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The veteran turned around, his gaze piercing through the burning flames, as if seeing a distant past. A pained smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Forty years ago, we traversed this land for the Emperor and Rome. We destroyed their temples, burned their villages, killed their warriors, and even their women and children were not spared. Verutius, the leader of the Rebels, spent five years teaching us how fiercely the people here resisted our presence."
He paused for a moment, lightly tapping the wineskin in his hand before taking a sip and continuing:
"Of course, we ultimately succeeded in quelling the rebellion. But the price we paid left an indelible shadow in the heart of every Roman soldier. Every inch of this land is tainted with blood and hatred. The restless spirits of those who could not return home still wander here, warning us with every rustle of the wind."
Cyrus fell silent for a moment after listening, then said softly, "I never realized any of this before. I thought we were here to bring civilization and order, but from your account, I feel like we may have brought more pain and tragedy instead."
The old soldier nodded and said, "Now you understand why we despise this place so much. It's not just land and trees, it's a story filled with tragedy and hatred, a story that no one can end."
Cyrus looked into the distance, feeling a heavy burden in his heart. Perhaps for the first time, he truly realized that war and conquest brought not only glory and wealth, but also irreparable trauma and pain.
The old soldier fiercely stirred the campfire with a thick branch, causing sparks to fly like the resentment in his heart. He smirked coldly, "Not to mention that wretch Boudica from twenty years ago. That woman, that vixen, used her damned witchcraft and lies to incite the entire tribe, making them charge out like mad dogs."
"You may not know, but that time, we Legio IX suffered huge losses. That woman not only attacked our camp, but also harmed our families and children. Her methods were more terrifying than the most vicious beasts. She is not a hero, she is a devil, a plunderer, a murderer!"
"We lost nearly two thousand soldiers in total, not counting those captured and tortured to death. The land that should have been ours was turned into a river of blood by those barbarians. Our army, which we had painstakingly assembled, was destroyed that night. Our swords and shields were scattered and displayed as trophies by those wretches."
"She may think that this will defeat Rome, but she is wrong. Rome will not be defeated by such despicable behavior. But I swear, I will never forgive her in my lifetime, nor will I forgive those barbarians who follow her. They destroyed everything for us, and for themselves."
The old soldier's tone was filled with resentment and disdain, as if he had returned to that night filled with fire and blood, a disaster that he could never forget.
He once again vigorously stirred the fire, as if trying to vent his inner resentment in this way. "You had better remember all of this. Anything can happen in this land, and we must be prepared to prevent history from repeating itself."
As soon as the words of the second veteran fell, the third veteran stood up and interrupted him expressionlessly: "Don't forget, Boudica is already dead. Do you remember the Battle of Watling Street?"
He cleared his throat and adjusted his shield and sword before continuing, "The Watling Street battle was a decisive and deadly one. Boudica led her massive army with confidence, believing that their numerical superiority would ensure victory. Her forces, comprised of multiple tribes, rallied with fervent cries, as if they thought they could win simply by charging forward."
"But she overestimated herself and underestimated us. At the start of the battle, Boudica's troops launched a fierce assault, surging towards us like a tidal wave. However, her army lacked discipline and effective tactical organization. Meanwhile, our Roman army was well-trained and tightly organized. We formed a dense shield wall that prevented their attacks from reaching us, and then effectively countered with our short swords."
"Our army operates with extreme discipline. Our formations are as steady as a rock, archers shoot with precision, and the cavalry launches decisive attacks at the most opportune moments. As the sun began to set, Boudica's forces were in disarray, starting to scatter and flee."
"Our cavalry pursued and slaughtered them, leaving the land littered with the bodies of Boudica's army. Their weapons, shields, and banners were abandoned, as if they had lost the will to fight. At that moment, even the most stubborn resistors recognized the reality: no one can resist the iron grip of Rome."
"The battle lasted the entire afternoon. As the sun set in the west, Boudica's army began to scatter and disintegrate. Our cavalry took advantage and pursued, inflicting heavy casualties along the way. On the battlefield, the bodies of Boudica's warriors piled up, and she herself ultimately could not escape the whims of fate."
"Not long after the battle, Boudica's fate became a topic of widespread discussion. It is said that deep in the forest, she painfully realized the inevitability of her defeat, and thus consumed the poison she carried with her, ending her own life. In that moment, even her most loyal followers scattered and fled, and no one could organize an effective resistance anymore."
"This incident has made all of us deeply vigilant. Boudica may be a hero among her people and followers, but her actions have only brought countless pain and disaster. She thought that with numerical superiority and radical tactics, she could defeat the well-trained and tightly organized Roman army. But the fact is, she was wrong."
"So, if you still hold any fantasies about the legend of Boudica, I suggest you better let go quickly. The greatness of Rome is not built on fantasy or legend, but on our repeated victories and ruthless suppression of the enemy."
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