Fallout:Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion

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"Legate Lanius, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting your legion to arrive for... another three days. Did something happen along the way that I should be informed of, given this unexpected arrival?" I said, projecting a calm smile, despite the palpable tension filling the tent.

Lanius stared at me from behind his mask, his imposing presence like a heavy shadow over the room. His voice cut through the silence, deep and sharp, like the clash of steel.

"Surprise, Gaius, is when someone underestimates the Legion. We used the trains your tribe established. They proved useful, though not without flaws."

There was a hint of criticism in his words, but I noted the absence of his usual disdain. It was an implicit acknowledgment of the utility of my efforts, albeit veiled in his characteristic coldness.

"Where is Caesar?" he asked abruptly, his tone turning sharper. "He is not on his throne, and the praetorian guard surrounds this tent as if it were more important than our leader. What is happening here, Gaius?"

I felt Lucius' tension rise beside me, his discomfort palpable under Lanius' penetrating gaze. His choice of addressing me by name instead of a title, while distant, suggested that he viewed me as someone he could speak to directly, unlike many others.

"Lord Caesar suffers... or rather, suffered from an affliction that was rapidly deteriorating his health," I explained carefully, choosing my words. "An urgent operation was necessary to save his life. The tumor affecting him was worsening at an alarming rate."

Lanius remained motionless, his eyes behind the mask fixed on me. The intensity of his gaze made the air feel heavier. Finally, he spoke in a lower, yet no less sharp tone.

"I'm going to see him. Now."

He stepped forward with firm strides toward the tent's entrance. I quickly moved to intercept him, raising a hand, knowing what he was about to do.

"You cannot enter like this," I said, gesturing to his armor and mask. "The tent has been sterilized. If you breach the barrier, you'll jeopardize Caesar's life. He is far too delicate to take that risk."

Lanius stopped, his gaze bearing down on me as if assessing the strength of my stance. For a moment, I thought he might ignore me and continue, but then he gave a slight nod—almost imperceptible.

"Your concern for Caesar is... appropriate. But do not make me wait longer than necessary."

Though his words sounded like a threat, there was an undertone of acceptance. It wasn't a defeat but an acknowledgment of the validity of my reasoning.

Lucius, noticing what Lanius was about to do, left the tent without a word. The only reason Lucius would abandon his post was a direct order from Caesar himself, which meant the face of Lanius was a closely guarded secret.

When Lanius removed his mask, his disfigured face was revealed. I had seen scars of war before, but his were nearly an emblem of brutality and resilience. His eyes, however, betrayed no shame—only cold determination. The left side of his face was entirely mangled, with exposed teeth and warped flesh. Though it appeared his left eye functioned well, the scars were a stark physical reminder of his battles, without impairing his ability to fight.

"What you've seen here does not leave this tent. If it were anyone else, I'd handle it differently. But I trust you to keep this to yourself. Am I wrong, Gaius?"

"No, Legate," I replied calmly, respecting both his warning and his authority. "Let me help you prepare to enter."

As he washed and changed silently, I observed his movements, which were efficient, almost ritualistic. There was no arrogance, only absolute focus—a reminder of the discipline that defined him.

When we finally entered the tent, the atmosphere was almost solemn. Caesar lay motionless, the machines working diligently to keep him stable. The silence was heavy, and Lanius broke it with a murmur.

"The Legion needs him. He is the source of all of this."

"He will rise," I replied firmly, watching him. "But in the meantime, there are decisions to be made about New Vegas."

Lanius turned his head slowly toward me, his gaze steady, as though he could see through any doubt.

"Speak, Gaius."

"My forces will soon begin encircling the city. The NCR will likely attempt to evacuate their high-ranking officers. I have troops ready for the assault, but I need a precise number of legionaries to ensure success."

There was a brief silence before he responded, his tone grave and definitive.

"Eighty thousand. Nicodemus adapted our tactics based on your suggestions. The triple acies has been replaced with smaller, autonomous units. We've conserved men and increased efficiency."

I noted a subtle shift in his tone. It wasn't outright acknowledgment, but neither was it rejection. It was acceptance that my tactics had proven effective.

"The machines from that city of Robots were an issue," he continued, his voice hardening. "That obsessed computer sought my head and harassed us with its robots. But everything connected to it has been destroyed. The resources we secured are for Caesar."

I nodded, processing the information. "Eighty thousand men, plus my thirty-five thousand, gives us a significant three-to-one advantage. However, Mr. House has mercenaries. Vulpes informed me that the influx of gamblers in New Vegas has been replaced by a surge of mercenaries, drawn by the high pay House offers to defend the city."

Lanius tilted his head slightly, evaluating my words.

"If he hires mercenaries, it's because he fears us. But even a cornered man can be dangerous. Nevertheless, we will press forward. No mercy."

