NOVEL NEXT Chapter 740: The newborn(2)
With the commander of the Fourth now kneeling before the prince, the time for the oath had come.
Alpheo stepped forth, behind him, two solemn servants led forth a great sacrificial bull, its hooves thudding heavily against the packed sand. The beast was massive, its flanks trembling, nostrils flaring with nervous breath as it stared wide-eyed at the mass of armored men and stone-faced spectators.
It snorted and twisted its head, but the ropes guiding it held firm. It would soon meet its fate in the taurobolium, the blood basin awaiting it at the foot of the raised altar.
The crowd quieted. The breeze stilled. All eyes were fixed on the man kneeling in the dust.
Then, in a clear voice that cut across the silence, Edric lifted his head as he spoke:
"I, humble servant of the Crown, kneel upon this sacred soil and offer myself to the supreme authority of His Grace.I beseech you, my sovereign, to grant me your blessing, that I may don the mantle of command and serve you faithfully, honorably, until the blood leaves my veins and the breath quits my chest.What say you, O Prince of the Realm?"
Alpheo stood tall above him, arms rising slowly, palms turned to the sky.
"Edric, son of no father, father to no son. Do you swear, from this day forward, to wield your sword under my banner and bleed in my name?"
"I swear," Edric answered, his voice steady as iron, his head bowed low.
"Do you swear to lead with courage and face death without fear?"
"I swear."
"Do you swear to obey the command of your sovereign with all the strength and clarity your mind can muster?"
"I swear."
"Will you carry your men upon your shoulders in hardship and guide them to glory in battle?"
"I do."
"Do you swear to use the power given to you not for your gain, but to strike the foes of the state and shield all who dwell beneath its shadow?"
"I swear."
A breathless pause followed. Then Alpheo spoke once more, solemn and final:
"Then rise, Commander of the Fourth Legion, bound by oath, clothed in duty, crowned with honor. From this day forth, your life is no longer yours. It belongs to your brothers.
Rise, Oh son of Yarzat."
As the prince's words rang out, the servants led the bull up the stone incline of the taurobolium. Its eyes rolled wildly, sensing the doom it could not escape. One servant steadied the beast's head, the other raised a curved blade. In a swift, clean motion, the knife slit through muscle and vein.
The bull's blood poured into the basin below, hot and dark, steam rising into the cool autumn air.
Edric watched without flinching. The oath was complete, but the rite was not yet done.
He took a steadying breath and rose slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving the sacred flow of crimson filling the stone basin.
Soon, once the sacrificial basin had been filled to the brim, the servants stepped forth with solemn care, lifting the heavy, blood-filled crater from the foot of the taurobolium. A reverent hush fell over the arena as they carried it to the center of the ring, setting it down gently upon the sand before the new commander.
Edric stood motionless for a heartbeat, his bare body streaked with welts from the ceremonial lashings, chest rising and falling with slow breaths. The midday sun struck his skin, making the sweat on his lean muscles glisten like oil on a pan.
Then, without hesitation, he knelt once more, gripped the bronze handles of the great bowl, and raised it high.
The thick, steaming blood of the bull sloshed ominously within, dark as wine, alive with heat and scent. With one final breath drawn deep into his lungs, Edric tipped the basin forward.
A flood of crimson poured over his head, down his face and shoulders, painting his body in hot streaks that clung to his skin and soaked into the sand beneath. The blood coursed down his chest and arms, dripping from his fingers like wax from a candle. His features were lost beneath the deluge—only the squared line of his jaw and the defiant rise of his chin marked him beneath the veil of sacrifice.
The crowd watched in reverent silence as the blood baptized him in the eyes of men and gods alike.
Steam rose from his body. The blood glistened under the sun. And though he was painted in death, he stood reborn.
As the commander of the Fourth.
"The Fourth is now born!" Alpheo's voice rang out across the arena, sharp and proud, cutting through the heavy silence like the crack of a war drum.
And at once, the thunder answered.
Thirteen hundred voices roared in unison, echoing from the stone walls and into the open sky:
"The Fourth is now born!"
"The Fourth is now born!"
The cry shook the air with the same wild energy that overtook men on the edge of victory, the moment just before the enemy broke and fled.
Then, like the final beat of a heart before stillness, silence returned.
The ceremony was complete.
Alpheo stepped forward, the silver trim of his cloak stirred the sand, and the sunlight shimmered off the royal brooch that fastened his purple cloak. He came to a stop before Edric, still glistening in blood, still kneeling.
Without a word, Alpheo unclasped his cloak and draped it gently over Edric's shoulders, the heavy purple fabric falling with regal weight over his blood-slicked back.
Edric blinked, visibly hesitant. "Your Grace… it will be ruined. The blood—"
"I would make for a poor leader if I hadn't grown used to it, wouldn't I?" Alpheo interrupted with a faint smile.
Then, before the young commander could protest further, the prince reached down, grasped Edric by the forearm, and pulled him to his feet,his own immaculate sleeves now streaked with blood for all to see.
