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

Holding the two attackers was proving to be far more difficult than Quintus could have ever believed. Even with three full patrols on top of them, they were struggling. The injury to the dagger-wielding one's leg had healed after she downed some kind of red elixir, and the speed at which she flashed around left everyone stunned and unprepared for attacks from unexpected angles.

The archer, though, was much less of an issue now that they had closed the distance. It seemed that she couldn't use her bow effectively at this range. It was slung over her shoulder as she faced the Legionnaires down with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in another.

Both women were skilled, far more skilled than the pitiful young adventurers that had become his charges. And based on her speed and strength alone, he'd put her against any one of the members of the Legion, including himself.

But skilled as they were, it was still clear that they lacked some level of fundamentals. Their movements were carried by their physical abilities and the occasional supernaturally-aided displays of active skills. For that reason, the battle raged on.

The men grouped together in twos and threes to form a loose encirclement of smaller shield walls. Now that they were out of the trees, most of the men had swapped their swords for spears, hoping to keep the aggressors at a distance in the open clearing. Quintus constantly had people rotating in and out of the loose encirclement whenever there was a gap, focusing on using whatever first aid skills they had available on the wounded.

A few of the Legionnaires had taken various skills like [Bandage] and [Field Aid] and had become quite good at patching up superficial wounds. But at this point, almost everyone was fighting injured. Even the centurions in charge of each patrol were in rough shape, having never left the front lines for a break. But the fact that there were enough men to pull people away from the fight briefly, even if for only a few seconds, was a relief.

"Is that all you've got, you shameless bitch? You strike with all the force of a wet fart!"

The ranger's eyes narrowed at the [Taunt], sending her darting toward the shouting Legionnaire for a precious few seconds before she recovered her wits. He readied his spear to meet her charge. Soon after, another man activated his own skill to send the ranger careening back in his direction.

It was a tactic they'd been developing recently. Ever since their fight with the strange snake-goat-beast, Quintus had realized just how much the Legion struggled with handling powerful individuals—specifically, in controlling their movements. As powerful of a tool as their shield wall was, it did nothing if the enemy could simply ignore it.

Several times, their enemies had tried to make a break for it. But while a [Taunt] had seemingly little effect on the rogue, it was significantly more successful at diverting the ranger. At least, for a short while. But it was long enough. That, plus the observation that the rogue wouldn't leave without her companion, had led Quintus to order their current strategy—spamming the skill at the ranger as frequently as possible, keeping her both within their loose formation and too occupied to run. They were lucky enough to have a few men that had picked it up across the three patrols.

Of course, the rogue could still leap over their heads and attack from behind. That much he'd already seen. But with the way they were controlling the other woman's movements, doing so risked leaving the ranger too exposed. As it was, the rogue had her hands full keeping the Legionnaires off her back—especially the empowered ones from the dead Legionnaire's contubernium. They seemed to give both of the women a difficult time with their supernatural speed and strength.

Their formation advanced and retreated as they continued to battle. Quintus tried to take advantage of each shift through careful maneuvering and positioning, making it so that their enemies' only option was to move closer to Habersville and the camp. But whether by luck or planning, they never took that bait. The pair went out of their way to avoid being herded, even at the cost of remaining stuck.

The situation was incredibly frustrating. On one hand, he was relieved that they didn't run that way. The last thing he wanted was for incoming reinforcements to be blindsided by an enemy far above anyone's expectations. But on the other hand, it would have felt like they were making progress and maybe hastened a reprieve for him and his men.

Just because the pair were skilled fighters didn't mean they didn't take injuries though. Sure, almost every one of their slashes and thrusts ended up avoided. But a few went through. A few times, a soldier even managed to surprise them with a sudden shield bash. The intermittent barrage of sling stones from the back lines also helped keep things in check, though their shots had to be carefully aimed to avoid hitting allies. But they were quickly wising up to the situation. Worse, the rogue had seemed to identify him as the main commander directing this battle. And now, the majority of her attention was focused on him.

