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Chapter 48: The Standard
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 03:58:01 +0000 UTCChapter 48: The Standard
Tiberius slung the ever-present shield off of his back. It fit comfortably in his arm, even though it had been years since it had last seen real combat. He still trained daily—though his responsibilities made securing even that time a difficult proposition. But unlike many senators or generals, he refused to grow complacent and soft by neglecting his physical fitness. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he had lasted far longer than many of his contemporaries.
Now, though, the thrill of battle coursed through him. The shield seemed to cling to his forearm with the familiarity of an extra limb, its weight as light as a summer's breeze. Even his usually aching muscles seemed to fill with a strength the years had long since stolen away from him.
Wherever this strength came from, Tiberius didn't have time to wonder. He set his feet against the stone road beneath him and braced as the grey-skinned ghoul bounded toward him with a scream. The tone sent a shiver through Tiberius's very bones, yet he gritted his teeth and shook it off.
Decades of training and muscle memory took over in an instant. His shield slammed forward as he took a half-step, intercepting the creature mid-leap and smashing it in the head with a wet thud even as his sword flashed up. The blade slid over the upper lip of the scutum with a slight hiss of metal on metal as he felt the tip of his blade puncture flesh.
A spray of black blood burst forth from the wound. Tiberius reflexively angled his eyes and helm so that none got on his face or blocked his vision. Without missing a beat, he continued stepping forward to meet the next threat with his shield raised.
He flicked his sword clean as his head swiveled around to evaluate the situation. More and more of the monsters continued to pour through the gap in the wall ahead of them, rushing toward Tiberius and his guards. His men's own shaky shield wall was making a valiant effort to repel them, but there were simply too many. For every one of the creatures they felled, another two took its place.
Tiberius stepped forward to join the wall. It bent, curving to meet him. It was not a maneuver often practiced, but by this point he was well aware of how [Voice of Command] could allow him to convey his intent to his men almost passively. That, combined with the almost instinctual understanding of the Legion's movements imparted to him by [Unity], made it seem as though his group moved as a single organism.
The wall arced to defend their flanks—not enough to double back on themselves, but enough to provide some additional protection at the rear. Tiberius slotted his shield in with his neighbor even as his sword snaked out again, slicing into the neck of another grey beast that was sent gurgling back as it released its grip on his shield. The situation was too dire for anyone to object to his presence at the front lines right now.
Tiberius took another step back in sync with the line. Their formation was not quite wide enough to reach across the broad street and block it off—meaning that the men at the edges were hard-pressed to keep enemies from getting through. Though considering the ease with which these creatures climbed, the gaps simply served as a more convenient path to take behind their lines rather than swooping down from above.
"Circle formation! Protect the wounded!" Tiberius shouted. He could feel the other end of the shield wall curling even further as the men formed a ring around their fallen comrades.
Nearby, he spotted the golden eagle standard protruding from behind the shield wall as Lucius gritted his teeth against their attackers. The Aquilifer seemed to glow, his very presence passively empowering the men around him as they fought. As the monsters tried to leap over their line, he used the butt of the staff like one would a spear, knocking creatures back with stabs and swipes.
Lucius jammed the standard into a screaming creature's eye, only for the wooden shaft to be seized by another. Its clawed grip was joined by more as a group of ghouls hauled backwards, yanking the golden eagle out of his hands.
Instantly, Tiberius felt a shift. Strength seemed to leech from his body as though it had sprung a sudden leak of vital force, making him remember all of his many years at once. Aches and pains that he'd managed to ignore suddenly elbowed to the forefront of his attention, competing as distractions in the midst of battle. Worse, He saw the men around him sag slightly as though similarly affected.
He swore under his breath. The eagle standard was often said to be the heart of a Legion, the physical representation of its honor. Losing it was already the greatest shame a Legion could endure. If it also was somehow tied to their strength by the magics of this world…
"Retrieve the standard!" Tiberius roared in defiance, rallying the men around him. His cry banished the thrill of fear that the shrieks around them continued to send up and down his spine, though he felt their effects all the more keenly now.
He and his Legionnaires charged, smashing their shields forward and slashing with renewed vigor as they carved their way toward the standard that still remained in one creature's grasp. As they neared, Lucius broke through the ranks and dove forward to stab it in the face, wrenching the staff back from the reeling creature and tossing it back into the circle of men as he struggled to defend himself.
