The cult of Vulcanus

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POV of Texan Worker

The constant hum of machines resonated throughout the room as we worked tirelessly to keep up with the production of weapons for Caesar's legionaries. They had been the ones responsible for liberating us from the oppressive yoke of the Republic of Rio Grande. The first days after liberation were chaotic, but there was a different air to breathe. Not too long ago, I had found myself begging in the streets, hopeless, thanks to those cursed robots that the businessmen from the Texan Arms Association had adopted so eagerly.

Those robots... tireless machines that never complained, never rested, never needed wages, and never made mistakes. How were we supposed to compete with them? The relentless pursuit of profit by the businessmen, in an ever-dwindling market, left many of us without work, trapped in a spiral of despair. The few remaining resources, the few arms contracts, were devoured by those emotionless machines.

But then, the Legion came. They arrived with their strict discipline, their calculating gaze, and their promise to restore order. It wasn't the kind of freedom many expected, but for those of us who had suffered in silence, it was enough. Under pressure from the Legion, the businessmen had no choice but to deactivate their robots. They dismantled them, recycled them for parts, and overnight, we had jobs again. At first, it was a slow change. The businessmen, who once ruled with impunity, had to adapt. What was once an abundance of labor became a palpable shortage.

Wages began to rise. I never thought I'd see such a drastic change in my life. In just a few months, the city regained a pulse it had long lost. However, everything had its price. We knew the new order under the Legion wasn't an altruistic favor. We were required to show discipline, dedication, and loyalty. What we did now was to feed a war far greater than we could imagine.

The corrupt Republic under President Guerra finally fell, and with its collapse, we were free to supply Caesar's Legion with all the weaponry they needed. Our leader, Todd Howitzer, skillfully negotiated a massive contract with the Legion. Since then, we've been producing a large portion of the infantry weapons the legionaries carry, along with artillery pieces, cannons that are mounted in the north and assembled on the tanks that now storm through Mexico.

The truth is, there's little to complain about under the Legion's rule. People talk about how the outskirts of the city are now the safest they've ever been. There are no monsters devouring men or our livestock, although I must admit, I've never seen that with my own eyes. The fact remains that, without the robots, work returned to us. Those businessmen who tried to continue using robots were punished brutally; they were crucified, and all their properties were auctioned off by the Legion. They made sure we all knew what happens when you defy the new order.

Food is now plentiful, thanks to the many tribes under the Legion's empire supplying us. If you had enough silver and gold coins, you could eat as much as you wanted. Compared to the times under the Republic, it's a luxury to have access to so much food without worries. And electricity, another major change, is cheaper than ever before. The same tribe that sells food on a large scale also provides electricity at ridiculously low prices. Keeping the house at a comfortable temperature is no longer a luxury; it's almost a necessity that everyone can afford.

The peace was something I deeply appreciated. After years of chaos, hunger, and despair, the stability that the Legion brought felt like a relief. Although I admit, on more than one occasion, I was tempted to join the urban legions, seduced by the promises of good pay, guaranteed food, and land at the end of long service, reality proved otherwise. I didn't meet the age requirement; I was already too old for the Legion, which preferred to recruit the young—those in their prime, with decades of life ahead of them.

One of my cousins, however, had better luck. He was sent to guard the Pecos lands, a seemingly peaceful task. From what I've heard from his family, his main job is ensuring no new beasts appear in the grazing areas. There are no glorious battles or great campaigns on his horizon, just the constant watch to ensure that the creatures that once terrorized our herds don't return. At least it's a safe job.

The only somewhat controversial change since the Legion's arrival has been the establishment of the cult of Mars, the god of war, at the Legion's request. At first, most people didn't pay much attention. Religion had never been a major part of our lives, but now, with temples erected in his honor and priests preaching about the greatness of war and sacrifice, things began to shift. Some viewed the cult as a mere formality, something the Legion imposed to strengthen its control. Others, however, started showing a worrying fervor, speaking of Mars as if he were the one guaranteeing our safety and prosperity.

What truly resonated among us workers and craftsmen was the cult of Vulcanus, another god Caesar allowed to be worshipped. Vulcanus, the god of blacksmiths and makers, saw our work as sacred. And it wasn't hard to understand why. Without us, the brave men of Mars, the god of war, would have to fight naked, and while they would do so to prove their loyalty to Caesar, we knew well that war was not just a matter of strength and valor. It was an effort that required many layers of support.

