Rome Must Fall

As the sun set, its golden rays bathed the now-quiet training grounds, and the evening breeze rustled the green trees, bringing a refreshing coolness.

Most of the new recruits, having trained for most of the day, lay sprawled on the grass, savoring the rare tranquility.

Tiribazus felt every muscle in his body ache. He had thought that, having served in the military, he would easily handle military training again. But once training began, he realized it was a completely different experience.

In the Pontic army, Tiribazus had been a phalanx pikeman. Phalanx training emphasized formation, so his initial training involved long hours of standing in formation and holding a spear. Only later did they practice moving as a unit while holding their spears. They didn’t even need to practice thrusting, as the spear wall formed by the phalanx was the most effective barrier against enemy attacks. As long as they maintained formation and could hold their spears for extended periods, they were considered qualified phalanx pikemen.

However, the military training here was different. The rebel army modeled their system entirely on the Roman military, training soldiers as Roman legionnaires. While formations were still important, they weren’t as strict. Given the need for close-quarters combat, the training emphasized individual combat skills. On the first day, Tiribazus and the others mainly practiced striking wooden stakes and shield bashing, with occasional formation and shield-holding drills (which actually helped the soldiers recover their strength).

Striking wooden stakes seemed simple enough—just hitting them with a wooden stick. But under the supervision of Tirkus, the recruits had to hit the stakes hard enough to make loud noises, requiring them to use all their strength. The wooden stakes were sturdy, and the harder they hit, the stronger the recoil, making their hands tingle and arms ache. Initially, after only a few strikes, their palms could barely grip the sticks, necessitating a rest before continuing.

If striking stakes only resulted in sore hands and backs, shield bashing caused full-body pain. It required tensing all muscles and planting their feet firmly to withstand the opponent’s forceful impact or using all their might to knock the opponent down.

As a former soldier, Tiribazus understood without Tirkus explaining that soldiers who hadn’t undergone such training would lose their swords in a clash, drop their shields upon impact, and soon lose their lives in battle. Understanding didn’t make it any less excruciating. Lying on the ground, Tiribazus didn’t want to move.

“Stop lying around, get up! I’m taking you somewhere,” came Tirkus’s voice.

Tiribazus didn’t want to respond, but couldn’t help asking, “Where?”

“Just wait and see,” Tirkus urged with feigned mystery. “We need to hurry, so the other squads don’t beat us to it!”

The new recruits struggled to their feet and indeed saw other squads gathering and heading towards the north side of the training ground.

After walking for a while, they reached a small river. Seeing the soldiers from other squads jumping into the river, Tiribazus and his comrades, sweaty and uncomfortable, grew excited.

“Hold on!” Tirkus shouted. “Before you jump in to bathe, remember two things! First, don’t drink the river water, or you’ll get sick. Second, scrub your bodies clean and wash your hair. You are soldiers now, not slaves, so you need to look like soldiers. Understood?!”

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“Understood!!”

The new recruits leaped into the river. The cool water washed away the heat and soreness, leaving their bodies feeling wonderfully refreshed. One couldn’t help but shout, “This feels so comfor—mmph!”

A splash of water hit his face, courtesy of Tirkus, who was the last to jump in and was playing a prank.

Soon, under Tirkus’ playful antics, the recruits forgot the distinction between superiors and subordinates, and started joking and splashing around.

After getting out of the river, Tirkus said seriously, “Your old clothes are torn, filthy, and smelly. Don’t put them back on. Leave them here. When we get back, put on the tunics you’ve been issued. Only then will you look like soldiers of the First Squad of the Fifth Century.”

The new recruits had no objections and didn’t mind walking back to the camp naked, as they often did when working in the fields.

Following Tirkus back to the camp and donning their tunics, the recruits rested on the grass in their squad’s designated area.

“Normally, we would be setting up our tents now, like those ten-man tents you saw when you first arrived,” Tirkus sighed. “But unfortunately, there are too many people in our ranks now. The leather tents have all been distributed, and even the linen tents that the logistics camp has sewn are gone. So, we’ll have to rough it for a few days and sleep under the open sky. The weather is still warm, so it might even be more comfortable, right?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Tiribazus chimed in, “Captain, sleeping outside is no problem. Which one of us slaves hasn’t slept this way? But the problem now is that we’re hungry. When do we get to eat?”

“Yeah, Captain, my stomach’s growling, and I have no energy,” added Samoras weakly.

“By now, the kitchen should have sent food into the camp, but we have to wait for the squads ahead of us to get theirs first. We’ll just sit here and wait; it should be soon,” Tirkus reassured them.

“Will there still be food left for us if we let the other squads go first?” Samoras asked worriedly, his usually slow mind becoming sharp at the mention of food.

“Don’t worry, we might be short on other things here, but we definitely won’t be short on food. Besides, the kitchen belongs to our logistics camp, and it’s so close by. How could we possibly let you go hungry?” Tirkus reassured him. He saw that all the new recruits, following Samoras’ example, were lying on the ground clutching their stomachs. Laughing, he chided, “You guys! You all had a bowl of broth and a piece of bread for lunch, so how can you be so hungry already?!”

Tiribazus remained silent. Indeed, he hadn’t expected the logistics camp to provide food at noon. In the Pontic army, he had always had only two meals a day. In this respect, an army formed of slaves seemed to be doing better than a regular army of a kingdom!

“It’s because we ate at noon that we feel hungrier now,” Samoras grumbled.

Suddenly, someone shouted, “The food delivery is here!”

The new recruits, who had been groaning in hunger, immediately scrambled to their feet and looked west. The camp gate opened, and a wagon rolled in, followed by another. The wagons then stopped in the area assigned to the First Century. The soldiers from the First Century emerged from their tents and quickly formed a line to receive their dinner in an orderly manner.

“See that? When it’s our turn, we need to line up like those veterans. If you don’t follow the rules and try to rush or grab food, you’ll be breaking the law. Not only won’t you get to eat, but you’ll also be punished. So don’t do anything stupid!” While Tirkus was warning everyone, his gaze was constantly fixed on Samoras—he was a bit uneasy about this seemingly foolish guy.

Samoras was so scared that he quickly shook his head, indicating he understood.

“But since we’re the first squad, we’ll be at the front of the line when it’s our turn to get dinner,” Tirkus added, offering some reassurance.

Thanks to the officers’ constant reminders, even the newly formed Fourth and Fifth Centuries lined up obediently to receive their food.

“Aunt Agnes, what brings you here in person today?!” Tirkus exclaimed, surprised to see the logistics camp’s head cook, Agnes, standing by the wagon.

“We’ve taken in so many new brothers today that we had to prepare twice as much food as usual. We’re short-staffed, so I had to pitch in. Plus, I wanted to see how lively our camp is becoming!” Agnes smiled as she spoke, but in reality, she was worried about maintaining order among the new recruits and had come personally to keep things under control.