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B2 Chapter 48: A Stone's Throw Away

B2 Chapter 48: A Stone's Throw Away

Quintus felt like Orpheus himself, fleeing from the fell and dismal realm of the underworld itself. Though no lover or muse followed Quintus in his flight, promising to return to him should he escape. He had no such hope. For him, it was simply a matter of time until he was forced to look back and face the absolute torture that hounded him at every step. The horror known as bureaucracy.

It was this personal hell that saw him take whatever excuse he could possibly manage to get out of that damn command center. Whether it was overseeing a construction project, taking a meeting at the barracks, or even simply doing a personal review of the troops and their training, he took every opportunity. Anything to escape the underworld for even a few hours.

Which was exactly how he found himself striding through the training fields, heading toward the line of siege engines that their engineers had been working on so tirelessly.

It was necessary, he told himself. He'd spent the last several hours reviewing quartermaster reports when a summary of the latest siege weapon improvements had come across his desk. And when he'd seen the numbers reported for maximum range, well, they'd certainly raised his eyebrows. Something like that needed verification.

At least, that's what he would tell anyone who asked. Of course, he could have sent someone else to check on this or simply requested a clarification, but he had other reasons for being here than escaping the pile of paperwork that threatened to drown him back at the command center. If those numbers were accurate, then he wanted to see the siege weapons in action.

“Primus Pilus!” A relatively lanky Legionnaire called out as Quintus approached. Neat rows of trebuchets, catapults, and ballistae stood behind the man, as well as a few machines that Quintus was unfamiliar with. The engineers had been busy indeed.

Quintus nodded. “Good afternoon. I'm here to see lead engineer Cornelius.”

“That would be me, sir.” Cornelius snapped a salute, and Quintus returned it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Quintus looked over the training fields. Legionnaires swarmed over the engines like ants, building and adjusting and inspecting. As they noticed him, however, he saw many of the men call to one another and halt their work. They lined up on the field and waited in case Quintus asked something of them. 

He sighed inwardly. Being granted authority over the Habersville area, even temporarily, had led to many such changes. Quintus was used to being respected by the Legion, but this simply felt inconvenient. It felt like he couldn't go anywhere without disturbing the work of others—a dilemma quite at odds with his desire to spend his days out and about as much as possible.

He once more found himself glad to have turned down that promotion. This kind of attention was simply stifling. He didn't know how Tiberius handled it.

Quintus turned his attention back to a patiently waiting Cornelius. He was aware that his appearance was a surprise, and likely not a very pleasant one. Hopefully his curiosity wouldn't grate on their nerves too much.

"I read some rather incredible numbers on your most recent reports, centurion.” Quintus began. "Ones that frankly beggar belief. I'm here to ensure an extra digit wasn't added by mistake."

Cornelius chuckled and relaxed, but only slightly. "I assure you, the reports were accurate. But I understand it may be difficult to believe without seeing yourself."

Quintus nodded, glad that the man wasn't offended by his disbelief. "How quickly can you prepare a demonstration?"

"It won't take long at all, sir. Give us ten minutes." At Quintus's disappointed expression, Cornelius quickly modified his estimate. "Five, actually. I believe we can manage that if you're in a rush."

"No. Ten minutes is fine." Quintus waved the man off. "Don't rush on my account."

He'd honestly been hoping that their preparations would take a bit longer than that. Alas, the Legion's competence was working against him this day.

No more than four minutes later, Cornelius had his men and several different models of siege weaponry loaded and armed. Quntus looked around for their intended target but saw nothing that might suffice. That was when the lead engineer cleared his throat.

"Our target is there."

Cornelius pointed far into the distance. Quintus squinted, straining to see but coming up with nothing. 

“...Do you have [Keen Eye] or something similar assigned?” Cornelius asked.

“No.”

“Ah, apologies sir. Try this.”

Cornelius handed him a large, hollow metal tube of some sort tipped with glass at each end. At his look of confusion, the engineer explained.

“It's an invention one of our men has been working on. He noticed that some of the locals make use of eyepieces to improve their vision, so he took inspiration to make something for seeing over long distances. It's still a work in progress, but it shows promise. Maybe we'll even be able to use them to replace our vision skills eventually.”

Quintus peered curiously through the tube. The horizon seemed to draw just a little bit closer as he looked into the glass. Even then, he could only just make out a tiny wooden tower in the distance.

As Quintus focused on the comically small speck in the distance, Cornelius barked out an order. “All units ready? Fire!”

Five machines fired in a staggered volley, each a few seconds after the last. Quintus could barely follow as the boulders sailed into the distance, arcing high enough into the air until they too were reduced to little more than specks.

Just as he began to question whether he'd even be able to notice whether the tower was hit, a puff of sawdust and wood chunks erupted into the air, then another. Each of the five boulders slammed into the distant tower, pulverizing the structure into the ground until it collapsed. A few seconds later, a dull crack reached his ears.

The Primus Pilus whistled appreciatively as Cornelius grinned. The other Legionnaire looked rather pleased with himself. "As you can see, we have indeed made significant improvements to the effective range of our weapons. Of course, this was merely a target requiring half of the power our weaponry can produce to reach it. To maintain accuracy at larger distances presents a variety of other challenges—”

"Hold on." Quintus interrupted, causing Cornelius to pause mid-sentence. "You can fire even farther?"

"Of course." Cornelius shrugged. "As I said, the numbers on the reports were no exaggeration. They represent the maximum strain we can put on our weaponry before I would even begin to have concerns about material failure. Assuming we use crews with the proper skills to reinforce them, of course. But then, actually hitting anything beyond a few hundred yards without a specialized crew would be a small miracle in itself.

"No, the problems that prevent us from increasing our range even further are practical ones. For one, as you may have noticed, it becomes pretty damn hard to see what you're aiming at—if you'll excuse my casual speech, sir."

Cornelius glanced at Quintus, but the centurion made no move to reprimand the engineer. Instead, he asked a question. “Are there not skills that allow one to see farther away? I seem to recall the Legatus making use of one.”

“Yes, but even this only can do so much. You still need a clear line of sight to the target, for example, so hitting shifting beyond the horizon is an issue. We're working to level such skills in hopes of earning useful evolutions, but that will take time.”

Cornelius gestured to one end of the training fields. There, a massive tower of concrete and wood stretched into the sky. "We've attempted to build larger observation posts to remedy that issue, but we'd need one that takes at least fifteen minutes to climb in order to see far enough. At that point, it is quite prone to collapse unless we make it semi-permanent. Useful, but not a tactic that would be of much use on the march.

“And that's assuming we even want to send men halfway across the plains to build a practice target in the first place. Then there are the ammunition modifications to ensure the payload doesn't diverge from its intended path…"

Cornelius went on and on about the exhaustive list of issues he and his men were facing. Most of it made sense, but there were a few parts that he didn't quite understand. For example, the man went on a long tangent about the curvature of the planet and its rotation, how it differed from their planet, and how that somehow threw off any aiming calculations by a significant margin.

As tempting as it was to ask the man to explain and clarify endlessly, Quintus couldn't in good conscience do it. The man had a job to get back to, and that job was not giving his Primus Pilus an exhaustive lecture on the mathematics of siege weapon aiming. Especially since he would likely fail to retain most of it.

When Cornelius had finished his rant, Quintus rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmmm. What about others areas of improvement? Speed, damage, projectile weight?”

“Obviously we've been working on those as well.” The lead engineer almost scoffed but seemed to catch himself. “but distance and accuracy have been our main focus. We have yet to encounter anything capable of resisting the destructive measures we already have. Better to expand our range and make it more difficult for enemies to find us and launch counterattacks.”

There was a logic to the man's prioritization. Still, Quintus shook his head. It honestly seemed as though the engineer had gotten so caught up in seeing what was possible that he'd forgotten to consider whether such efforts would actually be useful.

“I understand. However, at a certain point, pushing our capabilities in that direction offers diminishing returns. And I believe we're well past that point.” Quintus offered. “I believe you should shift your focus to one of power. Though we have yet to meet any truly impressive fortifications yet, that does not mean they didn't exist.”

Cornelius thought about his proposal for a moment, seemingly uncertain. A few other engineers had gathered around as they talked, the men exchanging glances with each other or nodding along.

As the silence stretched on, Quintus decided to take advantage of the crowd. He stood tall, clasping his hands behind his back before issuing his orders.

"You have all done excellent work." He began. "Your next objective is to increase the size and destructive potential of your projectiles. Increases in firing speed would be a secondary priority. Consider multiple scenarios when optimizing for damage—different building materials, fortifications versus common constructions, and large forces versus small ones. If necessary, diverge designs. Understood?"

The engineers nodded, some more enthusiastically than others. Perhaps it was outside his purview to direct the engineers' long-term goals like this, but it only seemed reasonable to him. And he was certain Tiberius would agree.

An idea struck Quintus suddenly. Perhaps he could sweeten the deal here.

"Additionally…" The Primus Pilus pointed into the distance. "If any of you can manage to fire a one thousand pound object that same distance with the same accuracy you just showed me… I will ensure that everyone involved receives a substantial reward."

That got their attention. Suddenly, the Legionnaires' eyes shone with an inner fire. Evidently, having a goal to aim for went a long way when it came to motivating these men.

"You have until the emperor returns to Habersville." Quintus added. "And while you're at it… whoever can hit that target with the heaviest payload will win a prize from me personally as well."

The men saluted together. Even those who had been a little recalcitrant before seemed to change their tune at the prospect of such a competition.

"That is all." Quintus dismissed them with a smile. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with.

"Yes, sir!"

The collective shout followed him as he turned away from the practice fields. It certainly had been a nice diversion. Hopefully he could find more that required his attention before getting back to his temporary office.

B2 Chapter 47: Lost and Found

B2 Chapter 47: Lost and Found

Gaius swore loudly. "We're not out of the woods yet. Ready yourselves!"

The Legionnaires once more tensed as Marcus felt his grip tighten on his spellbook. Given the lack of other horses among their ranks, there seemed to be no other obvious target for the dragon to come back for. None except for them, that is.

Yet as he watched the dragon approach once more, he noticed something strange. It had something gripped in its massive ivory talons. Squinting, Marcus was just able to make out the shape.

"Is that… a tree?" Gaius muttered.

Sure enough, it was. The massive trunk must have been at least fifteen feet thick and twice as long. Marcus wasn't even sure where it would have gotten something like that from. There were certainly no forests that could produce such a thing near here.

The dragon swooped down toward their position again. A brief image flashed through Marcus's mind of their group being flattened as though by a baker's rolling pin. But instead of dropping the tree on top of their heads, the dragon dropped it a few dozen yards in front of the Legionnaires' formation.

The impact shook the ground itself, followed shortly after by a secondary earthquake when the dragon slammed into the ground right behind it. Its talons dug deep into the earth and carved great furrows across it. The dragon lowered its head, staring down the Legion with a predatory glare as it puffed smoke from its nostrils.

The two parties stared each other down for a long moment. The Legionnaires were understandably hesitant to engage, but no escape would be impossible. Not with it so close.

Except… something was off.

Frowning, Marcus activated [Critical Reception]. Sensations of fear, trepidation, resolve, and more washed over him from the Legionnaires. Yet from the dragon, he sensed no malice or bloodlust or even hunger. He sensed… excitement?

The dragon let out a deafening roar that rattled the Legionnaires' shields. It sank down low and coiled back as though preparing to spring and tear through their ranks. Its tail lashed about, snapping through the air like a bullwhip the size of a battering ram.

It stayed like that for a long moment, as though it were waiting for something. And as unbelievable as it seemed, Marcus thought he might have an idea what it wanted.

“Gaius. Do we have any way to launch that tree?” He muttered.

The officer looked at him like he was insane. “No. Maybe the trebuchet could do it, but I doubt we have anything large enough yet. Why?”

Marcus grimaced. “I have an idea.”

He hurried over to the Legionnaires bearing mobile ballistae, moving as discreetly as he could manage. The nearest man flicked his gaze toward Marcus for just an instant before returning his focus to the threat before them. 

“I need you to fire the largest bolt you have that way.” Marcus pointed off to the side of the dragon and high into the air.

The Legionnaire just gave him a flat, skeptical look. That was until Gaius appeared behind them. 

“Do as the bard asks.”

Marcus shot him a grateful look, but Gaius simply pressed his lips together into a hard line. “You'd better know what you're doing, Marcus.”

The dragon let loose another short roar followed by a gout of fire sent skyward. The flame felt as though it would singe his eyebrows right off even from this distance. Yet it remained where it sat, its reptilian eyes expectant.

“I hope so, too.” He muttered under his breath.

The ballista wielder nodded and turned to do as he was ordered. A thick shaft of wood launched into the air, its passage marked by a loud crack that made Marcus flinch.

The dragon’s head whipped toward the projectile. It shot after the bolt with a powerful wingbeat that knocked over half of the Legion’s line. It overtook its quarry easily despite the incredible speeds it traveled at.

Despite the ease with which it had snapped through the horses’ bones, the dragon managed to not only catch but hold the spear-sized bolt in its jaws without snapping it like a toothpick.

The pink dragon wheeled about in the sky before diving back toward the Legion once again. It skidded along the ground as it landed, rolling over its wings a couple of times before finally halting. Its tail lashed the ground with renewed fervor, causing plumes of dirt to fly in every direction as those emerald eyes glared down at them.

Dipping its head, the dragon dropped the bolt in front of the line of Legionnaires and snorted. Its jaw hung slightly open where it sat.

No one moved for a long moment. Some of that was due to the residual intimidation of the great beast before them. But most of it was just confusion.

Marcus elbowed a gaping Gaius in the side. “I think it wants us to do it again.”

Gaius nodded dumbly and turned to the similarly gaping ballista unit. The man who had fired the last bolt was hurrying to reload.

“You heard him. Someone send another one up!”

***

Grand Mage Claude checked the crystal he'd taken to wearing about his wrist, as had become his habit as of late. Nothing. He had expected as much. But after they'd picked up two more disturbances in such quick succession, he honestly felt as though another might appear at any moment.

He bit back a giddy chuckle at the thought. Two more of those ambient mana fluctuations, each larger than the last. The time between events seemed to be getting generally smaller, but didn't seem to follow an obvious pattern or trend enough to make them predictable. At least, not off of the few data points they had.

His gaze lifted once more to the front of the room. There, one of his students was presenting his hypothesis on the source of this bewildering phenomenon.

"...Theoretically, if we were able to condense down one of our called lightning storms over a ten square foot radius for one second, then the amount of mana in use might generate a similar effect…"

"Impossible." Another student interrupted. "There are no other groups able to even call a lightning storm consistently, much less control its area of effect like that. Even we aren't able to accomplish such a feat. Er, not yet."

"I don't mean that it's exactly that spell being used." The presenter snipped testily. "It's just to illustrate the sheer magnitude of the energy we're talking about, Marv."

"Yeah, Marv."

"Stop being such a contrarian Marv."

Marv muttered darkly and hunched his shoulders as the presenter cleared his throat. "As I was saying…"

Claude's student continued on with his explanation. It was one of many theories that had been put forth, yet seemed just as implausible as the others. The casting of some great spell was rather unlikely. To generate fluctuations on the level of a single one of these events would require quantities of mana that even he couldn't fathom collecting in any reasonable time frame. And to accomplish repeated castings? It would be ludicrous.

The fact that the pulses seemed to be growing stronger made Claude initially assume they were due to some sort of natural phenomenon. Maybe the oscillations in local mana produced by some mystic sources had begun overlapping in amplitude, crashing into each other and massively increasing the variability that they observed. But that didn't explain the irregularity that had quickly become a cause for concern.

Plenty of alternative explanations had been proposed ever since Claude had begun to focus on the puzzle. One even suggested that this was all a result of a level up, which was frankly absurd. Doing the math showed that the energy released by something like that wouldn't reach such heights until a level well into the thousands. Breaking level 100 was practically unheard of to anyone outside of a literal god. Even Claude himself had plateaued for the last few decades at level 78.

Besides, even if there was an entity happily grinding away at such an absurd level, what would it even be killing to level like that? What kind of class would allow that kind of progression? And why would they just now be detecting something like this?

If it was a battle between the gods or something else happening in the wider cosmos, that was one thing. But it was here. In the eastern part of Novara, based on their calculations. There was nothing of value there for a sufficiently powerful individual, much less anywhere else on a backwater planet like this.

Claude sighed and leaned back in his chair once more. He probably had the most mana of any single individual on this planet. Outside of the gods, of course, but they cheated. It was one of the reasons why the Grand Mage had stayed here for so long. Without anyone else to challenge him, he could go about his work in peace. 

That, and he never had any problems getting funding or dealing with the local rulers. No one wanted to be on his bad side.

Of course, finding capable students was rather difficult. That part still annoyed him. The reminder made him glare at the comparatively young men kneeling around the room and stroking their long beards.

“Does no one have any better ideas?” All of the students in the room immediately swung their attention to the Grand Mage at the interruption. “Because I'll tell you right now, this one's not going to be it.”

"Well, it could have to do with some planetary alignment.” One of the other students chimed in.

“Or some sort of resonance between a specific spell and the environment it was cast in?” Another one suggested—one of the more foolish ones. 

Claude pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now you're just repeating my ideas back to me. Only they're even less likely. What kind of planetary alignment happens in such irregular intervals?"

No one bothered to answer. Claude knew that the idea wasn't entirely without merit. In fact, he could intellectually construct a case for it himself, given enough time. But that didn't change the infinitesimal odds of it actually happening. Nor would it help their absolute dearth of explanations.

Claude sighed. It seemed that the best way to find out would be to investigate himself. It would mean tearing himself away from his other experiments and areas of study, but it couldn't be helped. The mystery would drive him mad otherwise.

“All right, everyone. Pack your things.” He ordered. “Tomorrow we're going on a field trip to Novara.”

The proclamation elicited mutters from around the room. Claude stood and turned toward the door to make his own preparations. But just then, another rather disheveled looking apprentice burst into the room. His hat was singed at the edges and left a thin trail of smoke in his wake as he moved. Claude raised one bushy white eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"Grand Mage Claude," the apprentice said, nervously removing his hat and attempting to brush it off. "I, er… I'm afraid Rufus slipped his chain again."

Claude groaned. "Again?"

The apprentice just nodded. The Grand Mage rubbed at his temples. This had been happening far too often as of late.

After a moment, he waved the apprentice off. "I don't have time to deal with it now. Just leave him be. He'll find his way home eventually. He always does."

 B2 Chapter 46: Horsing Around

 B2 Chapter 46: Horsing Around

“Legion, halt!”

The long column of men obliged, scrunching up like an inchworm as the order was relayed back. Gaius sat tall upon his horse as he continued using commands. “We rest here before continuing on. Break and be ready to march again in twenty minutes.”

The Legionnaire slipped from his saddle as Marcus did the same, rubbing his backside gratefully. He was no fan of riding, but with how much [Running] he'd been doing recently? There was no chance he'd refuse an opportunity to travel without having to move his own two feet.

He tried to pat his horse on the neck, only for it to shake his hand off. The beast seemed to glare at him before turning its nose up in the other direction.

“Fine, then.” He muttered. “I try to be nice and see what I get…’

Marcus rolled his neck and looked around as Legionnaires began to do the same. Many dug in their packs for rations and water to down during the brief respite. He even saw a few games of dice start up.

In all honesty, the Legion was capable of keeping a far better pace than this. But between the fact that they were heading to the duchy in peace and the pair of women they were escorting, some concessions had to be made. It meant that horses had only been galloping for most of the day rather than outright sprinting or being left in the dust. Which was fortunate, given that his mount wasn't exactly the highest quality.

The horse panted, gratefully gulping at the water of the river they'd paused near. Turning to Gaius, Marcus raised a questioning eyebrow. “I'm surprised that there weren't better horses to be found in Hausten. Not that I'm complaining, of course.”

Gaius shook his head. “There were. However, there was apparently an… issue. A rather large one.”

“An issue?”

“Yeah. A bit of a freak accident, from what I hear. I'm still not entirely certain that Quintus and his men weren't messing with me." Gaius shrugged. "Either way, it's not my story to tell. You should ask him about it when we return.”

He pressed the young officer a few more times for info, but he remained tight-lipped. Still, Marcus couldn't help but notice him occasionally scanning the sky with a furrowed brow.

The mention made him frown. He'd thought there had been a rather strange lack of horses throughout the barony and a bit beyond. But he'd never really paid the rumors any mind. He was no horse trader, and it didn't particularly affect him aside from making a few late-night escapes from various towns a little less expeditious.

Besides, he didn't like horses. Nor had they ever really liked him.

Taking a quick swig of his own water, Marcus made his way down the column. In addition to the century accompanying them, Tiberius had also sent along some extra guards whose sole task was to guard the baroness. But those weren't the extent of their forces.

A small herd of massive deer stood proudly alongside the column, separate but clearly allied. A group of green-robed elves sat astride them, with the diplomat Iladrien in the front. The smooth-featured warriors talked quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the march to resume.

Marcus approached the lead elf as he dismounted, an affable smile on his face. “Iladrien, my friend!”

“Bard.” The elf looked Marcus up and down with a skeptical expression. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The fact that a delegation of elves had accompanied Gaius to Hausten was a surprise in and of itself. However, the degree to which those elves seemed to show him deference was the real shock.

Sure, he'd been around when Iladrien had revealed elven society's connection to Rome, at least this world's Rome. But for such a proud and seemingly aloof people to show this amount of respect was still absolutely astonishing.

So astonishing, in fact, that Marcus had insisted that they also accompany their group to the duchy. After all, what better way to impress the duke than to walk up to his doorstep with a reclusive and powerful race pledging allegiance to Rome? Even if he made the same mistake of brushing off the army of level fours, their allies would be harder to ignore.

Marcus spread his hands in a motion that sent his purple cape fluttering. “I can't help but admit some fair bit of curiosity about your people and their histories. And while we were able to speak some during your last visit, our conversation did little more than whet my appetite. Would you be willing to indulge this humble performer once again?”

The elf tilted his head. “You wish to know of elven history?"

"Of course. One can learn much from the tales that a civilization deems worthy of preserving, and the great deeds that spawned them."

Iladrien adopted a thoughtful look. "I'll admit that I find myself surprised. I was certain that a bard such as yourself would be more interested in our songs and fables.”

"Of course, I am keenly interested in those as well. But I am a collector of stories of all kinds, friend. And besides, if there is one thing I have learned, it is that all great stories are rooted in truth." He grinned.

The elf chuckled. "Very well. I suppose we have some time to spare."

With that, Iladrien began to speak on the culture of his people. It was a very high-level summary of what sounded like a far more nuanced matter, but it gave Marcus a baseline from which to start asking questions.

Not that he had any shortage of those. The elves were a mystery to all but a few, after all, meaning that tales about them were mostly based on conjecture or secondhand rumors. Even those few merchants that did trade directly with them rarely delved so far as to visit population centers and the like, dealing instead with intermediaries and individuals that roamed the forest.

From what Iladrien said, there were two main camps when it came to the elves of the Great Ruthin Forest, the few who held to the shreds of the "old ways" and those who embraced the "new".

The more modern, imperial elves followed the “new ways.” Those of the imperial systems of governance and culture.  They had a governor, albeit one who answered to some kind of senate, and seemed to place a lot of value on duty, discipline, and dignity. In all honesty, it sounded to Marcus as though the imperial elves had done quite a good job of preserving Roman culture at least, from his admittedly still incomplete understanding of it. It helped that elves were long enough lived that many were actual members of the empire in their lifetimes.

The old ways were from before the first coming of the Romans. Most of the elves who had been alive during those times were now ancient and had converted to the empire. Though there were a few who argued for an end to the forest's isolationist policies and a return to nature as the highest good. They tended to spurn the civilization and values of the Imperial elves in favor of living amongst the trees and wandering the land. Because of that, they were often called “wood elves” by their imperial brethren.

Based on Iladrien's attitude when he spoke of these wood elves, it wasn't hard to tell which camp he fell into. 

"When you speak of these 'old ways'..." Marcus interjected. "How old do you mean?"

Iladrien sighed. "That is not as simple a question as you may suspect. As much as our people have worked to maintain the empire, no civilization is unchanging. And with the length of our lifespans, there have been many different ways of tracking time since they were largely abandoned. I think the last time they were in full practice it was perhaps a few dozen millennia ago, in your years?”

Marcus blinked. He had expected it to be a long time, but that… that was far more ancient than he'd expected. If Tiberius's Rome had persisted for that long in his world, then it must have been a greater empire than he imagined.

“The empire reigned for only a few millennia, so some wood elves use that evidence to claim that the "old ways” had lasted much longer and were therefore superior. However, they neglect to remember that they were the most prosperous and peaceful time in our history. And that in the time since we have flourished even away from the rest of the world.” Iladrien said with fire in his voice.

Marcus could only imagine how bloody their history or “old ways” had been if the Romans were considered peaceful. That had not been his experience with them so far.

They spent the remainder of their rest speaking about elven culture and history, then continued their conversation as the column got moving once more. Based on their askance glances, Marcus could tell that Iladrien and his men also held a healthy disdain for horses like he did. However, riding the beast allowed Marcus to stay near a practical speaking height with the elf as they moved. That, and allowed him to actually continue the conversation without [Running] alongside the column as he desperately gasped for breath.

The more they spoke, the more he got the impression that the imperial and wood elves held more in common than either of them would like to admit. To them, the idea that “the forest is the greatest asset of the Imperial province” was vastly different from saying “the forest is the greatest asset of the elven race,” enough so that countless wars had been fought over the distinction. And that was to say nothing of the other splinter groups of elves that could be found throughout the world like sea elves, ice elves, or even drow.

Of course, Marcus didn't voice such thoughts. That seemed like the quickest way to offend the imperial elven diplomat and bring their conversation to a screeching halt. But while Marcus was eager to continue, reality unfortunately intruded in the form of a shout from Gaius.

"Form up! Prepare for battle!"

The sudden crack of his voice had Marcus swiveling around in an instant. The column had already come to a screeching halt, the centurions barking orders as it rearranged into a defensive formation. He looked around for the threat, but could see nothing in any direction. That was, until he recalled how Gaius had been looking up.

Marcus's eyes rose skyward. There in the distance, a large pink dot was approaching from the west. Its size grew with alarming speed, and its trajectory seemed to indicate that it was headed straight for their direction. Gaius seemed to think the same, given how he'd sounded the alarm.

The Legionnaires that had projectiles and ranged weapons began to ready them. Slings unwrapped from waists and mobile ballistae were tensioned in preparation for the coming threat. Gaius appeared at Marcus's side, strangely on foot rather than atop his horse.

“Dismount. Now.”

“What—”

“That thing eats horses. So unless you want to end up as a nice bit of flaming garnish atop its dinner of horseflesh, you need to get down now.”

Marcus didn't need to be told again. He scrambled down from the horse in a rush. Before his feet even touched the ground, a Legionnaire had it by the reins and began to rush it away.

“We're sending the horses away from the column to avoid collateral damage. If we're as lucky as Quintus was, it'll be satisfied with just our mounts.” Gaius turned to Iladrien. “I don't know if it has a taste for deer. But unless you have a way to defeat that thing, I'd recommend doing the same.”

Iladrien grimaced and shook his head. “I fear that is not an option for us. Our steeds are more than just mounts. To lose them would be crushing. But rest assured, we shall distance ourselves to ensure that our refusal does not bring trouble down upon your men.”

Iladrien wheeled around on his massive deer. As one, the other elves followed, their mounts bounding gracefully away with impressive speed. Perhaps they might even be fast enough to outrun the dragon. But Marcus had no time to marvel at the sight. 

The pink dot quickly resolved into a massive dragon whose spread wings seemed to fill the skies. A quick appraisal of the creature made the situation even more clear. They couldn't fight that thing. It was so many orders of magnitude above that adventuring party that it wasn't even funny. No matter how strong the Legion was, it would be suicidal.

“Hold your fire until it shows signs of aggression towards us!” He heard Gaius shout. “We don't want to gain its attention if we can avoid it.”

Marcus pulled the young officer aside and pointed. “That is what happened to Quintus’s horses?” At his answering nod, Marcus's voice took on a hint of incredulity. “Why the hell did we bring them then?!”

“Well who the fuck would have imagined it happens again?!” Gaius shouted in exasperation. “It sounded too absurd to be anything more than a fluke!”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "...You just really didn't want to march, did you?"

"Now's not the time for this!" Gaius scowled, his face reddening. "Get moving! If that thing decides to come after us, you'd better be ready to fight too!"

Marcus took the non-answer as a "yes", but didn't push it further. Instead, he readied his spellbook and flipped to a page near the back. He held no illusions that even the strongest of his spells would so much as tarnish the quartz luster of its scales. But if the alternative was certain death, then he'd have to try. 

The giant beast swooped down into a dive toward their formation. He felt every man around him tense and ready their weapons. But before it reached them, the dragon swerved sideways toward the trio of horses they'd sent away from the formation.

The dragon scorched, snapped up, and swallowed the sorry steeds one after another. First Gaius's, then Marcus's, and finally the mount that had been carrying the baroness and her daughter. Each disappeared into the toothy maw in a rather macabre display of flames and bloody viscera.

Marcus supposed he now had an answer for why there were so few horses in the area.

Once it had finished, the dragon let out a puff of smoke in apparent satisfaction. Then, it took to the skies once more, shrinking as it disappeared behind a hill. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief and relaxed. The attack had left them alive and unharmed, save for the three mounts.

Their relief lasted for less than a minute before the dragon circled back.

B2 Chapter 45: Escort Quest

B2 Chapter 45: Escort Quest

Marcus walked quickly through the Legionnaires' camp as he followed the messenger towards the city. He had been on quite a lucky streak in dice, and he did mean lucky, he only sometimes cheated among these men, when he'd been interrupted by a summons. One from the Legatus himself.

It had been a while since Tiberius had called upon him like this. That wasn't to say they hadn't been in contact though. They still had regular meetings, albeit less frequently than before, or the leader of the Legionnaires would simply send someone to inquire about a matter on his behalf. The growth of Tiberius's little empire meant the man was always more busy and weighed down with responsibility than the day before.

Marcus of course made an effort to always be available for whatever was required of him. It was only polite. Besides, staying useful was the best way to ensure he continued to enjoy his special privileges. Such as having free reign around the camp, being privy to many of the Legion's plans, and generally being alive.

Not that he thought the Romans would execute him without reason, of course. They had so far been fairly reasonable people, especially the rank and file. Mostly. To anyone who wasn't actively trying to fight them. Really, the idea of falling out of the Legion's good graces and having to navigate through Novara again just wasn't that attractive.

As they left the camp and made their way toward the city's front gates, Marcus pondered what the emperor might want from him this time. The messenger had given no indication about the reason for his summons one way or another, but it usually had to do with intelligence or filling some gap in the man's knowledge of this world. Nowadays, those gaps had become increasingly related to the political landscape and governmental structure of Novara. So this was likely something in that vein.

Maybe he wanted to know something about the baroness? Possible. Marcus has made sure to check in on her occasionally. The woman was still confined, but a bit less combative than before. She no longer lashed out at her guards with the same regularity, which he counted as an improvement for both her sake and theirs.

He couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for the woman and her daughter. It was why he did what he could to make sure they were comfortable, safe, and well-fed.

The last one wasn't really a problem, thankfully, and the first two were easy enough to manage with a few well-placed words. Just a nudge to ensure that one particularly surly Legionnaire was taken off of guard duty and put to work elsewhere, or the guard who had gotten a little too drunk on looted whiskey was replaced with a more merciful one. Little things here and there.

So far, things had been going smoothly, so he wasn't too worried.

When he was finally led into the former baron's study, Marcus saw that he was not the only one attending this meeting.

“Marcus, my friend! It's good to see you!”

Gaius grinned as the bard entered. Marcus made to bow, but the young officer didn't let him. Instead, they clasped forearms as Gaius pulled the other man in to slap him heartily on the back.

Marcusn let out an involuntarily woof of air at the impact. He returned the gesture with as much heartiness as he could, but he just didn't have the constitution and strength that this level four did. It was a little bit embarrassing in his opinion, but luckily no one seemed to hold it against him.

“Gaius. It's good to see you as well. You've certainly grown since I saw you last.”

Gaius snorted. “You’re far too young to sound so much like my grandfather, Marcus.”

“Well, I am older than you.” The bard pointed out.

“True. But then, most everyone is.” The officer's eyes twinkled. “Although I suppose I do find myself in the company of the oldest geezers more often than most of the men.”

Gaius glanced towards Tiberius as he spoke. His words were obviously an effort to lighten the mood. However, that effort fell on deaf ears.

Tiberius's face was stone, clearly unamused by his officer's antics. The growing smirk fell unceremoniously from Gaius's face as he paled. If he had to guess, Tiberius would be having words with him later. He probably didn't appreciate the overly-familiar ribbing in front of someone like Marcus or the aides that perpetually accompanied him. Appearances had to be kept, after all.

Marcus swept into a bow to reassure Tiberius that no respect had been lost. As he straightened, he saw that Gaius had stepped to the side and was waiting for his superior to speak. Evidently, the pleasantries were over. 

“Bard Marcus. I have a request for you.”

A “request” from an Emperor was simply a more diplomatic way of saying “orders”. Even if Marcus was not a soldier under Tiberius's command, he'd be an absolute fool to treat it as anything else. Yet the fact that he'd worded things so was incredibly heartening. It was a show of respect, one that Marcus did not take for granted.

Marcus bowed again. "I am here to serve, Emperor."

Given how he'd reacted to Gaius’s joke, it seemed prudent to opt for a more formal manner of address at the moment. Given that Tiberius made no move to correct him, Marcus assumed he'd been right on the mark. 

The Legatus motioned toward his officer. "I am sending Gaius to negotiate the ransom of the baroness and return her to the duke, should an arrangement be reached. I would like you to accompany him. Advise him on the political landscape and ensure that any local customs and formalities are observed, within reason.”

“But of course. It would be an honor.”

He would be more than able to do that. While Marcus had never actually been a part of ransoming someone before, he certainly knew how it was supposed to work. Not to mention that diplomacy was one of his specialties.

“You will be accompanied by a full cohort. And to keep the baroness out of reach until a deal is made.” Tiberius continued, turning to Gaius. “Based on the information Marcus has provided, I do not anticipate the duke will take the risk to retrieve his daughter by force. But it is better to ensure that he is not tempted to try based on perceived weakness.”

“Thank you, Legatus.” Gaius said, far more formally than before. “I will strive to ensure that the men under my command are well taken care of.”

“See that you do. Remember that you are there to negotiate, not to conquer. Should the use of force prove necessary, you are to immediately report back. Reinforcements shall be provided to ensure that any aggression is properly dealt with.”

Gaius nodded in acknowledgement. “It will be done, Legatus. Although I suspect that a full cohort will be enough to quell any resistance we may encounter."

"Be that as it may, I would prefer not to take unnecessary losses. Not when we may preserve our numbers by overwhelming the enemy with our numbers." Tiberius said simply.

"Understandable." Gaius agreed, a small smile finding his face once again. "Though I do appreciate you sending such a strong fighter along with me."

"Oh?" Tiberius raised an eyebrow.

Gaius gestured to Marcus. "This man. I told you of his exploits in that underground colosseum. It seems as though he's a little more capable than he would have us believe."

Tiberius swung his gaze to take in the bard. Marcus just shrugged and spread his hands innocently. "What is a performer without tricks up his sleeves?” He said with a flourish, producing one of the flowers he always kept handy. It disappeared back into a hidden pocket within his shirt. “Although I wouldn't go so far as to say that I'm a fighter. But I can handle myself when so required.”

He intentionally left out how much of his combat abilities were dependent on expensive and highly difficult to replace single-use spells. No need to lay all of his weaknesses on the table.

Tiberius simply grunted. “It seems that you are more useful than you let on.”

“Surely not. What use would my meager abilities be in comparison to the strength of your men?” Marcus smiled.

It was a rare display of humility, but one made for good reason. After all, he couldn't have the Legion thinking that he was some sort of combat asset that belonged on the battlefield. Not only was it not true, but such a misunderstanding was liable to get him killed. Especially with the caliber of foe they'd been facing as of late. 

No, he was far more satisfied to stay in his role as an informant and adviser. That had already proven enough to make Tiberius classify him as useful, even with the additional scouts and information sources that the Legatus now employed. Even if he could get knowledge from the locals they'd conquered, Marcus was simply more convenient, cooperative, and knowledgeable about certain political matters in particular.

“The men will be ready to leave in the morning. That is all.”

“If I may, emperor?” Marcus interjected before his attention fully turned to other matters. At a motion from Tiberius, he continued. “You intend to conquer the duchy sooner rather than later, correct? Then what is the purpose behind squeezing ransom money out of them now rather than taking it by force later?”

Tiberius nodded, seemingly not offended by the question. "Gold now is gold that he won't have to arm, pay, and feed his troops. Especially once he and others become more aware of our intentions for conquest and wary of our forces. Extracting what value we can now will make our future battles easier and provide us valuable resources in the short term.”

“I see. Well. As I've said,” Marcus began, “The duke is a very reasonable and competent man. I do not anticipate any… drastic action on his part. However, I cannot help but wonder if there is more that can be accomplished on this venture than simply securing a ransom.”

Gaius shot him a perplexed look, while Tiberius remained impassive. “Explain.”

“Well. As a reasonable man, he has often found himself at odds with the king in the past. Never so severely as to endanger himself or his position, of course. But enough that he has found himself on the receiving end of some rather tyrannical stipulations more than once.

“Should he find a more agreeable arrangement under which he may better thrive, the thread of his already tenuous loyalty may finally snap. Perhaps he would be willing to hear out a more peaceable relationship with the Legion where others have not.”

Tiberius remained silent for a long moment after Marcus finished. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists. "You assume that I would even want this man as an ally."

Marcus didn't bat an eye. "Even with the majority of his forces being diverted toward the western front, the duke is still a powerful man, and not just when it comes to material goods. Connections with merchants, influence with other nobles, and the benefits of a specialized class… Not to mention that having someone with a great reputation and decades worth of experience continue to run the duchy will surely be a boon. Whether you make him an ally or simply require him to swear fealty is a matter for you to decide, however."

"It would be reasonable for a man to hold ill will against those who kidnapped his family." Tiberius shot back. "Who is to say that his loyalty to us would not be as fleeting?"

