Chapter 69: The eyes of the mighty caesar
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POV of Caesar
Lucius approached with a slight smile of satisfaction. "This month has been very productive, Lord Caesar. We have hundreds of new legionaries ready to be sent to the frontlines."
I regarded him for a moment, letting the silence settle before speaking, my voice controlled but heavy with the weight of our cause. "Hundreds, you say. But tell me, Lucius, when will we truly compensate for the losses we suffered in the West? Don't deceive yourself, those losses were significant."
Lucius bowed his head, maintaining his composure. "Soon, mighty Caesar. The slaves keep pouring in from the east and south. The campaign in Mexicanorum has been extraordinarily fruitful under Gaius' command. His ability to secure slaves and resources is undeniable. Flagstaff is overflowing with prisoners, and every day more are being trained to join our ranks. The losses in the West will be nothing but an echo of the past once our legions are filled with soldiers ready for war."
I nodded slowly, my thoughts dwelling on the vast networks of resources and power we now possessed. "Gaius has done his duty. He has crushed all threats in Mexicanorum and consolidated our authority. Only that pathetic robotic god remains to be crushed, and then the entire territory will belong to the Legion."
Lucius, ever respectful, kept his tone measured. "I am personally overseeing the training of the new recruits. The men improve every day, and the constant influx of slaves ensures that we will not lack bodies to reinforce our ranks."
I stared at him intently. "What do you think of the southern campaign so far, Lucius?"
Lucius straightened, his voice firm but tinged with a concern he tried to hide. "The southern campaign has been blessed by Mars, Lord Caesar. Legate Gaius has achieved victory after victory. His prowess on the battlefield is unquestionable, but... something troubles me."
He paused, and I watched him in silence, waiting for him to continue. Finally, he spoke. "Gaius has become overly reliant on technology: automatic rifles, power armor, vehicles. While they give him an advantage, I fear his focus on these tools may weaken the strength of his men."
I let his words sink in before responding, my voice calm and deliberate. "Gaius' men are adapting to the realities of modern warfare. It's true he relies on those weapons, but look at the results. He has achieved what few could with such efficiency. Mexicanorum is under our control."
Lucius nodded, but his expression still reflected his lingering worry. "Yes, Lord Caesar, but the true strength of the Legion, as you yourself have taught us, has always been in the discipline and bravery of our men, not the toys of the Old World. Without those weapons, how strong will they truly be? What will happen when those tools are taken from them? Mars gave us our bodies and fists to fight, not machines that can fail."
My eyes narrowed slightly. "Your words have weight, Lucius. Technology can be a tool, but it must not replace the essence of who we are. However, do not confuse reliance with adaptation. Gaius has shown that he can use what is at his disposal to crush his enemies. But it is our duty to ensure that his men do not forget where their true strength lies."
I paused, making sure each word resonated with the gravity of our conversation. "The Legion is not strong because of the weapons we wield, but because of the men who wield them. If Gaius' men are to rely on anything, it will be their own will and the iron discipline that Mars demands of us. They must remember that weapons can fail, but the spirit of the warrior, forged in brutality and unshakable faith in our cause, never will."
"Your wisdom always shines, Lord Caesar," Lucius said, bowing before returning to his duties.
I watched him leave, his loyalty unquestionable, while my thoughts returned to the campaign. The weak tribes in the east were falling as expected, but there was an unforeseen obstacle: Lanius was facing problems with a city full of robots. That cursed technology complicated every attempt to secure the region. Strength alone wasn't always enough against the metal creations of the Old World. Still, Lanius would find a way. He always does. And if not, he will ensure that nothing remains of that city or its machines.
The south, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm. The tributaries under Gaius' rule maintained stability. Despite the numerous challenges of governing the newest province, Gaius had proven his effectiveness as always. Now governor of Mexicanorum, he had swept away all remnants of resistance. The scum trafficking drugs and alcohol, those who dared contaminate our lands with their vices, had been mercilessly crushed. Gaius showed no mercy, as expected from a true servant of the Legion. He even wiped out an entire group of super mutants who arrogantly challenged the Legion. They left behind nothing but corpses and a few useful slaves to work under the yoke of our greatness.
