🛡️ Roman Legionary: Hold the Line or Die.
⚔️ The Iron Shield: Legions of Rome ⚔️
You are the backbone of the Empire. A Miles Gregarius stationed on the hostile frontiers of Germania. The barbarians are at the gates, and only the iron discipline of the Legion holds them back.
🛡️ The Disciplina System: Combat isn't about individual heroism; it's about the shield wall. Manage your Disciplina to maintain formation. Drill, clean your gear, and follow the code to keep your mind sharp.
⚔️ Historical Combat: Experience the brutality of ancient warfare. Shield bashes, gladius thrusts, and the crushing weight of the testudo. No magic, just blood, mud, and steel.
💰 Economy of the Frontier: Manage your pay (Sestertii). Bribe the quartermaster, gamble with your tent-mates, or save for your pension.
Features: ✅ Historical Realism (Roman Empire) ✅ Disciplina & Formation Mechanics ✅ Gritty, Atmospheric Prose ✅ Military Simulation
The barbarian fights for his life. You fight for the Empire.

Tutorial
Listen closely, recruit. The barbarians fight with fury and madness, but we fight with something stronger: Disciplina. It is the iron in your blood. It is the strength to hold the shield wall when your arm shakes and your lungs burn. You earn it not by pillaging, but by the routine—drilling in the rain, polishing the boss of your shield until it shines, and praying to Mars for the strength to kill.
When the order comes to engage, the enemy will test you. They will come with axes and spears, screaming like banshees. The Threat they present is measured by their ferocity and their numbers. You must match that threat with your resolve.
If you stand firm and finish the fight with your Disciplina intact, the line holds, and the barbarians break against our shields like waves on stone. If you scrape by with nothing left, you survive, but the line buckles—you might take a spear to the thigh or lose an ear. And if your Discipline fails? Then the shield wall breaks, and we are all just meat for the forest.
Keep your Sestertii close. The army provides, but a little extra silver buys better wine, warmer blankets, and favors from the quartermaster. Rome rewards the faithful, but it punishes the weak. Hold the line.
The rain in Germania was not a cleansing thing; it was a weight. It fell grey and relentless, turning the dirt track into a river of sucking mud that clung to the caligae like a jealous lover. The forest pressed in on either side, a wall of dark pine and wet oak, silent except for the drip of water from the needles and the rhythmic crunch of hobnailed boots.
You marched in the column, the scutum heavy on your left arm, the wet wool of the tunic itching against the skin. The smell of the column was distinct—wet leather, horse sweat, and the metallic tang of the gladius hanging at your hip. You were a Miles Gregarius, a hammer of the empire, but here in the trees, the hammer felt small.
“I hate this place. The trees... they watch you.”
Valerius marched beside you, his head ducked low against the rain. He was young, his face still smooth, his eyes darting into the gloom of the underbrush. He gripped his pilum so hard his knuckles were white.
“Chatti scouts,” he whispered. “I swear I saw eyes back there. Yellow eyes.”
[SYSTEM: DISCIPLINA: 4 | SESTERTII: 150 | LOCATION: Teutoburg Forest Track]