The bard couldn't help but scoff. "With all due respect, emperor, his 'fleeting' loyalty endures to this day, even despite the king's best efforts to squash it. In fact, I doubt it will be easy to bring the man around to the Legion's side. But I believe it can be done, and that doing so may be worthwhile. As for the matter of the ransom… the fact that we will deliver his daughter and granddaughter safely rather than allow them to be executed can be spun in such a way as to earn goodwill."

Tiberius considered the proposal in silence. Marcus wasn't honestly sure whether he'd go for it. After all, simply rolling over the region with force of numbers was an entirely viable option. But there were definite benefits to the alternative.

After a long moment, Tiberius nodded. Beside him, Marcus caught a fleeting look of surprise flit across Gaius's expression before he masked it. "Very well. I will permit you to attempt to bring the duke to our side. However," Tiberius warned as he looked at them both, "this will not supplant your mission to negotiate a ransom. Regardless of the duke's allegiances at the end of this, I expect a hefty sum of gold to accompany you on your return."

With a final wave, the emperor dismissed them both. Gaius saluted as Marcus gave one last flourishing bow. As they stepped into the hall and shut the door behind them, Gaius let out a breath.

"So. Seems as though we have our work cut out for us." The Legionnaire remarked.

"Indeed." Marcus smiled. His thoughts were already weaving plans on how to persuade the duke. It would be tricky, but not impossible by any means. The world of wits and words was his own personal battlefield, after all.

Now he just had to hope that the duke was as reasonable as he'd claimed.

B2 Chapter 44: All Hail

B2 Chapter 44: All Hail

Conquering a city was always a worthwhile venture. Even in the simplest of assaults, the excitement and sense of accomplishment sent Tiberius's heart pounding. Pluto, it was practically the purpose of his life.

Subduing it afterwards was torture.

It was boring. It was tedious. It was usually far more difficult than it needed to be. And it practically never involved even the slightest bit of excitement. Even on the rare occasion that someone did resist by force, their bright idea was always shot down with brutal efficiency. What chance did resistance have at this point, when their armies had already been dealt with?

No, the aftermath of conquering territory was never something Tiberius had particularly looked forward to. There were some commanders who just left it to their underlings, or others who did take some kind of sadistic pleasure in instilling fear among the populace. But not him.

Tiberius looked out over the city from the balcony of the baron's mansion. He once again made an effort to keep the population intact as much as possible. Of course, he and his men had to make a few examples, but that was only to be expected. He was aiming for minimal casualties, not zero. After all, with the effort they'd spent to take the place, leaving it as a bloody ruin would simply be wasteful. Not when civilians and laborers were in such short supply.

Though he was still considering demolishing the infrastructure altogether. The city itself had no strategic importance and could benefit from renovation. No, the only real important thing was its status as the seat of the barony. So long as the System recognized it as such, then Tiberius had no qualms about molding it as he saw fit.

He looked over the line of pikes in the distance, their neat line on clear display for the public. It had been three days, and things had mostly settled down. The people had stopped trying to riot sometime during the second day when a few dozen of the ringleaders were executed. The sight rather intentionally reminded them of the fate of the baron and his party.

That was another rather fortunate development. Evidently, the men who had followed the baron as he sallied forth hadn't been just anyone. They'd been other leaders and respected members of the city. A group of local heroes, essentially. Meaning that Quintus hadn't just cut off one head of the hydra. He'd effectively destroyed them all, cauterizing the stumps before any could erupt into a more troublesome urban rebellion. It had utterly broken the town's spirit.

As Tiberius scanned the streets below, he saw the Legionnaires escorting a group of the town's men toward the outskirts of the city. Very few among them were of fighting age, most too young or too old to be of real use in combat. At least, by the standards Tiberius was used to. Who was to say that was still the case in this world?

Most of the able-bodied ones would be added to the workforce to alleviate their lack of laborers. Those with valuable skills would obviously be put to work in their relevant fields as well. As for the rest… well, there were other options as well.

The sight made Tiberius think. So far, most of their auxiliaries had been sourced from Habersville as conscripts or volunteers. They'd picked up a few from Stonester as well, but most of their men were needed to help rebuild the city. Well, "needed" might have been a strong term. The Legion obviously could do it themselves, but that would mean taking them away from campaigns and training and the mountain of other projects that required their attention.

But as the scale of their conquests continued to grow, the need for additional manpower in the military department also did. Perhaps they would need to allocate a portion of these people to train as auxiliaries as well.

Of course, it was always dangerous to arm a captured populace. Much less train them well in combat. But Tiberius didn't have much of a choice. He wasn't naive enough to believe that his Legion would continue to emerge from battles without serious losses. They would need a way to replace their fallen men at some point. And if Tiberius wanted them to be even remotely competent, he needed them to start training yesterday.

He’d have his own men as officers, and they wouldn’t be given full training. Not at first. They would belong to archery units or something of the like until they proved themselves worthy of more. That, or until he had a better way of ensuring loyalty. Maybe there was some sort of skill or System-enforced oath one could use to that effect. He made a note to ask Marcus about it next time they spoke.

That was a matter for the future. For now, just taking inventory of the city and its resources would take weeks. He didn't need to oversee all of it, but he wanted to at least get the process rolling.

“Sir! The tribunus laticlavius is nearing the city. He will arrive shortly.”

“Good. Have him meet me in the study.”

At a wave from Tiberius, the messenger rushed away. The Legatus turned away from his inspection of the city and headed back inside.

One could argue that having Gaius come and personally check in was a bit superfluous. That was what reports were for. But he wanted an in-person update on Habersville, and having the young officer there meant he could ask questions and follow-ups as they came to mind. Besides , he was honestly grateful for the interruption.

Tiberius retreated to the baron's study in preparation for the meeting. A short while later, a knock on the door heralded Gaius's arrival. But he was not alone. 

"Gaius. Envoy Iladrien.” Tiberius greeted the pair as they entered. "I did not expect to see you so far from the forest."

The sharp-featured elf bowed. "Emperor Tiberius. It is a pleasure. I intended to await your return in Habersville, but your second convinced me to accompany him instead."

Tiberius looked to Gaius and nodded. "I see. I trust this means that negotiations have been progressing well?"

"Indeed, Legatus." Gaius stood straight, his bearing the picture of formality. "That is one of the reasons I requested Iladrien's presence."

"By the order of the senate of the Great Ruthin Forest, I have been granted the authority to negotiate on the behalf of my people." Iladien explained. "News of Rome's return has both shocked and pleased them, sparking much debate about what the future may hold. However, there are some points of consensus."

“Oh?” Tiberius raised an inquiring eyebrow. The fact that things were progressing even this quickly surprised him. He had never known a senate to reach any sort of consensus without multiple appropriately long and drawn out sessions of arguments and bickering.

The fact that the envoy had not only taken word to his people but also returned so quickly suggested that these decisions had taken no time at all to agree upon. It was enough to make him wonder if the word “senate” meant the same thing here as it did at home.

The Legatus leaned back in his seat. “Then, by all means. Enlighten me.”

“The Great Ruthin Forest wishes to rejoin the Roman empire.” Iladrien stated plainly.

Tiberius blinked. That was certainly more straightforward than expected. Of course, he had hoped to gain the elves as allies. Their apparent strength and value as trade partners were enough to make such an arrangement desirable. Maybe later on down the line they'd be able to annex their territory as well.

But if they wanted to join the empire immediately… well, that was the kind of proposal Tiberius had expected to float himself. Float and have shot down so they could meet somewhere in the middle.

“The terms and conditions of our joining comprise a large part of my discussions with Sir Gaius here.” Iladrien gestured to the officer by his side. “However, this is not the main reason that I decided to accompany him. Rather, I wish to offer you a gift on behalf of the senate.”

The elf produced a small chest from somewhere beneath his cloak. He reverently opened its lid and folded back the blanket of velvet that lay atop its contents.

A circlet comprised of two laurel branches sat atop a cushion within. The branches, rather than being made of wood, were of pure gold that shone so brightly that it practically glowed. Not a single speck of tarnish could be picked out along its surface.

Even from this distance Tiberius could see the incredible detail that had gone into the circlet's construction. It looked more like someone had dipped real branches into liquid gold rather than anything wrought by human hands.

“The crown of the first emperor.” The envoy announced. He set it before Tiberius before stepping back and bowing with a flourish. “A relic that my people have watched over for many millennia.”

Tiberius inspected the crown more closely. Up close, he could see very subtle engravings of eagles in flight along the branches themselves. The design was very clearly Roman, in a style that might have been in vogue some sixty years ago. It was actually just starting to come back around, and he could definitely see an emperor wearing this as ornamentation.

Of course, an emperor needed no crown. But the way the envoy spoke of this artifact, it seemed as if it held more than just ceremonial importance.

Tiberius reached down to touch it, then hesitated. He felt something from the circlet. Something… strange. A thrumming power, as though the circlet itself were alive.

His eyes narrowed, Could it be a trick? Flicking his attention to Iladrien, he saw the elf watching him expectantly. 

"This crown is enchanted." Tiberius said. It was not a question.

"Indeed it is." Iladrien readily admitted. Tiberius waited for him to elaborate, but no further explanation was forthcoming.

"How do I know this is not a trap? That you do not intend to do me harm with this item?"

"I would never dare to harm a Roman emperor." Iladrien met his gaze levelly. "I swear it."

Tiberius's frown deepened. He didn't miss the very specific wording that the envoy had used. He said that he would never harm an emperor—not that he wouldn't harm Tiberius. And while the elf had been using the term "emperor" to refer to him, there was something in his eyes. A question. Doubt. A kind of challenge.

The Legatus looked down once again at the crown and he understood. This was no trap. This was a test. A test to see if he was who he said he was, to see if he was worthy of that title

A test that he had no intentions of failing.

Tiberius reached down to pick up the crown. It felt heavy like gold should, but also warm. The metal hummed softly in his hands. 

He had no need to prove himself to the envoy. That was not his goal. But he could feel that same question thrumming within the item itself. Asking him who he was, if he was truly worthy.

Without hesitation, he lifted it higher and placed the laurel crown upon his brow.

There was a slight pulse as it made contact. Tiberius felt a searching sensation wash over him in a ripple, the tingle almost causing him to involuntarily shudder. Then, almost as soon as it had appeared, it vanished.

A flash of light filled the room. Not the blinding white of a level up, though. This was a warm gold that centered on Tiberius. He heard the Legionnaire guards around him react as the sensation of a summer breeze ruffled their hair and the plumes of their helmets.

Iladrien’s eyes went wide. When he spoke, it came out as a whisper. “It's true. It really is true.”

Tiberius met the elf's stare. “Have I passed your test, then?”

Immediately, the elven envoy dropped to his knees and bowed his head. He clasped one fist to his heart in salute. “Forgive me for ever doubting you. I simply needed to be certain.”

He raised his head and Tiberius saw tears welling in his eyes. “All hail the Emperor of Rome.”

This time, when he used the title, Tiberius saw nothing but reverence in Iladrien's gaze.

B2 Chapter 43: A Call to Adventure

B2 Chapter 43: A Call to Adventure

The overall layout of Habersville’s new area remained similar to that of a Legionary camp. The parallels, combined with the neat gridlike streets made it incredibly simple for any of the men to navigate.

As Quintus left Habersville proper, he couldn't help but feel a bit of relief wash over him. As much as the Legion had renovated the little city, there were still clear vestiges of its foreign origins sprinkled throughout. A nonsensical cluster of buildings here, a begrudging detour of a road there, a public area cut short by the realities of its surroundings…. Little things like that. 

Yet here, stepping back into the pristinely organized grid of streets felt oddly comforting. The buildings, too, made no effort to mirror the often strange layouts and properties of Habersville's former constructions. They were free to take on shapes and sizes of their own. And the ones the builders chose were obvious.

It was as close as he'd come to feeling like he was truly back home again. 

Quintus soaked in the sights as he walked, relishing the sensation. Rows of multi-story bunkhouses had sprang up seemingly overnight, providing more permanent lodgings than the tents and temporary wooden structures that they had been using up until this point. They were quite practical, but at the same time nostalgic.

Along the way he spotted a few regularly-spaced pairs of Legionnaire guards keeping order and occasionally providing directions. The centurion took a brief moment to confirm his destination with them before continuing on.

The new command center was a large, practically constructed building near the center of the district. It was not the most impressive building the Legion had built, that honor would have to go to the bathhouse or the temple of Mars, but its builders had clearly designed it with war in mind.

The windows and entrances were strategically placed so they'd be easy to defend. A flat roof provided a high ground for viewing the city as well as fortifications for defense. Even the walls, despite their ornamentation, bore plenty of features that would make them a nightmare to scale.

As he approached, Quintus saw that he was not the only one visiting. Outside of the building stood a group of strange deer-like creatures, though they were far larger than deer had any right to be. Their antlers stretched wider than a barn door and their hooves could undoubtedly cave in a grown man's chest. 

They stood in a majestic line to the side of the doorway, waiting like they were horses tied up on pickets despite lacking any such restraints. Nor did they have saddles, for that matter. But Quintus felt fairly certain that these creatures were mounts. And he also had strong suspicions about who they belonged to.

The massive, sturdy doors of the entrance swung outward at his approach. Quintus strode inside to see rows of broad desks stacked high with paperwork and ledgers. Officers and men more skilled in logistical work than himself bustled about with armfuls of scrolls and books alike.

This building was not simply a command center for the Legion. It had also replaced the mayor's manor as the center for government matters as well. Taxes, permits, and city planning matters all fell under this very roof.

All of that was secondary though. Important, of course, but still secondary in Quintus's mind.

A Legionnaire working at the front saluted as the centurion entered. "Primus! How may I assist you?"

"I must speak with the tribunus laticlavius. I have news from Hausten and orders from the Legatus."

"Of course, sir! He is currently occupied, but I can escort you to him. I'm certain he'll be eager to hear your report. Right this way."

The Legionnaire motioned for Quintus to follow. He was quickly led past the rows of desks and to a side room with a heavy oaken door. The man knocked twice, waited, then pushed it open.

Inside sat Gaius, the young officer sitting behind a large and ornately carved desk that Quintus recognized from Tiberius's command tent. Sitting before him were a group of lithe figures with smooth faces and long hair, their forest green robes pooling about them. Elves. At their head sat Iladrien, that emissary that had come to visit previously.

"Sir." The Legionnaire leading Quintus said. "I apologize for the interruption. The Primus Pilus is here to see you."

"Ah, what fortuitous timing." The lead elf rose gracefully to his feet. "Then I shall take my leave. It was a pleasure to speak with you, Sir Gaius.”

“And you as well, Iladrien.” Gaius rose to shake the elf’s hand. “I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship between our people.”

“As do I.”

The elves filed out past Quintus. As they moved, he realized that their steps didn't make a single sound. Nor did he feel the wind of their passage. It was… unsettling. If one of their number tried to sneak up and strike him unawares, Quintus wasn't certain that he'd see them coming.

Once the door shut and they were alone, Quintus stepped forward. He and Gaius clasped forearms.

“It’s good to see you home in one piece, uncle.” The young officer smiled. “Though I'm certain I can't say the same for your foes. I hear you’ve become even more of a terror on the battlefield.”

Quintus returned his smile. Gaius. His father had been a friend of Tiberius’s for a long time. Long enough that, when Gaius had first begun his training to use a sword, the now-Legatus had asked Quintus to personally teach the boy.

Of course, he'd agreed. And not just because it was a tongue-in-cheek admission from the old fox that Quintus was the better fighter. Though he had ended up liking the little rascal enough that he had been perhaps a little bit too light in his discipline.

“I’d much rather be there than sitting here and growing fat like you, little brat.” The centurion looked around the room. 

Gaius chuckled and released his grip. “I wish that I were. Between running the town, inspecting new constructions, and all of these meetings, I'd wager I'm getting in at least a dozen miles of travel each day. And the paperwork…”

The young officer shuddered, but Quintus knew it was mostly for show. This truly was the kind of environment a politician’s son would thrive in. Which was fortuitous, since it would certainly make Quintus want to find the nearest river and drown himself.

“But enough pleasantries.” Gaius clasped his hands behind his back and adopted the air of a commander once more. “To what do I owe the visit? Unless you simply decided to make a social call.”

“Obviously not.” Quintus retrieved a sealed scroll from his side and offered it up. “The siege and subsequent assault on Hausten was a success. We were able to eliminate their leadership and seize an important noblewoman for ransom. The Legatus has elected to remain at Hausten for the moment to ensure that the occupation and integration into the Empire goes smoothly."

He provided a brief summary of the report as Gaius accepted the scroll and broke its seal. The officer's eyes scanned the parchment quickly as Quintus waited patiently.

When he had finished, Gaius chuckled. “Well, it seems that your worries are unfounded, uncle. Tiberius is sending me off on an adventure of my own. So much for growing fat.”

Quintus shook his head at the boy’s casual attitude. “An ‘adventure’ is not the term I would use. Not for escorting a spoiled and bitter noblewoman to her father. It's hardly on the same level as hunting down some great beast or discovering a new realm.”

“Well, we haven't pushed deep enough to reach the duke's territory before now. Sure, a few scouts may have stopped by for a look, but no more than that.” Gaius pointed out. “And I will be returning with great riches. She's with Tiberius, right?”

The centurion nodded. “She is being held securely at Hausten.”

Gaius glanced up from the scroll with a mischievous look in his eye. “Is she pretty at least?”

Quintus resisted the urge to smack the back of the young man’s head. No matter their relationship, the upstart was technically Quintus’s commanding officer at the moment, he still had to show some respect. And while calling him a brat was one thing, actually laying hands on a superior was another.

Instead, he settled for a sigh of deep disappointment. “Perhaps. It was difficult to judge, seeing how I hardly saw any expression on her besides bitter resentment. The constant death glares didn't exactly help, either.”

Gaius shook his head. “One of these days, we need to find you a good woman to settle down with, uncle.”

Quintus snorted. “You're far too young to be telling me that, little brat. And besides, she would be a poor choice regardless. I did kill her husband.”

“A widow, too?” Gaius clicked his tongue. “That just means she's available.”

The centurion shook his head again. Truly, the young officer had different priorities than he did. 

“Anyway,” Gaius set the report on his desk. “Is there anything else?”

Quintus started to shake his head, then hesitated. “No. However… what did the elves want?”

“Oh!” Gaius waved a hand dismissively as he walked back around the massive desk. “That. Two things, mainly. The first is something they insist on giving Tiberius. The second is merely a continuation of our negotiations.”

“Negotiations?”

“Right, you may be out of the loop. It seems that the elves were quite serious when they claimed to have once been a part of Rome. So much so, in fact, that they want to join the empire once more.”

Quintus's eyebrows rose. “Truly?”

“It seems that way. At least, their intentions seem honest from the matters we've spoken about. They have been surprisingly eager, even considering the conditions we're considering putting on them.”

The centurion’s brow furrowed. “Hmmm… but if they are as Roman as they claim, why would they wish to subjugate themselves so?”

“A few reasons. The first is that they seem to be under the impression that, once they prove themselves worthy, they will be on a path to be treated as full citizens. The second…” Gaius smiled. “Well, when all is said and done and we've taken over the world, they want to be on the winning side.”

Quintus's eyes widened and he barked a short laugh. It seemed that someone in this world was taking them seriously, at least. He certainly wouldn't complain. Especially if it brought capable allies to their side.

“Now, if there's nothing else…” Gaius patted a stack of paperwork sitting beside him. “I should get back to work. I have much to accomplish before heading out if I'm to make your life easier.”

The Primus Pilus stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don't act so surprised, uncle.” Gaius’s face was the picture of innocence. “With me gone and Tiberius at Hausten, someone will need to take charge of things here. And while the other officers are certainly capable, they're already up to their ears in reports and permits themselves. As Primus Pilus, it's your duty to step up where needed and set an example, is it not?”

Quintus groaned as Gaius's smile stretched into a grin.

B2 Chapter 42: Home, Sweet Home

B2 Chapter 42: Home, Sweet Home

The Legion barely had to narrow their column as they passed over the bridge to Habersville. What had once been a quick and temporary stopgap now had been replaced with a more permanent construction of quality stone, the materials courtesy of Stonester, allowing them to easily stride ten abreast. It was even wide enough to allow siege engines across, a nice bit of foresight that Tiberius had surely appreciated.

The men's steps clattered against the bridge, the studs lining the soles of their caligae ringing with deafening thunder. Quintus briefly considered whether even this bridge may need to be widened eventually, yet discarded the notion. It would likely be unnecessary. Besides, doing so would make no sense unless they also widened the path through the forest even further, a move which would also make pursuit easier for their foes.

Of course, Quintus didn't anticipate pursuit being an issue. Not with how well battles had been going for them. Even if they were forced to retreat by a superior foe, the probability that the Legion would even survive to travel this far was slim at best. He couldn't imagine more than a handful of men surviving that dragon attack if it truly had been after them instead of the horses.

Although a superior for also probably wouldn't care about the bridge. They'd likely be able to simply leap or fly over the river anyway. Hell, many of their own men might be able to as well, if not now then in a few levels.

Life was truly odd.

As they filed down the forest path, they found it quite a bit busier than ever before. When Quintus had left there had already been some evidence of travel, but now it had greatly increased. Carts being pulled along by slow beasts of burden were commonplace, their owners watching from the side of the road as the Legion passed. A few children riding atop said carts even waved excitedly at the soldiers.

Quintus emerged from the treeline alongside his men and took in the sight of Habersville. It hadn't been long since they'd left on their latest campaign. Yet even their short absence had proven enough for some significant changes to be made at their home base.

The village had expanded once again to fill its clear-cut surroundings. In addition to the Legionnaires' camp and Habersville itself, a third area had been added on as well—a more permanent set of barracks and residences for the Legion that had seemingly sprung up overnight. The three sections of the budding city together were encircled by stone walls that stood even higher than the trees themselves.

Before, Quintus might have considered the height of the walls a bit excessive. But now, after his encounter with the dragon? He couldn't help but wonder if they could be expanded further and turned into some kind of defensive dome. It was something to ask the engineers and builders about.

The men passed through the outer wall of the city and headed toward the old camp. The Legionnaires standing watch saluted Quintus as he neared. "Primus! I hear the assault went well?"

"Indeed." Quintus confirmed, returning the salute. "Was there any doubt that it would?"

"No, sir!" The man hurriedly assured him. "I would never dare doubt our forces!”

Quintus chuckled. "If you have no doubt, then you are either arrogant or a fool. I've heard far too many tales of men being humbled for their hubris to take any battle for granted.”

The Legionnaire stammered as Quintus passed him by. Perhaps it was a bit harsh and maybe the man meant nothing but congratulations. But it was clear that the man hadn't experienced the real threats this world had to offer.

Quintus looked up. Atop the wall, he noted quite a number of mounted ballistae and other ranged weaponry that stood ready to fend off invaders, as well as a collection of other defensive features that they had been able to build. Proper crenellations, murder holes, protruding tops that made them difficult to scale… it was all there.

It was truly a relief to see. He'd almost forgotten what proper fortifications looked like, given what he'd had to deal with so far. But their enemies' failures were to their benefit. If Hausten had boasted defenses such as these, the Legion would have needed to think twice before assaulting it.

As the column returned home—or rather, the closest thing they had to a home at the present moment—the Legionnaires were debriefed and dismissed in batches. Many moved to explore the changes the town had undergone, but most went to retrieve their things and move them to the new barracks.

Quintus considered doing the same, but honestly? He hadn't collected many belongings besides those he marched with. Well, he hadn't before this battle.

He glanced over his shoulder at the suit of silver armor he now carried. Intricate engravings decorated the edges and breastplate, making its already polished surface seem to glitter in the sunlight. Despite its sturdiness and overall bulky size, the whole set somehow weighed even less than his own.

Tiberius had awarded the armor to him for a job well done at Hausten. He said it was only fitting, seeing as Quintus had been the one to slay It's original owner.

He wasn't entirely sure what he would do with it yet. Perhaps he would keep it as a display piece. Or perhaps he'd speak with the master blacksmith about altering it into something that Quintus might actually use. It fit the centurion surprisingly well, but there were plenty of qualms he had with the functionality of heavy armor such as this.

That was a matter to consider later. For now, there were other things that demanded his attention. Specifically, he needed to report to Gaius.

Quintus turned away from the old camp and headed for the new district. The route took him through Habersville proper, and he took advantage of the opportunity to inspect the changes that had been made there as well.

As it turned out, the new district wasn't the only thing the Legion had been hard at work on. Habersville had already been in the process of being modernized, but it seemed that the last vestiges of barbarian constructions were finally disappearing. 

In their place stood proper walls of concrete and decorative pillars of a quality he had yet to see in this world. Burbling canals ran alongside broad paved streets that allowed for ample sunlight to reach all parts of the city. On the outskirts, Quintus also saw that additional housing had been constructed, with even more in progress.

The expansion came not a moment too soon. Quintus knew as well as anyone that they needed more space. Some of the former residents of Stonester had been brought here during the city's reconstruction, and between them and the conscripts they'd captured only days before, space was certainly becoming hard to find

He saw that it wasn't just Legionnaires working on the projects, either. A group of people Quintus didn't recognize were helping to widen a canal along the street, their brows beaded with sweat. Evidently, the city was starting to make use of its new labor force.

Those weren't the only new faces, however. There were other visitors to Habersville as well. Not just family members visiting their loved ones, either. There were also farmers whose fields now fell inside of Rome's territory. Quintus recognized one or two of them as they passed in the street, as he had personally informed them of the new tax situation a while back. They seemed to recognize him as well, a few either waving or cringing away, depending on how their interaction had gone.

As he reached the center of town, he saw that it had been converted into a broad and grassy forum complete with fountains and a few statues of famous emperors. Around its periphery were a few parked carts, their signs and owners advertising various different wares. The centurion noted that one hawking wine and liquor had conspicuously empty shelves while the man running it wore a rather pleased expression.

Quintus just shook his head. How the merchants even knew to come here, he could only guess. But so long as they were bringing in worthwhile goods and paying taxes, he wouldn't complain. Though he couldn't help but feel a bit of pride at what he saw. The once-humble village was quickly becoming a place worth seeing.

His pride only grew as he passed through the temple district. Many of the temples to the Roman pantheon were finished, their craftsmanship of a quality that would have put even those in Rome to shame. Many sported statues of their gods before them, and while most were composed of marble or some similar white stone he couldn't name. He was a solider, not a mason after all. One was far more ornate than the rest. A tall, bearded man whose armor and spear shone with a coating of gold. A few small rubies adorned his helmet, the gems sparkling in the sunlight.

Quintus paused at the sight. He had never been particularly religious. Not really. He treated the worship of the gods as more of a tradition than anything. But things had changed since coming here. Quite considerably. Perhaps it might be worth rethinking his stance.

After a moment's hesitation, he headed toward the temple of Mars. As one might expect, this temple in particular saw a significant amount of traffic. While the other temples had their fair share of visitors, this one was absolutely packed. Quintus saw a fair amount of the Legionnaires he'd just returned with among the sea of faces, many praying or making offerings to the god of war after their victory.

There were no temple priests here. There were, however, Legionnaire volunteers stationed inside at regular intervals. Just like elsewhere in the city, they made sure that order was maintained at the temple.

Quintus made his way toward one of the flaming braziers at the back of the temple. After waiting his turn, he dug a few gold coins out of his pocket for an offering. Then, thinking for a moment, he also plucked a feather from the baron's helmet. Holding them all in his fist over the flames, Quintus muttered a soft prayer.

“For a swift victory over our foes. I offer you my thanks.”

He dropped the offering in. As he watched, the gold liquified and pooled in the bottom of the brasier. The flaming feather floated within, disintegrating into flecks of black ash that speckled the shining pool. Together, the gold and ash evaporated into a thin stream of shining smoke that rose up into the heavens.

Quintus watched the smoke go, then bowed his head respectfully. He'd heard some of the men’s talk of Mars, how the god had sent them signs in response to their offerings. He simply hadn't expected those signs to be so… direct.

Once the last of his offering disappeared, Quintus turned to leave the temple. He'd delayed long enough as it was. It was past time for him to speak with Gaius. Besides, there were plenty more soldiers waiting to make offerings of their own. And it wouldn't do to make a god wait.

As he left, a familiar smell seemed to linger in his nostrils. The smell of blood.

B2 Chapter 41: Taking Losses

B2 Chapter 41: Taking Losses

Gerald sat in his third favorite garden, reclining in a comfortable seat within as he sipped on his second favorite wine. It was before noon, after all. He couldn't let all the good pleasures of the day go to waste by indulging before he had a chance to actually do some work.

Besides, he was hosting a wine tasting event that evening. The upper crust of Novara's nobility would be in attendance as the finest winemakers from across the kingdom put forth their best offerings. There would even be a competition. That meant he had to keep his palate clear or else he wouldn't be able to judge properly.

Truly, Gerald had restraint befitting of a king.

Of course, he knew that not everyone appreciated his efforts. The faintest of rumblings that he spent too much time and money on such luxuries occasionally reached his ears. But they simply had no appreciation for the importance of such things. Being seen at events like this was a crucial way to assure the upper nobility to know that their king was well-refined and properly educated in good culture.

Though he had banned all eastern pinots from the event, as he simply could not stand the strange fermented notes that seemed to underlie each and every one of their vintages. Sure, he had to work hard to preserve his image and the people's respect for his refined nature, but he didn't have to torture himself.

As for the rumblings… well, they were hardly important. If they ever became too loud, he would be more than happy to silence them.

It was somewhere between his fourth and fifth glass, when the scantily clad women fanning him were switching out, that a notification appeared that totally ruined his good morning.

The barony of Wellshire had been lost. To the Roman Empire.

Gerald clenched his jaw. The fine crystal of his wine glass creaked as his grip on it tightened dangerously. He tossed the last of the ruby liquid within back down his throat before hurling it over his shoulder in frustration. The glass shattered against the floor.

That useless sack of shit Duke. He had told them to take care of this problem. And had he? No. He hadn't done a thing. And now the problem of these so-called “Romans” had resulted in him losing territory—in Novara losing territory.

"Scribe!" The king shouted, annoyance evident in his tone.

In moments, a scrawny-looking man in long robes scurried down the path. He darted to the king’s side, a pen and paper at the ready.

"Duke of Redcliffe,” Gerald ground out. The sound of quiet scratching reached his ears as the scribe obligingly took down the words. “I issued you a simple task—to handle the band of upstarts responsible for seizing that backwater town. And yet you have failed. Not only that, but your failure has resulted in the loss of even more territory. I am certain you are already aware that this no-name ‘empire’ has claimed the barony of Wellshire from beneath your nose. Your incompetence has left me speechless.

“You will not receive the forces that you requested as a consequence of your own actions. Furthermore, I expect the rest of your dutchy to make up for this loss in the form of increased levies and tax revenue. You will be required to send an additional thousand men to the western front by the end of the month.

“In…” the king did some quick math. It took about a week to travel between the capital and the duchy normally, so if he wanted to impress urgency upon the man… “In four days, you will present yourself before my throne to explain yourself. Pray to the gods I do not decide to punish you further.  Signed, your majesty, yada yada yada." Gerald finished. waving his hand dismissively. He was confident that the scribe would add all of his titles.

When he had finished, the scrawny man bobbed his head wordlessly and disappeared just as quickly as he'd come. Gerald dismissed the matter from his mind. It was someone else's job to press his seal into the letter and ensure it was sent along.

Gerald sighed, reclining in his chair once more. Dictating that letter and voicing his frustrations had calmed him down quite considerably. It had also allowed him to regain a bit of perspective. After all, what was one small barony at the edge of the kingdom? From what he recalled, it didn't produce anything of particular value. Just stone, lumber, and other mundane things. Its entire worth likely didn't compare to even a tenth of his wine cellar.

That didn't mean that he'd let the duke off easy. Of course not. Losing territory like this was still an embarrassment that someone had to answer for. But it did help him relax.

He clicked his fingers. One of his attendants stepped forward, an attractive woman who was obviously quite pleasing to look at.

"Read to me the list of entries in the wine competition again."

"Yes... Yes, Your Majesty," the woman said, swallowing. She began to list off all the different vintages that would be presented, by whom, and the people backing each winemaker. Gerald closed his eyes in satisfaction as he listened.

Now he just had to remember who had donated the most to his last party.

***

Quintus watched as the distant shape in the sky drew ever closer. Its blurry pink outline slowly resolved until he was able to make out additional details. Its wings did indeed resemble those of a bat, although its body was another story. It was covered from head to toe in scales with a head and tail almost like those of a strange lizard.

“A… a dragon…” An almost reverent whisper rose from one of the men. Quiet mutters rippled through the formation as other Legionnaires also registered the appearance of the approaching form.

Quintus took another look. Sure enough, the head of the creature in the sky did bear some resemblance to the fearsome beast of legend. Still, the draco was not a real creature. It wasn't supposed to exist. Then again, this world had yet to come up short when it came to surprises.

"Why is it pink?"

“What color would it be, Lucilus?”

“I don't know. Something majestic like gold or red or purple. Not pink.”

“I don't know what to tell you, man. We're looking at a beastv of legend and you're complaining about it's color.”

“Focus!” Quintus snapped. His command immediately shut the men up and made them turn their attention back toward the approaching threat. At least. He assumed it was a threat. If they were lucky it may just fly over rather than attack them. But he wasn't counting on it.

"It's level 63," one of his scouts called out in warning.

Quintus felt his throat go dry. The Legion had faced foes above their level before, of course. But never by such a large margin. And certainly never from the air like this. 

The Legionnaires waited with bated breath as the dragon drew closer and closer. It took an alarmingly short amount of time for it to close the distance. And when it did, Quintus realized that it was larger than he'd anticipated. Much larger.

The thunderous sound of beating wings echoed across the terrain. Suddenly, the pink creature changed course. It swooped down towards the Legion, its claws extended. Quintus's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue until it came into range.

"Second cohort, loose!"

The whizzing of countless sling stones filled the air in a nearly deafening cacophony. The projectiles hurtled toward the creature as it dove, the vast majority finding their mark. But it was no use. They pinged harmlessly off of its scales with seemingly no effect.

Quintus swore under his breath. "Spears at the ready!"

The men nearest the dragon's flight path got ready to fight. With where the dragon had chosen to swoop down, neither they nor the archers would be able to get a clear shot without putting other units in danger. They'd have to wait until it repositioned for them to fire.

They all braced for impact, waiting for the massive beast to tear through their ranks. Yet rather than diving for the nearest century of Legionnaires, the dragon leveled out to swoop toward the edge of their formation. Quintus heard an animalistic scream as it claimed its first victim.

No, not animalistic—it was an animal's scream. A horse's to be exact.

He couldn't help but gape as the massive pink dragon began to rise once more, one of their freshly–liberated mounts clutched tight in its talons and another in its jaws. The horses flailed wildly, eyes rolling in their heads as the distance between them and the earth below grew rapidly. Quintus saw blood trickle down the flanks of the one in its jaw.

“Auxiliaries, fire!”

Hundreds of bowstrings twanged in unison as they released arrows at the retreating beast. Yet they had just as little effect as the slings. They skittered or simply shattered against the sparkling scales like simple toothpicks.

The dragon snapped its head into the air, tossing the horse in its jaws upward and catching it again. It shook the animal back and forth like a wolf might shake its prey. The movement snapped its neck and the animal went limp, its limbs flailing about as though it were a mere toy.

After a few more tosses, the dragon finally bit down on its prey with a sickening crunch. Its massive jaws chewed on the horse, swallowing a chunk of it as blood and bits of horseflesh rained down on the men below. They raised their shields just quickly enough to avoid being showered with it. 

Quintus gritted his teeth at the casual display of strength. If the beast could do that to a horse…

“Arm the ballistae!” He shouted as the dragon began tossing the second horse about in the air. “Fire once it comes in range!”

Most of the siege engines had remained with Tiberius, and understandably so. However, a few of the prototype portable ballistae had been sent back to Habersville with him. Their construction was more useful against personnel, something that had been in short supply for their current enemy. Sending them home would also allow them to get a head start on repairs and improvements. Besides, there were no shortage of full-sized ballistae at the siege.

A group of brawny Legionnaires hefted the massive weapons and aimed them skyward. Once more, the air filled with projectiles as the ballistae cracked toward the descending dragon. Most went wide, but a few struck the dragon in its flank.

The dragon jolted in apparent surprise at the impacts. It roared, the sound oddly high-pitched like a cat's yowl. But even the siege weaponry was powerless to break through. In fact, Quintus feared that they had just made it angry.

Its head whipped around to look at the ballista wielders. Yet rather than charge after them like he'd expected, it continued down toward the horses once again, scooping up another pair of the panicking animals.

"What do we do, sir?" One of the centurions yelled as the ballistae fired again. 

Quintus was at a loss himself. They had proven completely unable to damage the creature, yet it also had shown no interest in harming them. Not yet, at least. It could change its mind at why second. And given its speed, Quintus was fairly certain that they wouldn't outrun the thought if they chose to retreat.

His eyes darted toward the horses. The horses that seemed to be the sole target of the dragon. Even now, Legionnaires were attempting to calm them and keep the beasts from escaping.

“...We keep fighting.” He said simply. "Spears ready!”

The orders went out as the Legionnaires retreated from the still-panicking horses. The men readied a round of throwing spears. They would try and blast the thing out of the sky before it reached the mounts again.

They didn't have too many of the spears left among them. Between the fight with the adventurers and the baron's charge, they had lost quite a number of the weapons already. The use had been worthwhile, but Quintus still wished they had more firepower at this moment.

The pink beast finished toying with its latest round of horses and began to circle back once more. But this time, something was different. It opened its maw as it approached, an orange glow beginning to fill its mouth.

[Battlefield Intuition] screamed at Quintus as the orders left his mouth. "Fall back! Now!"

The men didn't need to be told twice. They rushed away from the horses as the other Legionnaires in the dragon's path did the same. Moments later, a gout of orange flame poured forth from the beast's mouth and incinerated the ground before it.

Quintus felt his eyebrows singe from the intensity of the heat. Most of the horses were incinerated in an instant. Those that weren't had their hair and bridles catch fire from sheer proximity. They began to stampede in every direction, some even charging toward Legionnaires in their blind panic.

The men scattered allowing the flaming steeds to run past. They didn't last long. The flames ran across their hides with supernatural speed, resisting even a few men's token attempts to toss water or thick cloaks atop them.

Looking up, the dragon had once more captured a few of the remaining horses—albeit a bit more charred than before. This time, after going through its normal routine of playing with its food, the dragon circled once overhead and winged away towards the horizon.