The Legion was growing, and despite the challenges, our conquests continued to expand. Yet, in this vast empire we now ruled, few things brought me as much satisfaction as watching the profligates—those who once believed they could rival us—be reduced to ashes under the relentless force of the Legion. But I was not yet satisfied.
With Lanius stalled in the east and Gaius consolidating the south, my mind turned once more to the west. The scars of our losses in the Mojave still resonated in my thoughts, a constant reminder that, despite our power, the staggering corpse that was the NCR still had the ability to resist. But that would soon change. Every frumentarii that returned with reports revealed new cracks in the façade of that weak republic.
Kimball's reforms, instead of strengthening his base, had plunged the NCR into a faltering economy. And with access to water from Hoover Dam cut off, the southern part of their territory was in a severe scarcity crisis. Rather than prioritizing his people, Kimball continued feeding the brahmin barons, protecting his own short-term interests while ignoring the long-term consequences. He was a man who couldn't see beyond his own ambition. He dreamed of establishing himself as the eternal president, seeking reelection until his death, blind to the cracks forming beneath his feet.
But soon, those dreams will fall. The NCR won't be able to resist what's coming. When we return to the West, we'll do so with the full power of the Legion, crushing their delusions of grandeur. The Mojave will fall to us, and with it, Las Vegas. My future Rome. A bastion of civilization amidst the wasteland, the city from which I'll forge an empire that blends the brutality of the Legion with the knowledge of the Old World. An authoritarian, homogeneous, and eternal empire. In that future, the Legion will be the rightful successor to the Roman Empire, extending its dominion and control over this desolate world, transforming it, and perpetuating itself forever.
That is my destiny. And the Mojave, with its lights, will be the throne where this new empire will rise. Uniting brutality with civilization. The West will fall. And with it, the NCR will crumble, their flaws, their weaknesses, exposed for the entire world to see. And then, the Legion will reign supreme.
My thoughts were interrupted by the silent presence of Vulpes. He barely moved, but I knew he had something important to say.
"Vulpes... is there something I should know?" I said, turning my gaze toward the head of the frumentarii, who always brought valuable information.
"Recent information from the South, Lord Caesar," Vulpes began, his usual calm tone laced with intrigue. "My frumentarii have been closely watching Legate Gaius, as you ordered. According to the latest reports, he is preparing to confront the last remnants of resistance in northern Mexicanorum: the Free Fighters. His objective is to crush those rebels and then focus entirely on eliminating the profligates dealing in drugs."
I nodded slightly. "Yes, Gaius has already informed me of this. It was when he requested my authorization to create his urban legion. He will secure the north of Mexicanorum, stabilizing the province before returning to the battlefield," I said, not taking my eyes off Vulpes, always attentive to the details he might add.
"I know, Lord Caesar," Vulpes continued, his tone growing more serious. "Normally, I am the first to point out when someone bends the rules. But Gaius… he is pushing the boundaries of his power as governor. The recent legal reform he implemented regarding the allowable alcohol percentage is... unusual. He is applying the law loosely, allowing certain profligates to operate within legal margins while harshly punishing those who dare to stand out or openly challenge his control."
I frowned deeper, reflecting on the new information. "Opportunities for the profligates?" I repeated, as if I needed to digest the words again. "That doesn't sound like Gaius... or is he playing a longer game than it appears?"
"It's possible," Vulpes responded with his usual caution, watching my every reaction carefully. "I can't be certain of his intentions, but Gaius is no fool. On the contrary, he has proven to be extremely clever. According to my reports, he is twisting the laws strategically, seeking long-term stability in Mexicanorum. I know there is alcohol consumption in the southern province, and Gaius tolerates it, but that's not all. He has heavily invested in expanding the Cult of Mars in those lands."
I crossed my arms, intrigued by what Vulpes was saying. "He's allowing vice while planting the seed of faith in Mars? And you think this might turn these profligates into loyal subjects of the Legion in the future?"
"Precisely, Lord Caesar," Vulpes answered with conviction. "If I've understood his goal correctly, Gaius is using the tactic of temporary concession. He's tolerating certain profligate practices to slowly draw them into our cause. Through the Cult of Mars, he's aiming to subjugate them not just physically but spiritually. To turn them into loyal servants of the Legion, without them realizing it until it's too late."
