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B3 Chapter 24: Heroism and Heresy
🕑 Added 2025-11-26 06:01:21 +0000 UTCB3 Chapter 24: Heroism and Heresy
The ominous chords of Marcus’s voice floated out over the city, drawing attention despite himself. The telltale twitching of curtains and signs of movement in windows revealed the hiding civilians within, curiosity at the situation momentarily winning against their fear.
He put them to the back of his mind. They were not his audience. At least, not the one he was currently interested in.
He landed on a high and sustained note, a dramatic musical climax just as the fighting began. The words had come to him as though in a dream, like the gods themselves sought to use him as a mouthpiece. Yet that couldn't be the case. Not when the extent of his worship was an occasional nod as he passed by a temple or agreement with another’s drunken toast.
No, he was no priest to be controlled by a deity so. This work was all his own. Even if he did regret not pulling out his lute for the accompanying instrumentation. Perhaps he'd be able to add that when he performed the piece elsewhere.
The combatants below appeared unphased by his efforts, but the effects were obvious all the same. The forces of House Aridus fought with strength and speed disproportionate to what their levels would suggest. The level thirteens and fourteens drove into the orc horde far deeper than they had any right too. Even the few higher leveled fighters standing with them exhibited power more on par with a talented adventurer.
The orcs were not so easily cowed, however. They pushed back, green mingling with gold as they took the initial charge and began to fight back.
Marcus continued to sing as the second wave of House Aridus’s fighters—those welding improvised weapons—rushed forth with a battle cry of their own. They bashed into the orcs as they attempted to keep the real combatants from being surrounded. Already the assault had left dozens of orcs trampled underfoot. But there were hundreds more, and Marcus was almost drowned out by the equine screams as the horses were clawed and hacked at.
One by one, the riders were slowly pulled out of their saddles. Marcus sang harder, willing his efforts to bolster the humans further. But there was only so much he could do, only so much they could do. Despite their efforts, the people of House Aridus began to fall.
Just as Marcus began to write this battle off as the doomed venture it had been destined to become, a new sound cut through the din of battle. It was faint at first, but quickly grew in volume. The sound of roman sandals on cobblestone.
His eyes widened in recognition. Marcus turned to see the Legionnaire forces sweep down the streets like a red tide. A small portion of their entire force, maybe only a few hundred at most. Yet rather than approach the ongoing battle, the men kept their distance, staying just out of sight.
Marcus’s heart sank. It was just as they’d done when attacking the city. The Romans didn’t see this as their fight. They would leave the two parties to their own devices, whittling each other down to weaken both without risking their own.
He glanced back toward the desperately struggling Novarans, then toward the impassive Legionnaires once more. His head was already beginning to ache with the telltale sign of skill overuse. But he made a decision. If the Legionnaires wouldn’t get involved of their own volition, then perhaps he could convince them. And Marcus was nothing if not persuasive.
Switching his focus to the newcomers, he began to sing a different tune. One that still spoke of heroism, of course. But rather than defiance of fate in the face of overwhelming odds, this was a tale of rescue. Of protectors swooping in at the last moment.
Perhaps it was a little more altruistic than the Romans would normally act. But who didn’t like to be a hero?
As Marcus’s voice carried across the buildings, he saw a few of the Legionnaires turn his way. Familiar faces. Ones that he’d sat beside at campfires, exchanged drinks and barbs with, graced with a few of his finer songs. Their faces lit up in recognition as he met the eyes of each and every one. He filled his song and look with conviction, doing his best to convey his plea across the distance.
The headache intensified until it felt like his very skull were splitting in half. Before long, Marcus was forced to stop. He fell silent, falling to his knees with gasping breaths. The golden armor that had surrounded the fighters and peasants below evaporated into thin air. The orcs hooted in celebration as Marcus continued to watch the Legionnaires.
They didn’t move.
For a long moment, he feared that all of his efforts had been in vain. Then, one of the centurions raised his shield. “Brothers! Forward!”
With a clatter of metal, the soldiers flashed along the street. A century of around a hundred men condensed into a double column as they advanced, flanking the orcs and pulling some of the attention from the Novarans. They quickly began to form their customary line, a formation which began to interpose itself between the two forces as it stretched across the main road.
The sudden blockade was more effective than a brick wall. It arrested the orcs’ forward advance, causing some of the more impatient ones to boil off into side streets. The small alleys were nowhere near large enough to fully redirect the orcs’ progress. Still, the maneuver had certainly done much to protect the less capable fighters. Though that was not to say that they gave up the fight entirely.
Bolstered by the sudden appearance of reinforcements, the House Aridus forces moved to defend against the orcs now spilling through the alleyways. Yet even there, they found more surprises in store.
The twang of bowstrings thrummed through the air, followed by a veritable light show of skills and magical effects. Small groups of humans appeared at every junction to take the enemy by surprise. Orcs bellowed in pain and anger as spears of stone, hails of arrows, and enchanted blades ambushed them in tightly-coordinated maneuvers.
Marcus watched on in confusion, then understood. Adventurers. Evidently, at least some had stuck around to protect the city. And judging by the lack of aggression toward the Legion, perhaps Eleonora had been successful in her own mission. Or perhaps they'd just decided to face the bigger mutual threat first.
