Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

Lucius had thoroughly reviewed Wulfric’s history before elevating him to squad leader.

Wulfric had been a proud chieftain of a wealthy mid-forest clan. An Alemanni warlord named Maroboduus had offered him a treaty of alliance, inviting Wulfric and his kin to a grand feast to celebrate.

It was a slaughter... Maroboduus’s men barred the doors of the longhouse and burned it to the ground.

Wulfric’s wife and three young sons perished in the flames. Wulfric himself fought his way out, heavily burned and bleeding from a dozen spear wounds, only to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Instead of granting him a warrior’s death, Maroboduus humiliated him, selling him to Roman border smugglers for a few jugs of cheap wine.

Since that night, Wulfric’s soul had been consumed by a hatred so profound it defied language.

The Alemanni had stolen his lands, his bloodline, and his honor.

This insatiable hunger for vengeance was exactly why the giant drove the new *Custodes* recruits so brutally on the training yard.

He was forging Lucius’s army because Lucius was handing him the key to the Alemanni’s destruction.

That very evening, three men slipped away from the Fundus Ferratus estate...

They were three Germanic slaves, hand-picked by Wulfric from the mining terraces.

Lucius had personally tapped their shoulders with his spatha, granting them their freedom on the spot.

Clad in dark furs and carrying no Roman coin, they vanished into the twilight, heading north toward the Rhine.

Hidden in the tunics of each man was a single steel spatha wrapped in oiled leather, alongside a memorized message from Wulfric.

...

Weeks later, deep within the darkness of the Silva Nigra.

The first freedman reached the mist-covered swamps of the north. He presented the bundle to Eirik, a chieftain of the Bructeri tribe.

Eirik unwrapped the oiled leather, his lone eye widening in disbelief as the pristine Roman steel caught the moonlight.

Eirik’s people were starving.

The Alemanni had annexed their fertile hunting valleys, forcing the Bructeri to live like rats in the deep bogs, subsisting on roots and frogs.

Eirik gripped the hilt of the spatha. He swung it with all his might against an old, rusted iron anvil sitting in the mud.

The Roman steel bit deeply into the block without sustaining a single chip on its razor edge.

To the mountainous crags of the east, the second messenger found the hidden caves of Hagen the Bear.

Hagen was a raider who commanded absolute fear among his surviving warriors. But as he listened to the messenger’s words, Hagen’s hands trembled.

Hagen was a man hollowed out by grief. Two winters ago, an Alemanni raiding party had ambushed his hunting camp.

They slaughtered his guards and dragged his young wife and younger sister away in chains, taking them as thralls for a warlord’s bed.

Hagen had spent every day since launching suicidal ambushes against Alemanni supply lines, seeking justice he knew he could never achieve.

As he held the unbreakable steel blade, he envisioned it sliding smoothly through the throat of the warlord who had ruined his life.

Deep in the ancient groves of the central forest, the third messenger knelt before Valdar.

Valdar had been a lore-keeper, a man of the gods. But the gods had seemingly abandoned them when the Alemanni swept through, burning their sacred oaks to ash and slaughtering the priests to break the tribe’s spirit.

Valdar had been forced to take up the spear, leading a band of guerrilla fighters.

When the messenger presented the steel blade, Valdar ran his fingers over the gleaming metal and saw the divine wrath of Woden himself, forged into a instrument of divine retribution.

Far to the south, near the foothills of the Alps, a female chieftain named Sigrid stood amidst the ruins of her ancestral hill-fort.

She was a shield-maiden who had been forced to assume command after her father was cowardly poisoned by Alemanni spies.

She read the message delivered by Wulfric’s proxy. The mysterious Roman forge was offering them the means to carve a bloody swathe through their oppressors.

...

Ten days later, the four disparate rebel leaders converged at a secretive location... a hidden ravine obscured by towering pines, known only to the elder chieftains.

"The Roman magic is real," Eirik the One-Eyed muttered, testing the balance of the blade. "Wulfric swears on the blood of his dead sons that this ’Forge Master’ can supply us with hundreds of these. Enough to arm our vanguards."

"And the price?" Sigrid asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the messenger. "Romans do not give gifts. What does this shadow master demand in return?"

"Unminted gold and war captives," the messenger replied firmly. "He wants raw wealth, and he wants slaves to work his fires. If you can provide them, he will provide the steel."

Hagen the Bear let out a laugh. "Gold? The Alemanni are fools who do not know how deep we dig."

Hagen looked around at the other chieftains. "Our grandfathers buried hoards of Roman plunder beneath the sacred stones for generations. It sits in the dark, doing nothing while our people bleed. I say we dig it up. I say we give the Roman his gold, we take his magic steel, and we set the entire Alemanni confederation on fire!"

The pact was sealed in the shadows of the ravine.

They had the hidden wealth to fund the transaction, and the Forge Master of Gaul had just handed them the means to ignite the greatest tribal war Germania had ever seen!

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!