B3 Chapter 43: Here Comes The Sun

Quintus gazed down at the orc encampment, noting how much it had grown again over the last day.

He turned to the scout beside him. “Any changes in their behavior?”

The Legionnaire nodded. “Yes, sir. Based on our observations, it seems that they’re laying groundwork for yet another extension of their camp, by which I mean they’re cramming themselves together even tighter. So they’re clearly expecting more arrivals. Also, we’ve been observing an increase in fights and challenges in this area,” the scout circled a large section near the center of the map, which subsequently glowed a blue color.

“How much of an increase?”

“They haven’t stopped in the past day. It’s constant fighting, albeit mostly contained. For now. Even with our skills and those far-sight contraptions the engineers made, we can only make out so much detail. But judging by how their enthusiasm is only growing, we don’t suspect they’ll be able to keep it contained for much longer.”

Quintus nodded. “What percentage of the camp are spectating these fights? Roughly.”

“It’s hard to say,” the scout frowned, adjusting the strangely mottled cloak hanging about his shoulders. “Less than half, certainly, but not for lack of trying. A decent portion of the fighting seems to stem from the barbarians elbowing each other to get better views. But between all of the spectacles, intentional and not, I would say at least a quarter to a third of the enemy’s forces is preoccupied with some manner of activity in that area.”

“And the rest?” Quintus asked.

“They’re involved in various other tasks around camp. Eating, training, sleeping. The usual.”

Quintus grimaced and nodded. They’d been hoping that some of the orcs would split off from the main force, perhaps to scout or travel or simply wander around outside of the bowl. Yet they seemed perfectly content to remain inside. It meant that the opportunities for hit and run strikes were limited.

They were doing their best to cut off any new influxes of reinforcements as they came. But the Legionnaires were only so numerous. Their scouts were doing a good job of surveying the area and allowing them to target incoming groups before they came near the gathering point, yet there was a lot of ground for them to cover.

As it was, they had to prepare for the worst—namely, open combat between their own forces and those of the orcs. They’d been working to establish fortified positions in case of such an eventuality, mostly ones hidden away behind rock formations and in chokepoints as they’d been doing. But they’d also set up additional stations for other purposes.

Some of their engineers had also proposed the idea of attempting to build siege engines out of rock and stone rather than timber, making use of the fine control of the earth manipulation specialists. One such camp was stationed just behind their current position. Making the things actually effective was still a longshot, but one that could give them an edge that they sorely needed. And given what Quintus had seen so far, the preliminary results were promising.

The one other saving grace was that they’d received word that fresh men were incoming. Yet even that was a mixed bag. It would only be a few centuries worth at a time, for one. Worse, such new arrivals wouldn’t be reinforcements so much as Legionnaires rotating to the front, as they would be sending men back to Novara once they arrived. At the very least the men they were receiving would be some of their best—veterans from the first cohort and even a few additional specialist contuberniums from the second.

Of course, that would also take time, at least a week, if they were lucky, though perhaps the roads they left in their wake would expedite things further. And depending on the casualties they took, it was very possible Gaius would be sending back less men than initially anticipated. But it was clear that they would not be closing the gap in numbers anytime soon.

All of that meant that they needed strategies to whittle down the enemy without simply settling in for a long defensive siege. As much as the Legion’s tactics allowed them to act as a stone against which waves could do little, even the mightiest stone would find itself eroded over time. And there was little doubt that these orcs were numerous enough to grind even their considerable defenses into fine sand.

Quintus wasn’t willing to accept that risk yet. Neither was Gaius.

Quintus tapped a point on the map. “Have a group establish an outpost here to monitor the situation. The Legatus should be informed immediately if anything changes. What about these areas? Do we have eyes on them?”

The scout took notes as Quintus began to outline the upcoming objectives for the men. But before he could dismiss the man, he suddenly straightened and dashed off the edge of the outcropping. Quintus followed and looked down on the Legion camp below to see quite the commotion.

The cohort responsible for constructing siege engines were rushing about, shouting orders to each other. They rapidly fell into line before their lumps of oddly-shaped stone. And after a brief look at the situation, Quintus understood why.

A group of several thousand orcs poured down the ravine toward their position. Another, smaller group approached from behind, moving to box in the several hundred engineers and earth manipulators at their current positions.

Quintus swore and began running, [Sure Footing] carrying him down the steep cliffs like a mountain goat. They had been discovered.

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***

Rather than returning to the capital, Marcus arose bright and early to rendezvous with the nearest century as they marched toward Corwyn Pass. It honestly felt a little strange. Despite his time on the run, he had never actually left Novara before. Finally doing so in order to dive into a warzone felt a little odd, to say the least.

The actual passage out of Novara—or, well, the Roman Empire now—wasn’t particularly momentous. There was no physical sensation that accompanied the passage between national boundaries, nor did the System notify him of the change in locale. Still, the milestone was noteworthy on a personal level, as though something about himself had changed in some irrevocable way.

