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B2 Chapter 96

  Panta sat in his chair, forcing his body to remain relaxed as he watched the figurines on the map. After most of the night of fighting, the situation wasn't looking good. The dark elves were throwing their army at the city, uncaring about the staggering losses they were suffering.

  Honestly, it didn't make any sense to Panta. A siege was a drawn-out affair that took months to years to do correctly. Rushing it with an all-out attack, while possible, would typically cost far more lives than taking it slow and steady with proper preparation and planning.

  Not to mention that if the attack went horribly wrong, it could mean the destruction of the attacking army. And a city that held a population of three hundred thousand at its peak had a lot of room for something to go wrong, even if that number had dropped to less than fifty thousand.

  Sure, if the defenders were caught off guard and their command structure was interrupted in some form, the attackers could easily sweep away the defenders as they became fragmented pieces of a whole. And if the dark elf plan hadn't been interrupted, calling what would have occurred a "massacre" didn't do the word justice.

  But that didn't happen. The 15th had time to fortify the city streets and knew what to expect. And yet the Letairry were letting their troops flood into a city with abandon, making a chaotic situation that was all but uncontrollable.

  It was like the Letairry weren't even trying, even though they were causing massive damage as they pushed into the city. One-on-one or even one-on-two, a legionary outperformed a goblin. But there were still tens of thousands of the creatures outside the walls of Southtown and perhaps just as many inside. However, most of the goblins were scattered throughout the streets and alleys, fighting in small groups, with their main force pushing down the main boulevard.

  Pulse messages were flying all over the city, reporting conflicts in every ring. Some were begging for aid, others were signaling their advance, and more were reporting large groups of goblins pressing their positions. Keeping track of it was beyond Panta and his staff, even if they had the inclination to do so, which they didn't.

  In reality, it didn't matter how many casualties the defenders inflicted on the goblins throughout the city so long as they held on and kept fighting. Fewer losses on the city's part and more on the Letairry was better, of course, but in the end, the fate of the battle wouldn't be decided within the walls. And in that sense, Panta had colossally fucked up.

  He had underestimated the Lettarry… Or possibly overestimated them, as he expected at least a little planning or a minuscule inclination to preserve their army's strength.

  Even in the times when Southtown was expanding, and no one was overly concerned with defenses, the constructers did take the fundamental precaution of not placing the gates from one ring to the next in a straight line, making anyone moving through them wind back and forth. That meant all of jack-shit for the dark elves and their extensive mining operations.

  Panta's worst fears were realized when most of the slightly over three-mile-long outer wall fell in a single moment. Then, an army they estimated to be sixty thousand appeared out of thin air in ranks a few hundred yards from the collapsed wall and rushed over the debris.

  Even if they took the three Senatorial Guard legions, the Fifteenth, and the not-so-much fish they integrated into the 15th Legion to make a slightly over-strength legion after the losses to the Kin, they would still be outnumbered by at least twenty thousand. The militia could pad the number quite a bit, but they were not well-equipped or in the best physical condition.

  Now, that wasn't insurmountable odds by any means, but it did make things more complicated when he was defending a city without being able to trust the walls or ground, and he wasn't pulling the other legions into the death trap called Southtown.

  The districts within every ring of the city were intentionally secluded from the others and within their own borders, making warrens. It started off for defense but quickly became the norm because those of higher status and wealth didn't want to associate with those in a lower social strata.

  The design made the city easy to defend but just as easy to be trapped in, which was what happened to the 5th and 6th cohorts in the Third Ring. From what reports Panta had, they were each trapped inside a warren within the slums. On the bright side, they were mostly being ignored now.

  As for the 2nd and 3rd cohorts in the Second Ring, they had it better off than the Third Ring, as they still controlled the western and eastern sides of the city, respectively. But they were still somewhat trapped, as they couldn't push out of the borders of their lines without abandoning their area for a massed assault. It would be an all-or-nothing attack, something no one was keen on… well, no one except the goblins.

  The only cohort that still had control of their ring was the 8th and 9th, but the 8th was stuck in the breach, and the 9th was at two-thirds strength after dealing with the thralls. It meant that the 9th was stretched so thin defending the wall and First Ring from the small bands of goblins sneaking in that they wouldn't be able to gather fast enough to challenge anything.

  With two cohorts stationed in every ring and the Prime Cohort supposed to blunt the attack along the main road in a controlled retreat, most of his legion was deployed beyond his means to effectively command. Only the 4th and 7th, and the support from the Senatorial Guard, were left as reserves at the beginning of the night, but by this point, only the 7th Cohort was still within the southern fort.

  While the goblins were a problem, they weren't much worse than a beastkin hoard. Their bolt throwers were an issue, as were the relatively small number of the creatures that were organized and well-equipped, but they could be handled. The dark elves, however, were another matter entirely.

  Their presence turned seasoned veterans into the equivalent of fish experiencing their first battle. In half an hour, a hundred and seven reports came in of one or more legionaries stepping out of the battle line to act independently. And there were even more reports coming in of legionaries focusing on trying to kill a dark elf to the point he let his shield mate nearly die.