It took a moment for things to calm down. The last of the burning horses' dying screams echoed as the sound of heavy wingbeats disappeared into the distance. Then, it was quiet.

"Status report." Quintus demanded. "What's the damage?"

That got everyone moving again. As his centurions took stock of the situation, he was relieved to hear that they hadn't lost any men. No one had suffered more than a slight burn from that final attack. Even most of their equipment appeared fine.

But they had managed to lose every single horse.

"What in Neptune’s name just happened?" Quintus growled, his frustration leaking through.

B2 Chapter 40: Death from Above

B2 Chapter 40: Death from Above

Tiberius kept his head on a swivel as he walked through the remains of the besieged city. Aside from the now crumbling wall, most of it remained relatively intact, a consequence of their utter inability to fight back once the Legion was inside. Which was why he felt so confident in his contempt for its construction.

Again and again, the people of this world found ways to disappoint him. This was the largest city they'd been to by many orders of magnitude and still it fell so far short as to be laughable. The best thing he could say about the residents was that they seemed to have quite impressive wells situated all around the city, if only because they didn't have even basic plumbing.

Their streets were narrow, haphazard, and poorly paved. Dark alleys and crooked lanes ran all throughout the settlement. There was no orderly grid expanding out from a central forum. Rather, the middle of the city, the most reasonable place to put a marketplace and center of commerce, was instead home to a secondary wall and resplendent homes of what he assumed to be the aristocracy. A complete waste.

Tiberius shook his head in dismay. It was like conquering a city of the far east back in his world, created by a sheer mass of humanity rather than careful planning. He was actually a little regretful that they hadn't done more damage. At least then they would be starting from scratch instead of having to work with this mangled mess.

He let out a long sigh. Despite all of the issues he had with the city—ones that continued to pile up as he walked—it was in fact his city now. While his men were still securing it to his standards, the System certainly recognized it as such. 

[You have successfully seized the barony of Wellshire! You have gained experience. See a Class Stone for territory management options.]

He had received the notification to confirm it only half an hour ago. And considering that the notification itself promised experience for the act, he couldn't help but be a little curious as to exactly how much experience they had earned. Hence his current destination.

The city's class stone came into view. Compared to the rough-hewn monoliths in Habersville and Stonester, this one was practically a work of art. A pentagonal pillar reached high into the sky, its five completely smooth sides extending vertically upward and meeting at a point at the top. A band of golden metal with some kind of unfamiliar script encompassed its middle. The entire thing was polished to a mirror finish such that Tiberius could clearly see his own reflection within the dark glass-like material.

Placing his hand on the class stone, Tiberius was momentarily blinded by a flash of white light. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for the sensation to pass. It was quickly becoming a familiar one, thankfully. The temporary blindness was a small price to pay for the incredible benefits of a level.

Tiberius watched as his status sheet appeared before him with satisfaction. The Legion had indeed done it once again. They'd leveled up. And far more quickly than ever before.

He assigned his four free points in his standard manner, with two in charisma and one each in wisdom and intelligence. He once again considered adding one to constitution, but thought better of it. His physical stats were progressing quite well on their own, after all, and the addition of a few guards to his usual retinue put to rest some of his paranoia.

Skimming over the text for any additional changes, he saw that there were in fact some of note. Specifically, his titles. It appeared that he'd earned a couple from their siege.

[Baron: Owner of a barony. +100% to intelligence and travel speed when on land under your control. This title persists so long as you own at least one barony.]

Evidently, seizing the seat of the barony—named Hausten, apparently—and killing its leader had granted Tiberius official ownership of the entire territory. Tiberius suspected that this was the reason behind the massive windfall of experience they'd received.

The text made Tiberius hum with curiosity. He suspected that it only applied to him personally, which made the travel speed benefits in particular a little less useful. But he would gladly take additional constitution. Thankfully, it didn't seem to conflict with Roman Emperor at all.

The other title was also fairly self-explanatory. [Conquerer].

[Conquerer (I): Successfully seize an enemy fortress. +20% to strength when assaulting a fortified structure.]

Again, he wouldn't say no to anything that gave them additional capabilities in war. Although Tiberius wasn't sure why he'd only gained the title now. Perhaps it was because of their use of siege weaponry. But he preferred to believe that the other towns he'd taken were simply too poorly defended to qualify as any sort of fortress.

After inspecting his status, Tiberius stepped away from the stone and flexed his hands before him. One would think that Tiberius would be used to the effects of leveling up by this point. Yet each time, he found himself relishing in the influx of strength, lucidity, and newfound youth that these stat increases brought with them. There was not a single bit of joint pain or weakness in his limbs. He felt as if his grip could crush the sword hilt in his hand, that he could bite through someone's shield if he tried.

He didn't even try to suppress the grin on his face. And as he strode back through the city, it was clear that almost every other veteran of the Legion felt the same. The old men in particular seemed to relish the feeling. The gap between their own abilities and those of the youth seemed to be shrinking, despite gaining the same number of stats, and they were making a point to let the greener men who had so often flaunted their youth and agility know it.

As the situation became more stable and the population quelled, Tiberius saw several spars and even a few fistfights break out between his men. They were mostly good-natured, although he did see centurions break up a few that were less so. Still, almost every single one of them was won by some grizzled old veteran. The combination of old age and treachery with the capabilities of youthful vigor proved too difficult to overcome. It was a gift that universally they had all thought they would not regain until reaching Elysium.

Tiberius could barely resist the urge to draw his sword and test himself, though now was not the time for it. But he was looking forward to his next training session with Quintus. It had been a long time since he'd been able to best that wolf of a man. Perhaps now he'd stand a chance once more.

***

The siege was still in progress, but it was practically a formality. The same way a gladiatorial bout wasn't really until the victor, standing over his felled opponent, was given the signal to let him live or die.

As such, Quintus had decided that his work was finally done. Tiberius agreed, sending the centurion and the troops who had been under his command these few days back to Habersville to regroup. The Legatus would oversee the clean up of everything, something that Quintus lacked the patience and affinity for, and the men deserved a good rest anyway.

They were over halfway home when the entire column erupted into a blinding flash of light, signalling both a level up and what he assumed was their final victory in taking the barony's seat. Still, Quintus found himself surprised. Despite the amount of experience they needed to earn increasing every time, this had been their fastest level up yet. Perhaps this world's omnipotent “System” gauged their victory to be especially impressive and worthy of reward. Even if it had been, in practice, relatively trivial.

"Advance!"

After a brief halt, the column once again resumed its forward march. As usual, the increase in stats came with a marked increase in Quintus's abilities. It was evident in the speed of his movements, in the fluidity of his thoughts. His sword felt even more comfortable in his hand while his vision seemed to reach a bit farther. And that he hadn't even assigned his free points yet. 

If he'd been blessed with this level of physical ability back home,he might have considered himself some sort of demigod. If he stepped into the Colosseum, he would be more than capable of defeating any champion or beast set before him. And that was no boast—it was a simple fact.

But now, here in this world, he still felt… inadequate. As a group, the Legion had so far shown itself to be without peer. But as an individual? Quintus had seen the power that those adventurers had wielded. If he’d had to face any one of them alone, he had no doubts that a swift death would have been the result.

He’d come to recognize that some of the Legion's initial distaste for the locals was misplaced. Sure, there were plenty of legitimate criticisms he could make of them. The lack of proper waste management, frequent baths, aqueducts to move water through their towns, properly organized armies… The list went on and on.

And while those issues remained true even as they progressed from the backwater of Habersville into more well-developed areas, there was one that he certainly saw changing. And that was the strength of the people.

Not the everyday citizenry, of course. The way he understood it, most of them only had classes that granted one or two stats per level, making the chore of leveling not entirely worthwhile. But the closer they drew to Novara’s heart, the stronger their opposition became. Already, the Legion had faced off against a half dozen different and powerful individuals, by his standards. Yet he somehow doubted they represented the apex of achievement. After all, who would send their most talented fighters off on the edges of the empire to hold uncontested provinces?

No, the strong would be concentrated where there was fighting. And right now, there was a more pressing battlefront for Novara, one in the west. It was common knowledge to the citizens, and their farthest-ranging scouts had confirmed it.

The fact that more powerful fighters existed seemed to be a given. The real question was how long it would take to encounter them. So far, their numbers and group tactics had allowed them to fell foes far beyond them. But how long would such an advantage scale for?

That was why he felt such a need to be personally ready. This “rest” would prove a valuable opportunity for him to train his skills and prepare. He was already putting his free points into his three physical stats to become a better fighter. But leveling his skills and sparring were the best ways he could become stronger right now. 

His individual efforts to level wouldn't amount to much. Already, the Legion had saturated both the forest around Habersville and the mines in Stonester with soldiers, the men soaking up every bit of experience by cutting down monsters in an all-too-literal interpretation of the term “farming”. Although they were beginning to worry about hunting out the forest—that, or pressing too far into the newly-discovered territory of the elves. But the additional territory they'd just acquired should help with that quite a bit.

As Quintus thought, he took another look at the column beside him. There, trotting along, he saw the real spoils of their conquest, the true prize for they victory: horses. They finally, finally had horses. About fifty of them in total. 

Evidently, the beasts were indeed rare, and not just in this province. Only aristocrats really used them, as adventurers usually walked or ran everywhere. Their high stats usually meant that such an approach was faster, a reality hammered home by the fact that the Legion had to actually slow down for the beasts to keep up. Though Quintus was certain that, with the right skills, that wouldn't be the case for long.

He eagerly anticipated the prospect of finally having a mounted cavalry unit. It would be small for the moment and have to utilize suboptimal mounts, but that was of little consideration. It would grow soon enough. The more avenues for power they could pursue, the better. And considering that they already had men trained in mounted warfare, their potential for gaining skill levels quickly was even higher. If they proved anywhere near as useful as the other specialist units already had…

"Sir." A scout rushed toward Quintus, interrupting his thoughts. "We've found something strange up ahead."

Quintus waited for the man to elaborate on his vague report. When he didn't, he gave the scout a flat look. For a man trained in information gathering, he certainly was not doing a great job of communicating said information.

"Strange how?" Quintus prodded.

"Uh," the man swallowed nervously and frowned. He seemed intimidated, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Quintus was relatively used to it from men who hadn't worked closely with him before. Although the fact that it was getting in the way of a proper report was indeed a problem.

Still, he never punished bad reports. That was a fast way to ensure that they never came his way at all. An army lived and died on its information—and its stomachs.

"Speak, soldier."

The scout swallowed and seemed to steel himself. "It's… some sort of flying beast. I assumed it was a bird, but it's been getting steadily larger and larger. I…”

"Some sort of monster, then?" Quintus asked.

"Maybe. I'm not sure. But it seems to be coming this way."

"Can you describe it?"

The man gave an uncertain nod. "The creature is large and pink in color with massive wings like those of a bat. From what I can tell, it's still a ways off, but it's in the direction that we're heading."

Quintus took a look at their surroundings. The column continued to march by sedately as he spoke to the scout, but this section was passing through a massive open field. A few slight hills that barely warranted the term were all they had to take cover behind. Nor did they have the siege weapons with them to fire upon the thing from a great distance. They did have the auxiliaries, their bows, and the Legion's own slings, however.

He ordered a halt and turned to the scout. "Head in that direction with a patrol. Gather as much information as you can, but prioritize staying hidden. We will prepare in case the creature proves hostile."

The Primus Pilus began shouting orders, relaying them up and down the column through his centurions. The troops rearranged and consolidated, rearranging such that their fields of fire could cover approaches from most directions in the sky.

As the Legion rushed to take their positions, Quintus couldn't help but feel that the entire situation was a bit surreal. He was very much not used to defending from an airborne foe. This was an entire area of battle tactics that they had never needed to invent. Yet here they were. He just hoped he was as good at improvisation as he thought.

B2 Chapter 39: Ashes of a Noble Heart

B2 Chapter 39: Ashes of a Noble Heart

Marcus approached Tiberius’s tent only to be greeted with the sight of a snarling and writhing baroness being hauled off. Quite an auspicious start to the evening, if did say so himself. Especially when the woman spotted him and shot him a glare meant to kill.

He shook his head in dismay. Evidently, his efforts to calm the woman had fallen on deaf ears. It was no surprise, of course. Charisma and charisma-based skills weren't mind control. They oftentimes simply helped to open one up to different perspectives and ideas. Ones that they may have been opposed to otherwise.

Of course, even his most convincing speech bolstered by [Silver Tongue] couldn't make someone do something totally against their best interests. Especially not a woman who also had dumped untold numbers into her charisma. But he had hoped that she would see how dangerous resistance might be. Still, he hadn't given up yet.

Marcus pushed aside the tent flap with a bit of apprehension. Inside, Tiberius sat before a simple square table, the granite wall of his face somehow managing to look even more stony than usual. From the way that he was rubbing his forehead, he couldn’t help but think that he actually looked tired.

He stepped toward the table and studied the old soldier as Tiberius studied him in turn. A few other Legionnaires filled the tent, mostly aides and what Marcus assumed to be guards. The latter was a new addition. He couldn’t remember the Legatus keeping men around him for protection before.

After half a minute of watching each other, Tiberius sighed, gesturing to one of the stools before him. Marcus smiled. He stepped to the side, shifting the stool across from Tiberius until he could sit on the left side of the table. It was a slightly less formal position than directly across from the man. The Legatus simply snorted.

“You wanted to see me, Emperor?”

Tiberius waved him off. “Call me Legatus. We are on a campaign. While Emperor is an accurate title, it is a political one that is more fitting for ruling settlements and the like. The Legion serves the empire always, and you can’t have an empire without an Emperor.”

Marcus felt there was more to his explanation than that, but didn’t press the issue. Not right now. Though he didn’t mind using either title.

Honestly, he’d come to respect the old man quite a bit. At first he’d seemed like an arrogant fool to declare himself emperor of a new world after conquering one backwater town. But now? He’d seen the man work. And frankly, Marcus was impressed. Though he knew little about military tactics and the like, results didn’t lie.

Even better, the Legatus seemed to share some small part of his own sentiment. Even though the man remained difficult to read, even with [Critical Reception], Marcus had spent enough time studying his mannerisms to tell. Though Tiberius still didn’t have a high level of respect for Marcus, his disposition had at least improved.

Perhaps Gaius had told him about the events in the amphitheater. His actions had certainly seemed to endear him to the other men, at least. It was a nice little consolation for having to swim in kraken viscera.

“As you wish,” Marcus nodded. “Then… what can I do for you, Legatus Tiberius?”

Tiberius remained silent for a few moments, steepling his hands in front of him. He continued to study Marcus closely as he spoke. “It seems that the baroness is being quite uncooperative. Tell me, is ransoming nobility captured during battle an uncommon occurrence here?”

Uncooperative… well, that was certainly one way to put it. Though Marcus himself might have said “actively antagonistic” or “vengeful beyond belief.”

Marcus shook his head. “It is not uncommon. Of course, those being ransomed are seldom pleased about the matter, but that is certainly not among her largest concerns at the moment.”

“I see. What about marriage among the nobility? Is it not a matter of securing political alliances and favors?”

“It… usually is, yes.” Marcus began slowly. “In most cases. However…”

He gathered his thoughts, trying to figure out how to word his explanation. He sighed, let out a long breath, and came at it from a slightly oblique angle.

“In the capital, there’s a rather famous poem written by… well, that’s not important.” He couldn’t help the small smile that crept across his face. “It goes something like this: 

A baron bold of modest name,

Did win fair Redcliff’s daughter’s flame.

Through scorn of court and whispered spite,

Their troth endured both crown and rite.

No golden match her heart could sway,

She gave her hand, and went her way.”

Macus didn’t go through the whole poem, as he didn’t think that Tiberius had the patience for it. But the single verse was evidently enough to get his point across.

Tiberius muttered to himself in a tone that Marcus likely wasn’t supposed to hear. “Gods damn it.”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath of frustration. “So… what you’re saying is that this baron was one half of the country’s favorite star-struck lovers, and we’ve just killed him? Is that right?”

Marcus blinked. From the man’s reaction, he not only understood what Marcus had been trying to convey, he also seemed to instantly grasp the implications of the baron’s death and how it would affect the Legion’s reputation among the wider populace.

He honestly hadn’t expected that level of insight from the man. Tiberius was no fool, but this was a matter of politics, not of battle. Perhaps he was still underestimating the old Legionnaire even now.

“I’m afraid so.” Marcus confirmed.

The Legatus lowered his hand, his expression once more becoming hard and implacable. “It is of no consequence. Our campaign has not been aimed toward winning hearts and minds—not at this stage.” Tiberius shook his head. “Will this development affect our ability to negotiate with the duke?”

Marcus shook his head. “Duke Mark is a very reasonable man. Though he did approve of the match, he will not allow the death of his son-in-law to affect his decisions. Not when his daughter’s safety is involved. Although, it may interest you to know that the poem I mentioned is also quite popular amongst the common folk. Housewives and young maidens always have a soft spot for such tales of romance between disparate stations.”

Tiberius nodded. “Understandable. He signed his death warrant when he attempted to attack the Legion. But he would have been a valuable asset to ensure the public’s compliance.” The man fixed Marcus with an intense gaze. “Did you inform Quintus of this information prior to the assault?”

“I… did not.” Marcus confessed. “I do apologize. But honestly, I did not believe it to be relevant. It is exceedingly rare for nobility to perish in conflicts such as this. The possibility didn’t even enter my mind.”

Tiberius raised an eyebrow at that. “Do you mean to say that the nobility does not fight in their battles?”

“No, that's been known to happen.” Marcus said. “But usually the aim is to capture, not kill. When a noble does die, it's usually during a duel, not on the battlefield. And duels are usually mutually agreed upon. When it comes to proper war, well, usually it’s third sons of unlanded gentry that are leading the troops.”

Tiberius nodded at the explanation. “I see. Tell me more about the practices of the court and nobility in this land. I suspect such knowledge will be useful very soon.”

Marcus was happy to oblige. The conversation continued on for quite some time. Honestly, the only thing missing, he thought, was a nice glass of whiskey.

***

A loud crack snapped Marcus out of his slumber. He shot up out of his bedroll only to wince in discomfort. All of his running and [Running] the day before was coming back to bite him. He felt sore, more than he had in ages.

He hauled himself out of bed, albeit a bit more gingerly than before. He’d managed to bribe his way into one of the contubernium’s tents the night before, but now he noted that every bedroll around him was empty.

He pushed his way out of the tent and into the early morning chill. The sun had yet to even peek over the horizon, its approach only heralded by a soft lightening of the night sky.

Another crack sounded. Marcus’s head whipped around just in time to see a stone sail high into the air toward Hausten’s walls. It exploded as it neared the top of the fortifications, stone shards peppering the half-asleep defenders below.

More and more stones sailed through the air as the rest of the siege engines joined in. Soon, the city was besieged with to a deadly rain of full-sized boulders and jagged bits of rock alike.

Marcus began to hurry through the camp. His was not the only empty tent, it seemed. Most of the Legion were already up and about as they formed up to assault the city.

Suddenly, the hail of projectiles ceased. For a brief moment, the battlefield fell deafeningly silent as the last stone struck its mark. For a blissful moment, Marcus thought it was over.

Then one more catapult activated. It hurled the last of the eighteen dead men over the wall—the one wearing finer clothing than any of the others. The baron himself.

The second it landed, the siege towers began moving forward as the assault truly began.

Marcus watched for a long moment before turning away. He didn’t need to see the attack itself. He’d seen enough battle up-close as of late. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d be using many of these kinds of details in his epic. Maybe some of the firsthand accounts from the soldiers themselves, but this…

He conjured a whole plethora of excuses as he headed away from the battlefield. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. How the Legion achieved victory was something that others might find more interesting. However, he found that he didn’t quite have the stomach for it today. Perhaps he could make himself useful elsewhere… like talking to the baroness.

***

Marcus found Baroness Mariella von Latimore sitting before one of the small cookfires, her daughter cradled in her lap. Despite her straight back, it was clear that she was not doing well. Her hair clearly hadn’t been brushed since her capture, and she wore the same travel dress that she had before, though it now bore quite a few more rumples and wrinkles. Unsurprising, given her current situation. Perhaps she simply did not have the luxuries of a hairbrush or clean clothes.

Her distant gaze seemed as though it were focused on some unseen point beyond the flames, the red puffiness of her eyes still clear to see. The little girl curled up against her was pressing her face into the baroness’s neck as though she were asleep. Nearby, the four guards watching them stood back at a respectful distance as they kept a close eye on their charges.

It was a welcome change from her being gagged and bound. Perhaps Tiberius was showing a bit more leniency than Quintus.

The woman didn’t look up as Marcus approached, simply studying the flames in silence. He stopped for a moment to study her as well. There was something hauntingly beautiful about this young woman and her daughter, even in their grief. The way she held herself called to mind a woman watching a funeral pyre of old, watching her beloved being sent off to meet the gods. A better fate than what had actually befallen the baron, to be sure.

His imagination began to run wild with the poetry of the moment. He’d even begun to compose the beginnings of a song in his head before catching himself. Now was not the time for that. Instead, he fixed the scene in his mind. Perhaps it would serve as a good vignette during his epic in the making, a juxtaposition between the Legion’s conquest and its consequences. Its triumphs and the tragedies left in its wake.

Marcus stepped a little closer, clearing his throat. The baroness seemed to rouse from her daze and looked up with eyes empty of the fire he'd come to associate with her.

It wasn't hard to understand why. Even now, the sounds of Hausten's walls and final lines of defense falling echoed across the camp as the Legion took the city with brutal efficiency.

He glanced at the guards. They stood close, but not so close that they'd be able to hear a low conversation. Especially not if he put up a [Glamour].

He took a seat on the log beside the baroness. She returned her attention to the fire, but otherwise didn't react. The woman continued to ignore him as he sat there. Up close, he saw the little tear streaks running down her daughter's cheeks.

“I have news.” Marcus began, speaking softly. “The Legion have sent a messenger to your father. About the ransom.”

“That is hardly news.” The baroness retorted. Even her voice felt distant and impassive. “You speak of things that were already foregone conclusions.”

“If that is what you think, then you are more optimistic than I expected.” Marcus chuckled darkly. “I certainly wasn't convinced that they would take my advice.”

He really had expected some worse fate to befall the pair—and it very well might have, had he not been around to persuade Quintus of her value. The man seemed to have far less patience for her antics than Tiberius did, at least.

The thought that he'd managed to save these two at least filled him with a bit of pride. Even if he hadn't been able to keep the baron from running himself on the Legion's swords, he certainly could do so for these two. It was something.

Mariella von Latimore didn't seem to share the sentiment. “If that is the case, then it seems you've overstated your influence here. I expected as much. Otherwise, you would have convinced them to spare Klein as well.”

Marcus reached out to put a reassuring hand on the baroness’s shoulder. “Mariella. I—”

“Don't touch me.” The woman snapped. “I am not one of your naive girls to be saved and seduced, bard.”

Marcus slowly pulled his hand back, a little affronted that she thought so little of him. Yes, the woman was beautiful, but she'd just lost her husband. To make overtures toward her now would indeed be in poor taste. He had standards. He would wait at least a couple of weeks.

Although he really wasn't interested in her case. Baroness Mariella had a daughter, after all. Women with children were all the more likely to expect commitment from him.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. “Mariella. I am sorry for your loss, truly. I… wish I could have done more.” He bit his tongue before pointing out that the baron had been the one to impulsively attack and rush to his death. Blaming the man wouldn't get him anywhere. “But I can't change the past. All I can do now is work to protect you and your daughter. He would want you safe—that's why he did what he did.”

“So what? You want me to simply sit here like a good little girl amidst my husband's murderers?” The woman finally met his eyes. A deep resentment filled them. “To play along as they extort my father?

“If that's what keeps you safe, then yes.” Marcus replied seriously. “I can swear that you will not be harmed if you just cooperate. Especially under Tiberius's watch. The alternative is to continue antagonizing the Legion and risk their ire.”

Marcus shuddered slightly at the thought. He doubted they would kill the baroness at this point. Still, with how creative they seemed to be in both warfare and their execution methods, he couldn't help but think they might have a few methods of retribution fitting for a situation like this. 

“That's not the only alternative.” The baroness leveled a look at him, her voice lowering further.

The bard discreetly glanced toward the guards. They had begun talking amongst themselves, paying little mind to the pair’s conversation. That was good. He didn't want even the slightest suggestion that they were talking about this to leak out.

“This is our best chance.” The baroness insisted. “They’re distracted with the assault, and the camp has never been more empty. Even if they discover us, we’ll have a head start.”

The sounds of catapults and trebuchets firing in the distance seemed to intensify as though to emphasize her words. A sound like so many thunderbolts exploded across the camp, followed shortly after by explosions and what sounded like an avalanche.

“As I said… it won't work. There's too many of them around. Even if you did somehow manage to get out of camp, they certainly have enough men to comb over the entire barony and beyond to search for you.”

All that was true, of course. But it wasn't even the half of why Marcus refused to help her escape. Besides completely destroying all the credibility and rapport with the Legion that he'd so carefully built, there was also the question of what came next. Where would they go from there? 

The obvious choice was the duke’s estate. They'd be taken in readily and protected better than anywhere else. Marcus would surely even be rewarded for his assistance…

…And then, in a few days or weeks or months, the Legion would be at their doorstep.

It wasn't even that Marcus believed they'd go to such lengths to retrieve the baroness. He just didn't expect their conquest to stop anytime soon. And if that was the case, then the duke would certainly find himself under siege before long. And unless he was able to call his troops back from the western front, his territory would fall just like the baron’s… Only now, they would have no use for the baroness.

Some might say he was fatalistic, that he was catastrophizing and predicting a doom that would never come. After all, how could such a low-leveled army hope to trample through Novara unopposed? Surely the king would do something. But then, he was a bit more familiar with the man’s disposition than most. And they hadn’t seen what he had.

At least if the ransom went through, then Marcus might be able to speak to the duke. He had some ideas already of how to persuade the man of a more peaceful solution to the looming conflict. Besides, he'd been on the run too long already. He was quite enjoying the level of freedom he had around the Legion and their territory.

The baroness looked away. “You are a coward, Bard Marcus. A coward and a fool to live under the heel of these savages.”

He shrugged. “You are free to think that. However, know that I am doing the best that I can—not only for you, but for the citizens of Novara. But alas, I am one man. I must be content with what meager influence I am able to wield at times.

“If you do attempt to escape… There will be little I can do once they find you.” Marcus admitted. “I can't guarantee that they'll decide that you're still worth ransoming off, either.”

The baroness glared at him. “Failure is not a given.”

“No, but it is all too likely. And frankly, I don't see why you're so eager to make your daughter an orphan.”

Marcus looked meaningfully at the little girl as he felt her mother's glare burn into him. It was a bit of a low blow, but necessary. The woman was going to do something incredibly dangerous if he didn't remind her of everything she had to lose. 

“Look…” Marcus sighed, allowing his voice to return to a more conversational volume. “It's just for a few weeks, a month at the most. Just sit tight and try not to actively antagonize your captors. I'll see about getting you better accommodations, as well as some books and toys for her." Marcus indicated the young girl with his chin. "It may not seem like much, but it's what I can do.

“I'm sorry I couldn't save your husband. But I can help the two of you. But only if you let me.”

The woman remained silent, staring into the cookfire once more. Marcus saw their flickering flames reflected in her deep blue eyes, embers of light that seemed to burn deeper within.

// A bit of a longer one because Marcus wouldn't stop talking

B2 Chapter 38: It’s Raining Men

B2 Chapter 38: It’s Raining Men

Tiberius climbed the last hill with his entourage of guards, stopping at its apex to inspect the situation ahead. At the same time he cracked his neck, taking the opportunity to flex and stretch his legs and feet. His entire lower body felt sore. Hell, even his neck hurt.

All the marching he'd been doing recently had really been wearing on him, even with his skill levels and improved stats. It seemed as though the more capable he became, the harder he pushed himself to match—though the same could be said for the rest of the Legion. Though they were surely leveling their [Warpath] skills faster than someone stuck reading reports at his desk like Tiberius.

Still, he supposed he should be grateful that this wasn't worse. As someone used to having a mount for these long marches, he likely should have been hobbling. He briefly considered picking up [Marching] again as an individual skill to get double benefit, but decided against it. Doing so would feel like an admission that he was going soft.

He returned his attention to the city ahead. Just as the scouts had reported, it was completely encircled by the Legion. The fortifications the men had built around its walls appeared deep and well-constructed as well. 

As he surveyed the landscape, he saw a small contingent of Legionnaires leave the camp and head his way. Quintus and a few of the other, more senior members of the troops that had accompanied him climbed the hill at a steady jogging pace. As they came to a halt, the entire entourage all snapped smart salutes. Tiberius returned the gesture, albeit with a little less stiffness.

His Primus Pilus let his hand fall. "Legatus. I suspected that it was you standing up here.”

Quintus’s lips twitched ever so slightly. The motion was almost imperceptible, but Tiberius had known him for far too long. To him, it was as obvious as a cheeky grin.

The Legatus felt as though he was missing a joke somehow. No matter. This was neither the time nor place for him to dwell on it. Perhaps he’d interrogate Quintus on the matter later, in private.

Instead, Tiberius nodded toward the edge of the Legion’s camp, where eighteen armored figures hung displayed. Each bore similarities to the [Cursed Berserker] who had led the adventuring party against them days before, though this silvery armor clearly held men inside. A second spear strapped perpendicularly to the first held each dead man’s arms out wide as though each were on a makeshift cross.

"Did you run into trouble?”

Quintus shook his head. "No. Not anything I would classify as trouble, at least. We had one attempt at resistance a few days ago, but the aggressors were swiftly dealt with.”

Tiberius hummed in approval. As expected. They had been relatively certain that the forces sent against them represented the city’s last dregs of real military power. And judging by Quintus’s report, they had been right to think so. If the city held any more trump cards, they were holding them close to the chest even as their position steadily weakened.

“I see. Well, then. Report, Primus.”

Quintus did so. The centurion laid out the whole story: how the city had been preparing for a siege upon their arrival, how they’d caught them off guard with the initial encirclement, the capture of the baron’s family, and the failed assault against the Legion.

When he was finished, Tiberius once again nodded. "You have done well, Quintus. I'm impressed.”

“Thank you, Legatus.” The Primus Pilus saluted again.

Tiberius gestured behind him, where a long column of Legionnaires snaked through the hills and toward the horizon beyond. “The rest of our forces are not far behind. The siege weapons slowed our advance considerably, but it seems that such a delay was of no consequence to your operations.”

He clasped his hands behind him. “Prepare your men to march. Return to Habersville with them in order to reap the benefits of our recent level up and rest. And provide a written report of any standout soldiers that should be considered for rewards.”

Quintus shifted slightly and cleared his throat. The men with him also exchanged glances. The reaction caught Tiberius off guard. “Is something the matter?”

“Sir. It's just that… returning to Habersville may be unnecessary.”

He arched a questioning eyebrow. “And why is that? I understand if you are confident in the men's ability to seize this city as they are. However…”

Quintus was already shaking his head. “No, sir. Allow me to explain. During the time that we've been stationed here, the men have not been idle. We have secured the surrounding area and its settlements. In doing so, we found a larger town an hour’s march north,” he gestured in its direction, “that contained a class stone.

“The last group of men should be returning from it later today. Everyone else has already assigned their stat points and dealt with their skills accordingly. Of course, if you wish for the men to return and rest, I will see to it immediately, but…”

Tiberius held up a hand to interrupt the man, a slight smile forming on his stony face. He'd entrusted Quintus with this responsibility because of his competence. But evidently, he'd underestimated his first centurion.

“I understand.” Tiberius said simply. “It seems I was too hasty with my orders. Regardless, this simply suggests to me that you and your men have earned your rest well. Especially considering that we have fresh troops and plenty of time, unless I’m mistaken.”

“As I said, I will see to it if you wish. However…” Quintus motioned toward the city. “I do not believe we will need to wait much longer for the city to fall. They have been pushed to the brink by our tactics, it seems. I expect that the siege weaponry will be the final straw. And considering that my men have had ample time to recover during all of this, I would rather see this battle to its conclusion, if you have no objections.”

The Legatus nodded. “If that is your desire, then I see no reason to deny it. Speaking of the city’s fate… I am surprised that its leaders have made no overtures of surrender.”

“I am not.” Quintus pointed toward the center most of the eighteen dead men. “It’s a difficult thing for a dead man to surrender. And judging from his fate, I suspect that few are eager to follow in his footsteps.”

Tiberius shook his head. "I don't know why I even bothered coming."

***

Tiberius watched over the veritable wall of siege engines as the teams worked swiftly to prepare them. Cornelius hurried up and down the line at practically a sprint as the Legionnaires began setting things up, calibrating their aim and preparing ammunition.

The weapons were set up well outside of what Quintus had assessed to be the range of the city's own defenses. Those were mostly limited to archers and the occasional magic spell of some sort, as they'd seen no evidence of siege weapons on the opposing side. Nor had they suffered any attacks from long-ranged skills that would have approximated artillery of any kind. Still, the Legion were prepared to deal with such things should it become necessary.

It wasn't too difficult to position themselves so that they weren't vulnerable but could still hit the walls. Soon enough, a series of probing shots hurtled toward the city, raining down inside its walls or slamming into them directly.

Tiberius’s eyes narrowed as the first trebuchet shots struck the tall stone fortifications and left behind a crack. A small crack, to be sure. But these were just testing shots. They had yet to utilize the good ammo or any of the men's offensively-oriented skills. If they were already managing to damage the structure…

He set the matter aside for the moment. The time to test their artillery’s destructive capabilities would come soon enough. But for now, they had another goal in mind—winning the mental battle. 

Cornelius practically skidded to a halt in front of him. A few beads of sweat populated the head engineer's brow as he saluted. “Legatus. We are ready to begin.”

Tiberius nodded. “Excellent. Send the first wave.”

Cornelius gave him a thin smile before turning over his shoulder. “You heard the Legatus! Send him up!”

One of their larger catapults released, its bowl swinging high into the air with a whoosh. The arm hit the stop, sending its payload arcing toward the city with impressive speed… despite its irregular shape.

An observant onlooker might have noticed that there were now seventeen rather than eighteen figures hung before the city gates. Indeed, that was because the eighteenth was now on his way back home, albeit without his armor.

 Not that his kinsmen would appreciate the gesture. A few days in the sun had allowed the corpse to begin decomposing just enough for the man’s visage and smell to be disturbing.

The Legion watched the dead man fly, letting out a loud cheer as he sailed over the wall. A minute later, the distant sounds of screaming rose from the city. The screams only intensified as they began firing pieces of the dead horses, each into a different area.

The timing was perfect for their purposes. The corpses had begun to rot and smell, but not enough to spread disease as efficiently as they might. After all, Tiberius didn't want to cull the populace so much as subdue it, demoralize them to the point that they lost all will to fight.

Given that this would likely be a short siege anyway, it might be unnecessary. But he would never pass up a training opportunity for his men. Besides, given that they didn't plan on massacring or enslaving the city, it would serve them well to make a clear example. If word spread about this event, then perhaps the next city might consider surrendering before things got to this point.

They slowed down after the initial onslaught. But every ten minutes, they fired another man or piece of horse into the city. Once the sun started to set, they had to pause, and they planned to resume their bombardment at dawn. But for now, they just settled in, the new men helping expand the fortifications as they joined the camp.

Yet as the day turned to night, Tiberius found himself facing his next responsibility—speaking with the captives Quintus had taken. Or rather, the captive. Only one of them might be worth talking to.

The young woman was dragged into his tent. She writhed and struggled against the guards, clearly not interested in cooperation or making it easy for them. Tiberius could make out her muffled protests behind the gag. When she was forced to her knees before him and her head pulled back to meet his gaze, he saw nothing but bitter hatred in her red-rimmed eyes.

He looked at her dispassionately. He knew who she was. Quintus had informed him of the situation, obviously. He just didn't particularly care. Not past the benefits she could grant them through her ransom.

Still, he found himself somewhat disappointed. For a noble, she wasn't doing a very good job of keeping her composure. Her rather emotional reaction regarding the death of her husband was also surprising. In his experience, marriages among nobility were more of a practical and political affair. Unless her reaction was simply for fear of her and her daughter?

It could be an act, but he struggled to see what she would gain from it. So he had to assume that this was genuine, which might make ransoming her a bit harder.

Tiberius could only shrug. Maybe the nobility in this world didn't have the same norms and customs he was used to. Or maybe she was just unique. Marcus could probably help to enlighten him further, but he had yet to talk to the bard. 

With s quiet word, he sent one of his aides to fetch the man. He'd meet with him afterwards. But for now, Tiberius just took a moment to watch the seething woman.

Eventually, he broke the silence, tapping his fingers on his desk.

"Lady Von Lattimore," he began. "You and your daughter will be ransomed back to your father. We will be reaching out to him shortly to negotiate terms. As such, you need not fear for your safety or that of your daughter. However, I can also guarantee you some measure of comfort should you cooperate. All I require is for you to sit quietly for a few days while we figure out the particulars."

He nodded to the guards, and one removed the gag from her mouth. She promptly spat on the ground.

"Fuck you."

One of the guards roughly threw her to the ground and she wriggled in her bonds. Realizing that they wouldn't be getting anywhere, Tiberius sighed and motioned for the Legionnaires to take her away. He would be well in his rights to have her executed, but that wouldn’t be profitable for the Legion right now.

He rubbed his forehead as she was dragged out of the tent. This was a headache he didn't really need, but the Legion needed resources. Maybe he'd have one of his officers deal with her in the future.

B2 Chapter 37: A Feast for the Crows

B2 Chapter 37: A Feast for the Crows

The clean-up operations had dragged on a little longer than expected. The six armored warriors were no match for the Legion and their numbers. However, the hail of arrows and seemingly magical attacks forced them to act with a bit more caution. They had to be extra diligent to always work under the cover of their shields as they dragged the bodies, horses, and equipment out of range.

As Quintus took stock of their own situation, he couldn't help but be a little pleased. While several men had been injured, none of the injuries were particularly dire. Nothing that their healers couldn’t patch up over the course of a few days.

They had also taken the opportunity to seize the wagons stranded outside the city. Unfortunately, many of them had taken the opportunity to flee inside during the brief period where the portcullis had been open. From the looks of it, many of the now-missing wagons were those of wealthier merchants or traders in finer goods—something that Quintus suspected was no coincidence.

