B3 Chapter 47: An Orc in a China Shop

The orc fell beneath Quintus’ blade as his men rushed to deal with the new threat. Yet the arrival of these enemies from above was not an isolated attack. The streams of orcs assaulting their chokepoints redoubled, forcing the Legionnaires to focus on defense rather than retreat. Only now, they had to devote their efforts to both the enemies before them and behind.

Quintus danced between the orcs that had infiltrated the center of their formation, his gladius [Rend]ing and [Tear]ing through the air. All around him, the other centurions and Legionnaires fell in together to face the threat. Yet some of the orcs ignored them entirely in favor of a different target.

One of the green skinned attackers slammed into the sloped walls of the gully and shot to its feet, scrambling the rest of the way down the slope toward the nearest sling tube—one of the few the engineers hadn’t managed to deactivate yet. It scaled the incline upon which it was placed with ease, tackling the pair of Legionnaires off the platform, then raised its club high above the cracked tube.

The club smashed down with tremendous force. Purple light began to flicker within the fissures, intensifying further as the orc struck again and again.

Quintus was forced to turn his attention away from the sight by a pair of bellowing foes hurtling down toward him. Yet he did notice that the engineers were now running. Any trace of hesitation they’d shown earlier had disappeared as they hastened to distance themselves from the vibrating stone tubes.

He managed to get his shield up just as [Tactician’s Awareness] screamed at him. A final thudding impact reached his ears, followed by a sharp crack as something broke. Then, the world flashed purple.

Shards of condensed stone exploded out in every direction, whizzing past Quintus’s ears and slamming into his shield as though he’d been hurled into a mad hailstorm. The blast itself threw him backwards and would have sent him onto his back if not for [Sure Footing]. As it was, the skill couldn’t completely keep him from sliding back a few meters.

As the impacts subsided, he glanced around his shield to take stock of the situation. The orcs inside of their formation had been reduced to red mist, though he hadn’t escaped completely unscathed, either. Sunlight peeked through a few fresh holes that had been punched through his shield. His shins and arms bled freely from the resulting gashes. Most were thankfully shallow, but a few of the deeper ones caused him to wince as he moved.

He picked a shard of bloody rock out of his arm and tossed it aside. The ringing in his ears had returned once more, making it impossible to hear the men around him. Which was unfortunate, considering the havoc the detonation had wrought on their battle lines.

The tube had been far enough away that it hadn’t caught everyone in the blast. Additionally, the sudden appearance of enemies within their formation had meant that some men had turned to protect their brethren’s backs. But considering how much of the Legion’s attention was directed outward or intent on pulling back, the result was still less than ideal.

The shield wall was shaken. Many of the men had been tossed about by the sudden and unexpected impact, dazed expressions clear upon their faces. The medics were already rushing about to heal those in most desperate need, but a few stabs of ice cold dread confirmed deaths where stones had caved in helmets or taken unsuspecting men in the chest from behind.

Fortunately, the Legionnaires weren’t the only ones to have suffered. The orcs beyond their lines also had largely been knocked back and caught unawares by the attack. But it seemed that their high natural toughness and regeneration made them recover more quickly—and allowed them to take advantage of the opening.

The green tide flooded through the open chokepoint before the shield wall could fully reform. Quintus rallied the Legionnaires and quickly rearranged their formations, fighting to contain and push back the enemy forces, but it was clear that the task would be beyond them. The formerly neat lines bowed outward like a sheep’s bladder filling with water as men were pulled away from other places to reinforce the breach.

“Sir!” A scout shouted next to him, the sound still slightly muffled. “Movement in the main encampment! Additional orcs are massing to head this way!”

Quintus swore under his breath. They had overstayed their welcome. They needed to get out, and fast. But they were in an even worse position to do so than before. The fact that no more orcs were descending from above meant those centuries had likely managed to deal with the issue. But the line was only holding on by a thread.

He steeled himself. It was an order that would result in losses, but one that had to be given. Staying to fight would only cause more death in the long run. As much as it pained him, Quintus needed to take the men that he could and retreat to Gaius’s position. Only then would they stand a chance of making a proper defense.

