I Made My Declaration
Our forces and the rebels faced off for a while. During that time, I suffered from the infectious diseases that inevitably break out in the swamps, but I didn't abandon our position and withdraw. This battle was a test of endurance, and the side that tired first would lose.
If we showed we were prepared to hold out to the end, they would have no choice but to retreat. They'd gathered a massive army without proper preparation, so it was only natural.
And the moment they fell back, the initiative would shift back to us.
I pretended to be calm despite the mounting non-combat losses each day, soothing the troops to prevent panic.
After holding out for two weeks, the rebels couldn't endure any longer and pulled out of the swamp. Farmers without any military organization, and barbarians who'd only banded together for plunder—they were never going to have the tenacity to maintain a siege from the start.
Even Cladius's desperate attempt to lure us in was because he knew a war of attrition offered no chance of victory.
With the initiative back in our hands, I immediately sprang into action. I sent the barbarian cavalry to nip at the enemy's flanks, wearing them down further.
Moving the cavalry we'd kept idle during the standoff was meant to plant the feeling that the tide had decisively turned against them.
In sync with the cavalry's assault, we abandoned our swamp camp and pursued the enemy from behind. Of course, we'd kept a safe distance in case they turned to fight.
We made our presence known just enough to keep them on edge, clinging to their heels. My goal was to doggedly circle them, methodically draining their strength.
I figured the hastily assembled enemy's organization and discipline would eventually hit rock bottom. And when that moment came, it would be their end—no question.
But their movements caught me off guard.
"The rebels and barbarians are fleeing north? Do they plan to cross the Briton Wall?"
The Briton Wall marked the boundary between the empire's territory in Briton and the barbarians' lands.
I fell deep into thought at the scout's report. If that was true, they'd be retreating into the northern barbarians' stronghold—a nightmare for us on multiple fronts. Beyond the wall lay unknown territory where we lacked intelligence.
If they were heading for the wall, we'd have to force a battle before they crossed.
'Or maybe this is just to rush us into a hasty decision.'
I sensed this could be Cladius's ploy—luring me into overthinking it.
In the past, barbarians had blatantly left plundered people and goods by the riverbank to draw us in. Knowing we couldn't retrieve them without crossing, we charged ahead without checking our flanks. Repeating that mistake now would cost us hundreds of times the lives.
I put myself in Cladius's shoes.
Cladius, a native Briton noble leading the rebellion. As a cool-headed commander, he might decide to abandon Briton temporarily and head north. But what about his men? Could those ragtag farmers be as detached?
I shook my head.
They wouldn't want to abandon their land and families in Briton. They wouldn't relish fleeing like prey, leaving everything to the "vicious" imperial army that burned homes and fields.
If that was their mindset, even Cladius couldn't easily order a push north—no matter if it was the only path to victory.
'Then they'll have to measure swords with us somewhere in northern Briton.'
Considering the enemy's position, I saw no need to rush.
"Rikius!"
"Yes, sir."
"Give the infantry a rest. Tell Yusifer and Brikin to keep up the pressure, nothing more."
"Is that wise?"
"They have no intention of crossing the wall anyway. If they did, their army would scatter. Prepare dinner."
"Understood."
I watched Rikius ride off to relay the orders, then dismounted.
Rumble.
The next day, as our slow pursuit dragged on, lightning cracked and rain poured down. I donned a rain cape made of straw bundles and moved among the troops, checking their condition.
The soldiers shivering in the downpour looked worrisome. Exhausted from endless battles and marches, they needed special measures.
For now, I had them catch spare horses and brew soup thick with meat. While distributing hot soup and oats, I pored over the map inside a makeshift tent.
'With this rain, they can't cross any rivers. I hear Briton's northern highways and bridges were damaged and never repaired, so they're unusable. That means the enemy can't advance further north and must be hunkered down.'
I stared at the map. Cladius wasn't stupid—he'd have factored in the chance of rain. Or maybe he was waiting for something else.
'Hiberia.'
My eyes drifted to the island west on the map. If reinforcements he wanted came from there, they'd land in a perfect spot. Disembarking at the 13th Legion's base and sweeping south in a wide arc could cut off our rear.
But too many variables for them to have planned that far.
I judged they hadn't calculated that deeply. It was a matter of common sense.
I decided to rest here a day and slowly tighten the noose around Cladius.
