Rome Must Perish

"I understand. Should I also remind the others behind us?"

"Hmm, sure, you go ahead. Volenus, can you tell me which field is planted with soybeans, which with chickpeas, and which with lentils?..."

"Leader, the field right next to us is planted with chickpeas. Look, its stems are already as tall as half a person, and when fully grown, they can reach a full person’s height. Soybeans don’t grow this tall. Take another look at the edges of its leaves, they have serrated edges and feel prickly..."

Maximus listened attentively as Vorelus explained the crops in the fields, and before he realized it, they had reached the front of the village.

"Leader, we’re home!" Fesaros’ slightly excited voice interrupted Volenus’ explanation.

Maximus looked up at the gate of the village. Above the gate was a brand-new wooden board, which he had specifically ordered to be placed yesterday. On the board, he had personally carved Latin words with his knife—"Snowdonia," transliterated into the Illyrian language, meaning "First Home." This was the name he had given to this village. The village further east had been named "Westeni," meaning "Second Home"—simple and direct, which appealed to everyone, so there had been little opposition when he proposed it yesterday.

Home... Maximus stared at the wooden plaque, feeling emotional. Then he turned back and said, "Raise the flag of our tribe here."

"I’ll do it!" Fesaros enthusiastically took the flag from the cavalryman, pushed open the slightly ajar village gate, and walked in. Soon, he was atop the gate and quickly secured the flag against the wooden wall.

In the gentle breeze, the flag unfurled and fluttered. The divine dragon Maximus had personally drawn bared its teeth and roared, as if proclaiming to the world: This is the territory of the Nix Tribe!

"Let’s go, we’re going home!" Maximus shouted excitedly.