The road winding out of Titus Valerius's estate was well-paved, a testament to the road engineering that connected the heart of the Empire to its provinces. Yet, even the famous Roman roads could not completely eliminate the discomfort of a journey in a springless carriage. The vehicle, though luxurious with seats cushioned in red-dyed leather and silk curtains to block the merciless sun, shook rhythmically with every irregularity of the basalt stones.

  Lucius sat facing the noble. The constant movement made his body, still sore from military training and past beatings, protest silently. He watched the rural landscape slide by the window: olive trees twisted by time, laden vineyards, and small farms where bent figures worked the land under the watchful gaze of overseers.

  "Tell me, Lucius," Titus Valerius's voice broke the silence, competing with the noise of iron-shod wooden wheels against stone. "What does a man with your mind plan to do after all this passes? After the campaign in the North ends?"

  Lucius looked away from the window and faced the patrician. The question was simple but carried existential weight. In his previous life, his plans were careers, retirement, travel. Now, the perspective was much more immediate and visceral.

  "The war will not last forever, sir," Lucius replied, choosing his words carefully. "When I return... if the gods allow me to return, my desire is simple. I want to ensure that those who stood by my side do not suffer."

  He thought of Flavio, marching into danger out of loyalty. He thought of Marcus, working amidst the sawdust. And, inevitably, he thought of Selena and Lucia.

  "I do not want to waste this life," he continued, his voice lowering a tone, becoming more intimate. "I have been close to death before, in ways you would not imagine. To die prematurely, leaving works unfinished and words unspoken... is a fate I intend to avoid at all costs. I want to use the gold and influence you promise me to provide comfort for my family and elevate my friends."

  Valerius watched him with a half-smile, nodding slightly as the carriage gave a stronger jolt.

  "It is a modest dream for someone with such a blessed mind," the noble commented, smoothing his tunic. "Many men in your position would ask for power, political office, perhaps even a command of their own. But you ask for security for yours."

  The noble sighed, and for a moment, the mask of iron authority slipped, revealing the weariness of a man carrying the weight of lineages and expectations.

  "I am getting old, Lucius. My bones creak with the changing weather, and my patience is shorter than it used to be. Mortality is a shadow that grows as the sun of life sets." He looked at his own hands, adorned with signet rings. "I have a son, Gaius, serving in the Legio X Fretensis, in Syria. One day, if Mars spares him, he will inherit my possessions, my lands, and my unfinished projects. Everything I build today, I build so that he does not have to start from nothing."

  There was a reflective pause. The concept of legacy was fundamental to the Roman mind.

  "And you, Lucius?" asked Valerius. "You have spoken little of your wife and daughter during our meetings, except to ensure their safety. What is it like to be a father and husband for a man who sees the world through numbers and structures?"

  Lucius felt a tightness in his chest. The question touched the open wound of his identity.

  "I love them," Lucius said, and was surprised to realize it was true. "But I confess, sir... sometimes I feel I do not know them one hundred percent. There is a distance, an invisible glass. Sometimes I look at my wife and feel I am learning who she is every day, as if we had just met, though life says otherwise."

  It wasn't a lie. He was, in fact, getting to know Selena now. The previous Lucius might have known her, but this Lucius was discovering her strengths, her fears, and her smile.

  "And my daughter... she is a charming mystery," he completed. "I want to be the father she deserves, but I fear the war will rob me of the chance to see who she will become."

  Valerius nodded, assuming a paternal tone he rarely used with subordinates.

  "Distance is natural for men of action, Lucius. We build the world outside, while they maintain the world inside. But take advice from someone who has neglected the home in favor of the Senate: if you feel distant, shorten the path. You do not need to know them as you know the engineering of a bridge. People are not problems to be solved. If there is distance, surprise them. Unexpected affection is worth more than gold in a silent house."

  The conversation died there, replaced by reflection, as the carriage began to slow. The scenery outside had changed. Rural tranquility had given way to a scar on the earth.

  They had arrived.

  The infrastructure work for the veteran colony's water supply was a human anthill. The site was a wide, muddy valley where the earth had been turned and wounded by hundreds of shovels and pickaxes. Huge piles of limestone, baked bricks, and wood were stacked on the edges of the swampy ground.

  Stepping out of the carriage, Lucius was hit by the smell, a mixture of sour sweat, wet earth, and smoke from makeshift forges. But what hit his eyes was even more impactful.

  Hundreds of men worked there. Most were slaves, distinguishable by their short, tattered tunics, and in some cases, by the chains on their ankles that clinked macabrely. Their bodies shone with sweat and dirt, ribs visible under sunburnt skin. There were also free workers and freedmen shouting orders or performing more specialized tasks, but the brute force came from the enslaved mass.

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  Lucius stopped, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth. As a man of the 21st century, the sight of naked and raw slavery was a punch to the gut. He had seen it in movies, read about it in books, but seeing the exhaustion in the eyes of a man carrying a block of stone on his back under an overseer's whip was something his modern soul violently rejected.

  I cannot save them, he thought, helplessness burning. I cannot snap my fingers and abolish millennia of economic history. If I try, I will be killed and they will remain here.

  He clenched his fists.

  But I can make this less hellish. If my siphon design works, if the work is faster and more efficient, the suffering will be shortened. If I introduce better tools, their backs will break less.

  Then he saw it.

  Amidst the chaos of men carrying stones and baskets, a line of workers moved with a different speed. They were pushing vehicles of light wood, with a single sturdy wheel in front.

  His wheelbarrows. The Currus Lucii.

  Lucius felt a wave of genuine pride. The men using the carts didn't seem as hunched as the others. They transported triple the load of a stretcher, alone, and with a more upright posture. The efficiency was visible to the naked eye.

