For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 49: Digging for Answers

Despite the golden glow emanating from the dome, Marcus was all too aware that the night had dragged on for quite a long time. They were all exhausted, though the soldiers did quite an admirable job of hiding it. He only caught an occasional stifled yawn out of the corner of his eye.

Fortunately, it was agreed that any further progress would have to wait until morning at least. There was little chance that any exterior reinforcements would arrive for a few days at least, and the rebels within the dome had no real reason to hasten or even make an attack of their own. That meant that Marcus and the Legionnaires had at least a little bit of time to work with when making their plans.

Regardless, Marcus remained tense the entire night, only managing to catch a little bit of sleep. His level allowed him to function with less rest than the others, a benefit for which he was incredibly thankful at this moment. As he lay awake, he kept expecting to see or feel one of the handful of remaining Legionnaires in the city be snuffed out. But fortunately, it never happened.

The sky behind the dome lightened slightly as the sun rose. Before it had even crested the horizon, he left to collect supplies. A few quick trips to procure some older, outdated clothes rendered the rather distinctive armor of the Legionnaires just a little bit harder to recognize. The disguises wouldn't hold up to any kind of real scrutiny, of course—especially not to anyone with an [Appraisal] skill. But it was certainly better than nothing and would allow them a bit more maneuverability than before.

The rest of the morning they spent running reconnaissance, trying to move through back alleys and avoid the increasing patrols of guards around the town. The Legionnaires helped, connecting with sympathetic locals to garner support and mapping the locations of all the rebels they could find—elusive though they were. It quickly became apparent that each rebel patrol had at least one priest with them, sometimes of a different deity than Arashim.

Marcus watched as the patrol he'd been following returned to the temple of Kona—god of civilization—where the priest swapped out for another one. Despite the fact that the priests didn't seem to be doing too much, they rotated out frequently for whatever reason. One temple in particular caught his attention—the same one that he'd already marked as suspicious earlier.

He used his skills to hide across the street and watch its entrance for a while longer. The temple door opened, allowing another returning priest in. A peek into its depths revealed an acolyte wearing robes of the god of architecture inside. Further surveillance of the building confirmed that other adherents of Arashim were there as well.

Marcus smiled. It seemed that they'd found their target. Even better, he could sense the presence of the few unaccounted for Legionnaires somewhere within. If this wasn't where the dome was being maintained from, then he'd eat his hat.

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He made his way back to the Legion to develop a plan of attack.

***

Quintus and his men held their shields together, their bearing tense as they watched the mass of creatures rush up to the surface ahead of them. They'd retreated deeper down to the next bend in the tunnel, below where they'd inadvertently opened the gates of hell. Yet even now, he was astonished by the unending stream of monstrosities that still continued to pour out.

Their retreat hadn't been an easy one. Luckily, it had gotten easier as they moved further and further back from the surface tunnel. The tide of beasts seemed intent on getting to the surface, meaning that precious few of them made a detour in Quintus's direction. Only the small ones that got knocked down or pushed out of the stream by their more fit and capable brethren bothered coming after him and his men.

The Legionnaires slid their swords forward in unison, slicing deep into the arm of one ghoul and the neck of another. Another series of strikes felled the second opponent and they both slumped to the ground, lifeless. Their bodies extended the carpet of gray, fleshy corpses that made its way down the tunnel toward their position.

At his side, the singing Legionnaire finally stopped his endless serenade to take a breather. The screeches continued to echo down the tunnel, though they had lessened enough that they were more of a dull, passive ringing in their ears rather than actively deafening them. The strange fear that seemed to accompany the sounds also seemed to subside at this distance.

Quintus took advantage of the respite between groups of enemies to turn to the man. "You, soldier. What is your name?"

The Legionnaire straightened. "Cassius, sir!"

"Cassius. That song of yours…"

"It was a skill, sir. [Inspirational Song]." The man's expression turned sheepish. "I, er, picked it up for use around the campfire initially. But I thought it might help against whatever those things were doing to our heads."

Quintus nodded approvingly. "You thought right. Good work."

"Sir!"

As Cassius preened, Quintus turned to regard the other men. "Does anyone else have skills that may be of use here?"

Another man raised his hand. "I have a few pretty high-leveled sling skills sir. One to improve proficiency and one that splits my projectiles."

"Same here," said another. "Though I can't split anything—I can curve my shots in midair, though…"

Quintus quickly pulled together a list of the skills his men had invested in. Some of them were useless in their current situation, like [Cartography] and [Alcohol Tolerance]. But others were less so. The sling experts, in particular mo,ved to the back of the formation to better leverage their abilities. Unlike with pila, they had no shortage of ammunition in their current setting. He also sent the men who had invested in [Sneaking] and [Hunting] ahead as scouts. The rest of their line shifted to better utilize those who had taken martial skills.