From the slaves and workers who ventured deep into the mines to collect the minerals, to the engineers and forgers who transformed those resources into weapons and ammunition, every link in the chain was essential. We, the ones who forged the weapons and kept the machines running, were as much a part of the war as those who wielded the swords on the battlefield. Vulcanus represented that truth. For many of us, there was no greater pride than knowing that our hands produced the tools that guaranteed the Legion's victory.

At the end of the day, those weapons, that ammunition, everything we produced with sweat and effort ended up in the hands of the legionaries. They, with their unwavering discipline and fierce loyalty to Caesar, were the ones who ensured our safety, our peace, and our stability. We knew that every sword, every rifle, every artillery piece that left our forges was a promise of protection. It was a guarantee that as long as the legionaries stood guard, we could continue living our lives in relative tranquility, though always under the shadow of war.

Vulcanus, with his hammer and forge, was a reminder that our work was not just labor, but devotion. Because without us, war simply wouldn't be possible. And in a world where war defined everything, that was enough to earn us a sacred place in the order Caesar had imposed.

Texas thrived under the Legion's rule, largely thanks to the close collaboration between the Arms Association and the strong ties that bound Legate Gaius to Todd Howitzer. The roads that had once been in ruins were now being repaired, new buildings were rapidly erected, and factories began to rise, producing the arsenal needed for the Legion's continued expansion. It was clear that the Legion's power wasn't just based on its military might but on its ability to organize and mobilize an efficient war economy.

Wages consistently trended upward. Even with the influx of workers from Mexico, the demand for labor was such that wages continued to rise. This was something unheard of for decades in our region. What stood out the most was how, despite the growth and the increasing population, the prices of food, electricity, and water remained stable. It was a radical change compared to the days of the Republic, where inflation and economic chaos were the norm.

It was a time of growth and stability. The Legion, through Gaius, ensured that everything ran like clockwork. Sometimes I wondered how long this prosperity would last, but for now, people were content. Cities were being reborn, factories roared with life, and the future seemed brighter than ever.

The only real problem in the area was the ban on alcohol. For some, it was intolerable. They risked the harsh penalties imposed by the Legion for consuming alcoholic beverages. The sale of poorly labeled or contraband liquor was common, and it wasn't unusual to see drunks crucified for breaking the strict laws. In every corner, you'd hear stories of people who had risked too much for a drink, only to end up hanging, displayed as a warning.

Personally, it didn't bother me. After years of misery, barely surviving, eating black bread or insects, and even drinking water of questionable origin, alcohol wasn't a priority. I didn't care if I could drink a can of beer or not. I didn't need it. It was one of the few restrictions the Legion imposed on me, and frankly, I wasn't going to complain about it.

Compared to everything we had gained, it wasn't worth making a fuss over something so small. Even taxes, which had felt like a constant burden during the Republic's time, were now lower. Since that damned Republic fell, life had improved significantly. If the prohibition of alcohol was the only price to pay for stability and progress, then it was a price I, and many others, were willing to pay without complaint. There were far more important things to enjoy.

I liked having a full stomach. I liked being able to drink water without wondering if I'd still be alive the next day. I appreciated not constantly thinking about how to make a living or where to find the next meal. I appreciated having a job that not only paid me enough to survive but allowed me to indulge in certain luxuries. Fans and air conditioning to endure the desert heat, all thanks to my work at a weapons factory.

This factory isn't just any structure; it's vital to the Legion, which is why it operates under the strictest security measures. It's not a place where unnecessary risks are taken. Everything is under control, every procedure carefully followed, every machine running with precision. We work to ensure that the Legion is always well-equipped, and in that process, we benefit too.

Before, I never would've imagined being able to enjoy such basic things as clean water on a hot day. But now, thanks to this stability and the Legion's control, those things are part of my daily life. I've stopped worrying about the essentials and started enjoying what once seemed impossible.

"True to Caesar."

Those words echoed in every corner of our city, in every factory, every guard post, and in every heart that had learned to see the world under the Legion's banner. For many, it was more than just a battle cry; it was a vow of loyalty, a promise of order and prosperity. And while some might see it as a chain, for me, it represented everything we had gained.

We had gone from misery and chaos, from begging for food or working for scraps, to having secure jobs, decent wages, and a stability we hadn't imagined in years. "True to Caesar" wasn't just an empty phrase; it was a reminder that the Legion had brought order that the corrupt Republic could never offer.

Every time I heard it, whether from a legionary or whispered among the citizens, I felt that loyalty to Caesar was what kept the machinery running. And while others might complain about the restrictions or prohibitions, I knew that the alternative—the life before the Legion—was much worse.

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