Note from Kanuro5: I apologize that it took me nearly a month to update this. But I finally attained a summer job literally the day after my last chapter I added and it has been keeping me busy. But I digress-here is the second part of the battle.
XIV
The Battle of Praxus Hill Pt. 2
Main Road
Although Lucius Julius had prevailed in the first aspect of the battle, his youngest son Vitus was unaware of it for he was on the main road along with the 300 Thracians of the Auxilia and a contingent of barbarian cavalry on the right side of the hill to protect the flank. If any enemy were to get passed him and his men, they would climb up the hill and attack the legion from behind. Vitus knew what his task was and what he had to do, but at that moment his mind was at two places at once.
For the past half hour, he and the rest of the Thracians could hear the battle of Praxus Hill from the main road. They heard the thunderous echoes of both Roman trumpets and Germanian horns, the indistinctive shouting and cheering, the confusing din of screams and weapons clashing against shields and the ominous yet distinguished screams of those being killed. From on top of his horse, Vitus felt an unmeasurable sense of fear and hopelessness, not knowing what was going on in the main battle and if his brother and father were alright.
Vitus stared at the peak of the hill from the side that was obscured by the forest and bit down on his bottom lip, wondering why did everything fall silent. He wanted to send a messenger up the hill to receive news, but he recalled his father's orders to only send a message when the enemy is to attack. But then, a Roman rider came galloping from the back of the main road towards Vitus, from the way he came, the rider most likely came down from Praxus Hill.
"Commander, I have news from General Julius," the messenger saluted the young Roman.
"Speak, what has come from the fighting?" Vitus asked, hanging on the edge of his mount.
"The Germanians have attacked the legion, but the Twenty-Eighth have repelled them with relative ease. We have suffered light to noticeable casualties, but have inflicted upon the barbarians drastic casualties in their first assault; easily in the thousands! As we speak, a lull has occurred and the Germanians are preparing for a second assault."
"How is the General? And the other Commander?" Vitus asked.
"They are fine, the enemy has not reached them."
Vitus breathed a sigh of relief. "That is most fortunate news. Thank the Gods."
"Commander, the General inquires of the situation here. Have any enemy soldiers been spotted?"
"None, the road is quiet. Tell the General that I have sent forward scouts in the forest to spot for any enemy movement. This road is quiet, no Germanians have been encountered as of yet."
"Thank you for your report, Commander," the messenger said as he bowed to Vitus, "I shall return this news to the General with haste." As the messenger galloped away, Oroles moved through the ranks and approached Vitus.
"What news does the rider bring?" the veteran Thracian warrior asked.
Vitus smiled at the thought of the message, "The Twenty-Eighth are winning the battle, my father and brother are well, and the legion has inflicted heavy casualties upon the Germanians, probably in the thousands."
"Such news is always well-received."
"It is…also there is a lull in the fighting and the barbarians are going to make another assault at my father. I pray to the Gods that he will be fine."
"He is surrounded by his best men, nothing will take his life with ease," Oroles reassured the young Commander. "But as of this moment, you must stay your attention here, you are here to lead us."
Vitus lightly scoffed at the notion, "To 'lead'; you are the Auxilia Commander, you will have more of a plan to utilize than I. I am just here for moral value."
"Why do you degrade yourself, Vitus? You wanted this chance to lead us and now you find yourself in this opportunity, yet you plague yourself with much unneeded doubt? You will lead the entire defense, I will deal with the men in fighting off the enemy and you will deal with implementation of strategy. Does that sound fair?"
"Yes, I guess it does, gratitude Oroles."
Germanian-Held Forest
As his army was still out in the field waiting to assault the Romans on the hill, the Germanic king, Cunovindus, approached a prestigious Germanian captain, his son-in-law Diomac, and bestowed him the task of destroying the Auxilia forces. Out of all the captains in his army, Diomac was Cunovindus' favorite—and it was not because he was the king's son-in-law. The 27 year-old Germanian Captain was one of the most feared warriors in his tribe; at the age of ten he already had killed his first man when an enemy tribe raided his tribe, at the age of 13 he had slain a bear with only a knife and an axe, and at the age of 17 he had led a raid with ten men on a Roman outpost camp that contained a century and personally slain 23 Romans—including the centurion. Standing at 6'5 with flowing golden blond hair, Diomac wore the armor of the centurion that he killed in the raid as a trophy. Diomac repainted the crimson of the armor with a darker burgundy color, tore away the crimson cape, and removed the flamboyant crimson crescent plume on top of the helmet. He was one of the very few Germanians in the battle that wore full armor.
"My dear son, Diomac," Cunovindus muttered warmly as he amiably placed both of his hands on Diomac's heavy shoulders, "I have a task of vital importance that only you can accomplish."
"Tell me what it is, Father, and I will see it done!"
"As you are aware, those fucking impudent Romans have repelled the first attack and it seems that they will not break. So I have come with the idea of flanking them by crossing the road that will lead behind their hill. But yet the Romans set up guards in the form of their Auxilia. And I need you to destroy them with your thousand men. What say you on this matter?"
A cruel smirk rose on Diomac's face, "I say that Woden will drink happily from their blood." Cunovindus chuckled approvingly.
"A beautiful answer, my son. I am fortunate that my daughter had requested you for a husband! Now, once you kill every Roman on that road, send a messenger to me and I will send the Brittonic cavalry to support you and you will personally lead the flanking attack uphill."
"You honor me with this glory, Father," the mighty Germanic warrior said as he bowed to his kingly father-in-law.
"The glory and honor is yours, Diomac. Now hurry and be off, slay many Romans!"
Diomac mobilized his warriors and moved out well in the confines of the obscure forest so that the Romans from the hill could not see the flanking move. As Diomac's men moved out, Lugotorix walked up to his captain, Ermanar, with a special mission.
"My king, the Germanians are moving to the road, should I move our cavalry as well?" Ermanar asked Lugotorix.
"No that will not be necessary. I have a special assignment for you. You and two men are to follow behind the Germanians as they travel on the road. When they meet the Romans you are to stay in the forest and be obscure as the shadows, and make sure that you are not to be seen by the Romans. You are not to attack unless you are under attack and there exist no opportunity for escape, your presence is merely to observe and report. Are my instructions clear?" the Brittonic king asked.
"Yes my king; scout the battle and relay the result," Ermanar answered back.
"Good. Now follow the men and remember to be hidden and not to engage."
Ermanar stirred his horse and ran to gather two men to accompany him. Once the men were gone, Lugotorix casually strolled up to Cunovindus' side. Both of them were silently starring at the Roman formations on Praxus hill. They could see the two parallel lines of Roman legionary infantry that extend from the edge of the forest on the left to the edge of the forest on the right. Behind them was a more scattered line, which consisted of archers and an assortment of men cladded in green. Behind that third line was undeniably horsemen, and in the middle was most likely Lucius Julius the Mighty, the mortal enemy of all those who are deemed "barbarians."
"That ravenous bastard is probably laughing at me right at this very moment," Cunovindus snarled to Lugotorix, with his eyes fixated on the hill.
The Brittonic king made a quick sideways glance, "What do you plan to do about it?"
