B4 Chapter 53: A Feast of Dragons

Marcus watched the Legionnaires swarm over the massive corpses of the four dead dragons from a distance. The men systematically ripped off scales, skin, teeth, horns, and every other piece of the great beasts they could salvage, handing them down to their brethren and packaging them in massive crates.

The whole scene was rather reminiscent of a colony of ants blanketing a piece of overripe fruit. The comparison was not particularly flattering to the once proud creatures.

He sat on a small hillside, well out of the way of the work while still close enough to hear the constant shouting of orders between the Romans. The orcs were put to good use in this endeavor---evidently, dismantling a dragon corpse required far more brute strength than finesse---working alongside the Romans on some of the more stubborn areas. A loud crack rang across the hillside as a group of them finally managed to separate the dragon's wing from its body, hoisting the entire thing down to a group below.

It was an entirely pragmatic approach. After all, dragons were known as more than great and powerful creatures who could single-handedly flatten a city. They were also incredibly valuable. The rare adventuring party who managed to kill one often retired shortly after, simply because of the unimaginable wealth such parts could bring them. And the wounds they inevitably sustained during the battle, of course.

Already, Marcus had seen gallons of blood siphoned off of the dragons and into special preservative barrels, lending the corpses a rather pallid shade. The entire hindquarters of the green dragon was entirely gone, the meat and bones stripped off piece by piece. The others weren't far behind. The idea that these four massive bodies would disappear into so many neat packages... He often forgot that combat wasn't the only thing the Legion specialized in.

A long skewer of sizzling meat entered his field of view. "Want one?"

Marcus looked up to see Cassius, a second skewer in his other hand. He looked at the skewer. It was deep burgundy in color, dripping with fat that smelled thickly of some exotic, smoky spice unfamiliar to Marcus.

"Is that what I think it is?"

The Legionnaire grinned. "There's plenty to go around. Too much, actually. Word is that we're already going to need more storage buildings for everything, so Gaius ordered a feast."

Marcus shook his head in disbelief. "A feast of dragons..."

"Better than being a feast for dragons. Wouldn't you agree?"

Marcus chuckled and accepted the skewer of meat. Even now, it emanated a disproportionate amount of heat, nearly burning his hand from sheer proximity. Blowing on it proved a futile effort, so Marcus simply decided to take the chance and bite down.

A soft groan escaped his lips. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Far better than even the golden boar glazed with fine wines that the late king had served at one of his birthday banquets. It tasted like the Romans' descriptions of ambrosia, the food of the gods.

"Good, right?" Cassius mumbled through a bite of his own. "Especially that first bite."

Marcus nodded tore into the skewer, heedless of the burns his tongue was doubtless suffering. Eating this probably got him on the shit list of every single dragon who ever existed. But right now, he didn't particularly care. They were probably well past that point anyway.

He came back to reality as the last cube of meat disappeared down his throat. He wiped away a bit of drool that he hadn't even registered as he ate, finding Cassius seated on the grass beside him. The Legionnaire finished his own skewer and lay back with a satisfied sigh.

"Gods. I haven't had food that good since... ever." Cassius let out a small burp. "Makes me better understand the poor fools who get burned alive trying to bring down one of those things."

"To be fair, I don't believe that food is their primary motivation," Marcus corrected.

"Not at first, I'm sure. But after? Neptune's beard, I've half a mind to sign up as a full-time dragon hunter. Maybe they'll start handing out the jerky as rations..."

Marcus couldn't help but laugh. "That would be quite possibly the most wasteful use of dragon meat that I've ever heard. I'm well aware you have four of the things, but---"

"Five, actually." Cassius jerked a thumb behind them. "The Third Legion's breaking down another in that direction."

Marcus just shook his head again.

They watched the work for a while, observing the comings and goings of the Legionnaires and auxiliaries. Bones were carved up, the marrow dried or salted, and the sky filled with the smoke of countless cookfires and smokehouses. They saw Grand Mage Claude rush about the area like an excited dog, offering what was probably well-intentioned guidance as to the handling of many of the dragon parts. He and his mages assisted in keeping some of the meat was kept fresh using cooling and preservation magic, but there was simply too much to preserve in such a manner.

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Everything progressed under the careful supervision of so many officers and centurions. They rotated out men regularly for rest and to keep their group stamina pool from dipping too precipitously, hence Cassius's presence by his side. It was apparently quite the delicate balance, especially with so many other First Legionnaires still about their duties elsewhere in the empire. But considering the speed with which they were making progress, they would still be done in a day, perhaps less.

"What in the world do they plan to do with all of this?" Marcus muttered to himself, the words pitched loud enough to invite a response.