I paused to consider what Vulpes was saying. If Gaius was indeed doing this, I had to admit it was a cunning move, though not without risks. "It's a clever plan," I murmured. "But that could have been achieved through brute force as well, enslaving them all equally."
Vulpes nodded. "Yes, Lord Caesar. Personally, I believe the path of brute force would be quicker and more direct. However, Gaius seems to be betting on gradual domination, infiltrating their beliefs and weakening their ties to the past in order to strengthen ours. Perhaps he trusts that once those profligates yield to Mars, they will be even more loyal than slaves."
My gaze hardened as I pondered Gaius' strategy. "Gaius is efficient, but he's playing a risky game. If these profligates feel they can take advantage of his leniency, it could turn against him. And that's something I won't tolerate. Loyalty is earned, yes, but not at the expense of compromising the authority of the Legion."
"I will ensure my frumentarii keep a close watch over the province, Lord Caesar," Vulpes promised, bowing. "If Gaius strays from his purpose or if this strategy becomes a risk to the Legion, I will report to you immediately."
I nodded, satisfied with his diligence. "Do it. Gaius may be brilliant, but no one is above the will of the Legion. If he fails, his intelligence won't save him. I want results, not promises."
Vulpes nodded and withdrew in silence, as he always did. I watched him leave, barely holding back a laugh that threatened to escape my lips. It seemed someone was already moving ahead with my dream.
The antithesis and thesis... Gaius was already beginning to implement what I had conceived for the future structure of the Legion and its absolute dominion. The clash between the old corrupt practices of the profligates and the new faith he was cleverly planting through the Cult of Mars was a rehearsal of what I would eventually see across all the territory I conquered.
First, tolerance. Allow those miserable profligates to cling to what destroys them while gradually seeding the ideas of the Legion. A strategy of temporary pacification. And then, the inevitable conversion. The slow dismantling of their beliefs, replaced by absolute loyalty to my cause—our cause.
The dialectic of power. Allow the weak to cling to what destroys them while slowly infusing them with the strength of what will dominate them. Gaius, whether he knew it or not—or more likely fully aware—was preparing the groundwork for the next phase of my empire. Mexicanorum would not only be a subdued province but an example of how the Legion doesn't just destroy its enemies but transforms them from within.
I stood from my seat, walking slowly toward the window overlooking the vast horizon. The sun was setting, burning like Mars himself over the world that would soon be mine. Mexicanorum was just the beginning. And though Gaius was applying my vision with a subtlety that wasn't entirely to my liking, I couldn't deny that his method had its merits.
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Chapter 70: The death of hope I
Mexico remained under constant tension. The north, firmly under the control of the Legion, was becoming an increasingly authoritarian territory where individual freedoms were the price paid for the security and stability offered by Caesar's military might. The beasts had been eradicated in many areas, commerce was flourishing, and the trade routes were protected under the banner of Caesar. But this peace was merely a mask that concealed an iron fist.
Meanwhile, in the south, the once-mighty Mexican Machine God, the artificial intelligence that had governed with relentless precision, was slowly dying. Its calculation processes were failing more and more, and the robots that maintained the state's vital infrastructure were no longer responding as before. Food production was compromised, control over industry was collapsing, and the massive cities that once depended on the AI were beginning to crumble. Those who had lived under the supposed security of mechanical rule were now migrating, searching for a new stability.
Some were drawn to the Legion's domain, enticed by security and thriving commerce, although they knew they would have to give up their freedoms under Caesar's yoke.
Others, however, chose to stay far from the Legion's shadow, moving toward territories still resisting its control. One such refuge was the state of the Free Fighters.
The Free Fighters represented a bastion of freedom amidst the chaos. A society born from the frustration with the cartels and bandits that once controlled their lands, they had expelled the cartels and seized control of their own destiny. Wearing lucha libre masks as a symbol of resistance, they united under the promise to fight tyranny in all its forms. Their government, based on strength and combat skill, revolved around the "Triarchy of the Three Masks," a trio of leaders that changed frequently depending on who proved to be the strongest at any given moment.