"I will attack him again…with a larger wave this time."
Lugotorix softly sucked his teeth, he eyed the Roman cavalry and hopefully thought that he was also eyeing Lucius directly. "You are aware that, that Roman has already repelled an attack before?"
"It makes no difference; this attack is a cunning distraction to divert Roman minds from Diomac's flanking force."
"Do you really believe that "Diomac" is capable of destroying the Auxilia that guards the road?"
"I am as sure as Donar is the God of Thunder. He is one of my finest warriors and he will emerge the victor. Even if all of his men flee, Diomac is the man who will charge the enemy by himself. He will never rout and will always fight. That is Diomac."
"I see…I place my faith in your decision. Now Cunovindus, about Julius?"
"He will die by the end of this day." Cunovindus whistled for his stallion and mounted it with renowned pride and trotted out of the forest to his waiting army. He looked at his warriors that came from the dozens of ferocious tribes of Germania; despite the Germanians taking horrendous casualties from the first assault, the men designated for the second wave still had the carnivorous, impetuous bloodlust in their eyes for Roman blood.
Cunovindus trotted in front of the army and shouted at them, "We will commence a second attack! Once you close in on the Romans, continue to press forward to see advantage ours! Retreat is not an option, not one step back! If I spot any warrior attempting to flee, I will send arrows to rain upon him! Cowardice is rewarded by death! Now go forth and wreak havoc on the Roman lines, we will win this battle!"
The Germanian army cheered wildly, still excited to see that their king was still motivated to fight; as long as a Roman was standing, there was always a reason to fight. The Germanians in the second assault—numbering 4,000 warriors—marched towards Praxus hill, eager to have the chance to kill Romans.
Praxus Hill
"They come at us again, only in larger numbers," Cassius pointed out to the General as he looked down at the approaching second wave.
"The result will be the same as before," Lucius confidently stated, "For the elite legionaries are now our new frontline. They will cut the barbarians down in droves."
The messenger that Lucius had dispatched to Vitus had come galloping back to Lucius. "General, I have returned from the main road and spoke with the Commander."
"And what news did he reveal?"
"Commander Julius has reported that the road was quiet, no barbarians have been sighted. He has sent out forward scouts to scout any barbarian approach."
Lucius took a sigh of relief, "Stand-by for further service when I call upon you."
"Yes, General," the messenger saluted and walked off to the side.
"It seems the Germanians truly only think with their axes," Antonius chuckled.
"Which will turn into our favor as we funnel them to their doom. Proculus, give Cadmus command to fire arrows unto the second wave," Lucius ordered his eldest son.
"Yes Father…Cadmus open fire on the Germanians, do not stop until they are right on top of our soldiers!"
Cadmus complied with the order and shouted the command to his 250 archers under his command. They quickly yet delicately placed their arrows in their bows and pulled the string back and leveled the bow to a sharp 50 degree angle and fired. 250 arrows blanketed the sunny, blue sky and came down on top of the Germanians. And like the previous wave, the Germanians fell screaming as Roman arrows tore through their unarmored bodies. Those who were fortunate took an arrow to the skull or directly to the heart, which killed them instantly. Those who were most unfortunate—were crippled as the arrows pierced their legs, knees, and feet, or worse-castrated. And as they fell to the ground, they were violently trampled to death by their own unaware comrades.
The Archer Auxilia would continue to fire nine more volleys until the Germanians were right on top of the Roman line. But before that occurred, the Germanians reached the hill slope and began climbing uphill, savoring the thought of dead Romans. Cossutius calmly moved up to the first line and went into the center of the line, where his original cohort—the 1st Cohort—belonged. Cossutius looked from side-to-side into the grizzled, experienced eyes of the 1st Cohort legionaries, he knew he did not have to say any words of encouragement to keep their morale high. To them this was another day of their profession, and they were going to enjoy—far more than they should.
Cossutius blew his whistle and the seasoned men of the first line locked their shields together tight as a tick. Cossutius blew again and the men grabbed their pila and leveled them against the climbing Germanians. Cossutius himself did not have any remaining pila, so instead he just pulled out his Gladius and pointed at the Germanians instead and blew his whistle once again, signifying the entire line to cast their pila into the barbarian horde.
Over a thousand pila soared through the frosty air, impaling Germanians by the hundreds as their bodies viciously jerked backwards from the sheer velocity of the deadly javelins. Those that did not die instantly fell to the dirt screaming as they clutched the protruding javelin that was stuck in their stomachs, chests, arms, or legs. The pila did their job and disorganized the Germanian charge, but only for a moment—regardless of the dead and wounded, the barbarians continued to sprint up the hill.
Cossutius blew his whistle again, the legionaries removed their swords and held them at the ready. The Romans tightened their shield wall and strengthened their stance and kept their eyes glued on the individual Germanian that was charging for them. The tired men of the second line who had fought against the Germanians first were anxiously looking on the elite legionaries and wondered if they would fare the same and survive against the much larger wave. But to the elites who were out front staring at an endless horde approaching them—the thought of failure and death not once crossed their mind.
The men of the Fourth, Third, Second, and First Cohort have been with the Twenty-Eighth legion the longest; they had done it all and have seen it all. They have fought against worse odds than this and against better trained and by extension—better led, warriors than these Germanians. There was nothing to fear here for the elite legionaries, especially when the Mighty Three were in the front ranks at the center of the line with the rest of the First Cohort. Aelianus, Metellus, and Arminius stared into the mass of barbarians and each of them withdrew into the depth of their minds.
Arminius, a strong legionary that was a pure-blooded Germanian—yet was a citizen of Rome for his father served in the Auxilia—was going to be fighting against his own blood, his own kin. But that did not phase Arminius in the least. To Arminius, he himself was a full-blooded Roman, he had no barbarian kin and believed he held no ties to the accursed Germanians. He was Roman, that was all, and he would not hesitate in using his sword to send these animals to the afterlife.
Aelianus, who was between Arminius and Metellus, kept an unflinching stare at the incoming Germanians and gripped his sword tighter. He knew it was foolish to underestimate a Germanian in battle, just as it was foolish to underestimate any warrior in battle. Even though he was the best legionary in the entire Twenty-Eighth, he realized from years of experience that one error on his part or a stroke of luck from an inexperienced enemy can be the difference between life and death. He knew that too many men of the legion looked up to him and he would not fail his brothers, nor his general. The Germanians would not claim his life. That he had guaranteed.
Metellus stared down the enemy as well, but unlike his comrades, he cracked a prideful smile at the approaching Germanians. Then the smile quickly transpired into a low chuckle, and then into a boisterous laugh. Thousands of barbarians attacking him and his comrades, a thousand men that they can send to the afterlife. And why shouldn't he? It was his nature. Metellus was an orphan and was raised in the army. His skill and ferocity led many to jokingly say that he was the son of Mars and Bellona. But as time went on and he slain hundreds of men and as he grew to love the feeling of killing in battle, Metellus actually grew to believe that he was the son of the gods. That he was invincible. And as the son of the God and Goddess of War; it was only fitting that he slay as many men as he could.
"Arminius!" Metellus called.