Opening his mouth to give the order, Quintus activated [Lead from the Front] to ensure that it was felt and understood even by those still deafened. Yet before he could speak, he heard something strange. It sounded like… music. Someone was singing.

He frowned, certain that he was hearing things. He was relatively certain that none of these men utilized musical skills, at least.Or perhaps one of his men had snapped under the pressure? He recalled the sad tale of an old veteran who had claimed that the butterflies spoke to him after his entire century had been killed in battle.

Before he could make sense of the completely out of place realization, he saw the tide of battle begin to shift. Suddenly, the group of orcs that had breached their lines began to slow, some even turning around in confusion. Many even began charging away from the Legionnaire lines toward some other target.

The scout’s eyes lit up with obvious relief as he spoke. “Reinforcements have arrived, sir.”

Just as the man said it, Quintus saw something round the bend. A banner of a fresh century, the Legionnaires beneath it already forming up themselves. They charged at the orcs’ flank, catching them unawares as they continued screaming bloody murder. Beyond it all, Quintus thought he saw the faintest flash of purple as someone dodged behind a rock formation.

The incoming century bisected the orcs before setting up a new front to face either group. One side served to stem the flow of reinforcements as the other relentlessly pushed toward Quintus’s position, crushing the enemy between their own shields and the slowly recovering line that they’d swooped in to assist. Shortly after, more centuries appeared and offered similar relief for the other chokepoints.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Quintus frowned. These he recognized as men that had been with Gaius, but the first group…

He had no idea what the fuck was going on, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by. Before long, they’d managed to shore up their position, reinforcing it even further.

“Primus!” One of the newcomer centurions shouted as he approached, his men having crushed the orcs between them and united with Quintus’s men. “Where do you need us?”

He wasted no time with pleasantries. “In the line. We make one push to take as much pressure off as we can, then pull back and regroup. Go!”

The man nodded, hastening back to his men. Their numbers allowed them to pull back more safely, finally retreating into the narrow passes more fully. The earth manipulators collapsed the paths behind them, stemming the flow further, though the sound of digging and bashing on stone made it clear that the orcs hadn’t yet given up.

He assumed these were the reinforcements he’d been promised, or at least the century meant to rotate out with some of their current men. They couldn’t have come at a better time. But while he was certain they’d have to send some of their own back, he supposed Gaius wouldn’t object to getting a bit of use out of their inflated numbers while they could.

***

The steps of Tiberius and his guards echoed through the marble halls of the mages’ academy, reverberating as though they were populated by manifold more than just their group. Yet despite the size and apparent reputation of the place, not another soul made itself known. The closest he’d come to seeing another living being so far was an occasional flash of flowy robe disappearing around a corner at their approach.

Tiberius normally would have chalked this up to his imposing presence as a ruler. However, for once, he suspected it was not him that these mages feared. It was the elderly man floating along beside him.

“…The amount of mana available to your Legion is, in short, simply astounding,” Grand Mage Claude was saying. “Even without the majority investing significantly in intelligence, the sheer number of men adds up. Why, you lot would be able to put my entire group of apprentices to shame, even if they were able to channel a single spell together at optimal efficiency!”

The Grand Mage hadn’t so much taken over the academy as simply decided to use it for his own purposes. From what he heard, the man had decided that the academy would be a suitable substitute for his usual tower, so long as the Legion’s activities were centered in Novara’s capital. Although “suitable” might have been a bit of a generous term, considering his near constant bemoaning of the barebones equipment and rudimentary state of the facilities. Complaints that had been partially remedied by teleporting in a lot of his own personal items.

Between the sudden influx of what Tiberius could only assume was magical artifacts well beyond anything these mages had ever seen and the terrifying power of Claude himself, it seemed that no one was willing or able to question his sudden residence at the institution. Not that Tiberius particularly blamed them.

The emperor nodded. “Is sharing mana between individuals not something that mages are capable of? Surely there is some way to store such power, at least.”

