I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 185: Forging the Spear

The war room at Vulcania fell silent, the usual hum of activity stilled by the gravity of the small, crude map that now lay at the center of the great table. The ’X’ seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, a mark that was both a promise and a death warrant. Alex’s war council—Pullo, Celer, Sabina, Perennis, and the newly-arrived General Pollio—stared at it, each processing the sheer, breathtaking audacity of what it implied.

It was Pollio, the cautious, traditionalist general, who spoke first, his voice a gravelly rumble of disbelief. He traced a thick finger across the vast, enemy-held territory between the Danube and the target. "It’s impossible," he stated, his assessment blunt and absolute. "It’s a week’s march, perhaps more, through a wilderness crawling with a half-million enemies who know the terrain. A full legion would be spotted in a day. They would be surrounded and annihilated before they got halfway there. Even a smaller, faster force... a cohort, a vexillation... they would never make it. They’d be hunted down like dogs. It is a suicide mission."

Alex met the old general’s gaze, his own expression one of cold, unshakeable resolve. "You are correct, General. A conventional force would be suicide. Which is why we will not send a conventional force." He looked around the table at his council. "We will not send a legion to fight a battle. We will send a single, purpose-forged spear. A small, elite force. Fast-moving, self-sufficient, and utterly lethal. They will not fight the horde; they will move through it like ghosts, strike at its heart, and vanish before the beast even knows it is dead."

His vision was clear, but the practicalities were a nightmare. He did not present a finished plan. He presented a series of impossible problems, trusting in the collective, synergistic genius of the people he had assembled.

"But who are these men?" he asked, throwing the first problem to the council. "Who in this Empire possesses the skill, the courage, and the necessary madness to undertake such a mission?"

Titus Pullo, whose Devota had been forged in the crucible of this new war, answered without a moment’s hesitation. "My men, Caesar," he said, his voice a low, confident growl. "The Devota. We have hunted in those mountains. We have learned to move unseen. We carry the Emperor’s divine fire in our hearts. We do not fear the Silence." He paused, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "But we are heavy infantry. Our armor is loud, our pace is the legionary’s march. We are hammers, not daggers. We are too slow."

Then, a new, revolutionary idea sparked in the centurion’s mind, a thought born from his own reluctant interactions on the frontier. "But... what of the serpent’s brood? Your sister’s new legion. The Norican scouts. They are barbarians themselves. They were born in these forests. They can move like the wind and read the land like a book. Their stealth is... unsettling." He looked at Alex, his eyes alight with a sudden, brilliant tactical inspiration. "We create a hybrid force. A core of my fifty best Devota veterans, the ones who have proven their discipline and their faith, for the firepower. And a hundred of Lucilla’s best scouts for the stealth and speed. The ultimate hunters. A dagger of barbarian cunning, with a tip of pure Roman steel."

Alex felt a thrill of pride. This was exactly the kind of thinking he needed. "A brilliant solution, Prefect Pullo," he said, using the man’s new title. "A hybrid force it is." He turned to Celer. "But what do they carry, Master Engineer? They must travel light enough to move like ghosts, but possess enough firepower to kill a god. What weapons can we give them?"

Celer, who had been sketching furiously on a wax tablet, pushed forward a new design. "The standard repeating crossbow is too heavy, too cumbersome for a mission of stealth," he explained. "But we have been working on a new model. A ’scout’ version. The stock is carved from a lighter, stronger wood. The magazine holds ten bolts instead of twenty, but it is faster to reload with a pre-made clip. The bow limbs are made of a new laminated steel composite that is lighter but has nearly the same power."

He then unveiled his newest, most terrifying creation, pulling a small, leather satchel from a crate at his side. It was about the size of a man’s fist, stitched from thick hide and sealed with wax. "And this," he said, his voice filled with a creator’s dark pride, "is for the final assault. I call it ’Celer’s Fire.’ It is the concentrated coal tar, mixed with sulfur and quicklime to make it burn hotter and stickier. It is packed into these satchels with a simple, timed fuse made of treated cord. It is lighter than the clay pots, more potent, and can be thrown a greater distance. It is a grenade. A weapon for a god of fire."

The plan was coming together. The men, the weapons. Now, the most difficult problem of all. "How do we supply them on a week-long march through enemy territory?" Alex asked, his gaze falling upon Sabina.

The Empress of the Economy, who had been listening silently, her mind a whirlwind of calculations, provided the answer. "We don’t," she said simply. "Not in the traditional sense. There can be no supply wagons, no mules. They must live off the land, drinking from streams and hunting for their food. But we will not send them in completely empty-handed." 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

She unrolled a different kind of map, one showing land ownership and trade routes. "My agents, disguised as merchants seeking to flee the war-torn north, have already been buying up small, remote, and seemingly worthless farms on the south bank of the Danube, far from the main legionary camps. They have been deemed ’unsuitable for military use’ by General Pollio’s staff." She gave the old general a pointed look. "From these quiet, overlooked locations, under the cover of night, we can use small fishing boats to cross the river. My agents will bury caches of supplies on the north bank—small, waterproof bundles containing dried meat, clean water, and, most importantly, sealed canisters of crossbow bolts. They will mark the locations with simple, natural signs only the mission’s commander will know."

Her plan was a masterpiece of logistical foresight and covert action. "The strike force will not have a supply line," she concluded. "They will navigate from one hidden cache to the next, like a bee moving from flower to flower. They will appear to be living off the land, but they will be resupplied by our invisible hand."

Finally, Alex looked at Perennis. "And how do we ensure this spear, this ghost of an army, is not discovered before it reaches its target?"

The spymaster allowed himself a rare, thin smile. "We will create a symphony of distraction, Caesar," he whispered. "While your spear travels in silence, I will make the rest of the frontier scream. My Frumentarii have already made contact with several disgruntled chieftains of the Goth and Bastarnae tribes, far to the east of the main horde. A bit of Roman gold, a promise of future favor, and they will launch a series of sharp, sudden raids on the horde’s eastern flank. A meaningless attack, but one that will draw their attention."

"At the same time," he continued, "my agents within the northern provinces will start fires in the forests, creating massive plumes of smoke that will be seen for miles, suggesting the movement of a large force. We will create phantom sightings of Roman legions where there are none. We will make the Conductor look east, west, and south. We will create a dozen different threats, a dozen different fires for it to put out, so that it never once thinks to look for the single, quiet assassin walking in through its own back door."

The plan was complete. It was audacious. It was incredibly complex. It was ridiculously, suicidally dangerous, with a hundred different points of potential failure. But it was also brilliant. It was a perfect synthesis of the unique, deadly talents of his war council: Pullo’s elite, hybrid soldiers; Celer’s advanced, terrifying technology; Sabina’s logistical genius; and Perennis’s mastery of deception, all guided by the overarching strategy Alex had conceived with Lyra’s hidden aid.

They had designed the perfect spear. Now, all they had to do was find the right hand to wield it.