For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion
B2 Chapter 29: Boneless Wings

Quintus blinked. “No bones, you say?”

“Right.” Cassius gestured toward the “man” as he battered at another section of the line, forcing it to shift back and rotate even more Legionnaires in. “I don’t exactly know what that means or how it’s possible, but it’s what I see.”

The Primus Pilus frowned at the black-armored figure. If that was the case, it might help to explain his inhuman endurance, even past the level gap. It also meant that beating him might be even more problematic than they thought.

“I suppose that will hinder your men’s own usefulness.” Quintus mused.

“Are you kidding?” Claudius grinned. “I mean, yes, it will limit our options, but we’re by no means helpless. Although… we could use a bit more space to work with…”

Quintus frowned internally at the man’s casual demeanor. As much freedom as these specialists had been given, he was beginning to wonder if they’d allowed them too much. Their autonomy could easily turn against them if they weren’t careful, whether by creating infighting or dissatisfaction with the current power structure. Especially if they got too full of themselves.

He ignored it for now. This was not the time to have a discussion on proper discipline, though he made a note to discuss it with Tiberius later. Perhaps the old fox would embrace this individuality. Or perhaps the centurions would soon find themselves handing out a lot of demerits.

“We will get you the space you need.” Quitus turned toward the crowd of soldiers hemming in the warrior. “Legionnaires! Form up!”

The order was a simple one, deceptively so. Yet [Voice of Command] ensured that it carried with it detailed knowledge of the exact formation he had in mind.

It had become all too clear that [Coordinated Bulwark] made their shield wall stronger with more men incorporated into its length. However, the circle surrounding the warrior was too small to take full advantage of that. Worse still was the fact that making a wall long enough to be effective may well result in a circle massive enough to span the whole battlefield. It was too inefficient. But perhaps there was an alternative.

The centurions embedded along the line sprang into action, shouting brief orders of their own. The collective understanding bestowed upon them by [Unity] meant that no one needed to waste words, even when attempting as strange a tactic as Quintus was having them organize into.

The ring of Legionnaires surrounding the warrior expanded as more men seamlessly slotted in beside their comrades. A clearing about fifty yards across formed around the single fighter. Meanwhile, the ranks behind also began to form up into a shield wall of their own—a long, spiraling formation that wound around and around the ongoing battle, longer than any they’d ever made.

Impractical? Maybe. But not for their purposes.

As the spiraling wall finished forming, the innermost circle shifted to connect with it. The black-armored warrior’s mace collided with the wall as before, only to bounce off harmlessly. This time, the man behind the shield didn’t so much as budge.

Blow after blow rained down with much the same effect. The suit of armor growled in animalistic frustration as it saw the futility of its attacks.

“That should be big enough.”

Claudius raised his fist in the air, shouting an order to his contubernium of followers. They each pulled out a fistful of what might have been knuckle bones and began a chant in what clearly sounded like Latin, yet Quintus’ mind couldn’t quite understand the words. They tumbled from the men’s mouths as if they were greased hogs, their meaning slipping through his fingers every time he tried to grasp them.

Quintus shuddered.

Abruptly, the chanting stopped. The bone-clad Legionnaires loaded the knuckles into their slings and began hurling them toward the warrior. They bounced off his armor with seemingly no effect, falling harmlessly to the ground below.

Quintus began to once again doubt that Claudius and his men would be able to accomplish anything in this fight when the ground erupted into a field of jagged bone. Ivory white spikes shot up like summer wheat all around the suit of armor and into its joints.

The armor roared and lashed out with its mace to clear a path toward the retreating shield wall, struggling to move through the thicket. Bones shattered and fell to the ground with each swipe and cracked under his greaves. Yet even more bones began to sprout as Claudius’s men began chanting and hurling even more bones.

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Their foe ran through a whole host of attacks, spinning, slashing, and charging in an attempt to break though. The bones slowed his progress to a crawl and only became more dense. It seemed as though they may finally be able to stop this thing.

As he watched, Quintus became aware of a subtle sensation spreading throughout his body. A faint tiredness that seeped through his muscles and into his bones, though not in a weird way like what Claudius had done to him.

At first, he thought it was simple exhaustion from battle setting in. But this felt different. It didn’t seem to have a discernable source, either. Unless…

He glanced at the bone-wielding Legionnaires and the massive spiraling shield wall. They had utilized quite a number of large-scale skills during this battle. Perhaps it was finally beginning to take its toll?

