B3 Chapter 59: Division in the Ranks
B3 Chapter 59: Division in the Ranks
Marcus senses expanded to feel the world around him. The [Illusory Domain] he created lay atop reality like a thin coating of clay, one that he could pinch and mold at will.
Hundreds of human soldiers continued pouring into the area as he did just that. He caused the ground to vibrate with the sound of their marching and maneuvered them into battle lines. The sunlight gleamed off their helms and the various nicks and scratches that dotted their equipment.
He wasn’t certain that the orcs would notice such details. But it certainly didn’t hurt to add them. A performer of his caliber didn’t even consider cutting corners with his art. Besides, causing his illusions to more accurately reflect reality made them somehow easier to create. The times that he’d attempted to make something too false, too fantastical, and out of place, it had required a far larger portion of his attention to maintain. He didn’t entirely understand the mechanics, but nor would he complain.
Not that his current endeavor was easy on his focus. Not even remotely.
One hand pulled out his spellbook and flipped to the first page. He needed to buy time. Running through unmapped routes wasn’t an option, not unless they had a death wish. Nor could they simply hide and allow their pursuers to continue on, as that would have them crashing into the back of the Legion’s main forces in a hurry. And if they were having trouble in their current battle, he couldn’t imagine that being taken by surprise would help matters.
The orcs neared the “Legion’s” battle lines where they'd filled a narrow chokepoint. The roaring horde charged with weapons raised, ready to crash through. Their weapons fell upon the arrayed shields before them and—
—They bounced right off.
The dull impacts filled the air as Marcus finished chanting, the page of his spellbook going up in flames. It was his best defensive spell, one he'd intended to keep for emergency situations. But, well, using it here was arguably one such situation. Even if it wasn’t a direct threat to his person, the Legionnaires being wiped out by the orcs would all but ensure he followed right after.
The orcs continued hammering at the shimmering barrier set right above the false Legionnaires’ shields. It continued to hold, surprising Marcus with its durability. He’d known that the spell was a powerful one, of course, but hadn’t been given a reason to test it before now.
He continued strumming and manipulating his illusory domain as time ticked by. Each minute that passed was another minute that the real Legion had to finish their battle. To its credit, the spell proved more than worth its price—enough that he resolved to get the Romans to reimburse him for its use. Yet Marcus held no illusions that the shield would hold up forever, and after some time, his suspicions were proven true.
A crack formed across the barrier’s surface. It spread further as the orcs hammered away at the sign of weakness, spiderwebbing across the shields until the magic barrier finally shattered into pieces. Yet just as it did, the “soldiers” did something unexpected. Their faces went white with terror as they broke and fled.
The illusory men scattered in every direction, groups running into every pass and ravine at once. The orcs redoubled their efforts as they hooted with glee. The green-skinned barbarians practically fell over each other to chase down their prey as they split up. Those groups split even further as the humans divided down every fork in the road they came across.
For all their realism, Marcus’s illusions were still just that—illusions. They had no substance to them. And for all his performing prowess, he still had no confidence in bewitching the orcs enough to make them forget their bloodlust. Which meant that he’d do the next best thing—lead them on a wild goose chase for as long as he could. Hopefully, his companions wouldn’t take too much offense.
A headache began to build in the back of his skull after only a few seconds. Some part of him was vaguely aware of hands hoisting him into the air and carrying him elsewhere. But that wasn’t important. What was important was the distraction.
Marcus felt something wet trickle down his lip as he split his attention a hundred different ways. A few distant voices called for the orcs to stay together, but went entirely unheeded. They hastened forward in hot pursuit, yet found themselves just short of catching the humans. Occasionally, a group would turn a corner only to find a dead end without a single soul around. But the sounds of hushed footsteps or labored breathing had them turning over rocks and scouring every crevice of the jagged landscape.
The dance continued as Marcus pulled the orcs apart like cotton. Their numbers thinned and dispersed as, one by one, his illusions fizzled out to be replaced with mere echoes and hints of life. He had no idea how much time had passed when the final group of “Legionnaires” reached their dead end and fizzled out of existence. But when it did, he finally succumbed to the dull throbbing of his head and let the skill fall.
The mountains went silent. He found himself sitting on the ground, his shirt stained with blood that trickled from his nose. A glance at his fingers revealed that their tips had been scraped raw and red from strumming, leaving lines of red across his lute. He hadn’t even felt the pain or realized he was still playing, for that matter.
Looking up, he saw two of his Legionnaire guards—the real ones—standing and watching him strangely. The others had disappeared to who knows where. Marcus’s head hurt too much to think about it.
“That should buy us a bit of time,” Marcus croaked, his throat hoarse. He coughed. “I think… I need to lie down.”
With that, he collapsed sideways onto the ground. The bard’s last thought was how difficult it would be to clean bloodstains off his precious lute.
***
The battle was taking far too long.
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The only mercy Quintus felt was that he did not have to experience the deaths of the legionnaires he knew were dying around him. This was already the bloodiest clash they had had since coming to this world, and only now was he realizing how much they had grown to rely on both their skills and the ability to avenge their fallen. The temporary boost of strength that funneled into the Legionnaires upon a man’s death meant that even a handful of losses were enough to turn the tide and let them fall upon their foes with the might of an angry god. It meant that losses didn’t snowball. Rather, each one was a sacrifice that directly kept their surviving brethren alive.
That wasn’t to say that the men were performing poorly. Gaius was having them fight a brilliantly executed retreat, bleeding the horde for every inch of ground they gave and letting the elven archers exact an even higher price. But it was taking too long.
