Dominus Invictus: The Unstoppable Advance
Thus, Dominus Artorius strode forward alone and caught a flying spear with one hand.
“What the...”
“That guy's insane.”
“He caught a javelin with his bare hand?”
Among the ranks of the surrendered men at the forefront, Drustanus had gratefully been granted the rank of centurio. To fulfill his duty—to shoulder the responsibility of the one who had essentially sparked this war—he had stepped forward, vowing to fight with all his might under the Magister Militum. But even to this young warrior, who had scarcely seen true combat aside from shaking off pursuers from Vortigern and King Aril alongside Isut, it was clear that the martial prowess Dominus Artorius displayed was beyond imitation.
[Bang!]
[Thwack!]
“Whoa—”
“Wow.”
“Even a ballista from the walls of Isca Dumnoniorum wouldn't be that slow...”
“Did you see that? That huge barbarian's torso just exploded.”
“Gruesome... A pitiful death.”
“Fitting for those scum. Ptoo! May the Lord curse them all.”
“Artorius Invictus!”
“Invictus!”
They had already seen the Magister Militum spar once on the opposite side, and now these comrades of Drustanus—who would stake their lives alongside him under his command—gazed at Dominus Artorius's might with a chill running down their spines, their faces slack with awe. Then, when someone bellowed Invictus with vigor, they all chorused in unison, standing ramrod straight as if they themselves had been struck by those javelins. Drustanus found the sight mildly amusing. A force so overwhelming that every enemy they faced surrendered without a fight. He'd never even heard of such a thing in the old tales.
“Now!!”
Having boldly dispatched the enemy champions, the Magister Militum cried out, shining like a mythic hero. The first to react were the heavy cavalry at the front of the line.
[BWAAAAAAAAAM---!]
“Ave Artorius! Pro Avalonia!!”
“Ave Artorius!”
“Equites! Io triumpe!”
[Snort! Whinny!]
[Clop-clop-clop—thud thud thud thud-]
The heavy cavalry, clad head to toe in heavy armor, thrusting their long cavalry lances forward to cleave the wind, charged forth with hoofbeats that shook the earth itself—like a potent incantation made flesh. Beneath the blazing sun, as the riders thundered toward Artorius Invictus, who stood alone raising his massive club and gleaming like the sun, the sight was too majestic for reality. Drustanus nearly dropped his shield and spear to pray.
“Ch-charge!!!”
[BWAM--!]
[BWAAAAAAAAAM---]
The successive blasts of the cornu snapped Drustanus back to reality. He wasn't the only one stirred by the spectacle; belated war cries erupted from warriors here and there, their eyes wild.
“Uwaaaah!”
“Yaaah!”
“Charge! Dumnonii! Charge for Artorius!”
“Victory! To victory!”
[Thud thud thud thud-]
A different, earth-shaking vibration followed the heavy cavalry's thunder. From left flank to center to right, Romano-Briton warriors surged forward, eyes fixed ahead. To those familiar with Roman tactics, it was unfamiliar—but the savage instincts buried in Britannic blood responded to the thick scent of blood.
“Uwaaaargh!”
Leading the charge with his naturally swift legs and strong arms, Drustanus couldn't contain the blood rushing to his head. He hurled off his helmet, letting his long hair whip in the wind. With vision stained red as if drowned in blood, he spat the pent-up rage from his chest like flames and flung his cumbersome spear with all his might.
[Whoosh!]
The javelin arced high, sailing past the heavy cavalry already carving through enemy flesh. With so many barbarians, it had to hit someone.
[Shing-!]
With that thought, Drustanus drew his longsword in a flash and leaped into the gap the cavalry had opened, cleaving down on a pale-faced barbarian's head.
“Caer Cadwy!”
[Thud!]
“Urk!”
The iron longsword, mass-supplied from Londinium, was pure Roman make: sturdy, reliable, high quality if not the finest. Perfect for killing barbarians.
“Cadwy! Cadwy!!”
Calling on his ancient ancestors to steel himself, Drustanus's blade danced wildly.
[Thud! Clang- Thud!]
“U, uwaaaah!”
“Yaa!”
His senses sharpened, his mind locked solely on the foe before him, blotting out all else. Block with shield, slash to sever spear shafts, bat aside clumsy swings with the sword hilt, thrust, bash with shield if parried.
[Stab!]
“Aaaagh!”
“Yaaah!”
Lost in battle's frenzy, young Drustanus fought on, oblivious to his slowing body. After felling three armored barbarians and two unarmored ones without respite, a glint from his blind spot caught his honed senses—a spear tip he couldn't possibly block.
Damn—
Could he survive yielding his side? His mind, fully attuned to the battlefield's flow, raced, time dilating as thoughts flooded in. Just as he resolved to die with the enemy, raising his sword high—
[Crunch!]
...!?
[Whoosh-]
The barbarian's eyes bulged wide before his head exploded, blood spraying high with a delayed wind howl.