And of course, the soldiers loved it as they cheered as soon as Edric rose from the sand.
The new commander stood frozen, eyes downcast, cloak heavy around his shoulders. His face, normally stone-set and quiet, now flushed with embarrassment.
But he did not resist.
As the cheers of the soldiers slowly faded into murmurs and the arena began to empty, Alpheo turned to the newly anointed commander with a warm, disarming smile.
"Will you accompany me for a walk?" he asked, his voice calm and almost casual, as if he were asking an old friend rather than one of the blood-drenched instruments of his statecraft.
Edric blinked in surprise. The honor of walking beside the prince hadn't even crossed his mind. He was still practically naked beneath the soaked cloak, sticky with blood, his heart thundering from ceremony and adrenaline.
"It would be my honor, Your Grace," he answered, standing a little straighter despite the discomfort.
"You may call me Alpheo,you are now one of the few" the prince corrected gently as he began strolling away from the ceremonial grounds, slow enough for Edric to catch up without rushing.
Edric hesitated, the name catching in his throat. His eyes flicked briefly to the blood still drying on his chest. The formality of it all clashed oddly with how... human the prince sounded.
Alpheo noticed immediately, his eyes always missed little, and so he offered a sideways smile.
"There's no need to be on edge, Edric," he said. "I just want to offer a few words of encouragement before I allow you to retire and scrub off that sticky blessing you're wearing."
Edric let out a breath, half-laughing. "That would be well needed, Your Grace. I feel… sticky indeed."
"Oh, trust me, you're lucky. Drinking it is ten times worse." Alpheo gave him a knowing look, his tone light and almost conspiratorial. "The taste is truly retching. Like old iron soaked in ash and regret. You'll get to know it soon enough, especially once you marry. Marriage ceremonies are a breeding ground for ridiculous traditions.
I almost puked when I had been forced to drink bull's blood"
Edric laughed softly despite himself, but then paused, registering something. "Marriage, Your—Alpheo?"
"Oh yes," Alpheo grinned, clapping a friendly hand onto his shoulder, ignoring the smear of blood now staining his sleeve. "You're now quite the prize. A legion commander is no small fish in the noble pond. I'm sure there are at least a dozen lords already composing letters to offer their daughters' hands."
Edric looked mortified. "That… is a little overwhelming."
"It is," Alpheo admitted, chuckling. "But you'll get used to it, you are now holding quite the rank"
They walked a few paces more in silence, the wind gently stirring the loose edges of the prince's cloak that now rested on Edric's shoulders.
Then Alpheo's tone changed, more grounded and steady
"This is the beginning of a long road, Edric. The Fourth is yours now, a blank page. Its reputation, its victories, its scars… all of that will be shaped by your hand. Its name will echo with what you make of it. You will be the one to fill the book of their honors for the next one that shall succeed you."
Edric's brow furrowed slightly as he listened, the weight of knowing that the fame of his legion relying on him, being surprisingly heavy.
"Have trust in yourself," Alpheo continued. "And in your men. They've been trained well. You've followed Jarza for years, you've seen the best of what we have. Take those teachings and use them, not as a shadow, but as a foundation. Build something greater and you'll honor your legion, your teacher and above all me."
Edric lowered his head, humbled. "Thank you, Your Grace. I will give my every breath to serve well."
But before he could bow, Alpheo raised a finger and lifted Edric's chin with a light touch.
"No need for bows in private. I will come to rely on you, just as I do on the others. I don't promote men I doubt, Edric. I've been watching you for a long time. This wasn't a whim; it was inevitable."
Edric felt his pulse quicken at that.
With that Alpheo stepped back, hands behind his back as he gazed toward the sky, where the sun dipped lower and the golden light painted the field crimson, almost matching the blood on Edric's skin.
"Next year, the princedom will call. The campaign will begin, and you will have your chance to show the world of what paste you are made."
He glanced at him with a spark in his eye. "Make Jarza proud. Make me proud. And most of all… make your legion proud to bleed under your command."
As he listened to that, Edric uncosciously stood tall.
"I will not fail you, Alpheo."
The prince gave him a rare, sincere nod."See that you don't. Now go—wash, eat, rest. Soon the Fourth marches forward."
But before Edric could respond, Alpheo stepped closer and, without hesitation, reached out and placed a firm hand against the side of his head, his palm warm and steady on Edric's temple. Then, gently but deliberately, he drew their foreheads together.
Their brows met, and for a long, breath-held second, nothing else existed but the shared contact, their eyes locked, the dried blood of the Taurobolium ceremony clinging to Edric's skin now streaking onto the brow of his sovereign.
There was no crown between them now. No titles. No barrier of silk or gold or throne. Only flesh, sweat, and blood.
It was an unusual gesture, but to those serving close to the prince, it was clear that, as usual, the Prince had very little care for the manners of ranks.
Still, it wasn't without meaning.
It was the markings of a commander who knew very well the heart of men, how to raise them, and how to wrap them around his fingers.