The wind brushed across Rainer's face, tugging at the white crest of his stolen helmet. It bristled like snow grass, catching the morning light.
The sun pressed warmly against his back, urging him forward with the weight of destiny. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of war, each breath a furnace blast.
His muscles coiled tight, and his breath came hot and fast as he sprinted bereft of self-preservation. He wove past advancing reserve formations; faces grim within locked shields.
He darted around palisades where auxiliary Persian archers crouched, loosing shafts in deadly rhythm. Their deadly exchange with the rebels, a staccato of snaps complemented by the hiss of arrows filling the air.
An arrow whizzed past his head, grazing his helmet in a burst of sparks. The near‑death thrill jolted through him like lightning, and a shiver raced down his spine. He threw back his head with a wide grin and laughed—wild, unrestrained, almost mad.
The sound cut through the chaos like a madman's hymn to battle.
'This thrill! How long?!! For five hundred years I've waited—to run, to feel this rush, to live!!!'
The words chimed in his skull like festive bells.
At this moment, another arrow breathed past his neck, grazing skin and drawing blood. The sting immediately snapped his instincts back into focus, and his grin fell; eyes sharpening as he assessed the wall ahead.
At the wall, a few auxiliary Roman soldiers were already raising ladders. To his right, two ladders lay near the battered gate, where defenders clustered together. To his left, a lone ladder rose with fewer rebels above to contest it.
The wall was strangely under‑manned, but Rainer wasn't going to miss this opportunity.
He smirked and swiftly veered toward it, feet kicking up dirt.
He unslung his shield, tightened his grip on the spear, and licked his lips... But for a heartbeat, doubt flickered in his eyes—then he crushed it, jaw tightening.
'Come on, Rainer. You've done this before. Focus!'
The ladder thudded against the wall, rattling wood against stone. However, before the soldiers could mount it, Rainer was already in the air, grin manic until his feet slammed onto the rungs.
He paused only long enough to orient himself, then he raced upward, climbing fast. His legs strained as untrained muscles burned with every push.
«Nok!»«Khat!»
Arrows hammered his shield, jolting his arm numb. Around, war drums pounded and horns blared. The battlefield was alive with the orchestra of war.
He pressed upward, teeth gritted—until a familiar, oily scent caught his nose. One that sent his survival instincts tingling.
He slowed down, nostrils flaring.
'Oil? Here?'
His suspicion hardened as he peeked upward toward the parapets.
His eyes narrowed.
'I need to move faster!'
He pushed again, forcing his legs to obey. But sweat stung his eyes, and his feet slipped.
"Ah!" he yelped, panic flashing across his face as he fell backwards.
'Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh—!'
The ladder tilted in his vision; however, he suddenly felt pressure on his back. A strong palm braced him, steadying his fall.
Rainer sighed as relief surged through him—until he looked down.
Commius.
The Optio's smile was cruel, and his eyes glinted with malice.
"Never has a slave claimed the Corona Muralis," he sneered, voice low and venomous.
"It would be wasted on you."
His fist bunched up Rainer's armor, and with a deliberate shove, he tossed him aside.
"Farewell, Son of Mars," Commius spat, lips curling.
Rainer's stare was wide, but his expression was unreadable—then he smirked, faintly impressed.
"Well played. But I'll remember this."
—All at once, the sky forsook him, and the ground rushed up to welcome him.
He closed his eyes.
«Bang!»
-
–
—
«Beep!»
He opened his eyes to an engulfing white light that seared his vision.
Suddenly, a sleek metallic head loomed above, shading him as caring neon blue eyes assessed him.
"The 12,238,971,327th human of planet Flourish has been born. Glory to our creators," the robot intoned in a sweet, feminine voice, each word dripping with mechanical reverence.
He was lifted gently.
"This one doesn't cry. He is willful—but a spanking is needed, don't you think, doctor?"
Rainer turned to discover a pudgy man reclining in a levitating chair. His soft blue eyes gleamed with delight, amidst limbs diminished from disuse.
"Oh, look," he said with a smile. "Curious already. He'll be like me when he grows."
"All humans are like you, doctor," the robot quipped, and they laughed.
However, the sound chilled Rainer more than any battlefield.
Rainer gasped as recognition dawned.
'No. Not this place! Not my last transmigration!'
Memories of centuries of mind-numbing boredom surged like a nightmare clawing back, and he thrashed, crying out.
'Nooo! I refuse to relive this heelllllll!!!'
—
–
-
"No."
He mumbled as his eyes snapped open.
Suddenly, the pain of the fall returned; back and waist aflame. A groan tore from his throat, and a headache made him dizzy.
He blinked—the wall loomed above, rebels shifting in the haze.
Then a shadow stopped and aimed down.
'Shit! An archer!!'
He instinctively jerked his shield above him just as an arrow punched through, sending splinters into his eyes.
"Effing—f@cks—ducks!" he cursed, shaking his head as his eyes watered.
The rebel strung his bow for another try, but fortunately, a friendly arrow struck the rebel, and the man toppled lifelessly, crashing beside him with a sickening crunch.
Rainer exhaled in relief and glanced up.
Commius still climbed, now halfway up. Rainer realized he'd only been unconscious for mere moments.
Before him, soldiers clustered around the ladder, shields raised as they pressed upward.
His nose caught the scent of oil again and his expression wrinkled, contemplating.
'This smells...nice. Cooking oil, perhaps? Wait!'
The pieces clicked.
'A weak defense. Few rebels on this side of the wall. The smell of oil!'
Just then, he spotted a rebel soldier peeking down the parapets, then there was a distinct metallic 'thunk' as a large pot began being tipped forward.
His face paled, and he pushed himself up ignoring the agony of his bones.
Turning to the cluster of auxiliary soldiers, he shouted a warning.
"Boiling oil! Disperse!"
With that, he turned on his heels and ran, not waiting to see if they listened.
There were short, strangled cries of alarm and panic, then—
«Ssshhhh!»
Screams erupted as flesh sizzled, and the air was swiftly filled with shrieks and the stench of men being cooked.
A few drops splashed onto his calf, and he grimaced.
'Turns out this is hell too...'
Nevertheless, as he sprinted past the battering ram, eyes fixed on the ladder across, his lips curved into a grin.
'My kind of hell!'
His eyes blazed as laughter bubbled up his chest.
'I've waited five hundred years for such an excitement!!!'