For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 17B3 : The Waiting Game

B3 Chapter 17: The Waiting Game

Marcus had developed a bad habit. At least, he was starting to. He'd begun to nibble at the corner of his nails.

It was unsightly—both the act itself and its results. In fact, he'd always experienced the slightest revulsion when someone else did it. As such, he'd never been particularly prone to the vice, which he counted as quite the positive. A performer such as himself had to take great care of their appearance, after all. Especially his fingers.

But now? He was starting to understand how people were driven to such behaviors.

He ran his finger along the ragged edge of his nail, trying to refrain from biting at it once again. Almost three days of watching the orcs assault Novara's capital were taking their toll—not just on the defenders, but his own nerves. Both were being ground down, slowly but inexorably, by the seemingly endless tide of invaders.

The rest of the Legion didn't seem particularly perturbed. In fact, they had begun treating the whole thing as though it were some manner of sport.

“Look, Ox Skull is about to overtake Tattoos,” one of the Legionnaires pointed out.

Another one of his companions grunted. “Five copper on Tattoos.”

“You're mad, Remus. Have you even been watching Ox Skull’s run? The thing is unstoppable!”

“I have. Closer than you, apparently,” the one called Remus said, pointing. “The original Ox Skull got brained by a chunk of ice a few minutes back. That one just took his helmet. He doesn't even look the same.”

“Friend, I hate to tell you this, but they all look the same. And I think you're blind. One silver on Ox Skull.”

Marcus found the pair of orcs in question just in time to see the tattooed one kick an overeager “Ox Skull” in the head, sending him back down into the mass of bodies below. He winced as the orc landed hard, but he just got right back up to climb again. The race was nothing if not resilient.

A round of cheers and groans arose from the Legionnaires as coin changed hands. There were small side bets like this happening all throughout the Roman forces—whether a particular orc would get up the wall, how far they’d get, and whether they’d manage to outpace another on the ladders. Most of the wagers focused on singular orcs, though occasionally there would be bigger ones on more general battle outcomes.

For their parts, the elves seemed to refrain from such betting, though Marcus did note a few select individuals sidling over to take part. Redcliffe’s forces understandably abstained.

On some level, Marcus understood the Legionnaires’ motives. It wasn’t as though there was much else to do. Until such time as Tiberius ordered the attack, they were playing the waiting game. One made even more drawn out by the general lack of progress on either side.

There were a few developments that threatened to shift the tide, however. The first was the disappearance of some of Novara’s strongest forces. The day before, they’d simply left the wall behind, not being replaced by fresh defenders like usual. They just left the remaining forces to fend for themselves. As a result, the barrage of magic and skills that the orcs had to contend with had been considerably thinned out—a weakness that the orcs seemed all too happy to exploit.

The second was a rather surprising development on the orc’s side. Evidently, someone had managed to pull enough of them away from fighting to build more ladders, opening up a second front two hundred yards down the wall.

Gaius pointed out that they would have been better off placing it further away, just to spread out Novara’s defenses more and make it difficult to reinforce each other. But based on Marcus’s observations… it seemed as though the orcs preferred to stay nearer to each other. That way, they could jeer at their brethren as they jostled toward the wall.

Despite that brief show of astonishing intelligence, the orcs as a whole remained as thickheaded as ever. But they were making progress. Not just in claiming the top of the wall, either. The base of Novara's wall had begun to sport a rather worrying array of cracks and missing pieces. Not nearly enough to break through or threaten its integrity. But if things kept up like this?

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Well, most Legionnaires bet that the wall itself would outlast its defenders. But Marcus had seen worse odds.

Still, it almost seemed that the orcs were fighting themselves more than the enemy—likely the only reason they hadn’t made more progress by this point. The number of times that Marcus saw an impatient orc toss one of his own off the ladder to get ahead was frankly ridiculous.

The Legionnaires always seemed to get a chuckle out of that, whereas Marcus felt a slight bit of relief. He didn’t hold any particular loyalty to his country. His exile was certainly part of it, and throwing in his lot with the Legion had only solidified that. But he’d spent enough time in the capital to make friends and connections that he cared about. He didn’t particularly want to see the orcs trample them—and their homes—underfoot and reduce everything to rubble.

Either way, he trusted the Legion far more than the orcs when it came to taking care of captives. Though that was quite a low bar to clear.

“They have to help them. They have to.”

Marcus glanced up at the voice. Eleonora took a seat beside him, her eyes trained on the besieged city as though fearing it would crumble to dust at any moment. She’d already done what healing she could for the moment. Now, she found herself simply watching and waiting alongside everyone else. Though considering the tightness of her expression, she was taking it about as well as Marcus was.

He gave a dry chuckle. “It does not appear that Rome shares that sentiment.”

“But look at this,” Eleonora hissed, her voice low. “Every hour we wait, more people die defending their city. You know as well as I do that these guys could wipe the orcs out if they wanted to. If they would just act—”

“And then what?” Marcus interrupted. “Do you honestly think that Novara would surrender after that? Hardly. The king wouldn’t see the saviors of his fine city or even potential allies. All he would see is another army of invaders at his doorstep—one to protect himself from.”

“You’re a [Royal Bard], right?” Eleonora insisted. “Isn’t there something you can do? Can’t you persuade the king?”

Marcus almost burst out laughing. His eyebrows rose in amusement. “I promise you, I am the single least qualified man to convince the king of anything. Aside from the necessity of taking my own head, of course.”

He hadn’t exactly lied when he told Tiberius that diplomacy might be an option. There was a chance that the Legion defending Novara would position Rome well for peace talks. If the king was willing to come to the table.

But there were a few wrinkles. The fact that Novara and Rome were at war was the main one. And that simple fact turned a small possibility into a practically nonexistent one. Meaning that if they wanted to protect these people, they needed to find another way of doing it.

“There has to be a way,” Eleonora’s whispers echoed his own thoughts. “What about the people? If we get them to surrender…”

“You make it sound so simple,” Marcus muttered. Though the idea wasn't the worst. He'd made plenty of connections around the city during his time there, both high and low. And even as long as he'd been gone, he was certain that at least some of them would still be around…

Marcus hummed thoughtfully. He had no idea if the Romans would show leniency if individual members or groups of the populace surrendered, especially after they’d already begun to take the city. Then again, it was already under attack, so it wasn’t as though Novara really had a chance to surrender ahead of time.

Eleonora winced as an orc managed to just get on the wall, only to be blasted back by a mage. But not before he grabbed a hold of another guard’s leg. The orc and the man both sailed down toward the ground. The guard splatted into an unmoving heap, but the orc got up and hurried back toward the ladders. The only sign of damage he showed was a slight limp.

Little observations like that made Marcus wonder. Tiberius intended for the two forces to grind each other down. But so far, it didn't seem like the orcs were taking many losses at all.

“We're supposed to be protecting people,” the [Healer] hissed as quietly as she could manage. “We can't just sit here and do nothing.”

Marcus saw another orc gain a foothold at the top of the wall, then another. The defenders rallied to push them back, but days of constant fighting had clearly worn them down. And now that they’d lost some of their most capable forces, it was clear that the Novarans were demoralized and drained.

For the first time in days, the situation began to shift. Slowly, the green tide began to make more progress than before and establish a foothold atop the wall.

“Well… it seems as though you might get your wish.” Marcus began to stand.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured toward the wall. “I get the feeling that the orcs may get inside sooner rather than later. Which means the Legion should make their move soon. And if you really want to convince the Novarans to rebel against their king… we’ll have to be right there with them.”