He did regret that his caution had caused them to miss out on seizing all of the wagons when they could. But testing the defensive capabilities of the guards on the wall had seemed needlessly risky, especially when Tiberius likely wouldn’t be long in coming. Oh, well. It wasn’t as though those merchants were truly escaping. After all, they’d still be in the city when it was taken.

For now, Quintus contented himself with what they had recovered—several wagons full of radishes and potatoes, as well as six horses and a number of wagons. They also received the consolation prize of two oxen and a single old, nearly-starved cow.

A few hours later, he stood looking over the battlefield from a nearby hill. The Legionnaires milled about below as they worked on fortifications, assembled for scouting missions, or patrolled the perimeter of the city. More tended to the plethora of camp duties that needed doing or took a moment to rest by a cookfire.

Having the high ground was a no-brainer in battle. It provided both a superior defensive position as well as a better visual of the surrounding area, allowing for more effective planning and execution of strategies.

Yet they weren't in battle at the moment. Quintus simply felt the desire to survey the status of things from afar. To have a top-down view of their operations as the men moved.

It took him a moment to realize why this sat so strangely with him. But as he considered his own posture—standing straight with his shoulders back and his hands clasped behind him—it clicked. This was the exact pose he’d seen Tiberius adopt so many times, standing deep in contemplation atop a nearby hill or tall building or veranda.

It was a bit of an epiphany for the Primus Pilus. Quintus had seen his fair share of responsibility and being in charge, of course. But this was different. This siege was one of the largest operations he’d ever been personally in charge of.

Perhaps that was why he found it so satisfying to watch everything. Everything below was part of his responsibility, something that he had charged the men to do and would reflect on him directly, for better or for worse.

It was… a new level of stress. But not an entirely unwelcome one.

Quintus turned to look toward the front of the city. A group of Legionnaires were setting the last of the armored warriors up on a pike. The now-disarmed corpses dangled in an arc before the front gate on full display to weaken the morale of the enemy. Now, anyone looking toward the Legion’s camp would be reminded of their defeated champions and leaders.

He picked out one particular figure, placed prominently in the center of the formation. Baron von Latimore. Needless to say, the baroness was not happy about the situation. Not that Quintus particularly cared about that. It mattered little to him if the woman glared at him and his men with murderous intent through tear-blurred eyes. Although he was almost impressed that she hadn’t devolved into hysterics over her husband’s death. He’d really expected a more explosive reaction than this cold anger.

Either way, he wouldn’t hold it against her. They did need her to remain in one piece if they were to ransom her to the duke.

His attention flicked to the tent where the woman and her daughter were being held. A flash of purple caught his eye as a man emerged from the flap and began striding away. The bard, Marcus.

Quintus’s eyes narrowed. The bard had requested permission to speak to the woman, apparently in an attempt to secure her cooperation or at least keep her from doing anything stupid. Quintus had reluctantly granted the request, though he obviously had reservations.

Over the past couple of days, the man had spoken to her about four times. Quintus had made sure to set men in or around the tent to report exactly what was said during these conversations, fully expecting some sort of betrayal or offer of aid to the woman. But so far, Marcus had only comforted her and even worked to dig for information. He hadn’t done anything to even suggest escape, so far as he could tell.

Quintus shook his head. He just couldn’t get a proper read on that man. Until the centurion could figure out what he was after, the man’s motives were still highly suspicious. But it seemed as though he meant no harm. For now.

As he looked out over the landscape, Quintus nodded in approval. Things really were going quite well. In fact, the only real complaint he had was that they’d killed the horses upon which the baron and his allies rode.

It was practically unavoidable. The men had worn armor too thick to pierce with projectiles, and so targeting the horses was the reasonable alternative. But it still stung. The six they’d gained from the farmers were old nags compared to the young, powerful, and well-trained mounts that had fallen or escaped back into the city. They could have been captured and utilized by the Legion or even bred.

Quintus couldn’t help but sigh in resignation. His dreams of a full cohort of cavalry would remain that for now. But he supposed they couldn’t have it all. Not yet, at least. One way or another, they’d make it happen.

He took one more moment to study the city walls. The dear among the defenders was palpable. They had seen the Legion in action, if only briefly, and it had resulted in what were presumably their strongest remaining fighters being cut down in an instant. 

If left alone, that fear would probably fade bit by bit. But Quintus had no plans to let that happen. There were little things he could do to constantly remind them of their defeat. The pikes were just the start.

“Primus Pilus! Your presence is requested at the camp.

Turning, he pushed the city to the back of his mind. They wouldn’t be attacking anytime today, maybe not even tomorrow. But there were other things that required his attention.

***

The long columns of Legionnaires marched down the sorry excuses for roads in this province at a leisurely jog. Behind them the massive wooden siege engines creaked and groaned with every turn of their wheels.

Despite the incessant and honestly grating nature of the noise, it didn't bother Tiberius. He'd tuned it out over the last day and the half, a skill he'd honed during his time as a rank-and-file Legionnaire. 

Over the last day and a half, he and the fresh troops he'd rotated in had made good progress. The siege engines had slowed them down, of course, but not nearly as much as expected.

He would have much preferred to construct the things once they arrived at their destination. Such was standard practice for a siege. However, the relative scarcity of trees in this area made such a strategy unfeasible. Hence the comparatively inefficient process of moving the weapons on the march. 

It still wasn't as bad as it could have been. Far from it. As slow as the Legionnaires were moving, the siege weapons were still eating up miles far faster than Tiberius had ever seen. Cornelius the engineer had evidently foreseen this problem and urged the teams assigned to each weapon to act accordingly. They had taken skills related to not just combat, but transportation and mobility as well.

Six monstrous siege towers accompanied them, each capable of shelling out six men abreast at various points on a wall. There were wagons full of siege ladders, and the trebuchets, catapults, and ballistae were so numerous that he'd had to confirm the reported numbers to ensure there hadn't been a mistake. Entire centuries were dedicated to moving and operating the weapons.

Was it excessive? Probably. With this much firepower, they could have easily reduced Stonester’s wall to rubble. He suspected the seat of the barony would be no different. Even if the city's defenses were more formidable than any they'd seen so far, they were bringing far more than they'd reasonably need to overcome them.

It was part prudence on Tiberius’s part. But also part curiosity and a desire to see whether “overwhelming force” would truly be as overwhelming as he hoped. 

Still, he didn't have high hopes for the city's walls. The pitiful wooden wall around Habersville when they had first taken the town was frankly pathetic, even more so now that he knew what skills and stats could do. His men had built a better wall in half a day, and without even using the advantages of this world. Between that example and Stonester, he really was beginning to lose faith in these people's construction capabilities.

Tiberius had a few theories about this. The first was that the manner in which warfare was conducted here differed so greatly from their own world that they simply hadn't developed many of the innovations the Legion saw as obvious. Possible, but not the most likely. If that were the case, he would have expected to say least see other features take their place rather than keep such a basic wall.

The other idea was that construction classes and skills simply weren't valued. Perhaps the people who took up such professions, if any, simply didn't take or train skills related to making these walls the best they could be. Tiberius was well aware that skills to improve building efficiency and stretch how far materials went existed. Perhaps those were deemed more valuable?

Or perhaps there were those who valued proper fortifications. They simply couldn't be found this far out, where no one could afford their services.

A master blacksmith like Gareth had come to Habersville specifically to escape the hustle and bustle of competition in the capital. If there were more men of his skill level there… perhaps the place would finally prove a greater challenge than anything they'd seen so far.

In the meantime, however, this city's wall would be their best opportunity for testing. Even though they planned to seize the city for themselves, he held no compunctions about demolishing this part of it. They would end up rebuilding any fortifications themselves anyway.

A dark spot appeared on the edge of the distant horizon. Tiberius’s enhanced eyesight allowed him to notice it well before the others. A few minutes later, a scout rushed toward him.

“Sir. We are approaching the city.”

Tiberius nodded. “What is the situation?”

“The Primus Pilus appears to have it surrounded. Our position is well-fortified and set up for an extended siege. He has confirmed that the enemy has spurned his offer to surrender, but they are waiting to mount a full assault.

That was all good news. The Legatus was pleased to hear that Quintus had actually waited. He’d honestly expected to find the city already taken and under Legion control. But the fact that his old friend had shown restraint would allow them to learn much from this encounter—and likely preserve men they would have otherwise lost.

A small bit of relief washed through him. He’d regretted not being more explicit in his orders to the man, but it evidently hadn’t been necessary. As expected of Quintus.

Tiberius and the men continued onward toward the city. Once they arrived, they’d be able to rotate out some of Quintus’s men. Then, the real siege would begin.

B2 Chapter 36: No Mercy for the Brave 

B2 Chapter 36: No Mercy for the Brave

/// some minor changes were made to chapter 35. I wanted to get this out yesterday, but in the last minute check I realized a couple things didn't line up right and I had to figure out how to fix things. It ending up requiring minor edits in 35, only in the second half of the chapter. If anything doesn't seem right, I'm just going to blame that. haha. Really you shouldn't need to reread, just know that there is sometime before Quintus turns around after offering his deadline.

///Next chapter will be on Tuesday as usual

“Fall back!”

Quintus shouted the order reflexively, sending his group sprinting away from the cavalry charge. Yet they barely made it a few steps before he realized that retreat wasn’t going to work.

For one, his hostages had suddenly decided to cease cooperating. The young girl was easy enough to manage, but the baroness? She’d dug in her heels and squirming about, giving the man holding her as much trouble as humanly possible as he tried to carry her away. Their improved stats meant that it still wasn’t difficult for him to toss her over his shoulder like a sack of wiggly potatoes, but still. It did slow them down.

Quintus swore under his breath. As fast as they were, they were still trying to outrun horses. Horses that, by the looks of it, also benefited from some sort of stat or skill effects that made them even faster than the animals he was used to. Even keeping ahead for a short distance would have proven difficult. 

A wave of arrows arced high into the air, landing between Quintus’s group and safety. The archers didn’t dare target him directly, not with his prisoners. But they did hinder the reinforcements advancing to support him and his men. The Legionnaires rushing forward from camp were forced to proceed carefully with shields above their heads, maintaining a tight formation to protect themselves.

He made a decision. Retreating outright would see them all run down in moments. But staying here would leave them vulnerable.

“Flavius, Septimus, take the prisoners. Go!” Quintus called, imbuing the order with as much authority as he could muster. The Legionnaires didn’t hesitate, taking their charges and rushing back toward the camp. Meanwhile, Quintus spun to face the incoming threat with his shield raised.

Facing the column of horses, he saw that they ran six abreast and three deep, eighteen in total. Each bearing an armored warrior similar to the suit of armor he had fought a couple days ago. Only somehow he could tell there were people inside these. The horses must have been strong to carry each man encased from head to toe in steel. Only a narrow slit in their helmets allowed them to see at all.

“Charge!” Quinuts roared the order with his sword held high as he swept it down to point at the rapidly approaching horses.

Qintus braced himself, gritting his teeth. He needed to buy time, if they all ran they wouldn’t make it. He also couldn’t ask the others to stay as they were encumbered by the captives. He wasn’t going to ask the men to fight where he would not. He was a centurion, not some wimpy officer. But Quintus held no illusions. He wouldn’t be enough to do it on his own.

He felt the ground rise up to brace against his feet and heard the rapid footfalls of the two retreating men. The horsemen leveled their lances at the Legionnaire as they closed the distance. Their tips began to glow, the light intensifying with every hoofbeat.

The sight further convinced Quintus that this was going to hurt. If he had more men at his side, then perhaps a wall empowered by [Coordinated Bulwark] would withstand the incoming attack. But alone? No chance.

Then again, he wasn't alone.

As he stared down the narrow points of death that sought to punch through him and his shield, a whizzing crack sounded above his head. A muffled thump sounded ahead of him as something struck a horse’s flank and embedded deep into it.

The horse whinnied and reared, breaking its gallop and sending its rider scrambling to hold on. Several horses behind it staggered and struggled to avoid the sudden obstacle, breaking the coordinated charge and causing the glow of the lances to flicker.

Another whizzing sound cut through the din. Then another. Soon the air was filled with sling stones, the small projectiles peppering the charging cavalry and sowing chaos in their ranks.

Quintus didn't look back to see where the archers were. If he had to guess, they likely weren't in position yet, or the cavalry was outside of their effective range. Either way, it didn't matter. He had more confidence in the Legionnaires’ accuracy than that of the fresh conscripts.

The hail of stones continued to shoot forth. Many struck the men themselves, the stones denting or merely bouncing off their thick armor. But the meaty thunks of stone on horseflesh proved far more effective. The mounts reared in pain or sent their riders rolling off. A few were even disabled entirely as a lucky projectile snapped a leg clean in half.

It didn't break the horses' momentum entirely, but it didn't need to.

The remaining horses drew nearer, persevering through the sling assault. He hunkered down, backing up bit by bit to maintain a bit more distance between him and the enemy. That was when the next wave of projectiles began to land.

A spear landed in the middle of the horses and exploded. The blast sent the already injured and panicked horses into disarray. At this point, their formation was a mess. The orderly column had been reduced to a scattering of troops as the riders were forced to spread out and evade even more exploding spears. Previously unseated warriors were flung about by the blasts.

The explosions and falls didn’t seem to kill the men. However, their mounts were another matter. Fallen horses tripped up those behind them, scattering the charge even further.

Despite everything, a handful of horses still continued forward. The two with the fanciest armor were bearing down on Quintus, their two steeds shimmering with a golden glow that seemed to rebuff the sling stones that hurtled toward them.

Only two. Far more manageable than before.

Right before they trampled over him, Quintus stepped aside, using the edge of his shield to redirect the lance to the side. At the same time, he ducked down, using his sword to hack through one of the horse's legs as it passed by.

The [Heavy Blow] shattered the golden glow in an instant. The horse screamed and fell, carving a furrow in the ground as skidded to a halt. The rider went down with it. Quintus turned toward the still-advancing horses, his hand going for one of the throwing spears slung across his back, only to be struck by an errant hoof from the still-thrashing beast.

Quintus flew back as the kick sent him sprawling. It took a few precious moments for the air to return to his lungs, then he forced himself to roll to his feet. His ribs ached, but his legs still moved and he could breathe. That meant he had no excuse to rest.

As he surveyed the area, he spotted the other armored figure. The ornately-armored man wheeled about on his still-glowing horse to avoid another volley of spears and stones, his attention still toward the retreating figures of the baroness and her daughter. Quintus took advantage and interposed himself between them, raising his shield once more.

The horseman charged with a roar. His lance stabbed into Quintus's shield, the sharp point piercing through even without the momentum of a full charge. Quintus twisted his arm enough to pull the trapped lance to the side before the man could retract it, ripping the shaft from his hands.

A flurry of stones and spears struck the horse. The fact that it didn't rear at the assault was a testament to its training and quality. However, the beast wasn't invincible.

The sheer volume of attacks caused the strange golden shield to shatter. It stumbled and fell as spears and stones perforated its sides, casting its rider to the ground in a heap.

The warrior wasted no time in getting to his feet, yet his armor slowed him down. Quintus rushed forward and drew his sword to take advantage. He kicked the encumbered man in the shoulder before he could rise from one knee, knocking him over.

[Battlefield Intuition] screamed at him. Whirling in place, Quintus raised his blade just in time to block an overhead chop from the second warrior. Quintus sidestepped as he heard the shrill scream of a woman in the distance.

“Klein!” 

It took a second for the shriek to register. But Quintus recognised the name. The baron wouldn’t have been dumb enough to come here himself would he?

“Don't you dare hurt him, you monster!” The baroness threated him, Quinuts wasn’t sure how to take that other than with wry amusement.

The Primus Pilus glanced at the man rising to his feet. He must be the baron. That certainly explained the armor. The other man was likely his second-in-command, then.

Quintus backed up to bring both men into his field of view. He left an intentional opening to his left, goading the baron into making a run for his wife. It would be simple enough to strike the heavily-armored nobleman down from behind, should he choose to try it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t take the bait. The deep scowl on his face indicated that he knew exactly what Quintus was planning.

Suddenly, the baron blurred. He darted forward, a rapier appearing in his hand. The suddenness of the movement caught Quintus off-guard and he barely managed to deflect the blow from taking him in the neck. Instead, the blade penetrated deep into his left shoulder where the splintered remains of his shield no longer covered him.

Quintus was surprised with the skill and speed of the blow, but he still managed to step forward into the blow, using one hand to reach behind the man's helmet.

The man might have done well in a duel. Or maybe from horse back. But down on the battlefield, where the real men fought, he was woefully unprepared. The armor would likely do well when fighting other armored opponents. But in this case, it provided an opportunity for Quintus. If he had been wearing a clumsy gauntlet like the baron was, this trick might not have worked.

With movement like a striking snake, he grabbed the back of helmet, wedging his fingers in the narrow  gap between helmet and armor and pulled. The motion forced the baron’s chin into his chest. Quintus took advantage of the opening to overbalance him.

Rather than stumble, however, the baron proved surprisingly nimble. The man rolled forward, nearly pulling Quintus off his feet with the motion. He tried to throw the armored man off-balance with a final wrench of his hand but only succeeded in getting his fingers pinched in between the metal protrusions. He felt at least one break with the motion.

Once again, Quintus was forced to react to avoid a blow from the second man. He dove forward and onto the baron's back. Both men went to the ground in a tangle. In one fluid motion, Quintus dropped his sword and drew the pugio from his waist, stabbing the short blade down at the metal plates. The pugio skidded off and slipped up towards the man's helmet.

Quintus felt the blade halt as it encountered resistance. The baron struggled to regain his feet, but the centurion used his weight and momentum to pin the man's sword arm against his body and keep him from getting leverage.

The baron's gauntleted fist smashed awkwardly into the side of Quintus's face. There was little force behind the blow, but the hardened knuckles left bloody gouges across his cheek. Quintus wrenched his left hand away from wrestling the man and  slammed down on the pommel of the dagger before the baron could react.

He felt something give. The pugio pierced through some sort of chainmail below the nobleman’s armor and slid into the soft flesh below. The baron struggles wildly as Quintus hit it one more time for good measure, driving the blade all the way through the base of his skull with a crack.

The body of the baron went limp beneath him. 

Quintus drew his dagger back out. Its blade had shattered and folded from the strain of forcing its way through the ringed mail, leaving him with a jagged stump of metal. His hand screamed in agony as his broken finger reasserted its presence.

He pushed himself to his feet, quickly scanning the area for other threats. But he needn't have worried. The contingent of reinforcements had finally managed to pick their way to his position. He looked over just in time to see three of them finish the second armored warrior off.

Quintus took a step, wobbling as the world spun around him. His head still rang and fresh blood dripped from his face and one arm. The fight had left him in worse shape than he'd realized, though it was nothing compared to his wounds from the previous day. Maybe the availability of healing magic was making him get a bit too reckless.

His attention returned to the battlefield beyond. Several of the horses had regained their feet, and a couple of their riders had managed to find their saddles as well. Those that could had begun to flee, racing back towards the open gate. Even a few of the heavily armored figures had followed suit, albeit at a much slower pace.

Quintus watched as the gap between the Legion and their quarry shrank. Now that they were on the offensive, the men could once more take advantage of [Warpath] and its speed boost.

Waves of arrows fired from atop the wall tried to cover the mens’ retreat. But the Legion were ready. Shields sprang up to cover them as sling stones whizzed toward the exposed archers, forcing them to duck down or be brained with the small projectiles. The arrow fire thinned enough to speed up their advance.

Still, the race looked as though it would be closer than expected. While the six or so armored men on foot were already falling behind, the riders mustered up one last burst of speed to carry them through the city gates. Just as they crossed the threshold, the portcullis slammed down with a clanging finality that rang across the battlefield. 

The men, seeing that they had been cut off from escape, turned to face the massing Legion. Six spots of lone resistance against the tide of Romans.

B2 Chapter 35: Truce or Dare

//There are few changes after the split. Also added the title. 36 should be posted in the hour

B2 Chapter 35: Truce or Dare

Tiberius took in the sight of the siege engines with pride. Their arsenal truly had become a sight to behold. On top of the scorpions, ballistae, and catapults, there were also trebuchets and massive siege towers tall enough to assault even the most impressive walls. He even saw several other prototype inventions that would have just been impractical in their old world.

In all honesty, fielding these weapons was probably not entirely necessary. But seeing them perform in the field and gauging their effectiveness was incredibly important. Besides, even if they could take the city without them, such tools would hopefully minimize Roman casualties. Assuming, of course, that Quintus hadn’t already finished the job by the time they arrived.

A messenger led the lead engineer to Tiberius before excusing himself. The engineer was a tawny man with wiry limbs who stood relatively tall among Legionnaires. But despite his stature, Tiberius knew he was anything but weak. He’d seen him single-handedly load trebuchets before, and with a speed that rivaled some of their more middling teams.

The man saluted. “Legatus. You wanted to see me?”

“Indeed. It’s time to put your men’s creations to work, Cornelius.”

Cornelius’s eyes flashed with interest. “Truly? We’ll be taking them into the field?” At Tiberius’s nod, the man grinned broadly. “Excellent. I will assemble our best teams. May I interest you in a tour, so that you can see what we’re working with?”

Tiberius gestured for the man to proceed. Cornelius turned on his heel and led the way forward with a spring in his step. He led the Legatus and his entourage to the first of the weapons, what appeared to be an altered scorpion.

“We’ll start with the Scorpio. It functions much the same as what the men are used to. But as you can see, we have taken a few liberties with the design…”

Cornelius began to explain in great detail the men’s creations. Skills used during construction allowed their engineers to accomplish all sorts of incredible feats. Beams could hold greater loads while pivots and joints were able to move with less friction. They could launch heavier projectiles farther and quicker than ever before.

Several designs that had only been dreams before now saw life breathed into them. Even the arrow thrower seemed much more practical now than ever before. The tension in the bent board that slapped the back of the arrows all at once allowed for them to actually hit ranges that would be effective compared to normal archers. And with certain skills very specifically tailored to loading the weapons, they could be fired at nearly two or three times the rate.

Such innovations were everywhere. And that was just with basic training. After some use in combat, the teams manning the siege weapons would likely be able to wreak havoc over a battlefield in truly divine proportions.

Of course, Tiberius was well aware of most of this. He’d read the reports and even seen some of the tests. But seeing it all firsthand made him a bit more eager to see them in action.

Once the excitable engineer had finished his presentation, Tiberius nodded. “Very well. Prepare any battle-ready siege engines to move at first light, along with crews for each. You may also send a select few prototypes, provided they will not slow our march overmuch.”

“Understood. If it pleases you, Legatus…” The lanky engineer straightened. “Might I be permitted to accompany you to the siege? In order to take notes on these field tests.”

“You may.” He agreed easily. Though it may be better to keep Cornelius working on designs and building more engines here, having him at the battle would be a great boon. It may also improve the quality of future designs.

“Excellent!” The man beamed. “I’ll see to the preparations right away.”

“Do so. You are dismissed, Cornelius.”

With that taken care of, Tiberius finally headed into the camp itself. He had one last concern to deal with. The matter of what to do with the captured enemy combatants.

He had a few options before him. Usually, such people would become slaves or laborers, with some of the more valuable ones being ransomed off. He could also simply execute them as examples to any who would resist their conquest. Such things were standard practice. However, given their current situation, Tiberius wasn’t entirely sure if that was the best move.

Right now, the Legion’s biggest problem was a lack of manpower. Not in the combat department, of course. Their problem lay in the resources and population of their budding empire.

Rome’s legions were used to having a complicated logistics hub behind them. Usually, they were deployed into a province and spread throughout its area to work on construction projects, provide protection, and so on unless they needed to march.

Under such a system, supplies and basic necessities for the Legion were provided by the provinces and their populations. Even much of the armor and weapons they used came from blacksmiths and craftsmen back home, with the Legion themselves being mostly responsible for repairs. But they lacked that support network here.

The fact was that they simply didn’t have enough people populating their empire. And while Tiberius did not want to entrust all responsibilities to the local populations, especially not with the great strides in smithing his men had made under Gareth’s tutelage—it would be foolish to continue doing everything themselves.

Making these people slaves was another issue. Even if Tiberius did want to treat these prisoners as such, the people they had conquered were far too few in number to manage such a large slave population, assuming they could be trusted to do so. They were all former citizens of Novara, after all. The Legion could also take some with them on the march, but with how quickly they moved now it might do more harm than good.

That didn’t mean the enemy combatants would get off too easily, however. After a few years of hard labor, perhaps they would be given the ability to join the auxiliaries and work toward citizenship. But in the meantime, he thought that the best course of action may well be to simply rule over these people after they’d done their time.

He was aware that many of those under his command would consider him soft, but Tiberius was inclined towards leniency. He still felt that burning coal of anger at those who would dare move against his men sitting in the pit of his stomach. But he would not let emotion rule him. Not when there was so much more at stake.

And so, he ordered a barracks to be built for the prisoners. He doubted any of them would actually become proper citizens even after their sentences were finished. He wasn’t particularly inclined to expedite the process, either, as he suspected these men lacked the proper mindset to be Roman. But he would ensure that the option was there if anyone surprised him. Eventually.

The sun had already disappeared below the horizon by the time Tiberius finished. He found the fresh cohorts of Legionnaires readying themselves for the next morning. Many sought their beds early in order to be fresh for the march, while others spent just a bit of extra time on their equipment.

As for him, Tiberius chose to take advantage of his youthful energy to get a bit more done. After all, he never lacked reports to review.

Eventually though, even he sought the respite of sleep. Tomorrow, they would return to the seat of the barony. And given what they had prepared, the city would be hard-pressed to resist their might.

***

Despite all of his efforts, Quintus had been unable to find an olive branch. A literal one, at least. It wasn’t unexpected, given their strange new environment and the relative scarcity of trees since they’d left Habersville.

Quintus chose not to take it as a sign and instead strode toward the city’s gates with a white banner waving high above his head. 

Of course, he had no idea whether the barbarians would recognize either sign for what it was, an offering of truce. But if they didn’t, then it hardly mattered to him. At least he would have made the effort.

A pair of Legionnaires followed behind him, shields at the ready in case the archers on the wall got any ideas. But he doubted they would risk shooting at him. Not with them dragging forth the gagged and bound figure of the Baroness. The other soldier held her daughter fast behind her.

The dragging was mostly for show. His prisoners had been just cooperative, so they’d treated them well so far. But now was not the time for such things. Treating them too kindly in front of the baron might make him think the Legion was soft. That there was room to bargain or that they may not actually follow through on their threats. And that simply wouldn’t do. 

Quintus drew in a deep breath that filled his lungs and activated [Voice of Command]. He wasn’t entirely sure that the skills were meant for this kind of use. However, it seemed to do the trick as his bellow carried across the Legion’s freshly-built fortifications and echoed across the city. He was pretty sure everyone could hear him.

“Baron von Latimore! Your attempts to save your family have fallen short. We have seized them and taken them prisoner.”

He gestured back toward the bound figures behind him. “I offer you a chance for their survival. Surrender both your city and yourself if you wish for no harm to come to your wife and child.”

The truth was that he had decided to show leniency to both his prisoners and the city by calling for them to surrender. He had a vested interest in seeing the Baroness remain unharmed. The duke’s wealth would allow him to pay a far larger ransom for the pair than anything he might squeeze out of the baron. As for the child… well, he wasn’t exactly one for seeing younglings like her harmed. But they didn’t need to know that.

If the threat worked, then great. If not, well, that was fine as well. They’d seize the city either way. It was just a matter of how long it would take.

There was movement along the walls. A few guards hesitantly poked their heads up to take in the scene. Indistinct shouting could be heard as they began to move, more and more men gathering on this side of the fortifications.

Quintus just rested his hand on the pommel of his gladius and waited. He was in no rush.

A new figure appeared at the top of the wall a few minutes later. It was difficult to make him out at this distance, even under a flag of truce, Quintus had decided it was prudent to not venture too far into the archers’ ranges. But even from here he could see the relatively fine clothing that the man wore compared to that of the guards.

“Trickery. How do I know that is actually them? You show me little more than illusions.” The voice of what he assumed was the baron carried easily across the intervening space, likely a result of a skill of his own.

Quintus snorted. The man knew damn well that this was his wife. The way the city guards had tried to keep the Legionnaires off of her carriage was proof enough of that. He was just attempting to improve his bargaining position.

Well, Quintus didn’t have much patience for that.

He drew his blade from his belt and pointed out toward the woman’s neck. “Is that a chance you’re willing to take? If so, I will assume she is of no more use to us.”

The baron stilled. Even from here, Quintus thought he saw his jaw visibly clench.

“Bring them closer. Their features are too difficult to see and judge at this distance.”

“No.” Quintus said flatly. He was already closer to projectile range than he would have liked. Besides, he had no desire to traverse the terrain hazards his men had erected, nor find himself caught in some other surprise assault. He didn’t trust this man to honor a truce, not with his family on the line.

Instead, he reached down and ungagged the Baroness. The woman glared at him haughtily with murder in her eyes, but didn’t say a word. He lightly cuffed her ear, though one wouldn’t be able to tell that it was just a tap from how she reacted. 

“This will go better for all of you if you speak.” Quintus muttered in a low growl.

The woman’s eyes flicked to her daughter, softening just a bit. Then they regained their initial fire as she shouted toward her husband.

“Klein!” She called out. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be ok! Don’t give these barbarians what they want! They’ll kill you—”

The rest of her words were cut off as Quintus shoved the gag back in her mouth. She had been behaving herself so well, too. Her outburst wasn’t likely to change much, though he found himself a bit peeved at her misuse of the term ‘barbarian’.

She did have a point, though. Quintus rather doubted that ransoming the entire family off to the duke would bring in substantially more money. Especially not with the ruinous amounts he’d be demanding.

“You have one day to make your decision.” Quintus informed the man. “Should you fail to surrender now, you will not get a second chance.”

He waited several minutes for some sort of response or acknowledgement. When none came, he mage a gesture to his men, their group began heading back to the camp. Quintus didn’t honestly expect the man to surrender. Not after that interaction. As such, his mind was already whirling with battle plans.

The convoy of wagons taking shelter against the wall in particular caught his eye. For some reason, they’d decided to leave the gates clear in favor of clustering at the base of the tall stone fortification that ringed the city. Maybe the guards had forced them to move. Still, the fact remained that the road to the gate was clear.

Quintus couldn’t help but snort at the poor planning. That wasn’t the only factor that would make their assault easier. The wagons’ placements gave the Legion about a six-foot advantage on scaling the walls. That wasn’t insignificant.

Usually, rubble at the base of a wall could be advantageous to the defenders. Unstable ground made it harder to plant ladders and or to approach quickly. However, these wagons were far sturdier. Between that and their skill-fueled improvements in scaling enemy defenses, Quintus was relatively confident that they’d be able to make good use of the situation.

As they walked, however, Quintus heard something from behind them. One of his men sent up a shout of alarm. Whipping back around, the portcullis of the city’s gate had begun to rise rather quickly. It ground open in a handful of seconds, and the ground thundered as a column of horses charged down the road directly toward them.

B2 Chapter 34: To Fight, or Not to Fight

B2 Chapter 34: To Fight, or Not to Fight

Quintus looked over at the subdued noblewoman and her daughter. He'd taken them, their retainers, and the horses back to their camp and set a heavy guard about them before stepping away. He didn't particularly want them to privy to talks about what to do with them. Not unless it served a purpose.

Such decisions were usually above Quintus’s pay grade. Still, he obviously knew of a few common uses for foreign nobility once they were captured.

The soldier in him wanted to take the most expedient approach. They could march the pair up to the gate and demand the baron’s unconditional surrender. If they were refused, then they could start cutting parts off of the two until the baron reconsidered. It was simple, straightforward, and often quite effective.

But as tempting as it was, Quintus held himself back for a few reasons. The main one being the claims of the foppish excuse for a man before him. 

“So. This duke is wealthy, then?” he asked.

The purple-cloaked bard sat across the cookfire from the centurion. Marcus, if he remembered correctly. Despite how much he'd done to ingratiate himself to the Legion and Tiberius in particular, Quintus simply couldn't help but dislike the man.

Sure, he got along well with the men, and he’d even heard mention of a few rather respectable contributions he’d made to their cause. He just seemed… dishonest. Sleazy. Two-faced. Like he would, if given a better deal, gladly turn tail and spring for the other side.

The bard nodded slowly in response to the question. The bard’s expression seemed relaxed, but Quintus couldn't help but notice the intensity with which the other man seemed to focus on him and his facial expressions.

“Indeed. In some respects, at least. I am uncertain of the status of his estate and its current assets, of course. But between his title and the leverage it gives him, he should be able to procure a hefty ransom. Although it may require time for him to move the capital,” Marcus said.

Quintus nodded. This was the other common use for nobles: ransoming them back to their families. Another tried and true way to fill coffers and bend others to their will. 

Of course, there was a very decent chance they’d end up capturing them again later in their conquest, but that was of little concern. By that point he suspected things would be quite a bit different already.

The Primus Pilus fell into quiet contemplation. On one hand, his mission was to conquer this city and force it to surrender. On the other, he'd also been tasked with getting his men and the auxiliaries additional experience—both practically in the battlefield and numerically in the form of System levels.

The bard continued talking as he thought. “While I'm certain the duke will be quite interested to hear terms on the return of his daughter and granddaughter, let us not forget the baron as well. Making the surrender of his fine city a condition of the ransom would be quite reasonable, in my opinion. And beneficial to all parties. Wouldn't you agree?”

Quintus had to suppress a snort. He wasn't particularly concerned about avoiding conflict, in all honesty. While a siege would be a drain on the resources of both sides, it would also provide quite a lot of value for the men and for practical testing of their siege weapons.

A quick glance over his shoulder simply reinforced his point. In the short time they'd been here, the men working on fortifications had increased their speed manifold. They were gaining such valuable skill levels from this. Who knew how much the siege weapon engineers and operators might benefit as well? Once they arrived, of course.

However, he had been told to avoid unnecessary risks. And having a bit more money wouldn't hurt. He was willing to bet that Tiberius wouldn't say no to a few chests of this world's currency dropped on their heads.

“...Of course, I am quite aware that you by no means require the city to surrender. The might of the Legion would surely be sufficient to take it, even in your current numbers. However, it is both a matter of expediency and additional benefits. Surely the local populace will look upon you more kindly as rulers if there is minimal bloodshed…”

Maybe he could both siege the city and ransom the nobles? Maybe. Although that would present complications of its own, not to mention cause him to lose out on whatever additional spoils the baron may offer. Though they'd take all he owned by force regardless.

“...Of course, such an approach would also signal to other nobility and leaders that you can be bargained with. This will surely pave the way for less resistance down the line…”

Quintus let out a small sigh. If the old fox was here, he was certain that the man would have decisively identified and chosen the best option in an instant. He was a Legionnaire and a fighter, not some politician. Sure, he knew battlefield tactics, but this? It might have farther-reaching implications than this battle. He didn't feel qualified to make the decision.

He considered waiting for Tiberius to let him give the orders. But no. This battlefield and these men were his responsibility. Putting off a choice like this wouldn't just cast doubt on his ability to operate independently—it would make him a spineless coward as well.

Quintus spat off into the dirt next to him before taking a swig of the barley wine in his cup. It was an acrid brew that felt like it could strip the paint off of a wall. But it was what they had, so he wasn't complaining.

“...What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Quintus directed a baleful glare at the bard. This entire time, the man hadn't ceased his prattling once. It was as though he was simply enamored with the sound of his own voice.

Then again, maybe that was the case. It took a certain kind of narcissist to become a performer, after all. 

“Bard.” Quintus said simply.

“Yes?” He perked up, eagerly anticipating Quintus's response.

“Shut up.”

The bard stilled, then let out a long sigh. “As you wish.”

The two continued to sit in blissful silence for a few minutes longer, the distant sounds of Legionnaires at work the only backdrop to Quintus’s thoughts. That was, of course, until the bard pulled out his lute.

Quintus’s eye twitched. Evidently, his order for silence hadn't been quite clear enough. But before he could open his mouth to clarify, the man began to strum softly. Quintus found himself listening despite himself as the bard gently sang a melancholic tune.

Ten years have flown on Vulcan’s breath,

Since I was bound to a soldier’s death.

A noble slain, the forum cried—

They swore I stood there, sword at side.

She walks these hall with midnight’s grace,

With veil of black o’er moonlit face.

None know the name she dares not tell,

She mourns where my pale ashes dwell.

***

“Hail, Legatus!”

The Legionnaires responsible for manning the walls called out in greeting as Tiberius approached with his men. He simply raised a hand in acknowledgement. Despite being emperor, he saw no reason to insist on some kind of grand ceremony every time he returned. Too much of a hassle and an interruption.

The return trip had proved slower than the one toward the ambush, and not just because of the prisoners. Still faster than a normal march by many times, but nothing like the blistering pace they'd set to meet the incoming army. It was one of the downsides of [Warpath]. Still, Tiberius figured they would make up the time once they set out once more.

“See to it that the men rest and rotate out. Prepare the siege weaponry and fresh cohorts to move at first light tomorrow.” Tiberius ordered the centurions as he turned toward Habersville. His own rest could wait. First, there were other matters for him to attend to.

He strode quickly yet purposefully through the streets of the town as he headed for its center. A contingent of guards and aides surrounded him as he moved, their heads on constant swivels. The assassination attempt had shamed the men and put them on high alert for other such dangers—even here.

It only took a few minutes for the Legatus to reach his destination. Placing his palm flat against the glassy surface of the class stone, he watched the dance of golden light course up his arm and coalesce into words before his eyes.