Under this system, the Free Fighters had defeated the cartels and bandits, and more and more citizens joined their cause, embracing the lucha libre mask as a symbol of freedom and power. Their headquarters was in the city of Los Mochis, a place now resonating with the echoes of constant battles, where strength and skill determined the fate of their leaders.
However, their greatest challenge was about to arrive. Caesar's Legion, always hungry for expansion and consolidation, had its eyes set on them. The Legion saw the Free Fighters as a challenge to its authority and an obstacle to its total control over the former Mexican state. Tensions were high, and everyone knew it wouldn't be long before the Legion knocked on the Free Fighters' door.
During one of the local leadership contests in a frontier town, where contenders fought in the ring with their masks, displaying their combat prowess and strength for the title of leader, the crowd cheered wildly. The atmosphere was electric, and no one noticed the distant explosion to the east. The cheers drowned out any sign of danger, and the fight continued uninterrupted.
But moments later, a strange whistle cut through the air. The crowd barely had time to react before a shell struck the center of the ring. The explosion was immediate and devastating, shaking the entire town. The bodies of the contenders lay dismembered, scattering blood and entrails everywhere. What had been a bustling, vibrant plaza was transformed into a landscape of death and chaos in seconds.
The silence that followed the explosion was as dense as the smoke rising above the remains of the ring. Those few who hadn't been hit by the blast stood frozen, staring at the horror before them. Shouts of terror and orders began to ring out across the town. The Free Fighters, caught off guard and enraged, prepared for the inevitable.
Artillery shells continued to rain down with lethal precision, obliterating the few structures still standing in the small border town. Each explosion shook the ground, raising debris and dust that obscured the vision of the townspeople as the air filled with the stench of destruction. A thick wall of dust on the horizon announced the impending arrival of the Legion's armored vehicles.
There weren't many, but their power was overwhelming compared to the town's makeshift defenses. The lead tank, one of the Legion's new armored units, advanced relentlessly, crushing any resistance in its path.
From the eastern hills, mobile artillery continued to pound the Free Fighters' defensive positions, with shells tearing through the few barricades they had managed to set up. Each shot from the cannons was devastating, reducing the town's defenses to smoldering rubble.
The Free Fighters, accustomed to close combat or low-intensity firefights, were helpless against the sheer brutality of the armored vehicles. Their masks, once symbols of resistance and pride, were now mere shadows of what they represented in the face of the Legion's unstoppable war machines. With each explosion, their forces weakened further, and their attempts to regroup were futile.
The centurion in charge of the Legion's advance, seated inside the lead tank, observed the progress with cold determination. "I want this town under control before sunset," he ordered through the communicator. "There must be no survivors left who can raise a mask against us."
As the dust settled and the vehicles pressed forward, the Free Fighters, outnumbered and outgunned, tried to organize one final resistance. But the roar of the engines and the thunder of the cannons made it clear that their heroic fight, no matter how valiant, was doomed. The Legion's war machines would continue to crush everything in their path until only ashes remained and the echoes of a town that once dared to resist Caesar's power.
Scenes like these were repeated all along the border. Every town, every village faced the relentless advance of the Legion. Not all attacks were accompanied by the roar of artillery cannons or war tanks. Instead, columns of armored vehicles moved forward, supported by 25mm machine guns mounted on armored transports, which devastated everything in their path. Legion steel carriages penetrated enemy territory, synchronizing attacks at multiple points simultaneously, preventing any form of organized response from the Free Fighters.
Communications between the Free Fighters collapsed within hours. Their cries for help were interrupted by bursts of gunfire or explosions. Chaos reigned in their ranks as they tried to predict where the next attack would come from. With every ambush or skirmish, their resistance weakened, and the Legion pressed further into their lands, consolidating control with ruthless military precision.
The border towns quickly became battle zones, each one marked by the ferocity of the Legion's attack. Caesar's warriors, clad in their power armor, descended from their transports and advanced without mercy. The local defenses, improvised and ineffective, were destroyed within minutes. Barricades exploded under the might of grenade launchers mounted on power armor, reducing protections to rubble and filling the air with shrapnel and fire. Buildings, once homes and shelters, burned as Legion flamethrowers methodically eliminated any cover that could harbor resistance.
