B3 Chapter 8: The Welcoming Party

Quintus watched the incoming charge from behind the Legion's newly erected fortifications. They were relatively simple work, not much beyond the standard defenses they had come to adopt whenever they made camp. There had been only a little time to alter the terrain before the attackers got here. If they didn't want to have to use the camp defenses.

That would have put a lot of things at risk that didn't need to be. While the camp was fortified and guarded, none of the legionnaires wanted to risk their tents getting set alight by a stray spell or something. The camp defenses ideally were never used, but the only case where it was a good idea was defending against surprise attacks that had gotten through the scouts or in terrain they couldn't properly control.

A deceptively dangerous earthwork and palisade lay between them and the enemy, as well as a field of caltrops set to catch any charge that wasn't properly coordinated and ready for them. Other traps that would explode or send shards of daggerlike ice into the enemy forces lay among them to form a veritable field of death.

The scout that had managed to escape warned them of the incoming cavalry—something that made Quintus bemoan their lack of pikes. The longer weapons would prove incredibly useful here. But it couldn't be helped. Their spears would have to do. Though perhaps their smiths could work an extendability enchantment into the next version.

The mass of horses was almost halfway to the Legion's fortifications when the first volley of arrows slammed into them. Quintus couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate the sight. Rather than the dense clouds of black shafts he'd grown accustomed to seeing, this was a singular flat plane of death. The arrows were so tightly coordinated that it sounded like a single massive bow had been fired.

Not only were they so in sync, but this was no simple massed volley. Each elf was tracking their own targets, as if they were firing on their own. If unaffected, all arrows would hit.

As the arrows arced back toward the ground, they found their targets. Explosions, creeping vines, and flashes of blinding light erupted wherever they struck home against the charging enemy. The arrows seemed to unnervingly find the weak points of the enemy, honing in on joints and patches of exposed flesh.

Though the elves' attacks had been imbued with any number of skills, the cavalry had ones of their own as well. The air shimmered as arrows were deflected sideways or shattered entirely against invisible shields. Horses danced about with speed and dexterity that shouldn't have been possible. A few of the more lightly armored riders even made motions with their hands, causing both themselves and their mounts to dissipate into fine mist for a fraction of a second before reforming.

Quintus saw a horse take an arrow to the eye, the beast not even having time to scream in agony before the shaft popped back out. A golden glow emitted from its rider and siphoned into the animal as it healed beneath him. But not all were so lucky. In particular, the vine-sprouting arrows wrapped about their targets, tripping whatever horses were unable to overpower them and pulling riders from their saddles. The result slowed the charge and thinned it out somewhat. But it was nowhere near breaking it.

That would have been too much to hope for. The elves had both their levels and their skills reset only a day or two earlier, and he shuddered to think what the results would have looked like if they had even a month of time to train. The fact that they were able to do this much suggested that the second Legion had distributed a few high-rarity skills from their newly shared pool.

But the Legion's strength didn't come from a strong individual. Rather, their soldiers were each supported by a number of high-rarity skills that not even the best adventurers could dream of. And there were thousands of them. Now the elves each had multiple rare skills. Before there were maybe five rare skills among all of them, maybe a dozen individuals had one or two, spending centuries working on upgrading their crafts. Now, every one of them had that too.

Once they leveled up, like the Legion… Mars help anyone who stood in their way.

A second volley followed close behind the first, this time consisting of more creeping vine projectiles. Yet as he peered between the shields, Quintus noticed something. The elves weren't simply casting a blanket of death over their foes. Each shot was carefully aimed at a particular spot on a particular man or animal. Even more incredibly, despite the level of precision on display, no two arrows ever targeted the same point.

It was as though the archers were coordinating with every single shot. Many times, the effects of the arrows had some level of synergy. Like one that covered a hose in vines that it snapped without thinning, but the second set them alight.

He wasn't sure if it was a skill or a matter of discipline. Perhaps the pointy-eared romans deserved a bit more respect than he'd assumed.

By the third volley, the charge finally managed to reach the defenses. Just as with the arrows, many of the horses were able to dodge and sidestep the caltrops and traps. But others weren't so lucky.

The several-inch-long spikes shoved into the horses' tender pads and caused them to limp, trip, or fall altogether. Many of those who tried to dodge the traps found themselves peppered by shrapnel or blown back by the mistakes of their less dextrous comrades. Between the treacherous ground below and the death above, any semblance of a formation quickly began to falter. By the time they leapt over or crashed through the palisade to take additional injuries, their force had lost nearly all its momentum.

Then, they finally hit the shield wall.

Quintus braced alongside his brethren as the cavalry made impact. Those that hadn't fallen during their approach still hit with a surprising amount of force. A few even recovered in time to accelerate again at the last moment to hit the Legionnaires harder. Spears and lances glowed with the activations of skills doubtless designed to punch a hole right through the line. Yet rather than trample the men into paste as they'd doubtless expected, the wall held strong.

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A wicked grin found its way onto Quintus's face as the Legion's own spears began to take their toll. He felt his own weapon sink into flesh, then yanked it back. The barbed tip pulled a man from his saddle and onto the spear of another Legionnaire, the glow fading from his mount as he died. Quintus instinctively ducked to avoid a hoof lashing above their shields, only for it to slide off of [Coordinated Bulwark].

