Morning dawned clear, with a sky so clean it seemed to mock the mud and blood of the day before. The camp of the Thirteenth Legion moved with more energy than ever. Shield strikes rang out, laughter echoed, blades were sharpened. But above all, one name was spoken.
Sextus.
—I heard he killed four on his own —whispered a young recruit while polishing his armor.
—They say the German chief looked him in the eyes… and stepped back —added another, with a mix of fear and awe.
—Scaeva confirmed it to the tribune. The Germans withdrew. They couldn't face the XIII —a proud veteran declared.
Sextus, unaware of the scope of the rumor, sat beside his shield, checking the straps on his gladius. Atticus, next to him, drank water with a crooked smile.
—You feel it? —Atticus said, not looking at him.
—Feel what?
—They don't just see you anymore. They hear you, but they look at you like… something else.
Titus arrived, his arm bandaged but his step firm.
—I swear, if one more person asks me how many times you blinked before attacking, I'll stab them with my spear —he said, amused.
Sextus shook his head, uncomfortable.
—I didn't do anything any of you wouldn't have done.
Scaeva approached then, his face stern but his eyes lit with pride.
—Don't say that. You did what very few would dare. You made them doubt. And in a German… that's like making a mountain tremble.
A brief silence followed. Not of discomfort, but of respect.
In the distance, horns sounded. Not of alarm. Formation.
—Get ready —Scaeva ordered—. Caesar wants the entire legion in position. But relax… they already know whom they fear on the other side of the forest.
The men laughed. They struck their shields. Some began to chant old marching songs. Others simply looked at Sextus as if they had already seen him win a battle not yet fought.
And as the XIII formed ranks, tightening straps and closing lines, the name Sextus was no longer just a soldier's name.
It was a promise.A banner without cloth.A foretaste of glory.