Several days later, across the vast grasslands, dozens of massive blue wolves raced beneath the rising sun, pulling a wooden beast cage mounted on a cart. They charged straight to the great tent before coming to a steady halt, then sprawled across the ground, fighting over scraps of meat and bones tossed to them by several young shamans.
"Great King, the dragon beast you requested for travel has arrived."
The old shaman approached the tent with a vine staff in hand and respectfully called out inside.
A moment later, accompanied by a suspicious slurping sound, Altera lifted the curtain and stepped out. Her gaze drifted toward the convoy and settled on the cage.
She frowned slightly.
"Only one?"
"Well... this is already the third batch. The Wyverns around here have almost all been caught."
The old shaman coughed lightly. He casually took out a sharpened wooden pick from his pocket and cleaned his teeth with practiced ease, spitting out a clump of sauce-colored tendon. The wrinkles on his face relaxed in satisfaction. When he looked toward the Wyvern in the cage again, his gaze carried a rather peculiar kind of "friendliness" and "warmth."
The meat on this thing is pretty good. Firm and flavorful.
Just gets stuck in your teeth a bit.
The Wyvern in the cage seemed to sense the faint hostility around it. Its wings flapped violently, whipping up gusts of wind as it shrieked sharply in warning.
But as a slender figure slowly approached and those crimson eyes swept over it, the Wyvern suddenly stiffened.
Like a rooster seized by the throat by a butcher, its screech cut off instantly. The massive creature shrank into the corner of the cage, trembling.
"The taste last time... still wasn't right. This one..."
Altera circled the cage, studying the Wyvern from head to toe while absentmindedly rubbing her smooth chin and muttering to herself.
"Great King, you can test that another time. We don't have much time left. You should set out soon."
The old shaman spoke with a solemn expression and casually ordered someone to open the cage.
Although Altera still looked reluctant, she could only let it go for now.
Buzz.
Just as the King of the Huns stepped toward the cage, the Wyvern's survival instinct exploded into action. It frantically gathered Ether, spread its wings, and shot toward the sky.
Sharp streaks of crimson light suddenly converged in midair.
Ring after ring tightened around the Wyvern's long neck.
A searing pain pierced straight into its soul. The dragon beast cried out miserably before crashing back down onto the grassland, slamming into the ground and leaving a deep crater. For a moment it lay completely still.
"Hah. The roasted lamb has already reached your mouth and you still try to run?"
The old shaman bared his yellowed, gap-toothed grin and sneered. Raising his hand, he seized a wisp of aura from around Altera and infused it into the vine staff controlling the restraint. As he muttered an incantation, a pitch-black brand appeared on the Wyvern's forehead.
Didn't die from the fall...
Altera stared quietly into the crater. When she saw the massive creature beginning to stir again, a trace of disappointment appeared in her eyes.
Before long, the Wyvern climbed out of the crater, clarity returning to its gaze. It sniffed the air briefly, then trotted toward Altera.
Like a well-trained wolfhound, it lowered its head respectfully and gently rubbed against the back of the silver-haired girl's hand, showing complete submission.
"By the Eternal Sky, may the Great King return in triumph!"
After several Hun soldiers stepped forward to fit the dragon mount with a saddle and reins, the old shaman led the gathered tribesmen in kneeling. Together they offered their devout blessings to the departing king.
Soon, the sound of wind tearing through the air echoed across the plains.
One rider and one dragon soared into the distance, gradually shrinking to a small speck on the horizon.
When I first found her, she was only this small. Time passes quickly.
The old shaman gazed toward the fading speck, feeling a moment of quiet sentiment.
But the instant he turned back, leaning on his staff, his entire demeanor sharpened. His eyes became cold and piercing.
"How are the preparations on that side?"
"Great Shaman, just as you instructed, our men set out three days ago. Seventy percent have already taken their positions."
A middle-aged man with braided hair stepped forward and struck his chest with his right fist as he answered solemnly.
The old man nodded with satisfaction, then lifted his gaze toward the sky.
At some unknown moment, dark clouds had begun gathering overhead.
He murmured softly, his tone heavy with meaning.
"The winds are about to change..."
...
At the border of Rome's Seventh Province.
Hundreds of Celtic riders in light armor rode across the plains. Their equipment was a strange mixture of shields, short swords, javelins, and longbows. Each man controlled two horses, and the force split into left and right wings, escorting a carriage in the center as they advanced steadily.
Looks like rain...