"Yes?"
"I would have our wager resume," Metellus casually said, "100 denarii and five jugs of wine for the first one to slay 50 barbarians."
Arminius had to nonchalantly think for a moment about the wager between him and Metellus, even though the barbarians were moments away from attacking them. "The wager is sound, Metellus," Arminius said with a light chuckle, "But there are thousands of barbarians, let us make the death toll to 100. Does such adjusting sound fair?"
Metellus met Arminius' eyes with pure delight, "I accept! Now that is a fucking wager!"
Arminius smirked excitedly, "Great, first one to 100 kills!"
The Germanian axemen and swordsmen were within yards of the Roman line, swinging their weapons to-and-fro bellowing at the top of their lungs. "Brace!" Cossutius shouted to his experienced soldiers. The Romans took a deeper stance and clenched their swords tighter.
"May the best Roman win!" Arminius said to Metellus at the last second.
Metellus cockily scoffed, "I plan to."
The 4,000 Germanic strong horde collided with the thousands of steel Roman shields, emanating a terrible crackling of thunder during a typhoon as Germanic bone clashed with Roman steel. But unlike the inexperienced second line that bended from the initial shock of the charge; this experienced first line held their ground on the slope. They have endured so many shock charges in the past that they knew how to properly brace for an impact, even with their line spread dangerously thin against overwhelming odds. And with one very timed push, the Romans in the first ranks shoved the Germanian front ranks back. And this is when the lopsided butchery began.
The bellies of the unarmored, scantily cladded Germanians were met by the steel tips of Roman swords that would eviscerate their organs resulting in nearly instantaneous kills. Barbarians fell to the blood-coated grass, clasping their wounds and shrieking in agony as they fell. The Romans struck hard and fast, making sure every stab, thrust, hack, and slash was fatal; but none were as more precise as the Mighty Three of the First Cohort.
In the center of the line, the three legendary legionaries were striking down barbarians with brutal efficiency. Metellus had already slain four barbarians alone and laughed as more and more Germanians came charging at him. As one Germanian came running at him with his knife drawn, Metellus simply extended his arm and thrust his Gladius straight through the Germanian's throat, severing the spinal column at the neck.
"Five!" Metellus shouted his kill count exuberantly. Metellus removed his sword from the fallen barbarian's neck and was faced with another attacking barbarian. Metellus lunged his blade into the man's chest, piercing his heart and slaying him instantly. "Six!" Metellus withdrew his blade and prepped for the next warrior who carried a large double-bladed axe. The Axeman slammed his heavy axe against the boisterous Roman, yet Metellus raised his shield and protected himself against the blow. As he brought his shield down, Metellus drove his blade through the bottom of the axeman's jaw straight through his skull, with the steel tip exiting from the top of his skull.
As Metellus removed his sword—through some determined effort—he let out an obnoxious laugh and turned to face Arminius—in the midst of battle no less. "And that makes seven! I have already slain seven men, you Germanic-Roman bastard!"
"Only seven?" Arminius replied, too focused on the barbarians in front of him to face Metellus, "You are late for I have already slain eleven barbarians myself!" Metellus' smile vanished.
Metellus peered down and at Arminius' feet was a two foot pile of barbarian bodies lying on top of each other. Metellus' eyes quickly glanced through each body and he counted eleven dead Germanians. Eleven! Fucking eleven! The son of Mars and Bellona…the "demi-god", the son of Mars and Bellona, losing to a FUCKING Germanian-Roman?! Metellus bit down on his teeth and gnashed them together with a furious mix between jealousy and anger.
Seeing that the furious Roman was staring off into space, a Germanian barbarian charged with his sword drawn at Metellus. But Metellus—without even looking—backhanded the charging Germanian with his shield using all his strength; sending the barbarian flying back. Metellus stepped out of rank and drove his sword deep into lying Germanian. For the next several minutes, Metellus and Arminius had their own personal competition to achieve a higher body count.
"Nine! I am catching up!" Metellus cried, hacking away at a barbarian's jugular.
"Thirteen! Not fast enough!" Arminius replied, driving his sword through the abdomen of a barbarian in front of him.
As Metellus and Arminius continued their banter, Aelianus who was in the middle of them was at his limit with his casual comrades by his side. They were treating this battle as a joke and it infuriated Aelianus. He knew that pride led to casualness and casualness quickly made a man sloppy, and sloppiness was going to send you to the afterlife. If Metellus and Arminius grew sloppy than so would everyone else. Aelianus made a decision to settle this childish matter.
Aelianus stepped out of rank of the center of the line and advanced a few yards ahead. As Cossutius ordered him to get back into line, a Germanian swordsman came forth at him. But before the swordsman could do anything; Aelianus performed a quick 360 spin and using all his strength, sliced the swordsman's head clean off his shoulders. The Germanians who saw this were stunned to see their comrade's head soar through the air and at first they did not know which Roman caused it—all they saw was a head flying. But a Germanian carrying two daggers who witnessed the decapitation, charged Aelianus recklessly. Aelianus skillfully blocked one dagger with his shield and sliced off barbarian's other arm at the forearm. The barbarian cried out in hysteria.
Aelianus sprang, and he plunged his sword deep through the armless man's scrawny neck, severing the tendons in his neck and the vertebrae as well—causing the man's head to roll off his shoulders. A third barbarian came at Aelianus, but the mighty Roman hid behind his shield and absorbed the blow from the Germanian's axe. While still behind his shield, Aelianus extended his arm and stab the Germanian in his left knee. As the man dropped to his bad knee, Aelianus stabbed him again, this time in his chest. Aelianus retracted the blood coated steel blade and once again spun around and beheaded the kneeling and wounded barbarian with ease, sending the wild-haired man's head to roll down the hill amidst the other fallen bodies and dismembered body parts.
A frightened lull occurred, but it was only at the center of the line where the First Cohort was. The lull only lasted for 15 brief seconds. Both the Germanians and the Romans were so stunned at what Aelianus had just done that they stopped fighting and looked on at him with disturbed eyes. The Germanians had never seen anything like it, nor did the Romans—one man decapitating three men within five seconds. Aelianus stood up and looked back at the silent Romans and gazed at Arminius and Metellus. They knew who the best legionary in the Twenty-Eighth was.
Main Road
Vitus turned his head towards the direction of the hill, the sounds of clanging steel mixed with the sounds of shouting and cursing reverberated in the air.
Vitus sighed. "It would seem that the Germanians renewed their attack," he told Oroles who was by his side.
"Yes, it does…are you still worried?"
Vitus paused before answering. "I still am, although there is no reason for such concern to be present but I have the feeling in my stomach that not knowing wh—."
"Commander! Oroles! Our scouts return!" Ligadis, the second-in-command of the Thracian Auxilia, shouted back to the ranks.
Vitus looked from on top of his horse and witnessed his three Thracian scouts returning on foot, sprinting as if they were being chased by demons. The scouts made their way through the Auxilia forces and presented themselves towards Vitus, gasping for air.
"What have you to report?" Vitus asked the exhausted scouts. The lead scout stepped forth and gave his report.
"Commander…we bear news of Germanian movement!"
