The patriarch let out a long sigh and slumped back into his chair.
"I am compromising far too much of my sanity today," Cassius grumbled, rubbing his temples. "Fine. I will send the brokers to Massilia. The properties will be liquidated by the end of the week."
A collective breath of relief swept through the triclinium.
The final financial hurdle had been cleared.
Lucius turned to his commanders, delegating the newfound wealth. "Valerius, you have twenty thousand denarii. Begin clearing the western woods and pouring the foundations for the Castra Umbra. Hrorek, your ten thousand denarii will fund the construction of the Schola and the immediate reallocation of the older workers. Start drafting the new shift schedules."
Both men struck their chests in sharp salutes. "It will be done, Dominus!"
"Is there any further business?" Lucius asked, looking around the room.
The council members shook their heads. The sheer volume of radical changes was already enough to keep them busy for a month!
"Then the summit is concluded. Return to your posts," Lucius ordered.
As the men filed out of the villa, the energy was palpable.
The sheer scale of the new directives could not be contained behind closed doors. By the time the sun began to dip below the western hills, the news of the Lex Fundi Ferrati had spread through the workers’ barracks like a wildfire.
Initially, the older laborers had been terrified when they were abruptly pulled from the shift rotations.
In any other Roman estate, a slave who could no longer lift his quota was either starved, sold to the deadly sulfur mines, or cast out to die in the gutters.
When Hrorek gathered them and explained they were being promoted to Inspectores the older men actually wept.
The sheer relief of knowing they would not die broken in the mud forged an unbreakable, fanatical loyalty to the young master.
They would guard his quality standards with the zeal of religious zealots.
But the true eruption of euphoria occurred among the younger slaves and freedmen.
When Valerius pinned the recruitment parchment to the wooden posts of the forge, detailing the creation of the elite Custodes, the camp practically vibrated with excitement.
The terms were unheard of. Fifty denarii a month. Premium armor. The finest steel weapons in the empire.
And, most shockingly, it explicitly stated that merit would blind the recruiters to social status!
In the hierarchy of the Roman Empire, a slave was property, fundamentally incapable of rising above his station through martial prowess unless he survived the bloody sands of the Colosseum.
Yet here, under Lucius’s shadow empire, a strong back and a disciplined mind could instantly purchase freedom and a salary that rivaled a veteran centurion’s pension.
As the night shift prepared to fire the blast furnace, a new chant began to echo through the terraced hills of the estate.
"For the Forge! For the Dominus! For the Steel!"
The shouts reached the balcony of the main villa, where Lucius stood with a cup of wine, looking out over the glowing fires of his industry.