For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 23B3 : One Last Charge

B3 Chapter 23: One Last Charge

The orcs' newfound ability to “strategize” had rather clear limitations. Rather than acting and adapting like men, this foe could be more accurately likened to horses with blinders on. Once they chose a target and began running it down, there was no changing their course. Nor was there any consideration made for feints or repositioning or retreat. The orcs just barreled forward.

Why they were suddenly so determined when they'd been easier to lead astray before, Quintus was unsure. But he quickly found out that even this deceptively simple approach could accomplish much.

The Legionnaires clustered more closely together as they braced for another wave. The pincer maneuver they suddenly found themselves subject to certainly pressed them harder. The cavalry were struggling to keep the Legionnaires from becoming completely surrounded. This focus though also limited their ability to make probing attacks, as Quintus was forced to turtle up in a static defense to avoid being overwhelmed.

The opposing commander even began to integrate “feints” into his strategy—accomplished via careful placement of the orcs sent out to draw Rome’s forces into a bad position. But since these forces didn't even know the meaning of “retreat”, Quintus didn't have the option of calling the feint for what it was. Failing to address the incoming troops would have put him in an even worse position.

He stabbed out again and again, activating [Rend] and [Tear] whenever he felt they were about to drown in orcs. The mass flowed together before him, bellowing with fury as the veins in their eyes threatened to burst.

“Grok is no coward! My clan honorable! Yours—”

He didn’t hear the rest as his blade tore through its face. That was another development he'd noticed. The orcs seemed angrier now. They hadn't been exactly friendly before, as they were obviously enemies. But now? Rather than just battle rage, Quintus couldn't help but see a deep hatred in their eyes as they threw themselves forward. As though Quintus had somehow personally offended them.

Not that he particularly cared. But it did mean that the orcs tried even harder to break their line. They had to shrink their formation further as the things began leaping over the shield wall and into the center of the Legionnaires. The signs of exhaustion he'd noticed earlier all but disappeared as others kept fighting well past any reasonable limits.

Still, Quintus and his men persevered. Every hour they spent fighting these things whittled down their numbers further—and it showed. The green mass at the capital’s walls had shrunk visibly. Part of that might have been due to the number that poured over its top and into the city, but the bodies scattered around the field proved it wasn’t the only contributor. Though not all of them were green.

“Reposition!” Quintus ordered as another gaggle of charging orcs slipped by the cavalry. If men had fought like this, they would have broken and run hours ago. And unlike the newly invigorated orcs, his own men were beginning to show their exhaustion.

The horsemen were slowing down as their horses tired. Their riders had long ago started rationing their skill use as the battle dragged on. Worse, that carpet of bodies made for quite the cluttered terrain for the cavalry to navigate. While most of them had a skill for that, not all did. Worse, not all of the bodies were actually dead. Occasionally, a green hand would dart up unexpectedly to catch a horse by the leg or tail, forcing the rider to react quickly or be dragged down with his mount.

Whenever they could, Quintus had the infantry march backwards, pulling the orcs farther and farther from the city and give Devin’s forces some breathing room. But that would only do so much. All of them would need to rest at some point, while the orcs seemed to have gotten their second wind.

Quintus looked up between the rhythmic stabbing of his gladius to see Devin lead his group in another sweep across the field. The man took point in the formation as it hammered into another group of incoming orcs as they pursued another cavalry unit. At the same time, another mob pursued him. It was a chaotic dance as the horsemen simultaneously tried to outrun foes and suppress others, all the while doing their best not to draw pursuers into the path of their allies.

That was when he saw it. Another group of cavaliers on the verge of being overwhelmed, their last few riders just keeping ahead of the orcs. They desperately weaved back and forth, trying fruitlessly to shake the enemies to no avail.

Devin and his group wheeled to assist. But as they turned, they failed to notice another pair of orc assault groups making a beeline for them. In moments, Devin would be surrounded.

Quintus swore under his breath. “Rotate! Everyone with ranged weapon skills, spears out!”

