"Roma, eh? Who reigns now, anyway?" Rainer asked casually, settling into a more comfortable posture.
"…Emperor Trajan," Kotys replied, his tone uncertain—his eyes narrowing in faint suspicion. It was a strange question. Every soldier knew who ruled Rome. Has the daemon erased this slave's memory?
Kotys was curious. However, it was simply that Rainer had just awakened, and the memories usually took time to be recovered.
"Trajan, eh?!"
Rainer's eyes glimmered with amusement and recognition.
"Ha! That paranoid lad! So it's this era, hm? I see now."
He gazed distantly into the moon-washed night with a thoughtful smirk on his lips.
Kotys hesitated before speaking again, his voice low and taut.
"What…are you?"
Rainer blinked, the question snapping him from his reverie. Then he revealed a sly grin.
"Ah! Yes! You do not yet know of the Great Me! Haha!" He laughed with theatrical pride.
"The name's Rainer."
"...Rainer?"
It was the slave boy who spoke this time, his tear-streaked face tightening with confusion and a tug of annoyance.
"Yes, Rainer," Rainer confirmed cheerfully before turning back to Kotys. "And you, friend—what do they call you?"
Kotys blinked, clearly not expecting the question. But after a heartbeat, he answered, reluctant yet firm.
"I am Kotys, son of Medokos, of the Thracian clan Sitalcian."
"Very formal," Rainer remarked with an approving nod. "As expected from a clan of rulers."
Kotys's eyes widened, stunned. No demon should have known about his family name.
A question teetered at the tip of his tongue, but Rainer had already turned away to the boy.
"And you? What's yours?"
The boy faltered, glancing sideways before muttering.
"Ho-Hoplite was the name my master gave me. But everyone calls me Hops, or Hopper—as they please..."
Rainer's eyes widened at this. Then he burst into laughter.
"Hops? Hops, eh?! Ha! I love that name! You can be my friend too!"
Hoplite blinked, stunned.
"Your…friend?"
Rainer nodded with conviction.
"Yup! From your actions, it seems like you knew the guy who owned this body before me. But he's gone now, and I'm here to stay."
Hoplite couldn't help but frown at the way he worded that, despite the good intentions.
"—What are you then?" Kotys pressed again, spear still loosely in hand.
Rainer considered him for a moment, then seemed to make a decision, smiling.
"A patron of Roma! I presume you're a Roman auxiliary milite, yes? Then fear not—we remain friends."
Before Kotys could reply, the ground began to tremble. Hoofbeats thundered across the plains like war drums, and the night reddened under the blaze of torches as a turma—a squadron of thirty cavalry—rode toward them.
Rainer turned, squinting.
"Here comes the cavalry," He murmured, half-amused.
Kotys's gaze flicked from the approaching riders to Rainer's lofty expression, and his jaw tightened, momentarily conflicted.
"I think you should run," He said quietly. "—Whatever you are."
Rainer tilted his head, puzzled.
"Why? Are they not soldiers of Rome?"
Kotys's brow furrowed. "They are—but I doubt the officers would welcome a daemon."
At that, Rainer smiled.
"It's a good thing I'm not a demon, then."
He turned fully toward the oncoming horsemen, anticipation burning bright in his gaze.
'Given who I am—and my experience with Rome across other transmigrations—they should be thrilled to have me!'
He considered with a faint smug smile.
The wind stirred, carrying the scent of iron and torch-smoke as the cavalry drew near.
Kotys's hand involuntarily tightened on his spear as the horsemen closed in—a tide of steel and smoke under the moon. Then he exhaled with regret.
Hoplite on the other hand, finally noticed the faint glow that shimmered around Rainer's form, just as it completely faded.
His eyes widened in sudden realization.
"C-could you be a god—"
"Stand back, slave!" The bark of an eques cut him off.
Hoplite flinched and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over loose soil.
The riders encircled them, mail and bronze glinting red beneath the wavering torches. Spears angled low; the air thickened with sweat and suspicion. Their loricae hamatae creaked as they shifted, eyes hard behind the cheek-guards of their Gallic helmets.
Then the circle parted.
A broad-shouldered man dismounted, hobnailed sandal striking the ground like iron bells.
His lorica segmentata gleamed dully, and a green-crested helmet crowned his head. His expression was carved from stone—dark and assessing as he strode toward Rainer, one hand resting on the hilt of his gladius.
He halted before Rainer, casting Kotys a curt sideways look before fixing Rainer with a stare that could cleave marble.
Rainer peered up, unimpressed, as a crooked smirk tugged at his lips.
"Nice helmet—really flashy!" He quipped.
The officer's face contorted through disbelief, then disgust. Without a word, he reached back, and a rider placed a spear in his hand.
Without preamble, he lifted it high, ready to strike.
Rainer's eyes widened at this.
'Is this buff brute serious right now?!'
"Optio!"
Kotys's sharp call froze the spear mid-descent.
"I do not think he is a daemon," Kotys said quickly, frowning. "He has neither the eyes nor the dark fluid of rot."
Commius grunted but seemed unmoved. His muscles tensed, and the spear lowered again—
"He is right, Commius."
The new voice carried an ease that contrasted the tension.
A horse approached with unhurried grace, and its rider—scar-lipped, smiling faintly—regarded the scene with amusement.
"Decurio Sabazios," Kotys greeted, standing at attention.
Sabazios inclined his head in acknowledgment, eyes never leaving Commius.
"It's a wonder, isn't it?" He said lightly. "The Praefect's slave—whom you clearly didn't murder, rising from his grave? One could almost call it divine favor."
Commius turned, his stare heavy.
"What are you implying, Decurio Secundus Sabazios?" His voice a low growl.
Sabazios's smirk faded into a diplomat's calm.
"I imply nothing, Optio. Only that if this slave is to die again, Lord Praefect should give the word himself."
A tense silence followed—the air thick with the smell of horse and torch oil.
Finally, Commius exhaled through his nose and looked down at Rainer, whose bewildered gaze seemed to ask whether this was normal Roman hospitality.
The officer sighed, long and weary. Then he turned on his heel, cloak flaring dust across Rainer's face.
"Bind the daemon! Take him to camp!"
The command snapped like a whip, and soldiers dismounted at once, uncoiling ropes.
Rainer coughed through the dust, watching Commius march away.
"Twat." He muttered under his breath.
As the soldiers bound him up, his mind couldn't help but wander.
'How many times have I been transmigrated into the Roman civilization? Could count them on one hand, yet every life was a symphony of glory and ruin.'
His lips curved faintly.
'If this truly is my last transmigration...I'll make it one for the stars to remember.'
The golden patterns momentarily flared behind his eyes in anticipation.