With obvious frustration, their foe lifted its helmet to the sky and bellowed, the sound seeming to ripple through the air. Quintus felt the cry as though it were tugging on his very soul. He wanted—no, he needed to fight this opponent. Even if he had to kick and claw and bite his way through.

He brutally stamped down the thoughts, clinging to the tenuous thread of reason like a lifeline. Even at this distance, the warrior’s skill was powerful enough to have such an effect on Quintus.

“Hold the line!”

The call echoed out from many throats as Quintus’s order was relayed. The wavering Legionnaires who had begun to push forward into the thicket warred with themselves as the skill of their enemy conflicted with the skill-imbued orders of their superiors. A few snapped out of it immediately, yet some of the less strong-willed men had to be pulled back and restrained by their comrades.

Luckily, the bones stymied the Legionnaires as much as they did the warrior. The wall managed to reassert itself before the black suit of armor could take advantage of their brief lapse in discipline.

Claudius’s men began sprinting through the spiral and handing out bones to the men as quickly as they enchanted them. Before long, the air was filled with the things. They fell upon the enemy like grotesque snow, burying him.

He thrashed about, each movement growing smaller and weaker as the bones began to overtake him. Their foe began to exhaust himself rapidly as his mace swings found nothing but an ever-expanding field of jagged white.

They encased his legs, then his waist, pointed tips jutting into every visible joint as he weakened. He smashed at his lower body only for it to become immobilized once more. Before long, he couldn’t even move his arms to swing.

Quintus watched in horrified fascination as the thicket of bones grew around the man, holding him in place. Soon, all he could move was his head. It flailed wildly from side to side until the bones grew through his visor, pinning that too.

The suit of armor slumped over, panting with exhaustion. At this point, it was hardly visible beneath the bones. Only occasional flashes of shining black could be seen through the spikes as the wind whistled hollowly through them.

Quintus remained silent for a long moment. When he’d suggested that they consider nonstandard tactics and integrating unique skills into the Legion’s fighting style, he had understood that it would be a big change. Such a thing, if successful, would require a complete overhaul of everything the Legion knew.

He’d hoped for them to gain power and abilities beyond anything they could have done before. But despite all that… he’d never dreamed that it would turn into this.

“Well. That seemed to work out.” Claudius smiled easily. “Shall we go investigate our strange foe?”

The centurion stared at the bone-adorned soldier. No longer did he see Claudius, the brother that had seen countless battles alongside him. Now he was something altogether different. Something foreign.

Quintus forced the paranoid thoughts down and nodded. Without another word, Claudius led them forward. The bones shifted out of the way at the man’s touch to form an unnerving tunnel toward the captured enemy.

It didn’t take long to reach their quarry. Claudius did the honors, flipping the man’s visor up to see what lay inside. They were met with little more than an empty helmet.

“It seems you were right.” Quintus nodded. “This is… unexpected.”

“I’ll say. I figured it wasn’t human, but this… Were we really just fighting a suit of armor?”

A deep chuckle welled up from within the armor. The helmet twitched slightly, moving as though to look at the two men as they quickly stepped back. “‘Just’ a suit of armor. Ignorance.”

Quintus rested his hand on the pommel of his blade, ready to draw. Although he wasn’t entirely sure how much good it would do. Still, the armor remained immobilized.

“Well, it looks like it’s alive.” Claudius straightened hesitantly. “So… what should we do with him, sir?”

“For now, we take him captive.” Quintus ordered. “Secure him—it—well. It won’t do for it to break free. Even if we know how to subdue it.”

He might have ordered the thing killed to avoid the risk of escape. However, there was a real possibility that they may be able to gain some sort of intelligence from it as a captive. Also, Quintus honestly wasn’t sure how to kill a magical suit of armor.

“...Who are you people?”

A disembodied voice welled up from within the armor. The sudden question startled both men.

“We are the first Legion of new Roman empire, under the command of emperor Tiberius Rufius Maro himself.”

A strange creaking noise echoed from the suit of armor and it took Quintus to realize that it had cocked its head in apparent misunderstanding.

“We are Romans.” But the clarification didn’t seem to do anything so he let it be. “You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.”

The centurion gestured for his men, but his thoughts were elsewhere. As they went about binding and securing the suit of armor as thoroughly as they could, he couldn’t help but glance over at Claudius and his bone mages.

The specialists had truly proven their worth this day. Not just these men, but the others as well. But one question ate away at him like a plague. If men like this were to turn on the Legion, then could they be stopped?