The battlefield did not smell of victory.It smelled of iron, blood, sweat, and trampled mud.And of the smoke rising from the bodies burning in a pit to the north.
The XIII Gemina had not yielded ground.But it had paid in flesh and spirit.
Sextus breathed heavily. His arm trembled. His tunic was soaked. Beside him, the men stood in formation, covered in cuts and bruises, or wrapped in silence. Scaeva, attended by the field medics, was still alive, but unconscious.
"You did well," muttered Atticus, his voice hoarse. "Better than I expected. Better than any of us."
Sextus didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. He knew they would return. The Helvetii hadn't withdrawn; they were only regrouping.
Then the scouts announced a figure advancing on foot along the line of the hill.
Gaius Julius Caesar.
No visible guard. No pomp. Just him, cloak thrown back, his face hardened, his gaze sharp. He stopped in front of each cohort, observing carefully. Sometimes he asked a question to the centurion, other times he simply looked. He knew what he was searching for.
When he reached the right flank, he stopped.
His eyes fell on the gap left by Scaeva's absence. Then they fixed on Sextus, blood-streaked, gladius still in hand, legs firm despite exhaustion.
He said nothing.Just held his gaze. Long. Unwavering.
Then he turned to Atticus, and then to the others.
"Who held this position?" he asked.
Atticus stepped forward. He nodded toward Sextus.
"He did. When Scaeva fell, he didn't let us break."
Caesar nodded slowly. He took one step closer, until he was barely two meters away.
"Name?"
"Sextus, son of no one, legionary of the XIII," he answered without raising his voice.
Caesar studied him for a few seconds more. Then spoke, only to him.
"Remember this: Rome does not choose its heroes. It forges them."
And without another word, he walked on.
The silence after his departure was heavier than the smoke over the field.
Sextus said nothing. He simply felt something settle inside him. He was no longer the peasant who just followed orders.Now he was part of the steel that kept the line standing.
And when, an hour later, the horn sounded again for the second clash,no one hesitated to follow him.