He angled his shield to deflect another dagger strike, his shoulder jarring and his forearm going a bit more numb from the slash. What should have been just a small blade hitting a reinforced shield felt like a giant ape had taken a battle ax to his forearm. The fact that he hadn't been flung backwards several times already was only due to the miracle of skills.

The idea that a woman could outmatch him in strength was embarrassing, to say the least. But he couldn't contest the reality battering at his shield. He silently made a promise to himself to train harder. That, and prioritize leveling up his own skills even more. It had become abundantly clear that they were a key part of the fighting style of this world, and too strong to be ignored.

But focusing on them too much might be risky. The more he used and strengthened them, the more he wanted to use them. It was easy to see how those young adventurers had ended up in the trap of overreliance. He'd have to make sure the Legion's training emphasized skill growth, but not at the expense of actually learning the basics and practicing proper techniques.

Quintus was sent skidding backward once more, his [Sure Footing] saving him from tumbling over a root in the ground. He called out another brief order, the few words infused with more intent and meaning than seemed possible due to his suite of command-related skills. His men shifted, seeming to intuitively understand exactly what he'd been trying to convey as they adjusted their formation.

The rogue turned to meet another pair of Legionnaires, exposing her back to Quintus. [Battlefield Intuition]

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The noise must have tipped her off to the attack. One of the rogue's arms bent at an awkward angle to parry his sword with a dagger held behind her back. The positioning was such that the blow should have jarred her shoulder from its socket or at least broken her arm. However, Quintus knew better than to trust his instincts on that front. Not in this place.

The blow still sent the rogue tumbling backward—though rather than the graceless tumble of a ragdoll, her movements were closer to those of an acrobat. One fist planted knuckles-first on the ground as she sprung backward, still holding her dagger. She twisted in the air to flip and land on her feet in a half-crouch, glaring at Quintus.

Quintus slammed his sword against his shield, aiming to keep her attention on him. He didn't have a [Taunt] skill, but that didn't mean he couldn't try and goad the woman the old-fashioned way. After all, if she was fighting him, then that meant she wasn't killing any of his men.

She charged again, and Quintus braced for the impact. They clashed again and again, and the more they failed to hurt each other, the more frustrated the woman became.

"Why won't you die?!"

Her voice held a hint of hysteria as she screamed obscenities at him and his men. Quintus didn't respond. Aside from the occasional command, he remained stoically silent, his jaw set as he focused on keeping the threat at bay.

The archer faded to the back of his mind. He trusted his men to handle her. Instead, he kept his concentration on the enemy in front of him. After the first couple of exchanges, she seemed to do the same. Fresh wounds bloomed across his body as blow after blow rang off of his shield. The men that weren't focusing on the archer did their best to help Quintus, aiming strikes at her back or sending sling projectiles her way. She remained a blur of movement, dodging and twisting out of the way, but unable to truly press her advantages under the onslaught.

Quintus didn't aim to win. At this point, it was fairly clear that a stalemate was as good as they were going to get. His men were taking more and more injuries as time went on and even he was barely clinging to life. He was pretty sure that he had broken something in his shield arm, and his knees felt like were having trouble keeping him upright. He was fairly certain that it was only the influence of [Sure Footing] that kept him standing. But the fact that he did stand seemed to frustrate the rogue even more.

The battle raged on, Legionnaires constantly cycling as they struggled to keep their enemies at bay. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer, and then reinforcements would be here. The men just had to fight, to grit their teeth, to keep each other from bleeding out just a little bit longer.

Quintus didn't know how long they fought like that. It could have been minutes or even hours. But somehow, they held out for long enough.

The first rank of the Legion's reinforcements marched out into the clearing. The long, unbroken row of shields glinting in the torchlight was as welcome a sight as he had ever seen.

***

The effort of keeping up with the Legion's pace soon had Marcus panting. That much was nothing new—he'd experienced much the same trying to catch up after he'd first summoned them. However, the speed at which he ran out of steam surprised him more than anything.

