Ulixes opened his eyes. Not to a sound, but to the shifting dawn light filtering through a gap in his command tent's flap. He lay still, unmoving. To his right, Mira was in a deep sleep, her breathing regular and deep. To his left, Kore was curled up, one arm draped across Ulixes' chest. Their body heat was an anchor to the real world after the journey he had just experienced.
The memory of the dream hit him with perfect clarity. The crystal palace. The gods of light. The altered grace and destiny. He lay in silence, processing the impossible information.
He closed his eyes again, not to sleep, but to search. He tried to feel the connection to his old power, to the reserves of Essence that had once been a part of him. Nothing. Only a clean void. The dream was real.
With focused will, he summoned the new interface. A simple image appeared in his mind: a list of permanent abilities that had merged with his soul, and beside it, a softly glowing chest symbol. Inventory.
He opened it in his mind. There, floating in his mental void, were the two cards. One gold, one silver. Both pulsed with immense power. He stared at the gold card, which depicted the silhouette of a Spartan warrior.
He thought of his legion. Six thousand men. A beautiful yet fragile war machine, programmed to fight wars from the past. He could spend months, even years, re-forging them.
Or he could do it now.
He glanced at Kore sleeping beside him, then at Mira. They had chosen to trust him. He would not fail to protect them. He would not fail to protect himself.
He focused his entire intention on the gold card. Activate.
The card shattered into a million golden fragments of light within his mind. At the same time, Ulixes felt a silent but immense wave of energy sweep out from him. The wave had no sound or physical force, but he could feel it spreading, passing through the walls of his tent, engulfing the entire camp in its invisible embrace. He felt a new connection form, a network of six thousand threads of light now directly linked to his will. He could feel their heartbeats. He could feel their newfound loyalty, absolute and unwavering, embedded in their souls.
The morning trumpets blared, their hoarse call breaking the dawn silence. Ulixes carefully extricated himself from Mira and Kore's embrace, moving silently so as not to wake them. He rose, his body feeling refreshed. He donned his armor.
He stepped out of his tent, into the cold morning air. The camp was quiet. Too quiet. The soldiers were moving out of their tents, but there was no longer the grumbling or lazy chatter.
On the training ground, the legion had assembled. The silence that enveloped them felt different. It was not the silence of forced discipline, but the focused, deadly silence of a predator waiting. Ulixes walked in front of the ranks, Flamma by his side. He looked at the faces of his men. They were the same men he had seen yesterday, but their eyes now burned with a cold, centralized fire.
Flamma, beside him, also felt different. His straight back now radiated a sharper aura of authority, his experienced eyes now clear and fully attuned to his commander.
Ulixes stopped in the middle of the field. He gave no speech. He simply raised his hand.
"Wedge formation! Advance!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the morning air.
The response was instant, fluid, and perfect. Six thousand soldiers moved not like programmed machines, but like a pack of wolves moving as one, each soldier instinctively knowing their position and task. The sound of their thousands of leather sandals hitting the ground was a single, earth-shaking THUMP.
Before the formation reached the end of the field, Ulixes shouted another command. "Orb formation! Hold!"
Immediately, the wedge melted and flowed into a perfect defensive circle, shields interlocked, without a single gap.
"Break into Centuria! Encircle the left flank!"
Again, without pause, the circle dissolved into smaller units, each moving with independent yet coordinated speed and purpose.
His gaze fell on Centurion Cassius. The man whose face had been red with wounded pride a few days ago now moved with ruthless efficiency, his voice a sharp bark shouting commands that anticipated Ulixes' will. He was the same man, but all his doubts and weaknesses had been burned away, leaving only the steel of a warrior.
Ulixes turned to Flamma, a silent question in his eyes.
"This is their true selves, Legatus," Flamma said, his voice hoarse with deep admiration.
Ulixes looked back at his army. Flamma was right. He had not created a puppet army. He had unleashed the warrior souls that had been dormant within them. He had given them purpose. And now, this awakened war machine was entirely his.
Perfect formations were not enough. Discipline in marching did not win wars. Ulixes needed certainty. He had to see their blood boil.
