Chapter 20: Black Legion Begins
By the end of the first day, over 1,300 applicants had stepped forward—more than Basil had anticipated.
Word had spread quickly after his clash with Thomas. Apparently, Thomas was considered quite strong among the enlisted, with few able to match him in raw power. So when news spread of Basil sending him flying, many rushed over in hopes of becoming part of something great. Some were already-enlisted troops seeking distinction. Others were bold civilians from the Capitol, desperate to make a name for themselves. A few were veteran guardians—quiet, watchful, their eyes hardened by battle. But they all had one thing in common:
They wanted in.
After sorting through the final dozen names, Basil handed the last form to Lace, who slid it into a thick stack of documents.
"That's all of them," Lace muttered, rubbing his cramping fingers.
Basil stood, stretching his shoulders. "Time to find some worthy captains."
He addressed the crowd, his voice sharp and commanding.
"You're going to be split into groups of ten. Each group will fight until only one of you is left standing. The winners will then be placed into groups of four. You'll fight again. When it's over, only those left standing will move on."
There were no complaints. No questions.
They could all feel it now—this wasn't just another military drill. This was a chance to carve their names into something greater.
The process was brutal.
Fists, weapons, and mana clashed across the arena grounds. Dust filled the air. Bones cracked. Shouts echoed. The weak were weeded out swiftly, while the determined scraped through—bloodied but breathing.
When it was done, thirty-three remained.
They weren't the strongest in raw power, but they'd earned their victories through strategy, grit, and the kind of endurance that couldn't be faked. Basil watched each of them closely as they stood before him, battered and sweating but unbroken.
"You are now captains," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You've earned that rank. From this point on, you are no longer required to participate in the qualifiers. Your names will be entered into the official Black Legion registry. But do not get complacent—once the qualifiers are over, any member of the Legion can challenge you for your position!"
Lace handed him a leather folder containing their names. Basil tucked it beneath his arm like a sealed promise.
As the crowd began to disperse, one of the new captains—barely scratched from the bouts, tall and broad, wearing the insignia of the Empress's elite guard—stepped forward.
"I challenge the one named Thomas," he declared, voice steady but prideful.
The applicants stilled.
Thomas blinked, then stepped forward, jaw clenched. He didn't hesitate.
Basil raised an eyebrow. "Show him why I granted you your position, Thomas."
Basil had read Thomas's stats the moment he stepped forward during the application process. His talent and strength were hard to ignore, which is why Basil took extreme measures to break him down and rebuild him into someone fit for the Legion.
Thomas nodded. "Yes, Commander."
The two took their places at the center of the arena. Lace signaled the start.
The challenger came in fast—a whirlwind of strikes and brute force. But Thomas had something to prove. His movements were cleaner, more focused. He dodged with sharp footwork, countered with precision, and took every blow that landed with unflinching resolve.
Good, He's fighting like someone who knows what it means to be given a second chance, Basil thought, arms crossed.
The duel lasted several grueling minutes. Both men were bloodied and winded, but when the final exchange ended, it was Thomas who stood tall.
His opponent hit the ground hard, groaning in defeat.
Silence held the arena for a beat—then the applicants erupted into cheers.
Thomas dropped to one knee, catching his breath.
Basil approached, offering him a hand. "Good job, Sentinel."
Thomas looked up, sweat and dust streaking his face. "Thank you, Commander."
"You didn't win because you were stronger," Basil said quietly. "You won because you refused to lose."
Thomas stood, straighter than before. For the first time in his life, someone had looked past his mistakes and seen potential. That single recognition from Basil—getting tossed like a ragdoll, then shown mercy when he owned up to his mistake, and still being chosen for an important position—reshaped something inside him.
He would never take it for granted. He would fight for it until his last breath.
—
As the sun dipped below the edge of the palace walls, a warm amber glow bathed the training grounds. Dust hung in the air like fog, kicked up by hours of combat. The applicants—none of whom had been disqualified, since Basil was only looking for captains—were exhausted but buzzing with energy as they drifted into the streets of the Capitol.
