I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 160: The Lion and the Sword

The grand throne room, so recently the stage for a crisis of faith, had been transformed into a stark and functional council of war. A massive map of the eastern provinces, from the shores of the Aegean to the banks of the Euphrates, was laid out across a heavy marble table. Alex stood over it, the weight of his new war pressing down on him. At his side were the two pillars of his regime: Maximus, the embodiment of Roman honor, and Perennis, the personification of Roman cunning.

Alex's finger traced a line from the province of Cappadocia to the Danube. "These are the legions we need, Gaius," he said, his voice grim and resolute. "The Fourth Scythica. The Twelfth Fulminata. The Sixteenth Flavia Firma. They are veteran troops, hardened by decades of skirmishes with Parthia. They know how to fight, and they know how to march. We need their strength on the Danube, and we need it yesterday."

Perennis, the spymaster, ever the voice of cynical reality, gave a dry, soft cough. "A sound military strategy, Caesar. With one fatal political flaw." He gestured to the city of Antioch on the map, the seat of the eastern governor. "Those legions are loyal to Publius Helvius Pertinax. They have served under his command for years. He is their general, in their hearts if not by your decree."

The spymaster laid out the trap with chilling precision. "If you issue a recall for those legions, you hand Pertinax the perfect weapon. He will stand before his men and claim you are stripping the eastern frontier bare, leaving their homes and families vulnerable to Parthian treachery. He will paint you as a foolish, incompetent boy-emperor, sacrificing the security of the east for some phantom barbarian threat in the north. He could refuse your order, declaring it an illegal and reckless command, and incite those legions to mutiny. And my agents confirm he now has the Parthian gold to make their loyalty... affordable."

It was a perfect political checkmate. To get the troops he needed to save the Empire, he risked igniting the very civil war that would doom it. He was trapped.

But Alex was no longer just reacting. He was learning to synthesize, to combine the inhuman analytical power of his AI with his own, increasingly sharp understanding of human nature. The night before, he had spent hours with Lyra, feeding her every scrap of information Perennis had on the eastern legions. He hadn't asked for a solution. He had asked for a detailed breakdown: the service records of every legate and senior tribune, the pay grades and morale reports of the centurions, the supply situations, the tribal origins of their auxiliary cohorts.

Lyra's data had painted a clear picture. While the senior commanders, the legates, were political appointees who owed their positions to Pertinax, the backbone of the legions—the junior officers, the battle-hardened centurions, the non-commissioned optiones—were professional soldiers first and foremost. Their loyalty was to their standards, to their pay, and to the promise of a glorious victory under a commander they respected. Alex now devised a plan that targeted this specific demographic, a strategy that Lyra, with all her logic, could never have created, because it was built on a uniquely human concept: honor.

He turned from the map to face Maximus. The old general stood straight and tall, his face set, ready for his mission to the north.

"Your journey has changed, old friend," Alex said. "You will not ride to the Danube first. You will ride east. To Antioch."

Maximus's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he said nothing, waiting.

"You will go not as an inquisitor to settle a squabble," Alex continued, "but as my Magister Militum, my supreme Master of Soldiers, the highest military authority in the Empire. You will carry my full voice and command. And you will carry two things with you: an order for Pertinax, and a promise for his legions."

He laid out the first part of the plan, the blade meant for Pertinax. "The imperial order will be simple and public. Pertinax is to remain in Antioch as Governor of Syria. He is commended for his service and is now tasked with using his considerable diplomatic skills to ensure the Parthians honor their side of the peace treaty, especially in this time of crisis. We are stripping him of his legions, but we are leaving him his dignitas, his public honor. It gives him no legitimate reason to stand before his men and claim he has been wronged. We are taking his sword but leaving him the scabbard."

Perennis allowed himself a thin, appreciative smile. It was a clever, vicious move.

"But the second part of your mission is the true weapon," Alex said, turning his full attention to Maximus. "You will bypass Pertinax and address the legions' commanders and their centurions directly. You will tell them that they, the veteran defenders of the east, have been given the highest honor a Roman legionary can receive: the defense of the homeland itself. You will tell them that the fate of Italy, of Rome, now rests upon their shoulders."

Alex's voice grew stronger, filled with the conviction of his own performance. "You will promise them triple pay for the duration of the campaign, paid not in the old, debased silver, but in the new, pure Argentus Alexianus from my own mint. You will promise them generous land grants in the fertile valleys of the north after the victory is won. And most importantly," he locked eyes with Maximus, "you, Gaius Maximus—the victor of the Danube, the hero of the frontier, the most respected soldier in the entire Empire—will give them your personal, solemn word that you will be leading them into the great battle yourself."

The strategy was clear. He was countering Pertinax's established loyalty with a powerful cocktail of greed, patriotism, and hero-worship.

"And while you are making these grand promises of honor and silver," Alex said, turning to his spymaster, "that is when your agents will move, Perennis. Not with daggers, but with whispers."

Perennis nodded, understanding his role perfectly. "My agents will move among the junior officers and the camps," he confirmed. "They will quietly spread the news from my sources in Antioch. Tales of their beloved former commander's secret, late-night meetings with Parthian nobles. They will not make direct accusations. They will simply ask questions. 'Why does Pertinax meet with our ancient enemies in the dead of night?' 'What could the Parthians be promising him?' 'Is it not strange that he wishes for the legions to remain here, when the heart of the Empire itself is threatened?'"

Alex slammed his fist softly on the table. "Exactly. We plant the seed of doubt. We make the soldiers question whether Pertinax's desire for them to stay is for the good of Rome, or for the good of his own ambition, an ambition perhaps funded by Persian gold."

The plan was complete. It was a three-pronged assault, a perfect synergy of their strengths. Alex's strategic vision to separate the man from the office. Maximus's unimpeachable honor to win the hearts of the soldiers. And Perennis's network of spies to poison their minds against their former leader. It was a campaign of honor, greed, and suspicion, designed to surgically remove an entire army from the command of a rival without firing a single shot.

Maximus stood, his expression one of grim determination. He understood the stakes. He understood the danger. And he understood his role in this great, treacherous game. He was the sword of honor, sent to face down the lion of ambition. His faith in Alex's cause, in their secret war against the darkness, was absolute. This was merely the first battle of that war.

"I will not fail you, Caesar," he said, his voice a low, solid vow. "The legions will march for Rome." He saluted, a crisp, powerful gesture, turned, and strode from the throne room, his heavy boots echoing with the sound of a new and terrible purpose.