"No idea. Selling some of it, I'd guess. Offering some to the emperor. The rest I'd wager will go to the crafters. I wouldn't say no to a dragonscale scutum or a literal dragoonfang gladius." The Legionnaire shrugged. "Though I doubt we'll get the latter. Those beasties had a lot of teeth, but not that many."

Marcus hummed thoughtfully. Crafting certainly made sense, especially with all of the developments the Legion had been making on that front lately. He wouldn't be surprised if the entire First Legion came out of this with some rather impressive equipment. Outfitting all three, though... Five dragons may not be enough for that. Though once the Legion got to see why those materials were so valuable, perhaps the entire race of dragons may have to step a little more carefully. Maybe Claude's pet would as well.

Of course, that was assuming the sudden and massive influx of dragon parts didn't suddenly tank their value. Even with the Legion keeping the lion's share, that was very much a possibility. Though maybe it wasn't a problem. He'd only heard of such things being sold at auction. Not even the finest merchants in the capital would stock them on shelves.

Curiously, Marcus spread his [Critical Reception] wide across the Legion. He felt what he expected---tiredness, a bit of tedium, the satisfaction of full bellies and the drive of men at work. But he also felt the telltale flickers of covetousness. Some of the men carrying jewel-like scales and fangs the size of longswords couldn't help but eye them with a bit of greed. He also felt a few flickers of guilt and fear, perhaps by those who had given into temptation despite all of the eyes around.

It was less than he'd expected, but still present nonetheless. What was even more fascinating, though, was the complete absence of such feelings in the orcs. The green-skinned auxiliaries seemed to feel no such greed---except when eyeing the dragon's meat. He spotted a group of them devouring skewers like the one he'd eaten earlier with gusto.

It certainly fit with their priorities. But Marcus couldn't help but chuckle a little bit. "Are the men getting along with the new auxiliaries?"

Cassius waggled a hand back and forth. "Somewhat. Better than they were before after that last battle. There was a bit of animosity, but after seeing them in action, many of the men have at least a bit of grudging respect.

"Hmmm." Marcus nodded. That was about what he'd seen. "Do you think they'll become Legionnaires someday?"

"I'd say so. Why else be an auxiliary?" Cassius shrugged. "They've got a long way to go before that, though. But I much prefer fighting with them than against."

They watched together as a group of orcs heaved piles of meat across the grass toward one of the smokehouses, leveraging their strength for the task. Though they still weren't particularly suited for matters of finesse, their brute strength did prove quite useful. There was one notable exception, though.

Marcus watched Grund scamper across the red dragon corpse, moving between groups of orcs. At each one, he gave them directions to pull in very specific ways before striking a precise blow of his own at a joint, his palms glowing with energy. One by one, pieces loosened and were tossed down like so many sacks of grain.

The orc leader was improving at a rather unbelievable rate. From talking with the orc, Marcus knew that he had far more presence of mind than most as well. Maybe he would be the first one qualified to be a true Legionnaire.

They lapsed into silence. Marcus produced his lute, and the pair began quietly plucking at strings together, idly forming songs as the Legionnaire rested. After a few minutes of rest and amicable conversation, Cassius heaved himself back to his feet. "Well. Back to work."

"Already?"

"Yeah. Lot of work to be done, and the longer we take the more people get ideas." Cassius chuckled.

He supposed that was fair. The Legionnaires weren't the only ones eyeing the work. Already, a perimeter had been established to keep the folk from the city away from all of this.

Cassius waved. "Pleasure seeing you, Marcus. Don't be a stranger."

Marcus raised a hand in farewell, then hesitated. "Actually... One more thing. I'm uncertain of how greatly dragon scales vary in size. But my understanding is that some are quite small---too small, in fact, for use in much besides jewelry. If you were to perhaps find one of those that gets passed over during all of this..."

Cassius grinned. "I'll keep an eye out. Who knows what kinds of things might get overlooked?"

The Legionnaire turned and jogged back toward the corpses, already preparing to work again. Marcus didn't honestly hope that he would get a dragon scale that easily. The meat had been a boon enough. But the great bard Leofric Salandal, the voice of the ages, was always said to have a lute strung with unicorn hair and a pick of dragon scale. Perhaps he couldn't get the former, but the latter...

It was more than a bit of vanity. But, well, it was worth a shot.

He returned his attention to the scene before him. Gaius watched over the transport and packaging of the dragon parts, issuing a constant stream of orders to his leadership. Yet he halted his work to step away as though alerted by a sixth sense.

Marcus saw why a moment later. The Legatus of the Third Legion, Quintus, was approaching.

Marcus stood and began to amble over curiously and inconspicuously. Obviously, he wouldn't get close enough for either man to detect him obviously. But these were two leaders of the two largest armies in the empire. Whatever they spoke about had to be of consequence.