B3 Chapter 66: At an Impasse

Quintus’s gaze sharpened as he looked at Gaius. “Retreat?”

The young Legatus simply nodded. His face remained as relaxed and carefree as ever, though his posture told a different story. “Indeed. What we all expected to be a relatively quick routing of a retreating army has turned into something else entirely. Something that we are not prepared for. This whole skill nullification business is the last straw. We’re pulling back.”

Slowly, Quintus nodded. It made sense. The situation had changed drastically. Before, it would have been an uphill battle to accomplish their objective. But now? It would be a Sisyphean task. One that would require far more time, manpower, and preparation to properly attack. Even if they could manage such a feat, it would be over the course of many years and with no small loss of manpower. Still…

“You seem dissatisfied,” Gaius noted.

Quintus loosened the stranglehold on his pommel. As usual, the boy—no, the Legatus—proved far more insightful than he had any right to be. “My feelings are irrelevant. We have our orders.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Irrelevant? I wouldn’t say so. I would be a foolish commander not to give my Primus Pilus’s opinion some weight. And an even more foolish student not to listen to my mentor.”

Quintus allowed a brief smile to touch the corner of his mouth before shaking his head. “My opinion is one thing. My feelings are another. And my opinion is that this is the right call. Staying here longer will accomplish nothing but diminishing our own numbers and morale while we struggle to chip away at our foe. Retreating will not only allow us to take up more defensible positions but also gather our forces and consolidate our power.”

This war was not the only issue that the Romans had lying before them, of course, far from it. They also needed to watch the populace, put down rebellions and monster incursions, train up additional Legionnaires… All efforts that were already in progress, from what he understood, but ones that could also benefit from additional manpower.

“That being said…” Quintus continued after a moment’s hesitation. “Leaving this threat to fester is risky. If they decide to flood across the border in these numbers…”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The young Legatus nodded. “There are some pretty big issues with the plan. But the alternative is to do what? Throw ourselves at the mountain until it’s toppled? No, better to have them smash themselves against our fortifications rather than whittle us down here.”

“Assuming those fortifications can hold,” Quintus pointed out. “Corwyn Pass is one matter, but the rest of the border? And they certainly have the numbers to assault multiple positions.”

“Again, something we’ll have to handle. And we’re more prepared than you think. Already, our men have made great leaps in the areas of magic and engineering.” Gaius grinned. “If we keep pushing in those areas, then I suspect we’ll soon find ourselves able to take down even hordes like this without losing a single man.”

“Hmph. Don’t get too cocky…” Quintus grumbled. “Underestimating our enemy is why we’re even in this situation.”

“I’m well aware. Though, to be fair, how was anyone to expect things to go this way? Pretty much every aspect of this campaign has gone awry somehow.”

“Welcome to being a leader.”

Gaius’s grin widened. “Good, you do still have a sense of humor. I was afraid you’d lost it somewhere in the mountains.”

He glared at the younger man. “I’ll have more to laugh about once we’re out of these blighted lands. When do we leave?”

“Eager to get out of here, aren’t you? I certainly can’t blame you.” The younger man shifted the helmet under his arm. “We leave in two hours. Just enough time for the men to get some rest. Any longer and we run the risk of orcish reinforcements catching up to us again—at least, that’s what the scouts think. We’ll meet up with the reinforcements on the way.”

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Quintus nodded as Gaius continued. “Once we get back, I plan to talk with the Grand Mage about what we experienced. Someone as old as him is sure to have some insights. As for the orcs… well, we’ll just hope that we’re better at guarding the passes against them than the Novarans were. For now. Until we’re able to take them down once and for all.”

“If we get hit with that ability again, we may not be able to hold the passes,” Quintus observed.

“We’ll stand a better chance of it there than out here,” he countered. “We’ll have other fortifications to rely on. If we can’t hold them, no one can. And besides…” His grin turned wolfish. “Even if we won’t destroy them outright, I think we can devise a way to leave them reeling. Maybe they’ll think twice about trying to invade again.”

The suggestion elicited a brief chuckle from Quintus before he turned serious once more. “We’ll see about that. These orcs are more bloodthirsty than the northern barbarians we faced in the north some years back. If we’re not careful, then the butcher’s bill will come due.”

Gaius rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying that we throw ourselves at them so recklessly, uncle. Merely suggesting an approach. And since when did you become the voice of caution?”

“Since I saw a hundred of my men die,” he responded gravely. “I would be a fool not to advise caution after that.”

The young Legatus grimaced slightly at the reminder. It was no surprise. Whether or not they could have avoided taking those losses was irrelevant. Responsibility for them still ultimately fell on his shoulders.

Sighing, Gaius shook his head. “Well. No one can say that this campaign hasn’t been enlightening—me, least of all. With all of this fighting, I’m starting to really feel like a seasoned commander.”

The words were said lightly, but Quintus could see the hardness of his nephew’s features. He certainly did look older—although the faint wisps adorning his chin told a different story.

He stepped forward and clapped Gaius on the shoulder. “You are indeed. Now all that’s left is to make sure that seasoning doesn’t make you particularly tasty for the orcs.”

The boy barked a laugh. Setting the plumed helm back atop his head, Gaius clasped arms with Quintus and turned to leave. “Two hours! Try and get at least a bit of rest before then, will you?”

He nodded before settling back into a combat stance. He would rest. After he’d finished up here.

Quintus felt like he was on the cusp of something. Some greater understanding that had long evaded him.

As he resumed diligently swinging his sword, Quintus scrutinized his technique. It felt better, now that [Swordsmastery] was active again. Yet that only deepened his frown. It meant there was a discrepancy between his own abilities and what the skill allowed him to do.

That was nothing novel. Skills were meant to help execute one’s actions, allowing them to accomplish feats that they’d normally be incapable of. Whether that was moving more efficiently, fighting with greater fervor, or being able to affect the world in magical ways.Yet the fact that there was a disconnect at all meant that Quintus was still benefiting from this help.

He focused on the feel of the hilt in his hand, the angle of the blade. With each swing, he could just barely perceive the way it twisted, shifting into a position that felt more natural. More effective. He grasped that feeling, observing the results and working to ensure that such minute adjustments came from his own hand, not the System’s. There were plenty of skills whose effects seemed impossible without System assistance, but he refused to believe this was one of them. Even without it, he’d seen himself accomplish feats of strength and swordsmanship that belonged in myth rather than reality. Which meant he could reach those heights again. If only he stopped leaning on this crutch.

He closed his eyes, putting his full attention into the task. It wasn’t just his sword. It was his muscles as well. The slight angle of his wrists, the tension in his arms, all the way down to the soles of his feet, where they connected to the ground. The centurion took it all in, observing. Then, when he felt as though he understood, he pushed the ever-present guiding hand of the System away. With an effort, he worked to suppress his own skills and continued.

The feeling was… odd. The very act of keeping his own skills muzzled distracted him a bit, and immediately, he felt his form suffer. Yet he kept at it. Over and over, Quintus swung his sword, each stroke feeling a bit more natural than the last. A bit more as though the blade were an extension of his body.

“Break camp! It’s time to move!”

The sound of distant voices calling for the Legion to begin their march pulled him out of his trance. Sheathing his blade, Quintus turned to hurry back. Though his other centurions surely had things covered, it wouldn’t do for him to fall behind. Yet he felt… lighter. As though he understood more about the blade than he had before.

Whether the System agreed remained to be seen. But for now, he had a retreat to coordinate.

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