I stumbled back, hands raised, palms facing him. Non-threatening. Non-threatening. Please let this work. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not a soldier, I don't even know how to use this thing properly." I gestured with the sword, the weight of it making me feel even more awkward.

  "Here, take it. I'll even give you this one too." I offered the gladius I'd taken from the first soldier, holding both swords out hilt-first. "I don't want any part of this war."

  The centurion didn't even glance at the offered weapons. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Life for a life. You took his, now you belong to us." His voice was like gravel, harsh and unforgiving.

  "Wait, that wasn't... I didn't mean to kill him. It was self-defense! He attacked me!" I protested, my voice rising in desperation.

  "Excuses are for the weak. You fought, you won. Now you fight for Rome." He drew his own gladius, the movement fluid and practiced. The blade, identical to the one I held, gleamed menacingly.

  Is that how this new Rome works? I thought, a bitter laugh bubbling up inside me. I kill your soldier, and you conscript me? Let your enemy join? A flood of images, from the previous legionary surfaced – harsh conscriptions, enemies used as cannon fodder. Nope. Let's not do that.

  I changed my track, "But I'm not a soldier! I'm a..." I searched for a word, any word that would make sense in this insane situation. "... a scholar! I study things, I... I read books!"

  [ [ D ] Roman Centurion Lvl. 14282 ]

  Yeah, that'll convince him, a sarcastic voice in my head supplied. There's no peace here, only fight. I could feel the weight of countless legionaries around us, their focus solely on the battle.

  The centurion's lip curled in disgust. "Books? In the Netherworld, only strength matters. And you have proven you have that."

  He lunged.

  This time, I was ready, or at least, as ready as I could be. I met his charge with my own, the two blades colliding in a shower of sparks.

  The impact vibrated up my arm, numbing my fingers. I staggered back, my grip on the sword slipping slightly. He pressed his attack, a relentless series of thrusts and slashes that forced me to retreat.

  His footwork is good, a detached part of my brain observed. Very economical. And that guard... solid, almost impenetrable.

  I managed to parry another blow, the edge of my sword deflecting his just enough to avoid a fatal strike. The force of the parry sent my weapon spinning. It flew from my grasp, landing several feet away.

  Crap. Double crap.

  The centurion's smirk widened. "Now you're at my mercy."

  He advanced, his gladius raised for the killing blow.

  My eyes darted around, searching. Anything. Anything that can help me. The fallen gladius was too far. Panic flared, a cold spike in my chest. My gaze swept across the even black ground, the spectating bodies, the two scattered weapons.

  Weapons. I need weapons.

  The centurion advanced, and a strange calm settled over me, or perhaps it was the acceptance of the inevitable. My thoughts, however, were anything but calm. They raced, a frantic review of my expriance after waking up in this void flashed in his mind.

  Then, a memory flickered, sharp and unexpected - the legionary's almost casual summoning of his blade.

  Weapons that formed out of thin air.

  I scrambled, my thoughts racing. How in the abyss did he do that? There had been no sheath, no visible weapon, and yet, the sword had appeared in his hand as if conjured from thin air.

  A desperate idea flickered. Could I...? My mind seized on that image, analyzing it with a desperate intensity.

  My eyes flickered to the shield behind the centurion.

  In this featureless void, the shield's bronze surface seemed to absorb what little light there was, gleaming dully with a faint, almost ethereal luminescence.

  I pictured a similar shield forming on my arm, the effort sending a jolt of pain through my skull. "Shi—" I bit back a cry, scaling down my ambition. Something smaller. Easier. A gauntlet. A vambrace.

  The pressure in my head eased, replaced by a creeping warmth across my hand. I stared, mesmerized, as metallic, white-gold guards materialized, wrapping my hand and forearm.

  They looked ancient, powerful. How...? A strange familiarity pulsed through them, a connection to something primal... to blood.

  I frowned. There's no blood here.

  So, what... Silos's ramblings about the Akashic Records, the system's memory house, echoed in my mind.

  I only had time to glance at the system screen—

  [ [ D ] Soulforged Empyrean Vambrace ]

  – 250 Authority

  —before the gladius clashed with my new guard and the shock rattled me, leaving my arm numb. I staggered, vision swimming. Using the force of impact, I scrambled toward the fallen gladius, feet slipping, body low, praying he wouldn't react fast enough. Finally, my fingers closed on the hilt.

  The centurion's smirk widened. "That's a cool little thing. You adapt quickly. Suspended Dead not working?"

