For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 20B3 : A Light Drink

B3 Chapter 20: A Light Drink

Marcus had never in his life seen the streets of the capital so empty. Not in all his years. Even when there were major events taking place elsewhere, there always remained a steady stream of those who opted not to attend in favor of getting ahead on their work. But now? The city was practically a ghost town. If not for the lack of carnage, he would have thought that the orcs had already come through and slaughtered everyone.

Despite being physically nearby, the orcs had always been a rather distant threat to these people. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went. The idea that they could possibly make it this far was unfathomable to the point that it hardly warranted consideration.

At least, until it suddenly did.

His steps sounded far too loud as he hurried down the paved roads, the dull roar of battle echoing through the air. Occasionally, he'd see a flicker of movement in a window or hear the distant clatter of marching footfalls as the Legionnaires spread out to secure the city. But for the most part, his passage through the city went unremarked and uncontested.

That didn’t mean that Marcus was taking any chances, however. He’d adopted a disguise for this little mission, as well as obscured a few of his more distinct features with a [Glamour]. Just to avoid tempting any opportunistic types from trying to claim the bounty on his head. Here in the epicenter of the country, it would be stupid to do anything less.

He quickly weaved through alleys and streets, keeping to the shadows and out of sight where he could. Eleonora had already split off and made for the Adventurer's Guild headquarters. She hoped to explain the situation to them and head off any attempts to send parties after the Legion. Well, assuming they would. It was entirely possible that every adventurer in the city had either fled or was already occupied with the orc problem.

How successful she would be remained to be seen. She was only a bronze rank adventurer, yet she’d also gained quite a few levels in her time with the Romans. That strength would likely be worth something at least.

Marcus, though? He had other priorities.

After a few minutes of hurrying, he slipped onto another broad thoroughfare and stopped in front of a tavern. A metal sign hanging above identified the place as The Gilded Lily. It was a relatively fine establishment—nice enough that drunkards only seeking cheap ale would venture elsewhere, yet catered to the common folk enough to attract higher-class nobles that felt like slumming it for a night. At least, it had been when Marcus was last here.

Finding the front door boarded up, he slipped soundlessly around to the back. A hidden latch revealed a false bottom in one of the barrels stacked there, and Marcus quickly slipped inside. In moments, he was inside one of the place’s rooms and stepping into the common area of the establishment.

It was just as he recalled. Only the faintest bit of light streamed in from between the boarded windows, but it was enough to make out the clean wooden tables and their unmarred surfaces. Rows of bottles ranging from the finest crystal to the cheapest of spirits lined the shelves behind the bar. Overhead, hanging chandeliers of extinguished candles swung slowly and ponderously in the gloom. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

His eyes were still adjusting to the dimness when he felt a sharp point press firmly against his back. “We’re closed. Or didn’t you see the front?”

Marcus slowly raised his hands. “Easy. I mean neither you nor the Lily any harm. I’m just looking to enjoy a drink with an old friend.”

There was a pause. “That voice…”

Reaching up, Marcus slowly lowered his hood and dropped his [Glamour]. He smiled over his shoulder. “Good to see you, Bernard. Have you been well?”

The pressure on Marcus’s back eased, then disappeared altogether as Bernard stepped back. “Marcus? The fuck are you doing back? You got a death wish, mate?”

“Oh, far from it.” The bard chuckled and turned as his old friend slipped the dagger back into his belt. “I’m just looking to catch up. You know, hear the latest news.”

“Odd time for that…” Bernard muttered.

“Some would argue it’s the best time,” Marcus quipped.

The willowy man shook his head with a sigh. “Might as well. Not like I’m doin’ much else but waiting for the damn greenskins to sweep on through…”

Bernard led Marcus to the bar, plucking a pair of glasses from beneath it. The glass frosted over in his grip as Bernard deftly swiped a bottle of rather expensive spirits from one of the shelves and began to pour. “So. Aside from the obvious news… what do you wanna hear about?”

Marcus grinned. “What else? I've gone far too long without my fix of courtly intrigue. Surely there have been some rather interesting developments in my absence.”

The man gave him a flat look. “Really, Marcus? Don't even try to tell me you came all this way just to get your fix of gossip.*

“Unfortunately, no.” The bard’s jovial smile fell as he adopted a more serious expression. “Far from it.”

