The Seeds of an Empire
His mind was a storm. The memories of his past life flashed before his eyes—his rise from the gutters of Rome, the betrayals, the battles, the bloodshed. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the pain was still fresh.
Now, in this frail body, he was a shadow of his former self. He glanced around at the medical equipment that filled his small apartment. Dialysis machines and a medical bed occupied most of the space. It was a stark contrast to the power he once wielded.
"System, show my status," Marcus commanded.
A translucent screen appeared in front of his eyes, displaying his current state.
[Marcus Crassus]
[Strength: 3 (-15 Ailment)]
[Agility: 3 (-15 Ailment)]
[Endurance: 1 (-15 Ailment)]
[Intelligence: 13 (-2 Ailment)]
[???: ??]
[Skills : Quick Draw II, Observation I, Health Care I, Swordplay III (unavailable), Brawling II (unavailable)]
[Knowledge: Tactics IV, Command IV, Programming II, Materials I, Robotics I]
[Traits: Intimidating III]
[Buffs: None]
[Ailments: Space Plague (Stage 4)]
[Approximate Net Worth: -995,000 CC]
[Summary: A dead man walking.]
Marcus sighed. The ailment was slowly killing him. He had managed to survive through sheer willpower and the occasional medical intervention, but it wasn't enough.
He took another puff from his pipe, his thoughts drifting to the events of the past days. Killing Dagger had been necessary, but it had also been a wake-up call.
He had been living like a rat, hiding in shadows, adapting to the whims of others. This was not how a conqueror should live. He had nearly brought the Roman Empire to its knees with his tactics and strategy, and yet here he was, struggling to make ends meet.
"It's time to change," he muttered to himself.
He began to rethink his strategy. He had always been a general, a leader who commanded forces and rallied troops. Relying on his own weak body was a futile endeavor. He needed strength, but not his own.
He needed an army.
"System, how much SP do I have?" he asked.
A new screen appeared, displaying his Special Points (SP) balance.
[Current SP: 950]
He had saved these points through various tasks and achievements and most recently he had received 600 from killing and surviving Dagger, but he had been hesitant to use them. Now, the choice was clear.
He could use the SP to reinforce his weakened body, to make himself stronger. Or he could invest it all in knowledge, to build better robots and constructs.
Marcus considered his options. Strengthening his body would help him in the short term, but it did not align with his long-term goals.
He was a general, not a foot soldier. He needed forces to command, not just his own strength. But building an army would require money, he wouldn't be able to afford his debt to the Black Hoods if he went down this route.
"Damn the debt to the Black Hoods," he said, determination steeling his voice. "I didn't bow to the Emperor, and I won't bow to the whims of petty thugs and criminals."
His mind was made up.
"System, use all my SP on knowledge for building better robots," he commanded.
The screen flickered, and then new information flooded his mind. Schematics, engineering principles, advanced robotics. It was as if a door had opened, and he could see the possibilities clearly.
[Knowledge Acquired: Robotics II, Materials II, Weapon Systems I, Gas Weapon Systems I]
[SP Remaining: 0]
He envisioned the robots he could build—strong, loyal machines that would follow his commands without question. He had seen it in Shadow, a loyalty that was hard to find in men but one he could produce consistently and infinitely.
They would be weak that was certain. Building robots weren't cheap and Marcus would only ever have access to the worst materials here on Centari-IV. But even ant's could fell a boar with enough numbers and unity.
He would create an army that no one could stand against.
Marcus leaned back in his chair, a small smile forming on his lips. He was still frail, still suffering from the Space Plague, but his mind had shifted, he envisioned reclaiming his power.
He would not rest until he had built the foundation for his new empire. He would gather resources, acquire the materials, and create the most advanced constructs the galaxy had ever seen.
No more hiding. No more adapting to others' whims. He would forge his own path, just as he had in Rome.
With grim determination, Marcus began bandaging his wounds. Then he hooked up the dialysis and entered the automation design system.
Time slowed as he entered the virtual world, he needed new robots, designs to build, soldiers to use.
He used Shadow as a base, the humanoid structure would allow the robots to blend in easier, he had learned much from building Shadow and so he made improvements, his newfound knowledge also allowed him more flexibility and overall design points. These would be the captains, commanders. The most expensive to build and the ones that needed a complex and expensive Automation Soul to operate. They would listen to his commands and interpret the world, being able to speak and interact on their own.
But their intelligence came with a trade off, there wasn't much left in their system for offensive or utilitarian capabilities.
No matter, Marcus thought. Each captain needed a squadron, grunts to use.
So Marcus designed more bulky robots without the need for voice or talking or complex AI. They would be good at carrying things, stronger than the average human, slow but stable. The workhorse. He traded intelligence for strength, they would need to be told what to do very clearly. That was where the Captain would come in.
However a packhorse needed guards. So Marcus turned to create guards next. They needed some intelligence in order to analyze threats but also needed weapon systems. At the moment Marcus couldn't afford guns so he designed one robot with stiff limbs like a claw that would latch onto foes and release gas. He also created another with blades for hands for more deadly intentions. They would be mostly useless for work related tasks and he couldn't afford an AI in their systems. They again would need to rely on the Captain or Marcus for specific orders.
Marcus nodded, he had the base down for his initial troops but they could be optimized, he needed the blueprints to be as cheap as possible to build. They sounded threatening but they were still clumsy bots, easy to outmaneuver and vulnerable to guns and most strong foes. He needed them cheap to be able to build many of them. From there he could control them to out maneuver the enemy.
Hours passed, but Marcus didn't stop. He was driven by a singular goal—to reclaim his power, to build his empire. The cold, harsh reality of his situation was a constant reminder that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
And that made him all the more dangerous.
As the first rays of dawn pierced through the grimy window, Marcus left the automation design system eyes tired but cold. The blueprints had been completed.
The Captain Bot - For leading a squadron and doing the most human like analysis and interaction. Humanoid in shape. Approximate cost to build - 85,000.
The Workhorse - For carrying equipment and goods. Incapable of talking or complex thought. Humanoid in shape, short and bulky. Approximate cost to build - 35,000.
The Grabber - For incapacitating foes with gas. Incapable of talking and most complex thought beyond fighting. Humanoid in shape, stiff arms for grabbing. Approximate cost to build - 60,000.
The Stabber - For incapacitating foes with blades. Incapable of talking and most complex thought beyond fighting. Humanoid in shape, lanky and tall for reach. Approximate cost to build - 50,000.
Marcus winced at the cost, for reference the average income on Centari-IV was 90,000 a year, these bots cost much. However, his vision was beginning to take shape.
He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of satisfaction and renewed purpose.
"I am Marcus Crassus," he said softly to himself, "and I will conquer."
With that, he returned to his work, knowing that the journey ahead would be long and arduous. But he was prepared. He would not stop until he had created an unstoppable force, an army that would bend the galaxy to his will.
Marcus lit his pipe again, the smell of wakeleaf filling the room.
And there, in the heart of Centari-IV's slums, the seeds of a new empire were sown.