"Pull back!" Came the shouted order from among the Marquis's men. The powerful words pulled at Quintus, even though they hadn't been intended for him. Seeing the failure of their initial assault, the enemy wisely retreated rather than continuing to push up against the shield wall.

The natives of this world were obviously used to incorporating the System and its skills into their fighting style, and that familiarity extended to large-scale warfare as well. According to the elves, the last proper large-scale battle that hadn't been a glorified melee had occurred during the time of the previous Roman Empire's rule. In general, armies in this world were composed either of small squads of specialized, powerful individuals or barely trained fodder that may not even have combat classes.

They had already faced the latter before taking Hausten. And to some extent, the adventuring party they'd defeated back then might count as the former, though such groups were generally less disciplined and trained in different kinds of tactics. But this would be their first time going up against a true army in this world.

Quintus tightened his grip on his shield. It wasn't hard to understand why the Novarans chose to fight this way. It made sense. It was a natural consequence of a world where individuals could become so powerful as to defeat tens or even hundreds with a single attack. But that didn't mean it wasn't a mistake. After all, the System rewarded their teamwork and cohesion quite handsomely.

And now, they would see the folly of placing personal power above proper discipline.

Quintus counted a few seconds, waiting until the cavalry retreat had cleared the immediate area, before giving the order.

"Pila!"

They didn't use pila anymore, obviously. But the word conveyed what he wanted perfectly. In unison, the back line of Legionnaires switched their grips on their spears. They took a step back, then forward, and hurled their weapons toward the retreating forces.

The spears stabbed into armor and horse alike. Screams of pain filled the air as many of the spears found their marks, the same countermeasures that had stymied the elves' arrows shattering before the heftier projectiles. Now that they weren't charging, it seemed that much of the cavalry lost the protective benefits they'd previously held.

Quintus could see the visible frustration and exertion on the men's faces as they wheeled and tried to regroup. And that was before the spears started exploding.

A series of rapid detonations rocked the battlefield. Fragments of metal and enchanted wood slammed into flesh and armor at several hundred miles per hour. If the enemy forces hadn't already been on the back foot, they certainly were now. Especially as more volleys of arrows sent them ducking for cover.

Still, the charge hadn't been entirely fruitless. The sheer number and magnitude of impacts they'd taken up and down the line left Quintus feeling drained. Whatever skills they'd been using must have been powerful indeed for them to feel any level of exhaustion. After all, these were high-level soldiers with stats, offensive skills, and enchanted equipment to match—as well as some mages, if Quintus didn't miss his guess.

But whatever skills these men boasted, Quintus was certain that the Legion's were better. Not only were their skill levels absolutely ludicrous for their levels, according to everyone they'd spoken to, but their rarities were practically unheard of as well. Practically every Legionnaire had three or four rare skills at least, all powerful and selected for maximum impact as part of a large group.

The opposing forces clearly decided that their current strategy wasn't working. They quickly regrouped, the men rearranging into small clusters as some of the lightly armored riders that had held back previously now took point. But rather than another charge, these men began to launch an assault from afar.

They stood shoulder to shoulder and began chanting, their hands flashing through a series of strange gestures.

"Mages!" Quintus heard Gaius roar from behind. "Brace!"

They didn't need to be told twice. An instant later, a flurry of spells hurtled toward the wall—lightning bolts, fireballs, and showers of needle-tipped icicles. Together they battered at the Legion's shields as though nature itself rebelled against their existence.

Quintus felt his arm tingle, warm, then immediately develop goosebumps. Over and over again, faster than he could even respond, the sensations ran up and down his shield arm as the flurry of attacks was dispersed across [Coordinated Bulwark]. If they had assembled into smaller formations, he imagined that the onslaught wouldn't have left him unscathed. But as it was, their numbers were enough to render even this ineffective.

Yet as the attacks continued, Quintus felt his shield arm begin to freeze up. He gritted his teeth, bracing harder as he felt his shield arm stop responding to his attacks. The assaults of the mages were slowing, but hadn't stopped entirely.

"First rank, switch!"

With a single fluid motion, the front rank of Legionnaires ducked back to be replaced by the brethren behind them. As soon as he was safely behind the fresher men, Quintus frantically shook out his arm. He saw the thousand other men up and down the line follow suit, most letting out some variety of curse to accompany the motion. He accidentally bumped into one, and the resulting shock of static sent them both jumping.

"Fuck!" The other man swore. "What are you, trying to imitate the damn mages?"

Quintus flexed his fingers, which had almost dropped his recalled spear in their numbness. Evidently, [Coordinated Bulwark] wasn't a complete protection from these attacks.

As he recovered and got back into position, Quintus took stock of the battlefield. Simply outlasting them wouldn't be good enough. Not when this was only the vanguard.

They needed to organize a counterattack. They needed to either advance on the enemy's position using the main forces or put some of the more specialized troops to the test. He was certain that some among them would be a good fit for the situation. Perhaps even the mages in training or the duke's men might be able to demonstrate their abilities.

But the matter of how they would approach the situation wasn't his call right now. The Legatuses had command of the field. He just wished that Gaius were nearby so that Quintus could give him some advice.

As the seconds ticked by, Quintus waited for Gaius's orders. This would be the lad's opportunity to set the tone of his leadership and truly start earning the men's trust. But he needed to act now. If he messed it up… well, the enemy ahead may be the least of their concerns.

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