Despite having liberated the eagle, their strength didn't return. The wall reached Lucius and swallowed him back into the encirclement, the man bleeding from countless claw wounds and fresh cuts. Still, he retrieved the standard, raising it high above his head with both hands with a shout. The leak ceased, and Tiberius once again felt a flood of renewed energy course through him in a rush.
"Stay back," he ordered Lucius. "Remember your role, Aquilifer!"
Time lost all meaning as they hunkered down in their formation, stabbing and battering away beasts as they came. Claws swiped at feet and attempted yank shields out of position, only to be turned into fountains of black blood by the Legion's swords. Tiberius's world shrank until all that existed was the enemy in front of him and the rhythmic motion of his blade.
Eventually, the tide began to slow. The dense press of grey bodies thinned, then disappeared altogether. Tiberius dispatched one last foe with a stab to the chest before scanning his surroundings for more.
"Reinforcements, sir!" Lucius called.
The Legatus turned toward the road behind. Sure enough, one of his centurions had arrived with a century in tow, stalling the enemy's advance and protecting Tiberius's group. A hail of far too many sling stones to be natural pelted their foes, smashing their skulls into greyish-black jelly.
Tiberius gritted his teeth. The engagement couldn't have lasted longer than a few minutes. Yet it had left him exhausted, his breathing ragged and a smattering of shallow wounds all across his arms and legs. Even the younger men around him had fared little better. And even if he was safe for the moment, a quick look revealed that the enemy still showed no signs of slowing in the slightest. Through numbers or mobility, they would overwhelm his men—it was only a matter of time.
"Fall back!" Tiberius ordered without hesitation. His men had bought them breathing room, and he had no intention to squander it. The longer they stayed, the more danger that century would need to endure on their behalf.
He turned to Lucius and repeated the order. "Relay the order to retreat to all units. We regroup outside of the walls and…" Tiberius paused. "Have the men gather as many torches as they can find."
***
Marcus slumped against the warehouse wall, exhausted. He'd expected this little mission of his to take a lot out of him. However, it seemed that he'd still underestimated the amount of action they'd be seeing by quite a wide margin. Well, action and running of course.
Luckily, the fact that he was the one giving directions meant that he'd also set the pace for the group. However, that didn't mean that he suffered any less from his constant and repeated skill use. [Glamour] in particular was a pretty draining one, especially considering the size and complexity of the illusions he'd been making all day. But they'd been necessary
More than once he'd managed to scare away or distract guards from lone Legionnaires and rescue them. That had only proved useful until they'd gathered enough forces to simply fight the men off, of course. At that point, his assistance proved unnecessary. The unlucky few rebels that had crossed their path hadn't lived to regret it.
By the time he'd returned to the rallying point, he'd managed to amass another nine Legionnaires—one centurion, his patrol of five others, and three stragglers. Another five had managed to make their way over on their own using the information Marcus had planted around the town. That brought their total to a respectable twenty four men, leaving only a handful left in the town.
He'd considered going after the last of the Legionnaires before returning here. The previously disparate individuals had even come together to form one group, after all. However, moving in that direction revealed that things weren't quite as simple as they seemed. The group appeared to be inside a temple—a temple of Kona, in fact. Between that and their lack of movement, he suspected that these men had likely been captured. Not killed, thankfully, but captured.
Getting them back would require a bit more planning and violence than he could personally muster. Hence why he decided to report back. Perhaps the Legionnaires would see fit to stage a prison break.
A shadow loomed over him where he sat. Opening his heavy eyes, Marcus looked up to see Myra standing over him. "Marcus. I see you made it back in one piece."
He tipped his hat weakly. "It's wonderful to see you too, Myra. I trust things have been well in my absence?"
She snorted. "As good as they can be amidst a rebellion. It seems that we're safe for the moment, though who knows if that will last."
"With these men?" Marcus nodded toward the nearby Legionnaires. "I would bet that it will. It'll take more than you'd expect to deal with them."
"Hm," Myra hummed. "I wonder about that. Especially given that the gates are no longer guarded."
Marcus frowned. "They're not?"
"Nope. Not by guards or priests or Legionnaires. It seems as though the rebels are fairly confident in that dome."
"That certainly seems to be the case…" Marcus muttered, processing the information. Evidently, the chance of those divinely fortified entrances being breached—from without or within—was vanishingly small. "Meaning we need to find whoever or whatever is giving it power to have any chance of taking it down."
"Well, don't wonder too hard," Myra grimaced. "I have a pretty good idea of the prime suspects."
Marcus raised his head slightly. "Truly?"
She nodded. "You saw how many priests of Arashim there were earlier?"
