Chapter 8: Unlearning the Old Ways

author's thoughts: I didn't check the labels in this chapter, does that feel odd? If so, I'll double-check later, and it will also be time-consuming.

Several days had passed since the drastic reorganization. The main training ground of Legio I Illyrica no longer sounded like a single, synchronized heartbeat. Now, its sound was a symphony of organized chaos. Shouts, grunts, and the clang of wooden swords clashing came from dozens of small groups scattered across the dusty field.

Ulixes stood on the wooden observation platform, arms crossed, his sharp eyes sweeping the scene below. Beside him, Flamma stood silently, his stern face showing an unreadable expression.

Below them, the scene was the antithesis of a Roman legion. In one corner, Gallus was training his new squad. He wasn't telling them to form a tight shield wall. Instead, he had them pair up, one pushing with his shield while the other thrust from the side. "Don't just hold!" Gallus roared. "Create openings! Create opportunities!"

In another corner, another veteran from Cohors Prima was training his squad to react to surprise attacks. He would blow a whistle, and the soldiers would immediately drop to the ground and seek imaginary cover, breaking their formation in an instant.

Ulixes watched them. The young soldiers, who just days ago moved like machines, now moved with hesitation. They were clumsy. They made mistakes. But their eyes were no longer empty. Their eyes were now sharp, full of concentration, trying to understand and adapt to this new and wild way of war.

His gaze then shifted to a group of local Centurions standing on the edge of the field. He saw Cassius among them, arms crossed, his face sour as he watched his "by-the-book" methods being thrown into the mud. They didn't object, but their resentment felt like a chill in the morning air.

"Looks like a bunch of puppies fighting each other," Flamma grumbled softly beside Ulixes.

"Puppies learning how to bite, Flamma," Ulixes replied, his eyes never leaving the field. "Let them. Chaos is a better teacher than boredom."

He saw a young soldier, after failing countless times, finally manage to deflect an attack and counter-attack with a move his veteran had taught him. The veteran clapped the youth on the shoulder hard, a brief nod of approval. Ulixes saw a flicker of pride on the young soldier's face. The seed was beginning to sprout. The change was slow, painful, and not pretty to watch. But it was real.

As the sun reached its zenith, training ceased. The soldiers, bodies soaked with sweat and armor dusty, trudged towards the eating area. Smoke from the communal kitchens billowed, carrying the aroma of freshly baked bread and thick meat stew.

Ulixes did not return to his tent to eat. He took the same wooden tray as the other soldiers, filled with the same rations. Hard bread, a bowl of stew, and an apple. He walked past the rows of long tables, the soldiers falling silent as he passed, their eyes following his every step.

He stopped at a table filled with a mixed group. There were several young soldiers from the legacy cohorts, and among them, sat Gallus, the veteran. With a brief nod, Ulixes sat on the empty bench across from them.

An awkward silence immediately fell over the table. The young soldiers bowed their heads, focusing on their food with feigned intensity.

Ulixes broke the silence, but he didn't speak to Gallus. He looked at the same young soldier whom Gallus had reprimanded yesterday. "Where are you from, soldier?" he asked, his voice calm.

The youth flinched, almost choking on his bread. "Etruria, Legatus," he replied nervously.

"Good farmland," Ulixes said. "You must miss the soft earth beneath your feet, not these rocks."

The youth could only nod, too afraid to speak more. Ulixes then turned to Gallus, who had been eating in silence.

"Gallus," Ulixes said, his tone now changed, becoming sharper. "Tell them how we took over the watchtower near the Sila Forest (this is a fictional element used for plot assistance). They need to know that sometimes, three men moving silently are more deadly than thirty men marching in formation."

Gallus stopped chewing. He looked at his commander, then at the young faces now staring at him with curiosity. He sighed, then began to speak.

He didn't tell it like a poet. He told it in a soldier's language. He spoke of waiting in the dark for hours until muscles cramped. He spoke of hand signals, of how to avoid dry twigs to make no sound, and of one brief moment where the three of them slit the throats of five guards before one of them could scream.

The young soldiers at the table stopped eating. They leaned forward, listening intently. This was not a lesson from a manual. This was a lesson of blood and experience. At the end of the table, Ulixes saw Centurion Cassius, who happened to be sitting there, also listening, his sour face showing no expression, but he did not leave.

After Gallus finished, silence returned to the table, but this time it was not an awkward silence. It was a silence filled with respect.

