B3 Chapter 64: Discipline Equals Freedom
B3 Chapter 64: Discipline Equals Freedom
The cleanup of the remaining orcs was taking far longer than Quintus would have liked. True, he was operating with a limited number of men and even more limited artillery, but that was no excuse.
In reality, he had no one but himself to blame. Given the disarray the orcs had thrown them into at the start of the battle, Quintus felt forced to move forward with far more caution than usual. Rather than pushing an advantage to deal a more decisive blow, he was forced to wage a battle of attrition. Every movement had to be made even more carefully, with an implicit understanding that the mystical barrier reinforcing their lines could evaporate into smoke at any moment.
It made for a more conservative fight than Quintus was used to waging, especially now. He found himself falling back into habits and techniques used before the Legion found themselves in this strange world. Yet the result was a far lower number of casualties, even as the orcs continued to press forward.
Quintu’s blade lashed out again and again in time with the men beside him. Their strikes came faster than before and more precisely, felling lines of orcs with each blow as [Lead from the Front] bolstered their abilities. He’d come to learn that the skill didn’t just increase the fighting strength of the men alongside him. It allowed them to benefit from his own skills to some extent. It meant that even those men who lacked [Swordsmastery] found vitals and weak points more easily, wielding their weapons more efficiently and without tiring easily. Which was a particular boon now that the orcs had regained use of their own skills.
The red-eyed horde rushed forth with renewed enthusiasm. Any trace of their previous fear and uncertainty had disappeared, replaced with blind rage and strength to match. It certainly made them more predictable as the Legionnaires pushed forward inch by inch to a more sustainable chokepoint. And it filled Quintus with both pity and contempt in equal measure.
He watched another orc’s eyes bulge, then stare sightlessly into the sky as it took his blade in the throat. These fighters clearly had strength and ability aplenty. Anyone would have been a match for him in single combat, and he doubted that he would be able to fell some of their champions without a good deal of time, effort, and luck. Yet they were utterly neutered by their reliance on these bestial instincts. With them, the orcs proved courageous to the point of foolishness and willing to charge any foe. Without them, though? They lacked any kind of training to make the most of their talents.
Even the smallest amount of discipline would make them a nigh unbeatable force. If they could rein in that desire for battle and wield it with a clear mind, utilize actual tactics, and master themselves, Quintus wasn’t certain that even they would be a match. But as things were, they did not. They allowed themselves to be slaves to their own lust for battle, rather than wield it as a tool.
It was sickening. Yet despite Quintus’s distaste for the enemy, he did not allow himself to underestimate them. Not again.
Still, the knowledge that this skill inactivation effect had a time limit was a valuable one indeed. The more information they could gain about the enemy’s capabilities, the better. Though he still couldn’t be certain about how often the strange magic could be used. Considering the enemy hadn’t summoned another field, it seemed as though there might be some sort of limitation in that regard. Then again, perhaps they were simply playing their cards close to the chest.
“Primus,” he heard a call from behind. “A messenger wishes to speak with you!”
Quintus clenched his jaw and looked to either side. His men nodded back solemnly.
“Take a rest, sir,” one of them grunted between sword thrusts. “We’re not trainees who will fall apart at a slight breeze. We can handle things for a bit.”
Another chuckled. “Just don’t take too long. You’ve been fighting for a few hours, yeah? I reckon that’s earned you five minutes or so.”
He snorted before rotating out of the formation to meet the messenger. Despite their words, he made sure to stay nearby and leave whatever buffing skills he could activate. There was no sense in increasing the burden on his men unduly.
Granted, they were not anywhere close to defeat. Quintus was not so inexperienced as to allow a catastrophe like that. But he was quite reasonably on edge.
“Speak.” Quintus didn’t waste words as he emerged from the line of Legionnaires. The messenger saluted dutifully.
“Sir. Legatus Gaius has contacted the emperor and requested additional reinforcements. The medics and healers are working to restore the injured with great success.”
“How many did we lose?” He asked bluntly.
“... About a hundred men.” The messenger winced at the admission. “Most of them are from our number. A few unlucky elves fell as well.”
Quintus swore. A hundred may not have seemed like much among six thousand. But the Legion wasn’t six thousand strong. Not anymore. Battle after battle had chipped away at their number, little by little, and left them even more stretched thin than before. A hundred men weren’t something that they could afford to lose. Especially not here.
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“Most of the injured are back on their feet already,” the messenger continued as though to soften the blow. “They will move to reinforce our position soon. The engineers are making progress on countermeasures as well. Though they… have hit a bit of a roadblock.”
Quintus pushed aside the deep welling of loss that the news had provoked in his soul. He could mourn later. They all could. Instead, he focused on the last part of the man’s statement. “Take me to them. The longer they take, the higher the chance that more enemies come to breathe down our necks.”