Vitus gulped loudly. "How many?"
"Easily…easily three times our numbers!"
Vitus could feel his stomach twisting into knots. His heartbeat began to escalate, a nervous shudder crawled down his spine, and he began to moderately sweat. He thought of the number of over 900 barbarians coming at him. That was more barbarians than he was expecting to face. And to make matters worse, he was in command of the entire defense. He knew that he wanted this chance, but it finally dawned on him the true task that he wanted, and it frightened him.
"When shall they arrive?" Oroles asked.
"Within minutes, Oroles. Two minutes at the most!"
"What else?"
"They were marching in battle formations, not regular marching…I believe that they already knew that we were here! And also, we saw…we saw…"
"You saw what? Speak clear, time is of the essence!"
"The Germanian Captain, he divided his forces. He sent about 100 men to the left of the woods and 100 men to the right of the woods. We think he was trying to send out flanking forces to encircle us."
"Shit," Oroles said to himself before turning to Vitus, "Commander, we need—"
"There is one more thing worth mentioning," the lead scout added, "The Germanian leader of this force; well…he was wearing Roman armor."
"'Roman'? Are you sure of what you saw?" Vitus asked, his eyebrow raised in confusion.
"As sure as the sky above is blue, Commander. The Germanian leader is donning the armor of a Roman centurion!"
"Okay. You three did a good job. Now stay in the rear to catch your breath." Oroles said unto the scouts. Oroles turned his attention to the rest of the Auxilia, "Thracian Auxilia! Battle formation!"
The Auxilia sprang alive as they moved forth and fell into formation along the road. Now the main road was large and wide and was surrounded by thick woods on both sides, perfect for defense. The road was wide enough where one rank of the formation could have 30 men per rank. Thus for the 300 Thracians, it allowed 10 ranks consisting of 30 Thracians. Yet upon hearing the news of possible flanking forces coming from the woods on both sides; Oroles took the last two ranks of the formation and put the ranks down the rear of the road—one rank was protecting the left rear of the woods and the other protecting the right rear of the woods.
As Oroles was busy maneuvering his kinsman, he noticed that Vitus was standing idle on his horse, staring off into space.
"Commander! The enemy approaches soon, you must regain focus," Oroles shouted as he approached Vitus, who appeared like he was about to cry.
"But-but-but all those warriors, and we—I do not know wh—," Vitus stammered, like a boy who was caught in an unfortunate lie.
Oroles gritted his teeth and reached up and grabbed Vitus by his helmet strap and pulled him down to eye-level. The 40 year-old grizzled veteran stared deep into the frightened, multicolored eyes of the 16 year-old Commander and said unto him sternly:
"Vitus! You are in command here! You lead us! How will the men fight knowing that the only Roman they respect quakes in his armor like a frightened rabbit?! You asked for this position and now you have it! I will not have you be afraid! You command us! Now harden yourself and be a man! And know that we will succeed!"
Vitus nodded to Oroles, his eyes as big as supper bowls; but then they became focused, alert, and confident. Seeing the courage return to his eyes, Oroles released the young Roman's helmet strap and nodded at him. Vitus smirked back in appreciation. He knew that Oroles would help him lead the men, he knew the Auxilia were just as strong as any cohort in the Twenty-Eighth, and Vitus knew that they would win.
"Runner!" Vitus called. A barbarian mercenary on horseback rode out to Vitus. "Go to the summit of Praxus Hill and warn the General that over 900 Germanians march this way! I request more men to come immediately! We will hold them where we stand!" Vitus emphasized. The runner saluted Commander Vitus and rushed to alert General Lucius.
"Mercenary Cavalry!" Vitus called, "Hide in the forest 75 yards back in the rear! If we are surrounded, you will be the driving surprise attack to break our encirclement. Stay hidden in the woods and await my command!"
The mercenaries did not argue with Vitus and they galloped back into the forest in the far rear stayed hidden—leaving Vitus to be the only man on the main road to be on a horse, making him a viable target in the end. Vitus pulled out his gladius and raised it in the air and shouted to his men, "Thracian Auxilia, are we ready for a battle?" The Auxilia shouted their encouraging answer.
"The Germanians approach!" A Thracian shouted.
Vitus looked out in the road and out of the forest emerged one Germanian. The single Germanian walked forward on the road until he was within 75 yards from the front Auxilia rank. Vitus strained his eyes to see this Germanic figure, but he was taken back when the details of his outlines were finally clear to him. The lone Germanian bore the armor of a Roman centurion and also wore a Centurion helmet without the feather plumed crest on top of it. So this is the leader of this Germanic force? Vitus thought to himself. Vitus did not know it, but he was staring at Diomac, one of the strongest warriors in Germania. And like Vitus did not know who he was; Diomac, who was staring back at Vitus, did not know who that Roman was. All that Diomac could see was that behind the shield walls of auxiliary forces was a lone Roman on horseback, no doubt the leader of the Auxilia forces. The only true Roman on the battlefield, his true enemy, and if the Roman died—the entire Auxilia force would rout. Diomac knew who his true target was, it was that small Roman officer who stood in the rear on his horse. But to get to him, he had to get through the walls of shields before him.
The stoic Germanic Captain puckered his lips and blew out a sharp whistle. Within seconds, hundreds upon hundreds of Germanian warriors slowly poured out of the forest and aligned themselves in formations on the main road—all behind their mighty Captain. The Germanians shouted out boisterous obscenities towards the auxiliaries and spitting in their presence. They knew that they were not Romans, but by the fact that they were fighting for Rome meant they were even lower their Romans—and such a thing was often deem impossible to be considered lower.
The Thracians looked on the mad, chattering enemy with quiet disdain. They remembered the times where their kinsman and even themselves were as free and as boisterous as the Germanians before them. They remembered how they had their own culture, their own way of life, before it was snatched by the talons of the voracious Republic of Rome. They were forced into servitude and sold as slaves and hostages to keep their own people safe, their own people who they would most likely never see again. Seeing these Germanians before them…free, gay in spirit, and impetuous, clouded the Thracians' minds with a mist of fierce jealousy. Why were these Germanians still unconquered while Mother Thrace is in bonds and chains to Rome? The Germanians were not like them, they were more savage and ruthless in appearances and act, so why did Rome target Thrace which boundaries were farther away instead of Germania which was right on Rome's doorsteps? Such questions of barbaric freedom plagued the Thracians into resentment of all independent barbaric tribes, and boiled the blood within their veins. The Thracians deserved to be free, not the Germanians; and the Auxilia were ready to remind them.
Oroles called the names of ten Thracians and assigned them to be the bodyguard of Vitus. The ten Thracians got into a circular formation around Vitus, and swore to Oroles and Vitus that no harm should befall their great Commander. Vitus took comfort in such promise, but in his heart, he still felt insecure about this battle. He knew that the Thracians would protect him, but why when he looked at the Germanic horde before him, he felt truly alone.
Oroles made his way to the front rank and stood beside his second-in-command, Ligadis, at the center of the line and stared at Diomac and wondered why he was wearing Roman armor. But it mattered not, if anything it made it easier for Oroles' men, now they can visualize actually killing a Roman if they wanted.