Information:

Name: Tiberius Rufius Maro

Age: 54 (LIV)

Class: Legionnaire – Legatus (Legendary)

Level: 3 (III)

Experience: 421,183 / 1,800,000 (C̅D̅X̅X̅MCLXXXIII / M̅D̅C̅C̅C̅)

Stats:

Strength: 11 (XI)

Dexterity: 10 (X)

Constitution: 12 (XII)

Charisma: 18 (XVIII)

Wisdom: 13 (XIII)

Intelligence: 13 (XIII)

Free Points: 4 (IV)

Titles:

Born to Rule

Born to Conquer

Bonds of Brotherhood

Conqueror of Towns

Roman Emperor

Bane of Cats (I)

Bane of Spiders (II)

Bane of Ghouls (IV)

Boss Slayer (I)

Craftsman (II)

Blood on Your Hands (II)

Warforged (I)

Skills:

[Logistics] (Uncommon) - Lvl 41 (Individual)

[Swordsmastery] (Rare) - Lvl 2 (Individual)

[Rallying Cry] (Uncommon) - Lvl 11 (Individual)

[Keen Eye] (Uncommon) - Lvl 22 (Individual)

[Paths of Victory] (Rare) - Lvl 4 (Individual)

[Warpath] (Rare) - Lvl 4 (Legion)

[Coordinated Bulwark] (Rare) - Lvl 2 (Legion)

[Military Leadership] (Uncommon) - Lvl 43 (Officer)

[Oration] (Uncommon) - Lvl 35 (Legatus)

[Commanding Presence] (Uncommon) - Lvl 41 (Legatus)

He was pleased with the results. They were still some ways from the next level, of course, but not as far as he might have feared. As intimidatingly large as the amount of required experience continued to grow, he had no doubts that they would find themselves able to meet it before long.

He also had a new title—[Warforged].

[Warforged (I): Emerge victorious against an enemy nation’s army. +5% to constitution when fighting forces from a nation you have declared war on.]

The fact that winning a battle earned him a title was a pleasant surprise. It even seemed to be a useful one. Anything that improved his men’s survivability was a worthy reward indeed. And judging by the number next to its name, this was one of those titles that could be leveled as well. It made Tiberius look forward to how high that number would climb over the coming months.

One thing that did interest him was the amount of experience they had gained from this conflict. To be perfectly honest, Tiberius hadn’t expected to level again so quickly. It had taken a quite frankly unreasonable number of ghouls to reach level two. Compared to that, the force they’d just taken on was only a fraction of the size. They hadn’t even killed all of the men they’d faced.

Maybe it was due to the adventurers. They were quite high level, after all. Or maybe there was something else at play.

He hummed in thought and set the matter aside. Something to have Gaius investigate, perhaps. For now, there was something else on his mind—skills.

A quick review of his own skills revealed acceptable progress in most of them. He was even offered a rare evolution for his [Oration] in the form of [Inspiring Oration]. One that he obviously took, of course.

[Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Inspiring Oration] (Rare) - Lvl 0.]

Finally, he went over his stats. Just as last time, the level had granted him one point to every available stat, as well as four to distribute as he pleased. And just like last time, he decided to put two into charisma and one each into wisdom and intelligence.

But before he finalized the choice, Tiberius hesitated. Investing into his mental stats was one of the best things he could do as a leader. But there was something more important than even that. Not dying.

Memories of the assassination attempt flashed through his mind. He had come all too close to finding out if he was bound for Elysium or Tartarus. And while he was certain that his men would take extra precautions to prevent a repeat of that incident, who was to say they'd be successful?

After a moment’s thought, Tiberius shifted one of his free points from charisma to constitution. Would that really change anything? Maybe not. But maybe it would just prove to be the difference between life and death if he was caught off-guard again.

As he confirmed the changes, he instantly felt their effects. His mind felt sharper, his memories coming more quickly and clearly than they had in ages. He felt like he was in his thirties again—maybe even his late twenties.

That wasn't all. Looking at his reflection in the glossy surface of the class stone, even his face looked younger. The craggy wrinkles that characterized his stern expression were beginning to disappear, though that fact thankfully didn't lessen the severity of his face. Even his hair appeared a bit thicker, even if its grey remained.

It was enough to make him wonder about the mage that had been part of that adventuring party. She'd looked like no more than a girl. But if stats and levels could accomplish something like this, then perhaps he'd been mistaken.

It didn't matter now. What did matter were the implications for himself. There were so many things he'd simply never found time for in his younger years, things that no longer seemed out of his reach. Perhaps his newfound youth would allow him to pursue them once more. 

In between his other duties, of course. There were still so many lands to conquer.

Satisfied, Tiberius stepped away from the stone. This wasn't the only reason why they'd come back to Habersville. He'd best get moving if he didn't want to keep Quintus waiting. 

He headed back to camp. Already a line had begun to form behind the Legatus as other Legionnaires assembled to assign their own stat points and check their skills. Centurions barked orders to keep everyone organized and moving.

Given how fruitful their last combat had been for him, he expected many of his men would also be pleasantly surprised. Maybe he'd even see some new rare or even epic skills in the next report.

As he neared the camp, Tiberius veered off toward the practice field nearest the forest. His destination was obvious—the massive line of wheeled wooden constructs that lay to one side, fresh sawdust still visible on some. The siege engines. 

When he had left, many of them were still under construction. But now? He looked forward to seeing what surprises his Legion had in store for the unsuspecting city.

B2 Chapter 33: The Ninth Son

B2 Chapter 33: The Ninth Son

Marcus gulped down lungfuls of air as he finally reached the edge of the Legion encampment. By the time he arrived, the soldiers had already encircled Hausten, the seat of the barony, and begun their siege. They'd even begun to build around the city itself, bizarrely erecting fortifications and trenches that altered the very landscape.

He’d actually ended up pulling ahead of the auxiliaries. He’d managed to help them along quite a bit through judicious use of [Inspirational Song] on the most exhausted of the men. However, he could only do so much. They’d needed to rest eventually, something the centurions overseeing the group were not exactly happy about.

Not that he didn’t. Marcus took quite his fair share of breaks as well. But his were shorter and more frequent in nature, and his stats allowed him to make the best use of them to make up any lost ground once he was back on his feet.

And so, he’d continued on ahead of the group in pursuit of the Legion’s forces. Any concerns he’d maintained about traveling alone were fairly moot at this point. He was used to it by now, and the extra levels he’d gained meant he was honestly more capable of taking care of himself now than ever before.

He’d also gained a bit more combat experience than he’d ever expected. Not intentionally, of course. But between fending off shadow panthers and that kraken in the ruined amphitheater, he’d honestly surprised himself a bit with his ability to function in such situations. He was still no adventurer, he had absolutely no desire to willingly put himself in such situations, but if it came down to it, he felt confident that running away wasn’t his only option. Although he was still quite adept at that.

There was also the fact that he was fairly certain the way before him was clear. Even the stupidest bandit wasn’t likely to try his luck against a few thousand men on the march. They were far more likely to turn tail and run altogether, an outcome which he certainly wouldn’t complain about.

Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow with the edge of his already-soaked shirt before glaring at it balefully. In his rush to catch up, he’d taken the time to change into something cleaner than the ruined garments he’d been wearing the day before, but had neglected to pack anything extra. He was beginning to rue that decision quite a bit right now.

Resigning himself to not looking his best, Marcus took a moment to calm his breathing before approaching the Legion’s fortifications. It was a little less impressive than the one they’d erected outside of Habersville. Granted, these were only a fraction of the Legion’s forces, so it was to be expected. But the camp still boasted a full wall and guard towers, to the point that it resembled a miniature town of its own next to the far larger city. Though he honestly wasn't sure where they'd managed to procure all that stone from.

Marcus greeted the sentries by name before being allowed through. From this distance, he could see a the distant forms of people huddled outside of Hausten’s walls. They were pinned down by the Legion, unable to flee but also unable to get into the city itself. It was quite the conundrum.

The Legionnaires seemed content to wait them out. Marcus wasn’t exactly sure why they didn’t simply attack and seize the wagons right away, but there was probably some reason. He was no military strategist.

A quick look around revealed that the command post was largely empty of leadership, strangely enough. It was mostly populated by aides sending messages here and there. His approach elicited a severe look from a pair of guards that he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting. However, some liberal applications of [Silver Tongue] allowed him to mollify them and gain directions to someone in charge.

“Marcus? What are you doing here?” A plumed tribune asked with obvious confusion. The officer stood overlooking the progress of the Legion’s fortifications, his breastplate glinting in the sunlight.

“Commodus, my friend! It's good to see you! How goes the battle.”

“Well enough. Though I don't look forward to the waiting.” The tribune snorted. “Though you didn't answer my question. Do you have some business here?”

Marcus frowned internally, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. He really had no official reason to be here. Personal ones, sure, but something that satisfied the Legionnaire? Without orders, he'd have to appeal to their sensibilities.

“Well, I came to offer my services of course!” Marcus began to speak, weaving his words with his skills and paying extra attention to any approaches that seemed to especially resonate with the man. “As I understand it, the assault has not yet begun. At least, not in earnest. And while I'm sure that taking the city will prove trivial to the Legion's forces… perhaps there may still be some room for diplomacy.”

Commodus raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop him from continuing. “I am still becoming familiar with your customs, but it's my understanding that it is common practice to give your enemies a chance to surrender prior to an assault. However, given your own relative lack of familiarity with how things are done here, perhaps I might serve as a mediator during such an offer. I suspect it may save you quite a lot of time and a bit of trouble if the city were to accept.”

“It is as you say. However, what makes you believe they would listen to you? As good as you may be with words, you are simply a bard.” The tribune pointed out matter-of-factly. “Why should they take you seriously?”

“Well. I just so happen to be acquainted with the leaders of this barrony.” Marcus’s lips curled into a smile. “And as such, I expect they’d have a good deal of reason to listen to some friendly advice.”

It was only a partial lie. The baron would probably recognize Marcus, alright. But whether that recognition would be favorable or not remained to be seen. Still, it would hopefully be enough to get his foot in the door so he could work on convincing the man.

Commodus drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword for a second. “This would be a decision for the Primus Pilus to make. He's currently in charge of these forces. Although…” Commodus tilted his head in thought. The motion sent his plumes swaying. “If you say that you are familiar with the rulers here, perhaps you can confirm something for us.”

The tribune shouted over his shoulder and summoned a lanky-looking Legionnaire before gesturing at Marcus. “Take him to the Primus Pilus, by the southern gate. Bring an escort with you, then have them return to their duties afterward.”

The lanky Legionnaire saluted and retrieved a couple more men before setting off with the bard in tow. Marcus honestly had no idea what Commodus wanted him to do, but he’d figure it out when he got there. Besides, being closer to leadership certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing if he wanted to be involved.

Marcus accompanied the soldiers as they briskly walked him around the city. They were once again new faces that he didn’t recognize, which wasn’t surprising. He still had a way to go before being able to claim familiarity with the entire Legion. But he took the opportunity to introduce himself regardless.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” He put on is best disarming smile.

“Cnaeus.” The lanky one introduced himself. “This is Nonus and Hilarius.”

“Nonus?” Marcus tilted his head. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before.”

It was rather surprising, given how many of the Legionnaires shared duplicate names. He supposed it was inevitable given their numbers. But still, it seemed to happen more often than he would have expected.

“It’s not common.” The man explained. He was a bit stockier than most of the Legionnaires Marcus had seen, but well-muscled and gruff. “Not many families have nine children.”

“Nine?” The bard nearly choked. “Wait… does your name mean…?”

“Ninth, yes.” Nonus nodded. “I thought that was obvious.”

“By the gods, man. What went wrong with you to make your mother stop before ten?”

Nonus rolled his eyes. “You must not of have meet my younger brother. He's in the fifth cohort.”

The other two men chuckled. Marcus turned to them. “Did you happen to find that… hilarious?”

The man called Hilarius groaned. “As if I haven’t heard that one before. Please at least come up with something original, bard.”

He continued to crack jokes as they walked, quickly winning over the men and generally lightening the mood. It never hurt to be on good terms with the rank-and-file of an up-and-coming military force attempting world domination. At least, in his opinion.

But as they rounded the corner and the stopped carriage came into view, Marcus felt his heart rate spike. He broke into a jog, the guards with him keeping pace without any perceived effort.

Quintus was there, all right. And he wasn’t alone. Two figures in particular caught Marcus’s attention. The first was a little girl in a cute travel dress. The second was the girl’s mother. Mirella von Latimore, baroness of the Latimore barony.

The woman glared up at the centurion with unbridled ferocity despite her bindings. Beneath that fiery exterior, he could tell that she was terrified out of her wits. But she was hiding it excellently. As could be expected of a noble with high charisma.

Somehow, the Legion had already captured the baroness and the baron’s heir. But that wasn’t all. Mirella was also the duke’s favorite daughter. A daughter who, instead of being married off for political clout, military advantage, or any sort of trade alliance, had been allowed to marry for love.

It had been quite the talk in noble circles when it happened. A small-time baron in had somehow managed to win the hand of a young duchess. What’s more, instead of bringing the baron into the duke's family, the man had allowed his daughter to "run away" in a romantic elopement that had inspired dozens of songs and stories. He’d even written a few of them himself.

His mind began to race as he untangled the implications of the scene before him. It wasn’t as simple as using these two to force the baron’s surrender. They had to handle them with extreme care. Otherwise, they would have even greater troubles bearing down on their heads. The ire of a baron was one thing, but a duke? That was no small matter, especially not this duke.

“Sir Quintus!” Marcus called as he approached, making sure to announce himself. He didn’t slow or give the highest-ranking centurion an opportunity to wave him off.

Luckily, he didn’t. The grizzled soldier turned to look at Marcus as he jogged to a halt. Quintus didn’t smile, exactly, but he didn’t send him away either.

Taking that as an invitation, Marcus walked forward. He turned to the baroness and performed a courtly bow. "Mariella von Larimore, baroness of the von Latimore estate, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once again. I am, of course, Marcus Silvanus D’Angelo, a former bard of his highness the king’s royal court.”

The baroness's eyes narrowed at his words. She scanned him up and down with well-hidden suspicion. The greeting might have felt odd, given her currently detained state. But he hoped that the reminder of her title would assuage some of her fears while also making it clear to the Legionnaires what her role was in all of this.

He watched as her expression flickered almost imperceptibly between a few emotions. The micro-adjustments were something that no one with charisma below fifty could ever hope to read. It was a testament to her own stats as a level twenty [Baroness].

At his name, Marcus saw a brief flash of recognition and surprise. It was just as quickly followed by a suppressed sneer of distaste that she quashed with brutal efficiency. She finally settled on wary hope, the only one of the expressions that somewhat leaked through her fierce exterior. Though he could tell that some of the anger simmering beneath had been redistributed just for him.

He kept his own features completely neutral, not even affecting a diplomatic smile. That brief interaction had granted him quite a bit of insight into her disposition. She would certainly not be his friend in any respect. But she saw how he could be useful to her and would likely take full advantage if given the chance. That was good information.

The baroness straightened her back, affecting a cool smile as she did. "Bard Marcus. I am familiar with you and your… reputation. If I recall correctly, you passed through our city not so long ago. Though it appeared you were in far too much of a hurry to grace our halls personally.”

Marcus allowed himself a small smile. “Indeed. I apologize for my rudeness, but it pleases me that the ripples of my passing did not go unremarked.”

It really didn’t. He thought he’d been rather stealthy in his flight from the capital and avoided capture because of it. Evidently, he couldn’t help but draw eyes wherever he went.

Baroness von Latimore looked him up and down. The scrutiny made him once again aware of his disheveled state and sweat-soaked garments. “I understand. Although it is unfortunate to see you at odds with us now."

"At odds?" Marcus straightened and placed a hand against his chest. “Why, I am nothing of the sort. In fact, I would say that I…” He glanced toward the Quintus, the Legionnaire standing impatiently as Marcus chose his words carefully. “...have the best interests of both parties in mind.”

The baroness gave him a plastered-on smile. “Truly? It does seem that you've chosen a side from this angle.”

The words were meant to challenge him, to prepare him to offer greater concessions and consideration given her current situation. It would also test the extent of his influence. After all, she had no idea whether he could actually affect any sort of real change or persuade her captors.

Marcus gave another, more theatrical bow. “Rest assured I have every motivation to see this resolved with minimal bloodshed. Something that I believe we have the ability to carry out.”

He turned toward Quintus. Unfortunately, the prospect did not seem to excite the man nearly as much as Marcus had hoped.

B2 Chapter 32: We Have You Surrounded

B2 Chapter 32: We Have You Surrounded

The march to the barony’s seat was uneventful. Even as they made camp and set watches that night, Quintus couldn’t help but expect some previously unseen force to pop out of hiding and ambush them, or a group of adventurers to take them by surprise. Yet even as the distance between them and their destination shrank to only a few hours of marching, no such threat arose.

It made him feel a little paranoid, especially considering that he’d put his best centurions on watch and increased their scouting of the surrounding areas. But that was fine. The Primus Pilus would bear any accusations of such a thing in the name of being thorough. He would not allow his men to suffer because of his complacency.

Besides, if something was going to go wrong, it would happen soon. As far as he could tell, it was the last chance the baron had to make some sort of counterplay. Any cards he had remaining would be revealed here.

It was right as they'd begun striking camp for the morning when the latest reports came in. Quintus saw the outriders as they approached, their strides carrying them across the hilly terrain as though the caligae around their feet had wings attached to them. One alighted before him with a smart salute. “Primus Pilus.”

He nodded. “Report.”

“The barony's seat is in turmoil. People stream in and out of the gates in such a constant rush that its walls resemble a leaking dam.”

“In and out?” Quintus pressed. “It’s not an evacuation then?”

“It doesn’t appear so. Not a well-organized one, at least. Granted, a good number of the people are fleeing the city. But there are also lines of carriages and wagons attempting to enter.”

Quintus hummed thoughtfully. If they were trying to get supplies in to weather a siege, that would certainly make sense. But if the lines were as long as he claimed, then they certainly weren't going about it very efficiently. And that was an opportunity they could exploit. 

“Is there any evidence of an incoming attack?” He asked.

The outrider shook his head. “No, sir. No evidence of additional fighters anywhere in sight—nothing past the city’s guards, at least.”

Quintus didn’t worry too much about them. No guards had ever given them much issue yet. 

“Understood. You are dismissed.” The centurion nodded to the man. “Have you and your men rest up before you head out again.”

“Yes, sir!”

The man turned just as Quintus remembered something else. “One more thing. Did you or your men see any evidence of horses?”

The outrider’s face split into a grin. “We did indeed, sir. Not battle mounts, and certainly not enough for a full cavalry unit. But the fact we’ve seen any at all proves that this world’s inhabitants aren’t playing some sick joke on us.”

Quintus chuckled at the Legionnaire’s reaction. From everything they'd seen, horses definitely did exist in this world. Yet neither Quintus nor anyone else in the Legion had seen a single live one since appearing here. The fact that the city might have some made it worth conquering all on its own.

It was immensely frustrating that they hadn’t been able to procure any mounts for their own men. At the same time, though, the scarcity of the beasts might work in their favor here. It meant that a cavalry charge, which would be the most effective way of breaking through his encirclement, was almost certainly out of the question.

As the man hurried off, Quintus was already readjusting their approach with the new information in mind. 

The carriages and wagons outside the city were an obvious priority to capture. With any luck, they would contain sufficient food to maintain the siege for weeks without having to delve into their own supplies. Even if they carried other kinds of goods, that was still loot that the Legion could put up good use. They had enough people with varied professions that practically anything of value could find a use in someone's hands.

The men readied themselves for battle. He pushed for them to hurry, aiming to take advantage of the situation while it persisted.

As usual, the auxiliaries lagged behind schedule, though not as much as usual. His threats from the day before had done their job of spurring the men to action. Still, given that it had taken them an extra hour's march in the dark to reach the Legion's base camp the night before, they would likely be an hour or two late to the city siege as well.

Which was why he was graciously giving them a head start at the low cost of some sleep. A price that none of the baggy-eyed conscripts and recruits saw fit to object to.

In all honesty, they could have afforded to let the men follow after the other cohorts. Really, they were just there to gain some experience and provide fire support. But marching like they were was experience as well, and who was Quintus to deprive them of an opportunity for growth?

With everything Quintus had seen and heard, the Legion would have no trouble taking this city themselves. He'd be shocked if the barony was able to mount a sortie so quickly after their last engagement. And once they were inside, their recent practice with city fighting in Stonester would give them quite the advantage no matter what preparations the enemy had managed to make.

Quintus rallied the troops and, once his centurions confirmed that everything was ready, the began to march. The scenery practically blurred as the men hustled toward the city, each stride eating up more ground than should have been possible at a sprint. Before long, the Legion found themselves cresting a final ridge and overlooking the city.

It was by far the largest settlement they’d encountered in this world yet. The city was at least five times the size of Stonester and made Habersville look like a mere speck by comparison. Even the walls appeared to have been constructed by someone competent for once. Still it was a hovel compared to Rome. But Quintus had to admit that for barbarin savages it wasn’t bad. 

As the outriders had reported, the city looked like a hornet’s nest that had been kicked over. People rushed in and out of its gates, most of them in an obvious state of panic. One that only intensified as the Legion’s forces appeared over the ridge.

As the first several ranks marched down the hill towards the city, alarm bells and horns started sounding in the distance. Quintus smiled as he watched the portcullis from the nearest gate swing shut, leaving several dozen wagons pulled by oxen stranded outside. The farmers and merchants that owned them began shouting, some even banging on the gates ineffectually.

“Secure the wagons and their cargo.” Quintus ordered. “Prioritize gaining supplies for now. Then we will begin the siege in earnest.”

The men continued their advance toward the lines of stranded merchants and farmers. Many tried to turn around and flee at the sudden appearance of these aggressors, but didn’t have space or any sense of organization. The panic agitated the oxen other beasts of burden, causing them to pull carts into each other and tangle into a mess that stymied any attempts to flee.

Of course, they wouldn't be able to escape anyway. These were not the only ranks of Legionnaires approaching, after all.

More men appeared over hilltops and rises as the Legion began to encircle the city. Their ranks slowly closed like a tightening noose as the alarms from within the city seemed to take on a more insistent tone. More concentrated Legion forces streamed down the roads to stifle the obvious avenues of escape.

Quintus continued issuing orders as the advance continued, ensuring everything continued to go smoothly. Capturing any supplies was their first priority. But capturing the stranded citizens and their beasts would certainly be a nice bonus. Besides, the way the city immediately turtled up only reinforced the idea that they wouldn’t be counterattacking anytime soon.

As their encirclement reached the first of the wagons, the Legionnaires quickly made to subdue the farmers accompanying them and seize the cargo. But to his surprise, they had to back off.

The men quickly fell back as a shower of arrows peppered the ground where they’d just been. Whether or not the projectiles would have been effective was up for debate. But no one particularly wanted to find out yet. Still, the fact they’d been launched at all was strange.

The guards couldn’t possibly think they’d be effective at this distance. In fact, the best they could probably hope for was to shoot flaming arrows at the supplies and deny them to the Legion. Yet as Quintus watched another few volleys arc skyward, they seemed especially careful to avoid hitting their own people or supplies.

The decision simply made him shrug inwardly. All the better. Perhaps this could also be taken as evidence that the city would surrender. Tiberius wouldn’t arrive with battering rams for a few days, so they still had an opportunity to do so.

The Legion waited just out of arrow range and ensured the farmers had nowhere to go as they attempted to untangle themselves. Said farmers awkwardly huddled against the wall like frightened deer staring down a pack of wolves.

But rather than simply stare them down, Quintus’s men had better things to do. Like set up a perimeter.

A large portion of the Legionnaires pulled shovels out of their packs and began digging a trench around the city. Mounds of dirt began to pile high as they build a pair of berms on either side of it. One would effectively ward against attempts to break the siege from within the city. The other would prove quite useful in defending against any sort of relief effort from reinforcements.

Between their numbers, their experience, and a few men with specialized skills, the construction proceeded rapidly—although Quintus was certain he read utter confusion on the faces of the guards manning the wall above. No matter. Once that was done, they would simply need to wait on reinforcements and additional weaponry.

A runner came careening around the exterior of the city wall. Quintus gave him a quizzical look as he snapped out a salute. "Message from the Pilus Posterior of the third cohort, sir!"

"Proceed," Quintus ordered. He didn’t hear or see any signs of battle, so the leader of the third cohort likely wasn’t in trouble or need of assistance. What was it then?

"There was a carriage of note that was attempting to leave the area, sir. Approximately twenty minutes after our forces appeared. They attempted to charge through our lines and failed. We have its passengers detained.”

“I see.” Quintus said simply. “And what makes the Pilus Posterior believe that this carriage is truly of note?”

“The other wagons and such made way for them as they left the city. The carriage itself is fine and the luggage and attire of its inhabitants suggest that they are wealthy. We have taken them as possible political prisoners.”

Quintus smiled. “Good work. Tell Appius that I am pleased.”

He looked over the state of the construction efforts. They didn’t need his direct supervision, not for this.

Quintus turned to a pair of his centurions. “Oversee things in my absence. Send a messenger if I am needed. I’ll be speaking with the third cohort’s leadership.

The men saluted as Quintus followed the messenger around to the other side of the city. A few minutes later they rounded a final corner and saw what the man had been talking about.

An ornate carriage with a broken wheel listed to one side in the newly-trampled grass, two restrained horses standing before it. Its door hung open and swinging in the breeze as its occupants knelt before it with their hands bound. Two of them obviously appeared to be servants, each dressed in a strange style of black and white finery. The other two were female—one a woman in a satiny blue dress and the other a young child.

The carriage sat further away from the city than he expected, making him wonder if it really had made it through the Legionnaires’ line. But a rather dense field of arrow shafts protruding from the ground closer to the wall told a different story. Quintus presumed the city’s guards had attempted to fend off the Legionnaires, forcing them to take the carriage further away.

Quintus approached the kneeling figures. They were encircled by a ring of Legionnaires that shifted aside at his approach. The woman huddled protectively over the child despite her bindings, glaring up at Quintus with a fire in her eyes that he couldn't help but respect. He had seen warriors with less intense gazes.

Everyone remained silent. Quintus studied the prisoners for a few moments before he decided to speak.

"Someone must hate you very much to send you directly into our arms." He remarked. The woman’s eyes narrowed as the little girl sniffled a bit. Still, neither spoke.

One thing was certain—these people were definitely important. It wasn’t just the richness of their attire and carriage, either. The woman held herself like someone of great import, almost like a senator’s wife. Maybe they could use her as a bargaining chip.

“Good work.” Quintus told the men. “We will see what can be done with them.”

B2 Chapter 31: Simply Offensive

B2 Chapter 31: Simply Offensive

A long line of defeated men marched under the careful watch of the  Legionnaires, their hands bound before them. Their faces showed that their resolve had been well and truly crushed. Nevertheless, the Legionnaires kept their hands on their swords just in case anyone decided to try something.

Tiberius kept his face impassive but inwardly was quite pleased. Their empire's population had grown significantly this day. If they’d known exactly how easy the enemy would be to subdue, he would have considered restructuring the initial assault entirely to focus on leaving the peasants alive.

Then again, perhaps that was just his foolish pride talking. Who’s to say that the higher-leveled adventurers wouldn’t have taken advantage of their restraint? No, it was better to be aggressive and crush the enemy.

As the line of men passed, one of Tiberius’s aides jotted down notes about their professions and levels. Such things wouldn’t be the sole determining factors of where these men were put to use. But if they were to expand their holdings, they'd need men to work the fields and ply their trades. More than just the people of Habersville and Stonewake.

Captives like this might not be as free to do so as many citizens, of course. But soldiers captured in battle had certain uses. Sometime they could be ransomed, or used as part of propaganda. More commonly they would be sold as salves if there was no better use. Of course if they were under a negotiated surrender they might be integrated into society in maybe half a generation. Although calling these men soldiers was rather generous and there definitely wasn’t a negotiated surrender. And besides, in a state of emergency like this, Tiberius was more than willing to make some adjustments to the normal way of things. They needed people after all.

The Legatus turned back toward his officers and Primus Pilus. He hid a wince as he moved, his still-healing wounds reminding him of their tenderness. “So. You wish to launch a counteroffensive?”

Quintus nodded. “Yes, Legatus. The composition of the enemy’s army suggests that it represents the last dregs of their able-bodied men. If we march now, before they have time to scrounge up reinforcements, I doubt we will encounter more than a token resistance.”

Tiberius nodded. “I agree. The tactic is aggressive, but properly so. Which cohorts would you take?"

"I think the first and third should be sufficient. Let the rest march back with the prisoners, and then I would ask that you send the reserve cohorts from Habersville to relieve my men.”

“You shall have them.” Tiberius agreed easily. “I will also send the siege weapons with you. Put them to use and report back on their efficacy.”

Quintus saluted,and he thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile across his features. “Understood, sir.”

Tiberius turned to one of his officers. “Are there any other considerations to be made before we act?”

The man considered for a moment. “I don’t believe so. We’ll obviously send more scouts ahead to ensure our information remains accurate, but from the reports we have… the baron's seat of power should not be able to hold against even one cohort. But I see no reason to risk anything but overwhelming victory. Recruits are still years away."

The officer sent Quintus a pointed look as he finished speaking. The centurion just nodded. “Agreed. I will not take any undue risks."

"Very well. You may have your men." Tiberius nodded before pausing in consideration. “Bring the auxiliaries as well. While I’m pleased that they gained experience from this battle, they will need many more battles under their belts if they are to be worthy of their positions. However, do not hesitate to leave them behind if they will delay you.”

Quintus saluted. “Yes, Legatus.” He glanced at the sky. “I will allow the men a brief break to recover before we march. If all goes well, we should be able to siege the barony early tomorrow morning or afternoon."

Tiberius smiled.

"Good. I will accompany our forces back to Habersville. Expect me to return with the trebuchets."

With a wave of his hand, Tiberius dismissed the meeting. His officers made themselves scarce as they tended to all of the matters that needed handling—the prisoners, organizing scouts, taking stock of their dead and wounded, and so on.

Quintus remained where he was as the others left. From his expression, Tiberius could tell that he had a question on his mind. At his nod, the centurion spoke it aloud.

“I heard there was an attempt on your life. Are you all right?”

Tiberius nodded. “I am still standing, am I not?”

“As am I. But that doesn’t mean I want to be.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll manage. A number of my injuries are admittedly still quite tender, but there is nothing life-threatening.”

Quintus nodded with some relief. “That is good to hear. Still…” He checked to make sure they were alone before his mouth quirked into a small smile. “You couldn’t keep up with a single young woman? Are you losing stamina in your old age?"

Tiberius stifled a laugh, turning back to the line of prisoners to hide his own smile.

***

Quintus delivered the battle orders to the centurions himself. Between the third cohort and the double strength of the first cohort, they should have more than enough men to handle this assault. He would probably even use the third cohort as more of a complementary force.

Once the other centurions were informed of the plan, he immediately sent long-range scouts to go survey the barony. Through a combination of smart rotations and a few fascinatingly specialized scouting skills, they’d be able to keep a near continuous flow of information as they approached their destination. Hopefully, that also meant avoiding any unpleasant surprises.

Quintus waved over a messenger. “Inform the auxiliaries that we’ll be moving out in half an hour. We make for the barony.”

The man saluted before darting off. The turnaround would be short, but if the centurions in charge of the new recruits were on top of things, it would be just enough time. 

Of course, he was no fool. They’d be able to leave as late as forty-five minutes from now and keep with Quintus’s schedule. The auxiliaries were still very much a green unit and couldn’t compare with the veterans of the first and third cohorts, so he built in a bit of wiggle room. The time pressure would still be a good learning experience.

Quintus strode through the camp as his cohorts prepared to move, checking on the state of things as he did. Given that time had been of the essence for this ambush, the Legion hadn’t taken the time to set up a proper camp beforehand. That meant that there really wasn’t much to do with regards to packing things up.

Most men simply gathered their things and assembled into columns, some sneaking in a few bites of food or swigs from their canteens as they did. The whole scene exuded an air of casual haste, the men moving quickly and efficiently without even seeming to.

The auxiliaries, on the other hand… 

Quintus knew when he’d found the auxiliaries’ section of the makeshift camp, and not just by their different armor. The men themselves simply held themselves differently. Half ran about like chickens with their heads cut off, tripping over themselves as they scrambled to prepare. The other half were still seated on whatever round rocks or grassy knolls they’d been able to find as they passed along flasks or wineskins with dubious contents.

Well, not all of the ones sitting were slackers at least. Many had started tending to their equipment, which Quintus would normally commend them for. Soldiers lived and died by their equipment, and maintaining it was almost as important as eating.

But it was important to know what sort of maintenance could be done and when. When one might receive orders to march, that was not the time to remove the entirety of one’s armor and begin oiling all of its leather straps meticulously, as he saw one young boy doing.

If he had just been replacing a single buckle or making repairs that were critical, it would make sense. But now he was going to have to don his armor before the foul-smelling ointment could dry and disperse its scent. But no matter. That was a lesson he’d learn soon enough—he and the ones marching beside him.

Those who had just starting sharpening weapons were able to easily abandon the task and fall in. Still, he did see men scurry about, sent by centurions to find the last members of their contubernium and centuries.

The sheer chaos of it all brought a deep frown to Quintus’s face. It was once thing for the auxiliaries to not be ready. It was almost expected, given that they were still in training. But the disorganization reflected poorly on the centurions that were running things. Those men had all come from the Legion.

These centurions would lead and train the new recruits until such time that reasonably effective leaders could be raised from the auxiliaries themselves. In fact, Quintus recognized most of them as men hed recommended for promotion and an increase in responsibilities. Evidently, he’d been off the mark in a few cases. He regretted putting his words behind some of these men. He would make sure that they knew that.

Quintus’s face twisted into a menacing grimace. Like a lion stalking a herd of lambs, Quintus marched toward the fumbling group of auxiliaries, his glare burning into them.

“Pluto’s twisted balls, what sorry excuse for arrow-slinging, weak-kneed goat-herders are you lot?” Quintus’s voice cut through the din of packing soldiers. “Hurry it up! Jupiter Optimus Maximus himself must be laughing his divine arse off watching you sorry lot shuffle around like old women at the marketplace!”

Quintus’s voice boomed louder than a war horn, slicing through the camp. He was almost certain he heard himself echo off distant hills. A good number of others turned to watch the scene, some in amusement and others fear.

“Auxiliaries, I swear by Mars’s bloody sword, if you miserable sacks of donkey dung do not fall in this instant, I’ll personally crucify each and every one of you upside-down along the Via Appia as a warning to every lazy bastard from here to Rome!”

A panicked frenzy erupted at the threat. The young man who had been oiling his armor shrieked, scrambling to put it back on. It clanked loudly as others scrambled into rigid lines, their shoulders bumping into each other and their bows tangling in their haste.

“By Juno’s sacred peacock, I have seen barbarians in the furthest reaches of Germania form ranks faster while hungover on fermented goat piss! You worthless offspring of a thousand drunken senators, move!”

Quintus fought hard to keep his expression appropriately displeased as the auxiliaries doubled or even tripled their pace. It had been a while since he’d worked with recruits. Sometimes, he forgot just how fun it was.

B2 Chapter 30: Family Man

B2 Chapter 30: Family Man

Marcus couldn’t help but stare in awe at the scene before him.

He had left behind the battle between the Legionnaires and the five adventures. It was quickly winding to a close and the outcome was obvious, anyway. 

He'd really, truly expected the army to have a more difficult time dealing with the party. And at the start, they had. But it hadn't taken long for them to wear the adventurers down. Especially not once their more experimental units had entered the fray.

It was… worrying. It meant that just a few high-level individuals weren’t enough to take down the army. They’d either need a lot more people or a lot more powerful individuals to stand a chance—or to make a battle worth retelling.

Not that he wanted the Legion to fail, of course. He had a good thing going here. The amount of experience he was raking in and the stories he was collecting were both unheard of. Besides, if they really did conquer Novara, then he wouldn’t have to worry about being a wanted individual anywhere he went.

But that battlefield was long behind him. Instead, Marcus had chosen to continue following the auxiliaries and the other cohort as they were redeployed elsewhere. Where, he wasn't certain. But perhaps it was a different kind of battle.

His instincts had been right on the money.

Marcus’s legs wobbled beneath him as he jogged. Each step ate up distance at an astonishing rate that rivaled even a fast horse. Even then, he wasn’t gaining as quickly as he’d like. His only saving grace was that the auxiliaries couldn’t yet match the ungodly pace that the Legionnaires tended to set, either.

He prayed to whatever gods might have been listening that no one needed him to use a different skill today. [Running] was blessedly low on stamina consumption, but he’d been at it for far too long. If he had to so much as [Charm] a person he may well puke.

As he crested a final hill, he finally spotted a long line of Legionnaires that ran three men deep. The line had arrayed itself around a disorganized mass of peasants wearing ill-fitting armor, if any, and clinging to battered swords and spears.

Marcus didn’t need his skills to pick up on their terror. The group was little more than a bunch of [Farmer]s, [Baker]s, and [Stablehand]s, from the looks of it. He would have been surprised if a single one of them had anything adjacent to a combat class at all.

That certainly explained where the baron had dug up his “army” from, at least. He’d been wondering how the man had come up with so many fighters given the war in the west. As it turned out, he hadn’t. He just threw whatever bodies he could at the problem.

The Legion’s line slowly advanced, herding the group of scared rabble back toward the rest of the Legion and their dwindling fight. A few brave, foolish, or suicidal souls sprinted out of the mob and charged the Legion, attempting to break through.

Marcus braced for the inevitable impact as the Legion acted. But contrary to the prickly mass of blades and spears he’d expected, the soldiers instead met the attack by turning aside and tripping the men as they stumbled through the line in surprise.

The Legionnaires behind the wall quickly seized the individuals who came through in this way, quickly binding and hauling them away. Marcus saw several hundred people already bound and kneeling behind the Legionnaires.

Marcus figured there were a few possible reasons for this. The first was that the Legion had decided to practice a bit of mercy. He laughed at himself for even considering the idea and crossed it off the list. The second was that they intended to take them prisoner for some other use. The third…

His mouth went dry as he recalled the fates of Habersville’s former guards. This was a different scenario. These men were enemy combatants in war, not traitors. But would the distinction matter to the Legion?

Marcus swore under his breath and attempted to squeeze a few more drops of stamina out as he ran toward the mass of prisoners. The Legion weren’t stupid. They wouldn’t simply kill so many people for the misfortune of losing to them in war. But just in case… he’d make himself available to provide suggestions of how to make use of them. Uses that spared their lives, of course.

***

Baron von Lattimore’s hands shook from where they gripped the edge of his desk. His breaths came too rapidly as he stared down at the map before him. It was being updated by his [Logistician]’s skilled hands as quickly as the man could manage, which was part of why the sight of his troop numbers plummeting was so alarming.

They weren’t even halfway to their destination, and already they had encountered a problem. No, not just a problem—a disaster. Over the course of the last few minutes, their numbers had halved. And though he couldn’t say for sure, he sincerely doubted they were giving as good as they were getting.

The numbers thankfully stabilized soon after, just as the adventurers split off from the main force. He hoped that meant they were hunting down whoever or whatever had done this.