“There are ways to go about it, but there are also limits. Channeling as a group requires additional skills that are highly specific—ones that limit a [Mage]’s options in other ways and often prove inefficient and cumbersome. For that reason, few choose to specialize in group spellcasting. And while there are materials and artifacts capable of storing mana, there are practical limitations on both their capacity and the rate at which one can infuse or retrieve that energy from a source outside of their own pool. Specifically, Ptolemy’s Constant states that—”

The emperor cleared his throat loudly and gave the mage a pointed look. Claude blinked, his bushy brows rising. “Ah. I suppose it would take too long to explain a hundred years’ worth of progress in mana conductivity research. Well, suffice it to say that even theoretically accessing the amount of mana is impossible to do all at once. Even the usage of [Mana Batteries], repulsive as many find it, has practical limits. They’re typically used to extend a mage’s ability to cast for longer, not empower one’s spells considerably.”

Tiberius listened on with interest. He’d known of course that the Legion’s capabilities were unique. But precisely how unique was an entirely different matter. The further along their mages developed, the more possibilities seemed to open up before them.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he’d convert the entire Legion to a group of spellcasters. That would effectively nullify their advantages, not to mention deprive them of the other various specialties the men had taken up. It was regrettable that not every single one of his warriors would be some walking demigod, capable of hurling lightning and summoning earthquakes with a wave of the hand. Though considering their capabilities so far, perhaps he shouldn’t complain.

They continued walking for a while longer, with Claude explaining both his recent research and the progress of the Legionnaires being trained by his students. Apparently, the learning requirements to become a mage were quite stringent indeed. While the men had managed to acquire all of the necessary skills to form the foundation of a real mage, there was still a significant amount of practice and training before they could make full use of them. The progress was absurdly fast, even by Claude’s exacting standards. But it would take time before they reached their full potential.

They eventually came to a large room with the door standing ajar. Looking inside, Tiberius was greeted with the sight of a half dozen Legionnaires standing under the watchful eyes of Claude’s apprentices. Each held his hands out and muttered something under their breath, causing balls of crackling energy the size of a pumpkin to periodically appear and fill the room with an intense pressure. Then, they’d vanish, only to be replaced moments later.

Claude grinned madly as Tiberius watched. “This is only the beginning—and they’re perfectly capable of sustaining those indefinitely, given their ludicrous regeneration. If you’d like, we can push things even further and—”

Tiberius was already shaking his head. “No. I will not risk my men in the field for the sake of mere curiosity.”

The Grand Mage’s disappointment was obvious, but Tiberius didn’t budge. He had been told about the negative effects of draining one’s mana. The last thing he wanted to do was afflict soldiers in the midst of battle with splitting headaches and nausea without any warning. Already he’d all but halted the reconstruction efforts across the empire until the monster outbreaks were more under control and the war was over. As limitless as the Legion’s stamina seemed, he knew that it had its limits.

He decided to throw the old mage a bone. “Once we stand up an additional Legion, however… Perhaps I would be willing to allow them to participate in some experiments prior to deploying them elsewhere.”

That caught Claude’s attention. “Wonderful! That would be an excellent opportunity to study their growth over time, as well. The elven Legion is a great starting point, but having more subjects is always better. How long do you expect that to take? A day? A week?”

“Longer than that. Though it depends on whether the auxiliaries from Habersville prove adequate,” Tiberius said. The men were on their way toward the capital now, and from all reports they had made some truly impressive leaps in their abilities. Practically all of them had managed to earn the [Auxiliary] class at this point, each with their own specialization attached. But whether they passed muster remained to be seen. As desperate as their needs were, Tiberius would not allow the Legion’s name and reputation to be tarnished by rushing unprepared men into battle. “Though we will either need to train additional mages from that Legion or shift some of these into their number. Assuming they will be able to keep their skills upon switching, of course. That is not something that we have confirmed yet.”

The Grand Mage hummed thoughtfully before a broad grin spread over his face. “Or… there is another option.”

Tiberius got a strange feeling as the man’s eyes lit up with excitement. He continued speaking.

“I’ve heard plenty about your recruitment efforts. Sounds like you’re looking to add more than just these auxiliaries to your number. So…” Claude placed a wrinkled hand on his chest. “How about we revisit the matter of me joining up again?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep