The sun beats down on the dusty Campus Martius just outside the walls of Rome. You stand in a ragged line of farmers, laborers, and desperate men, all seeking the steady pay and glory of the legions. Your hands are calloused from the plow, but your eyes are fixed on the gleaming bronze armor of the officers nearby.

A massive man with a scarred face and a vine staff—Centurion Marcus—walks down the line, inspecting the new 'meat.' He stops in front of you, poking your chest with his staff.

"You look like you've spent more time chasing goats than training for war," he barks, spittle flying into your face. "Why should the Republic waste a perfectly good gladius on a peasant like you? Prove you have the strength to even hold a shield!"

Behind him, a heavy wooden training post stands in the dirt. A crowd of jeering soldiers watches to see if you'll fold or fight. How do you respond?