Ulixes stood up. "Keep training," he told them all, before turning and walking away.

He had planted another seed. No longer a seed of fear, but a seed of respect for experience. The wall between the veterans and the new recruits, for the first time, began to show cracks.

Night fell, bringing with it a heavy silence over the camp. Ulixes sat alone in his commander's tent, the light from an oil lamp illuminating the maps and rosters spread across his wooden table. The tent flap opened, and Flamma stepped in, his armor removed, his stern face looking tired.

"Today's report, Legatus," Flamma said, his voice hoarse. He stopped in front of the table. "The soldiers are getting used to it. Their movements are faster. They're starting to think about how to survive, not just how to obey orders." He paused for a moment. "There's a lot of grumbling, Legatus. The local Centurions feel their authority is undermined. Their pride is hurt."

"Pride won't stop an enemy arrow, Flamma," Ulixes replied, his eyes not lifting from a roster. "Keep pushing them. I'd rather they hate me and live, than love me and die foolishly."

Flamma nodded, a deep understanding in his eyes. "Yes, Legatus." He saluted and turned, leaving Ulixes alone with his thoughts.

A moment after Flamma left, another, more subtle shadow appeared at the tent entrance. Mira and Kore entered silently, carrying a wax tablet and several small papyrus scrolls. They were reports from another battlefield.

Kore stepped forward and placed the wax tablet on the table. "The initial audit of the praetorium's supplies is complete, Dominus," she said, her soft, clear voice contrasting with Flamma's hoarse one.

Ulixes took the tablet. His eyes quickly scanned the rows of numbers and notes.

"The officials in Salona are not just lazy, Dominus," Kore said. "They are thieves." She pointed to a line on the tablet. "Records show the receipt of fifty amphorae of Falernian wine for the Legatus' residence last month. The warehouse only contains twenty. The other thirty... evaporated."

Ulixes placed the tablet back on the table. He wasn't surprised. He had expected it. But now he had proof. His first weapon for the coming war against this decaying system.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He looked at the two 'battlefields' laid out on his table. On one side, the roster of his soldiers, an army he had to forge into a deadly weapon. On the other, evidence of corruption, a disease he had to cleanse from his own province. One against an enemy outside the camp walls. The other against an enemy hiding within. He wondered which enemy he would face first.

That morning, the legion gathered on the training ground with a different expectation. The grumbling about the strange training methods had subsided slightly, replaced by a tense curiosity. They no longer knew what their unpredictable Legatus would order.

Ulixes stood in the middle of the vast field, Flamma at his side. He did not immediately begin strenuous physical training. Instead, he simply stood still for a moment, letting the silence and the gaze of six thousand men fall upon him.

Then, his voice broke the cold morning air, clear and without hesitation. "Centurion Flamma! Call Cohors Prima forward!"

The veterans stepped forward in unison, their movements an efficient machine, and formed a line before Ulixes.

"Call one turma of auxiliary cavalry!" he continued.

A squadron of thirty local horsemen, recruited for their knowledge of the Illyrian terrain, moved forward. Their horses trotted softly, their breath steaming in the cold air.

"And one unit of Cretan archers!"

A group of men with darker skin and distinctive composite bows stepped forward, their gazes sharp and alert.

A murmur of confusion spread throughout the watching legion. Heavy infantry, light cavalry, and archers. Three units that almost never trained together in a single, integrated formation. Ulixes saw the local Centurions whispering to each other, their faces showing clear skepticism.

He let the three different units stand in the middle of the field, a visual representation of the division. The sturdy legionaries, the restless horsemen, and the silent archers. Three different weapons, which had always been used separately.

Ulixes stepped forward, stopping before them, but his voice was meant to be heard by the entire legion.

"You have been trained to be three different weapons," he said. "Today, you will learn how to be one body."

Ulixes wasted no time. His sharp gaze fell on the cavalry turma commander. "Advance! Attack the targets at the end of the field! Don't destroy them, just disrupt them! Throw your javelins, then retreat as fast as you came!"

The order was executed instantly. Thirty horsemen spurred their horses, the ground trembling beneath their hooves. They approached a series of straw mannequins set up at the end of the field, throwing their wooden javelins with war cries, then deftly turning their horses and galloping back, leaving the targets almost untouched.

