Marcellus grasped onto the hilt of his spatha as he used his shield to block the oncoming blows of the enemy’s thick wooden club. With each strike, he felt as if his scutum would splinter apart, leaving him defenseless. It was only a matter of ti before such a thing was reality.
Despite this, he struggled on to withstand the blows as long as possible, looking for a way out of his precarious situation. While he was resisting the barbarians attacks, a scene flashed in his mind, caused by the impact to his skull he had received monts ago. It imdiately beca apparent to Marcellus that he was having another vision from the gods. For what purpose he did not know, yet in a microsecond, the entire scene displayed itself.
In a large facility with multiple mats, Frank lies on his back. Surrounding him were crowds of people cheering for a variety of grapplers who were competing in a tournant. Standing above him was a man substantially larger than him, who had an eager expression on his weathered face. This man was dressed in peculiar clothing with a black belt that had a red tip wrapped around his waist.
Frank was desperately trying to prevent the larger opponent from passing his guard when an opening revealed itself. Without hesitation, he grabbed hold of the man’s ankle and wrapped his nearby leg around his opponent’s transitioning into a dela riva guard.
The mont he had succeeded in his attempt, Frank clamped his knees together, locking the leg in place, and pressed his hips forward and to the side, dropping his opponent on the ground and leaving him ripe for a heel hook. Frank took advantage of the situation and ripped the submission slowly in order to avoid injuring his opponent. In a matter of seconds, the black belt tapped on him, signaling that he had achieved victory.
Not even a second had gone by, but Marcellus witnessed the entire scene so vividly. In the next mont, he was back in reality, and himself again. He knew now what he had to do. Thus, when the Barbarian warrior standing above him brought his club down upon the Roman General once more, Marcellus dropped his blade, and used both hands to push away the weapon with his shield.
In a defenseless state, Marcellus reenacted the sa move he had seen in his vision, and in doing so, sending the man to the ground lying flat on his back with an exposed heel. Unlike Frank, Marcellus was not so kind and ripped the heel hook quickly and hard, instantly tearing the Barbarian’s ACL. Even if he survived what ca next, he would undoubtedly be a cripple for the rest of his life..
Marcellus took his ti, knowing full well the man would not be getting up anyti soon. He gazed upon the man, who grunted in pain with a shit-eating grin as he grabbed hold of his spatha lying on the ground and walked over to the crippled barbarian. He stood above the hostile warrior with a vicious smirk on his face as he drove his steel blade into the man’s heart.
Blood poured out of the man’s mouth as the light in his eyes faded away, leaving behind a pained and hateful expression. However, this was of no concern to Marcellus as he quickly grabbed his shield and gazed around at the chaos. Currently, the Usurper’s armies were driving back the loyalists, however when he gazed into the distance, he saw his cavalry riding forth, and towards the enemy army. With a wide smirk, he lifted his sword in the air and declared his victory.
“Victory! Victory is ours!”
The traitorous commander gazed in shock at Marcellus’ bold declaration before turning his gaze behind him, where he froze in his spot. Only a few feet away were the loyalist Cavalry who were charging from behind his army. Before he could even react, a sword swiped by his neck and cut off his head. The Usurper’s General Iustinianus was well and truly dead.
In the next mont, the cavalry reached the main line of the enemy and crashed behind them, using sword and spear alike to reap the lives of the traitors and their barbarian allies. Having broken the enemy formation, Marcellus gave out a large battle cry to rally his troops by his side.
“On ! Shield Wall!”
The mont he said these words, the Roman loyalists who were routing just a few monts before ford ranks and pressed against the usurper’s army. Caught in between two ard forces, they cut the traitors to ribbons, not a single soul escaping the ensuing carnage.
After the last hostile drew his final breath, Marcellus wiped the blood which coated his blade onto a slain barbarian’s tunic before sheathing it. He then turned around and gazed upon his soldiers, who wore ecstatic expressions as they cheered for the glorious victory they had achieved on this day.
“Victory!”
“Glory to Ro!”
“Down with the Usurper!”
Marcellus sighed heavily. The cost of victory was steep, but the price was well paid. Constantine’s other major general lies dead in the fields outside Lugdunum, and his army with him. The usurper was bound to be running low on n currently, and that was good news for Ro.
As for Sigefrida, she stood on the hill above gazing at the Roman victory with tears in her eyes, her line of sight had never left Marcellus and his glorious backside as she watched him struggle for his life from afar, a whirlwind of emotions had occurred in her heart just now, and she was relieved to see her master had survived the ordeal.
The Roman General had co so close to death, and yet he survived, and even turned the tides of war. Nothing filled the Suebi beauty’s heart with more pride than this. She did not shed a single tear for her slain kinsn.
As far as she was concerned, her loyalties lie with Marcellus and his household. With the battle over, Sigefrida imdiately ran up to her master and hugged him tightly, before grabbing hold of his helt’s cheek plates and inquiring about his health.
“Are you okay? I saw you get hit in the head pretty hard!”
Marcellus rely chuckled as he assured the woman that he was fine.
“I’m alright, I just got my bell ringed a little is all. With so proper rest, I’ll easily make a full recovery.”
This news brought a sense of overwhelming relief to Sigefrida’s heart as she gazed at her master with affectionate eyes. While the master and slave were reconnecting after a hard fought battle, Lucan approached his General and issued a report.
“Marcellus, though this may appear to be a brilliant victory, our losses are cumberso. I would hardly call this a ti for celebration. If we wish to defeat Constantine and end his rebellion, we will need to be much more careful in how we engage the enemy from now on…
The Roman General sighed heavily when he heard this news and imdiately addressed the issue that nobody wanted to discuss.
“How many of our casualties are from unarmored soldiers?”
Lucan stared at Marcellus in disbelief. He had not even taken such a statistic into account. He could only speculate on this matter, and thus had an uneasy expression as he voiced his honest opinion.
“I don’t know, but I would think it is a vast majority…”
When Marcellus heard this, he sighed once more before revealing his thoughts on the matter.
“Then the survivors should rejoice, for there is an entire army of dead warriors whose armor is ripe for the picking. Have the n scavenge the battlefield and don whatever armor they may co across. I refuse to march unarmored n into the battlefield, even if it ans resorting to such underhanded tactics.”
Lucan had a bewildered expression, but he did not hesitate to nod in his head in agreent before voicing his acknowledgent of his orders.
“Yes, sir! It will be done…”
Just as the man was about to turn away and fulfil his orders, Marcellus called out to him one last ti.
“Oh, Lucan, make sure to scavenge the damaged armor as well. Such things can easily be repaired and re-serviced…”
Lucan stopped dead in his tracks when he heard this before once more responding in the affirmative.
“As you command, General…”
With this said, the loyalist Army would spend the next few hours scavenging every scrap of steel that was remotely reusable. The order to do so was a great point of contention among Marcellus’ troops. After all, discipline was severely lacking in the Western Roman Army during this era, and there were many who were bound to complain about the weight of their newfound armor.
As for Marcellus, he did not care about such complaints. Ro was on the verge of collapse, and if his n dared to protest wearing their armor, he would have them donning their protective equipnt from dawn until dusk. Such undisciplined behavior was perhaps the greatest sin a roman soldier could commit in the eyes of the young General. These were the concerns of Marcellus as he marched his army on a campaign to dethrone a usurper.
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