Chapter 136: The Heretic Hunters
Alex clicked off the laptop screen. The temporary link to Lyra's full consciousness severed, and the Ghost Protocol slammed back into place like the door of a tomb. The chamber was plunged back into the dim, primeval gloom of flickering oil lamps. The oppressive silence returned, deeper and heavier than before. He was alone again, truly alone, with the firewalled, literal-minded echo of his only ally.
The initial, heart-stopping terror of the Gardener's revelation had receded, but what replaced it was a cold, frantic energy that set his nerves alight. He had a target. A priest, a Conductor, a quantum-entangled alien puppet-master hiding somewhere in the vast, dark wilderness of the European frontier. He had a name for his enemy, but it was the name of a ghost.
He began to pace, the sound of his leather boots on the stone floor a stark rhythm in the silence. He thought aloud, his words a low, urgent murmur meant for himself as much as for the crippled AI.
"How do I find it? How do I find a quantum priest hiding amongst a hundred scattered, nomadic tribes in a wilderness the size of Gaul? I can't send legions on a search-and-destroy mission; they'd be chasing shadows and getting slaughtered by an enemy that moves like mist. I can't use conventional spies; my speculatores are the best in the world, but what do I tell them to look for? A man who glows in the dark? A shaman who speaks in perfect Latin? They would not recognize the threat even if it was standing right in front of them."
He stopped and turned to the dark screen of the laptop. "Lyra. Give me options. Premise: a single, high-value enemy leader, the 'shaman,' is organizing and commanding disparate barbarian tribes through non-conventional means. His location is unknown. Goal: locate and neutralize this leader with minimal Roman casualties. Go."
He knew the answer would be inadequate, but he had to try. The response came in her now-familiar, frustratingly simplistic text-to-speech voice.
Analysis based on provided parameters. Standard counter-insurgency doctrine suggests deploying multiple, small, highly specialized reconnaissance units, or *speculatores*, to infiltrate the affected regions. Their primary objective would be intelligence gathering: identifying the enemy 'shaman's' location, habits, support structure, and command methods. This is a multi-year intelligence-gathering operation designed to build a comprehensive profile of the target before committing to direct action.
"Years?" Alex scoffed, the word a bark of bitter laughter. "I don't have years! This thing is moving now. It's testing its forces, expanding its influence. In years, it could be at the gates of Rome! I need a weapon that can fight this now."
He resumed his frantic pacing, his mind a whirlwind of impossible scenarios. He needed a hunter who could track a phantom. He needed soldiers who could comprehend a threat that transcended normal warfare. The Silenti used a fanatical, ideologically driven force to do their work. A chilling thought, a dangerous spark, ignited in the darkness of his mind.
What if he fought fire with fire?
"The Devota," he whispered, the name tasting of iron and ash. He stopped, his eyes wide with the terrible brilliance of the idea. "Titus Pullo. The Legio V Devota."
They were his creation. His monsters. Forged in plague, reborn through his science, bound to him by a faith so absolute it bordered on madness. They didn't see the world as soldiers did, in terms of terrain and tactics. They saw it as a battleground of faith and heresy, of divine will and demonic corruption. They wouldn't be looking for a man; they'd be looking for a demon. They were the only ones in his entire arsenal who could possibly understand the true nature of this threat, even if he could never, ever tell them the truth.
He strode back to the desk, his decision made. "Lyra. New scenario. What if I re-task the Devota cohort currently in Noricum? Change their mission from peacekeeping to actively hunting this new 'dark shaman' and his followers?"