The sounds of the clash intensified as the green brutes hammered against the shield wall. The street wasn't quite large enough to leverage the entirety of the Legion's forces. Yet the number of centurions shouting buffs and bolstering their men certainly helped to make up for it. Yet the orcs were not about to go quietly.
A huge, lumbering brute elbowed his way forward through the melee. He casually backhanded another smaller orc out of the way until he stood merely a few paces back from the Legionnaires’ shield wall. He raised his club overhead and bellowed, the sound echoing across the city like a foghorn.
“Thak says CHARGE!”
The already oversized orc swelled, his muscles creaking as they doubled in size. He rushed forward like a battering ram, heedless of the allies that he bowled aside as his slightly more well-made club swung down.
The air seemed to ripple as the piece of wood made contact with the Legionnaires' shields. Marcus saw the men's eyes go wide as the impact sent them skittering back, blowing their formation in half like a pair of doors being kicked open. Their hobnailed sandals sparked as they slid backward from the force.
The orcs charged forward as the Legion struggled to reform. Only the front lines had been split, but the ranks further back had not been prepared for the front to give way so suddenly. They had to practically dive out of the way as they rushed to form two walls parallel to the road. The massive brute responsible for the chaos cackled, sweeping his club back and forth like a farmer scything wheat. Each swing shattered bones and crumpled the shields of men who hadn't yet rejoined the wall.
Yet what at first appeared to be a devolving situation quickly resolved into something else. The broken and initially shattered shield wall was reinforced and reformed as reinforcements continued to arrive. The wall snapped closed where it had originally broken, except with the orcs having pressed forward their loose formation was cut in half.The rest of the column had begun to come around through the alleyways and trapped the first half of the orcs in a rectangle of shield walls that began to slowly constrict.
Before the orcs knew it, they were surrounded. Those who hadn’t been caught in the encirclement were either fended off by more Legionnaires standing back to back with their brethren or harried by the adventurers that had begun to close in. Meanwhile, inside the box, the Legion began its slaughter.
Swords stabbed in rhythm as the shield wall slowly pressed in from all sides, squeezing the orcs like grapes in a winepress. The massive orc who had broken through the line charged forward again with a roar, He swung once again, undoubtedly expecting a repeat of his last exploit. Yet this time, the Romans were prepared.
As the club swung down again, one of the Legionnaires behind the front lines read from a scroll that had seemingly appeared in his hand. One of the Legion’s half-mages. The man finished the incantation quickly as the wall braced. But this time, their shields glowed with a strange purple energy.
The orc struck the wall, only for the energy to explode outwards. The sheer force sent the orc’s club rebounding harmlessly off the defenses as violently as it had descended. The Legionnaires wasted no time taking advantage of the opening as the backline stabbed forth with spears.
It howled in pain. Growling, the orc reached down to grab at the spears, only to be struck in the eyes with a barrage of tightly-clustered throwing knives and arrows. It flailed about blindly as the Legionnaires continued their butchery, not taking any chances.
“No!” The orc shouted. “Thak… is… strong! Thak will not die…!”
It roared in defiance as blood leaked from countless wounds. Its muscles seemed to deflate with every ounce of blood spilled, each blow growing weaker and weaker. The orc took wounds in the calf, the hamstring, the thigh. Then, as it fell to one knee, more wounds opened in its side, throat and head. Before long, the orc was nothing more than a pile of mangled meat.
The battle continued for a while longer as the Legionnaires and adventurers mopped up the stragglers. But soon enough, the last of the howling battlecries fell silent. The street went still as the final orcs either fell or disappeared deeper into the city.
Marcus groaned, heaving himself to his feet and making his way carefully to the street below. He had to drop the last few feet, and the landing made him grit his teeth in pain. But there was no helping it. Such were the consequences of his actions.
He looked around as he headed toward the Legionnaires where they had gathered. A few bodies were being excavated from beneath the others, showing that the Romans had not escaped the encounter completely unscathed. But the predominantly green carpet that covered the street made it clear what their sacrifice had bought. As did the collection of House Aridus’s forces, many of them alive and well.
The rescued members of the noble house had gathered to one side, tending to the wounded where they could. Many of them eyed the Legion with a mixture of gratefulness and confusion, unsure of what to make of their saviors. The same could be said of the adventuring parties that had begun to descend upon the area.
Marcus headed toward the Novarans, looking around for someone in charge. Marquis Aridus himself would be best, though he wasn’t sure if the man even lived, given that he hadn’t been at this battle. Perhaps one of the [Knights] would know. Either way, this was certainly a situation that would benefit from a diplomatic speaker to straighten things out and avoid any misunderstandings. Although he was not looking forward to doing it without any skills…
“Heretics! Begone from our fair city, invaders!”
Before Marcus had taken two steps, a rectangular prism of golden light struck a group of Legionnaires from behind, flinging them into a nearby wall. Everyone was on alert in a moment, forming up to face the new threat.
A group of individuals stood at the far end of the street, their hands glowing with holy light. Their white robes were embroidered with intricate geometric patterns wrought in gold thread.
Priests—and not just any priests. Priests of Arashim, god of wealth and architecture. The same god whose temple the Romans had demolished back in Habersville.
Comments
Etez
Thx for the chapter :D