"Then, who will lead the attack?" he asked, his gaze locked on mine. Though his tone was challenging, there was no hostility in it.

"I will coordinate from the rear—logistics, the attack plan, the coordination of legionaries, frumentarii, and the tribes that make life impossible for the NCR," I explained calmly, ensuring my tone conveyed the certainty of a well-founded plan. "You will lead the vanguard. No one inspires more respect and fear than you. Your men will follow you into the heart of New Vegas. Additionally, you will receive assistance from the Omertas, a group within the city with whom we have struck a deal. They will sabotage the defenses from within."

Lanius nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on me, as if searching for weaknesses in my words.

"But before the general assault, and once we have fully surrounded the city, I will extend an offer to the NCR soldiers: to surrender and submit as prisoners. Unfortunately, due to Lord Caesar's explicit desire, we cannot resort to massive artillery and mortar bombardments to destroy their defenses. It will be a hard-fought battle, building by building, house by house, street by street. The city must be preserved as intact as possible for Caesar's triumphant entry."

Lanius tilted his head slightly—an almost imperceptible gesture that could be interpreted as approval or mere acknowledgment. Finally, he spoke, his tone low and cutting.

"You speak more and more like the people of the West, Gaius. Soft, careful words. It doesn't matter. Victory will be ours—it will be swift, and it will be honest, paid for with blood."

His words were blunt, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his tone, as if he sought to understand the logic behind my approach.

"I am unaware of the full extent of Lord Caesar's plans, but we must avoid falling into the bear's trap," I continued, my voice firm, conscious of the delicacy of what I was about to say. "We cannot overextend our borders. We have recently conquered the East and the South, and those lands are not yet fully pacified. Now, we must add the Mojave. When you finish here, we will need to eliminate the rebellious tribes, integrate others, and fulfill Caesar's vision of civilizing the Legion. That is why we must leave open the possibility of a temporary peace with the NCR—to buy time."

For a moment, I saw something rarely displayed by Lanius: surprise. Although his face was partially obscured by scars, disbelief was reflected in the intact side of his face. Then, his gaze hardened.

"Are those your words, or are they Caesar's words?" Lanius asked, his tone laden with suspicion but not entirely hostile. His gaze carried a spark of challenge, as though probing for the truth behind my assertion.

"They are Lord Caesar's words, Lanius," I replied firmly, holding his gaze. "I had the privilege of hearing directly the dreams and ambitions of the son of Mars, as you did when Caesar explained the thesis and antithesis of his vision for the NCR. We have both heard his will, but I believe I had the opportunity to propose an idea to apply his ideals in the long term—an idea he considered valid."

Lanius remained still, his imposing presence like a marble statue. His mask, though absent, seemed replaced by the hardness of his scarred face. Finally, he inclined his head slightly, an implicit acceptance that felt as much a challenge as an approval.

"Caesar decides what is valid, not us. If your vision aligns with his, I have no reason to doubt you. But tread carefully, Gaius. Interpreting Caesar's ideals is not a privilege—it is a burden. A burden that, if borne with weakness, will crush even the strongest."

"And so it will be, Legate Lanius. Now, let Lord Caesar rest. We must prepare; the fight will be arduous, and as you said, it will be won with blood," I affirmed, nodding slightly in respect.

I paused, observing Lanius carefully before continuing. "Do you require power armor, Lanius? I can have one crafted to your specifications. There is no better way to honor the gods than to wear the finest creation of the Cult of Vulcanus. Imagine donning power armor forged with the mask of Mars as a symbol of your strength and devotion."

My tone was calculated—direct but respectful—aware that the proposal could serve as both an offer and a challenge to Lanius' traditional values. I knew he was a man of brute strength and tradition but also one who respected tools that strengthened Caesar's cause.

Lanius stared at me, his war-hardened face unmoving. For a moment, his silence filled the tent with tension.

"I do not need machines to crush Caesar's enemies," he replied, his tone firm and brimming with pride. "My strength comes from the gods and the will of the Legion's master, not from forged iron meant for the weak."

He leaned slightly toward me, his piercing gaze like a dagger. "However, I respect your offer. If such armor can honor the gods and serve Caesar's purpose, perhaps one day I will consider it. But not today. Today, blood and steel will suffice."

I nodded, accepting his response. "As you wish, Legate. When the time comes, the Cult of Vulcanus will be ready to forge whatever is needed."

Lanius took a step toward the exit, his presence still dominating the space. "Prepare yourself, Gaius. Words do not win battles. Swords do. But I know well how you fight." Then he departed, leaving behind an air of determination that filled the tent.

Lanius exited the sterilized zone, donned his helmet and armor, and left the camp. At the same time, his vast legion began crossing the Colorado River, preparing for the great battle for New Vegas.

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