The Legionnaires were more than happy to have him along. A little bit of song around the campfire was always appreciated, especially by soldiers. His generally positive reputation among the men also helped to smooth his joining to their numbers. Of course, they all knew that he wasn’t a particularly impressive warrior, especially not since he’d dropped his [Dagger Proficiency] skill. He carried a rapier at his hip nowadays, a piece meant more for show than anything else. But he had his own tricks that would carry him through the odd fight when necessary, especially when he had someone else who could benefit from his performances and empowerments. And who better than a hundred legendary soldiers?

They made it some ways into the mountains before they made camp in a secluded valley. As the Legionnaires set up their standard fortress’s worth of defenses, Marcus plied his trade and solicited the latest news from the men. Rumors from the capital, word of the recruitment efforts, details about the monsters other Legionnaires had gotten stuck fighting… A hundred individual brushstrokes that came together to paint a more complete picture of an emperor consolidating his rule.

There was even word from Habersville. Evidently, a few cohorts worth of the craftsmen stationed there had been rotated away from the backwater in order to bring them to the capital. What exactly they were working on, no one could fathom—it was all very secretive. But that, along with the arrival of the auxiliaries, spurred even more rumors that the war in the west would soon be approached with renewed intensity. Though perhaps that was just wishful thinking on the behalf of the men who would soon find themselves embroiled in the conflict.

After a bit of music, drinking, and friendly banter, Marcus’s bedroll called. He excused himself, preparing for another long day of travel to come through the mountainous terrain—one that made his legs sore just thinking about it. Perhaps he’d need to invest a stat point in constitution next time he leveled.

As he drifted off into the sweet embrace of sleep, he was met not with the featureless black that he expected. Instead, Marcus opened his eyes to find the bright sapphire blue of a clear daytime sky surrounding him on all sides, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Looking down, he found himself standing not on air, but inside a hemispherical chariot of some sort. It was of the finest make he’d ever seen, with wood the color of bright ivory that caused him to squint for its brightness. Intricate gold trim decorated its edges and formed reins that extended toward a pair of not horses, but resplendent swans that flew before them, pulling the chariot through the sky. Reins that were held by a smiling youth that stood beside him.

“Marcus!” The youth grinned, turning his attention away from the horses before him. His voice flowed like honey, and Marcus felt it echo strangely as though it were accompanied by faint music. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. I would ask how you’ve been, but, well, not much sense in that, is there?”

Marcus blinked in confusion. The youth boasted long curls the hair of spun gold, with flawless suntanned skin. A loose-fitting robe of strange fashion flapped behind him in the wind. His eyes seemed to sparkle with delight and genuine enthusiasm.

“…Who are you?” He was certain he’d never seen this person. He would remember if he had. And yet he felt… familiar, somehow.

The youth chuckled. “Having trouble placing me? That’s all right. Maybe this will help.”

A pulse of sheer power flowed out of the figure, causing the very air to tremble. Marcus’s eyes widened as he very nearly fell to his knees as the sensation. His very being felt as though it were being squeezed, like he was thousands of miles underwater rather than up in the air.

It was then that Marcus realized he had seen this person. Well, not exactly. He’d only seen statues of him outside of temples.

The overwhelming presence subsided, rendering Marcus able to speak once more—albeit haltingly. “You’re… Apollo?”

Apollo snapped his fingers and pointed. “Bingo! God of the sun, arts, and oracles, at your service. Well, among other things. But people start to get overwhelmed if I go down the full list. Besides, those are my favorites, anyway.”

His mouth went dry. Before he could even react to the information, however, the god continued with a dismissive wave. “Gotta say, it’s pretty funny to see you tongue-tied like this. Ah, but don’t do any of that falling to your knees stuff.” Apollo tapped the chariot with one foot. “This thing’s too small for that. Besides, wouldn’t want you to fall, now, would we?”

Marcus couldn’t help but look down in response to the comment. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The ground below was hardly even visible in the distance. Mountains looked like little more than pinpricks on the landscape below, expansive plains little more than specks.

He averted his gaze, gripping the chariot a bit tighter as he tried very hard to ignore the prospect of tumbling helplessly through the air. Apollo’s grin only widened. “Relax, relax! You think I’d bring you all the way up here just to let you tumble on down? I mean, it would be pretty funny, but…”

Marcus finally managed to collect himself enough to offer the god a bow—while firmly grasping the chariot’s top, of course. “Forgive me, oh great one. I did not recognize you at first.”

“That’s only to be expected. The artists down there are pretty good, but they can only do so much, you know?”

Marcus couldn’t really blame them. Capturing the full might and presence of a literal god was no small task. Fortunately for them, it seemed that Apollo wasn’t the type to take offense at their inadequacies. Although he was quite surprised at how close some of them had come to portraying the god’s true image.

Subtly, Marcus moved one hand to quickly pinch himself in the leg and winced. If this was a strange dream, then it certainly felt real enough.

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

“Ah. I simply needed to confirm whether this was a dream.”

“I mean, it is. But why would you be unable to feel pain in a dream?”

The implication made Marcus even more acutely aware of his current altitude. Attempting to push away the unwelcome thoughts, he bowed his head and tried to change the topic. “To what do I owe the honor of your summons?”

“Besides catching up a bit with my favorite mortal to watch? Well, there is one thing…” Marcus heard the grin in Apollo’s voice. “I need a prophet, and I think you’re just the man for the job.”

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