Chapter 10: Discipline and Blood

Dawn had barely broken the darkness when Centurion Flamma's shout echoed through the Third Cohort's camp area. "WAKE UP, YOU LAZY WORMS! FORM RANKS!"

The still half-asleep soldiers stumbled out of their tents, cursing under their breath as they donned their stiff leather armor. In the cold training ground, Ulixes was already waiting. He wore only a simple training tunic and trousers, just like them.

The day's training was brutal. Not just marching or standard formation drills. Ulixes forced them to run around the camp until their lungs felt like they were on fire, then immediately made them perform sword drills until their arms felt like lead.

He walked among the ranks, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He stopped in front of a young soldier whose shield was held a little too low when parrying.

"You raise your shield to protect your legs," Ulixes said, his voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. "But you leave your neck open for the enemy's sword. Do you prefer to bleed to death rather than walk with a limp?"

The young soldier swallowed, his face pale. "No, Dominus."

"Good," Ulixes replied. "Repeat. Again."

That evening, while soldiers from other cohorts gathered to drink and gamble, the Third Cohort lay exhausted around their campfires. Instead of eating in his more comfortable tent, Ulixes took his ration, which was exactly the same as theirs: hard bread and a bowl of lentil porridge. He then sat on a tree stump among a group of soldiers.

They fell silent as he approached.

"My arm feels like it's going to fall off, Dominus," a large man with a thick beard finally dared to speak.

Ulixes looked at him, chewing his bread slowly. "Good," he replied. "That means your muscles are still there. When you can't feel anything anymore, that's when you should worry."

The man frowned, not understanding.

Ulixes put down his bowl. "Those rebels, they fight every day for a scrap of bread. They are accustomed to pain. If you cannot match their endurance, you will die before you even have a chance to raise your sword. I am not training you to be strong. I am training you to be the last one standing."

He stood up and walked away, leaving them to chew on his words in silence.

As he approached his tent, Centurion Flamma intercepted him. The lines of fatigue on the old soldier's face seemed deeper, but there was something new in his eyes.

"They are beginning to hate you, Dominus," Flamma said hoarsely.

"Good," Ulixes replied.

"But they are also beginning to respect you," Flamma continued. "Not because of your red cloak. But because they see you sweat and bleed just like them."

Ulixes simply nodded before entering his tent. Hatred does not win wars. Respect born from shared suffering, that was the steel that would forge a legion.

The officers' meeting that morning felt colder than usual. Legatus Mummius stood in front of his large map, pointing to a dense, dark green area.

"Intelligence reports a rebel scouting party entrenched in the Sila Forest," Mummius said, his voice full of a confidence he had not earned. His eyes then fell on Ulixes. "Praefectus Acilius, your cohort will clear it."

Tiberius Crassus, standing beside him, chuckled softly. "A perfect task," he mocked. "Sending the farmers back to the forest."

Ulixes did not react. His face remained calm. Across the table, Caesar stepped forward slightly, his finger tracing a contour on the map.

"Legatus," Caesar said, his voice precise, each word chosen to dissect the plan. "The Sila Forest is notoriously dense and full of natural traps. Visibility is low and the terrain complicates formations. Would it not be wiser to send a cavalry unit to lure them out into the open?"

Mummius waved his hand in annoyance. "Cavalry is too valuable to waste on slaves. The Third Cohort is more than enough. Execute your orders, Acilius." The meeting was dismissed.

An hour later, the Third Cohort marched out of camp. Not with the grumbling of old, but with disciplined silence. As they approached the edge of the Sila Forest, Ulixes signaled a halt. He called his Centurions, including Flamma.

He unrolled a leather map onto a flat stone. "They will expect us to enter through this path," he said, pointing to the main trail. "That is a mistake. We will enter from the east side, over this ridge. We will be on top of them before they know we are there."

He explained his ambush plan. Simple, brutal, and efficient. He looked at Flamma. "You served in Germania. Where do you think is the best position for the archers?"