In total, 1,367 applicants had passed through the gates that day.
Basil had watched every single match with razor-sharp attention. He marked 33 names—those who rose above not through sheer strength, but through endurance and will. Each was granted the provisional rank of Captain and placed into a separate file. They would be exempt from further qualifiers.
He leaned against the arena railing, scanning the dispersing crowd. Soldiers talked animatedly as they exited—some limping, others laughing through bloodied lips. Even civilian applicants lingered, mingling freely with soldiers. They didn't see each other as civilian or soldier anymore—but as one.
A soft smile touched Basil's lips.
This is only a taste of what's truly to come.
By nightfall, word had already begun to spread.
"Basileus Narciss really did beat the Empress."
"I saw it with my own eyes—he moves like a ghost."
"He actually promoted a guy after putting him through a wall. I believe it was for owning up to his mistakes."
"Not just strong—he's fair. Maybe even… kind?"
Basil's name, once a faint echo from distant battlefields centuries ago, now rang through taverns and alleys, markets and barracks. The man who challenged the Empress. The one who didn't tolerate arrogance but gave redemption where it was earned. The one who spoke of brotherhood and sacrifice—and meant it.
That night, campfires were lit across the outer gardens and nearby hills. Elves, Dwarves, demi-humans, civilians, soldiers from other legions, and Capitol guardians gathered. Even some applicants chose not to return home. They wanted to stay close—to be first in line again come morning.
Basil sat beside a fire just outside the training arena, sharpening his earth daggers. Lace joined him with two cups of bitterroot tea.
"Tired?" Lace asked.
"No," Basil said. "Focused."
Lace smirked and sipped. "We can attract more men. But with only two days to recruit, we're pulling mostly from the Capitol and nearby towns."
"Hmm," Basil responded, never taking his eyes off the dagger.
Lace looked toward the hills in the distance. Kilometers of campfires stretched across the horizon. "This whole thing… it's already bigger than us."
Basil didn't look up. "It has to be."
—
The Next Morning
Basil and Lace arrived early—but the grounds were already packed.
The line of applicants stretched far beyond the training arena, wrapping around the royal gardens and disappearing into the distant streets. Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, many already sweating under the morning sun. There were no jeers or lazy stances today—only silence, anticipation, and resolve.
Julie approached, wide-eyed, holding a scroll nearly twice her size. "You've got over twelve thousand today."
Lace nearly choked on his bread. "Twelve thousand?!"
Julie nodded, overwhelmed but impressed. "The first wave came before dawn. Mostly guardians and militia from the towns around the Capitol. They say they refused to enlist before because they didn't trust the unjust and corrupt government. But now…" She glanced at Basil. "Now I think they believe in something."
Basil didn't respond at first. He looked out over the sea of faces—men and women of all ages, some wearing patchwork armor, others in civilian garb—but all standing tall.
He turned to Lace. "Let's begin, Second-in-Command," he said with a wink.
—
Hours Later
Basil and Lace moved like machines. One by one, each applicant stepped onto the platform.
"Name."
"Level."
"Top three skills."
Most answered with rigid posture and nervous voices, but the disrespect from the day before was gone. Now, there was awe. Respect.
Some offered identification. Others gave verbal accounts. Lace recorded everything in long columns while Basil cross-verified in his mind—scanning, observing, judging.
Basil wasn't looking for the strongest.
He was building a profile—a living library of potential.
During short breaks, soldiers and civilians stepped aside for them like parting water. A few offered personal swords or tokens of thanks. One girl—a healer-in-training—left a charm carved from whitebone wood at the edge of Basil's seat.
They worked until sundown. And still, the line remained.
—
That Night
High above the palace grounds, Mirian stood at her balcony.
A general approached—a woman with long violet hair and polished armor that gleamed in the moonlight.
"Your orders, Empress?"
Mirian didn't look away from the torch-lit training grounds. "Triple the food deliveries to Basil's Legion. Send extra healers and tents. No more sleeping in the dirt."