When he refused to elaborate, Bernard eventually relented. The man sighed again. “Fine, fine. Well, you got one thing right—there have been a lot of changes…”

Over the next few minutes, the tavern keeper gave him a summary of what Marcus had missed. Quite a lot, as it turned out—and not much of it any surprise. Businesses closing and others finding themselves flush with opportunities, depending on how openly they pandered to the king. Some nobles executed and others that had expanded their territory for the same reasons.

Bernard had always been Marcus’s premier source on such matters. Unbeknownst to most, the man had deep ties to Novara and its spy network. But the changing winds of politics that accompanied the king’s ascension had seen him step down from that role—rather forcefully. The tavern had always been his retirement plan, though he did like to keep abreast of things even now. Especially given that information dealing made for quite a lucrative side business.

“And what of Count Rollo?” Marcus asked. “Is he still around?”

Bernard scoffed as he swirled his glass. “Barely. His son was in here complaining just a few days before those bloody orcs showed up. Apparently the king was trying to demand another levy. Mind you, that’s nothing unusual at this point, but when they already don't have enough peasants to farm the land?

The harvest will be short this year simply because they don't have the hands to pull it out of the ground. I would say the king is trying to intentionally bring the family to ruin, but at this point? I honestly think he’s just put all the smart advisers in the dungeon to rot. Not like he’s ever been much for coming up with his own plans.”

Unlawfully taken from novelbuddy, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Marcus nodded, letting the casual insults of the king pass without comment. If there was anyone who Bernard could afford to speak so freely with, it was him.

After their conversation, he felt as though he had a much better understanding of Novara’s current landscape. In general, people seemed relatively unhappy. Which was, in Marcus’s eyes, actually a good thing. It was something he could take advantage of.

“But enough about all that,” Bernard began to change the subject. “I’m more curious about you. When did you get back? And why? Even without the orcs looking to sweep on through, this place isn’t safe for you. I thought you valued your head more than that.”

Marcus made his expression unreadable. He had to choose his words carefully. Anything he said here would spread—for good or for ill. Which was why he had to make a strong case to the man.

Marcus set down his drink with a sigh. “My friend. Of all my concerns, that one is the least of them—and even it will cease to be soon enough. We are on the cusp of a new era’s dawn. Novara is not long for this world, I fear. Yet its fall will not be due to the orcs.”

“Ah. You mean the other army on our doorstep?” Bernard asked. At Marcus's nod, the man snorted. “Huh. As bad a turn as the king did you, armed rebellion is quite the escalation. I never took you for the type.”

“I’m not,” Marcus answered honestly. “But certain… circumstances… have swept me up in the changing tides of history. I’ll admit, while I make my coin from the telling of legends and epic tales, I truly never thought to witness one myself—much less be a part of it.”

“Dramatic as always…” Bernard grumbled and refilled their drinks. “Who are they, anyways? It’s no faction that I’m familiar with, and their gear is too professional to be some ragtag group of rebels.”

“They are Roman Legionnaires. Citizens of the Roman Empire and beholden to Emperor Tiberius Rufius Maro.”

He snorted. “A new country? What, did they just pop up out of thin air?”

“Essentially, yes. It’s… a long story.” One Marcus wasn’t particularly keen on sharing his part in. “But don’t be fooled by their levels. They intend to carve out land for their budding empire. And based on what they’ve managed so far? I’m not entirely certain they can be stopped.”

“You really think those opportunists can take the capital? I’ll give you that the place is in rough shape right now, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. Especially when it comes to taking the castle. And that’s not even considering that they’ll have to deal with the orcs, too.”

“I’m certain of it.” Marcus replied without hesitation. “I’ve seen them accomplish things I thought to be impossible. I don’t see why this should be any different. Besides, they're already inside the city and taking it over as we speak. Though I'm certain you already know that.”

“And the king? What do you suppose they’ll do with him, should they be successful?”

Marcus schooled his expression. “As I said, that problem will likely cease to be soon enough.”

Bernard studied Marcus for a long moment as he continued to sip his drink. As much as the bard would have liked to crank [Charm] to the max for this conversation, he knew better. Bernard had a skill that allowed him to detect such influences, and he certainly wouldn’t take kindly to the manipulation. Luckily, [Silver Tongue] didn’t seem to have the same drawback in his experience. Between it and the rapport they had, Marcus could only hope that it was enough.

