Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

Following the butchery in the gardens, the palace was thrust into a lockdown.

Valerius and the *Custodes* sealed every gate, tearing through the corridors to hunt down the perpetrator.

Meanwhile, former Governor Marcellus had scrambled back to his quarters. He was pressed against his door, his chest heaving with breaths.

For the first time since the Forge Master had usurped his city, Marcellus felt a taste of power.

He had struck a blow. He had taken something precious from the princess and he had slipped away like a phantom.

He could get used to this kind of shadow warfare... Or so he believed.

As Marcellus turned away from the door and caught his reflection in a mirror, his triumph evaporated. The front of his toga was soaked in blood. His hands were slick with gore, and he was clutching the cleaver.

A spike of panic pierced his chest. Moving with haste, Marcellus stripped the ruined toga from his shoulders.

He rolled the wool around the cleaver, rushed to his balcony window, and hurled the bundle into the rosebushes two stories below.

Marcellus possessed the cunning of a bureaucrat, but he was an incompetent criminal. Not only had he left a trail of footprints tracking back to his wing of the palace, but he had discarded the murder weapon and his garments in plain sight beneath his balcony.

It was a certainty that the Syndicate would trace the slaughter back to him...

But Marcellus, blinded by his hatred, believed he had executed a masterpiece. He grinned at his reflection, anticipating the opportunity to inflict more misery upon Isolda. Yet, he knew targets would be scarce.

The only other things she cared about were Lucius and the child growing in her womb, and both were untouchable. Lucius was guarded by a wall of steel, and Isolda’s chambers were a fortress.

Still, the memory of her scream echoing through the gardens was enough to sustain him. He replayed the sound in his mind, a smile curling his lips.

Two floors below, the Forge Master was not reveling in victory.

While the *Custodes* interrogated the palace staff, Lucius had taken a shovel and buried the remains of Isolda’s hounds in the earth of the garden.

Following the task, he had carried his wife to the baths of the praetorium, scrubbing the mud and blood from her skin.

Isolda, normally a pillar of resolve, was shattered by the cruelty inflicted upon her beasts. She trembled against Lucius’s chest, her tears mixing with the water.

Lucius held her, running his hands through her hair.

"I swear by all the gods of iron and ash," Lucius whispered. "I will find the rat who did this, and I will end their existence."

"Why?" Isolda choked out, her voice fractured. "Why would they butcher helpless beasts? What did I do to invite this?"

Lucius pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"This is not your burden," Lucius murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It is mine. Someone managed to infiltrate my home, and they used this butchery as a warning! When I uncover who orchestrated this, I will tear their manor down to the foundation stones and gut their bloodline in front of their eyes!"

Lucius was consumed by a rage. The slaughter of the hounds violated three laws of his existence.

First, it challenged his control over his domain.

Second, it was a threat. The perpetrator possessed the arrogance to believe they could strike at the Forge Master’s family and remain untouchable.

Third, the bastard responsible had made Isolda cry. For that transgression alone, the penalty was death.

After ensuring Isolda was clean and warm, Lucius escorted her to their chambers. He posted twenty of his *Custodes* outside the doors... men who had bled for him in the northern valleys and would never be bought.

With his wife secure, Lucius descended to the audience hall. He poured himself a goblet of spirits and sat upon the Governor’s throne. HHe drank, waiting in the torchlight for the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place.

It took less than an hour for Valerius to compile the evidence...

The commander marched into the audience hall, dropping a bundle of wool and a meat cleaver onto the floor.

"Dominus," Valerius reported, his face grim. "The trail of blood led from the kennel to the upper east wing. We found this toga wrapped around the blade in the rosebushes beneath Governor Marcellus’s balcony. Furthermore, the head cook has testified that Marcellus demanded a cleaver from the kitchens hours before the slaughter."

Lucius stared at the wool.

