For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion

B2 Chapter 53: Fetch

Duke Mark of Redcliffe was having a hell of a week.

He ran his fingers through what remained of his hair one more time as he read through another stack of reports. Absentmindedly, he shook his hand behind him. Another few strands of hair fell to the floor. He had managed to go nearly sixty years without going completely bald, no matter how much his wife begged to differ. But the stress of recent events was finally beginning to wear on even those last holdouts atop his head.

The barony of Wellshire had fallen. It was no longer counted by the System as a part of the Redcliffe duchy. As for who had taken it, only a few scouts had managed to break through and return to tell the tale. But best he could tell, the culprits seemed to be a strange sort of army that didn't resemble that of any country he knew. The same army, perhaps, that Baron von Latimore had spoken of.

The reports weren't even the worst of it, though. Rather, it was a lack of communication that really had him panicking. His daughter was always quite consistent about sending him correspondence and the latest drawings she'd done of his beautiful granddaughter. Yet he hadn't heard from her since Wellshire had fallen.

The uncertainty as to her fate had him in shambles. It had only been a week, but that was too long for him. If he didn't hear back soon, then he'd have to send a force out to investigate himself, something he could hardly spare. Not without aid from the king, which didn't seem like it would be coming anytime soon. Though who knew? Perhaps the vain man would have a change of heart.

One could dream.

To top it all off was the latest news from the western front. The orcs' latest push seemed to be targeting his section specifically. It was anyone's guess as to why. His soldiers were some of the best trained in this kingdom. Why the orcs would try to fight them instead of taking on one of the weaker flanks, the Duke didn't know.

But whatever the reason, it seemed to be working. The casualty reports had not been kind. And without more reinforcements that were certain not to come, things were looking bad. They would either have to fall back or spend many more lives to hold their position for even a few weeks.

Falling back came with a host of other problems politically, but the idea of losing more men for this stupid war—one that he was less and less certain they should even be fighting—was unconscionable. Even if certain others didn't seem to see it that way.

The Duke put pen to paper and scrawled out his orders. One of his scribes would spruce the words up and make them actually presentable, then he would review and sign them before sending them out to the front. His troops were to hold for as long as they could, right conservatively to avoid losses, but retreat before things became too dire. If possible, they would retreat in a way that would prevent pursuit, even if it meant shifting focus to the other soldiers along the line.

Showing strength to the orcs was clearly not working as a deterrent. Perhaps a little bit of subterfuge would be more useful.

The Duke groaned, stretching in his seat as he finished drafting the orders. A knock at the door drew him out of his distracted thoughts. It would either be a maid bringing in the tea or his chamberlain bringing in another stack of reports.

"Enter." He called, looking across his desk. It was piled high enough with paperwork that finding room for anything else would be a challenge. No matter. If they needed room, they'd clear some.

As the door opened, he was a little surprised to see both a maid and his chamberlain enter. The maid had evidently predicted the lack of space. She brought with her a small table on which she placed the tea and a small collection of sweetmeats by his side. He began to nibble on them as he accepted the mail from his chamberlain and began to flip through it.

Most of the letters consisted of personal correspondence from relatives maintaining the veneer of polite society—invitations to balls, weddings, lunches, and other events that he doesn't honestly care about.

None of them bore the seal or handwriting of his daughter, unfortunately. And he was certain that he would have to make appearances at some of these events. But right now, he tossed them off to the side.

Next was some more correspondence about the war, which he set atop the reports before him. Those would require his personal attention. But before he dove in, there was one more letter that caught his eye.

The envelope itself wasn't anything special. Yet the address on its face was in a hand he didn't recognize, which was unusual nowadays. Good confusion only increased upon inspecting the seal. An eagle crest had been stamped into it, the bird's wings spread broad and proud.

He looked up at his chamberlain with a frown. "Charles. What house is this from?"

The Chamberlain blushed slightly. "I must admit that I don't know, sir. But it came through proper channels, and I'm assured that its contents are important."

The Duke frowned, picking up a letter opener and slicing it open. He scanned the paper curiously. Yet it took only moments for that curiosity to morph into something else entirely.

A series of emotions threatened to flicker across his face and disrupt his usual composure. Even then, he couldn't help but clench his fist, crumpling the piece of paper in his grasp.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes and sighed up into the ceiling. He relaxed his fist and ran his hand through his hair again. A few more strands came loose.

Eyes still closed, he tossed the paper onto the table towards Charles.

"Read that and tell me what you think."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

There was a moment of silence as the chamberlain obliged. The duke heard the other man swallow. "I think that I will need to prepare to travel, my lord."

Duke Mark nodded and sat forward. His pained expression held just a hint of hope behind it. "I trust you, Charles. I can't send anyone else. Not if I want to be certain."

Charles looked almost as unsettled as the Duke felt. The man had helped to raise his daughter, after all. They had been as close as family, close enough that Mariella still called him uncle Charles.

The chamberlain nodded. "I understand, sir. Then… with your leave…"

At a gesture from the duke, Charles sketched a quick bow before turning on his heel. He practically ran out of the room to prepare for the journey ahead.

The door shut behind the man, leaving the duke alone in his office once more. He slumped back in his chair and sighed. It felt as though a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders, only for that same weight to be immediately dropped on his head.

He massaged his temples to ward off the headache building there. His daughter and granddaughter were alive. At least, the letter claimed they were alive. And considering what he knew about the fall of the Wellshire barony and its capital of Hausten, it wasn't difficult to imagine who might have taken them.

