Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

January 15, 220 AD, Fundus Ferratus, Gallia.

Marcus had spent the last three weeks inside the library, channeling his disillusionment with the Roman elite into a weapon sharper than steel.

When Lucius had dragged his brother back from the Temple of Jupiter, Marcus had been broken, terrified of the treason their family was committing.

But after pouring over the ledgers, seeing the prosperity of the estate, and witnessing the corruption of the city magistrates during the siege, a fire had been lit in the traditionalist’s chest.

Marcus had taken up a stylus and begun to write...

He compiled a legal and philosophical refutation of the Guild monopolies and the patrician class that protected them.

Titled *The Fallacy of the Guilds and the Virtue of True Industry*, the stack of cellulose paper tore apart the extortion of the Roman economy.

Using the rhetorical structures of Cicero, Marcus argued that virtue was not found in birthrights or monopolies, but in merit.

Having sanded the edges of his thesis, Marcus carried the manuscript into the study, placing it before his brother.

Lucius leaned back in his chair, reading through the pages. As his eyes scanned the ink, a smile spread across his face.

From a legal standpoint, the arguments were ironclad.

From an ideological standpoint, it was dynamite...

Marcus had articulated the justification for the empire they were building.

Lucius set the manuscript down on the desk, stood up, and walked around to clasp a hand onto his brother’s shoulder.

"Marcus, this is brilliant!" Lucius praised. "You have taken the laws they use to oppress the provinces and turned those laws into a noose. This cannot sit in a library. We need to distribute this across Civitas Aurelia, to the merchants of Massilia, and eventually, to the steps of the Senate in Rome itself. The plebeians and the minor merchants need to read this!"

"Thank you, Lucius," Marcus said. "I... I would never have seen the rot in our society if you had not forced me to look at the ledgers. I thought we were the traitors, but it is the magistrates who have betrayed the spirit of Rome. It is an honor to fight alongside you."

Lucius picked the manuscript up, aligning the edges of the paper. "The honor is mine, little brother. Come. Let us take this to the river. It is time to test a new machine."

Marcus frowned in confusion, but followed as Lucius strode out of the study.

As they exited the villa, Valerius and a detachment of six *Custodes* fell into step around them.

Despite the annihilation of Tribune Gaius’s cohorts in the gorge, Lucius was not taking chances.

They walked down the terraced hills, passing the blast furnace, until they reached the banks of the river where the paper mill churned.

Adjacent to the trip-hammers, Lucius had ordered the construction of a timber building.

Inside this facility, the air smelled of pine resin and ink.

Dozens of freedmen were working at benches, but they were not using styluses.

At the front of the hall, a freedman named Aulus rushed forward.

Aulus had been a master scribe in the city before Cassius poached him with an exorbitant salary, and the man worshipped the ground Lucius walked on.

"Dominus Lucius! Oh, what a blessing it is to have you grace this hall!" Aulus gushed, bowing so low his nose touched the sawdust on the floor. "Tell me, how may this servant execute your vision today?"

Lucius suppressed a sigh.

He despised the sycophancy of Roman social climbers, but Aulus possessed a talent for managing the workforce.

"Aulus," Lucius began, holding out the manuscript. "I need a production line established for this text. I do not want it copied by hand. I want you to utilize the xylography technique."

Aulus took the paper, his eyes widening. "Of course, Dominus! Your will is the law of the river! We shall carve the text in reverse upon the cherry-wood blocks. We shall press them into the ink and stamp them upon the paper as you taught us. A brilliant method, if I may be so bold, for a master!"

Woodblock printing did not exist in the Roman Empire, but Lucius had introduced the technique the moment the paper mill became operational.

While carving the blocks took days of labor, once they were finished, a worker could stamp hundreds of pages in an afternoon...

"Halt all other printing," Lucius instructed, ignoring the flattery. "Dedicate the floor to this manifesto. I want a thousand copies bound and ready for the trade caravans by the end of the month."

"It shall be done, Dominus!" Aulus beamed, bowing again before scurrying off to scream orders at the wood-carvers.

As Lucius watched the mobilization of the print shop, his eyes narrowed.

He looked at the doors of the facility and the stacks of paper and ink stored near the windows.

The paper mill and this printing press were the heart of his empire, yet they were sitting undefended on the edge of the river.

Lucius turned to his Security Chief, who was standing by the door frame.

"Valerius," Lucius said. "This facility is exposed. I want a contubernium of *Custodes* stationed here day and night. Nobody enters or leaves without being searched. This building is now a restricted military asset."

With the army swelling to a thousand men, Valerius had troops to spare.

The veteran nodded. "I will have a guardhouse constructed by dusk, Dominus. The perimeter will be locked down."

Satisfied that the propaganda machine was secure, Lucius signaled for Marcus, and the entourage made its way up the hill toward the villa.

Once they were inside the study, Lucius walked over to a tray resting on a side table. He poured two goblets of Falernian wine, turning to hand one to his brother.

Lucius raised his goblet, the liquid catching the light of the hearth.

"To your manifesto, Marcus," Lucius offered, a smile on his face. "May it shatter the corruption of the guilds and open the eyes of Rome!"

Marcus’s face flushed with pride, and he clinked his goblet against his brother’s.

"To a just Rome," Marcus replied, taking a drink of the wine. "I believe this will change things, Lucius. When the minor merchants and the plebeians read the truth about how the elite have been suffocating their livelihoods, they will petition the Senate. The magistrates will have no choice but to dismantle the monopolies, or face the wrath of the people’s assemblies."

Lucius smiled, taking a sip from his cup.

He knew what the manifesto would do, and it had nothing to do with peaceful petitions.

When the plebeians of Gaul read a text proving that their misery was engineered by the rich, they would not write letters to the Senate.

They would drag the Guild Masters into the streets and burn the magistrate’s courts to the ground.

Lucius knew that his brother had written the spark that would ignite a class war across the province.

And that was what Lucius wanted... While the Roman elite and the underclass tore each other apart in the streets of the cities, the authorities would be too distracted to notice the empire of Fundus Ferratus expanding its borders, hoarding gold, and arming the military.

As the two brothers stood by the fire, celebrating their shared victory, only the Forge Master understood the chaos they had unleashed upon the world...

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