He could not orchestrate a public execution of the legally recognized Governor over the death of an animal without inciting a firestorm among the remaining patricians.

But he was not going to let the man live...

"Where is he?" Lucius asked.

"Barricaded in his quarters," Valerius answered. "I have guards posted at his door to ensure he does not slip away. What are your orders, Dominus? Shall we drag him to the dungeons?"

Lucius swirled the liquid in his goblet before delivering a command that chilled the room.

"Do nothing," Lucius decreed. "I will speak to the Governor myself. As for everyone in this hall... you will swear upon pain of death that you will never breathe a word of this evidence, or this conversation, to a living soul."

The *Custodes* exchanged glances, but they saw the darkness swimming in the Forge Master’s eyes.

One by one, they struck their breastplates.

"We swear upon our blood and steel, Dominus. We saw nothing."

Lucius nodded. He set his goblet aside, rose from the throne, and walked out of the hall.

When he reached the upper east wing, the guards flanking Marcellus’s door snapped to attention.

"Open it," Lucius commanded.

The guards unlatched the door. As they stepped forward to escort him inside, Lucius raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks.

"Remain in the hall. Ensure no one enters."

One of the guards hesitated. "Dominus, the man is unhinged. He might be armed. It is not safe—"

Lucius turned his head a fraction, leveling a glare so hateful that the guard flinched, snapping his mouth shut and stepping back into the corridor.

Lucius stepped into the quarters, pushing the door closed and locking the bolt behind him.

Marcellus was standing near the center of the room, feigning a look of confusion. The former Governor had no idea how swiftly the Syndicate’s apparatus operated. Lucius ignored him, walking across the room to the balcony doors. He pushed them open, letting the breeze sweep through the chamber.

Lucius let out a sigh. "Your bloody toga is wrapped around a cleaver in the bushes beneath this window. And my head cook has sworn to the gods that he handed you the murder weapon. So abandon this theater, Marcellus. Tell me why. Are you so desperate to reclaim your authority that you resorted to threatening me by slaughtering an animal?"

Realizing the weight of the evidence against him, the facade of innocence vanished. Marcellus let out a laugh. He looked at Lucius with an expression of contempt.

"Do you have such an inflated vision of yourself that you believe everything I do is about you?" Marcellus sneered. "This was never a threat to you, Forge Master."

Lucius narrowed his eyes, perplexed. "Then why?"

Marcellus gritted his teeth. He screamed the words into the room.

"To teach that barbarian bitch a lesson!"

The moment those words left Marcellus’s lips, the engineer inside Lucius vanished, replaced by a demon.

If there was a rule in Lucius’s empire, it was that his family was sacrosanct...

Despite the fury erupting in his chest, Lucius’s face remained a mask of calm. He turned his attention to the light of the rising sun over the city skyline, and beckoned the Governor forward with a wave of his hand.

"Marcellus," Lucius murmured. "Come here. I want to show you something."

Marcellus frowned, confused by the warlord’s demeanor.

In his arrogance, Marcellus believed his status shielded him from execution.

Smug and oblivious to the danger, Marcellus walked out onto the balcony, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Forge Master as they looked out over the waking city.

"Tell me something, Governor," Lucius whispered. "Do you know the penalty for making my wife bleed?"

Marcellus turned away from the sunrise, offering Lucius a grin.

"No," Marcellus mocked. "What is it?"

At that second, the darkness behind Lucius’s eyes flared to life.

"Gravity," Lucius answered.

Before Marcellus could process the word, Lucius drove a gauntlet into the Governor’s chest, shoving him backward over the balustrade.

Marcellus shrieked, his arms flailing in the air as he plummeted two stories down. He struck the flagstones of the courtyard headfirst with a crunch.

The puppet ruler of Gaul died.

Lucius leaned over the balcony, staring at the corpse of his enemy for a moment.

He adjusted the cuffs of his tunic with an apathetic expression, turned on his heel, and walked out of the chamber.

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