The training field was quiet. Tiberius stood on the wooden platform holding a wax tablet covered in dense charcoal notes and quick diagrams.
"Merit report and final results," his clear voice carried across the silent ground so every man could hear.
"First—collective merits."
"First Spear Company and First Crossbow Company," his gaze swept over the units that had held the right wing and center. "You stood like a rock, repelled multiple enemy charges, and covered the left wing's attack. Collective merit: three points. Highest award."
The soldiers in those companies unconsciously straightened their backs a little higher.
"Second, Third, and Fourth Spear Companies," he looked at the left-wing troops who had led the decisive counter-charge. "Your oblique attack was fierce and decisive. You broke the enemy and laid the foundation for victory. Collective merit: two and a half points."
"Third and Fourth Crossbow Companies that supported the left wing—your fire support was timely and devastating. Collective merit: two points."
His eyes moved to the men who had pushed the wagons and built the barricades. "Wagon troops—your rapid construction of the defensive line kept the formation intact. Collective merit: one point."
Then the light infantry. "Light infantry—solid flank protection and effective harassment. Performance exceeded expectations. Collective merit: one and a half points."
The freeborn recruits whistled in delight.
Finally, he looked at the men carrying the massive pavises. "Pavise bearers—you shielded the crossbowmen and blocked arrows and javelins. Your contribution was vital. Collective merit: one and a half points."
He paused, then added, "Second Crossbow Company and their paired pavise bearers and loaders—your disciplined rotating volleys were precise and kept constant pressure on the enemy center. Collective merit: two points."
His voice rose slightly with rare praise. "Scout cavalry," his eyes settled on the twenty Dothraki riders. "You maintained perimeter security, delivered messages promptly, and delivered the decisive flanking charge that tore the enemy's right wing apart like a hot knife through butter. Major merit."
The Dothraki riders' sallow faces broke into wide grins. They had been worried they would be punished for charging without direct orders.
"Now—individual merits."
"Young Master Lysaro," Tiberius deliberately gave the top honor to his friend. "You led from the front, fought bravely, personally killed two enemies, and greatly boosted the entire company's morale!"
Lysaro's pale face flushed with pride. His chest puffed out as his vanity was thoroughly satisfied.
"Spearman Barik—single-handedly killed five enemies attempting to break the line and helped hold the formation. Major merit."
Barik's dark face lit up with fierce excitement. He thrust out his broad chest and roared with everything he had, "I will die for my lord!" In that moment, all the past whippings felt worth it. For the first time, he felt truly recognized.
Tiberius continued reading:
"Crossbowman Cato—three volleys, seven confirmed kills. Exceptional accuracy."
"Pavise bearer Lugus—finished off a great-axe warrior with a javelin."
"Light infantryman Aji—killed an elite swordsman with an arrow."
Throughout the entire process, every soldier was allowed to sit and rest—this was Tiberius's order. On the battlefield and training ground he demanded iron discipline, but when recording merits he deliberately showed a touch of military democracy.
The men who received personal merits couldn't hide their excitement and pride. Even those not yet named listened with rapt attention, eyes burning with hope for their own future rewards.
When Tiberius finished, he lowered the wax tablet and looked at the sea of eyes staring up at him.
"Collective merit points," he announced, "will be converted into extra wine, meat, and coin for everyone." He paused, his voice dropping with heavier weight. "And…"
He let the words hang meaningfully.
"You—and your families—are one step closer to freedom."
The sentence hit like a boulder dropped into still water. For the first time, hope appeared before them in a clear, measurable form.
"As for individual merits—silver coins will be awarded according to rank, from five to fifty coins each."
Finally, his voice grew somber. "For our forty-two fallen brothers… their pensions will be doubled. Their families will receive them directly from me. I will hand them out personally."
He offered no flowery condolences, but the words "personally hand them out," combined with his bloody defense of the soldiers' interests earlier, told every man that not a single copper of these life-bought pensions would be skimmed.
---
When the post-battle matters were mostly settled, Lysaro Rogare found Tiberius and made a request that genuinely surprised him.
"Tiberius," Lysaro's voice was still a little hoarse, but his eyes were unusually serious. "Those soldiers who died… I was thinking… could we bury them? Right here, next to the camp."
Tiberius raised an eyebrow. Normally, mercenary or slave soldiers' bodies were simply burned or tossed into a shallow pit. Special graves were rare.
Lysaro seemed to sense his confusion. He looked down and scuffed the dirt with his boot, muttering, "They… they died for me. If it weren't for them, I would have been the one dying in that blood combat… or humiliated like that idiot Mario. Maybe even killed."
Tiberius was silent for a moment. He hadn't expected a spoiled rich kid like Lysaro to make such a suggestion. He nodded. "We can do that."
So, at Lysaro's insistence, the entire Lightning Company—including the lightly wounded—took part in a simple burial. The forty-two bodies were carefully washed, wrapped in clean cloth, carried to a chosen plot beside the camp, lowered into graves, and covered with earth. There was no grand ceremony, only silent labor and heavy grief. Lysaro personally placed the first shovelful of dirt on every grave.
As he watched the faces of the dead slowly disappear under the soil, a sudden thought flashed through Tiberius's mind:
Did I do the wrong thing? If it weren't for me, would these men still be alive?
He quickly shook the naive idea out of his head.
We've come too far for talk of "mercy," "compassion," or "universal values."
Then, without warning, the system chimed.
Tiberius opened the panel and saw a new title had appeared:
"The Ruthless"