  "I didn't know they were already using my invention here, sir," Lucius commented, pointing to the line of carts.

  Titus Valerius followed his gaze and smiled satisfied.

  "Your friend, the carpenter Marcus, is very good at what he does. I closed an exclusivity deal with him as soon as I saw the potential. He supplies the carts for all my projects in the region. Delivery is fast and quality is consistent. He is a shrewd businessman."

  Lucius felt immense relief. Marcus was thriving.

  "I am happy to hear that," Lucius said. "Marcus is an honorable man."

  Before leaving for the noble's mansion, Lucius had left clear instructions for Marcus: his share of the profits, the agreed 20%, should be delivered directly to Selena. If Marcus was supplying large scale for Valerius, it meant Selena was receiving four denarii for each of those dozens of carts. She had money now. She had financial security independent of him.

  As they observed outside the carriage, a man approached them. He wore a better quality tunic, held scrolls of plans under his arm, and had the tired but authoritative air of someone managing chaos.

  "Salve, Noble Valerius," the man said, bowing respectfully but without the excessive subservience of a common servant. "We did not expect your visit today."

  "Salve, Demetrius," Valerius replied. He turned to Lucius. "Lucius, this is the master builder responsible for this section of the aqueduct."

  Demetrius looked at Lucius, assessing the man in military garb but without visible rank.

  "It is an honor," said Demetrius, with an accent Lucius didn't immediately recognize. It wasn't the rustic Latin of the peninsula, nor the drawling speech of the locals. The vowels were open, the cadence musical.

  "You are Greek, aren't you?" Lucius asked directly. "I suppose so, by your name?"

  The master builder widened his eyes slightly, surprised.

  "Yes, sir. I am from Corinth, in the province of Achaea. How did you know?"

  Titus Valerius raised an eyebrow, looking at Lucius with curiosity.

  "I didn't know you could differentiate Greek dialects and origins from Roman ones, Lucius," the noble commented, a tone of suspicion mixed with admiration. Roman plebeians rarely had an ear for such subtleties.

  Lucius realized the slip. He didn't know how to recognize accents, but in his previous life, he had studied famous Greek engineers.

  "Just deduced," Lucius replied, keeping his expression neutral. "The sound of the name, the way you pronounce words. I lived with many types of people in the quarry."

  Valerius seemed to accept the explanation, or at least decided not to deepen the mystery at that moment.

  "Very well," said the noble, turning to the Greek. "How is the work, Demetrius?"

  Demetrius sighed, running a hand through his gray beard.

  "Difficult, sir. The ground gave way again at the southern foundation. But we started the first section of pillars a week ago. We are draining the mud and trying to set the stone base."

  Titus Valerius straightened his posture and, with the coldness of a general, gave the order.

  "Stop everything."

  Demetrius blinked, confused.

  "Sir?"

  "Stop everything you are doing," Valerius repeated. "Order the men to cease construction of the pillars. We are going to start from scratch. I want you to undo what was done in the last week."

  Demetrius's face lost color. Genuine fear took over his eyes. In that world, orders to undo work and restart usually came accompanied by severe punishments, dismissals, or accusations of incompetence and embezzlement.

  "Forgive me, Lord Valerius... did I... did I do something wrong?" stammered the Greek, hands trembling over the papyrus scrolls. "We followed the imperial architects' plans to the letter. If the foundation failed, I swear by the gods it was not due to negligence on my part or my men's. Please, sir..."

  Valerius raised a hand, silencing the man's panic.

  "Calm down, Demetrius. No one will be punished today. It is not a question of error, it is a question of change in strategy."

  The noble pointed to Lucius.

  "We are going to redo it from scratch because we are going to use a better design. An approach that will save time, lives, and denarii. We are going to test in practice a new theory of hydraulic engineering."

  Valerius placed a hand on Lucius's shoulder, transferring the weight of authority.

  "Lucius will guide everything. He is my chief consulting engineer for this project. His word is my word. He has total authority over the work, second only to me. Treat Lucius's orders as if they came from my own lips."

  Demetrius looked at Lucius with new eyes, a mixture of forced respect and professional skepticism. An unknown noble commanding an engineering project? To Demetrius, Lucius was just a noble's son now in his master's service.

  "Understood, sir," said the Greek, bowing to Lucius.

  Valerius looked at the sky, checking the sun's position.

  "I have other matters to attend to at the villa before nightfall. I will leave you here for Lucius to explain the inverted siphon concept and organize materials." He looked at Lucius. "The carriage will return to pick you up at sunset, Lucius."

  "Yes, sir," Lucius replied.

  "The gods blessed me by having me meet you, Lucius. I know you won't disappoint me," said the noble, before turning and walking back to the carriage, followed by his personal guard.

  Lucius stood still, watching the dust rise under the wheels of his boss's vehicle. When the carriage moved away, he found himself alone, or as alone as he could be surrounded by two hundred workers, with the master builder.

  He turned to Demetrius. The Greek awaited him with a rigid posture, holding a stylus and a wax tablet, ready to take notes.

  "What are your orders, sir?" asked Demetrius, extremely formally, almost coldly.

  Lucius felt the weight of that treatment. It was strange, almost surreal, to be addressed as a superior, a "sir," by a man who likely had decades more construction experience than his current "persona." He looked at the Greek's tired face, the worry lines on his forehead. He saw a man who feared for his livelihood, a father, not just an employee.

  Lucius didn't want to start that working relationship with fear and blind hierarchy. He needed allies, not terrified servants.

  He looked into Demetrius's eyes and, completely ignoring engineering or construction protocol, asked the question that was on his mind.

  "Demetrius," said Lucius, with a gentle tone. "Are you proud of your craft?"