Samael glanced up at the low, leaden clouds pressing down from above. Feeling the dampness gathering in the air, he frowned slightly and nodded toward the centurion in the formation.
The Roman veteran, now bearing an additional scar across his face that made his already fierce appearance even harsher, nodded respectfully. He pressed his heels against his horse's sides and urged it forward, heading toward the towering, rough line in the distance.
It was a massive wall built from gray stone, stretching across the rolling hills for nearly a hundred kilometers.
The wall stood about 4.6 meters tall, with a base width of three meters and a top width of roughly 2.1 meters. Fortresses, watchtowers, and other defensive structures had been built along its length.
On both the northern and southern sides of the wall were trenches approximately three meters deep and nine meters wide.
The southern trench lay farther from the wall. On either side stood raised earth embankments, and between those embankments and the wall ran a military road.
The northern trench was closer to the wall, but deeper and wider. It lacked the high earth mounds on both sides. Instead, every three kilometers or so along the wall stood a small inner fort.
Each of these inner forts could house around sixty soldiers, and between every two of them stood two watchtowers serving as sentry posts.
According to standard procedure, if enemy activity appeared, the defenders could quickly send fire signals along the wall. Because of this signaling system, some soldiers were stationed directly atop the wall, though the majority of the troops were camped on the southern side.
At a glance, the entire defensive line contained around twenty major fortresses. Inside them were command headquarters, barracks, granaries, hospitals, and even temples.
Each fortress could house more than a thousand soldiers.
Altogether, this garrison, including both cavalry and infantry, numbered over twenty thousand men. This was the base of the Seventh Legion. And that number did not even include military families or the settlers from various tribes who had migrated here.
As the old saying goes: with ten times the strength, surround the enemy. With five times the strength, attack.
So once the full military potential of this defensive line was unleashed, it would normally require three to five times the number of troops to even begin breaking through it.
This was the Great Wall built by Rome after mobilizing the strength of the entire state.
This single line of defense alone had long forced both the Celts and the Hunnic wolf riders to sigh in frustration, unable to cross it easily.
"I am Centurion Aulus of the Third Century. Half a month ago, I received orders to carry out an escort mission. Now that Nero-sama has sworn an oath with the Celts and Britannia has agreed to join the Empire's territory, my mission has been completed. I have returned to report. Open the gates and allow the convoy to enter."
Riding closer to the wall, the centurion raised the banner of the Claudius family high above his head. Despite the arrows aimed at him from the ramparts, he shouted calmly toward the defenders above.
Under the standard Roman legion structure, a legion consisted of ten cohorts. Each cohort contained three maniples, each maniple two centuries, and each century roughly one hundred men.
There were no formal commanders for maniples or cohorts. Centurions were responsible for leading most military actions.
Within a legion there were sixty centurions, ranked by seniority. The first centurion of the first maniple in the First Cohort was known as the Chief Centurion. He held the highest status among the centurions and would assume command of the legion if the command staff were wiped out.
In other words, the centurions were the backbone of the Roman legion, with both authority and responsibility running very high.
Holding the third position in the order was not simply a matter of unit numbering. It was also a symbol of personal capability.
Before long, the guards atop the wall recognized the centurion.
They lowered a hanging basket. The centurion placed inside it the written order personally signed by Nero.
After the officer in the watchtower carefully inspected the seal and contents, the sound of turning winches echoed through the air.
The tightly closed gate slowly creaked open.
The centurion could not help letting out a quiet sigh of relief. He waved behind him, signaling the Celtic cavalry and the carriage carrying Nero to move forward.
But just as the convoy prepared to enter, a commotion erupted atop the wall.
The gate that had been about to open suddenly closed again.
A figure appeared at the battlements, wearing a dark red robe edged with purple, looking down below with a mocking expression.
The centurion's brows tightened immediately.
Samael lifted his gaze toward the battlements and studied the sturdy, prematurely balding middle-aged man standing there. Based on Nero's earlier descriptions, he quickly recognized the man's identity.
The current commander of this defensive line.
And the highest-ranking officer of the Seventh Legion.
Quintus.
The very man who had been exchanging suggestive glances with that venomous woman in Rome.
Of all times for him to appear personally for an inspection. This complicates things.
In that case...
Amid the gusting wind that swept up clouds of dust, the Ancient Serpent exchanged a glance with Boudica and Brynhildr.
The three of them nodded in quiet understanding. The answer had already been decided.
...
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