Traitors (2)

The battle dragged on into its second day. The enemy didn't throw everything they had at us all at once; instead, they dragged it out into a war of attrition, chipping away at our stamina bit by bit. In a fight like this, nothing mattered more than water, but our legion's supplies had run dry long ago.

I let the men drink from their horses' blood to quench their thirst, but it was only a stopgap. By tomorrow, exhaustion and thirst would push us to the brink. And if I were Heigirt, that's exactly when I'd launch a full assault.

I licked my parched lips.

"Here they come again."

I gripped my weapon reflexively at the enemy's war cries. This had to be their sixteenth attack. Hell, I could barely remember how many waves we'd endured.

"Yaaah!"

The barbarians charged up the slope, bellowing. The ditch was now filled with their dead, making the ground almost level with the plain. Our soldiers, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fighting bone-deep fatigue, raised their shields.

"We didn't take up arms to steal from others. We took them up to protect our tomorrows, our families, our lives—our world. Eagles of the Empire!

"We're not fighting for gold alone. The fate of the entire Empire rests on our shoulders. Hold out just for today!"

As the battalion commanders' encouragements rang out, the barbarian vanguard slammed into our lines.

A thunderous crash echoed as weapons met shields.

"We're being pushed back!"

A decurion bellowed, and the men in the rear rushed forward to brace the front rank's waists. Once we gave ground, there was no stopping the numerically superior enemy from pouring in.

"Don't drop those shields!"

I roared at the soldiers on the verge of letting go under the onslaught. They strained to absorb the impact, but we inched backward anyway.

If not for our elevated position softening the blow, we might have crumbled in one go on flat ground.

Fatigue was a silent thief, gnawing away at our strength invisibly.

Still, we have to hold.

I could only pray the men endured.

Then, a watchtower on the left flank teetered and collapsed.

"Damn it all!"

The curse escaped my lips. Losing one tower wasn't catastrophic, but to the soldiers watching, it was like a mountain crumbling.

"Rikius! Take charge of the palisade sector!"

"Yes, sir!"

The young officer drew his sword and dashed toward the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breach. Legionaries hurriedly rebuilt the wall, but it wasn't enough to stem the flood of barbarians surging through the gap.

Like an angry wave, the barbarians pushed our men back step by step, creating an opening for dozens, then hundreds more to swarm in, weapons raised.

"Gosu! Sound the drums!"

"Yes, sir!"

I ordered the drums beaten to steady the legion.

But the enemy, sensing victory, pressed for the kill. Heigirt wasn't a fool; he'd see it through now that he had the chance.

Across the palisade and ditch, countless barbarians massed like a black tide. We were already struggling against those in front of us—this was hopeless.

Damn it.

I clenched my fist.

As a commander with a sense of responsibility, I'd done everything right. I'd minimized mistakes, never underestimated the foe. But our own betrayal had undone it all.

Still, I couldn't just sit idle.

Thousands of men were risking their lives right now, fighting because they trusted me—the 16th Legion. I couldn't give up until they did.

I bore the legion's name.

"Excellency! The north flank's breached. We can't hold much longer."

Boviarus, commanding the upper sector, sent a messenger. I nodded.

"Get to the front lines."

"Yes, sir!"

I sent my bodyguard detail into the fray.

I drew my sword.

Plink.

A raindrop hit the blade's flat.

Rain?

I looked up in shock. While we'd been locked in combat, dark clouds had swallowed the sun.

Plink, plink.

Splat. The drops kissed my lips. I licked the sweet rainwater and balled my fist.

CRACK-BOOM!

Thunder rolled, and the scattered drizzle turned into a downpour.

Whoosh!

The torrent stunned friend and foe alike.

But it favored us absolutely.

This was the sliver of hope from the heavens.

"Yes! Rain!"

Soldiers gulped the downpour mid-fight. Those swaying on their feet rallied as their thirst eased.

The surprise storm had an unexpected bonus: barbarians charging up the slope slipped and tumbled in the mud, their formations collapsing into chaos.

Seeing it, I raised my sword high and bellowed,

"Eagles of the Empire! The heavens—the war god Mars—fights with us! The gods demand our victory! Kill the barbarians! Charge!"

"Waaah!"

The gods fight for us!

That cry ignited them. Unbelievable after our desperate stand moments ago, the men summoned superhuman strength. Caught off-guard by our counterattack in the rain, the barbarians fell back.

Their late-arriving reinforcements tangled in the rear, turning their army into pandemonium.