And then the first of them went down.

The baron put his head in his hands, clutching at his hair. Yet he was unable to tear his gaze away from the map. The situation had been shitty from the start. Yet every time he’d tried to improve it just a little bit, it somehow only seemed to get shittier. Why? What more could he possibly do?

“Sir?”

He glanced up at the [Logistician]. The man’s brow furrowed in obvious concern, The baron sighed, carefully setting his hands against the wooden desk once more and waved him off. “My apologies. I lost my composure.”

The man gave him one more look before continuing to update the map. Another adventurer vanished from view as they fell to unseen enemy forces.

Baron von Latimore once again considered his options. But at this point, he couldn’t see a way out. If the enemy was powerful enough to destroy a host of conscripts and some of those high-level adventurers so quickly, then there was nothing he could do. His only choice was to give up and surrender to this group of monstrous forces that had invaded.

Only, that wasn’t an option either. The whole reason he was in this predicament was because the duke had ordered him to quash Habersville’s apparent rebellion and retake it. An order that had come from the king himself.

Neither of those men were ones to be denied. He had to do this. Failure was simply not an option. Even if success was impossible.

The baron forced himself to take a long breath as he studied the map again. The remainder of his forces had begun a retreat, but who knew how far they’d get? And if they fell, he certainly didn’t have the resources to raise another army, even one as lackluster as this.

The results were clear. Yet he could still do damage control.

More of the adventurers blinked out of existence as von Latimore pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m going to get some fresh air. Let me know if anything urgent comes up.”

He strode out of his office with as much dignity as he could scrape together. After walking a short way down the hall, he ducked into an alcove and into a hidden side door that led outside the manor.

A private walled garden greeted him. Broad-leafed trees shaded the space, their branches laden with fruit, while flowers covered the ground and spiraled up trellises. 

He lifted his chin toward the clear blue sky above and breathed in the sweet air. The garden was not as impressive or expansive as might be expected. He was only a baron, after all. But it was still one of his favorite places to come. And not just because of the plants. 

A faint giggling reached his ears from further down the path. As the baron rounded the bend, the vibrant bushes set along the path parted to reveal a small table set for tea. And there before it sat the most beautiful woman in the world. His wife, Mariella.

She was facing away from him, ringlets of golden hair obscuring her face. But he could still tell that she was looking down at the little girl sitting on her lap—the most adorable one in the world, obviously. She had a square sugar cube balanced on her nose like a circus animal doing tricks.

The woman chuckled as the girl tossed her head back, attempting to catch the cube in her mouth. She succeeded only in flinging it across the garden. But the motion alerted her to the baron’s presence.

“Daddy!” The little girl shouted as she leapt up, sprinting to tackle him at the knees. Her smile put every flower in the garden to shame with its brilliance.

For a moment, he felt the tension of the morning recede to the back of his mind. All of the day's problems could wait. For this one small moment, he allowed himself to enjoy his family.

Von Lattimore reached down and lifted the little girl, placing her on his shoulder. His wife rose gracefully from her chair and turned to face him. Her smile was gentle and soft, and he found that the right of her still managed to soothe his heart.

The moment couldn't last. Images of a rapidly encroaching army crept into his thoughts and poisoned the peace that has washed over him. His wife seemed to read the shift in his demeanor. Her brow furrowed with concern, a question clear in her eyes.

“...I think it will be best if you take Elizabeth and stay with your father for a little while.” He said.

Mariella was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “All right. When should we leave?”

“As soon as possible. Today, if you can.”

Her face tightened, but she didn’t object. Her implicit trust was a ray of light among everything else. The fact that there was no need for further explanation or an argument saved both of them time and energy.

Of course, he would have been happy to explain if she’d asked. But she seemed to understand the need for haste.

She turned toward the edge of the small clearing. “Silva. Take Elizabeth to her room and help her pack.”

A well-groomed butler seemed to emerge from the bushes as the little girl gave a plaintive whine of protest. At a bit of ushering from her mother and a bit of reassurance from her father, she reluctantly followed Silva out of the garden. 

As their daughter left, the baron walked forward and took his wife’s hand. His expression turned serious.

“The situation is that dire?” She asked simply.

He nodded. “Our forces didn’t even arrive before they were taken by surprise and dealt a serious blow. I can only imagine our enemies are already on their way here. We might have two or three days before they arrive, at most.

The baron hesitated, then sighed. “I… doubt we'll be able to defend it. If we do, it will be with heavy losses. Your father coming to our aid is our best chance. But barring that…”

She reached up with her free hand and stroked his cheek. “I will do what I can to convince him. But… is there no way to convince you to leave as well?”

Von Lattimore shook his head. “I cannot. I—” he swallowed. “I wish I could, Mari. But these are my people. I have a duty to protect them. And besides… even if I do run, I suspect the powers that be will not take kindly to cowardice.”

“Then let me—”

“No.” He cut her off, already shaking his head. “You need to keep Elizabeth safe.”

Mariella closed her mouth, pain flickering across her face. But she nodded in understanding. “I will. Come back safe, Klein.”

No further words were needed. They simply enjoyed each other’s company for the last few minutes they had together before she would have to leave.

B2 Chapter 29: Boneless Wings

B2 Chapter 29: Boneless Wings

Quintus blinked. “No bones, you say?”

“Right.” Cassius gestured toward the “man” as he battered at another section of the line, forcing it to shift back and rotate even more Legionnaires in. “I don't exactly know what that means or how it's possible, but it's what I see.”

The Primus Pilus frowned at the black-armored figure. If that was the case, it might help to explain his inhuman endurance, even past the level gap. It also meant that beating him might be even more problematic than they thought.

“I suppose that will hinder your men's own usefulness.” Quintus mused.

“Are you kidding?” Claudius grinned. “I mean, yes, it will limit our options, but we're by no means helpless. Although… we could use a bit more space to work with…”

Quintus frowned internally at the man's casual demeanor. As much freedom as these specialists had been given, he was beginning to wonder if they’d allowed them too much. Their autonomy could easily turn against them if they weren’t careful, whether by creating infighting or dissatisfaction with the current power structure. Especially if they got too full of themselves.

He ignored it for now. This was not the time to have a discussion on proper discipline, though he made a note to discuss it with Tiberius later. Perhaps the old fox would embrace this individuality. Or perhaps the centurions would soon find themselves handing out a lot of demerits.

“We will get you the space you need.” Quitus turned toward the crowd of soldiers hemming in the warrior. “Legionnaires! Form up!”

The order was a simple one, deceptively so. Yet [Voice of Command] ensured that it carried with it detailed knowledge of the exact formation he had in mind.

It had become all too clear that [Coordinated Bulwark] made their shield wall stronger with more men incorporated into its length. However, the circle surrounding the warrior was too small to take full advantage of that. Worse still was the fact that making a wall long enough to be effective may well result in a circle massive enough to span the whole battlefield. It was too inefficient. But perhaps there was an alternative.

The centurions embedded along the line sprang into action, shouting brief orders of their own. The collective understanding bestowed upon them by [Unity] meant that no one needed to waste words, even when attempting as strange a tactic as Quintus was having them organize into.

The ring of Legionnaires surrounding the warrior expanded as more men seamlessly slotted in beside their comrades. A clearing about fifty yards across formed around the single fighter. Meanwhile, the ranks behind also began to form up into a shield wall of their own—a long, spiraling formation that wound around and around the ongoing battle, longer than any they'd ever made.

Impractical? Maybe. But not for their purposes.

As the spiraling wall finished forming, the innermost circle shifted to connect with it. The black-armored warrior’s mace collided with the wall as before, only to bounce off harmlessly. This time, the man behind the shield didn’t so much as budge.

Blow after blow rained down with much the same effect. The suit of armor growled in animalistic frustration as it saw the futility of its attacks. 

“That should be big enough.”

Claudius raised his fist in the air, shouting an order to his contubernium of followers. They each pulled out a fistful of what might have been knuckle bones and began a chant in what clearly sounded like Latin, yet Quintus’ mind couldn’t quite understand the words. They tumbled from the men's mouths as if they were greased hogs, their meaning slipping through his fingers every time he tried to grasp them. 

Quintus shuddered.

Abruptly, the chanting stopped. The bone-clad Legionnaires loaded the knuckles into their slings and began hurling them toward the warrior. They bounced off his armor with seemingly no effect, falling harmlessly to the ground below.

Quintus began to once again doubt that Claudius and his men would be able to accomplish anything in this fight when the ground erupted into a field of jagged bone. Ivory white spikes shot up like summer wheat all around the suit of armor and into its joints.

The armor roared and lashed out with its mace to clear a path toward the retreating shield wall, struggling to move through the thicket. Bones shattered and fell to the ground with each swipe and cracked under his greaves. Yet even more bones began to sprout as Claudius’s men began chanting and hurling even more bones.

Their foe ran through a whole host of attacks, spinning, slashing, and charging in an attempt to break though. The bones slowed his progress to a crawl and only became more dense. It seemed as though they may finally be able to stop this thing.

As he watched, Quintus became aware of a subtle sensation spreading throughout his body. A faint tiredness that seeped through his muscles and into his bones—though not in a weird way like what Claudius had done to him.

At first he thought it was simple exhaustion from battle setting in. But this felt different. It didn’t seem to have a discernable source, either. Unless…

He glanced at the bone-wielding Legionnaires and the massive spiraling shield wall. They had utilized quite a number of large-scale skills during this battle. Perhaps it was finally beginning to take its toll?

With obvious frustration, their foe lifted its helmet to the sky and bellowed, the sound seeming to ripple through the air. Quintus felt the cry as though it were tugging on his very soul. He wanted—no, he needed to fight this opponent. Even if he had to kick and claw and bite his way through.

He brutally stamped down the thoughts, clinging to the tenuous thread of reason like a lifeline. Even at this distance, the warrior's skill was powerful enough to have such an effect on Quintus.

“Hold the line!”

The call echoed out from many throats as Quintus's order was relayed. The wavering Legionnaires who had begun to push forward into the thicket warred with themselves as the skill of their enemy conflicted with the skill-imbued orders of their superiors. A few snapped out of it immediately, yet some of the less strong-willed men had to be pulled back and restrained by their comrades.

Luckily, the bones stymied the Legionnaires as much as they did the warrior. The wall managed to reassert itself before the black suit of armor could take advantage of their brief lapse in discipline.

Claudius’s men began sprinting through the spiral and handing out bones to the men as quickly as they enchanted them. Before long, the air was filled with the things. They fell upon the enemy like grotesque snow, burying him.

He thrashed about, each movement growing smaller and weaker as the bones began to overtake him. Their foe began to exhaust himself rapidly as his mace swings found nothing but an ever-expanding field of jagged white.

They encased his legs, then his waist, pointed tips jutting into every visible joint as he weakened. He smashed at his lower body only for it to become immobilized once more. Before long, he couldn’t even move his arms to swing. 

Quintus watched in horrified fascination as the thicket of bones grew around the man, holding him in place. Soon, all he could move was his head. It flailed wildly from side to side until the bones grew through his visor, pinning that too.

The suit of armor slumped over, panting with exhaustion. At this point, it was hardly visible beneath the bones. Only occasional flashes of shining black could be seen through the spikes as the wind whistled hollowly through them.

Quintus remained silent for a long moment. When he’d suggested that they consider nonstandard tactics and integrating unique skills into the Legion’s fighting style, he had understood that it would be a big change. Such a thing, if successful, would require a complete overhaul of everything the Legion knew.

He’d hoped for them to gain power and abilities beyond anything they could have done before. But despite all that… he’d never dreamed that it would turn into this.

“Well. That seemed to work out.” Claudius smiled easily. “Shall we go investigate our strange foe?”

The centurion stared at the bone-adorned soldier. No longer did he see Claudius, the brother that had seen countless battles alongside him. Now he was something altogether different. Something foreign.

Quintus forced the paranoid thoughts down and nodded. Without another word, Claudius led them forward. The bones shifted out of the way at the man’s touch to form an unnerving tunnel toward the captured enemy.

It didn’t take long to reach their quarry. Claudius did the honors, flipping the man’s visor up to see what lay inside. They were met with little more than an empty helmet.

“It seems you were right.” Quintus nodded. “This is… unexpected.”

“I’ll say. I figured it wasn’t human, but this… Were we really just fighting a suit of armor?”

A deep chuckle welled up from within the armor. The helmet twitchedslighty, moving as though to look at the two men as they quickly stepped back. “‘Just’ a suit of armor. Ignorance.”

Quintus rested his hand on the pommel of his blade, ready to draw. Although he wasn’t entirely sure how much good it would do. Still, the armor remained immobilized.

“Well, it looks like it’s alive.” Claudius straightened hesitantly. “So… what should we do with him, sir?”

“For now, we take him captive.” Quintus ordered. “Secure him—it—well. It won’t do for it to break free. Even if we know how to subdue it.”

He might have ordered the thing killed to avoid the risk of escape. However, there was a real possibility that they may be able to gain some sort of intelligence from it as a captive. Also, Quintus honestly wasn’t sure how to kill a magical suit of armor.

“...Who are you people?”

A disembodied voice welled up from within the armor. The sudden question startled both men.

“We are the first Legion of new Roman empire, under the command of emperor Tiberius Rufius Maro himself.”

A strange creaking noise echoed from the suit of armor and it took Quintus to realize that it had cocked its head in apparent misunderstanding.

“We are Romans.” But the clarification didn’t seem to do anything so he let it be. “You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.”

The centurion gestured for his men, but his thoughts were elsewhere. As they went about binding and securing the suit of armor as thoroughly as they could, he couldn’t help but glance over at Claudius and his bone mages. 

The specialists had truly proven their worth this day. Not just these men, but the others as well. But one question ate away at him like a plague. If men like this were to turn on the Legion, then could they be stopped?

B2 Chapter 28: A Bone to Pick

B2 Chapter 28: A Bone to Pick

When Tiberius came to, everything hurt. His shoulders, side, and ribs were the worst, aching as though he’d been repeatedly smashed with a battering ram. But the rest of his body wasn't faring much better. 

As the initial haze of unconsciousness faded, Tiberius felt another sensation come to the forefront of his attention. A pair of soft hands, one on his forehead and another on his chest. Their warmth pulsed through him as twin bright spots amidst the haze of aches and pains.

He cracked open his eyes, half expecting to see the green fields of Elysium. Or perhaps fate had a different destination in mind for him, like the fiery pits of Hell of that new Christian God. Just as he been a more passive follower of the gods, he'd never claimed to be certain about the afterlife, either.

But rather than flames or paradise, Tiberius found himself looking up into the eyes of a familiar female face. Behind her stretched a clear blue sky with the observation tower reaching up toward it, a splintered section of railing near its top.

He coughed and tried to sit up, wincing with the effort. But the girl's hands were like iron, firm and unyielding.

"Lie back," Eleonora told him. "Relax. It's going to take some time before you’re ok to move again, even with healing.”

Tiberius obliged, allowing his head to settle back onto the earth. Ignoring the [Healer]’s orders for the sake of his pride was an exercise in foolishness.

He tried to speak, only to be racked by a series of heaving coughs. Eleanora rolled him painfully onto his side, where he spat out what felt like mouthfuls of blood. It was at that point that he noticed the ring of Legionnaires surrounding them protectively, their ranks several men deep. A few of his guards stood closer by with weapons already drawn, their heads on swivels as they scanned for threats.

“The… assassin?” He managed with a wheeze.

“Dead, sir.” One of the men confirmed, still remaining vigilant. “Your move killed her, although the men made extra sure about that.”

“You're lucky I was here.” Eleonora muttered. Sweat beaded on her brow and her complexion was already turning pale. “I was just about to head back to the medical area, too. If I'd left any earlier, you'd be dead.”

A grunt of acknowledgement was all he could manage.

A few minutes later, Eleonora fell back with a sigh of exhaustion. “Ok. I'm spent. If you want any more healing, you'll have to wait a bit.”

Tiberius finally sat up, flexing his hands and stretching experimentally. While he didn't feel a hundred percent better, the pervasive pain had retreated for the moment and left him able to move and operate much better. Once more, he found himself in awe at the power of this world’s magics. Before, his wounds would have been severe enough that he might have never fully recovered from them. But now? They were practically an inconvenience.

He nodded at Eleonora. “Thank you.”

She hesitated, then accepted the thanks with s not. “It's what I'm here for, right? Plus, healing near-fatal injuries does get me a lot of experience, so…”

Tiberius made to stand, only for one of his men to extend a hand toward him. He took it gratefully and hauled himself to his feet. A quick look around revealed that his officers were standing nearby, watching and clearly anticipating his recovery.

He cleared his throat and strode towards them. His guards stuck to his side like tree sap as the larger defensive ring parted before him.

“Legatus Tiberius.” They saluted as he approached, one of his tribunes stepping forward to speak for the group. “We're glad to see you are well.”

“As am I.” He allowed himself the faintest smile of amusement as they chuckled. “Report, tribunes.”

“As you've heard, the would-be assassin has been dealt with.” The report began. “Her body has been disposed of in order to prevent any other unexpected surprises. Shortly following her death, the Legion experienced another level up, which seemed to stabilize you somewhat until the [Healer] arrived.”

That was welcome news. Considering how injured he'd been, it was entirely possible that the level had stabilized him long enough to receive healing. It was impossible to tell, considering that he'd been unconscious, but noteworthy nonetheless. But he'd have to wait until he was better to fully test the range of his new abilities.

“I see.” He said simply. “And the battle?”

“The auxiliaries are pursuing the stragglers of the main army along with the third cohort. We also put Secundius’s plan into motion against the armored warrior. Considering your condition, we considered it prudent to take charge and continue the flight in your stead while you healed.”

“Good. I approve of your judgement.” He reassured the men. “How is it progressing?”

"Well so far. Preparations are still in progress for the armored man, but we expect the plan to go into full effect soon. The extra level should provide the men a much-needed edge as well.”

Tiberius nodded, turning back toward the observation tower and hiding a wince as he stepped forward. “Then let us see for ourselves.”

***

The Legion had felled every enemy set before them. One by one, their foes had succumbed to their numbers and preparations, leaving them lifeless in the trampled grass and dirt of the battlefield. And now, there was only one who remained. One who stubbornly refused to walk with his fellow party members and share their fate.

The wicked suit of armor swung his mace again as Quintus hurried to join his comrades. The blow glanced off the edge of a shield as the men hurried to reposition out of range, inflicting little more than scratches upon its surface. The warrior roared in frustration, charging forward again.

The man had managed to injure an impressive number of Legionnaires, providing a steady stream of men that needed to be rotated out of the fight or sent to the doctors altogether. Yet the telltale flash of white that heralded a level up had changed things. They were moving faster, more deftly, able to withstand more once again. Even the men that did get caught out of position didn't seem to fly as far through the air when launched.

As Quintus arrived on the scene, the warrior seemed to realize much the same thing. Seeing that he wasn't making progress like before, he changed tactics. 

They shifted to the side with a practiced efficiency that had been drilled into them. But at the last moment, the man accelerated, crashing through the line in a flare of greenish-yellow light. Once he was through, he changed the grip on his mace and began to spin like a top, the spiked head of the weapon slamming into the soldiers as they struggled to reposition.

Some of the men attempted once more to strike at joints and seams in the armor to slow him down, but all they earned for their efforts was a handful of shattered weapons. The warrior seemed to even speed up with each successive blow, his bellows deepening and turning more guttural by the moment.

Quintus took a bold step forward, intending to charge forth and test the man's defenses and fighting prowess himself. Not that he would be challenging the warrior to a duel, Quintus wasn’t fool enough to put himself in such high esteem, but attacking while supported by his men? That wasn’t out of the question. The Primus Pilus was one of the Legion’s best individual fighters, and it seemed he’d need to leverage his skills here as well. After all, the man in front of them didn’t seem to be capable of being stopped.

But as his foot hit the ground, he winced in pain. The impact jolted through him as the freshly-healed wounds in his lower torso flared in warning, reminding him about the heated battle he’d just engaged in. Quintus bit back a curse and managed to hide the reaction. Luckily, the Legionnaires around him were otherwise preoccupied.

Despite the medical attention he’d received and the boons from leveling up, Quintus was nowhere close to a full recovery. He figured he had at least two different broken ribs, likely three. Once the battle was over and he could return to the healers, such issues would prove trivial for Eleonora to fix. But until then? He would have to bear it.

For a moment, he regretted waving the medic off so hastily. But he was well aware that their medics weren’t quite at the level to remedy broken bones with any ease yet. It would have taken far more time than he was willing to sacrifice right now.

The fact that he didn’t need to fear some disease from said injuries befalling him or consider being taken out of action as he recovered was still unbelievable in its own right. It was as though Mercury himself had joined the ranks of their milites medici, or a disciple of the god at least. But right now, the pain was still a strident reminder that he was not in any condition to be fighting such a superior opponent. Not now. Even if he could stand his ground—which was quite the question—actually hurting him was another matter.

Quintus stood back, surveying the situation as the enemy finished his spinning assault and began winding up another devastating charge. Given his relative invincibility, it seemed like the best chance they might have was to restrain the armored warrior. He motioned one of the faster-looking men over. “Find the hunting specialists of the second cohort. They should wield barbed nets. Get them here now.”

The man nodded and darted off in a flash, confirming Quintus’s suspicions about his speed. He was about to turn back to the fight and take charge when he noticed a new group of Legionnaires arriving from the ninth cohort.

Although they looked even more Roman than the strangely styled togas that the so-called cultivators wore, their heavily modified armor and uniforms left no room for doubt that these were specialists.

Their breastplates and helmets weren’t too dissimilar from Quintus’s own in style. However, it was the details that set the two a world apart.

Any reinforcements or rivets that normally would have been made of metal had been removed. In their place were fixtures of bone. Long sections of polished white were inlaid in the pommels of their swords, the edges of their shields, and even their sandals. Similarly grotesque jewelry clattered hollowly at their wrists and necks. Quintus even saw one man who had altogether replaced his helmet with a shadow panther skull.

Quintus suppressed a shudder. The attire sent his skin crawling. It was unsavory, if not downright heretical, like something a worshipper of Pluto or one of the Celtic savage religions might don.

But despite their strange appearances, he had no quarrel with the men. In fact, upon closer inspection, he recognized his friend Claudius as the man wearing the panther skull helm at the lead.

The man had been one of his own that he'd regularly patrolled with. But once he'd begun to develop some of his more… eccentric skills, he'd been shuffled around and given charge of some of the fresher men in the ninth cohort. Some might have seen it as a step down, but given that it allowed him free reign to explore his capabilities, the man had gladly accepted.

Claudius stopped next to Quintus, his men taking up positions as they surveyed the situation. moving around. Claudius gave the Primus Pilus a quick salute and a grin that he easily returned.

“Sir. Long time no see.”

“Indeed.” Quintus agreed, glancing meaningfully at the man's armor. “I see you've been busy.”

“No more than the rest of us, although I like to think my efforts have taken me further than most.” Claudius chuckled slightly. “But we should save the talking for later.”

Quintus nodded. “Agreed. Is there anything your ‘talents’ can do about him?”

“That's what we're here for.”

Claudius focused for a moment, his gaze turning sharp as he stared at the armored man. After a moment though, his expression turned to one of bewilderment followed by disbelief.

“That… complicates things.” Claudius nodded to indicate the rampaging warrior.

"What?"

“One of my skills allows me to sense bones. You have three cracked ribs, by the way. Would you like some help with that?"

Quintus blinked and prevented himself from taking a step backward as Claudius gave him an unnerving smile. He liked and trusted the man, but still…

Before he had a chance to refuse, Claudius reached out and quickly touched three points on Quintus’ chest and sides. He heard a sickening pop as his ribs shifted painfully, setting themselves back in place. He barely suppressed a gasp of surprise and pain at the unnerving sensation.

“Better?” Claudius grinned when it was over. 

Quintus poked at his wounds tenderly. They still hurt like hell. It seemed that Claudius’s magic hadn't done anything for the bruising and injuries around his ribs. But the particular sharp pain he knew to associate with broken bones was gone.

He inhaled deeply, feeling his ribcage expand with no issue, than nodded. “Thank you. Now…”

“Right. Well, that man—or rather, that thing…” Claudius frowned. “He has no bones. In fact… I'm not sure he's even human.”

B2 Chapter 27: Ides of March

B2 Chapter 27: Ides of March

The first few levels of a common skill were usually fairly easy to get. All one had to do was use it a bit, maybe improve one’s form according to what the skill suggested if one was feeling particularly ambitious. Easy.

Which was why Marcus suspected he’d be coming home to quite a few levels in [Running] after all this.

He put one foot in front of the other, panting with exertion as he ran on and on. His pace was faster than one might expect due to his admittedly impressive dexterity stat. But it was somewhat counteracted by his abysmal constitution. The combination meant that he ended up alternating between sprinting his heart out and resting for a few minutes at a time.

Thankfully, he was covering more distance and requiring less rest each time. His gait was beginning to feel more fluid as if he were a bounding gazelle in a field.

He frowned internally at the comparison. The image brought to mind a good deal of grace, but also the implication of being pursued by predators—a far less enviable circumstance. Perhaps a cheetah would be more apt, as the one doing the chasing? Although he wasn’t quite sure that he exuded the kind of aura a predator would, even if the speed was accurate…

Marcus continued to search for the proper figure of speech and refine his prose in an attempt to ignore the sweat pouring down his face. He refocused on his breathing, internalizing the way the skill made the air move in and out of his lungs in a careful rhythm. Before long, he spotted the tail end of a column of soldiers.

He powered up the last hill with renewed vigor. He’d managed to gain considerable ground on the auxiliaries, who were only a half mile away from him as they reached the battlefield. Marcus was able to reach the back ranks of the archers right as they formed up. A few men turned to him with questioning looks, but once they recognized the bard they simply shrugged and left him alone.

The men readied their bows and began to advance. Their movements were less mechanical and coordinated than those of the Legion itself. Still, given how little time they’d had to train, he found himself rather impressed by the display. Apparently the Romans knew what they were doing when it came to raising up new recruits. Even the men without combat classes carried themselves like soldiers.

Marcus watched, keeping back and out of the way as he gulped in lungfuls of air. After the day he’d had, his legs wanted to simply give out beneath him. But he forced himself to stay upright. After all the effort he’d spent getting here, he couldn’t simply allow himself to collapse now. He needed to see the battle unfold.

The group crested the hill with the bard on their heels. He peered out over the battlefield below, ready to see a scene from legend. Two massive armies facing off with banners flying, their forces shifting about in a cat-and-mouse dance as generals directed them in inexplicable movements that no one but a true master of battle could explain. Or perhaps it would be more similar to a series of duels between powerful individuals arrayed across the valley. Either way, he prepared himself for  valiant charges and heroic defeats aplenty.

That was not exactly what he got.

Thousands of Legionnaires stood in ranks behind their shields and other constructed defenses. That, at least, was no surprise. But there was no opposing army. Only a few scattered adventurers.

Marcus watched as a magelike girl flew through the air, peppering the forces below with bolts of fire and ice even as she dodged and weaved around a constant flurry of throwing spears. Elsewhere along the line, a mass of Legionnaires churned about a single armored figure like the eye of a raging storm. Yet another group of soldiers swarmed about another point further away from the line, but what exactly they were converging on was impossible for Marcus to make out.

The sight was… strange, to say the least. Honestly, it was a little astonishing how many of the Legion’s forces could be successfully brought to bear against so few individuals. But even with that in mind, the scene was nothing like the grand battles he had imagined.

“Archers ready!”

At the shouted orders, the archers stirred into action. They took aim, their bows canted upwards at nearly identical angles.

“Draw!”

The sound of bowstrings going taut filled the air.

“Fire!”

The men loosed their arrows as one, filling the air with a dark cloud. The orders came again and again, resulting in four volleys being fired in quick succession. The first went a bit long, arcing over the mage’s head as she darted away. The next three, though, were right on target.

The mage waved a hand and hurled up a purple shield to ward off the barrage. Hundreds of arrows broke and skittered against the translucent wall as she continued to dodge through the air. But even from this distance Marcus could see her trembling with exertion. It wasn’t hard to guess that she was running low on mana.

The mage girl abruptly switched tactics, diving toward the ground at an angle to escape the barrage. But arrows weren’t the only thing she had to look out for. A fresh volley of spears arced toward her from behind as the Legionnaires smelled blood in the water, pinning her between twin waves of deadly projectiles. 

Her flight path became erratic as she tried to dodge and block simultaneously. The purple glow of her shield sparked and fizzled as it began to crack beneath the onslaught. Below, the Legionnaires that weren’t hurling spears remained behind their shields, errant arrows clattering off their surfaces as if they were no more than sticks being thrown by a petulant child.

Finally, the mage couldn’t manage any longer. Her shield, which had gradually shrunk to reduce its mana expenditure, finally shattered. She twirled her staff about her body and deflected a few more spears, taking an arrow to the knee and hip in the process. Another one narrowly missed her head as she jerked herself out of the way.

It was through a combination of high stats and an inordinate amount of luck that the caster was able to avoid a lethal blow for this long. But the next volley of arrows saw her luck give out. Countless shafts pierced her through and made the mage resemble a pincushion as she fell out of the sky.

Marcus looked on in horror. At this point, he had seen his fair share of fighting from the Legion. He’d even seen them kill. But this… something about it disturbed him. The brutal efficiency with which they dispatched the mage… it was harrowing.

Worse still was the sheer simplicity of it. A mage that couldn’t have been below level twenty, a prodigy who had learned a coveted flight spell and could even maintain multiple spells simultaneously, and how had she fallen? To sheer, overwhelming numbers and persistence.

Marcus shuddered at the implications. Perhaps his words to Eleonora had been more accurate than he’d realized. The Legion could threaten Novara in a way that rivaled even the orcs of the west. Unless someone managed to pull together a lot of strong fighters and coordinate them, there may be little to stop them—especially as they continued to grow in strength.

The disturbing scene wasn’t the only thing on Marcus’s mind, though. He also was faced with the issue of how to possibly include this in his epic. All the best stories had one hero standing against an army alone or leading a charge against impossible odds. But this? This was the exact opposite. The Legion fought as one unified mass who singled out that lone hero standing on a hill, his sword held high. Their style was to overwhelm like a and take every advantage they could get. Even their low levels didn’t do enough to offset the strange inversion of the archetype.

This wasn’t the makings of some glorious ballad. This was...

He wasn’t sure what it was.

***

Tiberius stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes continued to sweep the battlefield and survey it for new developments while his ears focused on the plan being formulated among his officers. It was uncertain whether their idea would work. But then, no one had managed to put forth a better option.

Someone cleared his throat. Tiberius’s gaze flicked away from the battle to find an aide at his shoulder, his fist quickly moving into a salute. “Legatus,” the man murmured. “We’ve confirmed that the [Elemental Mage] has been eliminated.”

Tiberius nodded. “Good. Have the auxiliaries reposition to cut off any escape for the warrior.”

“Sir.”

The Legatus nodded toward the fighting. “Is there any word on the [Rogue]’s whereabouts?”

The man shook his head. “No, sir. The scouts believe that she fled the battlefield altogether.”

“I see. You are dismissed.”

The man rushed away. He now had confirmation of both the mage and archer’s deaths. Between those two and the healer’s quick end, that meant there were only two more adventurers to take care of—or one, if his scouts were correct in their assessment.

Tiberius turned back to the conversation between his officers. It had paused at some point during the aide’s report and the men looked at him expectantly.

“Sir,” one tribune began as it became clear that Tiberius’ attention was back on the topic. “Permission to continue with Secundinus’s plan?”

Tiberius quickly rewound the conversation in his head—something he had found himself capable of quite recently. It was one of those passive abilities granted to those with increased intelligence stats. Even though he hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation, he’d heard it and could recall the words with impressive clarity. He nodded.

“I agree that it’s our best option. But have the men continue the strategy of avoidance until everything is prepared. No need to engage him directly yet. His allies are gone, so we can afford to position ourselves well before moving in. But remember that every minute we delay is another minute where our men are sustaining injuries. See to it.”

The men nodded in agreement and Tiberius turned away, his mind already working on the next problem. He trusted his officers to disseminate the necessary orders to the proper people. Allowing them to do so was also an important learning opportunity for them. Now that the situation had become a little less dire, he saw no reason not to give them a bit more freedom. Although they couldn’t fully relax yet.

Just as he turned, Tiberius felt a searing spike of pain blossom from his side. He instinctively spun, his fist lashing out against the unseen foe. His gauntlet smashed against the cheekbone of a blonde-haired woman wearing tight black clothing and wielding a bloodied dagger in one hand.

Though he’d never seen her up-close, he recognized her from her presence on the battlefield. This was the [Rogue] that had supposedly fled.

The woman stumbled back, spitting blood through reddened teeth. Her eyes were wild as she stared down Tiberius with more hatred than he’d ever seen concentrated in a single person. How she’d gotten this close without any of them noticing was a mystery he had no time to ponder. Not when she was lunging toward him again.

Tiberius stumbled backward, his hand clasping the puncture in his side. Warm blood oozed through his fingers as his guard darted in front of him and closed ranks around the woman. Her blade skittered off their shields and she screamed, producing another from her belt. Her hand blurred as the knife spun through the air, sliding between the tightening gaps in the wall and right toward Tiberius’s head.

He reached his free hand up in an attempt to block the incoming projectile. It sliced through an exposed portion of his arm, the fresh fire making him grit his teeth. But the impact deflected the blade just enough that it collided with the side of his helmet rather than his exposed face. The impact rang in his ears and sent him sprawling, his vision going blurry.

Tiberius lay on the rough-cut planks of the observation tower, stunned. It was all he could do to keep pressure on his wound as his vision began to go dark. He attempted to gasp in a breath, but it felt as though Hannibal’s elephant had a foot on his chest.

Suddenly, strength flowed into him. Tiberius gasped as the darkness began to recede. He looked around for the telltale flash of blinding white in hopes that they had finally leveled up. But that hope was dashed against the rocks as he realized what the actual source of this sudden vigor was.

It wasn’t from a level up. It was from the death of his men.

The would-be assassin lashed out with a seemingly endless flurry of blades, each strike calculated to inflict a lethal wound. Already, four men lay on the ground lifeless, their lifeblood having spilled across the floor even more quickly than Tiberius’s own.

The Legatus rolled onto his side with a silent grunt of effort, pushing himself to one knee. He grabbed the railing of the tower to pull himself mostly to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that more Legionnaires had noticed the commotion and were quickly rushing to his defense. Swords and shields were drawn, but up here there was little room to maneuver. It made it difficult to form a proper defensive formation and even harder to dodge the woman’s lightning-quick strikes.

Tiberius could see a solution. But it wasn’t one he was exactly happy about.

With a roar, his old bones launched themselves toward the blonde [Rogue]. His blade slid from its sheath as [Swordsmastery] activated. That skill that he’d picked up on a whim flooded him with an intuitive understanding of his own movements, allowing him to parry a blow meant for a young tribune barely old enough to grow a beard. The enemy’s head whipped toward him with a snarl and immediately focused her attention on the Legatus.

It only took a single parry for Tiberius to realize he wasn’t going to win this fight. Despite the infusion of strength from the deaths of his men, [Swordsmastery]’s aid, and the assistance of his remaining men, it was all he could do to barely deflect the single danger swipe. The woman fought like a rabid wolf, and neither his age nor his injuries would helping him. He would be dead before reinforcements reached him.

Tiberius set his jaw and made a decision. If he was going to die, he would at least take the woman down with him.

He flung himself forward as the [Rogue] as she overextended with a wild stab. His shoulder caught her off-guard and square in the chest, slamming her into the railing of the observation tower. The wood splintered with the force of Tiberius’s charge and ultimately gave way. In a moment, he found himself surrounded by nothing but air as the pair began to plummet to the earth. He pinned the astonished woman’s arms to her sides to keep her from stabbing him again or getting away.

As they fell, Tiberius’s thoughts finally caught up with him. What was he doing? This wasn’t his role. He was supposed to leave the fighting to the guards and other Legionnaires. That’s what any other Legatus or Emperor would have done. His specialization was in oversight and command, not direct battle. Besides, he was far, far too old for this.

Those thoughts were hurled from his mind as the ground rushed up to meet them. Tiberius heard a sickening crunch as his shoulder collapsed, his collarbone and upper arm shattering like twigs as he drove into the woman’s body. He felt her sternum crack beneath him, her eyes going wide. Blood burbled from her lips as she coughed violently.

Tiberius steeled himself, holding fast to the last vestiges of his consciousness as pain racked his body. As the pair lay on the ground in a tangled heap of broken bones, he heard the woman wheeze.

“Mer… ethe…”

The last gasp of air escaped her lungs as she went limp. Tiberius allowed himself just a brief moment of relief as lay there with more broken bones than he’d ever had in his life. She was dead. The threat was gone.

His vision went hazy as blood seeped into the earth below—both his and hers. He struggled to once again put pressure on his side, only to realize his arm wasn’t responding. A glance toward it revealed points of shiny white bone protruding from skin. He decided that he didn’t particularly need to investigate further. Not when he couldn’t do anything about it.

He let out a pained chuckle as rapid footfalls hurried toward him, the sound oddly muffled in his ears. Of all the ways for him to go, this was not one that he expected. Then again, maybe he should have seen this coming. Assassinations of emperors weren’t so uncommon, after all.

At least he’d accomplished his aim. If he did fall here, then hopefully Gaius would be able to lead the Legion to victory in his stead.

Just as he closed his eyes, a blinding light filled his vision.

B2 Chapter 26: Some Call It Bravery

B2 Chapter 26: Some Call It Bravery

Tiberius wasn’t sure whether to curse Quintus for his stupidity or praise him for his bravery.

It was the Primus Pilus’s job to serve as a proper example for the rest of the men, to be a beacon of valor and excellence. But this? Launching himself in such a suicidal assault? This was not exactly in the job description. This went beyond even the dangers of being the first man atop a wall. But then, he supposed he could never, ever accuse Quintus of becoming soft.

The idea had come up, of course. It was one of many such tactics that had been considered for sieges in particular. But even with their newfound resilience, the idea was a bit of a hard sell. And attempting it in a scenario like this…

He watched with bated breath from the hastily-erected observation tower as his Primus Pilus rocketed through the air, the plumes of his helmet flattening in the wind. The archer dodged a volley of projectiles and twisted in midair, his eyes widening in surprise. His confusion stunned him just long enough to keep him from dodging Quintus’s shoulder as it struck his chest. The miniature ballista was flung from his grip on impact.

