For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion
B2 Chapter 25: Quality vs. Quantity

The armored man let out a guttural scream that echoed across the hills. He began to emanate a sickly green glow as he charged toward the Legion’s line. He leapt straight over their fortifications and aimed for the spot between two Legionnaires, ignoring the sharpened spear points and stakes that shattered on his breastplate. It hardly slowed his charge as he crashed through the first few ranks of the shield wall.

But the Legion’s lines were deep. In a moment, the warrior found himself surrounded by twenty men as they repositioned to manage the threat. A snarl emitted from beneath his helmet as a black gauntlet swung toward the Legionnaires. An ethereal mace sprang into being before it connected with one’s shield, sending the man flying before he could lock into place next to his brethren. The Legionnaire was still in midair even as the warrior spun to attack the next.

As the warrior charged into the fray, the other Legionnaires didn’t stand idle. They continued to hurl volleys of throwing spears, detonating some and recalling others. The archer leaped up to meet them, dodging between the falling weapons with impossible dexterity as he fired projectiles of his own into the reformed shield wall. This time, the wall held firm as the resulting explosions were dispersed across the entirety of the wall by [Coordinated Bulwark].

Additional spears and sling stones sailed toward the archer in response, forcing him to roll away as he landed. Then several spears detonated nearby, each one peppering him with shrapnel and further limiting his movement options. The continuous assault from both above and below seemed to hinder him enough to keep him grounded for the moment. Even from this distance, Tiberius could see annoyance written plain across his features.

The [Rogue], for her part, darted forward to assist the armored warrior. She vaulted over the wall of Legionnaires as she had done in the past. Unfortunately for her, the Legion had prepared for such tactics. Several long spear shafts appeared in men’s hands as they were recalled, one of which cut into her calf.

She twisted desperately in midair to avoid the rest and kicked off the shields at the top of the wall to escape. Her injured legs wobbled as she rolled backwards on the ground, narrowly dodging a few more ballista bolts. The projectiles left small craters in their wake.

“Four enemies remaining. A level 23 [Cursed Berserker], level 16 [Rogue], level 22 [Scout], and level 20 [Elemental Mage].” One of the aides reported.

Tiberius nodded in acknowledgement, then peered across the battlefield. He saw three of the remaining adventurers. But where was the fourth?

A deep rumble answered his question. His head whipped toward its source, only to see the mage girl chanting. Spears continued to skitter off her force field as her staff extended forward and flashed. A bolt of lightning arced out, as thick as a man’s torso, and rocketed toward the shield wall.

Tiberius stiffened. He’d seen a man struck by lightning once before, up in the hills of Britannia. He’d perished on the spot, his skin charred black by the intensity of the bolt. If this girl could wield that kind of power at will…

The bolt of lightning struck true, crashing into the wall of shields with a clap of thunder. Yet the men were not vaporized as he’d expected. Rather, the white-blue branches of pure light rippled over their shields, spreading out all along the line.

As the arcs of lightning dissipated, he saw the mage frown. He, on the other hand, felt only relief. They’d had no real way to test magic’s effects against [Coordinated Bulwark]. But this showed that they did indeed have a defense against the witchcraft of this world. One that could stymie even those borrowing Jupiter’s own power.

The mage shot into the sky as a round of ballista bolts tore toward her. Meanwhile, the battle raged on. Tiberius saw men fly through the air, battered about by the armored warrior’s mighty blows. Most of the injured were rotated out quickly before they could be finished off. But the constant assault made it difficult for the Legionnaires to completely encircle him, much less with enough men to effectively dissipate the force of his blows.

The real problem was that the man seemed to have taken absolutely no damage from any of their attacks. Whether they be spear thrusts, sling stones, or stabs, it didn’t matter. The most damage they’d managed was scuffing his armor with explosions—something they could no longer risk with so many men around.

Luckily, he didn’t seem capable of doing too much damage himself. Most of the Legionnaires that switched out only seemed to suffer from a few broken bones, so long as they were rotated out efficiently. Still, he didn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.

Tiberius took stock of the situation. He was still wary of the mage, but given how well they’d handled her lightning, he was slightly less concerned about her now than before. He couldn’t discount the possibility of other tricks up her sleeve though, especially since she was out of sight. The [Rogue] was limping as she tried desperately to breach the line with little success. The archer, however, remained a real danger as his maneuverability allowed him to target weak points in their line with unnerving accuracy.

