B3 Chapter 65: A Steed in Need is a Steed Indeed
B3 Chapter 65: A Steed in Need is a Steed Indeed
Marcus meandered slowly back into the camp, carefully placing one foot in front of the other and trying to avoid sudden movements. He’d managed to rest enough during his talk with Gaius that he no longer felt like a tottering old man. Instead, he was just exhausted.
Both Eleonora and Gaius had mandated that he rest, and he intended to follow that order. It wasn’t hard to justify seeing how the very thought of using his skills still made bile rise to the back of his throat. And considering what he knew about stamina drain, it would be at least a day or two before that ceased to be the case. So for now, he could do little more than find a nice spot to sit and relax.
He decided on a spot overlooking the camp, partially to keep an eye on its happenings and partially because he simply didn’t want to move any further. Though there wasn’t much to see. The place was practically deserted, given the various fights the Legionnaires currently found themselves occupied with. Even now, the sounds of battle echoed in the distance, a bit of white noise that Marcus had become worryingly accustomed to during his time with the Romans.
From what he heard, things seemed to be going well. There were far more screams from orcish throats than from human ones—the difference remained quite distinct. Hopefully, that would hold. He didn’t doubt the Legion’s capabilities, but the orcs had surprised them once already.
Settling onto the flattest rock he could find with a sigh, Marcus relaxed and looked at the scenery around him. The precisely ordered rows of tents stretched out before him, long extinguished cookfires and hastily abandoned packs nestled amongst them. Overhead loomed the jagged, craggy expanses of mountains and towering chunks of rock that characterized this land.
It was a beautiful sight, in a way. Not quite as picturesque as the broad range dividing Novara from the west. These mountains were more narrow and tall, akin to broken teeth in the jaw of some cataclysmic beast. One that had chosen its prey quite poorly indeed. The sun cast strange shadows across them all, turning the landscape below into a mottled mess of darkened rock that would stain even the finest painter’s abilities.
Marcus sighed. He enjoyed travel, of course, even before being forced into exile. But even then, he never thought that his journeys would take him to this corner of the world. Why would it? Only adventurers delved into such blighted lands, and ones with an astonishing lack of self-preservation at that. There was little here that wasn’t attempting to kill a man, and even less reward for such a venture, given the lack of civilization or really anything else worth seeing. Well, aside from this view, apparently.
He shook his head and smiled. Truly, it seemed that the world always had more to offer. His travels had taken him to further reaches than ever expected, and yet it only made him realize how much more there still was to explore. Who knew how far afield he’d find himself next? What strange lands that he’d thought inaccessible would they march into without fear?
Well, they might be without fear. Marcus still had quite a healthy grasp on that survival instinct, unlike the mad soldiers.
His attention was pulled away by the sound of hoofbeats drawing near. Turning to look down the slope below revealed a chestnut-colored steed picking its way toward him, its hooves finding purchase on the rugged terrain like a goat. Upon its back sat a familiar boyish figure.
“Milord!” Abel drew his steed to a halt and scrambled down to bow. “You’ve awakened!”
Marcus sighed. “I told you, Abel. There’s no need to bow like that.”
The boy straightened, allowing Marcus to see his expression of clear concern. “Lord Marcus… I humbly beg your forgiveness. I wished to stay by your side while you were unwell, but…”
He waved the boy off. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to risk you earning Eleonora’s ire—or anyone else, for that matter.”
In reality, he had honestly forgotten about the boy with everything going on. The realization sent a pang of guilt through him. He’d been doing so much better about that, but with everything going on…
“That being said…” Marcus continued, eyeing the boy curiously. “What have you been up to? Practicing like usual? Or did Gaius find something for you to assist with after all?”
He realized that the Legatus probably had better things to do than find a task for his squire. Things like winning a war, for example, or keeping his own men alive. He probably should have had Abel search out a centurion instead. But what’s done was done. Hopefully, his friend didn’t mind too much.
The boy shifted his feet. “I… He did. Lord Gaius suggested that I make use of my steed. So… I’ve been helping.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow curiously. “In what way?”
Abel’s face reddened with embarrassment. “I’ve been… moving people. There were men who got hurt, and they needed to get to Lady Eleonora quick. So I… carried them.”
The bard’s second eyebrow rose to meet the first. “You did? Through this terrain?”
He nodded. “Gerald and I have gotten pretty good at moving through the mountains since getting here. He's the most fleet-footed horse I've ever ridden. And he’s got the tenacity to match.”
That was… unexpected. And a far better use of the boy’s abilities than he’d ever considered. Marcus tried to ignore the fact that the surly-looking stallion bore the same name as their late king. Perhaps it was a joke played by its original owner.
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But there was something about Abel’s demeanor. He seemed… dissatisfied. Somehow upset at the way things had developed. He would have preferred to use his skills to more acutely understand his current feelings, to better tailor his own words to them, but that wasn’t an option. Which meant it was time to rely on the fundamentals.
Marcus smiled reassuringly. “A noble pursuit indeed. One that assuredly saved many lives.”
The boy straightened, nodding with a bit more confidence. “Yes, sir! I carried more wounded back than anyone! It’s the least I could do, since…”
He deflated slightly with those final words, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why. Marcus simply shook his head. “None of that, now. Remember what I told you? Not all heroes are the type to charge screaming into battle with a bloodied blade. There are plenty who make their names through other means. Such as yours truly.”