The general hesitated. "And the nobles? Some are… concerned about Basil's growing influence. They say his popularity—"
"They're afraid," she interrupted coldly. "Let them be."
She paused, voice softening. "For the first time, the Empire—which was once twelve fractured kingdoms—is acting like one. All because they believe in a greater cause. In him. He can't see the full picture yet but other city's are already beginning to move, and Baris in the south is sending a few of his best."
"Baris is making a move your majesty? He almost never gets involved with ploys like this?"
"Yes, just goes to show how much a ripple effect he's had in the short time he's been here." Miran responded, Fixing her gaze on Basil in the distance as he walked around and surveyed the applicants.
The general bowed and left.
Mirian remained, staring into the distance where the torches flickered like stars on the ground.
—
Final Hours of Day 2
Back at the arena, Basil stretched his shoulders and exhaled.
"Twelve thousand in one day," Lace muttered, red-eyed and spent. "Glad that was the last application day."
"No," Basil replied. "One more day of applicants. One month from now, on the first. That gives time for the rest of the Empire to hear what's happening—and gives the serious ones a chance to get here."
Lace blinked. "You sure?"
Basil's gaze was hard. Focused.
"Anyone determined will make the effort. And I need time to start breaking these ones in. Selection begins tomorrow."
He looked at the long list of names in his hands.
From this mass of would-be soldiers…
He would forge the Black Legion.
[]
End of chapter notes:
Stats Window:
- Name: Basileus Narciss
- Age: 22 (639)
- Level: 75
- Job: Eldritch knight
- Title: Goddess's Guardian
- HP: 200/200
- Mana: 33,000/33,000
- STR: 205
- VIT: 80
- INT: 170
- AGI: 112
- PER: 60
- XP to Next Level: 25,300/30,000
- stat points available: 0
- Skill Points Available: 0
Skills Window:
Basic:
- Innocence (F)
- The King (A)
- Swordsmanship (S)
- Mana Control (SSS)
- Charisma (F)
- Crafting (B)
- Longsword Mastery (S)
- Mana Manipulation (F)
- Rune Knowledge (B)
- Healing (C)
- Scholar (A)
- Mana Vision I Guess (C)
- phantom step (E)
- mana slash (D)
- Earth spike (B)
- body reinforcement (D)
- Kneel (F)
- nova bomb (A)
- Mana regeneration (S+)
- poison resistance (E)
- GO AWAY CAN'T YOU TELL I'M BUSY' (A)
Unique:
- Immortality (EX)
- Oversight View (EX)
- Haggle (SS)
- Misfortune (D)
Inventory
- HP Potions x1997
- MP Potions x2000
- Winter Clothes (B)
- Summer Clothes (B)
- bread x100
- jerky x100
- piece of Tess (Removed)
- piece of Rob (Removed)
- piece of Lark (Removed)
- abomination horn x10 (S+)
- jagged dagger (?)
- mana sword (?)
Gold: 60,504
GC: 4,800
Notes:
Basil is the fifth general of Mirians army, a special unit. Mirian gives full authority to her generals to treat their legions as they see fit, meaning they can punish and reward however they like as long as it's in their power. They may also set up their own ranking system, Basils is as follows:
Greenie (common foot soldier, no kills or gate raids under their belt.)
Blade (common foot soldier with either a demon kill or gate raid under their belt.)
Houndmaster (seasoned soldier with multiple kills or gate raids, the second in command to a squad [10 men])
Silver blade ( squad leader, excels in leadership and skills, seasoned warrior, controls a squad.)
Captain ( excels in leadership, excels in combat, excels in strategy, has seen many battles, controls 5-25 squads to make a group [50-250 men])
Sentinel (best of the best only 4 in basils legion, unmatched in combat, unmatched in strategy, unmatched in discipline. Commands 3-10 groups [500-2500 men])
Dreadblade (second in command to the legion [4,500+ men])
Commander (supreme leader of the legion aka a general of the five army's)