The Collapsing Banner (2)
He's right. In the battles over the past few days, we'd learned things we never knew before.
I felt a fierce camaraderie with my fellow legionaries, and their honor weighed heavily on me.
Abandoning them and falling back was unthinkable as long as I could still walk and grip my weapon.
I moved forward, watching the back of the man clashing his sword against the soldiers' shields to rally them.
I wanted to see that grinning face of his again tomorrow.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
With the beat of the drums, both armies faced off across the plain. Anpianus, mounted on a splendid warhorse, slowly rode forward from the vanguard. Flanked by two officers bearing white flags.
After watching them for a moment, Commander Creper advanced with two of his own officers. There was no need to parley with rebels, but he seemed keen to get a closer look at the situation.
Once the two commanders were within speaking distance, they reined in. They conversed without raising their voices, though Creper occasionally snorted in derision, as if rejecting some absurd proposal.
The talk dragged on for nearly five minutes before Creper wheeled his horse around. As he rode back, Anpianus clicked his tongue in frustration and returned to his lines.
We couldn't help but wonder what they'd discussed.
"You think he suggested surrender, like what that bastard did to our legion commander?"
"No way. The guy's a Praetorian commander. Think words like that would stick with the man leading the mobile field army?"
I dismissed it as nonsense. At most, they'd talked about joining forces or laid out terms for their surrender.
Anything else wouldn't be worth the breath.
Given Creper's rank, his options for proposals were limited anyway.
For a moment, the armies glared at each other in silence, awaiting the order.
A thick tension of killing intent hung between them.
Soon, the commander gave the word.
A mounted messenger relayed it, waving the legion standard as he galloped through the ranks.
I bellowed the order in echo.
"16th Legion! Forward!"
"Hah!"
The soldiers responded with a sharp shout, raising and lowering their shields in unison.
The infantry advanced in perfect step. I followed on horseback, keeping pace behind my men.
"Rikius! Match your stride!"
"Yes, sir."
Rikius slowed slightly, standard in hand. Once our lines aligned with the others, I turned my gaze to the enemy.
Five thousand infantry. Ten thousand cavalry. But it didn't look like their full strength. Internal strife in the interim? Had some broken off, forcing them to commit to battle while retreating and consolidating?
Speculation swirled.
But steel on steel would reveal the truth soon enough.
I raised a fist to the officers marching beside me, signaling our resolve to fight hard today.
The distance shrank to under a hundred meters—the range where impatient barbarians would loose arrows.
Yet the enemy held fire, calmly awaiting our advance.
What were they playing at?
A faint oily stench hit me then—like fat rendered from beasts, sharp and foul!
I scanned the grassland urgently. The earth under our legionaries' boots gleamed dark with soil.
No way?
A grim premonition flashed through my mind.
The soldiers, lost in tension, hadn't noticed the smell, but the cautious officers already sensed something amiss.
"Halt!"
One battalion commander barked mid-advance. The messenger snapped the flag side to side. The legion's heavy momentum halted abruptly.
In that instant, I caught a vile smirk on a distant barbarian warrior's face.
"Fire attack!"
We realized too late. Flaming arrows were already nocked on barbarian bowstrings.
Twang.
Fiery meteors rained down on us.
"F-Fire!"
Each arrow ignited the pre-spread oil, greedy flames slithering outward.
"Aaaagh!"
Some engulfed soldiers screamed, hurling shields and weapons. They thrashed to strip burning clothes, collapsing into the inferno.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The retreat drum sounded belatedly.
I drew my sword and called to Rubiot.
"Rubiot! Rally the front line!"
"Got it. Keep your weapons ready, shoulders to your comrades, fall back. Don't panic if you catch fire—you're the legion!"
Rubiot steadied the panicked men, struggling to hold formation. I ground my teeth at the carnage.
With every licking flame, the line crumbled, dozens screaming. The retreat drum amid the chaos turned the legion into hell.
And the enemy wasn't stupid.
"Rikius! They're coming!"
"Yes, sir."
"Buck loses today. Blame your idiot emperor and generals for your misfortune!"
The barbarians jeered, splitting around the flames to strike both flanks. First wave: cavalry. Close range meant they hit fast—barely ten seconds before mounted savages slammed our withdrawing side.
"The Empire is eternal, the legion unbreakable! Long live the Ran Empire!"
I roared, severing one charging barbarian's neck. Our men pivoted swiftly, shields locking to absorb the impact.
Boom!
Horseflesh met shieldwall with a horrific crash. Men who lost grip were trampled; barbarians who failed to breach flew into our spearpoints like skewered meat.
We'd spotted them coming, buying seconds to brace—we endured the first shock.
As we held like a stubborn wall, the barbarians veered aside.
But rear ranks faltered. Screams ahead, retreat orders—they panicked, slow to react.
A gap tore in the shieldwall. Cavalry thundered through like a clear road, trampling our infantry across the plain. Disciplined foot excel in maneuvers, but once broken? No chance.
12th Legion. Imperial Mobile Field Army. Empire's pride in decline—but not strong enough to reverse the unforeseen.
Foolish Creper.
I couldn't help blaming the commander.
