They returned to camp as dusk began to fall, not as a Roman legion proudly marching, but as a pack of wolves exhausted after their first hunt. Their armor was scratched and muddy, their faces showing a mental fatigue far deeper than mere physical exhaustion.
That night, the atmosphere around the bonfire was different. No more boisterous laughter or noisy dice games. Instead, there were quiet, serious conversations. The legacy soldiers no longer kept their distance from the veterans. They sat closer, asking questions.
Ulixes observed from a distance, from the shadows near his tent. He saw a young soldier intently watching a veteran demonstrate how to wrap his sword hilt with a strip of cloth for a better grip in the rain. He heard another group arguing not about women or wine, but about the best way to cross a small river without making a sound.
He saw Centurion Cassius sitting with Gallus. They weren't speaking, just staring into the fire in a silence that was no longer awkward, but filled with a newfound understanding. The day's lesson was more than just tactics; it was a lesson in humility.
Flamma approached him, his stern face showing an expression rarely seen. "They are exhausted to the bone, Legatus. But I no longer hear complaints about the strange exercises." He paused, his eyes fixed on the distant bonfire. "They are beginning to think."
Ulixes did not turn. His eyes were on a rough map of the forest area they had just entered, spread out on the table before him. "Good," he said, his voice calm. "Because tomorrow, we will see if they can think when they are under attack."
That morning felt different. Ulixes ordered the entire legion to march a standard route along the Roman road that stretched along the southern border of the camp. The road was clean, safe, and frequently patrolled. After several exhausting days in the forest, this order felt like a relief.
The sound of thousands of leather sandals hitting the paved road was synchronized and satisfying. The soldiers marched with straighter backs, their confidence slightly restored after successfully enduring their commander's "baptism of the forest." They thought today would be an easy training day, a return to normal routine.
Ulixes rode his horse slowly beside the main column, Flamma at his side. He appeared relaxed, even initiating light conversation with his Primus Pilus about the quality of the newly arrived grain from Salona.
"Those merchants seem to fear you more than the bandits, Legatus," Flamma said flatly. "Supplies are never late now."
"Fear is the most efficient logistical tool, Centurion," Ulixes replied, a thin, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.
He continued to speak, but beneath the words, his eyes never stopped moving. He scanned the treeline to their right, noting every bend in the road, every large rock that could serve as a hiding place. He felt the warmth of the sun on his back, but there was a chill of anticipation in his gut.
The column continued to advance, drawing closer to a narrow bend flanked by dense forest on one side and a steep earthen embankment on the other. A perfect spot.
Ulixes reached for his horse's reins, subtly adjusting his position in the saddle. A small movement. A meaningless gesture to anyone watching.
Except for those waiting in the shadows.
Moments after Ulixes' nearly imperceptible gesture, hell broke loose.
First came the sound. Not a war cry, but a horrifying collective hiss of dozens of blunted arrows streaking out of the forest, followed by a barrage of loud THWACKS as the arrows struck shields and leather armor along the column.
Before the soldiers could process the source of the attack, clay pots smashed onto the stone road amidst them, shattering into pieces and releasing thick, choking plumes of gray smoke. The smoke quickly enveloped the ranks, blinding eyes and sending soldiers into coughing fits.
Then, from within the smoke and the shadows of the trees, they emerged. Dozens of figures, moving with the speed and ferocity of wild animals, letting out barbaric war cries that chilled the blood. Ulixes' veterans.
Panic spread through the ranks of the legacy legion like a disease. Their once-orderly formation collapsed in an instant. Soldiers shoved each other, some tried to retreat, others froze in place, their eyes wild, searching for the enemy within the smoke. Centurions shouted contradictory orders.
"Form up!"
"Retreat! Retreat!"
"Raise shields!"
Amidst the chaos, Centurion Cassius tried to impose order. "Shield wall! To me! FORM A WALL!" he yelled, trying to rally his panicked men. A few of the most disciplined soldiers tried to obey, pressing their shields together in the narrow road. A futile act. They only succeeded in creating a clumsy, static target, vulnerable from all directions.
The veteran ambushers did not hit the wall from the front. They danced around it, their wooden swords striking unprotected backs, sweeping at exposed legs. The column that had once been a symbol of Roman might had now become a terrified, slaughtered flock of sheep.