Flamma pointed to a small slope on the map. "Here, Dominus. They will be protected by rocks and have a perfect firing angle into the valley floor."

Ulixes nodded. "Do it."

They moved into the forest. The air felt damp and heavy. Sunlight barely penetrated the thick canopy of leaves, creating a gloom that muffled sound and played tricks on the eyes. The only sound was the faint rustle of their careful footsteps on dry leaves.

After what felt like a long time, they arrived at their positions. The soldiers hid behind bushes and rocks on both sides of a small, narrow valley. Complete silence descended upon them. Ulixes lay on the damp ground, peeking through a gap in the foliage. He could smell wet earth and decay. His heart beat with a slow, controlled rhythm.

Then, he heard it. A broken twig. Followed by muffled laughter. From the end of the valley, a group of men emerged. Rebels. They walked casually, confident they were safe in their forest.

They kept walking, deeper into the middle of the valley. Right into the kill zone.

Ulixes held his breath. He raised his hand slowly, palm open. Waiting for the right moment.

The rebels walked casually into the middle of the valley, completely unaware of the eyes watching them. Ulixes saw their leader, a large man with a double-headed axe. He waited until they were precisely in the center.

His raised hand came down swiftly.

Moments later, the air hissed. Dozens of pilum rained down on them, followed by screams of pain. Before panic could turn into formation, the war trumpet sounded.

"CHARGE!" Ulixes shouted.

The Third Cohort stormed down. Ulixes was at the forefront, his gladius gleaming. A wild-bearded rebel lunged at him, his eyes blazing with fury. His rusty iron sword swung downwards. Ulixes did not retreat. He advanced to meet him, slamming the front of his thick shield into the man's face. The crunch of a broken nose was clear. As the man's head snapped back, Ulixes's gladius was already moving, thrusting deep into his unprotected throat. Hot blood spurted onto his shield.

He withdrew his sword without pause. The battle had consumed him. To his left, one of his soldiers fell, and two rebels tried to break through. Ulixes stepped in, his shield pushing one while his sword sliced the thigh of the second. The man fell, screaming.

He saw the results of his training all around him. His soldiers did not fight wildly. They held their lines, shields overlapping, thrusting their swords from safe gaps. Amidst the chaos, there was discipline.

A large shadow moved towards him. The rebel leader. His double-headed axe spun like a whirlwind of death.

"You!" the giant growled. "I will drink blood from your skull!"

The first axe swung down. Ulixes dodged to the side, the axe-head hitting the ground, sending clumps of dirt and roots into the air. The second axe swept horizontally. Ulixes ducked, feeling the wind from the blade over his head. He was incredibly fast, but his opponent was incredibly strong. Every swing felt like it would crush bones if it landed.

Ulixes danced around him, his gladius seeking an opening. He did not try to parry the axe's power directly. He thrust quickly, grazing the giant's arm. A small wound, but enough to enrage him further.

The leader roared and charged, swinging axes in a desperate attack. Ulixes saw his opening. He did not dodge. He dropped himself, sliding on the wet ground, and slashed his sword hard into the back of the giant's knee.

There was a sound of tearing muscle and sinew. The giant man's leg buckled. He fell to his knees with a loud thud, his eyes wide with surprise. He tried to raise his axe, but it was too late. Ulixes had already risen, and with one final, mechanical movement, devoid of any passion or anger, he plunged his gladius under the man's jaw, piercing directly into his brain.

The battle subsided. The remaining rebels, seeing their leader dead, threw down their weapons and surrendered.

Ulixes stood in the new silence, his breath heavy, his body covered in blood. He walked among his men. He stopped beside a young trembling soldier. He clapped the soldier on the shoulder. "You fought well today," he said, his voice calm.

He nodded at Flamma, who returned the nod with undeniable respect in his eyes.

The Third Cohort marched out of the forest as dusk fell. They went in as raw recruits. They returned as a unit forged by blood and victory. The gazes of soldiers from other cohorts who saw them return were now filled with respect. Ulixes had won his first battle.