Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

The chanting of the Gothic wedding guests was pierced by the blast of a bronze horn.

Standing in the center of the courtyard, Lucius recognized the signal. It was the two-beat alarm from the western watchtower, designated for a perimeter breach.

Valerius materialized from the shadows, moving with silence. He was strapping a steel helmet to his head.

"Dominus," Valerius muttered. "Signal fires on the Aurelian road. The sentries spotted movement in the tree line. Men with drawn iron, creeping toward the timber reserves."

Lucius’s jaw tightened. "It seems the Blacksmith Guilds and the magistrates have decided to test our walls. Take your most silent men into the woods. Clean up those scouts. I do not want them reporting the layout of our defenses."

"Consider their throats cut, Dominus," Valerius replied. He spun on his heel, vanishing into the night.

Lucius excused himself from the crowd of patricians and envoys. He walked toward the master chambers of the villa. Before he commanded a battlefield, he needed to check on the anchor he had tied his life to.

He pushed open the doors to his quarters. He expected to find Isolda pacing in terror, overwhelmed by a Roman siege on her wedding night.

Instead, he found his bride sitting at the edge of the bed. Isolda had discarded her mantle and was wrapping a strip of leather around the hilt of a dagger, her eyes focused on the weapon.

As Lucius entered, she looked up. "The horns blew," Isolda said, setting the dagger down. "Are the Alemanni here? Did they track my father’s caravans?"

Lucius paused, taken aback by her lack of panic.

He walked deeper into the room, feeling a surge of respect for the woman.

He was unaccustomed to sharing his burdens, having carried the weight of his empire alone, but her steady gaze demanded honesty...

"No, Isolda. It is not your enemies. It is mine," Lucius said, crossing the room to stand before her. "The local guilds have raised an army against us. They intend to burn the blast furnace to the ground and slaughter everyone on this estate."

Isolda stood up, her jaw set. "Then I will fight with your men on the walls. My father did not send me here to cower in a bedchamber while my new home turns to ash."

Lucius felt a flutter in his chest. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Your courage is unquestionable," Lucius said. "But as your husband, I cannot allow you to stand on a palisade where a stray arrow could break our alliance. When this night is over, we will be the masters of Gaul. But I need you to stay here. I need to know you are safe, so I can focus on slaughtering them."

Isolda looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of doubt.

Finding only certainty, the tension in her shoulders broke... She let out a shaky breath.

Without a word, she walked over to the hearth burning in the corner of the room. She reached into the ash, pressing her thumb against a piece of blackened wood.

She returned to Lucius, reaching up to press her thumb against his forehead, leaving a mark on his skin.

"The blessing of the earth," Isolda whispered. "My life is bound to yours now, Lucius. Do not make me a widow on my first night. Slay them all."

Without looking back, Lucius turned and strode out of the bedchambers.

...

Outside the villa, the scale of the crisis was unfolding.

The tolling of the estate’s emergency bell reverberated through the night air. The *Custodes* were moving with precision, forming shield-walls along the palisades of the *Castra Umbra*.

Lucius climbed the ladders to the watchtower, joining his father, Cassius, and the Mine Overseer, Titus.

"Look to the southern valley, Dominus," Titus grunted, pointing toward the hills.

Lucius squinted through the darkness. The moon had crested the horizon, casting a light over the countryside.

Marching up the road was a sea of torches. Lucius’s mind began calculating the mass. By the density of the torchlight and the width of the marching columns, he estimated a force of three thousand men.

It was a staggering number. The Blacksmith Guilds and the patricians must have emptied their vaults, hiring every thug, gladiator, and mercenary in the province. They had even bribed a few auxiliary cohorts, judging by the pockets of professional armor visible in the mob.

"By the gods..." Cassius whispered. "Three thousand men. They will overwhelm the gates. We are doomed, Lucius. The magistrates have sent an army of the underworld to collect our heads."

Lucius looked down at the courtyard below. The *Custodes* stood in silence.

Every man wore identical steel scale armor. Every man held a shield of the same weight and dimension.

Along the walls, the torsion-spring ballistas were loaded with steel bolts.

As the mercenary force halted a few hundred yards from the gates, a rider detached from the mob.

The man carried a white flag of parley, urging his horse forward until he stood beneath the watchtower.

The rider was dressed in ostentatious armor. He looked up at the battlements, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Lucius of the House of Cassius!" the herald shouted. "I speak for Spurius, Master of the Guilds, and the lawful magistrates of Civitas Aurelia!"

Lucius leaned over the railing, looking down at the messenger.

"You have committed high treason against the Emperor’s peace!"

"Master Spurius demands that you open these gates. You are to surrender your blast furnace to the guilds, disband your militia, and offer your neck to the magistrate’s judgment."

"If you refuse, we will breach these walls, burn your machines to ash, and salt the earth where your villa stands!"

The winter wind howled across the battlements of the *Castra Umbra*, tugging at Lucius’s cloak.

As the guild herald concluded his demands, he kept his horse steady, staring up at the watchtower.

Spurius, the Guild Master, was too cowardly to lead this vanguard himself.

Lucius realized that a mob of this size could not have marched out of Civitas Aurelia without the approval of the magistrates. The city officials weren’t looking the other way; they were backing this siege, hoping to confiscate the Gothic gold and seize the blast furnace for the treasury.

It made sense... The law of the Empire was a suggestion when enough silver was on the table.

After a silence, Lucius did not speak a word. He raised his hand and gave a flick of his wrist.

Standing a few paces away, Valerius slammed his fist against the firing lever of the nearest ballista.

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