For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion

The usually bustling activity of the camp slowed to a more sedate pace as Twilight's dim embrace fell over it. Night joined them shortly after, her thick blanket studded by the orderly pinpricks of firelight that slowly sprouted into existence as Legionnaires gathered among their tents. From afar, the regularly spaced campfires almost seemed to mirror the gridlike arrangement of the stars above. Gentle curls of smoke and companionable conversation drifted skyward as they settled in for an evening of rest.

Gathered around one of those campfires sat a slightly larger group than the rest. Their armored plates and helmets lay nearby, discarded for the moment but ready to be recovered at a moment's notice. They leaned forward with rapt attention from their perches atop stumps and small camp chairs.

Marcus sat alongside them, resting his chin on one hand. For once, the bard found himself in the rare position of an audience member rather than a performer. That honor belonged to Cassius. The man's dark eyes scanned the circle of his comrades, ensuring he had their full attention before opening his mouth.

"Gather round and listen well. For many of us have lived and breathed the legacy of Rome. But how many recall the story of its founding?"

The men leaned forward a little further as the stout man began his tale. Marcus had finally found the time to stay late around the fire and listen to the stories of the Romans. It wasn't just a matter of fulfilling his own personal curiosity, either. It also served as a great opportunity for him to learn about their culture as well.

Over the recent days he'd spent no small amount of time reading through the leatherbound tome that had once held the Rites for the Summoning of a Roman Legion spell. Unfortunately, its contents appeared just as dusty and dry as its pages. Treatises on philosophy and historical records clearly written by someone with no eye for storytelling made the text feel more like reading a clerk's legalese than anything remotely interesting—even despite Marcus's rather immediate and direct interest in learning about these men. He had managed to retain some basic facts about the faraway country that these men seemed to hail from, but things like their values and attitudes remained frustratingly obtuse.

Of course, Marcus had always learned better from practical experience than from tomes and study. His interactions with the Roman Legionnaires had imparted more knowledge to him than a book could ever hope to. And given that stories were his trade, he felt confident that their legends and folk tales would offer the same. People often underestimated how much those could impart about a culture and its ideals, even simple ones.

This particular story was that of Romulus and Remus, the two brothers who founded Rome—or so he had been told. He knew that Rome was the name of the country the Legion hailed from. But where that was, or how important a role it held among its neighbors, was still something he had yet to figure out. The way the men talked about it made the place seem like the center of the world, the pinnacle of civilization, but Marcus knew better than to take such impressions at their word. Still, any verification one way or the other may well be impossible, given that the place certainly existed in a different world.

Cassius raised his hands, gesturing dramatically. "Nearly a thousand years ago, before even the greatest of our ancestors were but a twinkle in their great-grandparents' eyes, there were born two brothers. Romulus and Remus. Alba Longa was the place where they were born, though neither would call it their home. Yet though we celebrate them now, these two brothers were not meant to be born. No, their birth was forbidden—illegal, downright heretical.

"Now, this was no issue. Ilia was a priestess of Vesta, goddess of the hearth, and sworn to chastity for thirty years—though that didn't stop men from admiring her beauty." Cassius shared a grin with his audience. "Despite her vows, many a suitor came to call upon her and vie for her hand. She refused them all. Indeed, she tended the hearth and the sacred groves of the various gods, hiding behind her duties in order to protect herself from breaking her pact."

Cassius shook his head sadly, a wistful smile crossing his expression. "But the gods care little for the rules and wills of mortal men. That, we know as well as anyone." A chorus of chuckles rose up in answer. "And as it turned out, the priestess of Vesta was fine enough to attract even their attentions.

"One day, while tending the sacred grove of Mars, Ilia came upon a wondrous sight. The god of war himself, his divine form descended to bless her with children—quite vigorously, I would imagine." Another round of chuckles and jeers rose up at that. "The priestess soon bore two twin boys. Yet rather than joy, the children's birth spelled doom for them all.

"Seeing the possible threat to his rule, her uncle ordered the infants to be killed. The two babes were seized and abandoned on the bank of the Tiber River to die. But rather than perishing, the pair were saved by none other than Tiberinus himself."

Marcus frowned. So far, the story was going well. The setup felt appropriately easy to follow and kept a serious tone appropriate to a legend or epic, rather than something more jovial or comical. Cassius had even done a good job of ensuring that the characters were clearly defined, even for someone unfamiliar with the culture like Marcus. But Tiberinus was the first character to break that trend.