It grated to even imply that he was any kind of hero. The only stories that should be told about him were of his nocturnal conquests, though perhaps those weren’t quite age-appropriate material for his squire. But given the boy’s borderline unhealthy admiration of him, Marcus figured it would be an effective comparison.
“You can still learn to fight. No one will stop you from that,” he continued. “Least of all these men. But do not presume that your lack of a class precludes you from being useful. Rather, your ability to contribute despite that is worthy of praise all on its own.”
Abel’s eyes widened. “Truly, milord?”
“Of course!” Marcus gestured toward the battlefield. “You already said that you aided more wounded men than anyone else. And indeed, despite the Legion’s marching abilities, most of their speed is only on display when moving towards a battle. And while most were strong enough to carry a man over their shoulders, how many can travel great distances quickly? How many of those can afford to be away from the front lines? Never mind how great a value they place on every individual man. They are practically irreplaceable, or at least it will take a not insignificant amount of time to refill their ranks should they lose too many men.”
Abel nodded hesitantly as Marcus tapped his forehead with one finger. “It seems that you considered my words well. You’re finding a niche for yourself, discovering how to contribute in a way that only you can.”
Perhaps he was overselling it a little bit. But considering how Abel’s eyes grew round like saucers, it seemed to do the trick.
“Thank you, milord.” The boy bowed again. “Thank you for gracing me with your wisdom. And… for not being disappointed in me.”
He simply snorted. “Me? The man who spent the better part of two hours running away as a primary mode of contribution? If you thought I’d be disappointed, then perhaps you should reevaluate your perception of me.”
In Marcus’s opinion, he definitely needed to do that anyway. But instead, he objected to the cowardly characterization of his hero before falling silent. At least now he wore a smile. A real one, not tinged with uncertainty like before.
“Anyway,” Marcus made a vague gesture. “I’m certain that you have better things to do than listen to my ramblings. And I’m supposed to be resting anyway.”
Abel nodded, turning back to his horse before hesitating. Marcus waited patiently until the boy turned back. “Lord Marcus? Do you… Do you think I'll get an all right class?”
“No.” He smiled. “I'm certain you'll get an excellent one. The way you handle that horse reminds me of some of the more experienced cavalrymen I've seen. Even if you don't get the [Cavalier] or [Knight] class that you might be expecting, I have no doubt the System will reward your efforts. And remember—as important as your class is, there is always room to grow.”
Abel beamed at the praise. It wasn't empty words, either. The boy had come a long way with regard to his riding abilities, especially in recent times. And though no man could know the will of the System, there was no possible way it would ignore the great strides the boy had made. Well, probably. Then again, maybe Marcus was setting his expectations too high.
Regardless, the damage was done. With a final bow, a beaming Abel hopped back on Gerald the horse and headed back down the cliff to camp. The pair leaped deftly from rock to rock, hooves alighting softly on protrusions that Marcus felt certain would collapse under his weight, much less the horse’s. Nevertheless, they made it to the ground and soon were speeding back toward the battle.
Marcus idly wondered what level that horse was. It had come from one of the Legionnaires, if he recalled, and likely wasn't too high if they'd been willing to part with it. And yet…
He relaxed back onto his rock. A question for another day, perhaps. One where he could use [Appraisal] once more. For now, it was time to do as the doctor ordered.
***
Quintus's gladius sliced through the air, cleanly decapitating his imaginary foe. His steps danced back to avoid a second’s retaliatory strike and parry a third before lunging forward with a quick thrust.
Finally, it had taken several days of practically nonstop fighting, but they were finally free of the barbarians, for now.
The orcs had proven utterly unrelenting. Even after Gaius had crushed the other portion of their forces and sent Legionnaires to aid Quintus, their efforts had taken long enough to allow other reinforcements to reach their enemy. Eradicating them completely became wishful thinking. Now they were just hoping to reposition and avoid being cornered as they kept the orcs' numbers manageable.
Fortunately, they had enough wiggle room to rotate men out and give them downtime. It was a necessity, especially given the nature of the conflict. Even though prolonged close-quarters fighting was the Legion’s specialty, most of those engagements lasted less than a day. Men needed to sleep, after all.
Though sleep was not among Quintus's priorities. Not when there was so much more to do.
He stepped back, panting from the exertion of his simulated bout. He settled back into an offensive stance, gripping his blade in one hand and his shield in the other. Then, he began to practice methodical stabs and thrusts forward.
As problematic as the skill inactivation had been, it came with a silver lining of sorts. It had made him realize just how much they were all lacking. How much he'd personally neglected his training, content to let the System compensate for his inadequacies.
No more. If he expected his men to redouble their training, then he clearly had to do the same. How else was he to lead if not by example?
“I knew you were a battle maniac, uncle, but isn't this a bit much?”
Gaius's voice pulled Quintus out of his trancelike state. He lowered his arms and turned to salute the young Legatus, who waved him off. “Don’t bother. There's no one even around.”
Slowly, Quintus nodded. “What do you need?”
“Our reinforcements have gathered and are on their way,” Gaius informed him. “Another cohort of Legionnaires and a few half-mages.”
The centurion's jaw tightened. “That won't be enough.”
“Oh, trust me, I'm well aware.” Gaius chuckled softly. “They're not coming to help us win. They're here to cover our retreat.”