Ulixes turned to the watching legion. "Look!" he shouted, his voice booming. "Cavalry are our eyes! They don't fight to die. They find the enemy, disrupt their lines, then return. They choose the battlefield for us!"

As the cavalry cleared the line of fire, Ulixes raised his hand towards the Cretan archers. "Archers!"

Twenty bows were drawn simultaneously.

"Punish those who pursue! Shoot!"

A sharp hiss filled the air as a volley of blunt arrows flew upwards, not towards the mannequins, but to the ground just behind them, where a pursuing enemy would be.

"And the archers are our sting!" Ulixes continued. "They punish enemies foolish enough to pursue! They create chaos and force the enemy to duck their heads before the infantry arrives!"

With the targets now 'suppressed' and 'chaotic', Ulixes finally turned to face his veterans. He didn't need to shout. He simply nodded.

Flamma bellowed a single word: "Advance!"

Cohors Prima moved forward. Not with a hurried run, but with a heavy, inevitable stride, their shield wall tight, their gladius drawn. They reached the mannequins and, with brutal efficiency, smashed them into splinters of straw and wood in a matter of seconds.

Ulixes now turned to face the thousands of legacy soldiers, his voice reaching its peak. "And you," he said, his hand pointing towards them, "you are the steel foundation on which the enemy will shatter! You are the heart and shield of this legion!"

He paused for a moment, letting them understand. "Every part protects the other. Cavalry protects the archers' flanks. Archers protect the infantry as they advance. And the infantry becomes a fortress for everyone. We will no longer fight as three separate weapons. We will fight as one body!"

The demonstration was over. The three units, infantry, cavalry, and archers, now stood together in the middle of the field, among the shattered remnants of the mannequins. A heavy silence fell over the thousands of watching soldiers. Their murmurs of confusion had now vanished, replaced by a quiet and terrifying understanding.

Ulixes observed their faces. He saw the eyes of the young soldiers no longer showing boredom, but a mixture of fear and fiery admiration. They no longer saw the veterans of Cohors Prima merely as heroes of the past; they saw them as practitioners of a new and deadly art of killing.

His gaze then shifted to the local Centurions. He saw Cassius, whose face was no longer red with anger, but pale and thoughtful. As a professional soldier, he might not like his new commander, but he could not deny the cruel logic he had just witnessed.

Ulixes stepped forward, letting the silence fully sink in before he spoke. He didn't look at the soldiers. He looked directly at Flamma, but his voice boomed, intended to be heard by every Centurion on the field.

"Flamma," he said, his voice cold and uncompromising. "Starting tomorrow, the entire legion will train like this. Every Centuria. Every day. Until they can do it in their sleep."

He turned and walked off the training ground without looking back, leaving his officers to face the new reality. The old rulebook had officially been burned in front of them all. Now, there was only one rule: Ulixes' way.

Days after the shaking demonstration, the legion gathered on the training ground with a new routine. They no longer just practiced rigid marching, but also strange small-unit maneuvers, which still felt awkward and unnatural to their muscles trained in formation warfare.

That morning, as the sun was just creeping up over the hills, Ulixes stepped before them. The soldiers and Centurions expected a continuation of the same training. They were wrong.

"Today, we leave this field," Ulixes announced, his voice calm yet cutting through the cold morning air.

A silent confusion immediately spread among the ranks.

"Every Centuria," he continued, "prepare full rations and light combat gear. We will march to the forest on the border. Today's training will take place there."

If his previous orders had caused murmurs, this order caused a real wave of shock. The soldiers exchanged anxious glances. The forest. For a legionary, the forest was a tomb. A place where the formations that were their strength became useless, a place where ambushes hid behind every tree, and a place where discipline was shattered by chaos.

Ulixes saw it on their faces. The fear inherited from stories of legions lost in Germania. He also saw it on the faces of the local Centurions; they gathered in small groups, whispering quickly, their gazes at Ulixes now filled with blatant disbelief. They considered this order madness, a reckless move from a commander who did not understand the true workings of Roman warfare.

Flamma, standing beside Ulixes, remained silent, his face hard as stone. He waited for the next order, his loyalty unwavering.

"You look scared," Ulixes said, his voice now slightly raised, enough to be heard by the front ranks. "Good. Fear will keep you alert."

He turned to Flamma. "Execute, Primus Pilus."

