For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 38: Reap What You Sow

The group before Quintus remained silent. His men had managed to root out around fifty people amongst the handful of houses and outbuildings, but not a single one of them spoke for a handful of heartbeats. The only thing audible was the sound of wind rustling the nearby crops and the light footfalls of the patrols spreading out to search the surrounding area.

The Primus Pilus counted to five in his head as he waited for a response to his question. Then, he raised his hand to signal his men. As he did, the hard-eyed prisoner spat at his feet, glaring up at Quintus with a defiant spark in his eyes. His grey and brown hair was in disarray from struggling against the Legionnaires, and a small tattoo of a teardrop marked his cheek beneath his eye.

Quintus stepped forward and delivered a vicious backhand, sending him spinning into the mud at his feet. A few quiet gasps and sounds of outrage rose up from the nearby captives, though they were quickly shushed by their companions. Two Legionnaires behind the fallen man rushed to roughly haul him up by his neck and arms, yanking him to his knees in front of Quintus again. The man spat out a dribble of blood and grinned with reddened teeth.

"Ain't gotta tell you nothin'," the man said in broken Latin befitting of a ruffian.

Quintus scoffed. Despite his apparent seniority, the man's demeanor spoke of an overconfident youth with no real understanding of the danger he was in. He fixed the kneeling man with a firm stare, speaking in an even tone. "Choose your words carefully. What have you and your men have been hiding about this farm of yours?"

The bloodied man glanced toward his compatriots, then back at Quintus and slowly shook his head. Internally, the Legionnaire grimaced. Evidently, it wouldn't be that easy. Either this wasn't actually the leader or these men had more reason to be tight-lipped than he'd hoped. Perhaps they were more afraid of whoever they worked for than they were of him.

Well, that could be changed.

Quintus gestured for the man to be stood upright. With one fluid motion, he drew his sword and drove it low into his stomach. The man's eyes widened in surprise as a grunt escaped his lips. With a turn of his wrist, Quintus twisted the blade and pulled it out, wiping it on the man's tunic as the two centurions dropped him back down to his knees.

One of the women screamed. Blood began to pool below the man as he fell to his side, his previously cocky face now a rictus of pain. A few captives tried to surge forward and help only to be held back by the Legionnaires.

Quintus had seen many a gut wound before. They were the kind of injury that would fester for days, causing incredible agony and an even messier death. Given that they had attacked his men, it was the least they deserved. Hopefully it would properly communicate both his own seriousness and the severity of their situation.

After studying his blade for a beat in what he knew was an unnerving display, Quintus turned to another man and gave him the same order. He also bore a matching tattoo to the first. "Will you answer my questions?"

This time, he was met with a vigorous nod from the blonde man he'd addressed. The dirt on his brow stood out in stark relief to his skin as the color drained from his face. Quintus sheathed his sword and smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Good. Now, what have you and your men have been hiding about this farm of yours?"

"Um. Well, you see…" The blonde man stumbled over his words. "W-we've just been growing crops here and... well..."

Quintus raised an eyebrow with obvious displeasure. If this man thought he could get away with an obvious lie like that, well, he would have to think again. At his look, the man's face paled further. He spoke more quickly, trying to gesture with his arms as though forgetting they were bound behind him.

"No! Uh, not... not wheat. It's, uh… chrysalvenum." He winced at the word as though it were a damning admission. "The wheat hides it. And, uh, the king's men don't know about it, milord."

Quintus snorted. Being called "my lord" was almost an insult, in his book. But the man seemed to be cooperating, so he would let it slide.

"Chrysalvenum. What are the regulations on growing such a crop?" Quintus asked. Based on the circumstances, he guessed it served one of two purposes. It was either a bumper crop that a bunch of wealthy elites would buy for high prices to avoid taxes, or some sort of drug. His bet was on the latter.

The man averted his gaze. "Well, it's uh, it's strictly forbidden in the duke's lands."

"Just the duke's lands?" Quintus pressed. "Not the rest of Novara?"

"I don't be knowing, milord."

Quintus glanced over his surroundings one more time. With that additional context, he was able to fit a few more pieces of this puzzle together. There were a few different types of people among this hamlet's residents. The military-aged men could be divided into two categories—one group whose faces were contorted in defiance and anger, and one group that simply appeared terrified. Interestingly, the defiant ones all seemed to share that same teardrop tattoo on their cheeks. Even the ones that clearly were hiding nervousness beneath their brashness.

The detail made Quintus wonder briefly. Why would someone intentionally make themselves appear as a weakling, permanently weeping like that? Perhaps the brand was an insult or a slave mark. It could also be evidence of some past crime, given the obvious placement. Although he didn't see any matching tattoos among the women or few elderly residents here. That only made sense, given that they all fell into the "terrified" camp.

Regardless of the underlying reason, it allowed Quintus to better separate the different groups involved in this operation. One appeared to be career criminals of some kind, while the other might have been farmers—albeit also of the criminal variety. He chose one of the few men who didn't have a tattoo at random, pointing to him and gesturing for two Legionnaires to bring him forward. He knelt alongside the pale-faced criminal he'd been interrogating.

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"You two are going to show me this crop," he stated plainly.

A complement of soldiers escorted the two men and Quintus as they followed the nervous criminal's directions. The area he led them to wasn't too far from the buildings and appeared to be no different from the other fields of wheat. But after walking for a couple of minutes, they found a section that appeared just a little less dense with the crop.

Quintus kept a cautious eye out, wary of any hidden attackers crouching among the waist-high stalks. Soon, he spotted something different growing near the ground. The plant had long, stringy green leaves sprouting directly from the earth below, the thin foliage not even reaching up to his knees. In the center of each cluster of leaves rested a light purple flower. Its soft petals seemed to almost glow with an eerie luminescence.

