For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion
B2 Chapter 18: Echoes in Eternity

The group of the Baron’s conscripts shambled forward uncertainly through the grassy plains. Their progress had already been agonizingly slow, far more so than Sharath would have liked. That was only to be expected, given the speeds at which a [Rogue] like her could travel. But in recent days? Their pace had been r educed to little more than a crawl.

It was more frustrating than she could adequately explain. The delays threatened to ignite a fresh flame below the seething rage that had been boiling in her gut for weeks. It had gotten so bad that she was having trouble with normal everyday tasks. Eating felt pointless when the food tested like ash, and bathing took up time she could spend on other things.

What those other things were, exactly… well, that was a different issue. Her nervous energy lacked an outlet. The notion of doing anything that wasn’t a direct link towards getting her revenge was in itself exhausting. But she needed to do something, anything. Pacing helped, but she was wearing out her shoes at a rate that seemed unprecedented.

She’d finally found an outlet with the baron’s army. The man had finally gotten off his ass and heeded her warnings, scraping together a force of conscripts to attack the Legion. One that she was more than willing to accompany. It was better than sitting around doing nothing.

Of course, she was far less confident than the baron that these men would accomplish anything. They didn’t even have combat classes and they were far outnumbered. But then, that wasn’t the point. They were meant to be fodder, a distraction while the real threat did their work.

Sharath glanced back toward the adventuring party that the baron had hired—the Dark Demon Blades. It was a kind of shit name, in her opinion. Edgy and over-the-top to the point that it was almost comical. But then, they could call themselves whatever they wanted so long as they helped her get revenge.

The party was comprised of four members, three of which she could currently see. The first was a mousey female mage with an overly floppy hat and a gnarled staff twice her height. A gorgeous blonde walked beside her, the woman’s robes revealing a borderline scandalous amount of skin as she walked. Her nose was turned up in a semi-permanent sneer. The final member was a beast of a man encased in a shell of hellish black armor, his face hidden behind a horned helmet.

A mage, a cleric, and a fighter. Combined with the scout that made up the last of their party, it was a fairly standard and well-balanced composition.

The group strolled alongside the army behind her casually, treating the entire outing like the easiest payday of their lives. And for good reason. If not for the party leader’s personal history with Merethe, an assignment like this would be beneath their notice—on paper, at least.

Still, despite their strength and reputation, Sharath couldn’t help but be thoroughly unimpressed with the group so far. During the march they’d been lazy, unfocused, and generally undisciplined. Half the time, most of the members were drunk.

Sharath shook her head. She shouldn’t have expect anything different. Such cavalier attitudes were all too common among adventurers. It was one of the reasons she and her sister had never been able to find a party that worked well for them.

A tap on her shoulder caused Sharath to jump. She whirled around in an instant, a knife already in her hand. It stopped an inch from the man’s throat as he caught her wrist in a firm grip.

He cocked a sidelong grin at her. “Woah. Jumpy, aren’t we?”

A wiry, athletic figure stood before her, his posture casual. A multilayered cloak whose edges seemed to diffuse into the very air itself draped over him, obscuring the gear and weapons beneath. Soft-soled shoes wrapped snugly around his feet, one of many factors allowing him to sneak up on Sharath undetected.

She relaxed, the tension slowly bleeding from her shoulders as she recognized the Dark Demon Blades’s [Scout], Lenny. She sheathed the knife. "Why wouldn’t I be? We’re in enemy territory."

Lenny shrugged. "I suppose so. Though if you’re going to be jumpy, you should at least put it to good use."

He gestured to the ground in front of them meaningfully. Frowning, Sharath looked closer until she noticed a slight irregularity in the dirt. “Traps?”

"Yep."

"This far out?"

"Are you surprised?" Lenny stretched. "You’re the one who pointed out that we’re in enemy territory."

She scowled, kneeling to disarm the thing. It was a simple enough task once she’d seen it. In moments, the trap was deactivated.

The [Scout] nodded in approval. "Great. Now, go get some sleep."

Sharath froze. "Excuse me?"

The man seemed entirely unperturbed by the growl in her tone. "Go get some sleep. I’ll take over scouting ahead for a while. Someone like you shouldn’t be missing stuff like that. The fact that you are means that you’re either dead on your feet or an idiot, and I’m more inclined to think it’s the former."

Sharath bristled at his words. "I missed one trap. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I—"

"Oh, that’s not the only one," the [Scout] jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "They’ve been showing up for the past… what, half a day or so? There were a few nasty ones that caught some of the guys back there before we realized. Snapped their legs right off. I’ve been picking ’em out ever since. Heck, I found two in the last five minutes alone."

Shara’s face fell and she paled slightly. "Two? Are you… That can’t be right. You must be talking about those pits I marked."

He nodded. "I saw those. They weren’t just pits. Those were distractions to keep you from noticing the real traps nearby. Pretty clever, if you ask me."

She glared at him, her teeth grinding together in frustration. No. She would not let herself be pushed aside like this. It wasn’t just because sleep had been hard to come by, either. They were only a couple days’ march from that shithole town, and she wouldn’t stop to rest now. She needed to channel every bit of energy she had into either training or skills or moving forward. She couldn’t risk letting revenge slip through her fingers.

Lenny sighed and shook his head. "Look. I’m not trying to insult you. Believe me, I really do think you would normally find things like this. But as you are? You’re more likely to get someone killed."

"I’m fine," she snapped acidly.

"No, you’re not." A hint of steel entered the [Scout]’s tone. "Go. Rest. If you want to fight me on this, you’re more than welcome to. But you won’t win."

Sharath eyed the man. He was right. It wasn’t just a matter of levels, either. She didn’t need [Appraisal] to tell that a good amount of the man’s gear was magical and likely far better than her own. That, added to his causal confidence… It could be a bluff, but was she willing to take that risk?

She spat and turned on her heel, stalking back up the road as dusk began to fall. She’d make camp with the useless conscripts, just for tonight. Tomorrow, she’d return to her duties and clear the way for the next day’s march. Buy in the meantime… maybe the sleep would take pity and come find her tonight.

***

Marcus felt a very dignified and manly scream rip out of him as a large purple tentacle burst out of the water. His initial thought had been that the disturbance in the water was merely a consequence of the arena draining. Maybe the trumpet was meant to signal the end of a battle in addition to the start?

But those hopes were crushed by the tentacle as it slammed across the deck of their boat. Bits of splintered railing flew into the air and peppered his face as he rapidly backpedaled. He wasn’t the only one alarmed by the situation, he noted. Several of the Legionnaires looked noticeably uncomfortable, which was certainly a higher state of alarm than he had seen at almost any other point. Apparently, seeing monsters rise from the deep while atop a sinking ship was all it took to elicit such a minute shift in attitude.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Marcus turned his manly scream into the beginnings of a song—an [Inspirational Song]. The high note could have passed for the beginning of a relatively modern song, the likes of which Marcus had never particularly cared for. Of course, he wouldn’t complain too much for the moment.

Cannot take another fight in this boat

I shut my eyes and take a breath, oh no

The consequence if we stay is more holes,

But what’s the difference when you’re barely afloat?

The men began moving faster as the song took hold. [Critical Reception] went into overdrive, helping him to tailor the song to both the situation and his audience. [Charm] worked to settle some of the more nervous Legionnaires and imbue the others with confidence. The Legionnaires quickly found their sea legs, so to speak.

Gaius’s spear flashed forward, sinking nearly a foot into the thick appendage. It writhed in pain, spewing blackish-blue ichor, but didn’t retreat. The other Legionnaires who weren’t bailing out water roared as they charged forth, drawing their swords and hacking into the tentacle at a half-dozen different points in a frenzy.

Most of the blows bounced off the the tentacle’s rubbery surface. That, was, until Gaius shouted to his men."Activate [Gale’s Fury] if you have it!"