Flamma bellowed the command, his hoarse, authoritative voice breaking the soldiers' hesitation. One by one, the Centurions, reluctantly, began to organize their units. Within an hour, the entire legion was on the move, no longer in one large formation, but in separate Centuria lines, marching towards the dark, ominous treeline in the distance. They did not know that today, their commander would not teach them how to march. He would teach them how to be ghosts.

As the first ranks entered the forest's edge, the world changed. The bright sunlight was immediately dimmed by the thick canopy of leaves, creating a dim, oppressive atmosphere. The air became damp and smelled of wet earth. The sound of thousands of soldiers' footsteps that had echoed across the open plains was now muffled, swallowed by the trees.

Ulixes raised his hand, and the entire legion stopped. He turned to Centurion Cassius, the same officer he had humiliated on the training ground. "Centurion Cassius, bring your Centuria forward. The others, observe in silence."

Cassius, with a stiff face, barked the order. His unit moved forward nervously, trying to maintain their neat lines among the protruding tree roots and dense undergrowth.

They had only taken twenty steps when Ulixes moved. He walked silently beside their ranks, his movements contrasting with the clinking of armor and snapping twigs from the soldiers. He stopped beside a young soldier whose greaves clanked against his shield as he walked.

"The clinking of your armor can be heard from fifty paces, soldier," Ulixes said, his voice soft but very clear in the forest's silence. "Tie it with cloth. Muffle every piece of metal that can make a sound."

The soldier flinched and froze. Ulixes didn't wait for him. He had already moved to another soldier who had just stepped on a pile of dry leaves with a loud rustle.

"You walk like an elephant," he said. "Watch the ground where you step. Every dry twig is an alarm for the enemy."

He stopped again in front of the ranks, looking at all of them who were now silent. "Why are you walking on the open path? Your enemy also knows this path." He pointed into the darker thicket. "Use the shadows. Use the bushes. Be ghosts."

He forced them to repeat it. Move ten steps, stop. Correct. Move again. Every mistake was pointed out mercilessly. The soldiers, accustomed to the pride of marching on Roman roads, were now forced to stoop, move slowly, and feel like thieves in their own land. Cassius's face was a mask of suppressed frustration, watching his perfect unit on the field now look like a clumsy group of school children.

After an hour that felt like forever, Ulixes stopped them. "You've learned how to walk like mice," he said, looking at their exhausted and confused faces. "Now, let's see if you can fight like wolves."

Ulixes pointed towards a deeper downward path in front of them. "Up ahead, about two hundred paces, there's a small stream," he told Centurion Cassius and his tense unit. "Your task is to reach and secure it." He paused for a moment, his cold eyes looking at them one by one. "But you are not alone in this forest."

The warning was enough. Cassius, his pride still wounded, returned to the only thing he trusted: Roman discipline. "Form a shield wall!" he snapped. "Advance slowly! No gaps!"

The unit obeyed. They tightened their ranks, creating a wall of wood and leather that moved clumsily among the trees. Their tight shields got caught in the bushes. Their straight lines were forced to twist and turn to avoid trees, creating small, vulnerable gaps.

As they passed a more open patch, a sharp whistle cut through the air. A blunt training javelin hit a soldier's shield with a loud THWACK, making him stumble.

Before Cassius could shout an order, hell broke loose.

From the shadows on their left and right, figures moved quickly. They were Ulixes' veterans. They did not attack from the front. They hit the open flanks of the formation, their wooden swords striking unprotected backs and legs.

Total chaos ensued. The soldiers within the narrow formation could not turn to help their comrades without breaking the shield wall. They pushed each other, shouting in confusion, while the "ambushers" danced around them, landing blow after crippling blow. In less than a minute, the entire exercise was over. Half of Cassius's Centuria sat on the ground.

Ulixes stepped out from his observation point, followed by Gallus and the other veterans. He stopped before Cassius and his humiliated and shaken men.

"Your discipline is perfect, Centurion," Ulixes said, his voice flat. "You obeyed the order to form a shield wall. And that wall has become your own coffin."

He turned to the soldiers. "Here, the forest is your shield. Formation is a trap." He gestured to Gallus. "Show them."

Gallus and his veterans demonstrated. They did not move as a single unit. They moved as small teams of four, flowing from tree to tree, protecting each other, communicating with almost invisible hand signals. They were wolves hunting, not sheep marching to slaughter.

The legacy soldiers watched in silence. Their faces showed a new and terrifying understanding. Everything they had ever learned about war was meaningless here. They had to learn again from scratch, or they would die.