The ravenous Germanians slowly encroached behind Diomac until they were inches behind him. Diomac stared at Vitus with sharped focus eyes, he knew if he died, the spirit of the Auxilia would be broken. For that, he would need his men to open the path. In an audible yet calm and reserved command, Diomac with fire in his eyes stoically gave the blessed command that the Germanians were awaiting for, "…Kill them." The Germanians charged passed the stagnant Diomac.
Seeing the Germanians charging forth, Vitus gave the order, "Pila at the ready!"
The Thracians grabbed their pila and brought it over their shoulders. They leveled it and took delicate aim at the rushing barbarian horde. Vitus was going to give the command to fire, but at the last second, self-doubt entered his heart. He didn't know if the enemy was too far out to throw the pila or not. He didn't want to give the order to cast to early or they would lose the advantage of an accurate pre-emptive attack. So Vitus hesitated.
The Germanians moved ever closer and they were well within pila range, yet without the command of their Commander, the Thracians still held on to their first pila.
"They are within range! Why do we hold?" asked one Thracian.
"Why do we not fire? They are getting closer!" said another.
"What is the Commander doing?!" demanded Ligadis.
A slow building rage grew within Oroles' chest. He turned around with anxious eyes and gritted teeth to see why Vitus hesitated. Vitus, why do you hesitate? Give the command! Oroles thought to himself, even though his thoughts were directed at Vitus. Vitus glanced at the angry scowl that was projected at him and shuddered. He knew now was the time to give the command.
"Pila, loose!" Vitus finally yet awkwardly ordered.
The Thracians flung their pila in the air at a low arch into the throng of Germanians. The pila tore through the bodies of the Germanians with ease, slaying countless barbarians and rendering their shields useless once the pila were stuck in them. Some of the Germanians picked up the thrown pila and tried to throw them back at the Thracians, but were startled to see that the pila was already viciously bent after it was thrown, rendering it useless to be used against the Thracians. However, the Germanians continued their charge.
"Prepare second pila! Fire at will!" Vitus shouted, his voice filled with more confidence after he saw the effectiveness of the first pila barrage.
The Thracians grabbed their second pila and leveled it against the Germanic tide, but the Germanians were right on top of them, they were only 20 feet away from the Thracian front rank—Vitus' hesitation had cost the Thracians precious time. But Oroles overlooked this and shouted to his men, "Loose!" and the tundra of Roman javelins were thrown against the Germanians at point-blank range. Oroles threw his pilum so hard at such a close range, that the entire seven foot spear tore completely through a barbarian's throat and impaled a second barbarian behind the first. Ligadis' steel-tipped pila penetrated the forehead of one Germanian with the end of the steel shank exiting the skull and entering into the jugular of a second Germanian directly behind the first. This was the case with most of the Thracians; the enemy was so close that most of their pilas penetrated the first barbarian and twisted and turned inside the body of a second barbarian behind the first. Yet the charge still continued.
"Swords!" Oroles quickly ordered. By the skin of their teeth, the Thracians quickly pulled out their swords just when the Germanic horde, nearly 700 strong, collided with the shields of the front ranks. The pure weight and numbers of the Germanians began pushing the Thracian formation back, but the Thracians deepened their stances and valiantly pushed back against the wave of Germanians; hacking, slashing, and stabbing them along the way.
"Show them no mercy! Expect none in return!" Oroles encouraged his men as he was fighting off two Germanic savages at once. The two men came at the Thracian Commander with swords, but the experienced warrior blocked both of their swords with his sword with skilled movement. Oroles then bashed one barbarian with his shield, pushing the man back. The barbarian close to him raised his sword to cleave Oroles, but the Thracian was quick and fatally stabbed the Germanian in his abdomen. The second Germanian regained his balanced and rushed forward against Oroles, but Oroles simply lowered his body and his shield; and using the Germanian's own momentum—Oroles used his shield and flipped the Germanian over his head and the barbarian fell into the second ranks of the Thracian lines. And that is where he met a quick yet brutal end by the Thracian swords of the second rank.
"Die you Germanian cunts! DIE!" Ligadis shouted, as he drove the tip of his Gladius down the clavicle bone of one unfortunate Germanian, tearing through the man's lungs and reaching his heart.
"I shall fuck your mothers!" one Thracian taunted, as he quickly severed the windpipe of the barbarian in front of him.
"Is this all you can do?!" another Thracian taunted after he had severed the foot of a Germanian in front of him after he easily dodged an incoming blow.
Vitus looked on in stunned silence. He could see that the Thracians were winning decisively but what he was enraptured with was the noise of the battle. The violent trampling of feet, the clanging of Roman and Germanian steel filled the air, the banging of shields as the weight of both armies slammed into each other, but what was most prominent was the speech in the midst of battle. The slurs of shouts, cries, laughs, profanities all mix together into one distorted mush that blended in with everything else. This was the true sound and true sight of combat, a distorted mush.
"Commander! They attack the flanks! Right side" Vitus' bodyguards shouted.
Vitus snapped out of his trance-like state and turned to the right. He witnessed a large group of Germanians moving across the woods and coming straight for the single right flank assigned by Oroles to keep the Germanians on the roads. The flanking Germanians ran into the shields of the right flank and began to pound the defenses of the Thracians. Yet the Thracian flank held it's thin, stretched-out ground and fought back with their Gladii. So these were the 100 men flanking force that the scouts have told me…but where are the—
"Commander! They are coming to the left as well!"
Vitus turned his head to the left and saw the same occurrence that was happening on the right flank. And just like the right flank, the overstretched left flank was holding out against the flanking Germanian onslaught. Vitus gritted his teeth, beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead inside of his helmet. To his front were about 700 barbarians trying to break through 220 Thracians, and on his right flank were 100 barbarians attacking 30 Thracians and on the left was the same problem. Vitus knew that the Thracians could not hold them off forever, and eventually they will be encircled completely. He just had to hold out.
"Keep fighting men!" Vitus suddenly shouted to the Thracians, remembering his father's speech and how it rallied the legion. Maybe if he shouted some encouragements, the Thracians would fight harder.
"The Germanians hold numbers far outweighing our own; but that matters not to me as it does not to you. For you are the finest warriors that I know! You are of better stock than the Roman legionaries in the Twenty-Eighth! Let us begin a lesson forever remembered! That few stood against many and overcame! You are all Thracians! Now let the Germanians feel your wrath!"
A thundering battle cry shot from the Thracian ranks engaged in mortal combat. The encouragement of their Roman Commander bolstered their spirits to a heroic level. The Thracians pushed the Germanians back and started hacking the barbarians to pieces. Severed hands, arms, ears, and noses, were flying through the air; gallons of Germanic blood was being spilled on the main road and were being seeped into the earth. The cries of the wounded went up in a tundra but were unfortunately cancelled out as the wounded were being trampled by their own men in order to destroy the Auxilia. The Thracians were taunting louder and even began cracking jokes with one another about slaying the Germanians by the tens. Oroles smirked at the bolstered resolve of his men, a resolve that he wholeheartedly credits Vitus for.
