Marcus gulped down lungfuls of air as he finally reached the edge of the Legion encampment. By the time he arrived, the soldiers had already encircled Hausten, the seat of the barony, and begun their siege. They'd even begun to build around the city itself, bizarrely erecting fortifications and trenches that altered the very landscape.

He’d actually ended up pulling ahead of the auxiliaries. He’d managed to help them along quite a bit through judicious use of [Inspirational Song] on the most exhausted of the men. However, he could only do so much. They’d needed to rest eventually, something the centurions overseeing the group were not exactly happy about.

Not that he didn’t. Marcus took quite his fair share of breaks as well. But his were shorter and more frequent in nature, and his stats allowed him to make the best use of them to make up any lost ground once he was back on his feet.

And so, he’d continued on ahead of the group in pursuit of the Legion’s forces. Any concerns he’d maintained about traveling alone were fairly moot at this point. He was used to it by now, and the extra levels he’d gained meant he was honestly more capable of taking care of himself now than ever before.

He’d also gained a bit more combat experience than he’d ever expected. Not intentionally, of course. But between fending off shadow panthers and that kraken in the ruined amphitheater, he’d honestly surprised himself a bit with his ability to function in such situations. He was still no adventurer, he had absolutely no desire to willingly put himself in such situations, but if it came down to it, he felt confident that running away wasn’t his only option. Although he was still quite adept at that.

There was also the fact that he was fairly certain the way before him was clear. Even the stupidest bandit wasn’t likely to try his luck against a few thousand men on the march. They were far more likely to turn tail and run altogether, an outcome which he certainly wouldn’t complain about.

Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow with the edge of his already-soaked shirt before glaring at it balefully. In his rush to catch up, he’d taken the time to change into something cleaner than the ruined garments he’d been wearing the day before, but had neglected to pack anything extra. He was beginning to rue that decision quite a bit right now.

Resigning himself to not looking his best, Marcus took a moment to calm his breathing before approaching the Legion’s fortifications. It was a little less impressive than the one they’d erected outside of Habersville. Granted, these were only a fraction of the Legion’s forces, so it was to be expected. But the camp still boasted a full wall and guard towers, to the point that it resembled a miniature town of its own next to the far larger city. Though he honestly wasn't sure where they'd managed to procure all that stone from.

Marcus greeted the sentries by name before being allowed through. From this distance, he could see a the distant forms of people huddled outside of Hausten’s walls. They were pinned down by the Legion, unable to flee but also unable to get into the city itself. It was quite the conundrum.

The Legionnaires seemed content to wait them out. Marcus wasn’t exactly sure why they didn’t simply attack and seize the wagons right away, but there was probably some reason. He was no military strategist.

A quick look around revealed that the command post was largely empty of leadership, strangely enough. It was mostly populated by aides sending messages here and there. His approach elicited a severe look from a pair of guards that he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting. However, some liberal applications of [Silver Tongue] allowed him to mollify them and gain directions to someone in charge.

“Marcus? What are you doing here?” A plumed tribune asked with obvious confusion. The officer stood overlooking the progress of the Legion’s fortifications, his breastplate glinting in the sunlight.

“Commodus, my friend! It's good to see you! How goes the battle.”

“Well enough. Though I don't look forward to the waiting.” The tribune snorted. “Though you didn't answer my question. Do you have some business here?”

Marcus frowned internally, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. He really had no official reason to be here. Personal ones, sure, but something that satisfied the Legionnaire? Without orders, he'd have to appeal to their sensibilities.

“Well, I came to offer my services of course!” Marcus began to speak, weaving his words with his skills and paying extra attention to any approaches that seemed to especially resonate with the man. “As I understand it, the assault has not yet begun. At least, not in earnest. And while I'm sure that taking the city will prove trivial to the Legion's forces… perhaps there may still be some room for diplomacy.”

Commodus raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop him from continuing. “I am still becoming familiar with your customs, but it's my understanding that it is common practice to give your enemies a chance to surrender prior to an assault. However, given your own relative lack of familiarity with how things are done here, perhaps I might serve as a mediator during such an offer. I suspect it may save you quite a lot of time and a bit of trouble if the city were to accept.”

“It is as you say. However, what makes you believe they would listen to you? As good as you may be with words, you are simply a bard.” The tribune pointed out matter-of-factly. “Why should they take you seriously?”

“Well. I just so happen to be acquainted with the leaders of this barrony.” Marcus’s lips curled into a smile. “And as such, I expect they’d have a good deal of reason to listen to some friendly advice.”

It was only a partial lie. The baron would probably recognize Marcus, alright. But whether that recognition would be favorable or not remained to be seen. Still, it would hopefully be enough to get his foot in the door so he could work on convincing the man.

Commodus drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword for a second. “This would be a decision for the Primus Pilus to make. He's currently in charge of these forces. Although…” Commodus tilted his head in thought. The motion sent his plumes swaying. “If you say that you are familiar with the rulers here, perhaps you can confirm something for us.”

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The tribune shouted over his shoulder and summoned a lanky-looking Legionnaire before gesturing at Marcus. “Take him to the Primus Pilus, by the southern gate. Bring an escort with you, then have them return to their duties afterward.”

The lanky Legionnaire saluted and retrieved a couple more men before setting off with the bard in tow. Marcus honestly had no idea what Commodus wanted him to do, but he’d figure it out when he got there. Besides, being closer to leadership certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing if he wanted to be involved.

Marcus accompanied the soldiers as they briskly walked him around the city. They were once again new faces that he didn’t recognize, which wasn’t surprising. He still had a way to go before being able to claim familiarity with the entire Legion. But he took the opportunity to introduce himself regardless.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” He put on is best disarming smile.