The criminal halted in front of one of the flowers, pointing at it. Only now that they were right above the thing could it be clearly seen. Otherwise, the wheat did its job of hiding them quite well.

"That's… chrysalvenum."

Quintus noticed that while the criminal didn't show any fear or wariness about the plant, the farmer did. He was staying as far back as the Legionnaires would allow, hesitating to come any closer than he had to.

Quintus drew a small cloth from his belt pouch and bent down to touch the plant. Carefully, he plucked one leaf and one flower, holding them up at arm's length and inspecting them. Not seeing anything obviously dangerous about it, he wondered what its effects were. He considered asking the pair of captives, but decided against it. Whether or not they would be truthful about the matter was little better than a coin flip. Regardless of what they said, he'd need to test the effects to confirm them anyway.

He turned to the criminal, and with a gesture, two Legionnaires sent him back to his knees. Quintus carefully crushed the thin leaf in front of the man's face. A bit of milky liquid seeped out from the broken plant tissue. The man grimaced, but didn't flinch. When it became clear that nothing more would happen, he moved to wipe a bit of the paste from the lead on the man's upper lip. Still nothing. The man eyed Quintus with a mix of wariness and utter confusion as he waited.

As Quintus moved to repeat the process with the flower's petals, the criminal's eyes widened. This time, the liquid that seeped out of the crushed plant matter had a purplish tinge to it. The sight caused the criminal to thrash, fighting his captors, but they held him still while Quintus wiped the petal under the criminal's nose. After a few seconds, his struggle stopped.

Quintus frowned as the man's head lolled forward. He could smell a faint tang in the air, but no more so than when he had been near the flowers. However, contacting the sap of the crushed petals had clearly caused some sort of effect. His next step would have been to feed the thing to the man, so it was interesting to see a reaction to just this.

They waited expectantly to see the result. The man started violently shaking in place, spasming as his eyes slid closed. Quintus looked over to the cowardly farmer they'd brought with them.

"Is he going to die?" he asked casually.

"U-uh… I don't know? I think…" The man stammered, now leaning as far away from the spectacle as he could manage, though the Legionnaires cut off any attempts to flee. When Quintus looked back to the criminal, he had stopped shaking. Suddenly, his eyes sprang open to reveal fully dilated pupils. The man lurched to his feet and twisted violently, attempting to wrench himself out of the soldiers' grasp. The Legionnaires barely held on, one spinning slightly as he was pulled out of place. The criminal twisted again and threw the Legionnaire to the ground.

The Legionnaire rolled away as the other one backed off. Rather than continue trying to restrain the man, they joined their brethren in encircling the still-twitching criminal as he spun around. He stared at the Legionnaires with wide, almost hungry eyes.

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Quintus stepped back to join his men, barking a quick order. "Shields! Prepare for a charge!"

The men pulled their scutum from their backs, preparing to receive a charge as if it were from a wild boar. He'd initially thought that this illicit substance would act as some sort of aphrodisiac, hallucinogen, or other mild drug—or perhaps it was just a highly-regulated variety of spice that these people didn't want to pay taxes on.

But this reaction showed that it was significantly more. The fumes from the petals acted like an enhancement spell of some sort, one that granted strength and speed at the cost of one's sanity. It was like something out of myth or legend, as though the man had been blessed—or cursed—by Mars.

The man suddenly flinched and charged one of the Legionnaires at random. Although, his maneuver could hardly be called a proper "charge." It more closely resembled a mindless shambling sprint. The Legionnaire he'd targeted acted with surprising restraint. Instead of running him through—which would have been so easy, given how completely defenseless he was—he stepped sideways and bashed his shield into the running man.

The man stumbled. As he did, the Legionnaire smashed the base of his shield into his knee with almost contemptuous ease. Quintus heard the crack of bones snapping as the rabid criminal toppled to the ground. He attempted to rise once again, but his leg flopped uselessly beneath him, causing him to falter. Not that he paid it any mind. It seemed as though the man didn't even register the pain, attempting again and again to rise and walk forward. He hobbled toward the Legionnaires, who shifted their formation to maintain a safe distance from the unknown threat. It didn't take long before the criminal stumbled and didn't get up again.

After a moment to ensure that he wasn't moving, a soldier stepped forward and checked his breathing. "He's alive, sir."

Quintus nodded. "Hmmm. The Legatus will want to hear about this." He eyed another one of the nearby flowers. "If we can learn more about the effects of this herb, we may find uses for it—but we certainly don't want these criminals to be in control of the supply."

He turned back to the farmer, who now had a large wet spot running down his leg. "You know how to grow this crop?"

The man nodded frantically "I-I think I can. Yeah. T-they usually did the growing, but…"

"Good. Let's head back."

The group turned back toward the hamlet and the waiting captives outside. This discovery could provide them with some interesting opportunities. While Quintus knew little about alchemy and medicine, there were a few among the Legion with backgrounds in such things. He suspected they might be able to find some use for the strange plant—hopefully one with less pronounced negative effects.

As for those who grew it… Well, that was another matter. Quintus suspected that he knew what the Legatus would decide. Still, it was better to confirm before meting out punishment himself.

He left two contubernium to watch over the women and men who didn't bear tattoos. Based on everything he'd seen, they appeared to be mostly innocent—albeit still criminal by association with the other ruffians. The rest of his men were tasked with escorting the tattooed criminals as prisoners back to the Legion. They marched double-time to reach the army's main army—a pace which did no favors to their captives, who struggled to keep up.

Quintus watched the long columns of men as they came into view. These men certainly wouldn't fare well. But the farmers and their families… well, perhaps they would find some mercy.