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

B2 Chapter 41: Taking Losses

Gerald sat in his third favorite garden, reclining in a comfortable seat within as he sipped on his second favorite wine. It was before noon, after all. He couldn't let all the good pleasures of the day go to waste by indulging before he had a chance to actually do some work.

Besides, he was hosting a wine tasting event that evening. The upper crust of Novara's nobility would be in attendance as the finest winemakers from across the kingdom put forth their best offerings. There would even be a competition. That meant he had to keep his palate clear or else he wouldn't be able to judge properly.

Truly, Gerald had restraint befitting of a king.

Of course, he knew that not everyone appreciated his efforts. The faintest of rumblings that he spent too much time and money on such luxuries occasionally reached his ears. But they simply had no appreciation for the importance of such things. Being seen at events like this was a crucial way to assure the upper nobility to know that their king was well-refined and properly educated in good culture.

Though he had banned all eastern pinots from the event, as he simply could not stand the strange fermented notes that seemed to underlie each and every one of their vintages. Sure, he had to work hard to preserve his image and the people's respect for his refined nature, but he didn't have to torture himself.

As for the rumblings… well, they were hardly important. If they ever became too loud, he would be more than happy to silence them.

It was somewhere between his fourth and fifth glass, when the scantily clad women fanning him were switching out, that a notification appeared that totally ruined his good morning.

The barony of Wellshire had been lost. To the Roman Empire.

Gerald clenched his jaw. The fine crystal of his wine glass creaked as his grip on it tightened dangerously. He tossed the last of the ruby liquid within back down his throat before hurling it over his shoulder in frustration. The glass shattered against the floor.

That useless sack of shit Duke. He had told them to take care of this problem. And had he? No. He hadn't done a thing. And now the problem of these so-called "Romans" had resulted in him losing territory—in Novara losing territory.

"Scribe!" The king shouted, annoyance evident in his tone.

In moments, a scrawny-looking man in long robes scurried down the path. He darted to the king's side, a pen and paper at the ready.

"Duke of Redcliffe," Gerald ground out. The sound of quiet scratching reached his ears as the scribe obligingly took down the words. "I issued you a simple task—to handle the band of upstarts responsible for seizing that backwater town. And yet you have failed. Not only that, but your failure has resulted in the loss of even more territory. I am certain you are already aware that this no-name 'empire' has claimed the barony of Wellshire from beneath your nose. Your incompetence has left me speechless.

"You will not receive the forces that you requested as a consequence of your own actions. Furthermore, I expect the rest of your dutchy to make up for this loss in the form of increased levies and tax revenue. You will be required to send an additional thousand men to the western front by the end of the month.

"In…" the king did some quick math. It took about a week to travel between the capital and the duchy normally, so if he wanted to impress urgency upon the man… "In four days, you will present yourself before my throne to explain yourself. Pray to the gods I do not decide to punish you further. Signed, your majesty, yada yada yada." Gerald finished. waving his hand dismissively. He was confident that the scribe would add all of his titles.

When he had finished, the scrawny man bobbed his head wordlessly and disappeared just as quickly as he'd come. Gerald dismissed the matter from his mind. It was someone else's job to press his seal into the letter and ensure it was sent along.

Gerald sighed, reclining in his chair once more. Dictating that letter and voicing his frustrations had calmed him down quite considerably. It had also allowed him to regain a bit of perspective. After all, what was one small barony at the edge of the kingdom? From what he recalled, it didn't produce anything of particular value. Just stone, lumber, and other mundane things. Its entire worth likely didn't compare to even a tenth of his wine cellar.

That didn't mean that he'd let the duke off easy. Of course not. Losing territory like this was still an embarrassment that someone had to answer for. But it did help him relax.

He clicked his fingers. One of his attendants stepped forward, an attractive woman who was obviously quite pleasing to look at.

"Read to me the list of entries in the wine competition again."

"Yes... Yes, Your Majesty," the woman said, swallowing. She began to list off all the different vintages that would be presented, by whom, and the people backing each winemaker. Gerald closed his eyes in satisfaction as he listened.

Now he just had to remember who had donated the most to his last party.

***

Quintus watched as the distant shape in the sky drew ever closer. Its blurry pink outline slowly resolved until he was able to make out additional details. Its wings did indeed resemble those of a bat, although its body was another story. It was covered from head to toe in scales with a head and tail almost like those of a strange lizard.

"A… a dragon…" An almost reverent whisper rose from one of the men. Quiet mutters rippled through the formation as other Legionnaires also registered the appearance of the approaching form.

Quintus took another look. Sure enough, the head of the creature in the sky did bear some resemblance to the fearsome beast of legend. Still, the draco was not a real creature. It wasn't supposed to exist. Then again, this world had yet to come up short when it came to surprises.

"Why is it pink?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"What color would it be, Lucilus?"

"I don't know. Something majestic like gold or red or purple. Not pink."

"I don't know what to tell you, man. We're looking at a beastv of legend and you're complaining about it's color."

"Focus!" Quintus snapped. His command immediately shut the men up and made them turn their attention back toward the approaching threat. At least. He assumed it was a threat. If they were lucky it may just fly over rather than attack them. But he wasn't counting on it.

"It's level 63," one of his scouts called out in warning.

Quintus felt his throat go dry. The Legion had faced foes above their level before, of course. But never by such a large margin. And certainly never from the air like this.

The Legionnaires waited with bated breath as the dragon drew closer and closer. It took an alarmingly short amount of time for it to close the distance. And when it did, Quintus realized that it was larger than he'd anticipated. Much larger.