"Of course."
"Well… if I recall correctly, his temple was one of the ones that was torn down and relocated in the reconstruction. I knew that the new building didn't quite meet their standards, but I never dreamed they'd go this far…"
Marcus grimaced. Adherents of the god of architecture were sure to have some rather stringent requirements as to the construction of their temples. Given that, it made a bit more sense why the priests would be willing to take part in this rebellion—as well as why the god might be willing to support them so much. Still, the level of support shown here seemed a little outsized compared to what he might expect.
"...I see your point," he sighed. "Although that does give us a lead. I know a thing or two about spellcraft. A working like this usually needs to be channeled through some sort of powerful artifact or a maintained circle of casters. Since I doubt that Habersville's been hiding any sacred artifacts of Arashim around here, that means there's likely a group hiding around here that we'll need to handle before we can get out."
Myra nodded. "That certainly makes sense. Although… given their reaction to the new temple, I wouldn't expect them to be there. You'll likely need to look elsewhere."
"Agreed," Marcus sighed. That would certainly complicate things. Although perhaps not as much as he might have feared. He did recall seeing a few other kinds of priests alongside guards, after all.
He looked over from his seat toward the Legionnaires gathered deeper inside the warehouse. A couple of figures that he recognized as centurions had gathered together and were talking in low voices.
Marcus nodded toward them. "Have you told them all of this?"
"I tried to. However…" Myra gave a frustrated sigh. "It seems as though my ideas aren't of particular value to these… men."
The slight pause and her tight expression suggested that she'd initially intended to use a very different word to describe the soldiers. Marcus could understand. He'd already seen how difficult it was to get one of those centurions to listen. Given their disposition toward women… perhaps it was no surprise that they'd brushed Myra off.
Heaving himself to his feet, Marcus stretched upward. "Well. I suppose I can give it a shot as well, then. I meant to inform them about a few other things as well…"
The brown-haired beauty grabbed his arm as he stepped past, halting him. "Wait. If you're going to talk to them, then I have some suggestions for a plan."
He raised an eyebrow. "You do? I didn't take you for much of a battlefield tactician."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not. But that doesn't mean I don't have ideas. And besides, I'd rather get out of this situation as soon as possible."
Myra gave him a summary of her ideas before releasing him. He headed toward the pair of centurions deeper in the warehouse. Their men rested against the walls and sat on the floors, inspecting their equipment and weapons in the meantime. They both looked up at his approach.
"Bard," one of the centurions—Servius, as he'd learnedy—addressed him as he neared. "I see you have returned with more of our men."
"Indeed I have," Marcus confirmed with a flourishing bow. "Although I regret to inform you that I was unable to rescue all of them. There appear to be some held captive within the town."
The other centurion frowned. "Held captive? You're sure?"
"Very. I… received reports that they're alive, but they appear to be under heavy guard. I assume they have either been subdued or rendered unconscious.
Servius's own frown deepened. "Unacceptable. We will launch an assault to recover them."
"Of course, of course," Marcus agreed. "Fortunately, I think that we may be able to kill a few birds with one stone there. Especially if you are willing to exercise a bit of patience."
"Explain," Servius demanded.
Inwardly, Marcus sighed at the brusqueness of the man. He seemed considerably less reasonable than most of the Legionnaires he'd met. The fact that he still remained this was, even with his charisma, spoke volumes to the man's disagreeableness.
"Well, I have a suspicion of where this dome above us may draw its power from. And it seems as though it may be the same as the location of your imprisoned brethren. If you would be willing to hear me out…"
Comments
Clothman
He was. Marcus isn't a man of discipline, though. Now he's pressed, not so clear minded. The legion senses its own. They're just getting used to it. They're not really appreciative of some things just yet. Wait until this slips to Tiberius, he spots it, and waits to talk to Marcus. It was always going to come out.
jordicl
nahh i think he meant "The fact that he still remained this way", but i like your sugestion more ngl.
Kris Bruns
Another great chapter! I am confused about something though. This the second chapter in a row where Marcus has mentioned sensing legionaries in front of Roman's. But I was under the impression that Marcus had not shared his ability to sense legionaries with any of the Romans. I thought he was to keep that a secret since he didn't want them to know he summoned them. Am I mistaken? Thank you.
Moses Lambert
The fact that he still remained this was, even with his charisma, spoke volumes to the man's disagreeableness. The fact that he still remained thus, even with Marcus's charisma, spoke volumes to the man's disagreeableness.