He and others ducked back behind the line as fresher men moved to replace them. Drawing out his throwing spear, Quintus shifted to give himself as much room as possible. It wasn’t as much as he would have liked, but it would have to do.

On his orders, the group hurled the spears toward the nearest group or orcs The long weapons stabbed through the group of orcs, felling a few. But it wasn’t enough. Worse, the group was too close to risk detonating the spears.

“Again!”

The spear reappeared in Quintus’s hand as he readied for another volley. This was too slow. Devin and his group would be overwhelmed before they managed to actually open a hole. They needed to do more damage. Which gave Quintus an idea.

“[Tear]!” He bellowed before the next round was loosed. He didn’t need to explain further. His brothers activated the skill right alongside him before hurling the spears forward again.

He hadn’t really experimented with the skill’s use on other weapons. But in theory, it shouldn’t be limited to just swords. Right?

An invisible force whipped the air around the spears. They rocketed forward, shredding the orcs before they even made impact. Rather than a few individual targets, the resulting spear volley managed to tear a gash through the enemy’s forces.

Devin recognized what was happening and shouted an order to his men. They crashed into their targets before turning and darting through the opening with a sudden burst of speed, just managing to escape the assault. The men met each other’s eyes and exchanged a brief nod of acknowledgement.

A horn blast from the city wall drew Quintus’s attention. He glanced up just in time to see a hailstorm of arrows descend onto the orcs below like a waterfall. The top of the wall had been rendered an entirely different shade of green—that of the forest. The elven legion had been successful.

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“To me! Make for the wall!” Quintus shouted. In moments, his forces were reversing course and looping back to push toward the city and a relatively uncontested section of wall. They soon came within range of the elven archers, who added their own efforts to take the pressure off of the cavalry. Waves of orcs went down as limp pincushions.

Rearranging his men, Quintus formed a small break against the pursuers. The horsemen continued to retreat further, their horses foaming as they pulled into the shadow of the wall. The orcs that entered arrow range were quickly cut down by the hundreds of archers on the walls.

Finally, the attacks ceased. The orcish commander seemed to recognize the futility of their mission and stopped sending groups after them. Instead, they did something that Quintus had truly never expected.

They began to retreat.

The remaining mob of enemies pulled away from the wall suddenly, rushing back toward Corwyn Pass. Only, there was something odd about this retreat. The orcs didn’t appear demoralized or even tired. Instead, they rushed away with the same bloodthirsty bellows that they’d shouted when pursuing Quintus and his forces.

He shook his head. There was no sense in dwelling on it right now. Once they were certain that the enemy had left, Quintus and the others relaxed their shields and shook out their arms. Finally, after hours of fighting, he had a break.

“Status report,” he called to his centurions and the approaching Devin. The young Redcliffe heir looked haggard and bedraggled, though less out of sorts than his men.

“Lost a few,” Devin growled. “Not as many as I feared, though. Will need to count for exact numbers.”

Quintus nodded. It was the same for him. “You seemed surprised by the orcs’ tactics.

“Because I was. That’s a bit more strategy than even I’ve seen them use. Makes me uneasy.” Devin shuddered. “Well, it’s done now. Let’s hope they don’t decide to change their minds and come back…”

Both men began to walk up and down their lines, taking stock of their forces.

***

Marcus continued hurrying through the city’s empty streets. The sounds of bellowing orcs and smashing wood echoed between the buildings, distant yet seemingly everywhere at once.

The noise made it easy to avoid them, thankfully. Every once in a while he’d see evidence of their passing—shattered doors, blood splatters, and glimpses of building interiors that had been carelessly turned over for valuables. He’d also stumbled across the path of one abnormally quiet orc as well—and subsequently been forced to burn a rather potent spell from his book to kill it. But for the most part, his passage went unremarked.