Cassius glanced over, seeming to sense Marcus's confusion. To his credit, he seemed to catch his mistake and remedy it in the next lines. "The god of the Tiber River swept the infants down the river until they reached the place where Rome now stands. But at the time, there was no such city. It was naught but bare earth, seven hills and grasslands as far as the eye could see. For all of Tiberinus's meddling, the twins would have languished there, starving away from the eyes of any man…if not for the wolf.

"There, as they lay crying on the riverbank, a she-wolf happened to wander by and find the pair. She had just borne cubs, and so . And so, she picked them up by the scruffs of their necks, carried them back to her den, and suckled them as her own.

"Now, some claim that this she-wolf was an agent of Fauna herself, wishing to make mischief for Vesta and her priestess. Some claim that was blind, to mistake humans for cubs," another chorus of laughs met Cassius's words. He leaned forward a bit farther, voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "But I

"The two brothers grew, fighting tooth and nail with their lupine siblings for every bit of wolf's milk. It wasn't until later that a shepherd found them and adopted them as his own children. They grew up tending flocks, unaware of their true identities as rightful kings. Over time, they grew tall and strong, becoming natural leaders in their humble community.

"But when they were young adults, a dispute between their grandfather and great-uncle uprooted their lives. Remus was taken prisoner and brought back to his birthplace of Alba Longa, still unaware of his lineage. Yet his striking resemblance to his grandfather meant that his arrival caused much stir. Both his grandfather Numitor and his great-uncle the king suspected the truth of his identity."

Marcus listened attentively as the story continued on. The fact that the twins' upbringings and the inciting dispute were essentially glossed over struck him as odd. Surely there were plenty of noteworthy things that occurred over that period as well. Even little details and hints about such things would be enough to further cement the heroic and unique natures of these two. The story so far had built them up fairly well, but a few more details would really sell it—even hyperbolic ones.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Unless, Marcus thought, this story was less about the accomplishments of the twins themselves and more about the country they founded. That might make sense, given its introduction. Still, he found himself mentally filling in the gaps with embellishments and additional details of his own. ṝÁNО𝐛Ɛ§

"Romulus, however, rallied his supporters from his small community to free his brother," Cassius continued on. "During this time, Remus learned the truth of his heritage. With the help of Romulus and their grandfather, they deposed their uncle and restored their grandfather to his rightful place on the throne."

Once again, Marcus sensed another story lurking beneath that brief summary. One that had either been excluded for the sake of pacing and brevity, or simply because it had been lost to time. The latter happened more often than any bard liked to admit. But his curiosity about that particular matter would have to wait for another time.

"Yet, the twins were not content to sit as heirs. They returned to their community, determined to build a city of their own.

"Upon arriving at the seven hills of Rome, they disagreed on where to build their city. Each had their own idea and stood by it steadfastly. To settle the matter, they agreed to seek the gods' approval through the use of augury. They both settled onto the ground at their chosen locations, looking up to the skies for signs. Lo and behold, Remus was the first to see six vultures circling above. But soon after, Romulus his brother saw twelve. Each claimed divine favor, one for the swiftness of his signs' appearance, and the other for their quantity.

"The dispute escalated. Words that could not be taken back flew back and forth like poisoned arrows, and arguments soon turned to violence. In the chaos, Remus was struck down—whether by Romulus or one of his supporters, no one knows.

"Romulus never lost sight of their dream. But regardless of whatever regret he might have felt, he moved on. The city of Rome was soon founded on the hill he had chosen, though it soon grew to encompass both of them. He laid forth its government, its military, its laws, and its traditions. For forty years, he ruled as king, and his kingdom grew ever larger, eventually subsuming that of his grandfather and many of its neighbors.

"And so, Rome grew and grew until it became what it is today."

Cassius took a bow as his story concluded. Applause sounded from around the campfire as the Legionnaires shouted encouragements. Marcus leaned back and clapped with everyone else.

"That was a good story," he told Cassius as he sat down once more. "You truly have a way with words."

Cassius grinned broadly. "Coming from you, friend? That is a great compliment indeed."

Marcus clapped the stocky man on the shoulder. Internally, though, he had some critiques. The ending was rather unsatisfying—simple fratricide, followed by the birth of a kingdom? The buildup was all right, but the resolution and Romulus's actions afterward felt lackluster. The conflict could have used a bit more spice to really make it hit home, especially in the aftermath. Otherwise it didn't have the kind of divine tragedy or comedic twist that people loved about stories like this.

