C25 Decimation

"Indeed. But of course, we will require an official treaty."

I nodded, all smiles.

"But of course! We should discuss the details in a more comfortable setting, yes?"

Wilhelm nodded, and I gestured In the direction of reception hall, where the palace maids had already prepared drinks and refreshments.

And so, we walked side by side, two men one thinking he had made a fool's bargain. And the other? Playing the fool's part very cooperatively. As the doors shut behind us, I took another slow drag of my cigar.

This deal was just the beginning. The Imperium's war machine had just secured its first batch of tanks. And Wilhelm had no idea what he had just unleashed. The game had begun.

...

Spartanum Ducatum a few kilometers outside Nova Roma

The air was thick with tension.

The Nova Roma Airfield, usually a place of idleness and decay, was now the site of the greatest military gathering in the history of the Ducatum.

18,000 men, the entire standing army, had been lined up in formation across the vast open field. The ground rumbled under the weight of their boots, but there was no discipline no organization.

Some stood slouched, others whispered amongst themselves, a few even lit cigarettes, as if they weren't about to be addressed by their Imperator.

Their uniforms were a disgrace. A mix of different styles, patched up tunics, some with foreign insignias, others still wearing remnants of old armor, while a handful even stood in civilian clothes.

They were not an army. They were a mob. And at the front, standing with his aides, was Praetor the man responsible for this disgrace of a military.

The moment I spotted him, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression blank, I felt my scleras darken slightly, rage building inside me.

Even though Im the one that wrote this setting because I wanted It to be hard core as f*ck I was still pissed.

This was the army I had to conquer teutonica ducatum In two months time to keep up with the plot.

The rumbling of Lupa's alloy clawed paws filled the field as I rode toward them, my death squad following closely behind in a truck, their assault rifles at the ready.

Every single soldier turned their heads, watching as I approached, some standing straighter, others still too relaxed for their own good.

I patted Lupa's neck, bringing her to a stop directly in front of the assembled army. Silence. Then, I swung off my mount, landing with a heavy thud onto the dirt.

I took a slow, deliberate step forward, letting my crimson gaze scan over the assembled 18,000 men. As my death squad disembarked stood behind me In an arrow shaped formation. I let the silence fester, let them sweat. Then, finally, I spoke.

"You call yourselves spartan legioneers?"

My voice was calm. Too calm. And that was what made it terrifying. The wind howled through the open airfield, but no one spoke. No one dared. I took another step forward, my bloodred half cloak billowing slightly behind me.

"This is not an army."

I turned my head slightly, staring at Praetor Varro, who stood completely still, his expression unreadable. Then, I continued.

"This is a disgrace."

I let my words hang. One soldier, perhaps too stupid to sense the danger, scoffed.

"Who the f*ck does he think he is..."

The moment the words left the soldier's lips, my death squad reacted instantly. There was no hesitation, no need for orders.

With a single movement, the troopers raised their rifles, storming forward with terrifying precision.

Before the idiot that didn't know how to keep his mouth shut could even register what was happening, two paratroopers grabbed him, wrenching his arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees before me.

The sudden violence silenced the entire field.

Even the laziest, most undisciplined of them understood, in that moment this was no longer the army they had known.

"Legion, cohort, century, contubernium?"

I asked, my voice as calm as before, my crimson gaze never leaving the kneeling man.

Praetor Varro remained silent for a second then, clearing his throat, he answered.

"Second Legion, Fifth Cohort, Third Century… Ninth Contubernium."

I tilted my head slightly. Then, I raised my hand and gestured. My death squad understood immediately.

Within seconds, nine more men were dragged forward the rest of his contubernium.

They were shoved onto their knees beside him, their faces pale with fear, some of them trembling.

These were supposed to be the descendants of the greatest warriors this world ha ever seen, I felt disgust coil in my stomach even though I wrote them to be like this.

I turned toward them, crossing my arms lazily.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Silence. One man swallowed thickly. Another had begun muttering prayers under his breath. But none of them answered. I sighed.

"Your battlebrother, this fool here…"

I gestured toward the original soldier, still pinned to the ground, his face twisted in terror.

"He decided to open his mouth. And in this army, when one f*cks up…"

I stepped closer, letting my boots crunch against the dirt.

"…the whole unit suffers, pick Lots."

At my signal, my death squad commander stepped forward, carrying a small, unassuming leather pouch.

He pulled it open, revealing ten small pebbles. Nine were white. One was black.

The ninth contubernium stared at the pouch as realization dawned on them.

Decimation first used by the MCs first reincarnation and continued to be used through his whole rule.

It was affective, dammn good effective at keeping legioneers disciplined but It came at a cost.

Some of them immediately began crying, others started hyperventilating, their breaths coming out ragged and uneven.

I remained silent. Then, I nodded toward the death squad commander.

"Make them choose."

It didn't take long before one by one, the men reached into the pouch, their hands shaking uncontrollably, fishing out a stone.

As they revealed their pebbles, their eyes darted around desperately.

White. White. White.

Each man let out a sob of relief as they revealed their stone. Until.

A single soldier, the youngest among them, no older than nineteen, pulled his hand free. In his palm.

A black stone. The moment he saw it, his breath caught in his throat.

Tears welled in his wide, terrified eyes as he shook his head violently, his body quaking like a leaf caught in a storm.

"N...no… no, no, no… please… PLEASE…!"

His battlebrothers? They collapsed into tears, sobbing violently, some of them vomiting onto the dirt.

One of them grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.

"Titus, g*ds no, please… please, Imperator! Please, let us pick again!"

I exhaled through my nose, tilting my head slightly.

"Oh? You want to pick again?"

The soldiers nodded frantically, their eyes red and swollen with terror.

"Yes! Yes, please! Please, Imperator! We swear it won't happen again! Please!"

I smiled.

"No."

Their hope shattered instantly. Despair ripped through them, their pleading devolving into broken, incoherent sobs.

I turned toward the white stone holders, gesturing lazily toward my death squad troopers.

"Give them pistols."

The remaining nine were handed sidearms, their hands shaking so violently they could barely hold them steady.

I crouched down, leveling my gaze at the black stone soldier.

He was hyperventilating, his entire body convulsing, his pupils blown wide with absolute panic.

I squared down In front of him forcing him to look me in the eyes.

"I'm sorry man…I am truly"

I whispered because deep down I really didn't like this but It had to be done If I wanted to turn this bunch of trash Into proper spartan legioneers born and bred for war.

"You have to die because of your battlebrother who couldnt keep his mouth as a consultation I can promise you'll join you're ancestors In valhala "

His breathing hitched, his gaze snapping toward his unit, the ones now holding pistols with trembling hands. I let go of his face, standing up.

"Decemate him."

The nine white stone soldiers flinched, their grips tightening around the pistols.

One of them the oldest, probably the most battle experienced first glances back at my death soldiers ready to execute them on the espot If they didn't follow orders and shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, and raised his weapon first.

The rest followed, though some could barely hold their guns steady, their hands shaking so violently it was painful to watch.

Titus began to sob uncontrollably, shaking his head, his body breaking down in sheer terror.

"NO, PLEASE, PLEASE, DON'T DO THIS! BROTHERS! WE'RE BATTLE BROTHERS! PLEASE!"

One of his former friends choked.

"Titus… g*ds forgive us… I... I can't…"

His hands shook violently as he tried to steady the pistol, his eyes red with grief.

I sighed.

Then, I stepped closer, my crimson gaze turning frigid.

"If you don't pull the trigger…"

I said, my voice flat, absolute.

"Then you die with him."