“Cnaeus.” The lanky one introduced himself. “This is Nonus and Hilarius.”

“Nonus?” Marcus tilted his head. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before.”

It was rather surprising, given how many of the Legionnaires shared duplicate names. He supposed it was inevitable given their numbers. But still, it seemed to happen more often than he would have expected.

“It’s not common.” The man explained. He was a bit stockier than most of the Legionnaires Marcus had seen, but well-muscled and gruff. “Not many families have nine children.”

“Nine?” The bard nearly choked. “Wait… does your name mean…?”

“Ninth, yes.” Nonus nodded. “I thought that was obvious.”

“By the gods, man. What went wrong with you to make your mother stop before ten?”

Nonus rolled his eyes. “You must not of have meet my younger brother. He's in the fifth cohort.”

The other two men chuckled. Marcus turned to them. “Did you happen to find that… hilarious?”

The man called Hilarius groaned. “As if I haven’t heard that one before. Please at least come up with something original, bard.”

He continued to crack jokes as they walked, quickly winning over the men and generally lightening the mood. It never hurt to be on good terms with the rank-and-file of an up-and-coming military force attempting world domination. At least, in his opinion.

But as they rounded the corner and the stopped carriage came into view, Marcus felt his heart rate spike. He broke into a jog, the guards with him keeping pace without any perceived effort.

Quintus was there, all right. And he wasn’t alone. Two figures in particular caught Marcus’s attention. The first was a little girl in a cute travel dress. The second was the girl’s mother. Mirella von Latimore, baroness of the Latimore barony.

The woman glared up at the centurion with unbridled ferocity despite her bindings. Beneath that fiery exterior, he could tell that she was terrified out of her wits. But she was hiding it excellently. As could be expected of a noble with high charisma.

Somehow, the Legion had already captured the baroness and the baron’s heir. But that wasn’t all. Mirella was also the duke’s favorite daughter. A daughter who, instead of being married off for political clout, military advantage, or any sort of trade alliance, had been allowed to marry for love.

It had been quite the talk in noble circles when it happened. A small-time baron in had somehow managed to win the hand of a young duchess. What’s more, instead of bringing the baron into the duke's family, the man had allowed his daughter to "run away" in a romantic elopement that had inspired dozens of songs and stories. He’d even written a few of them himself.

His mind began to race as he untangled the implications of the scene before him. It wasn’t as simple as using these two to force the baron’s surrender. They had to handle them with extreme care. Otherwise, they would have even greater troubles bearing down on their heads. The ire of a baron was one thing, but a duke? That was no small matter, especially not this duke.

“Sir Quintus!” Marcus called as he approached, making sure to announce himself. He didn’t slow or give the highest-ranking centurion an opportunity to wave him off.

Luckily, he didn’t. The grizzled soldier turned to look at Marcus as he jogged to a halt. Quintus didn’t smile, exactly, but he didn’t send him away either.

Taking that as an invitation, Marcus walked forward. He turned to the baroness and performed a courtly bow. "Mariella von Larimore, baroness of the von Latimore estate, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once again. I am, of course, Marcus Silvanus D’Angelo, a former bard of his highness the king’s royal court.”

The baroness's eyes narrowed at his words. She scanned him up and down with well-hidden suspicion. The greeting might have felt odd, given her currently detained state. But he hoped that the reminder of her title would assuage some of her fears while also making it clear to the Legionnaires what her role was in all of this.

He watched as her expression flickered almost imperceptibly between a few emotions. The micro-adjustments were something that no one with charisma below fifty could ever hope to read. It was a testament to her own stats as a level twenty [Baroness].

At his name, Marcus saw a brief flash of recognition and surprise. It was just as quickly followed by a suppressed sneer of distaste that she quashed with brutal efficiency. She finally settled on wary hope, the only one of the expressions that somewhat leaked through her fierce exterior. Though he could tell that some of the anger simmering beneath had been redistributed just for him.

He kept his own features completely neutral, not even affecting a diplomatic smile. That brief interaction had granted him quite a bit of insight into her disposition. She would certainly not be his friend in any respect. But she saw how he could be useful to her and would likely take full advantage if given the chance. That was good information.

The baroness straightened her back, affecting a cool smile as she did. "Bard Marcus. I am familiar with you and your… reputation. If I recall correctly, you passed through our city not so long ago. Though it appeared you were in far too much of a hurry to grace our halls personally.”

Marcus allowed himself a small smile. “Indeed. I apologize for my rudeness, but it pleases me that the ripples of my passing did not go unremarked.”

It really didn’t. He thought he’d been rather stealthy in his flight from the capital and avoided capture because of it. Evidently, he couldn’t help but draw eyes wherever he went.

Baroness von Latimore looked him up and down. The scrutiny made him once again aware of his disheveled state and sweat-soaked garments. “I understand. Although it is unfortunate to see you at odds with us now."

"At odds?" Marcus straightened and placed a hand against his chest. “Why, I am nothing of the sort. In fact, I would say that I…” He glanced toward the Quintus, the Legionnaire standing impatiently as Marcus chose his words carefully. “...have the best interests of both parties in mind.”

The baroness gave him a plastered-on smile. “Truly? It does seem that you've chosen a side from this angle.”

The words were meant to challenge him, to prepare him to offer greater concessions and consideration given her current situation. It would also test the extent of his influence. After all, she had no idea whether he could actually affect any sort of real change or persuade her captors.

Marcus gave another, more theatrical bow. “Rest assured I have every motivation to see this resolved with minimal bloodshed. Something that I believe we have the ability to carry out.”

He turned toward Quintus. Unfortunately, the prospect did not seem to excite the man nearly as much as Marcus had hoped.