The thunderous sound of beating wings echoed across the terrain. Suddenly, the pink creature changed course. It swooped down towards the Legion, its claws extended. Quintus's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue until it came into range.

"Second cohort, loose!"

The whizzing of countless sling stones filled the air in a nearly deafening cacophony. The projectiles hurtled toward the creature as it dove, the vast majority finding their mark. But it was no use. They pinged harmlessly off of its scales with seemingly no effect.

Quintus swore under his breath. "Spears at the ready!"

The men nearest the dragon's flight path got ready to fight. With where the dragon had chosen to swoop down, neither they nor the archers would be able to get a clear shot without putting other units in danger. They'd have to wait until it repositioned for them to fire.

They all braced for impact, waiting for the massive beast to tear through their ranks. Yet rather than diving for the nearest century of Legionnaires, the dragon leveled out to swoop toward the edge of their formation. Quintus heard an animalistic scream as it claimed its first victim.

No, not animalistic—it was an animal's scream. A horse's to be exact.

He couldn't help but gape as the massive pink dragon began to rise once more, one of their freshly–liberated mounts clutched tight in its talons and another in its jaws. The horses flailed wildly, eyes rolling in their heads as the distance between them and the earth below grew rapidly. Quintus saw blood trickle down the flanks of the one in its jaw.

"Auxiliaries, fire!"

Hundreds of bowstrings twanged in unison as they released arrows at the retreating beast. Yet they had just as little effect as the slings. They skittered or simply shattered against the sparkling scales like simple toothpicks.

The dragon snapped its head into the air, tossing the horse in its jaws upward and catching it again. It shook the animal back and forth like a wolf might shake its prey. The movement snapped its neck and the animal went limp, its limbs flailing about as though it were a mere toy.

After a few more tosses, the dragon finally bit down on its prey with a sickening crunch. Its massive jaws chewed on the horse, swallowing a chunk of it as blood and bits of horseflesh rained down on the men below. They raised their shields just quickly enough to avoid being showered with it.

Quintus gritted his teeth at the casual display of strength. If the beast could do that to a horse…

"Arm the ballistae!" He shouted as the dragon began tossing the second horse about in the air. "Fire once it comes in range!"

Most of the siege engines had remained with Tiberius, and understandably so. However, a few of the prototype portable ballistae had been sent back to Habersville with him. Their construction was more useful against personnel, something that had been in short supply for their current enemy. Sending them home would also allow them to get a head start on repairs and improvements. Besides, there were no shortage of full-sized ballistae at the siege.

A group of brawny Legionnaires hefted the massive weapons and aimed them skyward. Once more, the air filled with projectiles as the ballistae cracked toward the descending dragon. Most went wide, but a few struck the dragon in its flank.

The dragon jolted in apparent surprise at the impacts. It roared, the sound oddly high-pitched like a cat's yowl. But even the siege weaponry was powerless to break through. In fact, Quintus feared that they had just made it angry.

Its head whipped around to look at the ballista wielders. Yet rather than charge after them like he'd expected, it continued down toward the horses once again, scooping up another pair of the panicking animals.

"What do we do, sir?" One of the centurions yelled as the ballistae fired again.

Quintus was at a loss himself. They had proven completely unable to damage the creature, yet it also had shown no interest in harming them. Not yet, at least. It could change its mind at why second. And given its speed, Quintus was fairly certain that they wouldn't outrun the thought if they chose to retreat.

His eyes darted toward the horses. The horses that seemed to be the sole target of the dragon. Even now, Legionnaires were attempting to calm them and keep the beasts from escaping.

"...We keep fighting." He said simply. "Spears ready!"

The orders went out as the Legionnaires retreated from the still-panicking horses. The men readied a round of throwing spears. They would try and blast the thing out of the sky before it reached the mounts again.

They didn't have too many of the spears left among them. Between the fight with the adventurers and the baron's charge, they had lost quite a number of the weapons already. The use had been worthwhile, but Quintus still wished they had more firepower at this moment.

The pink beast finished toying with its latest round of horses and began to circle back once more. But this time, something was different. It opened its maw as it approached, an orange glow beginning to fill its mouth.

[Battlefield Intuition] screamed at Quintus as the orders left his mouth. "Fall back! Now!"

The men didn't need to be told twice. They rushed away from the horses as the other Legionnaires in the dragon's path did the same. Moments later, a gout of orange flame poured forth from the beast's mouth and incinerated the ground before it.

Quintus felt his eyebrows singe from the intensity of the heat. Most of the horses were incinerated in an instant. Those that weren't had their hair and bridles catch fire from sheer proximity. They began to stampede in every direction, some even charging toward Legionnaires in their blind panic.

The men scattered allowing the flaming steeds to run past. They didn't last long. The flames ran across their hides with supernatural speed, resisting even a few men's token attempts to toss water or thick cloaks atop them.

Looking up, the dragon had once more captured a few of the remaining horses—albeit a bit more charred than before. This time, after going through its normal routine of playing with its food, the dragon circled once overhead and winged away towards the horizon.

It took a moment for things to calm down. The last of the burning horses' dying screams echoed as the sound of heavy wingbeats disappeared into the distance. Then, it was quiet.

"Status report." Quintus demanded. "What's the damage?"

That got everyone moving again. As his centurions took stock of the situation, he was relieved to hear that they hadn't lost any men. No one had suffered more than a slight burn from that final attack. Even most of their equipment appeared fine.

But they had managed to lose every single horse.

"What in Neptune's name just happened?" Quintus growled, his frustration leaking through.