  He lunged, a rapid series of strikes aimed at my exposed limbs. I threw up the newly formed vambrace, the metal singing under the force. I retaliated with wild slashes, drawing on a chaotic mix of sword styles from a dozen forgotten styles.

  Once, twice, our blades met. Our blades met with jarring force, each impact sending tremors up my arm. I was on the defensive, the vambrace screaming in protest, but it bought me precious time. Gotta change this. My thoughts raced, a frantic litany of block, parry, dodge. I couldn't sustain this. The vambrace grew heavier with each impact. It wouldn't be long before my luck ran out.

  Weapons. Think weapons. I pushed aside the archaic design of my vambrace, dredging up memories of weapons I knew, weapons I was intimate with. Then, a buried memory surfaced. [ [ D ] Umbral Edge ].

  That was my weapon. The weapon I'd abandoned the day my sister—

  A searing pain ripped through my side, the centurion's blade tearing through more than flesh when my mind wandered. It felt like violation, a rending of something essential. A glimpse of oblivion, cold and infinite, flooded my mind, eclipsing the pain with a primal terror.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The gladius slipped from my numb fingers, and two black blades erupted into existence, coalescing from the shadows themselves.

  [ [ D ] Soulforged Umbral Edge ]

  – 300 Authority

  The pain was still there, a dull throb, but the soul-deep dread of that oblivion... it was a scream in my mind.

  Suddenly, I was a whirlwind, my body moving with an instinctual grace I hadn't known I possessed. Close-quarters combat, a deadly dance I knew in my bones.

  There's no other way. He's too strong, too fast. Gotta end this now, even if it costs me. I lunged, a desperate gamble. My black blades blurred, aiming for his throat.

  He reacted instantly, his own gladius a silver streak aimed at my left arm. We connected simultaneously. Searing pain exploded as his blade sheared through my wrist, severing my hand cleanly.

  But my [ Umbral Edge ] found its mark, biting deep into the thick muscle and cord of his neck. A wet, tearing sound, and his eyes went wide with shock before glazing over and turning into motes of light.

  A [ [ D ] Roman Centurion Lvl. 14282 ] has been obliterated!

  Authority +154

  My gaze dropped to my left arm, ending abruptly at the wrist. The wound wasn't bleeding, cauterized cleanly by the centurion's blade, but it felt wrong in a way deeper than mere injury. It reminded me of soul wounds I'd suffered before, yet this was... more profound.

  A phantom force seemed to press against the stump, insisting there should be no hand here, warring against my own desperate consciousness fighting for it to regenerate.

  Healing was happening, soul-form knitting slowly, agonizingly, but the resistance from that strange force was palpable. I glanced at the swirling motes coalescing from the defeated centurion. Maybe that could help? Heal faster? Driven by that slim hope, I decided to touch it again.

  The sensation was familiar, yet different. Memories along the same lines. This one had been in the army longer. With a more detailed structure of the army. Hundreds of thousands of Legionaries, thousands of Centurions, and the Legatus — the big boss.

  After the memories subsided, the resistance against my healing lessened slightly, the knitting sensation quickening, just a fraction.

  I checked my system.

  Authority: 1273 ( 1293 )

  Wait... 1293? It was higher before... My eyes widened in shock, scanning back through the system log. The vambrace... 250 Authority. The Umbral Edge... 300. Permanent? Abyss take it, these aren't just summoned, they're forged from my own Authority! That's 550 Authority gone just like that! What a rip-off!

  I clenched my remaining fist, then slammed it against my thigh in frustration, the stump of my left arm throbbing in time with my anger.

  This time, when I checked my surrounding, a single sphere floated before me, shimmering with an inner light, like a solidified drop of pure energy. A soul–bead? The drop was similar to how the mana beads were formed after killing pure mana-based monsters.

  The surrounding legionaries tensed, preparing to fight. I sensed several individuals at the edge of my perception, radiating power at a level that made my skin crawl.

  My gaze locked onto the bead. Maybe if I absorb the whole thing... maybe with that, I can heal and escape this damned war. I gulped, steeling myself, preparing for what could be the full onslaught of another consciousness invading my own.

  That was the plan, but when I tried to move, I found myself frozen as a heavy presence filled the void, the presence of someone a whole grade higher.

  The bead moved and whooshed in another direction. Is this dog eat dog world? My gaze followed the bead and felt a presence of someone higher level in the direction. Good grief! Everyone powerful is extracting those things from below them.

  Then the presence increased as a face formed above in the void above.

  Hazy. Blurry.

  Powerful.