Diomac stood in his original spot, his eyes fixated on the battle. He realized that these few Thracians were stronger than he anticipated. His own men may get through, but the body count would be absolutely terrible. To save his men the prolonged grind of combat. He would have to take out Vitus. So Diomac, discreetly yet casually walked through the forest in an attempt to flank the main Thracian body and to reach Vitus.
Ermanar and his Brittonic horsemen came upon the battle as well. He mentally took note on the Thracians and the Germanians and how Vitus was leading the Auxilia. He silently watched everything to ensure his report would be as detailed as possible. But he had to stick around to bring back news if the Germanians actually break though. So Ermanar stayed hidden in the shadows of the trees and watched the battle unfold.
Vitus was feeling good now. His men responded well to his encouragements and were indeed fighting harder. The young Roman's confidence and courage was soaring and he felt that he and his Thracians could accomplish anything. Yet, he quickly reminded himself that such bravado and pride led many Romans to ruin, and he did not want to be one. He quickly calmed himself to rationalize the situation; his men were fighting hard against an enemy coming at him from three sides, but they could not hold out forever—especially his right and left flank. He needed reinforcements from his father. Anything his father could spare from the hill. Vitus hoped and wished that the messenger had already arrived at the summit of Praxus and told his father of the Germanian flanking maneuver. But unknown to Vitus, such a message was never delivered.
In war, and as such in life, small random events can happen that change the outcome of an event, a battle, a nation, a war, and history itself. This random event: a sharp-edged stone. The messenger ran back up the hill on horseback to deliver the message of urgency to General Lucius. But as he climbed halfway up the steep reverse slope of the hill, the messenger's horse stepped on a sharp-edged stone, causing the horse to jerk in pain. The sudden jerk at high speeds sent the messenger tumbling off his horse and landing on the ground—breaking his neck and dying instantly.
Ten minutes after the death of the messenger, the tide of battle was slowly beginning to turn on the main road. The Thracians were heavily engaged with the Germanians, but the numbers of the Germanians and their relentless onslaught slowly tired the Thracians. Causalities began to rise in the main Thracian body and they were slowly being pushed back. The Thracian flanks themselves were especially on the edge of crumbling. They were valiantly fighting off the Germanic flankers; but unlike the main body, as they were the only rank at the side of the road, they had no one to rotate with when they grew tired, so they were forced to continue fighting. Their exhaustiveness led to inherent sloppiness and the Thracians on the flanks began to fall two-by-two.
One Germanic axeman brought his axe down on top of a Thracian, but the Thracian was so exhausted he couldn't raise his shield to block. The axe came down on top of the Thracian's helmet, splintering the skull inside into pieces. And when that one auxiliary fell dead, the axeman had made an opening in the line in which he and several other Germanians poured through. The right flank had crumbled, and the Germanians were heading towards Vitus.
"Commander! We have a breakthrough! Right flank!" one of the Thracian bodyguards shouted.
Vitus spun around to see several crazed barbarians coming right for him and his bodyguards. But before Vitus could react, he felt a strong sudden force smack against his left shoulder. The sudden impact almost knocked Vitus off of Romulus, but Vitus held on. He grunted and winced in pain as he moved his hand over his shoulder to find the origin of the pain. To his horror, Vitus felt a familiar object that was lodged in his shoulder. He felt a thin, yet sturdy stick of wood sticking out of his leather shoulder guards. Vitus opened his eyes and found there was a German arrow sticking out of his shoulder.
Vitus stared at the wooden monstrosity with bleak horror, remembering instantly how he was shot in the chest by a Germanic archer nearly three weeks ago. But unlike what happened in the past, Vitus did not feel a burning sensation emanating from his shoulder. He felt an uncomfortable soreness but no burning or sharp-edged pain. Vitus pulled out the arrow and was stunned to discover that the iron tip arrowhead did not pierce his leather shoulder guard, it did however leave a bruise that was going to eventually turn into a patchwork of color in the future.
Vitus felt like laughing at his fortune, but he quickly grew angry. This was the second time he was shot with an arrow. The second time! And both times by Germanians. Vitus quickly broke the arrow and shouted to himself, "Not again! No! No! NOT AGAIN! I will not be wounded again by a Germanic arrow!"
Vitus instinctively jumped off of Romulus to avoid arrow fire, he would be damned if he would allow himself to get hit with another Germanian arrow. With the barbarians coming forth, he could not allow Romulus to be in the line of conflict and receive a grievous wound. Vitus turned Romulus away, facing the back of the road and slapped him on his rear, Romulus took off running for safety. Now Vitus was on his feet surrounded by bodyguards, about to be rushed by several Germanians.
Five bodyguards stepped out of the circle to meet the attackers, and they held them at bay from advancing towards Vitus. As the bodyguards were fighting off the barbarians, Vitus could see that the entire right flank had crumbled and remnants of the Germanic flanking forces charged full throttle at them. The other five bodyguards put themselves in front of Vitus and fought back against the attacking barbarians. With the right flank destroyed, Vitus realized it was only a matter of time before the left flank would be destroyed and he and his Thracians would be completely encircled and destroyed. Now was the time to call his cavalry that was still hidden in the woods at the far rear. As Vitus got ready to give the signal, an abrupt thought flowed into his mind. What if he called the cavalry attack, but the Germanians launched a surprise tactic in some shape or form? Now his last trump card would be rendered useless. It pained Vitus to admit it, but he had to wait for his surprise attack until he was absolutely sure it was necessary.
A sudden piercing cry snapped Vitus back into battle. Vitus looked forward and saw two Germanian spearmen running one Thracian bodyguard through with two spears. The Thracian fell back screaming as the dreaded pain flowed throughout his torso. The spearmen removed their spears and lunged them into the Thracian's heart. The valiant bodyguard coughed up a fit of blood before joining his kin in the afterlife. Yet even when his body went limp, the two Germanians continued to spear his lifeless form. From that place where the Thracian died, a tall and musclebound Germanic swordsman emerged from the gap and slowly walked towards Vitus, grinning carnivorously as he stared at his small prey. Vitus looked into the gruesome face of the Germanian, but his eyes did not show an ounce of fear. For a moment, his eyes were reliving an episode that was so very similar to this exact moment.
Vitus remembered the Germanic ambush only three weeks ago. He remembered how he was wounded by an arrow; his bodyguards all laid dead, and how he was surrounded by numerous Germanians who were openly laughing at him for crying in front of them. He was crying and blubbering for the savage Germanians to leave him alone and spare him. He even remembered that he even accepted his fate and nearly allowed himself to be killed before Oroles came to save him. But Vitus questioned his past self in that moment: did he really allow himself to be killed like that? Was he really that scared? How pathetic. It was only three weeks, but why did it feel like a lifetime ago? Vitus had changed so much and experienced so many things. In those crucial three weeks, Vitus has matured as a man; he had seen absolute brutal acts of savagery and death and they have hardened him. He realized that the pride that he put into his morals and ethics were overabundant; which left his pride in his warrior's heart to wane.