Ironically, that made him think the tale was more likely to be true rather than entirely made up. The wolf detail at least made sense. He'd personally met more than a few royal knights who had been raised by Wolfkin, so it wasn't even particularly strange, though it seemed to be considered far more strange in Roman culture. But overall, the story was a solid one that made sense. He could see why Cassius had been enthusiastic about it.

Marcus reviewed the story in his mind. He'd already been running through ideas on how to improve the tale himself for retellings. But perhaps he could do more. Maybe there was a way to overhaul it more completely, refine it, and work the core themes intosomething a little more thematic for the Legion. Of course, he wouldn't be able to keep the same names and plenty of details would need embellishing. But the thought was interesting nonetheless.

The bard glided to his feet with a graceful swirl of his cloak. It was his turn once again to take the spotlight. The story had left his audience in a somewhat somber and thoughtful mood—one that he couldn't immediately flip. That meant that bawdy drinking songs were out. But he had plenty of options to begin the transition to more lighthearted entertainment.

"Well, I suppose someone must follow up that performance," he hefted his lute, strumming it with one hand. "But alas, I doubt Habersville has any matching tale of its founding. So instead… perhaps I could treat you to a song?"

His fingers danced across the strings, weaving a ponderous tune. It was an old standby of his—serious at the start, but with a conclusion that should safely position him for something more humorous later. Marcus activated [Silver Tongue] and [Critical Reception] as he began to sing, more out of habit and to train the skills up than for any other reason.

Farewell and adieu to you, fair elven maidens,

Farewell and adieu, you ladies of light.

For we've set our sails to seek out the Kraken,

And we won't see your shores 'til the end of the fight.

Marcus could feel the crowd's mood shifting with each line, the effects of [Critical Reception] seemingly bolstered by the faint connections he felt to each individual Legionnaire. There was a noticeable dip in enthusiasm when he sang about sailors in the first verse—but not enough to lose their interest. After the verse, he inserted an impromptu instrumental to help the men gain familiarity with the song's rhythm. At the same time, he did a quick mental scan through the rest of the song and made a few substitutions on the fly. In the chorus, he replaced "sailors" with "warriors," and instead of "dark sea," he swapped it to simply "great plains."

We'll rant and we'll roar, like true-hearted warriors,

We'll sing and we'll fight 'til the morning's first gleam.

We'll cross the great plains, for treasure and glory,

Bound by the stars and the mage's bright beam.

He began to speed up, the notes growing in intensity as the soldiers warmed up to the song. By the time the chorus came around again, Marcus had more than a few of the men singing along. That number grew to encompass practically the whole group by the third repetition, especially with some encouragement and crowd work on his part.

Their campfire quickly transitioned from a group of men enraptured by storytelling to an enthusiastic group of comrades singing their hearts out. Marcus allowed himself a proud smile at the sight. All that was missing was a bit of ale or mead and the scene would have looked perfectly at home in a tavern. Though based on some of their complexions, he had a sneaking suspicion that their waterskins may not entirely have been full of what they claimed.

About halfway through the song, Marcus heard a faint sound echo in the distance behind him. It was barely audible, seeming to come from the other side of the camp. Maybe even from outside given how quiet it seemed.

A quick glance around showed no change in the Legionnaires' expressions. They hadn't heard. That was only to be expected—Marcus's class had always made him more attuned to sounds, especially those of instruments and the like.

For the moment, he ignored the horn and kept singing. It was none of his business. Besides, if there was an issue of some kind, then surely the soldiers closer to the trouble would take care of it.

We'll rant and we'll roar, like true-hearted warriors,

We'll sing and we'll fight 'til the morning's first gleam.

We'll cross the great plains, for treasure and glory—

A feeling of ice-cold dread speared through him. Death herself seemed to reach out, running one cold finger down his spine.

Marcus gasped, momentarily faltering. His next chord came out with a strangled twang as he reflexively gripped his lute. Instinctively, he looked back over his shoulder. There was nothing there. Nothing but the far distant treeline. That, and a vague sense of… loss. As though something had snapped.

The discordant sound of his last chord faded away, replaced by the crackling of many campfires. It took him only a moment to notice that those sounds were the only ones audible throughout the camp. The entire place had fallen completely silent around him.

Marcus felt another chill run down his spine as the realization fell over him. Slowly, he looked around. Every single Legionnaire had stopped in their tracks, their backs as straight as boards where they sat. Their heads all had turned to stare eerily in the exact same direction he had. The joviality of moments before had evaporated. Now, their jaws were set with determination. And their eyes…

Their eyes flared with silent fury.