The man nodded and quickly led the centurion away. Their situation was stable enough that Quintus could afford to let the engineers work behind their lines. It was a worthwhile endeavor, especially if the men could concoct something to turn the tide. The last thing anyone wanted was to be stuck fighting off this army endlessly as more reinforcements poured in.
Quintus quickly downed a few gulps of water and some hard biscuits as they moved. He didn't need nearly as much as he once had. But neither were their levels high enough to eschew the necessities entirely.
As they approached the group of four Legionnaires, the sounds of a heated argument quickly rose above the din of battle.
"...With this configuration, the projectiles will go much farther, yes, but the size? Something so small will hardly do any damage."
“Not everything is about size, you fool. And wipe that childish grin off your face. Anyway… With the speed they'll travel at, they won't need to be large. They'll punch through a half dozen orcs nonetheless.”
“Impossible. One, maybe, but half a dozen? Not even the fastest sling stone can accomplish that.”
“Agrippa can tear through three men with his piercing stones. And I’m certain that something even smaller and faster can do more.”
One of the engineers scoffed. “Why worry about inflicting more papercuts when we could be striking mortal blows? Once again, you speak of foolishness.”
“By all means, if you want to go find house-sized boulders for us to use and carry back, do so. But we must work with what we have. And I’m telling you, if you make it any bigger, the rocks will not have speed at range."
Quintus felt a headache coming on as he neared the group, a frown of annoyance plain across his face. His words came out as a growl. “Are you lot done prattling like women?”
The squabbling men started as they registered their Primus’s presence. As one, they turned to salute. “Sir! We have explosives almost ready for testing!”
“We were simply debating the advantages—and disadvantages…” he gave another engineer a pointed look. “...Of certain approaches.”
“So long as they kill the enemy instead of us, I don't care.” He looked toward the half dozen rocks inscribed with various glowing symbols. “Make both if you must. Every moment you spend flapping your gums is another moment wasted while your brothers fight. Or do you mean to make them do everything themselves?”
That seemed to get the message across. The engineers had the decency to look abashed as they hurried to put the final runes on their projectiles, then carefully carried them toward the nearby trebuchets that Gaius had left him with. Quintus could only shake his head. The engineers seemed far more liable to trap themselves in philosophical or theoretical debates as of late. They were nowhere near as bad as those eastern philosophers; they at least would actually build something rather than stay in the land of dreams. But the tendency was simply unacceptable in this situation.
He followed the men to the trebuchet, his hard expression serving as a stern reminder to stay on task. With the crew’s help, they quickly began to load the first projectile and explain. “These will break into a hundred small pieces on impact, sending shards hurtling about at incredible speeds.”
"These two," one of the other engineers said, "will break into much larger chunks, about five in total. Each large should be able to smash through a two-foot-thick wall. The orcs won’t stand a chance."
He nodded, watching as all of the projectiles soared skyward in quick succession. They landed in different parts of the line, each emitting a thunderous crack as they struck.
The engineers’ promises held true. Splinters and head-sized chunks of stone ripped through the brawling orcs in unison, sending up clouds of misty blood. Quintus saw one such chunk cave in an orc’s chest and send it hurtling into its brethren, while another group suddenly resembled a slice of leavened bread for all the holes in them.
Both were clearly effective. Yet he suspected they would truly shine in different circumstances. Perhaps the larger rocks would prove more effective for heavily armored units or structures, while the smaller ones would work better against soft targets. Given the robustness of the orcs, they both proved quite useful here, though he personally believed that the latter did a bit better.
Of course, he didn’t say as much. Not when the engineers were already arguing again. He interrupted their squabbles with an order. “They both work. Keep building and firing until they are gone." He gave them a stern look. "If I find that you’ve strayed from your task again, I’ll have you delivering them by hand to the enemy.”
They all saluted, looking abashed as they scurried about their work. Quintus gave a final shake of his head before turning to the siege engine operators. “Status report.”
“Everything is going well on our end, sir.” One of the centurions confirmed as they continued firing—normal projectiles, in this case. “We’ve recovered from the problems earlier.”
He nodded. The weapons themselves hadn’t experienced any issues, but the men loading them? Without their skills, they’d been practically neutered. They had not been able to make adjustments nearly as effectively, and both their power and accuracy had taken a similar hit. All of that had turned the formerly powerful weapons into little better than piles of rock and rope.
“Good. Send for me if they begin slacking off again.”
“Sir.”
Quintus turned and began heading for the front lines once more. This event had made one thing clear—the Legion was getting sloppy. It wasn’t just the engineers, either. He’d seen too many men who were slow to snap a shield wall together without [Coordinated Bulwark], and their thrusts had been less than precise.
They needed to train. Not just skills, either, but the fundamentals. They had neglected the basics for too long to their detriment. And Quintus would rectify that. His men would not be caught flat-footed like this again.