The legatus was kept in the deepest part of the Forge — a small cave carved into the hillside, sealed with a heavy timber door and guarded by four men who never spoke to him. No light except a single oil lamp. No sound except the drip of water from the roof and the occasional low growl of a chained dog outside.
Flavius Aelius had been there three days.
Seigmer entered alone on the fourth night.
The Roman sat on the dirt floor, wrists and ankles bound with rawhide, back against the cave wall. His fine tunic was torn and filthy. The scar on his jaw looked raw in the lamplight. He had not been fed since the first night — only water. Hunger was a quiet weapon.
Seigmer crouched a few paces away, cross-legged, heavy crossbow resting across his knees like a casual companion.
"You are Gaius Valerius Maximus," Seigmer said in perfect Latin. "Legatus of Legio XIV Gemina. Sent by Governor Marcellinus to end the 'barbarian terror.' You brought eight thousand men, new tribunes, fresh supplies, and orders to burn every Suebi village between here and the river if necessary. You do not believe in ghosts."
The legatus lifted his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot but steady.
"You speak Latin like a senator's son. Yet you dress like a savage."
Seigmer inclined his head — acknowledgment, not agreement.
"I speak many things. I know many things. And I know you are not here to die quickly. You are here to answer."
Valerius laughed once — short, dry.
"I have answered nothing in four decades of service. I will not start now for a boy playing at warlord."
Seigmer did not smile.
He reached into his pouch and placed a small clay tablet between them. On it, in the new German letters, were notes — dates, troop movements, supply routes — all taken from Marcus Flavius Severus before his hanging.
"Your predecessor's tribune spoke freely," Seigmer said. "He told me everything he knew. You will tell me what he did not know."
The legatus glanced at the tablet, then back at Seigmer.
"You killed him."
"I ended his suffering. Rome had already ended his career."
Valerius's jaw tightened.
Seigmer leaned forward slightly.
"Let us speak plainly. You have a wife in Mediolanum. Two daughters. A villa with vineyards. You expect to retire in three years with enough wealth to live quietly. If you die here — if your legion is destroyed — your family will receive a pension, but nothing more. No glory. No estate. No name that lasts."
He paused.
"If you cooperate, I give you the same promise I gave Marcus: when this war ends, you live. Far from Rome. Far from your enemies. A new name. A new life. You will never see a legion again."
Valerius stared at him for a long time.
"You think I would sell my honor so cheaply?"
"I think you are a realist," Seigmer replied. "And realists understand when the wind has changed."
He reached behind him and pulled a small bucket forward — filled with water.
The legatus's eyes flicked to it.
Seigmer did not pour yet.
"Tell me about the governor's spring plan. The full legion deployment. The supply chain from Italia. The signal routes to the Danube garrisons. The names of the auxiliary commanders who can be bribed. The weak points in the new castra being built at the ford."
Valerius closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, something had shifted — not surrender, but calculation.
"If I speak… my family is untouched. My name erased from records. I vanish."
Seigmer nodded once.
"You have my word."
The legatus exhaled slowly.
Then he began to speak.
He spoke for hours.
Names. Dates. Numbers. Weaknesses. The governor's secret fear of Hunnic raids pulling legions north. The auxiliary prefects who took bribes from Germanic traders. The exact location of the new granaries being built behind the castra. The rotation schedule for the watch commanders. The hidden messenger routes through the hills.
Seigmer listened without interrupting, scratching notes on fresh clay tablets with a sharpened stick.
When the legatus finally fell silent, throat raw, Seigmer stood.
"You have given me a major counter-strike," he said quietly. "Enough to break the legion before it fully deploys."
Valerius looked up at him — exhausted, empty.
"Will you keep your word?"
Seigmer met his gaze.
"I always keep my word. It is the only currency that matters."
He turned to the door.
"Feed him," he told the guards outside. "Water. Meat. Rest him. He has earned it."
As he stepped into the night air, the weight of the new knowledge settled in his chest like loaded magazines.
Spring was coming.
Rome was coming.
But now he knew their plan — every line, every weakness, every hidden path.
And he had a month to turn knowledge into thunder.
He looked toward the distant Roman campfires — faint red stars through the trees.
You sent a legion to kill a legend.
You will get a legend who kills legions.
Behind him, in the powder shed, fifty kilograms of black powder waited — and more being made every day.