He rationalized that diplomacy was always the answer to everything. That if someone communicates with another, some differences would be resolved. But in battles, in skirmishes, in one-on-one combat; diplomacy is nonexistent. Everyone could see it, even his elder brother knew that violence is sometimes the necessary way. Vitus called himself a pathetic coward for pleading for his life three weeks ago. Where was his pride? Where was the Roman pride that his father taught him to fight with strength and honor?! Where was the fire that Proculus said he saw in him?! Why was he afraid to unleash the fire that laid within his own breast?! Why did he hesitate when the Germanians began the attack?! Vitus knew that he would not hesitate now, especially when men that believe in him and overlook his race are dying to protect them. He will not hesitate for them. Vitus had matured from the naïve boy he once was into a brazen warrior who stares his opponent in the eyes and did not quiver. And as a newly awoken warrior, Vitus finally learned the warrior idiom of old: Kill or be Killed.
The Germanian swordsman charged at Vitus with his sword raised high in the air in attempt to cleave the young Roman in two. But Vitus, his blue and green eyes sharpened like a lion spotting his prey, kicked off the balls of his feet and dashed forward at terrific speed. Using his free left hand to press against the ball of his Gladius, Vitus drove his blade straight through the heart of the swordsman; the tip of Vitus' sword exited the barbarian's back. Vitus removed his sword and watched as the Germanian collapsed face-first into the earth, his blood quickly pooling around him.
After Vitus had claimed his kill, two large Germanian swordsmen stepped up to kill the Roman leader. Both men stared at the young lad and slowly began laughing at the thought of an easy kill before charging at him at once. Vitus had to think fast, it was two against one and both of them were coming at him from the front. He saw a meter of open spacing between the two swordsmen and instinctively ran forth towards them. Once he was close, Vitus dived forth and rolled in between the spacing between the two men. After he rolled out of the landing, Vitus performed a 180 degree spin and sliced out the tendons in the back of the knee to one Germanian, sending him to the earth screaming.
Vitus quickly turned to the second Germanian, who froze up in confusion in how a small Roman moved so quickly, and ran him through his back with his Gladius. Vitus turned to crippled Germanian besides him and finished him off by driving his sword through his chest.
Vitus heard a bizarre sound emanate from his left and when Vitus looked at the left flank, he saw that the flank had collapsed under the strain of Germanic numbers and a plethora of Germanians were coming at him from the left. Vitus tightened his grip on his sword and gritted his teeth, "We have penetration on the left! Keep fighting! We shall be victorious!" he shouted to the bodyguards that were still fighting.
The first barbarian came at Vitus with a wild horizontal swing, but the nimble Vitus weaved under the swing and plunged his sword through the barbarian's abdomen. On to the next one. Vitus was against a spearman who thrust out his seven foot spear trying to gore the young man. But Vitus sidestepped to the right and got in close to the spearman, firmly wrapping his left arm around the wooden shaft and trapping the spear under his left armpit. And with the sword in his right hand, Vitus deeply slashed the spearman's neck to the point where it was only hanging on by the vertebra. Vitus took the spear as the spearman fell and used it on a third barbarian coming from behind him, impaling the man in the chest.
Vitus was in the zone. His blood was pumping, his adrenaline was skyrocketing, and his endless time of training with Antonius had paid off in full. He was in the "warrior's mind" that Antonius had once told him of—the state of mind where one's mind and thoughts left their body and the body was inhabited by the spirit of the warrior of Mars. In this state, one felt truly invincible and could kill many enemies. But this state was also dangerously close to the state where there was a point of no return, "blood rage", where all senses have decayed to that of an animal and when the body can only think about killing. But Vitus was not in a blood rage, he was caught in his own adrenaline and the inner warrior of Vitus had finally emerged.
He would look to the left and block a few barbarian attacks before sinking his sword into his heart. He turned to the right and he would intercept a blow and catch the offending Germanic hand, then following up with his Roman blade seeping into the barbarian's neck. Vitus' movements were so quick that many Germanians thought they were fighting a god. But one warrior saw through Vitus' speed. He saw that his technique was worthy, but his speed was where he really shined in the battlefield. And this warrior who studied Vitus careful, emerged from the woods.
"Stop!" the warrior ordered his men in their Germanic tongue.
All the Germanic barbarians ceased their fighting at once and backed off of Vitus and the surviving two Thracian bodyguards. Vitus turned around to his right to see what man had shouted in Germanic, and had abruptly caused the fighting in the rear to stop. Out from the woods where the right flank first collapsed, Vitus saw the Germanic captain who was wearing the Centurion armor emerged from the woods. Vitus stared into the eyes of Diomac, as he walked out onto the road, only 30 yards shy of Vitus.
Diomac stared at the young Roman who was panting noticeably, covered in blood and was surrounded by the bodies of Diomac's slain kin. Diomac removed his helmet, revealing long flowing blond hair and a blond beard stubble. He placed his helmet by his feet and shouted to his men, "That Roman General is my opponent. None of you are to interfere. All of you, keep the Auxiliary away from me and this Roman."
The Germanians looked at each other with confused looks, curious in why Diomac would want to challenge this Roman to a champion-on-champion fight to the death. But for their own health, they did not argue; they all walked off and formed a protective line near the back of the Thracians' ranks.
The two remaining Thracian bodyguards brought their shields up and got in front of Vitus. Diomac watched them and simply took several steps forward without drawing his sword. However, one bodyguard, bitter that his friends were slain before him, impetuously charged forth at Diomac as the second bodyguard called after him. The Thracian lunged his sword forward, but Diomac moved to his left and evaded the strike. Diomac seized the Thracian's sword with one hand and with other hand, broke the bodyguard's arm at the elbow. The Germanian captain skillfully stole the Gladius from the broken arm and spun around to the Thracian's back and stabbed the Thracian in the back of his skull, the blade exiting out the man's mouth as Diomac held the sword in a reverse-grip.
Fearful and frustrated, the second bodyguard moved forward, confident that as long as his shield was in front of him that he would be safe from the Germanian. But Diomac already saw through it. Seeing that the Thracian had his large rectangular shield in front of him, Diomac dashed forward and placed all the strength in his leg and kicked the Thracian's shield back. The sudden strength of the kick sent the bodyguard tumbling to ground, exposing himself to Diomac who pounced on top of the Thracian and severed his head with the first Thracian's sword.
Vitus was in disbelief of how easily Diomac disposed of his bodyguards. Now he was all alone against this strong opponent. Well, he was not totally alone. He remembered that he still had the cavalry that were hidden, but at the same time, Vitus was experiencing a gnawing sensation inside his mind that told him to hold off on the cavalry until the right moment. He reluctantly did so, although he wondered strongly where in Jupiter's name were the reinforcements that he requested.
Meanwhile, back in the Thracian ranks as they were still fighting off the main attack in front of them, Oroles received startling news from one of his comrades. "Oroles, behind us, the Germanians have surrounded us!"
His first thoughts immediately fell on Vitus. Oroles spun around and beheld the number of Germanians who were in a line right behind the Thracians. But they did not move. They just stood there instead of advancing to completely surround the Thracians. Oroles rationalized that this was because it offered a way for the Thracians to route if they would lose the battle, instead of having the Germanians box them in and lose more men when the Thracians would have to fight to the death to escape. But the Germanian line behind the Thracians mattered not; Oroles' only concern was Vitus. He looked through the crowd of men behind him, both Thracian and Germanian, and after a while he spotted Vitus who was staring off at the Germanian captain.