  They were inexcusable mistakes that would have any centurion ripping into a legionary. At the very least, the legionary would experience their centurion screaming into their ears until they were bleeding, and they began to understand the extent of their blunder. Once all the legionary could hear was a wet ringing, the centurions would make it their personal mission to beat the lesson into the perpetrator's flesh so they would always have a reminder to look to.

  For all Panta knew, some might even deserve the punishment. But no one would receive it because succumbing to the dark elves' mental attacks wasn't the legionary's fault. It was the fault of their commanders for not developing a training routine that strengthened their mental resistance, which was for damn sure going to be addressed.

  Panta should have expected it. The Kin warned them of the Letairry's psy skills with mental manipulation, and their own experiences with the thralls in the slums were more than enough to confirm the warning.

  However, the thought of the dark elves influencing his legionaries never occurred to him. Certified reavers couldn't do more than give a century inside a union a mild headache, let alone manipulate emotions. His assumption turned out to be a costly mistake and potentially one that could cost him the battle.

  Panta's strategy was as basic as you could get while still being considered a plan. Draw the Letairry in and envelop them. Fundamental as it might be, it wasn't a simple thing to pull off when the highest hill within sight was ten feet tall, so any approaching force would be seen for miles. But that was where the Kin came in, as they flooded the city and surrounding area with fog.

  Was fog common around the Triad? Yes, it bordered two massive rivers, and the days could get scorching in the summer before cooling off rapidly. However, the fog was most common in the rainy seasons, and it was rare for the mist to cover the entire area with a blanket. But it happened, and anyone not looking for a trick shouldn't think twice about it.

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  Panta had the cover, and he drew the goblins in. Everything but the force to envelop the goblins was in position. The only thing holding up the attack was the engineers under Hellieous completing their assignment. All the Triad had to do was hold… but that looked less likely by the hour. Their lines were collapsing too fast.

  The dark elves weren't even trying to secure their flanks in the city by rooting out the cohorts dug in within the warrens. Instead, they made a spearhead and drove through the center, forcing the defenders to the sides before leaving just enough of a force to harass them.

  The losses they suffered punching through the lines were massive, but it was working. Now, all that stood between them and victory were the forces positioned around the breach in the First Ring wall. Sure, there was still the Southern Fort, but Panta wasn't delusional, and he did learn.

  They had a plan to bring down each of the other walls in the city so they would have a way to deal with the fort. Once they poured into the fort and claimed the end of the bridge, the Senatorial Guard wouldn't be able to dislodge them.

  As soon as the goblins realized the threat, they would move into the city and take up the defenses. All the creatures would have to do was hold out until their other forces in the area — which Panta assumed they had — arrived. At that point, Panta had to assume the Kin would step in, and he doubted whether the Triad would survive that purging.

  He wanted to be angry at the Kin messenger's naked threat, but after fighting the dark elves, he could no longer hold onto it. Anything short of total victory was unacceptable when dealing with such monsters. That much was clear.

  The breach had to hold. No, the breach had to hold while the legionaries still had the strength to put the Letairry on the back foot and break their spirit, which meant sacrifice. So the 8th and 4th cohorts fought and died, deciding the fate of the battle.

  When they finally broke, Panta couldn't even be disappointed, as they lasted longer than he thought they would. Instead, he turned to Quineeta, locking eyes with her as he sent, "Is Hellieous ready?"

  Her eyes flickered and glazed over momentarily before suddenly sharpening again as she replied, "It's not quite done, but he said it's good enough."

  "Signal the attack," Panta ordered, his voice stern and level. He turned to the map, looking at the figures representing the Kin and Senatorial Guard forces.

  **********

  Romulla stood in the freshly constructed tunnel, his eyes locked on the back of the helmet of the man in front of him. He didn't think of how this was a new tunnel, and they didn't have the time to properly reinforce it to ensure its stability. Or that it was barely lit with a lantern every twenty feet.

  And especially don't mention that the air felt thick and too warm, and even when you drew in a full breath, you still felt you needed a bit more air. All of those things weren't on Romulla's mind… nope. Not at all.

  Because he was a legionary, and he had been ordered to shut the fuck up by his centurion after a couple hours of enacting his sacred right. Maybe he abused his right by complaining too loudly, but legionnaires weren't meant to fight — or even be — underground. They were supposed to die holding the tunnel's opening, never stepping a single foot past the mouth to hell.

  Regardless of how reality was supposed to work, here he was, taking up one of the positions in the five columns across and twenty rows deep that made up his century. Positioned in their own ranks in front and behind his century were the others making up his cohort, and he would bet his monthly wages that the trend would continue for the rest of the 3rd Senatorial Guard. No one bothered to tell him what was happening, but the gossip mill placed most of the cohorts within the other two Raven Legions lined up around the tunnel mouth, the lucky bastards.

  The talk was also circling around Southtown, and it wasn't good. Whenever someone picked up a pulse message, it was always about a breach in the line or how they were repositioning and trying to regroup while holding back absurd numbers.