In every captured town, the Legion left no stone unturned. The few survivors who hadn't fled or fallen in combat were captured.
Faced with the Legion's invasion, thousands of civilians, inspired by their tradition of fighting and the masks they wore proudly, took up arms. With unshakable determination, they prepared to confront the enemy now marching on their lands. The masks, symbols of resistance and strength, hid faces full of anger. They knew the fight would be fierce, but surrender was not an option. Armed with old bolt-action rifles, pistols, and, above all, their skill in hand-to-hand combat, they charged into battle, hoping to overpower the feared Legion.
However, the reality of the confrontation was brutal. The legionaries, clad in their power armor, advanced like an unstoppable wall. Wielding machetes and enormous two-handed weapons taken from the super mutants, Caesar's warriors dove into close combat, relishing the chance to prove their strength and loyalty. The Free Fighters' combat techniques, so effective against narcos and bandits, were now useless against the Legion's brute force .
The masked fighters, despite their bravery, fell one after another. The bullets from their bolt-action rifles and pistols barely managed to penetrate the legionaries' armor, who responded with devastating blows. Each swing of the two-handed swords and every slash of the machetes left bodies dismembered and drenched in blood. The battlefield quickly filled with the screams of the wounded and dying.
The legionaries, trained to relish the fight, approached with a mix of coldness and fury. Every masked fighter attempting to use their combat prowess was swiftly crushed under the overwhelming power of the Legion. Machetes struck with lethal precision, and the super mutant swords, now in the hands of the legionaries, cleaved through the Free Fighters like paper.
The Legion's attacks were swift and methodically ferocious. Using their armored vehicles as a shock force, they moved with devastating precision. They attacked, withdrew, and then struck again from a different angle, confusing the Free Fighters, who desperately tried to organize a coherent defense. Every attempt at a counterattack crumbled before it could take shape, as the legionaries always seemed one step ahead, repositioning their forces before the defenders could even predict the next strike.
Mobility was key to the Legion's tactics. Their armored transports, fast and well-armed, allowed them to move quickly from one front to another, supporting assaults where resistance was strongest and reinforcing weak points before the Free Fighters could exploit any gaps. The 25mm machine guns mounted on the vehicles cleared the streets with ease, mowing down the makeshift defenses the masked fighters tried to erect in their desperate defense.
Confusion reigned among the Free Fighters. The Legion's attacks seemed to follow no fixed pattern, making it almost impossible to anticipate their next move. A swift strike in the morning, followed by a false retreat only to return from another angle at nightfall, kept the defenders in a constant state of alert and exhaustion. Morale among the masked fighters plummeted as defenses, one after another, were overcome by the superior tactics and technology of the Legion.
Trying to coordinate an effective defense became a frustrating exercise. Communications were constantly disrupted, whether by previous sabotage or by the lightning attacks that left local leaders with no time to organize their men.
Those attempting to unite the forces of the border towns to stop the Legion's advance found themselves hit by simultaneous attacks that left them scattered and isolated. Defensive positions they thought were solid crumbled under the bombardment of the Legion's mobile artillery, and the legionary vehicles advanced without respite, sowing chaos.
As the battlefield front expanded, both the Legion and the Free Fighters mobilized massive numbers of people. For the Legion, the thousands of captives taken in each skirmish were swiftly sent to the rear, destined for Flagstaff, where they would join the ranks of forced laborers that kept Caesar's war machine running. Convoys of prisoners moved without rest, guarded by centurions and armored soldiers, ensuring no escape from their fates.
On the other side, the Free Fighters and civilians who had not yet fallen under the Legion's yoke fled westward in desperation. The major cities offered the only refuge from the relentless advance of Caesar's troops. Entire families, carrying what little they could, filled the dusty roads, joining the growing stream of terrified migrants. Tales of towns completely destroyed, masked fighters massacred without mercy, and cities in ruins spread quickly, sowing chaos and fear among those attempting to flee.
The Legion's advance wasn't just military, but also psychological.
The artillery bombardments, the unstoppable march of their armored vehicles, and the brutal legionaries instilled terror everywhere they went. The cities in their path knew it was only a matter of time before they too would fall. Those not captured desperately sought to reach the large cities before they were caught in the Legion's crushing grasp.
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