Magistrate’s Compound, Civitas Aurelia.
Standing in the grand vestibule of Civitas Aurelia’s administrative heart, the seventeen-year-old boy clutched a wooden tablet to his chest.
Beneath a protective layer of leather, the wax was carved with a full confession.
It detailed the false-bottomed carts, the untaxed barbarian gold, and the treasonous sale of steel spathas to the Germanic tribes.
One word to the magistrate sitting just beyond the doors, and the shadow empire of Fundus Ferratus would be reduced to ash.
"Next petitioner," a bored legionary guard called out, striking the butt of his spear against the floor tiles. "Marcus of the House of Cassius. Step forward."
Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat.
His heart hammered furiously against his ribs, deafening in his own ears. He took a step forward.
As the heavy bronze doors swung open, revealing the merciless face of Magistrate Flavius surrounded by armed lictors holding bundles of executioner’s rods, a horrific vision flashed behind Marcus’s eyes.
He didn’t see justice. He saw his father, Cassius, stripped and nailed to a wooden beam.
He saw his brilliant older brother, Lucius, scourged with lead-tipped whips until the skin fell from his back.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks.
"Well, boy?" Magistrate Flavius demanded, leaning over his grand desk. "What business does the son of Cassius have in my courts?"
Tears pricked the corners of Marcus’s eyes. His knuckles turned white as his thumbs pressed hard against the wax of his tablet.
"I... I seek your endorsement, Magistrate," Marcus stammered, his voice cracking. "I wish to renounce my earthly inheritance."
Flavius raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Renounce your inheritance? To what end?"
"I wish to enter the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus as a priest in training," Marcus declared. "I want to devote my life entirely to the gods. I will take the vows of isolation. I ask only for a letter of recommendation to the High Priest, that I might leave this province forever."
The magistrate stared at the weeping patrician boy for a long moment before letting out a dry chuckle.
"Youths and their sudden religious fervors. Very well, boy. If your father consents to lose an heir to the temples, the courts of Rome will not stop you. The clerks will draft your letter."
Marcus bowed deeply, his tears finally spilling over his cheeks. He turned and practically sprinted from the halls.
He would take the letter, travel to the holy sanctuaries, and never look back. He would simply forget the estate. He would forget the steel, the treason, and the blood. From this day forward, Marcus had no family.
Leagues away, unaware that his life had just been spared by a brother’s sacrifice, Lucius stood at the head of the table in the estate’s repurposed triclinium.
""Now that the new inspectors’ division is in place, we must shift our focus to external threats." Lucius addressed his newly formed corporate council. "I can assure you, the handful of caravan guards we currently employ are nowhere near sufficient to protect a stockpile of unminted gold and military-grade steel."
Cassius, seated to his right bristled. The patriarch opened his mouth to object.
Lucius raised a hand. "I am aware of your concerns, Father. Therefore, we are not going to raise a sprawling mercenary army."
Cassius let out a breath he had been holding, sinking slightly back into his chair, though his eyes remained deeply suspicious.
"Instead," Lucius declared, "we are going to forge an elite security division. A corporate defense force capable of holding this estate against any bandit raid or inquisitive legionary patrol in Gaul."
Lucius gestured to Valerius, giving the veteran the floor. Valerius stood up, a proud grin spreading across his face.
It was a rare sight to see the cynical ex-legionary so deeply invested in something...