  Frankly, no one believed the pulse messages, as the 15th were probably trying to make it look like they were being pressed hard by overwhelming numbers as an excuse for their utter failure. However, the fact still remained, nothing had been good news, which wasn't helping prevent everyone's mind from circling around negative thoughts.

  Really, what was Legatus Hellieous thinking in allowing the training legion to hold the city by themselves? While it might be their home, everyone knew they lost to the fish they were training more than they won. Calling the 15th a legion was an insult, and they were just going to make everything harder as they bumbled the situation.

  Anytime someone brought up moving to support the 15th — primarily out of self-interest so they didn't have to take back the entire city rather than wanting to help the outcasts — they were told to shut up and wait. And so they did, for hour after hour, until finally, a voice echoed through the minds of the legion.

  "Senatorial Guard," Legatus Hellieous sent into the union, "I know word has spread. I myself have heard the rumors of the 15th already breaking. That the 15th's legionaries are sending false reports of the numbers they are facing. But let me be the first to tell you… the army outside the walls of Southtown is as large as reported. While the creatures are unlike the beastkin in appearance, they are as vicious and mindless as those animals. But we are legionaries, and we — and our honored forefathers — have faced countless numbers of such beasts, and no legion, not even the 15th, would falter or break under such a force."

  Romulla's Legatus stopped at that point and let the confusion as to how the 15th was in such a desperate situation if what he said was the case build upon itself. Everyone could feel the curiosity within the Raven's union rise steadily until it peaked, and at that moment, Hellieous started speaking again. "However, while the beasts are mindless, their controllers possess a cunning as sharp and wicked as any politician's. With their thralls, this foe has overrun most of the city by digging caverns and tunnels to collapse the city's walls under the very noses of its defenders, but they haven't claimed the Southern Fort. Not yet. The 15th and those Ravens I sent to support them are still fighting! And they will continue to fight and hold until the last man falls.

  "Why? Why would I send our brothers to die for the 15th Legion? I didn't. I sent them because this enemy threatens the Republic's existence. They will use her citizens, our countrymen, against itself. They will break minds and turn brothers against brothers and children against parents. And to stop this enemy before it can take root, we must do our part! So we will march, we will hit the back ranks of our enemy, and we will shatter them, as nothing can stand in our way! For the Republic!"

  "For the Republic!" Shouted the Senatorial Guard in response, causing the air to crack with the combined voice of tens of thousands.

  "Move! Move! Move!" Roared Romulla's centurion as the ranks of legionaries began marching forward.

  They moved through the intermittent darkness of the tunnel at a quick pace, but it was still minutes before the end of the tunnel began to lighten with an exit. When they finally arrived, Romulla found he was at the base of a ramp with a blanket of silver fog rolling down its surface and into the tunnel, concealing the dirt floor.

  As he reached the base of the ramp and started striding up it, Romulla missed his step and bumped into Bolkpuk's back. He had been too distracted by gazing past the hold and at predawn's dark, inky sky as it seemed to welcome him into its embrace to walk correctly.

  "No chatter, no pulses, no slowing, and one last check of your gear," Barked Romulla's centurion, "Am I understood?" Instead of words, a feeling of acknowledgment from the legionnaires.

  By the time Romulla had stepped onto the wet dirt at the top of the ramp, he had long since entered the curtain of muggy cold mist. Even still, he wanted to look at the swirling forms, but his century was making an abrupt left turn as it continued in a straight line.

  As he silently walked in formation, only able to take a confident step forward thanks to the line of minds that created a path for him, the legionary suddenly noticed the sound of sloshing water lapping against a bank. Given that he could only see two people in any direction, it wasn't the most pleasant sound, especially with how it was growing louder with every step.

  The tension of marching to an unknown enemy through blinding fog with the sound of rushing water growing under their feet filled the union, making everyone wary. Even if they could speak without shouting, no one would have said a word, and it wasn't because of the order. This was not a place where people spoke. It was like they were an army of ghosts forever marching to nowhere, unable to hear their own footfalls.

  "Hold your weapons firm and take a deep breath, boys," Barked a commanding voice that Romulla didn't recognize. His life in the legion had him immediately sucking in a breath and holding it, but the question of why filled his mind after he had a moment to think. And then he felt a tendril wrap around his harness and give a tug forward.

  It wasn't until Romulla felt the sensation of falling, quickly followed by frigid water, that he realized he had just stepped off a bridge and into a river. He flailed his arms trying to swim, and he screamed into the water but found that it was pointless, as the tendril was quickly pulling him through the liquid.

  "You can stand now," said the foreign voice, but this time, it had a hint of amusement to it. "Get up, find your century, and wait for orders."

  Still in his union, Romulla knew precisely where to go, so he got up with whatever dignity he still had and began sloshing through the shin-high water with his soaked clothes, which would take hours to clean properly later, moving toward his centurion.

  With the tension of the mist vanished, Romulla began complaining about his past self's decision to remain part of the legion under his breath. Annoyed as he was at the situation, he couldn't stop a savage smile from appearing on his face or a thrill from running down his spine.

  Soon, their foes will learn why the Senatorial Guard was called the Ravens of Death and begin to fear them.

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