Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire

Chapter 372: 368 - Shattered Ground 2/6



The breach before them was now a boiling sea of steel and screams.

The Francian camp stank of unwashed bodies, wet leather, and the iron tang of blood, every breath pulling in the taste of battle.

Julius waded forward through the knee-deep mud, walking a pace ahead of his praetorians pressing tight in a shield formation ready to accept him should the emperor need to pull back.

The first push had cost the enemy dearly, but the Francians still packed the narrow lanes between their tents in stubborn, ragged lines, while others knocked the tents down and march over them to widen the battlefield and use the moment to surprise the legions.

Shields locked, pikes bristling, eyes burning with fanatical resolve.

A thrown hatchet spun past Julius's cheek, grazing his helm before embedding itself into the broadshield of the pratorian behind him.

He meanwhile didn't break stride.

"Make them choke on the earth itself,"

he growled, planting both swords into the muck and raising a gauntleted hand.

The ground under his boots began to hum—a deep, resonant vibration that rippled outward from his feet.

[Earth Resonance]

The muddy soil split with a sharp crack, jagged fissures tearing open beneath the Francian front rank charging before him.

Men screamed as the ground swallowed them, bodies vanishing into the black gap before the earth slammed shut again with bone-snapping force.

Those who weren't crushed outright disappeared beneath the closing seam, their final cries muffled in the dirt.

The gap in the line was immediate, but the Francians didn't break.

They filled the space with replacements before the echoes of Julius's strike had even faded.

"Push!"

Sabellus roared, shoving his shield into a defender's throat performing a near perfect shield bash.

The praetorians surged forward again, the clash of iron on iron drowning in the sound of rain pelting against steel.

A Francian man-at-arms lunged at Julius, sword arcing for his neck.

Julius caught the blade on his vambrace, twisting under it and slamming his shoulder into the man's chest.

The impact drove the wind from him, and Julius's sword came up in a single brutal cut that split helm and skull in one swift move.

To his left, a praetorian fell with a spear through the ribs, his face turned up in agony but even wounded his brothers marched forward to cover him, as the man himself began to crawl away from the battle lines, to get recovered by the medicus units to be taken back to the Romanus camp for healing.

Julius stepped over another dying man, locking eyes with the spearman who'd thrown the spear bringing grevious injury to one of his men, and drove both swords forward into the soft gap under the man's gorget.

The mud churned crimson.

Another wave came on—these ones shouting prayers between gritted teeth, their commander bellowing invocations to Saint Joan herself.

Julius's eyes narrowed.

Once more, he raised his hand.

The ground sang again, a low, thrumming note that rattled teeth.

[Earth Resonance]

The second Earth Resonance ripped forward like a living beast, the edges sharp as blades, the earth itself having joined his side, as the Fanatic Francians charged headfirst into death.

One after another they fell tumbling into the pit created before him, a few of their comrades scrambling to try and pull the men free, before the earth slammed shut again.

Hundreds more lives were reaped in an instant, hundreds of others were wounded having limbs crushed beyond hope of healing, the earth swallowing them, and causing a series of battlefied amputations.

The earth didnt discriminate, it swallowed man, metal, and everything in between as it's insatiable hunger was only limited by the short casting duration of the skill.

The Romanus line surged in its culmination, pressing through the momentary chaos, but again the Francians locked into place their lines never faltering even in the presence of this godly power before them.

Their fanatical chants only grew louder with each of their own brothers who was lain to rest amonst the earth.

Julius felt the strain of the fight gnawing at his muscles, he'd already been fighting all out for close to an hour, and to add to that each invocation of the Resonance dragging more from his reserves of skill points that he's mostly used up on increasing his overall Power Level.

The skill was brutal yes, but it demanded its price as all good things should come with a price.

As he stepped back momentarily to take a short rest within the ranks of his praetorian shield wall, Julius was reminded of a quote he'd heard from his time back on earth.

'Things are meaningfull because you work hard for it, if ever you stumbled upon a treasure your didnt have to work for, throw it back it's worthless.'

Sure this was a throwaway quote from an anime, but the words rung to his core even now.

Julius knew in his heart he could lead the fight from the rear, purchase more support skills to bostler his forces and net himself skill points that way, but... is that really trying?

Or is that letting the system, no his men, the flesh and blood bodies before him to run to their death just to benefit himself?

The more he thought about this the more his blood boiled and vigor returned to his weary mind that had been hit time and again by mental damage as his pyche tried to accept the mass slaughter happening under his own blades.

Previously he hadnt minded, they were soldiers afterall, men paid to take lives at the potential cost of their own, but here...

Francia was unleashing hell, drawing upon his entire populace to repel the invaders, much like the USSR had down during WW2.

These arent soldiers just common people brainwashed into believing so fervently in their nation that they were willing to risk it all for that cause... for a lie.

"Hold them, For The Emperor!"

Sabellus shouted.

"Cavalry's still swinging around their rear flank!"

"Then we'll give them a breach worth riding through."

Julius responded his heavy breathing had calmed significantly, his physical recovery thanks to the boosted power level, giving him higher levels of strength and stamina.

A Francian officer in a battered surcoat rallied another cluster ahead, waving his men toward Julius like a hound master siccing dogs.

They came in a wedge, spears leveled, shields tight.

But not willing to wait for the clash, the praetorian shield wall opened up, and Julius burst out running from within.

dropping into a low stance.

The vibration began almost instantly now, the muddy earth beneath him rippling as if alive.

[Earth Resonance]

The third Earth Resonance burst forward with a roar, the fissures angling out so wide it swallowed half the wedge in an instant.

The survivors stumbled, their formation broken, easy prey for Julius who charged through the swirling mist and mud to finish them, his twin blades cleaving and severing claiming lives one after another.

The chants faltered, replaced by a ragged chorus of curses and cries as the group of men fought with great resolve to stop the monster that had appeared before them.

"RUS!"

Julius bellowed, swapping his grip on both swords and swinging in vicious arcs that split shields and severed arms.

Men fell around him—Romanus and Francian alike—vanishing under the crush of boots and the sucking mire.

The rain plastered hair to faces, filled wounds with filth, turned the ground into a graveyard stew.

A riderless horse bolted between two tents, eyes rolling, before collapsing in the mud with a spear jutting from its flank.

The battle was a quagmire of blood and mud before, and now it had begun to turn into hell.


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