[Drip drip-]
“Eh—”
“Who fights so bravely? If not Dominus Drustanus himself!”
[Crunch! Swoosh— Thud! Crack!]
Like a stern father smashing mischievous rats with a club, barbarians crumpled, flew, and shattered under ceaseless swings from above, side to side.
“Hahaha! I took you for a mere woman-thief! Never dreamed you'd be such a fine warrior! Still, if you don't want to die to a blind stroke, wear your helmet properly! Here! Catch!”
[Crack! Thud! Smack! Snap! Whoosh-]
The man bashing barbarians while tossing his own helmet to Drustanus was none other than Dominus Artorius. Hidden by the cavalry, where had he gone? Fighting at the vanguard like this? The Magister Militum of Britannia?
[Thump]
“Th-thank you! Dominus!”
[Snap!]
“Polite amid this chaos? You're no normal one either! All the better! Fight on! Drustanus! Seize glory at my side! Hahaha!”
[Thud!]
“Gaaahhh!”
“Hah!”
[Smack!]
“Squeal—”
“Shut your traps!”
[Snap!]
“You barbarians!”
[Thud!]
“Filth!”
[Splat!]
“Just face me!”
[Crack-]
“Directly! You can't even squeak! Damned!”
[Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!]
The sprawled barbarians wailed piteously, their bodies grotesquely twisted. Alive or not, death was certain—better to die instantly by offering their heads than suffer clumsy dodges. Dominus Artorius's club work was merciless.
How do you fight someone like that? All the harsh lessons from Caer Cadwy's drillmasters and his lion-like father lost meaning.
Bow. Archery or crossbow's the only shot...?
He'd caught and returned a javelin barehanded—no, that wouldn't work. But if facing him meant certain death, feigning battle from afar with arrows might save your skin.
[Thump-]
Drustanus jammed the still-warm helmet from Dominus Artorius onto his head and cinched the strap tight. Battle frenzy receded, reason returning swiftly.
“Is that all? You dared land on the coast guarded by this Artorius with such feeble might!? What an insult! I'll slaughter you all to spread my name!”
With the embodiment of battle madness ahead, no room for half-hearted frenzy. His body heavy as soaked cloth, bruises and cuts accumulating, but he couldn't stop.
“Ave Artorius... Artorius Invictus!”
Calling on his ancestors' name, supplanted by the one newly etched in his soul, he chased the lone warrior's back amid blood and blinding sun. Strength surged back into his weary flesh. Staring at that massive back, confidence filled him: he could go anywhere.
Discarding madness for faith, his blade no longer relied on brute force alone.
[Slash- Slice!]
“Agh!”
[Stab!]
“Guhk—”
At last, he truly grasped every technique learned: footwork, shield, sword, angles, speed, power, rhythm, numbers. Training coalesced, reforging the clumsy warrior into a fine soldier.
Less effort needed now. No mimicking madness to catch the distant Dominus Artorius. Just steady, one step at a time—Drustanus's best, following the sun-like warrior.
“Artorius! Invictus!!”
[BWAAAAAAAAAM---]
As battle madness faded, the young soldier awakening to battlefield ecstasy heard beautiful melody. Cornu blasts resounding everywhere sang of victory.
“Britons! Pursue to the end! Spear reversed and kneeling, or die! Press them!”
“Yaaah!”
Dominus Artorius's booming voice pierced all din, met with fervent response. A simple order. Swift march, no rest, seize momentum, relentless push. The sequence etched new lessons in Drustanus's mind. Like the medium infantry around him, eyes wild, he shouted, charged, thrust—yet his keen mind pondered endlessly: How to fight like Dominus Artorius?
[BWAAAAAAAAAM---!!]
-----
“Whew—”
Looks like you had quite the romp.
Three days since fleeing the sudden storm that hit Londinium. Though a swift departure, the journey took time. Galbaginus eyed the distant fortress.
This was a fortress a day's sail up the river north from Isca Dumnoniorum—two days on foot, but reachable in one by boat. Sticking to the coast meant no rowing skill needed; just endure the sweat and bilge stink. For all their small, shabby boats, the barbarians proved useful.
...Fine, I'll admit it. Very useful.
“If I can smell blood from here, it's my imagination, right, Centurio?”
“I smell it too. Looks like the battle's over.”
Obviously, no blood from the distant fortress could reach this river. A nearby fight might explain it, but the fortress stood pristine by the bank. And look at Avalonia's banner on the tallest watchtower—immaculate. So the Magister Militum had won decisively some distance away.
“A big victory, by the looks. Let's hurry.”
“Aye, Centurio. Hear that!? Row harder, you louts—no slacking!”
“Decanus, we can't speak so to the Centurio... but aren't your two arms idle right now?”
“You dare mock sacred military discipline...!”
“Decanus, you row too.”
“Sir! Centurio Galbaginus!”
Having swiftly quelled the senior decanus, Galbaginus's gaze crossed the calm waters to the bustling fortress in the distance.