Oroles bit down on his lip. When did the Captain of the Germanians get all the way around him? Did they really kill all the men he placed there to protect Vitus? Vitus couldn't fight this man on his own, Oroles just felt it in his being. Oroles moved to the back ranks of the Thracian line and recruited 30 Thracians to help him in his task: Breakthrough the Germanian back line and rescue Commander Vitus.
Meanwhile, the Brittonic captain, Ermanar, skulked through the forest undetected by either force until he was past the Germanian force and the Roman Auxilia force fighting to the death. He had followed Diomac to the right flank and silently watched from the distance in the woods the fight that was going to occur between Vitus and Diomac.
Vitus and Diomac now stood ten feet away from each, both men looking into each other's eyes. Vitus was lightly trembling in the face of this mighty Germanian, recognizing how dangerous he was and how cold his blue eyes were. But Vitus knew that he could not back down. He knew this would be his greatest challenge in his life so far, and he would meet it head on.
Vitus removed his helmet as it weighed him down and impaired his vision, and placed the helmet beside him—not once taking his eyes off of Diomac's. The honorable Germanic captain waited until Vitus got back up from placing his helmet down to draw his weapon. Diomac reached to his left side and pulled out a long steel sword that was a foot longer than the Roman Gladius. Vitus glanced at the sword, but he remained unimpressed. But then Diomac did something unexpected. He reached behind, revealing a second scabbard, and pulled out a second sword and twirled them in front of Vitus. Vitus' jaw dropped at the sight of the dual-wielding Germanian.
Vitus responded at the sight, "Oh shit…"
Praxus Hill
After the ten minutes went by, the second wave of the Germanic horde was virtually decimated. Even though the second wave held more men than the first wave, they did not fare any better against the experienced Romans, in fact, they performed worse than the first wave—suffering astronomical casualties while slaying 1/3 less than the first wave had killed. Fearful of routing back to their lines and being executed by their king, the decimated remnant of the attack tried to surrender to the Romans. But Lucius, paranoid of the prophecy before the battle did not take prisoners, and ordered his men to strike down all that surrendered. As the last Germanian of the wave was killed, the veteran Romans erupted in cry of victory.
They shouted triumphs and patted each other on the backs, and spat on the endless bodies of Germanians that lied before them. Lucius himself was smiling, his men had destroyed two waves of Germanians, and they had suffered little casualties. Now Cunovindus only had half of his army remaining while Lucius still had his legion close to full strength. The Gods were surely with Lucius on Praxus Hill.
Germanian-Held Forest
Cunovindus was absolutely frustrated with the battle. His first wave had routed and lowered the morale of his army, his second wave with more men was utterly destroyed—causing his army's morale to sink even further. And he held no word from Diomac about destroying the Roman Auxilia. Once again, Cunovindus could feel all eyes on him, questioning his tactical knowledge and even questioning his right to be king. But none of the eyes stung more than that of another king.
The Brittonic king, Lugotorix, silently glared at Cunovindus who was running his hands through his messy hair in irritation. Lugotorix knew he didn't have to say a single word to express how bad the battle has gone. He had told Cunovindus what he should have done, but the Germanic king was too stubborn to heed advice, and now look at him. All Lugotorix was wondering now is what Cunovindus was going to do with half of his army.
Cunovindus then looked at Lugotorix with unhinged eyes and a devious smile, and told Lugotorix in a soft, almost broken voice, "I know of my next action. I was saying this for last, but that fucking Roman…that fucking Roman…has asked for this."
Cunovindus called out a messenger and told him to, "Bring them out." The messenger's face twisted in horrific confusion, but he complied and ran away to get "them".
"What is it that you bring forth?" Lugotorix asked.
"The creatures that will truly curl the blood of those Romans. They will see fear and beg for mercy, yet I will not allow it. They have caused me pain, and I will see balance repaid tenfold."
Praxus Hill
The men of the first line that consisted of the 1st to 4th Cohort were still amongst their celebration of slaying 4,000 Germanians, when one Roman from the First Cohort looked out at the field below and saw a small mass of men walking. They were obscure for a little while, but came into better view once they got closer. Yet once they were close enough to identify, the veteran Roman turned an eerie pale at the sight of those Germanians. He began sweating profusely, his jaw began to chatter rapidly and his speech became quick and stuttered. But somehow, he found strength to shout out the cursed names of those Germanians who Cunovindus had unleashed.
"BERSERKERS!"
Every man in the legion stopped cheering, and looked forward and quaked at what they saw.
"Father…what are 'berserkers'?" the ignorant Proculus asked his father without looking at him. But he received no reply. Proculus looked over at his father, and his eyes grew large. For the first time, Proculus had seen his father visibly afraid. Lucius' eyes were the size of dinner plates, his jaw hanged loosely from his mouth, and it looked to Proculus that he was trembling a little bit. Even Antonius was visibly shaken by the announcement. But it was not only the General who was disturbed by the news, the veterans of the first line who fought berserkers before were even more disturbed than Lucius.
"Those…those cannot be berserkers that approach us!" one First Cohort legionary said in denial.
"No…they are…Jupiter's cock they are!" said another.
"I could identify those hulking monstrosities anywhere! They are indeed berserkers!" a third legionary said.
"Fuck! Mars shits on us!" Arminius cried.
"Steel your nerves! Steel yours nerves!" Aelianus shouted, trying his best to calm his comrades down, even though he was visibly frightened as well.
"We are going to die, no doubt about it!" another legionary said.
"Cossutius! What is their number?!" Lucius demanded.
Cossutius took a quick count at the dots that approached. Once he got the number, he shook his head dismayingly, hoping he had a miscount. Yet he counted again, and received the same number.
"…no, no, no, no…" Cossutius said to himself, his voice nearly sounding like it was in tears.
"Cossutius! How many?!" Lucius screamed louder.
"100! There are 100 berserkers that approach!"
Lucius grunted loudly in frustration. He still remembered the first time he fought the monsters known as berserkers. Twelve berserkers destroyed his entire 10th Cohort before they were all finally killed. An entire cohort. Just twelve men did that. And now he has to face 100?! 100 towering monsters fathered by Pluto himself?!
Lucius raised his head to the sky and shouted, "Jupiter…why must you fuck me?!"
The Berserkers cometh and Vitus will be in the fight of his life...
For those of you who have not fought against Germania's berserkers in Rome: Total War; you have no idea how annoyingly troublesome they are. THEY WILL destroy half your army if you are not careful. The next chapter about the berserkers will actually be based off of my first playthrough against the berserkers with the Julii . . . and it was not pretty.
I also find it interesting that I'm writing about the Germanians doing horribly against the Romans and yet just an hour ago, Germany won the World Cup. It's funny what can happen in a few thousand years. LMAO :P (Just kidding)
I would dearly like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic and leaving comments for me. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. I have only gotten this far to the coveted battle scene because of your continued support. Truly, thank you!
-Kanuro5