He stepped forward, his calm voice breaking the solemn silence. "Centurion Cassius! Centurion Decimus!"
Both officers stepped forward in unison, striking their fists against their chests. "Legatus!"
"Bring your Centuria to the center of the field," Ulixes ordered. "Arm them. I want to see a fight."
The command hung in the air, cold and startling. Even Flamma turned to Ulixes, his eyes showing doubt for the first time. Ordering Roman soldiers to fight each other was a recipe for discord and morale destruction.
But the re-forged Centurions did not question. They simply turned and shouted orders. Two Centuria, about one hundred sixty men, moved to the center of the field, forming two shield walls facing each other. The air was heavy with tension.
"No one dies today," Ulixes said, his voice carrying to all. "Show me how wolves hunt, not how curs tear each other apart. Begin!"
With a synchronized roar, the two shield walls crashed into each other.
CRACK!
The impact was the sound of splintering wood and clashing steel. Ulixes watched with bated breath. This was not a chaotic brawl. This was an orderly dance of death. He saw a soldier from Cassius' unit manage to thrust his sword tip through a shield gap, but he pulled it back a fraction of a second before it became a fatal stab, leaving only a scratch on his opponent's leather armor.
A soldier from Decimus' unit fell, his legs swept out from under him. His comrade beside him did not try to help him up. He simply closed ranks with his shield, covering the gap left by his friend, maintaining the integrity of the formation.
They fought with terrifying ferocity, but with perfect control. Pommel blows struck helmets, shields impacted heavily, but no blows were aimed to kill. This was the embodiment of Spartan othismos, the brutal push to break the enemy formation, not to slaughter individuals.
Ulixes saw it in their eyes. A burning fire. Not the fire of anger or hatred. It was the fire of purpose. The pure, terrifying joy of battle itself.
He let the fight continue for several minutes, until Cassius' unit slowly began to push back Decimus' unit.
Ulixes raised his hand "Enough!". An Optio's whistle shrieked, sharp and final. Immediately, the controlled violence ceased. The soldiers stepped back from each other, their breaths ragged, their bodies covered in bruises and scratches, but their eyes burning with a fire they had never known before.
He did not let them rest. He did not give them time to celebrate their new power.
"Centurions! To me!" he ordered, his voice echoing across the quiet field.
The officers, including Cassius and Decimus, ran forward and formed a line before him, their salute now sharp and without the slightest hesitation.
Ulixes looked at them, then turned to Flamma. "Primus Pilus. Prepare the troops. Give them double rations and rest. The day after tomorrow at dawn, we march."
Flamma looked at him, a silent question in his eyes. "The objective, Legatus?"
Ulixes gestured to an aide, who quickly unfurled a large map of the Illyrian mountain region on the dusty ground. The Centurions gathered, staring at the map.
Ulixes' finger stabbed at a point in the mountains. "Here," he said. "The fortress at Raven's Peak. My intelligence reports approximately eight hundred brigands and tribal warriors entrenched there. They control the silver mine routes and have been a thorn in Rome's side for years."
"To assault a mountain fortress, we would need at least three times their numbers, Legatus," Cassius said, not in a skeptical tone, but as a statement of standard military fact. "A lengthy siege."
"We will not lay siege," Ulixes replied coldly. "Sieges are for evenly matched armies. We are no longer an evenly matched army."
He looked at Flamma. "Primus Pilus, select the best thousand men. Each to carry two days of rations and one day of water. We will not take supply wagons that would slow us down. We will move fast, through the night."
A silence fell over the Centurions. Attacking a mountain fortress with only slightly superior numbers, without a supply line, was madness. For the old legion, it would have been a suicide mission. But they had just seen what this new legion could do.
They looked at each other, and in their eyes, Ulixes no longer saw doubt. He saw savage anticipation.
"They may know the mountains," Ulixes said, rising and looking towards the distant peaks. "But they do not know us. Prepare the troops. We depart at dusk."
The Centurions struck their fists against their chests in unison. "Yes, Legatus!"
Ulixes turned, leaving them to carry out his orders. The era of painful training was over. The era of bloody conquest was about to begin.
Author's thought: for the new system, you can read about it in the Auxiliary Volume.