Chapter 131: A Tyrant’s Mercy

"You have come to the right man, Senator," the smuggler smiled. "Even though I operate strictly in the slums of the Subura, my network extends to the northern supply camps. As soon as the survivors staggered back from Genava, I bought their stories. You have no idea how terrifying the slaughter was. They said the crash sounded like Jupiter’s thunder hitting the earth. The force of the blast shattered scuta shields without a single sword crossing, and veteran centurions were literally scared to death by the roar..."

Every single underworld informant claimed to have exclusive sources and to know exactly what happened on the frontlines, but each man’s horrific story contradicted the last...

"Enough. There is no need to ramble on about exaggerated plebeian ghost stories," Senator Quintus interrupted, leaning closer. "How did the fortress fall? Was this incident truly the work of the rebel Forge Master... Lucius Cassius?"

The smuggler cleared his throat and stretched out his palm. "I can answer that, Dominus, but..."

"You require the weight that measures all sins, correct?" Quintus sneered, reaching into his purse. "How much?"

The so-called "weight measuring all sins" was nothing more than an imperial gold *Aureus*.

Only uncultured, filthy criminals like the *Sicarii* would use such a blatantly obvious phrase to inflate their own mysterious aura...

The smuggler stuck up two dirty fingers.

Quintus pulled out two gold *Aurei* and dropped them into the man’s calloused hand. "This is not a minor fee, so I suggest your information lives up to the price."

"Of course. The reputation of the Shadow Syndicate rests entirely upon accuracy." The smuggler smiled, pocketing the gold coins.

"A smuggler’s reputation is as ridiculous as a tyrant’s mercy," Quintus sniffed in disgust. "Go ahead."

"I will start by addressing your first question." After securing his payment, the smuggler’s posture relaxed significantly.

He took a slow sip of wine, leaned back against the wall, and pointed a finger toward the ceiling. "The slaughter came from the sky."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Quintus frowned deeply.

"Did you not want to know what shattered the Roman shield walls?" the smuggler whispered, leaning forward. "The blast came from the heavens. I heard it directly from a blinded auxiliary. Before the frontlines collapsed, iron spheres rained down from the sky, arcing over the barricades, and then the incident happened."

"Absolute nonsense! You mean to tell me that rocks fell from the clouds and smashed a fortified Roman legion into pieces?"

"Hehe, every single word I just spoke is the truth, or else my superiors wouldn’t have assigned me this lucrative sector. If you genuinely believe I am lying, you are free to walk out of this tavern right now." The smuggler shrugged. "But you will not get your gold back."

"... Keep going," Quintus ground his teeth, repressing his annoyance.

"The spheres landed behind the defensive trenches. I could clearly tell from the survivors’ trauma that these were not standard catapult boulders; they were too small and moved too fast, which is why I said they ’rained’ down. Furthermore, when the crash and smoke appeared, the survivors witnessed a flash of unnatural fire that was not caused by a mere collision," the smuggler said, smacking his lips. "I mean, Consul Valerian generals scoured the surrounding Alpine ridges for siege engines or sapper tunnels and found nothing. The Syndicate’s infantry was stationed far away. Where else could the attack originate from if it bypassed the walls?"

He took another long sip of wine. "As for the searing fire and smoke, they resemble the horrific phenomenon caused when the alchemical compound from Massilia burns. By the way, I also have some exclusive formulas regarding that chemical fire, but you would have to pay a little more..."

"No need. I do not want to know," Quintus interrupted.

He had already heard through various panicked senatorial channels about the chemical artillery, which was originally used to blast mining tunnels in Gaul but had been brutally modified into a weapon of war.

Smugglers likely knew nothing about its specific chemical ratios, so he didn’t feel like wasting his family’s gold on useless recipes...

"Alright, then I will answer your second question," the smuggler said, splaying his hands. "This massacre was the direct work of the Forge Master."

"Why?"

"When did you last speak to the military tribunes? Of course, I am not trying to ask about your alliances or... senatorial identity, since that is a strict rule of the underworld, so you do not have to answer me." The smuggler smiled thinly. "What I mean is, if you had spoken to the officers in early autumn, you would know this: Consul Valerian sent three veteran legions to attack the Gallic borders, but only a handful of men returned, all bearing identical, printed letters from Lucius Cassius directly to the Senate."

All six informants Quintus had spoken to this week had mentioned these letters, which meant it was likely a verified fact.

But he continued to press, "Are you talking about the printed warnings of annihilation? It sounds quite convenient. Are you sure it is not pure plebeian folklore?"

"Most of the letters brought back by the bleeding soldiers were confiscated and burned by Valerian’s Praetorians, but the underworld always surprises its wealthy clients. I actually have a preserved ’warning’ concealed on my person." The smuggler stuck up five fingers.

"Considering it is an incredibly rare duplicated text from the Forge Master himself, the price is significantly higher. What do you say, Dominus?"

...

Senator Quintus returned to his villa on the Palatine Hill, and his ally and wife, Claudia, stood up from her couch to greet him.

"Any news from the slums?"

"Not much regarding troop movements, but I did manage to get my hands on a letter from Lucius Cassius." Quintus handed the piece of paper to her.

He took off his cloak, sat next to the brazier, and told her everything he had learned from the criminal underground.

"All six informants gave nearly identical answers to the second question, and the unnatural perfection of this ink proves them right... the Forge Master is not as weak as Valerian claims he is, but the exact opposite. If our Senatorial faction continues to blindly ally with Valerian, we will benefit very little and gain an unstoppable enemy."

"But all the informants’ answers regarding the attack were contradictory," Claudia said with a frown.

"That specific contradiction proves that the attack was mysterious and incredibly difficult for a standard Roman mind to comprehend, and I actually believe what the final smuggler claimed." Quintus sipped his spiced wine and let out a sigh.

Spending too much time in that disease-ridden pub made him feel ill.

"An explosive attack from the sky?" Claudia gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you going mad?"

"Of course not. If I hadn’t seen this perfect letter, I wouldn’t dream of such terror either. Lucius was confident about the exact time and location of the fortress’s collapse in his writing. Only an advanced artillery attack from the sky would be able to bypass our high walls and veteran Phalanx formations, thoroughly confusing even the most hardened Roman generals." He frowned. "However, what is vastly more important is what we decide to do next."

"With the threat from the Syndicate’s armies, the patrician houses should stop fighting each other and combine our private legions against the common enemy."

"That is not for us to decide anymore," Quintus shook his head grimly. "The only rational thing we can do is find a reliable ally for our own family. Consul Valerian seems increasingly... suicidal."

"Are you genuinely proposing that you travel to Gaul?" Claudia was profoundly shocked, her eyes widening. "Isn’t that territory currently facing the dangers of the winter snowfall and Syndicate patrols?"