But that plan shattered within an hour.
"Sir. Message from Londinium. Massive barbarian forces marching across the southwest Briton plains have been sighted."
"What?"
I shot to my feet, stunned.
If true, my worst-case scenario had come to pass. Before we could return to Londinium, they'd beat us there and set up camp. We'd be sandwiched between enemies front and rear.
'Annihilated.'
I shuddered at this scheme that defied common sense. And it rang a bell—I'd seen this play before.
'Heigirt.'
Only that monster could conceive and execute such a grand design. No matter how brilliant Cladius was, few could orchestrate a plan this massive.
Then the one linking it all—Brikin. Leading our vanguard, he'd connected the enemy networks, making success inevitable.
'Truly magnificent.'
I bit my lip. Sending those 1,500 men without bloodshed must have been to feign cooperation and lower my guard.
The more I thought, the more chills ran through me.
Wipe out the 16th Legion's elites dragged from the continent, plus Briton legions, without dirtying his hands—clearing obstacles for his grand scheme.
Thrust a dagger at our throats without showing hostility. A terrifyingly ingenious plan.
My head spun.
"Sir!"
Rikius rushed over and steadied me.
"I'm fine."
Leaning on his shoulder, I gritted my teeth.
"Shall I fetch Cogol?"
"No. Stirring up a fuss now would just tank morale. Keep this quiet—no one else knows."
"You sure?"
"Of course it'll be tough. But retreating leads straight to doom. I'm no clown dancing to their tune. Rikius!"
"Yes."
"In one hour, march the troops north."
"Understood."
As Rikius left the tent, I reviewed our remaining odds of victory. Excluding Brikin's forces, we had about 7,000 men—not a large number. We'd face over 40,000 Briton rebels and barbarians with that.
Worst case, Brikin's army too.
Still, I couldn't just wash my hands of it.
Thousands of soldiers' lives, the empire's fate, rested on my shoulders.
I wracked my brain with every ounce of experience and wisdom to find a way through this crisis.
The legion chose to advance north. Playing into their plan would leave us fluttering like insects in a web until death.
Better to strike where they least expected. Heigirt and Brikin, having faced me before, might anticipate it.
No regrets either way.
I brushed the cold dew from my shoulders.
"Where's Yusifer?"
"Maintaining four hours' distance. The barbarians and traitors are at a similar range."
"Four hours means they're wheeling around for a southward push. We'll clash by morning at latest."
I unrolled the map.
Two viable battlefields. One: a narrow gorge carved between cliffs. She'd deep cuts in unclimbable cliffs made it ideal— a few could hold off thousands.
But a nearby bypass risked encirclement if careless.
The other: a narrow plain with a shallow stream. Normally favored big armies, but recent rains changed that.
Swamps, puddles, swollen streams restricted maneuvers. Not bad purely on terrain.
Downside: our cavalry-heavy force couldn't shine here.
Both had pros and cons.
After agonizing, I picked the gorge. The plain handicapped our strengths too much.
No matter how favorable the ground, without maximizing our troops' potential, it'd be a slog. I committed to the risky gamble.
Upon arrival, I had them erect palisades along the path and positioned trusted 16th Legion infantry. The 13th and 18th handled the bypass. Yusifer's cavalry would be called at the last moment.
And Brikin.
No orders for the barbarian prince who might have been their eyes and ears, luring us into the trap.
Keeping him in the dark minimized variables, I believed.
As battle prep unfolded, I pondered ways to tip the scales. Something ingenious.
Pacing near the palisade construction, I spotted a beehive in the rock face and froze.
'Beehive?'
A hive. If wielded right, a swarm could be a fine weapon.
I'd struck gold. Recalling how Pompeianus had plagued us with seemingly useless horse dung.
'A good catapult shot, and their front line crumbles. No infantry advances coolly through bee stings.'
I summoned Rikius to gather nearby hives. For a one-shot shock, we didn't need much.
I devised a few more tricks too. Rubbing shoulders with frontier barbarians' dirty cheats had honed my bag of petty stratagems.
As I finalized prep, an endless host appeared beyond the northern gorge. The human tide filling the horizon dazed the mind just to behold.
These were the foes I—and the empire—had to crush.
'Today, I win here. And I'll prove to the world: the empire's eagle never retreats from Briton.'
Gripping my longsword, I glared at the approaching enemy.
(To be continued)