“The timing seems quite convenient,” Bernard mused. “These soldiers appearing just as the orcs did. Almost like it was planned.”

Marcus met his eyes evenly. “Friend, believe me when I say that such subterfuge would be unnecessary. They do not ally themselves with the orcs. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they turn their attention to conquering their lands next.”

A sound like an avalanche of thunderbolts rang out as though to punctuate Marcus's words. The noise made both men jump in their seats.

“The hells was that?” Bernard hissed.

Marcus chuckled. “Proof.”

The tavern keeper gave him a sidelong glance as the distant artillery barrage continued. His demeanor turned serious. “Fine. Let's say I believe your story, crazy as it may be… What do you want from me?”

Marcus smiled. “Aside from the information you've already shared? I need your network. When the Romans take over, I'd much prefer to reduce the bloodshed that ensues. Making sure that people are prepared, warning them and convincing them not to do anything rash… Though persuasion is my specialty, I am but one man.”

“How magnanimous.” Bernard said flatly. “I see that levels aren't the only thing you gained in your time away. Who'd have expected you to grew a heart?”

The bard adopted a wounded expression. “I’ve always had a heart, my friend! Why, it’s the very reason I found myself fleeing this fine town to begin with!”

“Right, because fucking the king’s daughters was clearly what your heart demanded, not your dick.” The man rolled his eyes, not buying Marcus’s explanation for a second.

Marcus just shook his head with a smile. His motives for his present endeavor were considerably less altruistic than Bernard suggested. But he didn't want to correct the man's assumption.

"All I ask is that you spread the word. And quickly. As I said, they are already inside the city. It won't be long until their presence is more keenly felt. And though their current focus will undoubtedly be to repel the orcs and uproot the king, I would not presume that such efforts will take long. Who knows? There might be opportunities for those who ingratiate themselves to the new empire.”

“Right, right,” Bernard waved dismissively. “You can stop with the whole sales pitch. I'll see what I can do.”

Inwardly, Marcus couldn't help but feel a bit of relief. Having Bernard’s support would make this venture many times easier. The man’s connections were nothing to scoff at, reaching from the high court all the way down to gangs of street rats. At least, assuming he hadn’t lost his touch.

“...Before you go, there’s one more thing you might find interesting.” The tavern keeper paused. “A few days back, the king ‘wisely’ decided to pull back the city’s strongest fighters to the castle. The place was lost anyway, so he chose to make a last stand and protect the castle. That’s the charitable explanation, anyway.”

That caught Marcus’s attention. The Legionnaires had mentioned a sudden disappearance of some of the defenders on the wall. This would certainly explain it.

Bernard continued. “...But not everyone was invited to the party. Plenty of nobles got left out in the cold when the gates closed. Most are hunkering down just like the rest of us, but the good ones are sending their men to fight off the orcs. I wouldn’t be surprised if some find themselves happy to see the man get what he deserves. Might even have a personal interest in the matter.”

Marcus smiled. “That, my friend, is exactly the kind of insight I come to you for.”

***

After quickly finishing his drink—it would have been a crime to waste it—Marcus bid Bernard farewell and headed for his next stop. The man had given him a list of names and noble houses that might be sympathetic to the Roman occupation efforts. The list was not a particularly long one, as any noble family that wasn’t at least somewhat loyal to the king had been chased out of the city long ago. Still, it would take Marcus time to cover them all.

Before long, he found himself standing before a grand estate near the city’s center. Count Rollo’s estate.

He grimaced. He’d never been a big fan of the family. Their patriarch in particular always rubbed him the wrong way. Not to mention that he wasn’t exactly a patron of the arts, as one look at his austere estate made clear.

But tempting as it was to skip over the place entirely, Marcus couldn’t bring himself to do so. He disliked the man, true, but not enough to wish death upon him. And he held no illusions that the Novaran nobles would be quite high on the Romans’ own list for execution once all this was over. Assuming, of course, that Marcus didn’t make quite the strong case against it.

He suppressed a sigh. This would not be an enjoyable visit. But perhaps Bernard was right. Maybe Marcus had grown a heart, or at least a sense of duty, over the past few months.

Stepping forward, he began walking toward the estate’s front gate.