Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

April 20, 221 AD, Civitas Aurelia, Gallia.

Lucius had spent the last fourteen hours locked in a fugue state of design, trying to finalize the blueprints for his armada.

While the *Isolda*-class galleon was a masterpiece of deep-water engineering, Lucius had come to a realization. It was a logistical nightmare to mass-produce. Constructing a fleet of those leviathans would drain the Syndicate’s timber reserves and divert too much steel from the agricultural sectors.

Furthermore, the galleon’s draft made it useless for navigating the coastal waters and inland rivers where Legate Rufinus would deploy his barges.

He needed a vessel that could be built in a fraction of the time, designed to dominate the Mediterranean coastline and the Rhone River.

To solve this bottleneck, Lucius shifted his stylus and began drafting a modernization of the Roman *Liburna*.

The liburnian was a galley, but Lucius’s iteration was a steam-assisted hybrid. He stripped away the ramming prows and the vulnerability of oarsmen. Instead, this cruiser featured an armored hull powered by a combination of lateen sails and an internal steam paddle system.

Instead of relying on legionaries boarding enemy ships with swords, these cruisers would be lined with broadside arrays of Decimus Engines.

A fleet of these vessels could unleash thousands of quarrels into a Roman armada before the imperial triremes could close the distance.

But war was only half the equation...

Lucius finalized the schematics for a steam-driven freighter. This vessel was unarmed, built for speed and cargo capacity.

With a shallow draft and an elongated hull, it could outrun any galley on the water.

These freighters would serve as the lifeblood of the Syndicate, hauling sulfur, iron, and natron to the foundries of Gaul.

Lucius refined the armor of both vessels. Rather than relying on a zinc wash, he mandated a steel sheathing over the hulls. He noted that these plates were to be lacquered in a slate-gray finish, bisected by a stripe of crimson along the waterline.

This would extend the lifespan of the ships by preventing rot and deflecting artillery fire, while creating a unified aesthetic on the water.

With the architecture complete, Lucius turned his attention to the men who would sail them. The Roman legionary tunic and segmentata were a death sentence for a sailor falling overboard.

He sketched out a uniform for the Syndicate Navy.

Borrowing from the coats of the 18th century, he designed jackets with double-breasted buttons, paired with trousers and boots.

It was functional, and severed his men from the visual identity of the Roman military.

There was only one remaining detail, but it was perhaps the most significant stroke he would make all night.

The Forge Master needed a flag. The Roman Empire marched under the banner of the eagle... a symbol of the Senate’s authority.

Lucius intended to burn that authority to the ground.

He drafted a standard to fly from the masts of his ironclads. He chose a black field.

In the center, stamped in silver, was an anvil, framed by a crossed hammer and tongs. A stripe of crimson underlined the crest. It was a sigil. Any vessel flying this flag was under the protection of the Syndicate, and any Roman magistrate who dared to fire upon it would be inviting the wrath of chemical artillery.

Lucius dropped his stylus, leaning back in his chair. His joints popped in protest as he stretched his shoulders. He rolled the stack of blueprints into tubes, sealing the caps with the Syndicate’s anvil crest in wax.

He summoned the captain of his door guard, handing over the cylinders.

"Take a detachment of twenty *Custodes*," Lucius commanded, his voice hoarse. "Deliver these to Prefect Nearchus at the Massilia drydocks. If a patrol attempts to intercept you, you are authorized to use explosive munitions. These designs do not fall into the hands of the Legates."

The captain struck his breastplate with a gauntlet, accepting the tubes. "They will be delivered in blood or in peace, Dominus. The Senate will not touch them."

Once the guards departed, Lucius dragged himself out of the study.

His mind was buzzing with the energy of a breakthrough, but his body was collapsing.

He navigated the corridors of the praetorium, stepping into the audience hall. He slumped onto the throne, resting his chin in his hand.

A moment later, the doors on the far side of the hall swung open. Isolda stepped into the room, draped in a gown of wool that highlighted her eyes.

Trotting at her heels was Fenrir. The Ovcharka puppy was not even six months old, yet he possessed the shoulder height of a wolf and weighed nearly a hundred pounds.

The moment Fenrir spotted Lucius slouched on the throne, the beast let out a bark. He abandoned his mistress, bounding across the floor.

Lucius braced himself as the hound slammed into his legs, wedging his head onto Lucius’s lap, demanding affection.

Isolda paused in the center of the hall, crossing her arms over her chest. A pout formed on her lips as she watched her husband scratching the beast behind the ears.

"I see how it is," Isolda teased, her voice echoing through the chamber. "I spend all morning organizing your intelligence network, and the moment I enter the room, a shedding mountain dog steals my seat."

Lucius let out a chuckle, looking up at his wife. "Are you jealous of a hound?"

Isolda rolled her eyes, turning her head away in a display of stubbornness.

She refused to acknowledge his grin, maintaining her feigned indignance.

Fenrir, however, stopped panting.

The dog looked up at Lucius, then turned his head to look at Isolda.

With a whine, the beast pulled his head from Lucius’s lap.

He trotted back over to Isolda, catching the sleeve of her gown in his teeth, and began tugging her toward the throne.

Isolda let out a laugh, breaking character as the dog dragged her across the floor.

When she reached the throne, Fenrir nudged her with his snout until she relented, turning around and sitting sideways onto Lucius’s lap.

The moment she was settled, Fenrir rested his chin across both of their legs, letting out a sigh.

Lucius stared at the dog, bewildered. "That is... intelligent."

"..." Isolda sighed, wrapping an arm around Lucius’s neck and settling against his chest. "I think he might be smarter than half the magistrates in this city."

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