For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 9B2 : When in Rome

B2 Chapter 9: When in Rome

Tiberius took his time getting ready. He dressed in full battle gear, his armor freshly repaired and polished after their latest battle, in lieu of any formal wear like a toga. That, too, was a deficiency he would need to remedy—though he hadn’t honestly expected to engage in any diplomatic talks so soon.

He marched through the town, accompanied by some of his most senior officers and an escort of guards. The first messenger had left him slightly confused. A request to meet with some inhuman diplomat was unexpected, to say the least. A Novaran one would make sense, but an elf? What reason had a completely foreign nation of inhuman beings to meet with them? It left him at a loss regarding what to expect.

Fortunately, it seemed as though he wouldn’t remain in the dark for long. He’d received word soon after about Marcus’s actions and subsequent escort of the diplomatic party to the manor. Evidently, his conduct had spoken of a deep familiarity with these people and their practices.

Tiberius frowned. On one hand, having the bard as a resource for this meeting would be valuable, provided the man wasn’t simply exhibiting legendary levels of bullshittery. On the other, his actions did feel like they’d overstepped his authority. Even if Tiberius was considering giving Marcus a bigger role in the Legion’s operations, he had yet to make any such title or duties official.

Either way, the damage was already done. Whether or not he would actually trust Marcus with additional responsibility would largely depend on this meeting.

The mansion came into view, its decorative wooden trim seeming to glow in the daylight. Tiberius nodded to the Legionnaires standing guard outside, receiving a series of salutes in return, then stepped inside.

Diplomacy and politics were something that he was all too familiar with. Even as a Legionnaire, he’d dealt with foreign forces, and later in his career, he was sometimes the first senator to accept surrender or declare war on opposing forces. It meant that he knew how much image and first impressions played a role in such engagements—hence why he’d spent the time to prepare himself.

Unfortunately, there was only so much he could do—especially when it came to information. The bard being indisposed meant that Tiberius couldn’t pick his brain about elves, their politics, or anything else that would have served as useful background. All he knew were the very basics that had been brought up in passing. And that the envoy was a level 35 [Diplomat]—Marcus had conveyed that information to one of his centurions.

It didn’t take long for Tiberius to navigate through the mansion and find the main sitting room. There, he saw Marcus and a slightly graying elf quietly sipping tea across from each other, each perched atop one of the mansion’s ostentatiously plush chairs. They both looked up as he entered, the elf in particular sweeping over Tiberius with a calculating look.

When their eyes met, Tiberius immediately recognized his own mistake. He had walked in the room as Legatus Tiberius—the leader of his Legion, who could stride into any situation and take charge. A commander, one who could speak with his men, work with his generals, and mete out punishment.

Yet here, he was not meant to be Legtus Tiberius. He had to present himself as Emperor Tiberius.

The Emperor was above all others. The Emperor sat on his throne, where foreign dignitaries and diplomats would kneel and give gifts and be granted an audience—should the Emperor deign to provide one. He sat atop his throne, summoning people before him—not the other way around.

And yet here he was—not calling the elf forth for an audience, but going to personally meet him. At best, it would appear as though he considered them equals. At worst… well, it would appear as though he was the one at the diplomat’s beck and call.

Tiberius hid a scowl behind his stony expression. He would need to be more cognizant of such things. He was so used to being the Legatus here, when he was surrounded by his men. His still-developing Emperor persona was a tunic he only donned when conquering. And yet, his basic misstep had already shown weakness that might hamstring him in negotiations.

The elf clearly realized this as well, if the sharp glint in his eye was any indicator. Tiberius stood in the doorway, exuding as much authority and strength as he could muster in order to save face. He could not afford to show any more weakness.

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Luckily, Marcus seemed to pick up on the dynamic. The bard swept to hes feet before falling into a deep bow. "Your eminence! We are truly blessed to have been graced by your presence this day."

The movement prompted the elven diplomat to rise as well, lest he be seen as actively challenging Tiberius. The man seemingly wasn’t ready for that kind of aggression yet—though his shallow bow did convey his lack of respect quite clearly. He looked quite young aside from a shock of grey in his hair, but Tiberius knew better than to judge based on appearances. Evidently, elves were known for aging gracefully.