The centurion grabbed the [Scout]’s arm in midair, grappling with him as they began to fall. Their descent was slightly less rapid than expected, likely a consequence of whatever skill the enemy had been using to keep himself aloft for such long stretches of time. But that certainly didn’t mean it was slow.

The pair tangled together, Quintus leveraging his decades of experience on the battlefield as his opponent writhed and squirmed in his grip like a snake. It was all the centurion could do to hold on and keep the point of that miniature ballista away from him. He didn’t even have a chance to draw his blade.

They crashed to the ground with a puff of dust rather than the bone-breaking impact that Tiberius would have expected. He watched just long enough to see more of the reserve troops rush toward the landing site with a distinctly un-Roman yell of triumph. Among them were a group of Legionnaires specializing in immobilization and taking down large beasts, nets and ropes in hand.

Tiberius turned his attention to the rest of the battlefield. That was one opponent handled. Though he had no illusions that the man was defeated, he wouldn't be assaulting their lines for the moment. Besides, he trusted Quintus to handle himself.

One of his own scouts stepped forward with a smart salute. “Legatus. The auxiliaries have arrived. Their commander wants to know where you’d like them. Should they assist here or handle the remnants of the baron’s forces?”

Tiberius looked down at the frankly ridiculous sight of four adventurers facing off against over three thousand Roman Legionnaires. Their numbers were already large enough to be comical, though they certainly were leveraging them as well as they could. The question was, would five hundred more make a difference? Or would these fresh recruits just get in the way?

The Legatus shook his head. “No. Have the third cohort pull back to intercept and contain the fleeing soldiers.” He selected one of the harder-hit units to send after the other army. As draining as it was to march, he had no doubts it would be seen as a break compared to the chaotic combat before him. Especially considering how comparatively easy the baron’s rank and file had been to deal with.

His scout saluted in acknowledgement as Tiberius gestured to one of the hills surrounding the battlefield. “As for the auxiliaries… have them form up behind that hill with strung bows. Make sure they’re in position within—” he paused to think—“three minutes.”

The scout gulped but nodded. “Yessir.”

With that, the Legionnaire rushed away to find one of the communications specialists and began relaying the orders in a rush. Tiberius turned back to the battle and evaluated the state of things. Quintus and the [Scout] were still out of sight, so he turned his attention elsewhere.

The so-called “cultivators” from the second cohort lay unconscious on the ground, appearing for all the world as though they were asleep. He may have even assumed them dead if not for the lack of wounds and the obvious rising and falling of their chests. A group of men rushed them away from the battle as the [Elemental Mage] above tried to send darts of flame after them. The projectiles stuck in their raised shields, charring them but failing to set them fully alight.

He suspected that the men had simply overexerted themselves. Blocking that tremendous pillar of ice had certainly seemed like no small feat. Still, even though they were out of the battle now, the small group had proved more useful than he’d hoped. Perhaps he’d permit Septimus—or rather, Karma—to train additional men. If any were willing.

Even better, their sacrifice seemed to have paid off. The mage flew much lower now than before, the staff heavy in her arms as she swayed in midair. The slight paleness in her face and relative infrequency of her spells suggested that she posed a much lesser threat than before.

That left one more foe to address: the black-armored warrior that was seemingly impervious to their weapons and attacks. Even the few ballista bolts that had been sent his way simply glanced off or shattered against his wicked-looking plate. It seemed that he was altogether impervious to any physical damage they could send his way. All the while, he continued plowing through and injuring men with every swing of his mace.

“Officers,” Tiberius snapped. “I want ideas. How do we handle the warrior?”

The Legion officers followed their Legatus’s gaze before turning their attention back to the man himself. Maybe it was to show respect. Or maybe it was because most of them lacked the [Keen Eye] skill. Either way, the ideas began to flow.

“Perhaps we can try bashing him with a battering ram?” One officer suggested.

“Drown him. If we can maneuver him to a body of water, I doubt that heavy armor would make swimming easy.”

“Or we can burn him out of his armor. Either he removes it and becomes vulnerable or cooks alive inside of it.”

Tiberius nodded in thought. Most of these ideas would be impractical or downright impossible to pull off. Many represented a slight variation on the “hit him really hard” strategy that had been failing them up until this point. 

“We should try to hit him with one of the full-powered ballistas—not the scaled-down ones,” another officer said.

He considered all of the options but shook his head. “I doubt he’ll give us a clear enough shot. These suggestions mostly involve the same kinds of physical forces we’ve been attempting to assault him with thus far. The ones that don’t would require us to corral him into a trap… something that will not be a simple task.”

The group fell silent as their minds worked. Finally, another officer spoke up—one of his tribunes. “Well… there is one other option. I wasn’t certain if they would be of use, but considering the success of the cultivators…”

The young man swallowed as everyone’s attention shifted to him. Tiberius motioned for him to continue, and the young man wet his lips before speaking up.

“What if… since physical attacks aren’t working… what if we used witchcraft of our own?”

***

Quintus hit the ground with a solid thud. The damn [Scout] had managed to weasel on top of him at the last moment, sending Quintus down on his back. The impact wasn’t as hard as he’d feared, but was enough to drive the air out of his lungs. He briefly wondered if that would have been the case if he’d taken [Breathing].

Banishing the idle thought from his mind, he seized the archer’s arm as he attempted to untangle it plunge a dagger into Quintus’s side. He twisted it in a maneuver designed to render it immobile if not break the limb in two. But yet again, his opponent writhed about wildly and managed to slip free.

The result left him frustrated. The man clearly never learned how to grapple like Quintus had. Yet he was more deft than the centurion and perhaps even stronger as well. The difference in physical ability was large enough that even technique only brought them to a stalemate. Wrestling the [Scout] was like trying to wrestle a slippery eel greased in pig fat.

Yet all that evasiveness did little more than allow the enemy to stay on the defensive. He had little idea how to take advantage of the situation when he did get free, other than to stab at the centurion. It still didn’t allow Quintus a moment of respite, but it could have been much worse. 

The man tried to maneuver his dagger into a better position as Quintus struggled to disarm him. He heard a muttered curse as the man’s arm was wrenched painfully backward. He was forced to release the blade, but still managed to free himself and punch with his bare fist instead. Quintus’s helmet absorbed the feeble blows the man managed to throw, impaired as they were by his lack of mobility. He was pretty sure the man would split his knuckles on its metal and hurt himself more than Quintus. The worst the centurion got was a slight ringing in his ears as each gong-like strike sent it vibrating around him.

Quintus would have liked to shift his grip to try some sort of chokehold, but it was all he could do to keep the squirming man contained. He kept kicking out the man’s legs whenever he so much as thought about standing, but he had to be careful. If the man figured out how to better leverage his strength, then Quintus could be in real trouble. There were plenty of ways for him to get his arms or legs snapped of he got too lax.

He slammed the heel of his caligae into the man’s unprotected shins. The [Scout] winced as the brass studs set into the sandal’s sole made contact, causing his leg to buckle. Quintus quickly rolled them over and did his best to pin the man down again, leveraging the weight of his armor as best he could. His arms locked tight around the man’s neck as he heard the tramp of Legionnaires running and even a few yells not too far away.

A wave of relief washed over Quintus. The centurion had been working nonstop to keep this man down. But soon, he’d get the support he so desperately needed to stop him once and for all.

The thought distracted Quintus for just a fraction of a second. But it was enough. Before he knew it, his arms were grasping nothing but air as the [Scout] slipped bonelessly from his grasp. Quintus felt a dagger plunge into his side. He gasped in pain as he rolled away.

When he turned back to face his foe, the archer was already halfway to his feet. He panted sightly, his face smudged with dirt as his dagger dripped fresh blood. He gave Quintus a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Damn. You sure are persistent, aren’t you?”

The man spun to face the first of the Legionnaires as they bore down on him. He spun and plunged his blade into a man’s neck in one smooth motion. The soldier crumpled to the ground even as the [Scout] spun to slash at another.

“Luckily, it seems like your friends aren’t quite as troublesome.”

Quintus felt the cold spear of the men’s deaths plunge into his gut—a sensation he’d become used to feeling intermittently throughout the battle. It had become easier to compartmentalize the spike of despair now that he’d become more accustomed to it. But seeing the man die right in front of him brought it right to the forefront of his mind.

Another pair of Legionnaires went down to the man’s slashes as Quintus scrambled to his feet. These men weren’t fighting in formation at all. Rather, they wielded nets studded with barbs and assorted traps, fighting like hunters attempting to corral some mighty beast.

It was clear that these men were also part of a specialist unit. However, they weren’t nearly as effective as the cultivators had been. As fast as they were, their foe was far too nimble to be easily caught, darting about and dodging beneath nets and ropes and anything else thrown his way. Quintus himself had only managed to take him down through a combination of surprise and sheer luck.

“Form up, you fools!” Quintus shouted as he raced forward. But even as the words left his mouth, another man went down. Without [Coordinated Bulwark] to help the men defend, they were dropping like flies. Even worse, the archer’s assault gave them no chance to form a wall in the first place. And he was heading right for his fallen ballista-weapon.

The Primus Pilus gritted his teeth and rushed forward. He felt [Warpath] activate, speeding his movements toward the enemy as [Sure Footing] allowed him to completely ignore the battlescarred terrain in front of him. This time, the [Scout] saw him coming and danced out of the way. But not far enough.

Quintus’s gladius slid from its sheath in one smooth motion as [Battlefield Intuition] warned him of an incoming attack. He ducked low before even registering the dagger that darted toward his head, its sharp blade slicing through the plumes of his helm. But before the archer had a chance to recover, Quintus slashed toward his leg with a blindingly fast arc of steel.

The [Scout] screamed. His cold smile contorted into a snarl as he darted back once more, only to stumble as his injured leg failed to hold his weight.

“And here I was going to let you live, just for curiosity’s sake. But no. Now I’m annoyed.”

The [Scout] ducked beneath another errant net and scooped up his weapon. Then, he leapt up into the air as best he could and aimed down at Quintus.

“...I’m done with this. Say good—”

His words were interrupted as a spear streaked through the air toward him. The foe managed to dodge the first one, albeit less gracefully than before given his injuries. The next dozen were a different story.

The long shafts of wood and steel slammed into the man’s gut one after another. He spat blood, spinning wildly in the air with the force of the impacts. Quintus looked over to see that more of the reserve troops had arrived to reinforce him and were rushing away what wounded had a chance at being saved.

“Primus! Stand back!”

The first centurion of the ninth cohort—their pilus posterior—stepped forward, raising his spear into the air like one might a hammer. In fact, Quintus thought he might’ve actually seen the ghostly outline of a hammer appear around the weapon. With a grunt of exertion, the man swung downward, the spear’s tip catching the still-reeling [Scout] and driving him into the ground like a tent stake. He slammed into the ground amongst the Legionnaires with a sickening crunch.

No one waited to see if their enemy was dead. The Legionnaires wasted no time moving in with swords drawn. A few seconds and a lot of stabbing later, all that remained of the archer was a mangled corpse with a tattered cloak lying beneath it.

Quintus pressed a hand against his side as another Legionnaire rushed toward him. The soldier began quickly tending to the wound and bandaging it even as one of the centurion’s legs nearly gave out beneath him. Sweat soaked through his clothes and dripped from his brow. He tried to take a deep breath, only for it to turn into a gasp of pain.

“Are you all right, sir?”

The ninth cohort’s pilus posterior hurried over. Quintus waved him off. “I’m fine. Don’t waste time. There is still a battle to be fought.”

“Yes, Primus!” The pilus posterior turned to his men. “Form up! We move on the mage next!”

With a thunder of footsteps, the Legionnaires were off to fight their next target. Quintus remained where he was as his wounds were tended to. Even the medic’s basic first aid left him able to breathe more easily than before. Truly, this world’s witchcraft was a strange thing.

“Thank you.” Quintus nodded at the man. “Rejoin your own cohort.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine. Now go.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the medic nodded and hurried off. Quintus cracked his neck. He wasn’t fine by any means, but he could still fight. The real question was, who?

B2 Chapter 25: Quality vs. Quantity

B2 Chapter 25: Quality vs. Quantity

The armored man let out a guttural scream that echoed across the hills. He began to emanate a sickly green glow as he charged toward the Legion's line. He leapt straight over their fortifications and aimed for the spot between two Legionnaires, ignoring the sharpened spear points and stakes that shattered on his breastplate. It hardly slowed his charge as he crashed through the first few ranks of the shield wall. 

But the Legion's lines were deep. In a moment, the warrior found himself surrounded by twenty men as they repositioned to manage the threat. A snarl emitted from beneath his helmet as a black gauntlet swung toward the Legionnaires. An ethereal mace sprang into being before it connected with one’s shield, sending the man flying before he could lock into place next to his brethren. The Legionnaire was still in midair even as the warrior spun to attack the next.

As the warrior charged into the fray, the other Legionnaires didn’t stand idle. They continued to hurl volleys of throwing spears, detonating some and recalling others. The archer leaped up to meet them, dodging between the falling weapons with impossible dexterity as he fired projectiles of his own into the reformed shield wall. This time, the wall held firm as the resulting explosions were dispersed across the entirety of the wall by [Coordinated Bulwark].

Additional spears and sling stones sailed toward the archer in response, forcing him to roll away as he landed. Then several spears detonated nearby, each one peppering him with shrapnel and further limiting his movement options. The continuous assault from both above and below seemed to hinder him enough to keep him grounded for the moment. Even from this distance, Tiberius could see annoyance written plain across his features.

The [Rogue], for her part, darted forward to assist the armored warrior. She vaulted over the wall of Legionnaires as she had done in the past. Unfortunately for her, the Legion had prepared for such tactics. Several long spear shafts appeared in men’s hands as they were recalled, one of which cut into her calf.

She twisted desperately in midair to avoid the rest and kicked off the shields at the top of the wall to escape. Her injured legs wobbled as she rolled backwards on the ground, narrowly dodging a few more ballista bolts. The projectiles left small craters in their wake.

"Four enemies remaining. A level 23 [Cursed Berserker], level 16 [Rogue], level 22 [Scout], and level 20 [Elemental Mage]." One of the aides reported.

Tiberius nodded in acknowledgement, then peered across the battlefield. He saw three of the remaining adventurers. But where was the fourth?

A deep rumble answered his question. His head whipped toward its source, only to see the mage girl chanting. Spears continued to skitter off her force field as her staff extended forward and flashed. A bolt of lightning arced out, as thick as a man’s torso, and rocketed toward the shield wall.

Tiberius stiffened. He'd seen a man struck by lightning once before, up in the hills of Britannia. He’d perished on the spot, his skin charred black by the intensity of the bolt. If this girl could wield that kind of power at will…

The bolt of lightning struck true, crashing into the wall of shields with a clap of thunder. Yet the men were not vaporized as he’d expected. Rather, the white-blue branches of pure light rippled over their shields, spreading out all along the line.

As the arcs of lightning dissipated, he saw the mage frown. He, on the other hand, felt only relief. They’d had no real way to test magic’s effects against [Coordinated Bulwark]. But this showed that they did indeed have a defense against the witchcraft of this world. One that could stymie even those borrowing Jupiter’s own power.

The mage shot into the sky as a round of ballista bolts tore toward her. Meanwhile, the battle raged on. Tiberius saw men fly through the air, battered about by the armored warrior's mighty blows. Most of the injured were rotated out quickly before they could be finished off. But the constant assault made it difficult for the Legionnaires to completely encircle him, much less with enough men to effectively dissipate the force of his blows.

The real problem was that the man seemed to have taken absolutely no damage from any of their attacks. whether they be spear thrusts, sling stones, or stabs, it didn't matter. The most damage they'd managed was scuffing his armor with explosions—something they could no longer risk with so many men around.

Luckily, he didn't seem capable of doing too much damage himself. Most of the Legionnaires that switched out only seemed to suffer from a few broken bones, so long as they were rotated out efficiently. Still, he didn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon.

Tiberius took stock of the situation. He was still wary of the mage, but given how well they'd handled her lightning, he was slightly less concerned about her now than before. He couldn't discount the possibility of other tricks up her sleeve though, especially since she was out of sight. The [Rogue] was limping as she tried desperately to breach the line with little success. The archer, however, remained a real danger as his maneuverability allowed him to target weak points in their line with unnerving accuracy.

"Order the ballistae to target the [Scout],"

Making a quick judgement call, Tiberius ordered their downsized siege weapon wielders to concentrate fire on the biggest visible threat. Unfortunately, he was also the most agile. 

The ballistae fired again, forcing the [Scout] to focus on dodging and throwing off his aim. He twisted impossibly sideways to avoid the onslaught just before he managed to fire at the group surrounding the berserker. The arrows he did fire ended up tearing chunks out of the hill beyond rather than the Legion itself. 

Tiberius frowned, trying to think. Although they were holding their own, they also weren't making much progress. They'd managed to damage the terrain more than most of the adventurers—excluding the healer, of course. Still, killing the healer was moot if they didn't do any damage that required healing.

He'd hoped that the ambushes, alongside their recent "ghoul farming", would at least earn them enough experience to level up again, but maybe not. Perhaps they were just waiting on the man tasked with checking the class stone back in Habersville.

Coming to a decision, Tiberius turned towards one of their communications specialists. “Send in the reserve cohorts. It’s time to see the results of their efforts.”

 ***

The deep bellow of a horn sounded across the hills. Apparently, Quintus wasn't the only one who thought they needed to change tactics. As well as they were holding up, he could see that this was one battle of attrition they stood little chance of winning. Especially since the enemy could easily retreat if they wished.

He adjusted his grip on his shield, bracing as the other two cohorts of reserve troops crested the hilltops. Their overwhelming numbers were difficult to leverage in the current situation. The adventurers were too dispersed and agile to effectively hem in, and their proximity meant that volleys of exploding spears and the like were more likely to harm their own men than the enemy.

Luckily, the reserve troops weren’t all beholden to standard tactics.

The second and ninth cohorts were traditionally comprised of the freshest and least seasoned recruits in the Legion. Usually, they would be paired up with more experienced cohorts during battle. Such an arrangement allowed the steadiness of the veterans to serve as an example and bolster the resolve of those with less strong wills. It was one of the many ways to strengthen the wall.

But Quintus had suggested they utilize these Legionnaires a little differently. With the advent of the System and all of its changes, every man had a responsibility to experiment and level his own skills. Yet they also needed units of men willing to act as subjects to test new tactics at the contubernium, century, and cohort levels. And who better than men who were fresh and not yet set in their ways from countless battles?

“Sir! In the sky!”

Quintus swore at himself for his momentary distraction. He turned away from the still-approaching reinforcements and peered past his shield. The previously absent mage had appeared once more, this time in the air before them. Her cloak fluttered wildly as she chanted, a faint glow of icy blue beginning to outline her form.

“Shit. Brace yourselves!”

Quintus tensed and felt the men around him do the same. He didn’t know what the mage was planning. But based on where she was facing he was certain that whatever it was would be aimed right at his position. And likely pretty painful.

As he hunkered down, praying that [Coordinated Bulwark] would be able to disperse the incoming attack, a flash of green caught his eye. A Legionnaire leapt over their line to stand in front of the wall. But rather than the standard armor and red tunic, this one wore only a strange, loose-fitting style of jade-colored toga. Its long sleeves fluttered as seven more Legionnaires joined him, each wearing similar garments. None of them carried a sword or even a spear.

Quintus’s brow furrowed. He recognized the leader of the group as a man named Septimus. Or at least, he had been named Septimus. More recently he’d taken to calling himself Karma instead. The move had almost everyone giving him a wide berth, as no one wanted to catch his insanity. Only the fact that he was a loyal Legionnaire to his core made them tolerate him.

Well, that had been the case at first. His obsession with the [Breathing] skill certainly hadn’t helped either, especially when it led to him sealing himself away in seclusion for hours on end. Quintus had heard more than a few complaints from Karma’s centurion about that.

At least, until his efforts had begun to bear fruit.

The men held their hands clasped together in front of them as they breathed. Quintus watched as the eight strange Legionnaires moved in a slow dance, their palms facing outwards as they wove a strange pattern in the air and above their heads. Their faces remained as placid as if they stood in the halls of the senate rather than the heart of battle. All the while, the glow around the [Elemental Mage] continued to intensify.

Quintus thought at first they had accepted death. But then, they began to breathe.

Their breaths were not like any he’d ever heard. These were not breaths taken only from necessity. No, they drew in the air like starving wolves, massive gulps that made their chests swell like war drums. Then came the exhale: sharp, explosive, rhythmic. They repeated the process over and over, like bellows stoking a forge. The very ground itself seemed to pulse beneath them.

Karma’s form was suddenly overlaid with a grey-haired man with eyes like a thunderstorm, barefoot amid the mud and gore. Steam rose from his shoulders. His skin flushed red, not with the heat of battle, but with something... deeper. A different sort of power. As though the gods themselves filled his lungs with vitality. Quintus swore to Pluto himself that the grasses around the man began to smolder slightly.

As the glow around the mage peaked, she raised her staff high into the air. It shone an ominous white as frost began to gather around its head. As she pointed it down toward the Legionnaires below, a pillar of ice the size of a temple slammed forward like a battering ram.

Quintus readied himself. As strong as their wall was, he had his doubts that it would be able to stop something on this scale. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

Karma raised his arms and exhaled. The sound echoed across the plain like a shout, not of fear or rage, but of wild, euphoric defiance. The field rippled with an unseen breeze. The wounded stirred despite themselves.

The other green-robed Legionnaires around him followed suit, adding their own breaths to Karma’s. They glowed from within as if each man housed a hearth fire. Then they moved, striking forth with the swiftness and power of thunderbolts. Their palms collided with the incoming pillar of ice and forced it into the ground.

The impact shook the earth. A massive plume of dirt erupted into the air as shards of ice peppered the Legion, clattering against shields and forcing the men to squint and hunker down to avoid cuts across their bodies. Yet when the dust settled, the eight strange Legionnaires were still standing as calmly as before. Only now, there was a towering hunk of ice protruding from the ground before them.

Quintus heard mutters of confusion and astonishment rise around him. He along with the rest of the Legion had received orders not to take certain skills without first meeting a set of conditions. His own [Swordsmastery] skill was one of them, requiring that any man who wanted to take it needed to survive against Quintus or another [Swordsmastery] user in a duel—one where he wasn’t using the skill, of course.

It was the best way he could think of to ensure that the men taking the skill still had a decent grasp of the basics and didn't become too reliant on it. Plus, with how many people wanted it, such a requirement had done wonders to encourage the men in their training efforts and provide good entertainment at the same time.

He’d seen others such as the uncommon [Body Control], rare [Body Tempering], and epic [Lowly Spiritual Cultivation] on that same list, all prerequisites for each other. There had been rumors that those skills were related to Karma’s [Breathing] obsession, although Quintus hadn’t understood how that was possible. Apparently one could harm themselves if they didn’t know what they were doing. Now, however… perhaps the man really was onto something.

The contubernium of men leapt into the air, running up the angled pillar of ice as though the cold wasn’t freezing their bare toes off. The slack-jawed mage continued to hover for a moment before letting out a small squeak and flying away, the men in hot pursuit. He saw other groups of uniquely outfitted Legionnaires give chase as well as they tried to take down the threat.

Quintus left them to it. While he didn’t recognize all of the specialist units, Karma’s had certainly proven its worth already. He decided to trust that they could handle themselves. Especially since they had other concerns.

The archer sailed through the air and bombarded another section of their line with exploding arrows. A trail of spears followed in his wake, none coming close enough to even be worth detonating. With the reserve troops coming in, it was possible that they’d have some method of immobilizing or taking him down. But that wasn’t entirely certain.

Quintus motioned for another man to take his place and retreated through the line. The men parted for him until he reached the back where their siege weaponry stood. It hadn’t seen much use in this engagement, as it wasn’t the most useful against such small targets. But he had an idea.

“Arm the catapult,” he commanded the nearby Legionnaires. “As low powered as possible.”

“Sir?” One asked even as they hurried to comply. “What’s our target?”

Quintus pointed at the archer, causing the men to frown. “With all due respect, Primus… it’s too risky. The stone will hit our men just as well as theirs.”

“You aren’t firing a stone.”

He began walking toward the catapult as realization slowly dawned on the man. “Sir, you can’t be serious. It’s too risky—”

“Hence the low power. I don’t want to end up three miles down the road.” Quinuts paused a beat to let that sink in, before hammering it in further. “That was not a request, soldier. It was an order.”

The man’s mouth snapped shut as he nodded. Quintus climbed into the basket of the catapult and braced himself. It was a risky maneuver, one that the officers were still not entirely sold on adopting. But he’d be damned if he was going to sit back and let the others collect all the glory. Besides, he was fairly confident that he had enough dexterity to manage a decent landing, and enough constitution to live if he didn’t.

As the archer turned his back to them to focus on a fresh round of ballista bolts, he gave the signal. Before he had a chance to fully brace, he felt and found himself flying through the air in a perfect arc, calculated to intercept the archer’s next erratic dodge.

B2 Chapter 24: The Fantastic Five

B2 Chapter 24: The Fantastic Five

The five figures moved slowly but steadily toward Quintus’s cohorts of Legionnaires. Their unhurried pace made them give off an oddly intimidating aura, as though their arrival was inevitable and didn’t need to be rushed. Fortunately, it also gave Quintus time to organize the men.

He called out a few quick orders, shaping them up for a quick march to the fallback point. They put some distance between themselves and the enemy, meeting up with the other two cohorts that had taken part in the ambush. Once they’d regrouped, he sent all four cohorts back toward their fallback point, where the reinforcements were waiting.

A smaller force branched off as they moved. This one contained their wounded, walking or otherwise. They headed for a slightly different rendezvous point located behind the lines, where Eleanora's trainees waited to get them fixed up. Quintus considered sending a larger guard with the group, but it didn’t seem necessary. The parts of the baron’s army that hadn’t outright fled were still reeling and struggling to regroup. The small group that was pursuing them also didn’t seem to react to the wounded splitting off. Hopefully it would stay that way guard left with the healer would be enough to make sure that everyone who could be saved was.

Quintus pulled a couple of his more defensively-oriented centurions together to form up with him at the center of the line. They comprised the rearguard as the majority of the attacking force marched away. Their pace was rapid, but not the same level of tremendous speed he’d grown used to. Evidently, retreating was one of those situations where [Warpath] didn’t apply, and understandably so. The skill was meant to help speed their arrival to a battle, not away from one. Still, the fact that it wasn’t of use for a tactical retreat was an important caveat to take into consideration.

A horn blast from the command post signalled the rearguard to begin their retreat shortly after. He felt the effects of [Warpath] fade, reducing their own speed to something resembling a run. They continued to face the enemy as they did, marching backwards. When he was in formation like this, Quintus felt as though his awareness was expanded further. It was as though he passively knew what the men standing with him felt and saw in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was a benefit of [Unity], or a passive effect of [Coordinated Bulwark].

As they retreated, Quintus examined the group approaching them. One was the [Rogue] he recognized from earlier, her face clouded with undisguised hatred. The second was the man with a miniature ballista-like weapon that had loosed a siege weapon’s worth of damage onto his men. That one, he already had good reason to be wary of. But the other three…

The one in front, who appeared to be their leader, wore a cumbersome set of armor that completely encased him in black metal. The joints moved with a loud clinking sound from every single step, but were heavily reinforced by overlapping plates that ground against each other. Quintus couldn't imagine fighting in that, at least not with any level of agility or precision. Yet he also struggled to figure out how they would be able to pierce that metal.

The shorter woman—more of a girl, really—wore what looked to be some sort of strange toga and a completely impractical floppy-brimmed hat that partially obscured her vision. Between the staff she gripped in her hands and the book strapped to her waist, it wasn’t hard to guess her role. Even Quintus had learned enough of local culture to pick out a mage. 

The last member was a striking woman dressed in ethereal white robes that left more skin exposed than covered. If the mage’s attire had seemed impractical, then this woman’s seemed to be a parody of anything one might call “armor”. Honestly, she would have looked more at home in a brothel than on a battlefield. Her presence reminded him a lot of Eleonora, and not just because of their similarly upturned noses and haughty bearings. Something about her presence made him all but certain she was their healer.

The descriptions matched what the reports had said. The woman they’d fought before seemed to be an outsider here, walking slightly separate from the other four’s comfortable formation. That meant the four were used to working in a group, and based on the bit of deference he was able to detect, likely more powerful than the [Rogue] as well. He could tell from her impatient gait that if it were up to her, she would already be charging at the retreating Legion. But the other adventurers were not, and so she held herself back.

Quintus frowned. That was not a particularly good sign. If the other three were anywhere near as strong as the ballista wielder, then it would be a dangerous group indeed. Even more so if they actually coordinated.

He signaled to one of the communication specialists, marking the mage as likely the most dangerous of the group. They were just too unpredictable to fully plan for, considering everything they had learned about spells so far. Even more so since they had never fought one. He also indicated that the healer should be targeted first.

The quick march began to put distance between the five and the Legion, something which they seemed to be relatively surprised by as they broke into a jog to keep up. When the Legion still pulled ahead, he saw an argument commence between the armored man and the black-clad [Rogue] woman. At the end of it, the adventurers began to run faster.

Not too much faster, of course. While the bow-wielding man and black-clad woman had no problem moving quickly, Quintus could already see perspiration forming on the healer and the mage, and he could only imagine what the heavily armored man was feeling. 

Quintus allowed himself a smile. He knew that most battles were won not by force of arms, but rather by logistics and mobility. Being able to disengage safely and choose the field of battle were skills that could guarantee a win before a fight even started. And ones that they would take full advantage of.

The four cohorts received the command to halt and prepare for battle. Quintus quickly rushed ahead of the rearguard, shouting orders and forming two lines along the hill. The Romans hat taken up position slightly up the hill on a high ground and behind a quickly laid bulwark prepared by the two reserve cohorts. A solid structure of sharpened stakes and earthen berms soon stood between the men and their pursuers.

The defenses had been planned with a massed charge in mind, but here? Quintus had his doubts about how well it would function against the siege weapon-wielding archer or the mage. But it was the best they could do.

The five adventurers came skidding to a halt as they rounded the bend and saw the thousands of men defending a fortified position. They hesitated for a moment, and their conversation wafted over to Quintus’s ears.

“...That’s it? They expect to take us down with sticks and piles of dirt?” The white-robed woman snorted. “I’d hoped for better.”

“Don’t underestimate them.” The [Rogue] woman warned. “That’s how Merethe…”

“She’s right, you know.” The bow-wielder with the ephemeral cloak said, looking around. “This isn’t all they’ve set up. They’ve got the makings of a decent ambush here.”

“Of what? More sticks? Ooh, scary.”

The mage dipped her head. “...I don’t like splinters…”

“Look, I’m just not impressed,” the healer ignored the shorter girl’s comment. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Why don’t we just send Ben up there to cut through them like the mooks that they are?”

The “archer” crossed his arms. “Hey, now. And leave all the fun for him? No way.”

“What fun? They’re level two, Lenny. They won’t give us hardly any experience anyway.”

“I said fun, not experience. Besides, I want to see what these guys can do. Give them a chance to show off.”

“‘Show off’? Is that why you didn’t tell us about the ambush earlier?” The healer ground out.

Lenny spread his hands and shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

“...That was mean.” The mage muttered.

Lenny put his hand on the mage’s head, flattening the point of her oversized hat slightly. “Awww, I’m sorry Meg. But I just knew you guys could handle whatever came your way.’

“It was still mean…”

Lenny sighed and patted her affectionately. “Next time, I’ll make sure to tell you. Promise. Luckily, next time is right now and I’m telling you plain and simple: they have an ambush ready here.”

“And I’m telling you that it doesn’t matter.” The healer woman pouted. “Especially not when we know it's coming. What can they do to us anyway? I doubt they can even make a dent in Ben’s armor.”

“One way to find out.”

The armored man spoke for the first time, his rumbling voice carrying easily. He stepped forward and began advancing on the Legion. The archer and healer looked at each other, shrugged, and began walking after him. The mage and black-clad woman followed suit.

Quintus tensed and signaled the men to hold. The group approached, albeit with a little more caution than they'd exhibited before. Their steps carried them forward until they passed an invisible line. Then, Quintus signalled.

A hail of throwing spears filled the air once again, their density shading the ground below. They arced high into the sky before streaking back down to earth.

The [Rogue] woman rolled away as the spears began to land, coming to her feet and sprinting toward the edge of the area they covered as she continued to duck and weave. The archer blurred as he seemed to dance in place around the shafts just before they hit. The man in armor simply stood there, catching one spear in a gauntleted hand as others glanced off his pauldrons and helmet, and the mage conjured a hemisphere of purple energy above her that deflected the incoming projectiles.

Quintus saw the healer duck beneath the hemisphere alongside the mage, but not before a spear tore through her stomach. A red stain quickly began to seep into her pristine white robes. Yet she seemed unperturbed. Even as he watched, the woman calmly pulled the spear out and placed a glowing hand on her stomach. The wound began to seal at a visible pace.

As the last spear fell, all five of the adventurers remained standing amidst the dense forest of shafts. They continued forward, picking their way through the spears or simply batting them aside in the warrior’s case.

It would have been a disheartening result. If that had been the extent of their plan.

Quintus signalled again. He heard quiet words muttered under men's breath as three-quarters of the throwing spears vanished from the earth. The rest began to glow, progressing quickly from a dull orange to cherry red.

The one called Lenny had a split second to shout a warning. He darted toward the healer, who was still holding the spear she'd pulled from her belly. Then, the ground exploded.

Bursts of flame and concussive force tore chunks of dirt from the earth, hurling them skyward. The ground rumbled with the force of the blasts. Quintus saw a few men flinch at the deafening roar that ensued, but they remained in position.

At the same time, a group of Legionnaires hiding behind the hilltops appeared with the scaled-down ballistae their engineers had developed. The things could hardly be called small, just downsized enough that the System-enhanced Legionnaires could carry them. Nowhere near the handheld one that Lenny carried. But with their bulk came significant power.

Several sharp snaps added to the cacophony of explosions. They echoed through the hills in a way that was awe-inspiring, as if Jupiter himself had called down a quiver's worth of lightning. The smoke and debris from the blasts made it difficult to see what was happening below and whether their enemies had survived from this angle. But when the smoke cleared, Quintus was able to see the fruits of their efforts.

Most of the party remained relatively unharmed. The armored man exhibited a number of scuffs on his previously polished armor, and the mage had been forced to expand her shield to fully encase herself. The two more agile fighters had somehow managed to evade the worst of the barrage, although the black-clad woman was bleeding from one of her legs. The healer, though…

The blonde woman stood staring at the sky, one arm blown off by the spear she hadn't released in time. Her torso was riddled with ballista bolts from the concentrated fire of Quintus's men. Rivulets of sizzling blood ran down her burnt and blackened skin and dripped to the ground.

For a moment, Quintus expected her to start moving. To calmly start removing the bolts and healing herself as she had done before. That was until she crumpled to the ground.

Someone screamed.

EV B2 Chapter 53:

I hauled it roughly into a secluded alcove off the main tunnel. Behind me, Astrid and Alana followed, each one dragging one of the unconscious clients. The alcove was narrow, its walls slick with mildew and moisture, but there was enough of a space that I didn’t feel like I was going to be snuck up on if someone was walking through the tunnels nearby.

I carefully set Garrett against the wall while Astrid and Alana began binding the other two. The dim torchlight flickered erratically, casting wavering shadows across everyone’s faces. I could see the slight startlement as the slap I used to wake up Garrett echoed throughout the chamber. His eyes had trouble focusing as they darted nervously around, and his breathing became ragged with anxiety. He started to get up, but my hand planted on his chest prevented him from moving, and the bindings we had attached to his wrists and ankles would have prevented him from going anywhere. He tugged slightly, grimacing.

I studied him for a moment before speaking. “What exactly is the Pale Eye?”

He hesitated, looking away, breaking eye contact, and he briefly glanced toward Astrid, whose face was like ice, though I could personally tell that she was pissed.

“Look, I swear, I don’t know anymore. I’m just a messenger. I don’t know anything.”

I sighed performatively, patiently folding my arms as I leaned back against the wall, suppressing a grimace at the wetness soaking through the back of my shirt. “I understand that you might not be very useful to me,” I said, the threat obvious in my voice. I let that linger, and I could practically hear Garrett’s pulse increase, but I continued, offering him a possible chance at salvation.

“Messengers pick up many things, though, when they’re delivering. What have you heard?”

The terrified man swallowed hard, visibly wrestling with his fear. He sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping. “Fine. I don’t know a lot of details, but they’re big on revealing hidden truths and exacting divine vengeance or justice or something. They say the gods are lying to us and keeping secrets about Valhalla. That’s their big thing. They just never really tell what those secrets are or why they’re being kept or anything.”

Alana stepped forward away from her captive, the promise of a puzzle capturing her attention. “Secrets? What secrets? Everything we’ve seen so far is rather simple.”

Garrett shook his head, a slight panic setting in. “I told you, I don’t know. But the Prophet is obsessed with finding whatever the gods are hiding. He claims they’re lying to everyone to keep everyone trapped in this tier. That there’s something beyond what we see here. Something that only the gods will let their pets see.”

I raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with Astrid and Alana. “So they’re trying to rebel against the gods?” I said, disbelief at the stupidity of the notion creeping into my voice. The gods literally created and ran Valhalla. From everything I knew from Mary, my Valkyrie, or anything like that, it wasn’t like there weren’t secrets, but it was a test. It was all a test to see when we could, if we were worthy, stand with them as warriors.

Garrett shrugged, not trying to convince me. “I know it sounds stupid, but honestly, it’s not that clear. Most people who join just want, you know, a quick buck or revenge or something. Probably more than half. A lot believe it’s some sort of big conspiracy, though.”

I leaned in a bit closer, scrutinizing Garrett carefully. “The Prophet has... How would I find him?”

Garrett laughed humorously. “Nobody finds Khaliq. Not directly, anyway. He communicates through notes, messages, hidden dead drops, and if anyone has actually met him, he wears a mask.”

I looked over at Alana, and she nodded. Astrid frowned. Garrett seemed to sense that things were not about to go well for him, so he continued talking.

“People trust him. The messages come true. Predictions happen. His instructions lead to power. Or... he’s built the following based on that. His reputation, not anything else.”