His strategy wasn't wrong. Enemy abandoning the city, thousands of barbarians fleeing—signs of division.
Or some looping to raid 16th Legion territory, so he rushed to end it quick and reinforce.
Either way, he'd underestimated them briefly, hastened battle.
Had he tested with just Alpinus's legion instead of all, we might not have shattered outright.
We were routed.
Yet I commanded with all I had—to survive, to safeguard the 16th Legion standard our comrades had preserved.
"Rikius! Left flank's wavering! Drop the standard, grab a shield!"
"Yes, sir!"
I took the standard, weaving through ranks, bellowing.
"Don't slack! They're ten times our number. Pause, and their spears fill the gap, take our heads. Hold like flint—you're the legion!"
Soldiers grimaced under shield pressure but swung with desperate fury.
I glanced rearward.
Damn.
12th Legion's standard already tottered. Even with Alpinus intact, its fall meant doom.
Thud. Thud.
Drums faded—the drummers overrun.
If 12th collapsed...
Mobile Field Army wouldn't hold. With one wing gone, they couldn't last.
Sure enough, standards beyond flickered and fell. The whole army caving.
Then.
Decision time.
With the full force crumbling, rigid legion maneuvers meant nothing. Now, survival was individual.
I sought Rubiot.
"Rubiot!"
"Still kicking."
He swung wildly amid the press, replying.
I raised the standard toward the enemy-flanked side.
"We break that way. Field Army's collapsing. Carve our escape before it's too late."
"Think we can?"
Most flank barbarians had looped behind, but Anpianus's legionaries advanced slowly into the gap.
"We can. Saw Kopidon's standard shifting rear earlier."
I spun false hope—for the men's ears.
No such standard existed. Pure morale boost.
"Right. Cavalry could do it. I'll lead."
"Count on you."
I staked my fate on Rubiot, comrade of a decade-plus. One good hand or not, he'd fought valiantly.
"Alright! Scary barbarians passed. Now just Anpianus's girls hiding behind daddy. Scared of women?!"
Rubiot joked, rallying them.
"Haha. Girls? I'd lay ten low—in bed, anytime."
"Filthy bastard. Charge!"
At his word, men boldly stepped forward. Facing horsemen faltered. Good—death stared us down anyway.
I eyed the enemy: five hundred of Anpianus's closing.
Double our number.
But we'd clawed through death's door multiple times lately. Quitters would've rotted already. No bending to those.
"Charge! Thrust and stab!"
"Kyaaak!"
Screams nonstop.
Many failed-breakthrough barbarians littered our front.
But repelling them let Anpianus's second wave close. Mock them as girls—they were legion too.
My grip tightened on the standard.
As stragglers ebbed, Anpianus's men charged with fierce eyes. Shields clashed heavy; our line buckled, earth gouged.
"Hold! Hold!"
Rubiot roared, but numbers and stamina crushed us. Still, men clung tenaciously.
"Wheel shields! Thrust!"
I swung the standard, shouting. Men twisted left, stabbing the gap. Dull thuds on enemy shields.
"Close up!"
Shields snapped back as enemy blades scraped over.
Then Rubiot bellowed.
"Push!"
"Yaaah!"
Exposed blades—our shove toppled several.
Unlike green foes, we'd mastered vulnerability from brutal lessons.
Despite odds, their line dented. We exploited, shoving hard. Enemy tumbled, exposing soft core.
"Rikius! Breach it!"
Rikius and six tall men plunged the rift bravely.
"You're no legion, you traitor scum!"
Rikius's thunderous voice severed two necks. Gap yawned too fast for defense—sitting ducks.
Blood-masked, he rampaged lion-like.
"We're the 16th Legion—true Empire guardians, not Anpianus's ass-lickers!"
Men's morale surged at his fury, unleashing all. Two lines, then three crumbled. No room to draw shields or defend—packed dummies toppled.
Slaughter sowed panic. Inexperienced imperial template—fragile.
Centurions slipped back first.
Officers fled, men followed.
One step became two in sync, slower ones headless.
Desperation accelerated retreat—their front utterly broke.
Yes!
I hailed our miracle-makers.
Damn right—you magnificent bastards. Proud to command you. We fought true to 16th tradition. Golden Age ancestors wouldn't blush.
Chest swelling, I passed the standard to an officer, drew sword.
"Commander's taking point!"
Men roared fiercer. Leader side-by-side in the fray—priceless boost.
Yes. Brothers in fate, trusted comrades.
I led the swing; enemies wilted. Their officers fled; ornate battalion chief upfront signaled end.
Weapons dropped in rout. I raised my sword high.
"Waaaaah!"
Victory cheers amid defeat—discordant triumph. Anpianus, watching leisurely, face twisted sour.
Bastard. Bet that tastes bitter.
We'd lost overall, but my gut eased.
Barbarians won, but main legion force—partially routed by us, half their number.
Anpianus's pride in tatters, naturally.
I brandished my blade flauntingly, then ordered Rikius to march double-time. We'd won a skirmish, lost the war. He had reserves, cavalry ready.
Glancing at disintegrating allies, I turned away. Grim, honor-preserved massacre ended thus.
(To be continued)