Tiberius waited as one of his guards placed an extra chair at the table. Once he sat, he gestured for the other two to take their seats as well—something that gave him a modicum of control over the situation. As Marcus dutifully poured him a cup of tea, Tiberius studied the envoy’s face.

The elf remained silent and impassive, his expression revealing no hint of emotion. There was no obvious disdain or disgust that he could see, but nor was there any respect or fear. The lack of fear made sense, at least—the elf likely knew that he was only level two, after all. Considering the importance of levels, he wondered if the envoy considered him little better than a child playing at being a king.

After giving a slight indication of thanks to Marcus for the tea, Tiberius reached for the cup and tasted it. Tea wasn’t really his beverage of choice. Like most things, Tiberius was of the opinion that it would benefit from a generous splash of liquor being mixed in. However, he was certain that such a modification would not reflect well on him. It was rather early in the day, anyway.

Setting down the cup, he leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin, waiting. There was a long, tense silence before the elf spoke.

"Greetings," he inclined his head slightly. "I am Iladrien, emissary of King Glendale of the great Ruthin Forest."

Tiberius nodded inn return. "Well met, Iladrien. I am Emperor Tiberius Rufius Maro of the Roman Empire."

The elf arched a thin eyebrow. "Emperor, you say? I’m afraid I was not aware of an empire in this region. "

Tiberius smiled thinly at the veiled slight. "Then you are ill-informed. It seems your scouts are not quite as thorough as you assumed."

"Mmm. Or perhaps your fledgeling nation is not so grand as your title presumes. With all due respect."

Tiberius’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as they traded barbs. In the back of his mind, he wondered how well this man would handle himself in battle. The level disparity between them was large enough to ensure the envoy would have a significant stat advantage—then again, Tiberius’s class and absurd gains did shrink that disparity more than one would expect from a level 2. Added to the fact that most of his skills were rare now and the seemingly multiplicative strength of the Legion when it massed…

He steered his thoughts away from the decidedly theoretical exercise. This was a diplomatic meeting. It would not come to blows. No, such a development would have repercussions far beyond whatever wounds he might sustain. Full-on war between their factions would be all too likely—and not at all ideal. He needed to solidify his hold over his territories and remove Novara before beginning a fight on another front—and he certainly didn’t want to pick a fight with a nation who employed someone so powerful as a politician.

Instead, Tiberius smiled. "Though Rome’s territory may seem modest for the moment, that will not last long. Of that, you can be certain."

The envoy frowned, his expression turning thoughtful. "Rome," he echoed as though tasting the word. "I don’t think any country has gone by that name, not in living memory. Where did it come from?"

Tiberius saw Marcus shoot him a discreet look and subtly shook his head. The bard had been one of the first to realize that the Legion came from another world, though that was a fact they did not advertise openly. It wouldn’t be feasible to hide it forever, but still. He had no intention to share it with the elves unless they gave him a compelling reason.

"Rome is our homeland, though it is far from here," Tiberius explained. "Our conquests here are for her glory, that her influence may civilize barbarians and their backwards ways."

"But enough about that," Tiberius said, leaning forward. "I am interested in your purpose in coming here. What business do you have with me?"

The elf gave a polite smile that gave nothing away. But when he spoke, his words were laced with a sickly-sweet venom.

"Thirty-five days hence, there was a large fire in this portion of our forest," the envoy began. "The damage was extensive and regrettable, and such things are known to happen, even naturally. However, upon investigation, it was discovered that this was not the only issue that required addressing.

"You see, an area boss that we had been allowing to ripen for experience had been slain. Furthermore, it seemed that a group of humans had not only begun to encroach on our forest, but even had the gall to fell our trees."

By the end of his speech, Iladrien was biting off each word. It was the first real display of emotion he’d seen from the elf, and still not a single bit of it showed on his face.

Tiberius remained silent, preferring to watch impassively as the elf took a deep breath. Now that he’d expressed his indignation, he sensed the demands coming on the horizon.

"Therein lies the reason for our delegation," Iladrien continued with a cold smile. "The burning of our forest, the slaying of our flock, the felling of our trees…These crimes must be answered for."