“Order the ballistae to target the [Scout],”

Making a quick judgement call, Tiberius ordered their downsized siege weapon wielders to concentrate fire on the biggest visible threat. Unfortunately, he was also the most agile.

The ballistae fired again, forcing the [Scout] to focus on dodging and throwing off his aim. He twisted impossibly sideways to avoid the onslaught just before he managed to fire at the group surrounding the berserker. The arrows he did fire ended up tearing chunks out of the hill beyond rather than the Legion itself.

Tiberius frowned, trying to think. Although they were holding their own, they also weren’t making much progress. They’d managed to damage the terrain more than most of the adventurers, excluding the healer, of course. Still, killing the healer was moot if they didn’t do any damage that required healing.

He’d hoped that the ambushes, alongside their recent “ghoul farming”, would at least earn them enough experience to level up again, but maybe not. Perhaps they were just waiting on the man tasked with checking the class stone back in Habersville.

Coming to a decision, Tiberius turned towards one of their communications specialists. “Send in the reserve cohorts. It’s time to see the results of their efforts.”

***

The deep bellow of a horn sounded across the hills. Apparently, Quintus wasn’t the only one who thought they needed to change tactics. As well as they were holding up, he could see that this was one battle of attrition they stood little chance of winning. Especially since the enemy could easily retreat if they wished.

He adjusted his grip on his shield, bracing as the other two cohorts of reserve troops crested the hilltops. Their overwhelming numbers were difficult to leverage in the current situation. The adventurers were too dispersed and agile to effectively hem in, and their proximity meant that volleys of exploding spears and the like were more likely to harm their own men than the enemy.

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Luckily, the reserve troops weren’t all beholden to standard tactics.

The second and ninth cohorts were traditionally comprised of the freshest and least seasoned recruits in the Legion. Usually, they would be paired up with more experienced cohorts during battle. Such an arrangement allowed the steadiness of the veterans to serve as an example and bolster the resolve of those with less strong wills. It was one of the many ways to strengthen the wall.

But Quintus had suggested they utilize these Legionnaires a little differently. With the advent of the System and all of its changes, every man had a responsibility to experiment and level his own skills. Yet they also needed units of men willing to act as subjects to test new tactics at the contubernium, century, and cohort levels. And who better than men who were fresh and not yet set in their ways from countless battles?

“Sir! In the sky!”

Quintus swore at himself for his momentary distraction. He turned away from the still-approaching reinforcements and peered past his shield. The previously absent mage had appeared once more, this time in the air before them. Her cloak fluttered wildly as she chanted, a faint glow of icy blue beginning to outline her form.

“Shit. Brace yourselves!”

Quintus tensed and felt the men around him do the same. He didn’t know what the mage was planning. But based on where she was facing he was certain that whatever it was would be aimed right at his position. And likely pretty painful.

As he hunkered down, praying that [Coordinated Bulwark] would be able to disperse the incoming attack, a flash of green caught his eye. A Legionnaire leapt over their line to stand in front of the wall. But rather than the standard armor and red tunic, this one wore only a strange, loose-fitting style of jade-colored toga. Its long sleeves fluttered as seven more Legionnaires joined him, each wearing similar garments. None of them carried a sword or even a spear.

Quintus’s brow furrowed. He recognized the leader of the group as a man named Septimus. Or at least, he had been named Septimus. More recently he’d taken to calling himself Karma instead. The move had almost everyone giving him a wide berth, as no one wanted to catch his insanity. Only the fact that he was a loyal Legionnaire to his core made them tolerate him.

Well, that had been the case at first. His obsession with the [Breathing] skill certainly hadn’t helped either, especially when it led to him sealing himself away in seclusion for hours on end. Quintus had heard more than a few complaints from Karma’s centurion about that.

At least, until his efforts had begun to bear fruit.

The men held their hands clasped together in front of them as they breathed. Quintus watched as the eight strange Legionnaires moved in a slow dance, their palms facing outwards as they wove a strange pattern in the air and above their heads. Their faces remained as placid as if they stood in the halls of the senate rather than the heart of battle. All the while, the glow around the [Elemental Mage] continued to intensify.

Quintus thought at first they had accepted death. But then, they began to breathe.

Their breaths were not like any he’d ever heard. These were not breaths taken only from necessity. No, they drew in the air like starving wolves, massive gulps that made their chests swell like war drums. Then came the exhale: sharp, explosive, rhythmic. They repeated the process over and over, like bellows stoking a forge. The very ground itself seemed to pulse beneath them.