With his level and stat distributions, his dexterity was nothing to scoff at. He could move with astonishing speed when he wanted to. His constitution left much to be desired, meaning that he couldn't always maintain that speed well, but still. It should have been more than enough to handle a short jog like this.

Yet the Legionnaires moved fast—much faster than he remembered. What at first looked like a quick march began to resemble something else entirely the more he looked. The earth around the men's feet seemed to almost blur and smooth as they advanced. It could only be the influence of some kind of skill, though which one he had no idea. Either way, they ate up ground surprisingly fast, and before Marcus could even make it toward the front lines the Legion had already reached their destination.

A massive clearing sprawled before them, its contents only partially visible from the light of held torches. On its far side, around two dozen extremely haggard-looking Legionnaires gathered in a loose encirclement. Marcus recognized one of them as a fairly prominent figure—Quintus, the Primus Piluswho couldn't tell a story to save his life. At the center of the formation were two female figures struggling to fight the Legion off, their movements marking them as dexterity-focused fighters of some sort. It certainly explained why the man wasn't able to land any substantive blows.

Marcus activated [Appraisal] and felt his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. Both fighters, a [Rogue] and a [Ranger]

He couldn't help but gape at the sight before him. Either this [Rogue] had a build so incompetent and poorly optimized for battle that she might as well have classified herself as a [Seamstress]—to put it mildly—or he'd underestimated the Legion's skills even more than he'd initially thought. Not just their skill levels, either, but their actual talent and combat experience.

That conclusion seemed to be supported by the actual fighting before him. While not a fighter himself, Marcus had spent enough time around jousting tournaments and melees to get some sense of what was happening. It wasn't hard to tell that Quintus was hanging on by his fingernails. Yet no matter how battered the man appeared, he continued to move about with uncanny efficiency. His feet always seemed to find just the right spots on the uneven ground and tree roots, while his sword moved in fluid, graceful arcs with every swing. All that told him that Quintus's skill levels were no joke. In fact, they had to be quite impressive.

Marcus shook off his shock and focused on the events before him. He needed to pay attention—not just to Quintus, but the fight as a whole. It was the entire point of him being here. He certainly knew the Primus Piluswouldn't be doing him any favors in the retelling.

The Legion moved forward at a blistering pace. They streamed through the trees in a veritable tide of red and gold, snapping together into a solid wall as they emerged into the clearing. Marcus paused at what he felt was a safe distance from the fight and watched as the hundred men in the first several ranks crashed into battle. The previously wounded fighters fell back and were quickly subsumed into the greater force. Members broke from the charging shield wall to drag their comrades to safety, the gaps filled instantly with fresh men. Only Quintus remained in the fight.

Marcus saw the [Ranger] and [Rogue] react to the incoming reinforcements. The fact that it took them this long didn't speak well of their own talents, though they did seem to have their hands full. Before the Legion could swarm over the pair, the cloaked [Ranger] yelled a warning to the black-clad [Rogue]. Marcus thought her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't recognize her face—and Marcus never forgot a face.

What should have been a fight they could have won through attrition had suddenly turned into a desperate situation. The two women were clearly in over their heads and they knew it. Their panicked faces revealed their thoughts as clear as day—if these new arrivals fought anything like their comrades, then there was no way they could succeed.

The pair's eyes met for an instant as they seemed to come to an agreement—it was time to leave. They made a real effort to get away, darting for a weak point in the wall. One of the Legionnaires shouted something at the [Ranger], causing her to turn aside and dart towards him, but the [Rogue] grabbed her shoulder and began to physically pull her away. She even succeeded, but the delay cost them precious time as the reinforcements began to swarm and encircle the pair.

Marcus tensed, his attention laser-focused on the fight. Who these two assailants were and where they'd come from, he didn't know. But if the Legion hadn't arrived so quickly, they likely would have managed to kill far more of the men fighting them and gotten away with it. But now reinforcements were here. And a thousand more were right on their heels.