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墨書 Inktalez
Early the next morning, before the dew had completely evaporated in the sunlight, the entire camp was already bustling with activity. The voices of the sergeants, loud and clear, cut through the cold morning air, their commands driving the soldiers into action.
"Hurry up, take down the tents!" "Pack up your belongings, don't leave anything behind!" "Check your weapons, I don't want to hear any excuses!"
The soldiers were working in a hurry, some tightly rolling up the canvas of the tents, some busy tying their bags with coarse ropes. Others were carefully inspecting their short swords and shields, making sure there were no cracks or flaws. The scene seemed chaotic, but it also had a strange order: everyone knew their duty, and every action had been trained and practiced countless times.
Cyrus stood aside, briefly gazing at all the busyness. The cold air pierced his skin like needles, reminding him that this was not the warm Rome, but a distant and unfamiliar Britain. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a foot kicked him hard in the backside.
"Cyrus, stop daydreaming! Move!" An impatient old soldier, covered in wrinkles and appearing to have been through countless battles, shouted.
Cyrus snapped out of his reverie, knowing he couldn't get lost in his thoughts. He quickly bent down, exerting force to pull out the tent's wooden poles, then rolled up the heavy canvas. His arms worked hard, securing it tightly with ropes to ensure it wouldn't come loose on the way.
He glanced around again, everyone was nervously completing their tasks. The entire camp was like a precision timepiece, every component operating precisely. Cyrus silently vowed to become an indispensable part of this timepiece, whether it was in Rome or Britain.
In the next hour, the camp of Legio IX became unusually busy. Soldiers were busy packing their bags, securing their gear, and organizing their weapons. Each movement was trained repeatedly, mechanical but precise. Leather scabbards were polished to a shine, the Roman emblem on the shields was repainted, as if to breathe new life into this ancient symbol. Short swords were sharpened to be as sharp as an eagle's claw, and the armor was polished to reflect shadows.
A soldier tightly laces up his Desert boots, while another carefully places arrows into a leather quiver. Occasionally, someone breaks the silence, ordering procrastinating comrades to pick up the pace, but most people bury themselves in their work, not saying a word. It's a kind of silent determination, and everyone understands that the choice they may face next could be a matter of life and death.
Finally, all the preparations are complete. The centurions ride their horses, loudly commanding their respective squads. Soldiers line up in front of Legion commander Pluto with almost mechanical precision, like moving iron walls.
Pluto stood on a temporary high platform, his figure towering within the golden halo of the setting sun, like an invincible war god. His sword gleamed brilliantly in the sunset, as if declaring his undefeated dignity.
"First cohort!" shouted a centurion.
"Here!"
The soldiers responded in unison.
"Second battalion!"
"Here!"
This kind of counting continued until the last squad, and each response was like a thunderous echo in the air, strong and powerful.
Pluto Slowly he drew out his sword made of special metal, raising it high above his head, all eyes focused on the gleaming, cold sword.
"Roma!" he shouted loudly.
"Never back down!" The entire legion responded in unison, with a grand momentum that seemed to shake the heavens and the earth.
Pluto stood on a high platform, his gaze piercing through layers of armor and short swords, ultimately settling on the eyes of each soldier. His towering figure appeared even more majestic in the sunlight, like an invincible fortress.
"Soldiers, we are about to embark on a new journey, this time our target is the resistance forces in Britain," Pluto's voice rang out loud and clear, each word piercing the hearts of the soldiers like a sharp sword.
"Our mission is of great significance. If we can successfully suppress the resistance forces in northern Britain, our frontal attack forces will gain more advantages. I know that each of you here is the bravest warrior of Rome, and we have the ability to accomplish this mission!"
The soldiers' gaze became even more resolute, as if every word of Pluto was igniting the fighting spirit within them.
"The greatness of Rome is undeniable! What victories have we achieved in Gaul, in Germania, in Syria, in Egypt? It is because of the strength of the Roman Empire, but this strength is not unfounded; it is built upon every person, every sword, and every shield!"
Pluto tightly gripped his special metal sword, its radiance illuminating the surrounding air.
"Fortune favors the bold, soldiers! As long as we stand united, Britain will be within Rome's grasp! Our names will be forever remembered by future generations, and the greatness of the Roman Empire will once again be praised for our victory this time!"
The entire legion responded in unison once again, this time even louder: "Never back down!"
Pluto sheathed his sword and looked deeply at his soldiers. He knew they were ready to face any challenge. In their eyes, Pluto saw endless possibilities and the great future of the Roman Empire.
"For Rome!" Pluto shouted.
"For Rome!" the entire legion responded as one.
Pluto stepped down, his steps steady but his heart heavy. His legion was filled with fervor, everything seemed to be going according to plan, but Pluto knew how much of it was just empty words and dreams. The soldiers' shouts echoed in his ears, like a fierce, powerful hound about to pounce. But was it all really worth it?
He walked over to his mount, gently stroking the warhorse's mane, seeking some comfort. He mounted the horse, countless thoughts racing through his mind. His responsibility to Rome, to the army, to the land and its people about to be conquered - it all felt like a net, binding him tightly.
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