At this rate, the Legion would win, and it would not even be a Pyrrhic victory. They would still keep around eighty percent of their forces, more than enough to continue fighting. That was far better than Quintus could have hoped for at the start of all this. But that would come at the cost of time. By the time they either broke the enemy or killed every last orc, hours would have passed. Which would render all of their efforts moot as the remaining orcs hit them from behind, cutting off their escape and squishing them like a fly between an anvil and an angry blacksmith.
Gaius yelled an order, and the shield wall stiffened, bracing right before a small band of orcs charged at them again. Many bodies were left as they pulled back after a furious clash of stabbing. Injured Legionnaires pulled back and were hurried to medics who had mercifully escaped the skill deactivation effect, whereas the orcs’ bodies were finished off by a quick set of stabs from men who stepped out and quickly drew back to safety.
It took nearly an hour and a half for them to pull back most of the length of the valley, but their persistence eventually paid off. Quintus felt a heady rush as he stepped back across some invisible barrier. He felt the presence of his brothers more acutely than before, his presence bolstering them as they bolstered him in turn. At the same time, his feet found more stable purchase across the ground, and his sword stabs regained their old fluidity once more. As the rest of his men stepped back, the familiar barrier sprang to life before their shields once more.
Quintus grinned. It seemed that they’d escaped the dampening effect. Although it quickly became clear that they weren’t the only ones. Orcs’ eyes blazed to life once more as they swelled, their wounds healing more quickly. One roared and charged at Quintus as the Legion adjusted to the sudden change. He stepped forward, his sword snapping up in a fluid slash that deflected the orc’s battle ax to the side and severed his head cleanly.
He retreated back into the line and glanced down at his blade. The strike had been effortless, even more so than expected. Gaius had mentioned that training one’s fundamentals without using skills seemed to level them more effectively. But this… Between the power and the precision of the angle, it was far above what he even expected [Swordsmastery] to enable.
It wasn’t something that Quintus had time to think on. He had a battle to win.
“Form up and hold! We make our stand here!”
The meaning of his orders was communicated with precise clarity as the Legionnaires arrayed themselves along the edge of the skill-deactivating zone. It took a little bit of adjustment to find the precise edge of it, complicated even further by the fact that there was a slight gradient where they came back online. Yet they managed to find an area where [Coordinated Bulwark] was able to activate while the orcs gained only minimal benefit from their berserk states.
Many still charged forward, eager for a fight regardless. Yet not all of them shared that zeal. Some of the barbarians further back saw the shimmering barrier spring into existence and thought twice about charging. It showed a surprising amount of awareness that they would take into account their ability to win. Or perhaps just cowardice.
Either way, it hardly mattered. Elven arrows rained down with renewed speed as they, too, regained their unnatural abilities. The air once more filled with more projectiles than seemed physically possible, and filled the orcs with dozens of fresh wounds each. Grasping vines sprouted to ensnare any who tried to flee, tripping them and their brethren. Even better, the roar of siege engine fire started up anew as the men manning them were able to resume their barrage.
A horn blast came from the center of the orc mob. Heads turned toward the sound, many scowling and others pained with clear relief. Suddenly, they began to pull back and retreat. A ragged cheer ran up from the Legion, who remained in place even as they continued to send attacks at the retreating foes. Those manning the shield wall took up spears and slings to continue harrying them as long as possible. Yet despite the apparent victory, Quintus knew the enemy was far from defeated. After all, this wasn’t even the majority of their forces.
He rotated out of the line and left another senior centurion in charge. Quintus ran toward the command post, saluting briefly as he joined an impromptu meeting of a few of the more senior officers. The place was abuzz with activity as they prepared for whatever was to come next.
"The bard successfully delayed the second column,” a messenger spoke up, his eyes closed. “It split somewhere along the path, but what troops he did divert are preoccupied. It might hold for another fifteen or twenty minutes if we’re lucky.”
“Then we need to reposition.” Gaius nodded in brief acknowledgment of Quintus’s arrival. "Start funneling men into position as they can be spared. We need to make sure we’re ready to face this secondary threat."
“What about the ones he didn’t distract?” One of the officers asked. “What if they come upon us from a different angle?”
Quintus nodded. “The same might happen with these forces. Not from the front, perhaps. But we can’t dismiss the possibility entirely.”
Gaius nodded grimly. “We also can’t discount the possibility that they do this again. It could have a cooldown of some sort, though it doesn’t seem as though the area can be moved once activated. We need to know whether they can, how long it lasts, how it’s activated… Too many unknowns for my liking.”
There was a round of nods.
The Legatus sighed. "We have to work under the assumption that they can do so again. Be prepared. Arrange our formations and prepare tactics for either eventuality. At least the orcs suffer some repercussions for losing their skills as well, though they become much harder to predict.”
There was some debate, but in the end it was obvious that they would have to split their forces. Gaius met Quintus’s gaze. “Primus. I need you to take as few Legionaries as you possibly can and hold the line here. I’ll take the rest and deal with the secondary threat.”
The centurion’s face tightened. "Give me a cohort. As long as you leave me half the elves and enough engineers to man siege engines," he said, pointing out six such contraptions that would likely be too difficult to move, "I should be able to hold them for a few hours at most. Unless they pull more tricks out of their asses."
Gaius nodded. "Good. Men, you have your orders."
After the brief planning session, Quintus hurried back to arrange his forces. Holding out like he’d been ordered would be no small ask. However, it had to be done. Gaius had put a lot of trust in him, and it was his responsibility as first centurion to ensure that trust was warranted.
Quintus looked back at the retreating orcs. They had just made it out of bow range and siege weapon range, taking cover behind the rocks. He considered them, wondering whether they would stay or try and attack again once the Legion’s numbers seemed to be reduced. So long as their minds remained clear, it was harder to determine what exactly they were up to. But either way, it mattered little. He’d make sure they fell all the same.