Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

"Governor!" the scout gasped, leaning against the central tent pole. "Forgive the interruption, but the northern outriders have returned. We have a legionary breach!"

Marcellus’s face hardened. The murmurs of the magistrates died.

"Speak clearly, soldier," Marcellus demanded. "Which pretender has crossed our borders? How many men?"

The scout swallowed, his eyes darting to the Praefectus before looking back to the Governor. "It is the vanguard of Legate Rufinus, sire. Ten thousand heavy infantry, supported by cavalry. They are marching south under the command of Tribune Quintus Fabius."

A silence fell over the war room...

Ten thousand veterans under Rufinus’s banner was a force capable of cracking Civitas Aurelia open!

Marcellus gripped the edges of the map table, his knuckles turning white.

"Are they moving on the capital?" Claudius asked, his hand drifting to the hilt of his gladius.

"No, Praefectus," the scout replied, shaking his head. "They bypassed the main highway. They are cutting through the eastern valleys. Their target is Fundus Ferratus."

The tension in the room vanished, replaced by an exhalation of relief.

Marcellus stared at the scout for a moment before a laugh began to rumble in his chest.

"Rufinus is not coming for the province," Marcellus sneered, a smile stretching across his face. "He is coming for the Forge Master."

"Governor, the situation is more complex..." the scout interjected.

"Explain."

"Our outriders observed the valley," the scout reported. "Lucius Cassius is not hiding behind his palisades. He has mobilized his workforce. Over a thousand men, armed with pikes and siege engines, have marched out into the plains. He intends to meet the Tribune’s legion head-on."

For a moment, the war room was silent... Then, Praefectus Claudius let out a laugh.

"The boy has lost his mind!" Claudius scoffed, shaking his head. "A thousand laborers marching into a field against ten thousand legionaries? It won’t be a battle. It will be a butchery. Quintus will wash the valley in their blood."

Marcellus’s eyes narrowed He looked at the map, tracing the route between the capital and the estate.

"...that leaves his estate undefended," Marcellus murmured, tapping the parchment.

He looked up, his gaze locking onto his commander. "Claudius, assemble four cohorts of the city watch. I want you marching east behind Quintus’s vanguard. Keep your distance, let the Tribune slaughter the Cassius boy, and the moment the dust settles, you move in. You will occupy Fundus Ferratus in the name of the province. We will secure the blast furnaces, the paper mills, and the gold before Rufinus can claim it all for himself."

Claudius offered a salute. The prospect of looting the wealthiest estate in Gaul without having to fight its war engines was an opportunity sent by the gods!

"It shall be done, Governor. We will pick the bones clean."

With that command, the landscape of the province shifted.

The Roman elite, rather than uniting to face the invading legions, were maneuvering to scavenge the remains, convinced that the empire was drawing its final breaths.

---

Miles away, the march of ten thousand boots shook the earth.

Tribune Quintus Fabius rode near the front of the column. Quintus was studying a map of the valley topography when his Centurion, a brute named Bato, spurred his horse alongside the Tribune.

"Sir," Bato grunted, gesturing toward the rear of the command group. "The scouts intercepted a man fleeing down the river paths. He claims to be a merchant of the Guilds, escaping the iron estate. He says he possesses intelligence regarding the Forge Master’s movements."

Quintus rolled up his map. "Bring him forward."

Two legionaries dragged a bruised man in mud-stained tunics before the Tribune’s horse. The merchant fell to his knees, holding up a bundle of paper.

Quintus did not know that this man was one of Valerius’s double agents, a smuggler chosen for his ability to spin a lie under pressure.

"Tribune! Mercy!" the merchant pleaded, his teeth chattering. "I am a loyal citizen! I was held against my will at Fundus Ferratus to balance their ledgers. But the Forge Master has gone mad! He heard of your approach and forced every man, even the guards, out of the fortress. They are marching to the valley choke-point to try and ambush you!"

Quintus motioned for Bato to take the papers. The Centurion snatched the bundle, unrolling it and handing it up to his commander.

It was a forged manifest crafted by Aulus the scribe...

It documented the depletion of the estate’s armory and food stores, noting that one hundred percent of the *Custodes* had been deployed to the field.

"And the fortress itself?" Quintus demanded, his eyes scanning the paper. "Who mans the walls?"

"No one of consequence, Tribune!" the merchant swore, pressing his forehead to the mud. "Only the women, the elderly thralls, and a handful of miners to stoke the fires. He left it barren. He is terrified of a siege, so he threw everything he has into this one field maneuver!"

Quintus leaned back in his saddle, a satisfaction settling over him. He handed the manifest back to Bato.

"Lucius always was too clever for his own good," Quintus muttered, looking toward the horizon. "He knows his walls cannot withstand a bombardment, so he is trying to force us into an engagement in the valley."

Bato’s eyes gleamed. "If the fortress is empty, Tribune, we are wasting our time marching the column into his trap."

Quintus nodded. "You are right, Centurion. If we shatter his army, he will retreat to his walls and force us to dig in for weeks. We cut the head off the snake today."

The Tribune turned to his second-in-command, issuing the orders that would seal the fate of thousands of men.

"Bato, take the Third and Fourth cohorts. Three thousand heavy infantry," Quintus commanded. "Break off from the main column and take the eastern goat paths. You will bypass the valley and swing around to the rear of Fundus Ferratus. If the merchant speaks the truth, you will face no resistance. Smash the gates, secure the blast furnace, and take the patrician’s bride alive. I want her in chains when I arrive."

A grin split Bato’s face. The prospect of sacking the wealthiest estate in the empire against a garrison of women and miners was a soldier’s dream...

"Consider the fortress yours, Tribune," Bato saluted, turning his horse to begin peeling his cohorts away from the line.

"I will take the remaining seven thousand men and march into Lucius’s trap," Quintus finished. "We will grind his phalanxes into the mud, and when he turns to flee, he will find his home burning."

Within minutes, the Roman column fractured...

Three thousand veterans vanished into the eastern tree line, while Quintus led the bulk of his army down the throat of the valley.

Quintus was certain he had executed a tactical envelopment... He had outsmarted his friend.

Fundus Ferratus was garrisoned by Isolda, a crew of engineers, and Kallias the chemist, who had spent the last two weeks burying hundreds of clay pots packed with explosives beneath the eastern approach.

By splitting his forces, Quintus had marched a third of his army into the kill-zone.

The war for Gaul had begun, and the Roman Empire was marching blind...

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