A couple of the men nodded. As they activated the rare temporary buff, their postures seemed to shift. It would only last for a little bit before a period of weakness, but as Marcus watched, their blades suddenly chopped through the air as if it had offended their mothers. The slashes cut through the tough flesh as though it were little more than butter.

The tentacle writhed, curling and uncurling reflexively as it sank back into the water below. A slowly-spreading stain rippling across the surface in its wake. They barely had time to celebrate before the second tentacle launched toward them.

A spear met the limb in midair. It twitch but continued forth, wrapping around their ship and dragging it sideways. Marcus sang louder. The slashes and stabs of the Legionnaires sped up even further, biting deeper with each hit for a precious few seconds before he had to pull back. Exhausting himself would do no one any good, not when there still seemed to be more fight in the beast.

Still, the extra boost was all they needed. The soldiers ripped apart the tentacle, nearly cutting it in half. Another stump retreated underwater as the ship lurched. Two more had wrapped around either end of the vessel as they fought. The boards began to groan under the pressure as the tentacles tightened like a vise and began to crush.

Marcus didn’t stop singing as he pulled out his spellbook once more, flipping through the few meager spells recorded within. He doubted that h e had anything powerful enough to affect a creature of this size and power. Although…

He nearly smacked himself. In his panic, he’d completely forgotten to even use [Appraisal] on the thing. How could he be so stupid?

Of course, when he did use the skill, it didn’t make him feel much better.

“Baby Lake Kraken, level 27!” He called to Gaius.

Well, that was bad. But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he feared. It was just a baby, after all. Even if it was a higher level than even he was, surely that counted for something.

He focused harder on the skill, feeling its drain on his stamina intensify as he did. A few weak spots along the underside of each tentacle made themselves known to him. He also gained some idea of where its head was located beneath the water.

Marcus wasn’t sure if it was intentionally sacrificing its tentacles to distract them from something or if the thing really just was too stupid to bring its entire strength to bear at once. But whatever the case, it didn’t really matter. It was working.

"Can you do that explosion thing again?" He shouted over the sounds of combat.

"And blow ourselves up? Absolutely not!" Gaius shouted back. "Do you have a death wish?"

Marcus swore. Rifling through his memory, he searched for any spells that might be of use. There was one that might be able to do something. But first, he had to deal with that hole that continued to let in water.

Marcus pulled out his spellbook and raised his palm toward the hole. "Stand back!"

The pair of Legionnaires in charge of keeping the boat afloat obliged, albeit with questioning looks. Marcus ignored them and read off another Icy Gale spell. The frigid wind froze the water within the hole solid, acting as a makeshift plug.

Another stab of pain shot through his skull. It irked him to use such an expensive spell for something like this, but there really was no better option. He pointed a finger toward the prow of the ship.

“The head’s over there! Keep it off of me!” He ran forward, nearly stumbling over a few of the benches that swayed as the Kraken repositioned itself underneath them.

He leaned over the prow, holding onto the ships figurehead for support. A massive abyss of an eye gazed back at him, the glassy orb seeming to stare back into his soul. It blinked at him once, the motion slow and ponderous, as its tentacles continued to cause the boat around him to creak.

Marcus raised his finger toward the eye and read off another spell.

Shocking!

A simple incantation, but it got the job done. Electricity arced from his outstretched finger toward the black orb below. A bolt of lightning electrified the water with a sharp crack, causing the kraken’s entire head to flinch back. Its tentacles seized up, sending the whole ship rocking.

The Legionnaires stumbled and cursed as Gaius grabbed Marcus’s shoulder to steady himself. His other hand gripped his spear. The tentacles suddenly relaxed, going limp for a moment as the electricity dissipated.

"Is it dead?" Marcus asked hopefully.

Gaius peered down. "No. But it’s not moving… Better take advantage."

Without any further warning, the insane Legionnaire put his foot up on the gunwale of the boat and launched himself upward, his spear held in both hands. The young officer plummeted toward the beast’s eye, the weapon sinking deep into its center until its haft was barely visible.