From atop his horse, Ulixes observed the controlled slaughter. His face was a mask of calm. He allowed the chaos to reach its peak. He let them feel the terror. He let them see how quickly their empty discipline evaporated in the face of a real attack.
Just as panic was about to engulf the entire column, a voice cut through the chaos. Not a shout. It was an order, sharp, clear, and filled with cold, undeniable authority.
"SILENCE!"
Ulixes' voice boomed, and for a moment, it was as if the entire battlefield froze. The panicked soldiers stopped. The shouting Centurions fell silent.
Ulixes, still on his horse, stared intently at Cassius, who was futilely trying to form a shield wall. "Centurion Cassius! Get your unit to the embankment! NOW! Form a firing line! Give us cover!"
Startled out of his panic, Cassius hesitated for a moment, then a soldier's instinct took over. He shouted new commands, ordering his men to scramble up the steep earthen embankment, giving them a higher position.
Ulixes then turned to another Centurion. "Centurion Decimus! Break your formation! Use this road as your ground! Engage them in small teams! Do not let them surround you!"
The clear, tactical commands were like cold water splashed on the soldiers' faces. They now had a purpose. They began to move, no longer as a terrified mob, but as responding units.
Ulixes didn't just give orders from above. He leaped down from his horse. "Flamma! With me!"
He drew his gladius. With Flamma and a handful of his personal guards, he did not attack the front of the ambushers. He ran along the edge of the road, using the chaos as cover, and struck the flank of the most aggressive veteran group.
His attack was brutal and unexpected. He moved with a speed they hadn't expected from a Legatus. He deflected a swing, stepped in, and slammed his sword hilt into a veteran's face. He spun, his shield deflecting another attack, then he thrust with the tip of his wooden sword into the attacker's ribs.
Seeing their commander fighting among them, with the methods he had just taught, a new spark of spirit began to ignite in the hearts of the legacy soldiers. They saw it. They understood. Driven by clear commands and the example of their leader, they began to fight back, breaking themselves into smaller, more flexible groups, using every inch of the road as their fortress.
Seeing the now-organized resistance, the veteran ambushers, according to their secret orders, began to withdraw. They vanished back into the forest as quickly as they came, leaving the shaken legion in the middle of the smoke-filled, training-projectile-strewn road.
Slowly, the sounds of battle subsided, replaced by the gasping breaths of thousands of men. The smoke began to clear, revealing the chaos that had occurred. Soldiers stood among their "wounded" comrades, their armor dirty, and their faces pale with adrenaline and shame.
Ulixes blew his whistle, its sharp, shrill sound the only command. "Gather the Centurions!"
The officers approached with heavy steps, assembling before their Legatus. Ulixes' face was calm, but his cold eyes seemed to weigh each of their souls.
"You panicked," Ulixes said, his voice not raised, but every word felt like a whip. "You reverted to a rulebook you should have burned. You tried to form a wall where you should have been dancing."
He looked at Cassius. "You, Centurion. You were the first to shout for a shield wall. Why?"
Cassius swallowed. "It... it was the standard defensive formation, Legatus."
"It is a defensive formation in an open field," Ulixes countered. "Here, it is a tomb." He then turned to another Centurion. "Decimus. Your troops were the first to break formation and fight in small groups. They suffered the fewest 'casualties.' Explain."
Decimus, a younger man, stepped forward hesitantly. "Your orders, Legatus. You ordered us to... dance."
Ulixes nodded slowly. "Exactly." He looked at them all. "Today you failed. You failed because you let fear choose your tactics for you. You failed because you trusted habit more than your own eyes."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "But you are all still alive to learn this lesson. Next time, the enemy will not use blunted arrows."
He turned, his back to them. "Return to camp. Clean your gear. Today's lesson is over."
The journey back to camp felt vastly different from when they had departed. There was no more conversation or laughter. Only silence. Ulixes, from atop his horse, watched his men. They no longer stared straight ahead with empty pride. Their eyes now constantly moved, scanning the treeline, wary of every shadow. They had failed the test. And in that failure, they had learned the most important lesson of all. In this land, vigilance was their best armor.