His mind returned to those conversations with the baron about the threat to his lands. The duke had more or less left the matter to his son-in-law since he had no shortage of his own problems to deal with. Unfortunately, that meant that he wasn't quite as informed of the situation as he otherwise could have been. But he could draw some conclusions from even this.

That they were willing to ransom his daughter meant that they weren't complete savages. They'd also invoked his honor as a noble and cited the preservation of his lineage as a reason for sparing their lives, indicating that they had at least some understanding of Novaran culture and nobility. That meant they could be reasoned with. Although he did wonder at the conspicuous absence of the baron in these negotiations.

The duke closed his eyes. Despite the unthinkable nature of the situation, the negotiations themselves were beginning in a fairly routine manner. Still, some of the stipulations and precautions they'd put into place indicated that they clearly didn't trust the duke in the slightest. But that hardly mattered. He was more than willing to play along if it brought his family back to him.

Sitting up once again, he began to make his way through the rest of the mail. He felt reinvigorated. As harrowing as the situation was, it was still the best news he'd had in weeks.

***

"The Emperor of Rome, Tiberius Rufius Maro!"

Lucius announced as Tiberius stepped forward. His guards stayed close, flanking him and ready to act at the slightest sign of aggression.

He stood with his head held high and his back straight, projecting strength and confidence befitting of his station. Yet the two men before him did not react as he expected. Rather, they both visibly started in surprise, their eyes going wide. One of them even dropped a stack of fliers emblazoned with the same pink dragon that Tiberius recognized from the report.

Tiberius nodded to each of the two men in turn, hiding his own surprise at their reaction. "Good sirs."

The pair of apprentices exchanged glances. "Um… Hello, sir."

The one that had spoken gave a hesitant bow, followed shortly after by the other. Inwardly, Tiberius felt himself relax slightly. It may be too early to say for certain, but these two didn't seem nearly as arrogant as he had feared. It was almost as though they didn't realize their own strength.

"Forgive my sudden intrusion," Tiberius began, still erring on the side of caution. "I was informed that two mages of respectable strength had been spotted wandering about the city. I have no qualms with your presence here, so long as you remain peaceful. However, I will admit to some curiosity as to your purpose."

"Oh!" The first apprentice relaxed. Tiberius noted that the second one remained in his bow as he gathered up the fallen fliers, his beard dragging against the ground. "We're looking for my master's pet. His name is Rufus. He's a large pink dragon. He got away from his handlers… well, maybe a week or two ago. You wouldn't happen to have any information on him, would you?"

Tiberius simply stared at the man for a long moment. The handful of sentences simply carried far too many absurd implications for him to process at once. Not just the confirmation that dragons did exist, but also that the one these two called "master" owned one as a pet—an unbelievably strong one, according to his men. What's more, the pair seemed far too earnest and serious to be playing a joke on him.

"...I do, in fact." Tiberius volunteered. "My men have reported a creature matching that description being sighted in the area. Some have even made contact with it."

The gray-bearded apprentice sucked in a breath. "He didn't hurt anyone, did he? Rufus is usually very good at not hurting anyone. Not unless he's supposed to, anyway."

Setting that ominous remark aside, Tiberius shook his head. "No. Although he did display quite a taste for horseflesh." He said dryly. "Is that another trait of your 'Rufus'?"

The mage's shoulders slumped in apparent relief, although he continued to grimace. "Ah. Yes. He's… well, he received a life-sized horse chew toy a few birthdays back. He, er, enjoyed it more than anyone could have predicted. Much to the region's chagrin. Sorry about that."

That certainly explained the lack of horses they'd observed since arriving here. Though the explanation was so absurd as to almost be unbelievable.

"If you have suffered damages, I'm sure my master will be willing to work out a reasonable form of repayment." The mage continued, scratching his chin.

Tiberius nodded. "That would be quite generous. I would welcome the opportunity to meet this 'master' of yours regardless. Has he accompanied you to the city?"

"Oh, yes! He's actually…"

The man trailed off as some sort of commotion became audible from further down the street. Tiberius craned his neck to see what was happening, only to find a group of Legionnaires massing at the end of the street. A centurion rushed out from the gathering crowd.

"Legatus, sir. You should evacuate. There is a dangerous and unstable individual headed this way."

"How dangerous?" Tiberius demanded. The guards around him had already drawn their blades and unslung their shields.

"We don't know. No one has been able to successfully appraise him or get an idea of his level. But the way he moves…" The centurion shuddered.

Just then, a figure emerged from around the corner. He wore what had once probably been resplendent blue robes patterned with planets and embroidered with bolts of lightning, though their richness was ruined somewhat by the small burn holes and vibrantly colored smears across their surface. The rest of his appearance mirrored the state of his robes, the bone-white hair and beard stretching well past his waist where it wasn't singed off or sticking out at haphazard angles.

"Ah! That would be him." One of the apprentices spoke up and raised his hand in a wave. "Master! Over here!"

As Tiberius took in the strange and obviously eccentric figure, their gazes met. The white-haired man's eyes widened as his face stretched into a broad smile.

Then he was at Tiberius's elbow.

He blinked. Tiberius hadn't even seen the man move. He'd simply… appeared. Faster than Tiberius, his guards, or the Legionnaires massing along the street could react.

"You!" The mage grinned maniacally. "Good, I'm glad I found you. I have questions."