The kraken spasmed violently, struggling to rouse itself from its stunned state. Marcus wanted to shout at the man in warning, but before he could get a word out, another Legionnaire followed suit. The man leaped off the ship, aiming for a second spot not too far away, theen a third. The trio of men remained partially above the water as their weapons sank deep inside. Then, they spoke in unison.

Marcus heard a series of dull whumps. The eye exploded in a shower of blackish gore. Chunks of tissue and brain matter fountained upward, the beast’s flesh insulating the men from the worst of the explosions, but they were still thrown backward. On the ship, the remaining tentacles began to slide off as the kraken sank down to the bottom of the arena.

Once again, the Legionnaires watching from the stands cheered at the spectacle. But Marcus barely heard it. He was too busy searching for a rope. "Man overboard! Three of them!"

The other soldiers quickly realized the problem and rushed to assist. In a matter of moments, one had retrieved a coil of rope and tossed one end toward Marcus, wrapping the other around a secure piece of railing.

The bard quickly hurled the other end down toward the Legionnaires below. They were already sinking alongside the kraken, their armored shapes struggling to stay above the surface. He saw as Gaius and the second man grab onto the rope for dear life, but the third…

Marcus scanned the water, trying to find the other Legionnaire. There, beneath the water, he spotted a small shadowy form thrashing underneath the water.

He looked around and swore. As strong as they likely were, the other men around him were also wearing armor. Which meant…

Marcus slung off his spellbook, his lute, and his cloak, shoving them into the nearest Legionnaire’s hands. “Watch over these!”

Without waiting to hear the man’s response, and before he could have second thoughts, he dove off the boat. He hit the surface of the water with all the elegance of a landslide and found the loose end of the rope. Gaius and the other Legionnaire were already climbing to pull themselves out of the water, leaving Marcus plenty of slack.

Th bard dove down, forcing his eyes open. The remains of the kraken stung and clouded his vision. Still, he managed to pick out the last Legionnaire just a little deeper down. He continued to thrash and flail as a few bubbles escaped from his mouth.

With a series of kicks, Marcus shot toward the man and reached out. His hand grasped the waterlogged feathers of the man’s plume. He yanked at the helmet, checking whether it was securely attached to the man’s head. It was. Thankfully, he knew how to use his chinstrap, and Marcus was able to halt the man’s slow descent.

Marcus tugged sharply on the rope, hoping that the Legionnaires above would understand the signal. He felt the man’s flailing hands grab at him and find purchase. The panicking Legionnaire began to climb up Marcus’s body as though he were a particularly strange tree. The bard felt his lungs begin to burn, struggling to keep his grip on both himself and the rope as the other man inadvertently battered him. Then he felt the rope go taut.

The pair were dragged up and through the water. When they broke the surface, Marcus got half a gasp of air in before the Legionnaire climbed on top of him, forcing his head underwater with his continued thrashing.

"Stop flailing, Titus!" One of them shouted. "You’re not making this any easier, you fool!"

Surprisingly, the man didn’t stop. Either he hadn’t heard his comrades or he simply was panicking too hard to take the advice. Marcus struggled, fighting the Legionnaires to try to stay on top of the water until the men above pulled them clear. Neither of them let go of the rope until they were hauled bodily over the railing and onto the deck.

The waterlogged men lay on the deck, gasping for air and coughing violently. Marcus rolled over and breathed deep breaths, closing his eyes in relief. They had made it. No other trumpets sounded, which he took to ean they’d survived this arena’s challenges. Without losing a man, no less.

He heard a cough. When he opened his eyes, a Legionnaire stood above him. In his arms he held his spellbook, lute case, and cloak.

His head thudded back to the deck. That water hadn’t exactly been clean, and he had no desire to see the state of his clothes right now. Nor did he want to soil his things.

His words came out as an exhausted wheeze. “Can you… Can you hold on to them for me? Just a little bit longer?"

The others nodded in enthusiastic agreement.