showed how far the profligates were willing to go to avoid the fate awaiting them under Caesar's yoke.

I barely had time to process it all before all the centurions were summoned to Lanius' tent. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, and each of us knew that the legate's fury was about to erupt. The silence in the tent was absolute. The only sound was the soft but constant hum of my power armor, while everyone present kept their eyes fixed on Lanius, waiting for his words.

Lanius stood before us, motionless, his mask of Mars hiding his face, making it impossible to see the fury surely burning within him. However, the weight of his silence was enough to make everyone feel the gravity of the situation. We knew that this failure, this challenge from the Sundogs, would not go unpunished.

Finally, Lanius broke the suffocating silence with a voice as cold as it was lethal: "This act of defiance by the profligates against Lord Caesar's property cannot go unpunished. They dared to kill the Legion's captives… they must pay with blood. All survivors of the battle, and anyone found in the territories that once belonged to the Sundogs, shall be crucified."

Seeing that Lanius had nothing more to say, I responded with a firm "At your command, Legate," bowing my head slightly in obedience. The silence of the tent weighed heavily on me as I left.

I headed to the area where we had left the prisoners, still chained and huddled together, their gazes distant,not knowing what awaited them. Lanius' decision was final, and there was no escape for them. Every one of those profligates was now a walking corpse.

I contacted my men by radio, and within minutes, everyone began moving. Lanius' order was clear, and there was no room for hesitation. We gathered all the wood we could find, improvising crosses. The survivors, still shackled, watched with curiosity as we worked.

The sound of hammers driving nails into wood echoed in the air, mingling with the screams of the prisoners. One by one, they were bound to the crosses. Some cried, others struggled, but all ended the same, their hands and feet nailed to the wooden posts.

The sun began to set on the horizon, and soon the shadows of the crosses would stretch across the ground like grim monuments to the Legion's relentless power.

This was repeated for days, an endless march of blood and nails. Our forces spread across the territories that once belonged to the Sundogs, and wherever we found a breathing soul, we were merciless. The prisoners, the few men who hadn't taken their own lives after what they'd done, were crucified without exception.

The news of what had happened in the villages spread quickly. In all corners of the tribal territories, men, in a desperate act, killed their own families to avoid them falling into Legion slavery. It was a direct challenge to Caesar's power, one we could not allow to spread. Every time we crucified one of them, it wasn't just punishment for what they had done, it was a warning to any other tribe that might think to follow their example.

We couldn't allow this act of defiance to be replicated in other regions under the Legion's control. Slavery wasn't just a punishment for the defeated; it was the engine that kept our forces moving, and if we let rebellion spread, we risked losing the pillar that supported our advance.

In two weeks, we had crucified fifteen thousand profligates. The landscape was left empty, desolate, every village turned into a forest of crosses. The lands that were once full of life now only echoed with suffering. The Legion had sent a clear message: there was no place for defiance, no mercy for those who dared destroy Caesar's property.

The stench of death filled the air, as the crosses rose like macabre monuments in all directions. These lands, now barren, would serve as a warning to any others who thought of standing against the Legion.