For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion

The forest around Quintus and his patrol remained dark and eerily quiet. The night had long since lost its youth, the sun having set several hours ago. Back at camp, he knew, most men would still up around the fires or working by candlelight in tents before settling in for sleep. Despite that, It wasn't yet time to rest. Not for him.

The Primus Piluswas tired—not that he let it show. He'd been up early enough to greet the sun as it rose, and now had seen Sol's chariot retreat below the horizon. But such was the life of a centurion. Always vigilant, always on duty. The best of the best. It was one of the reasons that he was afforded certain privileges and better pay. As such, they could never show weakness to the men. It would be unacceptable.

And so, Quintus found himself on night patrol more often than the average Legionnaire. Far more often, considering that he was the first centurion. Leading by example was even more important in his case. He was the centurion to which all other centurions would look to—an example to them as they were to their men. That wasn't official doctrine, but it explained why he was out in the woods so late, even when he was beginning to suspect he might be getting a little too old for this.

His grip shifted on his torch, illuminating another section of treeline. The forest was too quiet, and it was keeping him on edge. Every other time he'd been out here over the past week or two, the place had felt alive, even at night. Even as the shadow panthers began to give the camp a wide berth. Only the shade slingers had ever really quieted its usual activity, and in quite a different manner than this. The silence felt ominous now. Just the wind and the rustle of the leaves—no birds or chittering of strange insects in the trees.

The silence and the slight chill in the air put both Quintus and his men on edge—to the point that the sound of a horn cutting through the darkness was almost a relief. It wasn't the first time a patrol had sounded the alarm to request backup. Normally such events were borne of an abundance of caution more than anything else. Oftentimes it meant that someone had encountered a panther or two, and the team wanted to play it safe rather than attempting to handle it alone. It was all in line with established doctrine.

Quintus quickly mobilized his patrol to assist, signaling to the neighboring patrols to take over their portion of the forest in the meantime. His group moved toward the source of the horn at a fast trot. They were careful not to make too much noise—though the additional padding they'd added to muffle their armor only did so much—but prioritized getting there quickly and in fighting shape. Still, Quintus remained relatively unconcerned. Alert and ready for trouble, but not expecting much.

But when they arrived, the sight before them gave him pause.

Another patrol occupied a large clearing that spanned a couple hundred paces wide. They'd been pushed back to one of its edges and divided in half, seeming to struggle as they were kept on the back foot. But it was their opponent that truly surprised Quintus. It was a single woman, clad in dark clothing and wielding small daggers in each hand.

Quintus blinked at the sight. A single person had managed to scatter an entire patrol—a woman, at that. Yet in the fraction of a second it took to absorb the scene, he realized that something else felt off. This wasn't the full picture.

Quintus formed his men up into a line. Standard tactics dictated that another patrol, one immediately behind the one in trouble, would also come to assist. Given the layout of the battle, they were likely already moving into position and coming in from behind, around the position of the hidden second attacker. Maybe they'd catch the archer if they were lucky.

Confident in his comrades, Quintus turned his focus to the dagger-wielding woman. With an order, the wall began to march forward, ready to engage the enemy. He saw her eyes flick toward them as they approached. At the same time, Quintus saw the rain of arrows cease as the other patrol managed to engage the archer and cut off ranged support. The once-hidden figure, clad in a dark cloak that seemed to shift with the shadows, was forced deeper into the clearing by another shield wall.

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Before Quintus and his men could join the fray, the dagger-wielding woman changed tactics.

Without warning, she vaulted over the patrol leader, plunging a dagger deep in his neck. The short blade tore out the front of his throat before anyone could react. The man collapsed to his knees with a soft burble as she sprinted into the clearing toward the archer.

Quintus wasted no time, immediately signaling one of the man's comrades to see if they could save the wounded soldier. He knew the odds were slim—the pool of blood rapidly expanding around him didn't leave much doubt that he'd be dead in seconds—but they had to try. They had to. To the remaining fourteen men, however, he gave a different order.

"[Taunt]s if you have them! Advance! Keep her here!"

Quintus led the charge as they began sprinting after the retreating knife-wielder, trying to turn her attention back toward them with their skills. Unfortunately, she proved far faster and more resilient than expected. Each step seemed to widen the gap between them, her legs practically blurring with speed. Still, she was heading straight toward their comrades. He doubted she would be able to pull away too far in the handful of seconds it took to sprint there, and for now, their priority was to keep her in sight. She wouldn't escape. Not after this. Even if they didn't catch her now, it was only a matter of time before she was run down.

A sudden feeling slammed into Quintus like a physical blow, pushing its way to the forefront of everything else. It didn't take long to recognize what it was. It was a feeling all too familiar to any soldier, especially one as experienced as him. Loss.

He grit his teeth with determination. He didn't have to look to know that the man behind him had died. He knew it as certainly as if he'd personally seen the light leave his eyes. Despite all they'd seen, all the challenging foes they'd faced, that was the first man they'd lost since coming to this strange land.

Now, it was his job to make sure they didn't lose another.

A flash of movement caught Quintus's eye to the left. The patrol mates of the fallen Legionnaire rushed forward in pursuit of their target. Only, they moved as though their feet had grown wings. They bounded past Quintus and his men with astonishing speed, moving far faster than they had any right to, allowing them to quickly outpace him and his patrol to close in on the attacker.

Quintus didn't have time to consider the strange phenomenon. Not in the heat of battle. Instead, he quickly adapted, splitting his patrol in two. He sent half of his men to the right flank while he led the other half to the left. They spread out wider, preparing to back up the original patrol ahead of them. Its men were now shouting rather uncharacteristically as they charged—mostly about the women's mothers and their profession of choice.

Seeing the difference in speed, one of the men he sent to the right took the initiative. The soldier stopped running, stabbed his sword into the ground, and picked up a stone to load into his sling. A high pitched whirring filled the air as he quickly built up speed with the weapon, followed by a loud thwap. Quintus saw the lucky shot connect with the sprinting woman's thigh, just above the knee as she ran.

The woman went tumbling from the impact. Her momentum carried her forward, however, and she managed to turn the stumble into a roll and come back to her feet in an instant. Though it didn't stop her entirely, the recovery had slowed her down considerably. Her next steps also appeared a bit more uneven, as though she had a new limp. Quintus allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction as the slinger reloaded, even as his next shot smashed harmlessly into a tree.

Quintus made a mental note to commend the man for his quick thinking later. Recognizing good judgement on the battlefield was one of the better habits he had developed. Tiberius said it was the mark of a good officer to find and nurture the talent of others, and the appreciation of his men certainly seemed to support that.

Tucking that thought away for later, Quintus and his men managed to advance far enough to surround the pair of attackers. The third patrol had successfully prevented the archer from escaping outright while the supernaturally-fast patrol moved to engage the dagger-wielder. This time, she was the one being pushed back. His own men curved around the sides to complete the encirclement. To Quintus's surprise, he saw that the archer was another woman who bore a striking resemblance to the first. Perhaps they were sisters? Or maybe this was yet another example of the System's magic bullshit that it seemed so fond of.

Whatever the case, the pair were surrounded. As the dagger-wielding woman backed toward the archer, they once again changed tactics in an attempt to escape. Together, they made a dash for one of the slowly closing openings in the circle. The men moved quickly to intercept the move. Though they weren't as fast as the pair, they had the advantage and managed to cut them off. A quick flurry of blows rang out as daggers and arrows met shields, the sound echoing through the clearing.

Quintus pulled the horn from his side and blew three long blasts. They needed more reinforcements. Without hesitation, he issued new orders, changing up their tactics. For now, they just needed to hold on and avoid losing anyone else.