I frowned. That sounded an awful lot like some grand trick that someone was playing. I wanted to assume that Loki was acting as the Prophet or maybe one of his minions. But at the same time, that assumption could be extremely dangerous. And if some mortal actually knew more about Valhalla, well, that was exactly the sort of independent information they wanted to get. Of course, what seemed to be a cult definitely wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy bit of information source.

“All right,” I said finally, nodding slowly. “And what did these clients want?”

Garrett glanced over at the tied-up bodies. “Shade,” he whispered. “It’s dangerous stuff. Makes people hallucinate. Visions, nightmares. It’s addictive, though the addiction doesn’t last past death. Most people use it as poison on their blades or, well, against rivals.”

Astrid frowned. Clearly, she had been expecting it to be the same as the magical drug she had been developing. But Shade was not it.

“Who makes this?”

“I don’t know,” Garrett protested. “I only ever picked it up at dead drops. I never see anything more. Just... I just do what I’m told.”

“And how do you get information? How do you know when the drops will be done, which drops to check, and where to drop them off?”

Garrett frowned. “Well, there’s a meeting. Every few days, at a randomly chosen place where some of the group meets to talk about things.”

“I’m going to need more information. I don’t know when the next one is set. How will I know? Where will you get the dead drop from?”

“I’ll show you,” he protested, and I frowned. If he told us, we would not have much use for keeping him alive at this point.

Alana, though, had a different line of questioning. She stepped forward. “If the Prophet’s goal is uncovering truths and the Pale Eye stands for fighting against the odds, why distribute drugs like this? It seems... tangential at best.”

Garrett nodded. “Yes, it is. It’s..., but it’s more about gaining resources and getting the power to get out of here ourselves. That is destabilizing the current order. In the chaos, maybe something will slip.”

I looked over at Astrid and Alana to see if they had any other questions for him.

“Well, Garrett, you’ve been somewhat useful.”

His eyes widened fearfully. “Look, man, I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry. Valhalla is harsh. Without protection, without a group, you pray. I just wanted some backing.”

“If you have to ask someone for safety, you’ll never receive it,” I said with a smile, reminding me of a quote about safety and freedom. “It’s really a pity what you decided to do with this life.”

“Wait. The Swimming Pig. Tomorrow at noon. There’s a meeting there.”

I paused, and Garrett continued to ramble.

“The... basement with the green door. Just... you have to bring me, and I’ll get you in, I swear, I promise.”

“Thank you, Garrett,” I said. “Because you’re so honest. I’ll make it quick.”

With a flash, I brought my dagger up and through the base of his jaw and into his brain. The body slumped over, and I pulled back my hand before too much blood spilled over the hilt of the dagger and wiped it on his cloak.

Alana and Astrid both were silent for different reasons. Astrid was looking at me with a slight bit of wariness, but Alana just looked at me passively. The complete trust in her gaze that even me executing a prisoner with no warning didn’t shake her at all was unnerving, to say the least.

I looked over at the clients and just shrugged. “We can just leave them there. I would cut their bindings. They’ll find their way out. Did they see your faces?”

Both shook their heads, and I started down the tunnel. “Now that we know where to go, I think we have a good plan. Though ‘Truth or Vengeance’ is a strange catchphrase. It sounds like someone knows more, but even odds, it says it’s Loki playing some sort of game.”

“You really think that would be something he would do?” Astrid asked.

Alana and I both nodded. Maybe it was that we were both directly blessed by him that gave us a better instinct for it.

“Easily.”

B2 Chapter 23: Best Laid Plans

B2 Chapter 23: Best Laid Plans

Tiberius watched the ambush begin from afar, his [Keen Eye] skill allowing him to observe the action from several miles back. Getting the skill to this point had been… interesting, to say the least. Tiberius had never thought that looking at faraway things was something one could train in, but here he was. And he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the results.

The somewhat messy snake of the enemy column halted suddenly, then began to writhe in panic as a hail of throwing spears filled the sky above them from either side. Commanders’ faces twisted in surprise, then horror as they shouted commands that didn’t reach Tiberius’s ears. Given the terror writ plain on most of the obviously green soldiers’ faces, he doubted the words reached them, either.

The spears slammed into the opposition’s forces with the wrath of an angry god. Wooden hafts protruded from the ground and torsos alike as the weapons tore through the ranks indiscriminately. A decent number of men were able to dodge the incoming projectiles or defend themselves with shields. These spears did not have quite the same piercing power as a pila did, unfortunately.

Still, the opening salvo left a swath of desolation in its wake. It was as though a deadly forest had suddenly sprung from the ground.

Then, all at once, it disappeared.

Blood rushed from the now open wounds of men who had been pierced through with the spears, watering the ground below. Nourishing it for the second wave of spears to take root.

Tiberius watched on impassively as another volley of spears slammed into the reeling army from both sides. What commanders still remained continued to scream, but the soldiers were slow to obey. The ones that didn’t flee outright turned toward the lines of Legionnaires that had appeared atop the hills and charged. Yet their charge was not a cohesive one. Each man fought his own private battle among a sea of others.

The “charge” crashed against the Legion’s shield wall like a wave breaking against rock. The second and third ranks layered their shields over those of the first to completely encase their men in a shell,its gaps filled by the long spears that they’d once more recalled to their hands. Even as the enemy drew near, their numbers continued to be culled by additional waves of spears and even sling stones from those men whose spears had broken or failed to return.

As the enemy finally gathered enough men against the shield wall, the shield-bearing Legionnaires stepped forward as one, slamming their shields into the attackers. They slid their gladii in and out of the stunned men, taking out the first rank in an instant all along their line.

If the enemy wasn’t already panicked, they certainly were now. Seeing their comrades run through, the second wave skidded to a halt and tried to retreat, unwilling to feed themselves to the Legion’s meat grinder. Yet the men behind them continued forward and left them nowhere to go.

The two groups of enemy forces, those pressing forward in a disorganized mob and those fleeing with similar levels of coordination, formed a chaotic riptide that continued to suck attackers into the slowly advancing blades of the Legion as the two flanking walls slowly began to close in. The press of bodies made it difficult for the enemies to even find space to swing their swords

Tiberius nodded in approval. Everything was going according to plan. The weaker, more inexperienced forces were being taken care of with brutal efficiency. Soon, they’d pull back to regroup, then wipe out the more experienced ones with the full force of their numbers.

Things were moving along just as they’d hoped.

Until they weren’t.

***

Sharath saw what was coming an instant before the first spear flew. It was earlier than the others, but not by enough. Her focus had been so completely on the road before her that they had walked into the ambush completely blind.

She screamed a warning, calling for the men to take cover or dodge or do what they could to avoid the attack. The sound of creaking armor reached her ears as the soldiers arrayed across the hills stood and readied themselves.

And then, it was too late.

The commanders bolstered the conscripts’ morale and confidence as best they could, meaning the results were better than they potentially could have been. After all, they could have all turned tail and ran immediately. But these “soldiers” had never done more than basic drills as part of a militia to defend a small city or town, and it showed.

The inexperienced men flailed as the stone-faced Legionnaires moved like automatons. Their practiced assault slaughtered ten or twenty percent of the baron’s forces in an instant. And then they kept going.

“Well, that’s interesting.”

Sharath whirled to find Lenny standing behind her, fingers laced casually behind his head. He watched the slaughter of the baron’s forces with an almost amused expression.

“I thought for sure they were just gonna charge or something boring like that. But this?” He continued, gesturing toward the lines of armored warriors clad in red tunics and metal armor. “This is way better. And where did they get that many enchanted spears? There isn’t even an enchanter’s academy on this side of the country.”

“Is this really the time to be asking that?” Sharath scowled, scanning her surroundings for threats. “We need to handle this.”

“Do we? But we’re learning so much by watching.”

Sharath stared at the [Scout], who simply shrugged. “What? That’s what the peasants are for, right? The longer they fight, the more info we get, and the better prepared we are to handle things.

In a way, the man was right. The conscripts weren’t here for their fighting ability, as much as the baron seemed to think they’d be able to actually do something against the Legion. No, they were the rank-and-file meant to stand in the way while the real fighters did their work. But still…

“So you just want to, what? Sit back and watch as they get massacred?”

“It’s called intel gathering. You should try it sometime. Besides, it’s only practical. It’s the most useful thing they can really do. I mean, look at them. Not like any of them are accomplishing much as fighters, even against level twos.”

Her expression darkened. “Whose side are you even on?”

“Mine, obviously. Who else’s?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but paused as she realized something. Level twos? Last time she’d checked, the army was level one.

The realization shouldn’t have phased her. What difference did it make at? But for some reason, it sent a spike of cold fear through her gut. Not that she’d admit it to the [Scout].

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. “Well, I’m going to fight. Even if just to hurt these fuckers.”

“Yeah? Seems like they’re wiling to accommodate.”

Lenny nodded over her shoulder, where a group of the soldiers were peeling off to form a wall between the pair and the vanguard. Even as Sharath looked, she saw a streak whistle through the air to pierce through a pair of soldiers, sending them to the ground in heaps.

Lenny casually hefted a small crossbow over his shoulder. “I suppose I can join you. I should probably get back to my party, anyway.”

Sharath nodded, drawing her daggers as the [Scout] leaped into the air.  His bolts rocketed forward in a deadly arc, each one’s impact accompanied by an explosion. The assault tossed a dozen Legionnaires into the air and onto their backs, tearing a hole in their line.

Sharath smiled with grim satisfaction. These fools  didn’t know what they’d gotten themselves into.

***

Quintus heard rather than saw the instant that the Legion’s fortunes changed. That single individual’s attack left the line of Legionnaires looking like a collection of trebuchets had fired on them. Yet it had come so suddenly and without warning. There had been no time to prepare or do anything more than brace.

He could feel the rising fear of his men, the sensation exacerbated by the cold lances of death that pierced their guts with every fallen Legionnaire. But despite that, the remainder of the line held. Quintus felt his heart swell with pride at that. Though it could not last for much longer. Which meant it was time to leave.

“Pull back!” He shouted, disseminating the order all the way down the line. He signalled across the valley and saw that the other officer followed suit. All of the men responsible for strengthening the men with auras and buffs immediately acted, switching from a focus on constitution and strength to ones granting agility and movement speed. As quickly as they had appeared, the Legion had disengaged, leaving nearly half of the opposing force down in their wake.

They crested the hills and disappeared behind them before the enemy could reengage and quickly followed their paths of retreat, regrouping as they did. Quintus saw a few men hurrying along with wounded as others covered their backs.

A quick glance behind him revealed that they needn't be worried about the army regrouping. More than half of them were already sprinting down the road from where they’d come, many having left their weapons behind in their hurry.

However, Not everyone had fled. Five figures in particular were approaching the Legion where it was regrouping. They moved almost lazily, seemingly unconcerned about the vast difference in numbers.

Quintus grimaced, recognizing one as the man that had launched the overwhelming attack earlier. These were the elite troops they had been warned about. It seemed that they were about to learn what a high-level individual was capable of, for better or for worse.

B2 Chapter 22: It’s a Wash

B2 Chapter 22: It’s a Wash

Habersville’s bathhouse was less of a house with baths and more of an art museum that had been erected around a large pool. Clear waters filled the center of the space and lapped against tall pillars set along its edges. Murals and carvings decorated every surface, their reflections rippling softly as bathers lounged and swam.

Of all the structures the Romans had built, this one was the most ornate and impressive—excluding the in-progress temple of Mars, of course. It spoke volumes about just how important these things must have been in their homeland. That, or the boredom and idle hands of the Legion’s more artistically-inclined soldiers.

Marcus’s legs felt like wet noodles by the time he reached the bathhouse’s entrance. The run had only been a moderate one, but he’d done his best to focus on his form the entire way. Given that [Running] was only a common skill, he was fairly confident that even that might’ve been enough to reach level one. Hopefully.

He quickly stowed away his garments and belongings before pulling a ladle from one of the clay oil pots along one wall. He rubbed the oil into his skin, then scraped it off with one of the curved metal implements stowed nearby.

It was another one of those strange customs that Marcus didn’t quite understand. If they wanted to get clean, why not use soap like everyone else did? But the Legionnaires insisted on this ritual for anyone who came to bathe, and so he obliged.

With that done, Marcus stepped inside the bathhouse proper. The waters beckoned him invitingly, urging him to slip into their cool embrace. Yet despite the warmth of the sunlight shining down through the structure’s open ceiling, he noticed that the place seemed emptier than usual. For once, the townsfolk outnumbered the Legionnaires relaxing in and around the bath.

“Marcus!”

A familiar-looking Legionnaire called out to him from the edge of the pool, lifting one hand from the water in a wave of greeting. His face split into a friendly grin.

“Ah, Cassius!” Marcus’s smile was genuine. It had been a while since he’d seen the fellow storyteller. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I joined you?”

“Not at all, friend.” Cassius turned to a second Legionnaire sitting beside him. “Do you mind?”

The other Legionnaire shrugged noncommittally. “Do what you want.”

Marcus kept the smile on his face. It was clear enough that Cassius’s companion was one of the holdouts that wasn’t particularly well-disposed toward Marcus. 

The bard joined the two Legionnaires, slipping into the water with a sigh of contentment. The temperature was relatively cool, but that was plenty alright with him. After everything he’d been through that day, it was refreshing. Although maybe the Legion didn’t know about heating spells and enchantments…

“What have you been up to, friend?” Cassius elbowed him in the side. “You look like you’ve put some hair on your chest since I last saw you.”

“You could say that.” Marcus muttered, leaning his head back for a moment as he relaxed. “I’ve been keeping busy. Composing songs, writing stories, fighting off monsters from the deep in an underground arena. The usual.”

Cassius’s eyebrows raised before he let out a thunderous laugh. He clapped the bard hard on the shoulder and shook, the motion making Marcus tense right back up. “That sounds like quite the story! I wouldn’t suppose you’re in the mood to share, are you?”

Marcus smiled. “Well, I haven’t properly composed it into a song like it deserves yet, but… well, I suppose I would be willing to share the draft.”

“That’s the spirit!”

And so, he regaled the pair with the story of how he and Gaius’s men had explored the underground amphitheater. How they’d been ambushed and forced into a pair of sea battles and, of course, how they’d emerged victorious. As he spoke, he noticed the initially disinterested Legionnaire sitting on Cassius’s far side growing more and more invested in the tale, going so far as to lean forward to see Marcus’s gestures.

He considered adding a few [Glamour]s and other effects for emphasis, but decided against it. While he liked to treat an audience of two as he would an audience of a hundred, Marcus still needed to recover his stamina. So for now, he allowed his words to paint a vivid picture for him.

“Well.” Cassius began as he finished speaking. “Your morning has certainly been more eventful than mine. Lucky bastard. Why is everyone else seeing more action than I am?”

“Says the one who was nearly buried alive by a swarm of ghouls,” the other Legionnaire muttered. “Was the incident in the mines not enough for you?”

“I still can’t believe I missed that.” Marcus grumbled. “Of all the battles to miss…”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, friend.” Cassius reassured him. “From the sound of it, you had plenty of interesting experiences yourself. Besides, is it really so bad to leave some stories for the rest of us?”

Marcus chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Although the aspects you emphasize are quite different from what I’m used to.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cassius agreed with a nod. “Your stories always seem to focus on the individuals, on singular heroes. Even when there is a group involved, it’s a small one with a clear main character. Our land has many such stories of heroes and generals and so on, of course, but still. There is an understanding of the ones behind that individual. Like us. It reflects the lack of group cohesion and tactics we’ve seen.”

Marcus objected. “Just because we tell stories differently doesn’t mean we don’t know how to fight. Besides, power scales to the individual. Why wouldn’t you sing about your heroes?”

“Why wouldn’t you sing about the armies they lead as well? Or have you simply omitted those stories?”

“Well…” Marcus hesitated. There were a few stories of the sort that Cassius described, but they were fairly unknown or unpopular. The man had a point, as much as he hated to admit it.

“You and your obsession with stories,” the other Legionnaire cut in, saving Marcus from having to respond. “I’m half convinced that becoming the hero of your own is half the reason you wanted to enlist.”

Cassius shrugged. “What can I say? I joined the Legion to seek honor and glory. If I end up finding even more than others, then who would I be to complain?”

“Speaking of the Legion…” Marcus took the opportunity to shift topics. He looked around the bath as he scrubbed himself. “It seems quieter today than usual. Is something happening?”

“Ah, you haven’t heard?” Cassius asked. “Most of the Legion is on the move again. Six cohorts marched out just this morning.”

That caught Marcus’s attention. He paused his attempts to remove the kraken bits from his hair to look at the bardic Legionnaire. “They did? To where?”

“I don’t know exactly, but apparently there’s an army coming our way from the barony. They’re trying to nip them in the bud before they cause any trouble.”

Marcus frowned. An army? Where had the baron managed to field an army from? His forces should have been tied up in the west like everyone else’s. Unless he’d been able to pull them back somehow?

“What kind of army?”

Cassius shrugged. “Again, I don’t know. I’m not privy to things like that. All I know is that my cohort has to stay here. We’re to be on alert for threats if things don’t go as planned.”

“Well, you certainly look alert.” Marcus quipped.

Cassius lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, there’s no cause for alarm yet. Might as well take advantage of rest when the opportunity presents itself.”

Marcus considered the man’s words as he floated in the water. The Legion moving to take on a force fielded by the baron… that was quite an escalation. It was a direct challenge to the baron and Novara itself, an escalation even from seizing Stonester. If they successfully beat them…

“Say…” Marcus began. “Do you think they’ll return after the battle? Or would they continue marching toward the barony?”

“Hmmm… no idea.” Cassius turned toward his companion. “What do you think?”

The man shrugged. “I’d expect them to keep marching. Best to take advantage of the enemy’s weakness.”

Realization began to dawn on Marcus. He shot up suddenly. “I have to go after them.”

“What?” Cassius frowned. “Why?”

“Why else? If they take the barony, I need to chronicle it!”

He didn’t state his other reasons, of course. This was exactly the kind of situation he’d spoken about with Eleonora. A chance for them to save everyone a lot of trouble—and lives. Provided he could convince the baron of the Legion’s danger, of course. But given that they’d be hot off the heals of decimating his army, Marcus suspected he may well have an easier time with that than expected.

He was already on his way to the edge of the bath when Cassius called out to him. “How do you plan on catching up?”

Marcus froze halfway up the steps. That was a very good question. With the speed the Legion marched, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up, much less gain ground on the army. And that was assuming he knew where they were in the first place.

His spirits fell as the futility of his task settled upon him. But then the other Legionnaire spoke again. “Why not accompany the auxiliaries. They may not have left yet. If you’re quick, you may be able to catch them.”

Marcus blinked. “The auxiliaries? They’re going as well?”

“Yep. First time  they’ll see combat for most of them.”

Marcus relaxed slightly. He knew for a fact that the Legion’s supporting trainees weren’t nearly as quick as the full-fledged soldiers were. They had been training and almost certainly leveling their own [Marching] skills, but…

Suddenly, he realized that he’d never gotten the other Legionnaire’s name. He extended his hand. “My apologies, friend. I never formally introduced myself. I’m—”

“Marcus, I already know.” The soldier waved him off. “Only a fool wouldn’t recognize you at this point. You’ve gained more than a little notoriety among my brethren.”

The admission filled Marcus with pride. Having his name recognized was further proof that he’d entrenched himself well among the men. The combination of his campfire songs and exploits had evidently been paying off.

“Ah, I’m glad to hear that. I’m afraid I never quite got your name, however.”

“Romulus,” the man said. Romulus took Marcus’s hand cautiously, as though he still didn’t quite trust him fully. It was a common enough sentiment. As a charisma-based class, [Bard]s were often looked upon with as much suspicion as used horse salesmen. When his monstrous stat didn’t allow him to push past that initial distrust, of course. Which was one of the reasons such suspicion often proved justified. Still, given the Legion’s general resistance to his usual charms, he’d come to expect such a reaction.

“It was wonderful talking with you, gentlemen.” Marcus sketched a quick bow as he emerged from the water. “But it seems I must be on my way I wish you a wonderful rest of your day!”

His words flowed out in a rush as he hurried to the exit to get dressed. Picking up [Running] was already paying off. And unfortunately, it looked like he’d be power-leveling it quite soon.

B2 Chapter 21: What is Your Profession?

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B2 Chapter 21: What is Your Profession?

Quintus led a long column of men as they snaked through the hills, keeping to the valleys and behind the elevated terrain as much as possible. They’d managed to evade notice so far, but he wasn’t sure that would last much longer. The hills themselves were not nearly as pronounced as they’d looked on the map. A mistake in their information, perhaps. Or maybe he just hadn’t accurately taken account of the scale.

Either way, the fact remained that their forces would have more trouble hiding than he’d hoped. It wouldn’t be impossible, of course. Just a little more difficult if the enemy was properly wary. His forerunners had spotted the enemy’s column earlier that day, and he suspected that their own forward scouts would soon spot the Legion if they hadn’t already. That would throw off their initial ambush and might ruin their element of surprise.

However, there was good news as well. The speed that the Legion moved at vastly outstripped the pace of their enemy. It meant that, even if they didn’t catch them completely by surprise, a rapid enough advance wouldn’t leave the other army time to fully reposition into a defensive square. That meant they’d be able to fall upon the strung-out column itself.

It wasn’t optimal, but if they played their cards right it would work out quite well. Especially if the auxiliary archers showed up anytime soon.

“Can… can we… slow… down…?”

The panting wheezes roused him from his thoughts. Glancing over, Quintus spotted its source easily. An exhausted girl, drenched with sweat, gasped for breath beside him. Her legs wobbled as they pumped mechanically forward, struggling to keep up with the rest of the Legion.

“No.” Quintus replied simply.

Eleonora groaned as Quintus shook his head. Their march had only lasted a few hours and been at a fraction of their maximum pace. True, the men had skills to bolster their performance, but he suspected that Eleonora would look much the same even if she’s been moving at the Legion’s pace before coming to this world. At least she was leveling the [Marching] skill she’d been told to take.

The [Healer] had been assigned to accompany the cohorts into battle for a few reasons. The first and most obvious was her abilities as a healer. Such skills would be in great demand the instant they entered battle, of that Quintus had no doubt. The second was to oversee the century of other medics she’d been training for the Legion.

Their progress had been… adequate. The men had managed to pick up a number of medically-related skills, including [Minor Healing], which was apparently the most basic variety of healing spell out there. Unfortunately, its efficacy left much to be desired. It did little more than fix cuts, mend bruises, and set bones, albeit more quickly and efficiently than such things might’ve healed naturally.

Fortunately, their abilities were not limited to the magical. Several of the Legion’s milites medici—their doctors—had picked up skills related to more mundane medicine, such as [Surgery] or [Cauterize], which allowed them to make leaps and bounds in their effectiveness. But as far as regenerating limbs or cleansing diseases went? Miracles like that were still restricted to the domain of the [Healer] and her spells.

Unless, of course, the severed limb was still on hand. He’d seen one of the more skilled milites medici reattach a man’s fingers the other day. They’d worked as though he’d never lost them.

Still, their efforts continued. These advancements were a start, and certainly made it easier to keep the men in peak fighting condition. But he couldn’t help but look forward to the day when their doctors were more akin to magicians, able to cure any wound with a wave of their hand. Though he suspected that the men would begin to develop some rather reckless habits if that were the case.

That all depended, of course, on their resident [Healer] surviving this march. Something that was seeming a little unlikely based on her breathing. At least she would level her skill this way. Though if she passed out, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem for the men to carry her.

Aside from Eleonora’s labored pants and occasional complaints, the march was relatively peaceful. They continued for several hours before the scouts brought more news. “Sir. We’re fast approaching the ambush point. It appears that we’ve still managed to go unnoticed.”

Quintus nodded to the aides that marched alongside him. Those men were doing an admirable job of hiding their exhaustion. Far better than last march, at least. Maybe they were just reluctant to emulate Eleonora’s example.

“Let’s divide our forces and position, then.” Quintus suggested. ‘We should be prepared to move if we are spotted.”

With that, their forces split. Two cohorts followed Quintus west while two more followed the other senior centurion to the southern side of the enemy column. The last two were held in reserve just out of sight. They followed after their scouts, being careful to avoid the field of traps that had been set up across the plains. Getting injured by their own countermeasures would be embarrassing, to say the least.

It wasn’t long before Quintus had his men in place. They lined up just behind the peak of the long hill where the ambush would take place. Once they were ready, Quintus nodded to one of the Legionnaires that specialized in communications. The man closed his eyes, sending an unseen signal to the other group before opening them again and nodding.

Quintus tensed, keeping his eyes on the horizon where the opposing force would soon appear. Their own scout—or scouts—would likely precede the main body, but there wasn’t much they could do about that. They would get noticed, but when was the question. The longer it took, the better.

Soon, a lone female figure appeared, her form sheathed in tight-fitting black leathers that left little to the imagination. She crept through the grasses, moving carefully even though her garb did nothing to grant her any level of stealth in this setting.

He frowned at the sight. The woman looked… familiar, somehow. He could have sworn he’d seen her before. But where?

After a moment, it dawned on him. He had seen her before. That night in the woods, when a patrol had been ambushed. When the first Legionnaire had died. She’d been the one to kill him.

He gritted his teeth at the memory, then smiled grimly. It seemed the gods had been good to them this day. Though they’d already killed the woman’s companion, it seemed that they’d have an opportunity to finish the job and exact their revenge. Not now, though. Soon.

Quintus held his breath, waiting for the inevitable shout of warning that alerted the army behind of their presence. But it never came. Instead, the woman’s attention was directed solely at the ground.

“Level sixteen [Rouge]”, one of his men informed him in a whisper softer than the shifting grass. “She’s one of the high level threats and the main scout we’ve seen. The rest of the army are in a level range of 4 to 9. Most falling closer to 4. No combat classes from what we have seen, mostly [Farmers] and assorted craftsmen.”

That aligned with what he recalled. Still, the revelation proved reassuring. They’d handled two adventurers of her level with essentially a few centuries of men. With these numbers? Quintus suspected that these threats may find themselves overwhelmed more quickly than they expected.

She knelt down, moving her fingers deftly across a spot in the grass until a soft click sounded. The woman straightened, tossing aside a mess of wood and metal before continuing to comb the ground before her.

The realization struck him in an instant. This was why they hadn’t been spotted. Rather than ranging far and wide, their high-level [Rouge[ was preoccupied with dismantling the field of traps they’d laid out. So much so that she hardly even paid mind to the rest of her surroundings.

He smiled to himself. Disabled as they were, the traps still making themselves plenty useful. He’d have to make sure that the men who’d produced them knew.

The woman passed between the hills obscuring the Legion. After a little more silent waiting, the army behind her finally appeared. 

It began with three individuals at the lead. A massive warrior in fiendish black armor and two women, one in revealing robes and the other in a comically large hat. Considering their strange garb, Quintus was all but certain that these were the high-level adventurers he’d been warned about.

He frowned. Including the [Rouge] woman, they’d only seen four high-leveled individuals when there were supposed to be five. That meant there was one unaccounted for. That was never a good sign. He wanted to ask his scouts about the matter, but didn’t want to risk making noise. Not now.

The group followed the route that had been cleared for them, carefree and chatting as they moved. Behind them came the bulk of the army. They were clumped together in a loose column and bore comparatively poor equipment. Furthermore, its soldiers were uncoordinated, some horsing around with each other in a clear lack of discipline. Others appeared wary, gingerly weighing each step even though the path was ostensibly safe.

Quintus waited for the entire vanguard to move past their position. The plan was to cut off the highest level troops from the rest of the army, and considering that the discipline and fitness of the troops only decreased as they passed, it did seem as though their strongest were concentrated at the front.

With a few silent signals, the men readied themselves. For now, they would crush the main body of the army and retreat before any reinforcements from the rearguard or the vanguard could come at them. Hopefully that would allow them to deal substantial damage and avoid engaging the high-level enemies until they had been softened up.

Quintus raised his hand slightly, the movement mirrored by centurions all the way down the line. Then, when the moment was right, he dropped it—and the Legionnaires exploded into action.

B2 Chapter 20: Running Away From Your Problems

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B2 Chapter 20: Running Away From Your Problems

Despite being surrounded by water on all sides, neither Marcus or the Legionnaires that accompanied him deemed it bath-worthy. It had already been of questionable cleanliness before their fight, and now that it had been turned into kraken soup? No one wanted to touch it more than absolutely necessary. Especially not after smelling the men who had been pulled out.

As Marcus lay there, catching his breath, he stared up at the domed ceiling. With his luck, it would only be a matter of moments before the next calamity befell them. What would it be this time? An adult kraken? A dozen ships? Maybe there had been a giant turtle hiding below them this whole time.

Another series of trumpets sounded. The sound caused their entire group to tense, heads swiveling to scan for threats. Yet compared to before, the trumpets’ melody sounded different. The series of ascending notes had an almost victorious quality to them.

As the melody ended, the boat began to shift. The water around them swirled in a series of regularly spaced whirlpools. Yet rather than revealing some collection of eldritch horrors, the whirlpools began to drain the arena. The water level gradually fell over the course of several minutes before the boat touched down on wet sand.

With an effort, the mostly-recovered Marcus heaved himself upright and followed the Legionnaires out of the boat, his legs wobbling slightly on the stable ground. Now that he was only damp instead of sopping wet, he accepted his belongings from the man who’d been holding them, doing his best to keep them away from his body.

The group arranged themselves in a defensive formation, still wary of additional threats. Fortunately, none  came. They made their way to the edge of the arena uncontested and found the barrier had dissipated. The men hopped over the wall and found themselves faced with a crowd of cheering Legionnaires slapping their backs heartily.

"An excellent fight!" One shouted enthusiastically. "That was better than any gladiator match I’ve seen in my lifetime!"

Another chimed in with a hearty laugh. "I’ll say! Even our bard friend managed to look good, there!"

He slapped Marcus on the back, the force of the blow sending him stumbling forward. The bard winced and straightened. "Excuse me! You say that as though I don’t always look good, Aurelius."

"Well, I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but…" Aurelius gestured to Marcus’s damp form. "Right now? You look kind of like shit."

A few of the other men nodded in agreement as Marcus sighed. "That’s hardly my fault. If this idiot knew how to swim, I wouldn’t have needed to plunge into those ghastly waters. My eyes still sting from that."

"Yeah, what the blazes was that Augustus? You looked like a damn chicken with its head cut off out there!"

"I… Er…" Augustus had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I… have never been great at swimming."

"Great? You looked like that was the first time you’d ever touched water! What, did Neptune curse your mother to birth an inept son?"

The jabs and ribbing continued for a while longer before Gaius called for the Legionnaires' attention. "All right. Enough chatting. We still need to finish surveying the area. Now that we know there are dangers lurkings, we’ll move in groups and with extra caution. Understood?"

The men saluted, ceasing their banter to continue with their mission. In the meantime, Marcus considered the fight. Given the sheer level of their enemy, he was all but certain killing it had earned him a level. Maybe even more, considering the circumstances. He’d need to check the class stone as soon as they returned.

That wasn’t the only thing he’d gained from the battle, however. His in-progress epic covering the escapades of the Legion always needed new vignettes and supplementary tales to add to the main storyline. And this? The story of ten men fighting off a kraken? This was exactly the kind of thing people ate up in tales about legendary heroes. And since he’d experienced it firsthand, he had unique insights into this particular battle.

Of course, some of those insights he could have done without. He would have much preferred to be a spectator rather than a combatant. But now that he had the experience, he might as well put it to use. Especially if it could elevate the story and make it worth even more experience.

Either way, one thing was certain. Once again, sticking with the Legion was paying off in spades. If this growth kept up, then he’d be the highest level bard in Novara before long.

Before the men completely dispersed, there was one minor matter to discuss. Stepping forward, he called out to one group in particular.

“So… I’m not sure what your custom is, but around here, you generally tip your performers,” he said with a flourishing bow. "And considering that some of you seem to have found yourselves flush with extra coin…"

The soldiers groaned.

***

They stuck around the ruins for a few more hours, exploring other sections of the amphitheater and finding a few more easily accessible rooms. During that time, they found a few more things of interest.

There were a few old weapons that looked relatively unremarkable to him—basic swords and a couple of spears. Yet the Legionnaires that touched them claimed that they felt something strange within the rather standard-looking metal.

Marcus promised that he would try to use [Appraisal] on them later when he wasn’t so exhausted, but made no guarantees as to its results. He was far more used to using the skill on people and creatures, after all. Even if he came up with little of interest, he was certain that someone would be able to provide some insight into the things.

He also found a few dry and dusty tomes that had somehow survived the ravages of time, if barely. One of them looked to be a logbook of some sort, but it was difficult to tell based on how much the writing itself had faded. With the right class and skills, the contents would probably be recoverable. But neither Marcus nor any of the Legionnaires specialized in ancient book repair. For now, it was something that they would just have to hold on to.

Once they returned to Habersville, Gaius immediately went to report their findings. Marcus, however, had no such obligations. He made a beeline through the gates and toward the class stone. The Legionnaires might have been able to outmarch him on open ground, but in short bursts of speed? Well, his dexterity certainly gave him a boost in that area.

It didn’t come without a cost, however. Between the fighting, the march back, and his final sprint, Marcus felt ready to collapse by the time he reached the class stone. Still, he couldn’t bear to wait. He laid his hand on the black obelisk and saw stats unfurl in front of him.

Information:

Name: Marcus Silvanus D’Angelo

Age: 23

Class: Royal Bard (Rare)

Level: 24

Experience: 47 / 2,400

Stats:

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 32

Constitution: 6

Charisma: 60

Wisdom: 13

Intelligence: 11

Free Points: 2

Titles:

Chronicler of Novara

Dashing Dastard

Traveler of Novara

Harbinger of Rome

Crowd Favorite

Skills:

[Charm] (Uncommon) - Lvl 28

[Silver Tongue] (Epic) - Lvl 5

[Appraisal] (Uncommon) - Lvl 27

[Sleight of Hand] (Common) - Lvl 47

[Inspirational Song] (Rare) - Lvl 7

[Critical Reception] (Rare) - Lvl 9

[Spellcraft] (Uncommon) - Lvl 5

[Glamor] (Uncommon) - Lvl 28

[Dagger Proficiency] (Common) - Lvl 4

[Camping] (Common) - Lvl 2

Marcus’s eyes widened. He had gained not one, but two levels since he had last checked. Not only that, but he’d picked up a new title as well.

Before doing anything else, he quickly dumped all his free points into charisma. Then he examined the new title.

[Crowd Favorite: For the purpose of entertaining others win a life or death battle in the arena with more than 100 members in the audience. +X% to Charisma and Strength when fighting in front of an audience, where X scales with the enthusiasm of the audience.]

After reading the title, a few things became clear to Marcus. The first was why he was just receiving it now instead of at any other point during his long and impressive career of performances. He’d been a crowd favorite any number of times, and hadn’t heard of this title before anyway. What reason did the System have to hold out on him like that?

Evidently, there was a good reason. This was a title not for a performer, but for a fighter who also happened to perform. Of course he wouldn’t have heard of it.

The first part, however, gave him pause. A sanctioned arena bout? They’d fought some automatons and a giant octopus in the ruins of some arena. How did that count as a sanctioned bout? Perhaps there was more to that amphitheater than they’d thought.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile. Though he didn’t intend to use this particular title much, he certainly wouldn’t complain about having it. Especially not if he could find some way to put it to use in his own performances.

Finally, he looked over his skills. The levels he’d gained in his rare skill were an especially welcome sight. However, reviewing the ones he had equipped reminded him of one other matter he’d been meaning to tend to—his emergency skills.

[Dagger Proficiency] and [Camping] were not skills that he particularly wanted to keep. He’d only picked them up as extra insurance while he was on the run. Luckily, he hadn’t needed to use either particularly often, as evidenced by their low levels for common skills.

But he wasn’t on the run any longer. Furthermore, if any of the king’s men attempted to apprehend him, they’d have to make it through an army of Legionnaires first. Of course, he didn’t expect the soldiers to rally to his defense like they would for one of their brethren. But he’d made enough friends and proved his usefulness enough that he was confident they wouldn’t just give him up easily. If nothing else, protecting one of their assets would probably be a point of pride.

All that to say that those two skills had become essentially irrelevant. Which meant that he could once again afford to switch them out for something more useful.

Marcus opened his skill list and considered the options. His first instinct was to pick up the skills he’d initially dropped, but that simply wouldn’t make sense. As much as the Romans called themselves an empire, they still lacked a proper court like he was used to. Until that changed, any skills related to favor-currying and political intrigue would likely see as much use as [Camping] had.

The newer skills he’d been offered didn’t look much more promising, though he took the time to quickly slot them anyway to preserve them in his list. [Lifeguard] and [Spear Proficiency] in particular had clearly been earned from his earlier battle. Instead, he looked over some of the older skills.

It didn’t take long for him to settle on his first skill: [Disappearing Act]. It was a skill he’d earned in his younger years after a fair amount of dodging jilted lovers of the women he’d become acquainted with. The skill helped him to identify escape routes and hiding places when danger lurked nearby.

It was one of the skills he’d considered when first becoming a fugitive, but honestly? Even a semi-competent tracker or even a town guard was likely to be able to combat it at a low level. Plus, although it would help him with making an escape, it wouldn’t do much to keep pursuers off his tail for any extended period of time.

[Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Disappearing Act] (Uncommon) - Lvl 0.]

Slotting the skill, Marcus returned his attention to the list. He had one more slot to fill. What should he take? Something to enhance his performances? Something to protect himself in combat? Perhaps a skill that would enhance his impressive people skills even further?

Marcus closed his eyes and sighed. The smart thing would be to shore up his weaknesses. He could use this final skill to bolster his abilities in an area that he had been and would continue to utilize frequently. As much as he loathed it.

Really, the answer was obvious. He just didn’t want to see it.

[Congratulations! You have assigned the skill [Running] (Common) - Lvl 0.]

As much as he hated to admit it, his inability to keep up with the Legion was becoming a real problem. How was he supposed to turn their exploits into songs if he was too slow to observe them? They simply marched too fast.

He had a few other skills that might improve his short distance mobility, but past that? [Running] was just about the only thing he had right now that could help him keep up. Especially since he refused to learn [Marching].

With that, Marcus stepped back from the class stone. The day’s activities had truly exhausted him. But before he could rest, there was one more thing he needed—a nice bath.

Turning toward the bathhouses, he forced his wobbling legs into a jog. His skill was only level zero, after all. Best to start training it up as soon as he could.