"Kill the barbarians!"

We became raging lions, shoving them down the slope. Easier going downhill than up, our momentum crushed their resistance. Packed front to back, they couldn't even swing their weapons.

Legionaries bashed the helpless foe with shields, speared them, slashed them. Barbarian officers tried to restore order from behind, but it was hopeless chaos.

Fix one spot, and the front panicked and fled; flanks tangled and rolled!

No general alive could salvage that.

A sudden deluge!

The unforeseen rain reversed the tide.

But it was our legionaries' grit that seized and exploited it.

They hacked down barbarians indiscriminately, sweeping down the hill.

Heigirt belatedly readied cavalry, but the mud-churned ground from the torrent blunted their charge.

He knew it too; the horsemen were just a gesture to deter pursuit.

The barbarians fled the hill in panic. I let the men chase to the base, then blew the horns to recall them.

This was an unforeseen triumph.

Nearly a thousand barbarians lay dead in one spot. Factoring in the attrition war before, over ten thousand total.

CRASH!

Lightning cracked, as if blessing my victory.

I climbed onto a shield held by a few men and shouted to the legion. I declared,

"This is our victory! Proud Eagles of the Empire!"

The legionaries chanted my name, fists pumping.

"Ain! Ain! Ain!"

"I'm proud of you all."

In that moment, no soldiers had ever filled me with such pride. An unbreakable foe in Heigirt.

Unthinkable betrayal. Amid the worst conditions imaginable, they'd won—under a commander as flawed as me.

Saying it, my eyes burned.

"We're the 16th Legion under your command, Ain!"

I stepped down, clapping shoulders.

Heigirt withdrew west. Despite the defeat, his host remained vast. But barbarians were morale-driven; a loss made rallying hard. The depleted pastures nearby helped too.

We rejoiced in victory but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn't get complacent. If Heigirt regrouped and counterattacked, we'd be annihilated.

I hurried the legion across Ruahr Valley and retreated.

Evasion was key, but pursuing the traitor Velius—who'd fled to the Empire's heartland—was too.

Find him, sever his head, dry it.

But I can't just chop it off on sight.

Velius was Praetorian Prefect. Killing him before he openly rebelled in the capital would corner me.

The Senate that appointed him wouldn't stand for it.

Strike when his treason is ironclad.

Delicate, but necessary. I was a political novice without allies. One misstep, and impeachment would end me.

I marched south along the highway to Libitus, halting at the Empire's border to rest. I dispatched a letter to the capital via fastest ship: 'Suspicious Withdrawal of Praetorian Prefect'.

While awaiting reply, I bought horses and supplies from local merchants and sent couriers to Bellgorod.

But caution proved unnecessary.

The Empire's response arrived days later, shocking.

Crumple.

I crushed the letter.

So Velius and the Senate had plotted rebellion from the start. How else could they elevate him before he even reached the capital?

I hurled the crumpled parchment.

His elevation meant Baccus was dead. Emperors served for life—no resignation. Only death removed them.

Now, I had two choices.

One: Submit to Emperor Velius, present myself in the capital, and accept his judgment.

Two: March the legion on the capital and sweep away the traitors.

No contest.

Had Velius simply murdered Baccus and claimed the throne with Senate backing, I'd have sworn fealty. I cared for the Empire's order, not the man.

But he'd betrayed us—fed the legion to barbarians. Beyond politics, it was betrayal and insult to the Empire and its eagles.

Even if the Empire fell today, better die fighting than live under those who fed us to dogs.

That alone preserved the pride and honor of we eagles, who endured silently for the Empire.

I trampled the missive and faced the officers.

"Velius has been named Emperor."

"What?"

"That traitor how?"

"And they summon me to the capital. So I will obey."

"Excellency!"

Rikius cried out in alarm.

I raised a hand to silence him.

"With the legion, of course. Brothers, I'm drawing steel on the cur crowned today. Speak now if you object."

"Object? Even if you became Emperor, we'd cheer!"

"We've followed only you across battlefields. The government's orders mean nothing."

"Excellency! Just give the word."

I nodded to them.

"Then let's go. Show the capital's rats the eagles who guarded the frontier aren't powerless spectators to their schemes. We'll hang the false Emperor who betrayed the legion from the city square as offering to Mars."

"We follow only your orders!"

"Our Supreme Commander, command us!"

The officers knelt, shouting.

I gripped my sword tight, returning their salute.

(To be continued)