Chapter 135: Naive Brother

"I am solely responsible for delivering the Forge Master’s message to you. Now that the terms have been stated and you have given me your rejection, my objective is complete." She flashed a grin. "What exactly were you expecting? Did you think I was going to tie you to a chair and drag you back to Gaul in a burlap sack?"

"How in the gods’ names did Lucius Cassius know about my magnetic forges?" The Prefect hesitated. "Did he intercept the Alexandrian defectors I secretly deported last autumn?"

"Precisely. Those engineers survived the Alpine crossing and are currently designing steam engines in Lugdunum." Aurelia shrugged her lshoulders. "The Forge Master learned all about your iron monopolies directly from their architectural blueprints."

"They didn’t freeze to death in the mountains?"

"No. They were unaware that the Syndicate had already gained such a terrifyingly firm military foothold in the Western Region until they crossed the border." She gave a brief outline of the situation. "And much like you, those engineers were formally invited to integrate into the Forge Master’s new industrial era."

"Has Lucius genuinely established a functional society for plebeians and engineers in a frozen wasteland?" Flavius frowned, leaning forward.

He was having a profoundly hard time believing a renegade could survive without Senatorial supply lines...

"Not only has he survived, but he also evicted Valerian’s veteran legions from his territory." Aurelia smiled. "Currently, there are blast furnaces and steam-powered factories operating relentlessly in Lugdunum. The locals are fully accustomed to the explosive wealth. I am absolutely not exaggerating these logistical facts."

The Prefect slowly stood up and poured two goblets of watered wine, offering her one. "Can you detail this for me? How exactly did he achieve this?"

"If you genuinely wish to know." Aurelia turned away from the window and sat on the edge of his desk.

Aurelia decided to explicitly outline the Syndicate’s heavy artillery divisions, the absolute slaughter of the Roman phalanxes at the Battle of Arausio, and the terrifying political centralization of Lugdunum.

If Flavius could mentally grasp the sheer scale of the Syndicate, hopefully, he would not resist too when Lucius inevitably marched into Noricum to conquer it.

A sudden rhythm of tapping echoed against the glass.

"What is that?" Flavius looked at Aurelia in shock, his hand instantly darting toward the spring-loaded dart in his sleeve.

Aurelia swiftly unlatched the shutters. It was Camilla, clinging to the icy masonry outside. "Critical threat! Silas has identified a catastrophic breach on the southern perimeter!"

"What exactly is happening?" Aurelia demanded.

"A heavily armed cohort of Praetorian Guards is violently rushing the palace courtyard!" Camilla hissed. "There are at least thirty elite executioners, in full segmented armor!"

"The Praetorian Guard? Valerian’s personal butchers?" Aurelia turned around, her eyes narrowing at the Prefect. "Did you summon an ambush?"

"No... I absolutely did not have any appointments with the Senate’s Inquisition today!" Flavius looked horrified, the blood draining from his face. "Could it be that your infiltration route was compromised?"

"That is impossible." She shook her head firmly. "Unless Consul Valerian possesses the divine ability to track footprints through an Alpine blizzard."

"This is incredibly abnormal..." Flavius murmured, panic rising in his chest. "If they were merely coming to audit my taxes, they wouldn’t dispatch thirty Praetorian executioners. That is an overwhelming amount of lethal force!"

"What are you standing there for? They are already breaching the main portcullis!"

"I strongly suggest that you initiate an immediate retreat," Aurelia said, grabbing the rope on her hip. "Or explicitly order your personal guards to barricade the doors until we can ascertain their lethal intentions."

"This is my sovereign palace! Where in the gods’ names would I hide? Do not worry, these imperial butchers cannot legally enter the keep without my stamped senatorial warrant. Otherwise, I would never have been able to hide my illegal forges." Flavius sighed, trying to maintain his dignity. "However, this meeting must unfortunately end here... If you are not in a rush to be crucified, I suggest you..."

Before the noble could even finish his sentence, a chaotic series of hobnailed boots echoed directly below the study.

The horrific sound of Roman gladii clashing against shields rang clearly through the corridors.

The Prefect’s expression instantly collapsed into terror. "Who in Tartarus let them bypass the courtyard?! Guards! To me!"

Flavius screamed the names of his elite bodyguards, but no one responded from the bloody stairwell.

The footsteps were approaching closer and closer, shaking the floorboards...

"It appears they are here specifically to execute you," Aurelia said, making a swift hand gesture toward Camilla outside the window, indicating they should prepare for an immediate extraction. "You still have exactly thirty seconds to utilize my grappling hook. I can keep you alive."

"No! I am not fleeing like a common criminal! This is my ancestral territory; how could Valerian be so blatantly presumptuous..."

He hardly finished screaming before the doors were shattered inward by a battering ram.

A squad of heavily armored Praetorian Guards flooded into the room, fully surrounding the desk with their large scuta shields locked and their gladii drawn.

Aurelia instantly faded into the darkest corner of the vaulted ceiling, expertly wedging herself between the support beams where it was suited for both observation and a lethal drop-assault.

She quickly noticed that neither Camilla nor Silas had retreated.

Camilla was peeking her lethal gaze over the window ledge, her twin trench-knives drawn, while another crack echoed outside as Silas reloaded his sniper rifle on the ridge.

She shook her head helplessly and shifted her eyes down to the Praetorians.

Every single soldier was wearing the armor of Valerian’s Inquisition. She could only hear the Prefect’s furious rebuke echoing from the center of the shield wall.

"Marcus? Have you lost your mind?! You allowed Valerian’s butchers into my palace without a senatorial warrant?!"

"Of course not, my incredibly naive brother," a younger, armored man’s voice rose from within the Praetorian ranks. "Our late father was an absolute fool to bequeath the noble title of Prefect to a traitor who secretly harbors Syndicate ideology and smuggles illegal engineers. I am simply correcting his mistake."