His mission had been progressing more quickly than he’d hoped, albeit a bit less successfully. He’d made his way down the list much faster than expected, but his attempts to persuade the nobles had often fallen on deaf ears. Three had gone so far as to laugh in his face without letting him inside.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been too surprising. He did have a reputation, especially among these circles, and his claims were admittedly a little outlandish. Even worse was the fact that nobles tended to specialize in charisma and persuasion skills, making his own [Silver Tongue] and [Charm] far less effective than they would have been otherwise. Given all of that, Count Rollo’s response was the more unexpected one by far.

He didn’t have particularly high hopes for his next destination, either. House Aridus was known for being rather stubborn and bullheaded, fervent supporters of Novara and its king. However, political thinking was not exactly their strong suit. A perceived series of slights against the king’s favored wines and artisans had evidently found them on the outs from his inner circle only recently.

Aridus held one of the last major keeps in the city. And while Marcus truly did not expect them to take kindly to his warning, he decided to make an attempt anyway. Though perhaps he’d keep his disguise this time.

However, there was a problem—one that made itself increasingly clear as Marcus continued forward. As he drew nearer to his destination, the grunts and shouts of the invading orcs also grew louder. Before long, he had to dodge between buildings to avoid detection, slowing his progress and making generous use of his [Glamour]s to remain hidden. The main mass of orcs was close enough now that he considered turning back and abandoning this house entirely. Until he turned a final corner and the Aridus estate came into sight.

The front gates to the keep had been thrown wide open. Before it, a line of the noble house’s inhabitants stood ready to defend, their faces set with grim determination. Rows of men and women, some on foot and others astride horses. But these were not all soldiers. The hammers, iron pokers, and rolling pins that many carried made that abundantly clear. These were servants, cooks, and other residents of the estate. A whole assortment of non-combatant classes that had nevertheless gathered to protect their home.

He found himself enraptured by the sight. It was one thing to see those with combat classes fighting off a threat. But the others? It was suicide. They didn’t stand a chance. Why else would most of the city have holed up and hidden away?

Yet [Critical Reception] made it abundantly clear that this was not something they’d been coerced into. Each and every person standing there burned with determination and was ready to give their life in what may well be their last stand.

Marcus quickly dashed into a nearby building and scrambled up to the roof for a better view, just in time to see the main mass of the orc horde round the bend. The path of the invading army took them right toward the assembled Aridus defenders. The knights, fighters, and guards of the house were ready. As soon as the green barbarians came into view, a shouted order spurred the mounted fighters forward in a thunderous charge down the street. Behind them, the infantry readied themselves beside blacksmiths and carpenters. He even spotted a few maids sporting brooms and mops with sharpened handles who held their heads as high as the rest.

Emotion swelled in his breast. Now this was a sight worthy of a ballad. It was stupid, impossible, destined to fail. Yet heroic. The last stand of a loyal noble house against insurmountable odds. And he was fortunate enough to bear witness.

Of course, it would be much better if this wasn't as doomed a mission as it seemed. And so, Marcus decided to try and tip the scales a bit.

As soon as the orcs spotted the incoming humans, they roared with enthusiasm and charged headlong into the incoming line of horsemen, heedless of their lances. As the two groups rushed to meet each other, Marcus cleared his throat. Then, he began to sing.

Fate stands evermore against us,

Health and virtue swept aside.

Brought low, loyal servants,

Crushed beneath its cruel tide.

So at this, the final hour,

Draw your blades and let them sing—

Fate shall strike the strongest tower,

Let all weep, yet let us ride!

It was a bit of an improvisation—not his preferred method of storytelling. But one that he was adept at nonetheless. He let his [Silver Tongue] flow as he raised his voice, sending an [Inspirational Song] across the battlefield. He already had a firm grasp of what motivated the defenders and where their hearts lay. So tailoring the song to them was a simple matter. The [Glamour] that wrapped this story’s heroes in illusory armor of light was a bit extra, perhaps. But feeling how it bolstered their confidence made the little bit of effort so much more worth it.

Marcus felt the drain on his stamina at the simultaneous activation of so many skills. But he didn’t let up. It was the least he could do, really. And it wasn't like the orcs particularly cared about him.

The sound of thundering hooves rang across the city like church bells as the two forces clashed.