Karma’s form was suddenly overlaid with a grey-haired man with eyes like a thunderstorm, barefoot amid the mud and gore. Steam rose from his shoulders. His skin flushed red, not with the heat of battle, but with something... deeper. A different sort of power. As though the gods themselves filled his lungs with vitality. Quintus swore to Pluto himself that the grasses around the man began to smolder slightly.

As the glow around the mage peaked, she raised her staff high into the air. It shone an ominous white as frost began to gather around its head. As she pointed it down toward the Legionnaires below, a pillar of ice the size of a temple slammed forward like a battering ram.

Quintus readied himself. As strong as their wall was, he had his doubts that it would be able to stop something on this scale. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

Karma raised his arms and exhaled. The sound echoed across the plain like a shout, not of fear or rage, but of wild, euphoric defiance. The field rippled with an unseen breeze. The wounded stirred despite themselves.

The other green-robed Legionnaires around him followed suit, adding their own breaths to Karma’s. They glowed from within as if each man housed a hearth fire. Then they moved, striking forth with the swiftness and power of thunderbolts. Their palms collided with the incoming pillar of ice and forced it into the ground.

The impact shook the earth. A massive plume of dirt erupted into the air as shards of ice peppered the Legion, clattering against shields and forcing the men to squint and hunker down to avoid cuts across their bodies. Yet when the dust settled, the eight strange Legionnaires were still standing as calmly as before. Only now, there was a towering hunk of ice protruding from the ground before them.

Quintus heard mutters of confusion and astonishment rise around him. He along with the rest of the Legion had received orders not to take certain skills without first meeting a set of conditions. His own [Swordsmastery] skill was one of them, requiring that any man who wanted to take it needed to survive against Quintus or another [Swordsmastery] user in a duel, one where he wasn’t using the skill, of course.

It was the best way he could think of to ensure that the men taking the skill still had a decent grasp of the basics and didn’t become too reliant on it. Plus, with how many people wanted it, such a requirement had done wonders to encourage the men in their training efforts and provide good entertainment at the same time.

He’d seen others such as the uncommon [Body Control], rare [Body Tempering], and epic [Lowly Spiritual Cultivation] on that same list, all prerequisites for each other. There had been rumors that those skills were related to Karma’s [Breathing] obsession, although Quintus hadn’t understood how that was possible. Apparently one could harm themselves if they didn’t know what they were doing. Now, however… perhaps the man really was onto something.

The contubernium of men leapt into the air, running up the angled pillar of ice as though the cold wasn’t freezing their bare toes off. The slack-jawed mage continued to hover for a moment before letting out a small squeak and flying away, the men in hot pursuit. He saw other groups of uniquely outfitted Legionnaires give chase as well as they tried to take down the threat.

Quintus left them to it. While he didn’t recognize all of the specialist units, Karma’s had certainly proven its worth already. He decided to trust that they could handle themselves. Especially since they had other concerns.

The archer sailed through the air and bombarded another section of their line with exploding arrows. A trail of spears followed in his wake, none coming close enough to even be worth detonating. With the reserve troops coming in, it was possible that they’d have some method of immobilizing or taking him down. But that wasn’t entirely certain.

Quintus motioned for another man to take his place and retreated through the line. The men parted for him until he reached the back where their siege weaponry stood. It hadn’t seen much use in this engagement, as it wasn’t the most useful against such small targets. But he had an idea.

“Arm the catapult,” he commanded the nearby Legionnaires. “As low powered as possible.”

“Sir?” One asked even as they hurried to comply. “What’s our target?”

Quintus pointed at the archer, causing the men to frown. “With all due respect, Primus… It’s too risky. The stone will hit our men just as well as theirs.”

“You aren’t firing a stone.”

He began walking toward the catapult as realization slowly dawned on the man. “Sir, you can’t be serious. It’s too risky—”

“Hence the low power. I don’t want to end up three miles down the road.” Quinuts paused a beat to let that sink in before hammering it in further. “That was not a request, soldier. It was an order.”

The man’s mouth snapped shut as he nodded. Quintus climbed into the basket of the catapult and braced himself. It was a risky maneuver, one that the officers were still not entirely sold on adopting. But he’d be damned if he was going to sit back and let the others collect all the glory. Besides, he was fairly confident that he had enough dexterity to manage a decent landing, and enough constitution to live if he didn’t.

As the archer turned his back to them to focus on a fresh round of ballista bolts, he gave the signal. Before he had a chance to fully brace, he felt and found himself flying through the air in a perfect arc, calculated to intercept the archer’s next erratic dodge.