"..."

The formation of men was dead silent as they walked in the long grass plains within the dark cold night, around a few dozen from the 3rd Century Legion following the man leading the line.

"...Sir, we've been walking for 7 hours, are you sure you we're going the right way?"

One of the men, an Opito; second in command to the Centurion, asked the Centurion, who was leading the way.

"I'm sure."

"We just went to collect wood 30 minutes away from the Legion's camp and we couldn't find our way back. It's been 7 hours since we started trying to find our way back, and we're not back yet. Are you really sure you know the way back?"

"I'm sure."

"It's clear that you're clueless, and that we're lost, sir."

The Optio, Gaius, sighed with weary eyes as he marched beside the Centurion.

"No, I'm sure."

"But, it's night-"

"I'm sure."

"Sir, we know that you're lost."

"I'm not, I'm sure."

"Sir, it's not embarrassing to tell us the truth. Admit that we're lost in the middle of nowhere within enemy territory and that it was your fault, sir."

"Shut the fuck up."

...The Centurion, Lucius, was completely lost. In enemy territory in which their own army was invading from, this won't end well.