  "Is there an infiltration? Since when did Grims get smart?" A rugged and male voice echoed as the question bounced off the unseen walls of this empty space, sharp and loud, and the face snapped into focus.

  A man, looking like he was carved from stone and tough times. Deep lines framed a mouth set in a permanent frown, and faint scars spread across his square jaw. His eyes, the gray of storm clouds, looked tired but burned with power.

  [ [ ??? ] Roman Legatus Lvl. ???? ]

  His eyes scanned the emptiness, then locked onto me. "Where is that scroundel—?"

  His full attention hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't just a look; it felt like sandpaper scraping me raw inside, peeling me apart.

  A cold fear sunk deep into my bones, and the terrifying feeling of Oblivion – of simply ceasing to exist – felt dangerously close. Is this it? Am I going to die just from a look? My breath caught, and my soul felt like it was unraveling. I didn't even have the strength to think or shout.

  Then, just like that, the crushing pressure eased up. It wasn't gone, but it lessened enough to pull me back from the edge. I could breathe again, my chest heaving. Gods. Being stared down by a giant... a giant who probably uses bones for toothpicks. A bitter thought followed: And I'm not even important enough for his full focus. That look almost destroyed me, and he wasn't even really trying.

  A flash of surprise crossed the legatus stern face. His eyes narrowed, like he'd spotted something unexpected. He turned his head slightly, looking towards the direction where those hazy people were going. "Hey, Cleo!" His voice boomed, still sharp. "Did your skill mess up? Are we about to have panicked people running in the battlefield?"

  The pressure lessened even more. At the same time, I felt a different presence nearby. My head turned automatically. The blurry and hazy Suspended Dead humanoids disappeared, replaced by one, stunning person.

  A woman.

  Her skin was incredibly pale, almost glowing white against the dark, making her look ghostly yet delicate. But nothing else about her seemed delicate. She wore a dress of the deepest black, very modern, ending mid-way down her calf.

  It was a strange but striking mix – with the joints and vital area covered in black armor. Her hair was a mass of tight, black curls, but the ends... the ends glowed softly, each tip alive with a green fire that twisted and danced. And her eyes... under eyelids dusted with something sparkly, they weren't just eyes; they were like tiny galaxies, full of the light of distant stars flashing.

  For a second, I felt those starry eyes studying me closely, piece by piece. Not with the raw power of the legatus, but in a cool, careful way, like a scientist looking at a new, possibly dangerous bug under a microscope.

  My mind raced. It had to be some kind of appraisal skill. My Soul Aegis... Could she observe it? What's it worth here? Will they kill me for it? The thought sent a new chill through me. Resources related to souls seemed important here, and I suspected mine was unusual.

  Then, her attention pulled back too, and the feeling of being pinned and examined disappeared. My arms and legs felt like my own again.

  "He's an individual case," Cleo's voice was low and smooth, a musical contrast to the Legatus's rough tone. "Something showed up in the Records when he arrived. An echo." She paused, tilting her head slightly, the green flames in her hair flaring for a moment. "Nothing significant."

  "Uh-huh, nothing significant…" the legatus grunted, sounding doubtful. "An anomaly then. An unknown factor." The air grew heavy again, thick with a clear intent to kill, aimed right at me. "Should I just get rid of the problem, then?"

  Panic tightened its grip on my throat. Think! Don't just stand here and let him erase you! He wants a reaction? He wants to know whose side I'm on? Fine. My fear shifted, hardening into determination. If doing nothing meant death, then I had to act. They thought I was an unknown? I'd show them something known. Something useful.

  My hand tightened on the handle of the black-edged sword I picked, the other finding the solid weight of the shield of the fallen Centurion. The daggers secured in my pants. Collecting everything that I could carry. Can't waste these pieces of Authority.

  Taking a deep breath, I threw my head back and yelled, the sound raw, ripping from my throat, "FOR NEW ROME! DEATH TO THE GRIMS!"

  I didn't wait to see what they'd do. Lowering my head, shield up, sword pointing forward, I charged. Not at them, but past them, towards the distant, messy sounds of battle that I could hear even in this weird place.

  A clear, almost musical laugh sounded behind me. "Hahaha! Well, I guess that answers that!"

  Confused faces – the few near – turned towards me, but I kept running. The heavy pressure from the Legatus, the killing intent, the examining gaze from Cleo – it all disappeared, replaced by the background feeling of danger from the war ahead. I had a gut feeling the hostility would come right back if I turned on them, but that wasn't my plan.

  Survive. Fight their enemy. Earn something – points, respect, anything. Figure the rest out later.

  Sword in hand, shield ready, I ran toward the chaos.