As he mulled over the new possibilities that these skills afforded their group, Quintus nodded. "All right. Cassius, continue to utilize your song whenever those things attempt to mess with our heads. Everyone else, refrain from using your skills for the moment unless the need is dire—we need to save our energy. I suspect we will face larger problems before the day is out—"

"Incoming!"

The formation snapped back together to face the next wave of foes. As it was, they were only dealing with a handful at a time, which was entirely manageable. The individuals were not particularly durable or hard to deal with. It was the numbers that were the problem.

Quintus glanced down the tunnel again. They'd only managed to stand their ground in the face of that for some thirty seconds before they'd retreated. Looking at it now, he didn't have a single shred of regret over the order. There was no way that he and his ten men could have bottled this up long enough for help to arrive—in fact, he wasn't even sure that help would have allowed them to hold for more than an additional minute or two. Not unless the entire Legion had shoved its way into the tunnel behind them. No, their small group would have been overwhelmed and slaughtered in moments.

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They continued their steady retreat backwards, fending off stragglers and keeping an eye on the situation as they moved. Quintus hoped that there would be some sort of other storerooms or branching tunnels further down, somewhere that they might be able to find better and more defensible choke points. That, or find an alternate route to back to Stonewake proper.

Another handful of creatures skittered down the tunnel towards them, spindly limbs moving at unnatural angles. The Legionnaires dispatched them quickly. These stragglers, at least, were beginning to arrive with less frequency. Whereas before they would arrive in clumps that numbered in the dozens, now they rarely saw more than four or five come their way.

That didn't mean Quintus would let down his guard. But it did provide some much needed respite—enough that the most adept field medic in their group could get them patched up in between waves. Somewhat. It seemed that his first aid skills still had more limitations than the witch's healing.

As they continued on, Quintus's thoughts turned to the surface—namely, how they could help their comrades above. He'd already felt more deaths from the Legion than he would like to admit. But as much as the deaths filled them with loss, they also seemed to empower them as well.

It had become clear back in Habersville that a man's contubernium was empowered by the loss of one of its members. But it seemed to go beyond that. With the sheer number of deaths happening above, it became hard not to notice the temporary boosts to his own strength, speed, and vitality that came along with each. That magic was likely the only reason that they had survived this far, allowing them to fight long past when they should have dropped.

Quintus heard soft footsteps clatter from behind their line. Spinning to face the sound, he raised his shield and drew in a breath to issue commands. However, he relaxed as the pair of scouts he'd sent ahead earlier appeared as if from thin air.

The two men jogged to a halt before him and saluted as they caught their breath. He gave them a couple of seconds before speaking. "Report."

"Sir," one of them began, "We've located a series of storerooms. They're a few hundred paces down the tunnel. They appear to contain food and mining supplies, and—most importantly—their doors are strong and would likely hold up to a moderate assault."

"I see," Quintus nodded. "Did you encounter any opposition?"

"No, sir. No monsters or humans in sight. We weren't able to explore every passage, but we did travel quite a ways down."

"Good. What else?"

Quintus listened as they continued to give him a detailed description of the layout ahead. Once they'd finished, he clapped each man on the shoulder. "Good work. Take a moment to rest up." He turned to the rest of his men. "As for all of you, get prepared to move up again soon."

"For what, sir?" One of the Legionnaires asked. "Not like we can do much about that whole mess back there."

"Not yet, we can't," Quintus agreed. "Not as we've been operating. But there may be other ways to aid our brothers than simply finding a way to the surface or waiting things out. This is a mine. These people surely have ways of quickly creating or collapsing a tunnel."

Those methods were likely tied up in the miners' skills, of course. Still, that didn't mean they all were. And even if skills aided the miners in their work, they still likely used those skills in tandem with gear.

"We'll head to the storerooms and investigate further," Quintus decided. "Perhaps we can use their equipment to collapse a tunnel on those creatures' heads. If not, then at least we'll have a more defensible position—and be able to fill our bellies in the meantime."

The men chuckled at that. No one would object to a meal—not with all of the fighting they'd been doing.

After a brief rest, they hurried through the tunnels, following the lead of the scouts. It wasn't long before they located the storerooms in question. The men quickly got to work raiding them, stuffing themselves as they dug through piles of equipment in search of anything useful. Most of it was what one would expect—pickaxes, lights, ropes, and other such equipment. However, there were a few other items that the Legionnaires were less familiar with.

One of the scouts presented Quintus with a dark crystalline cylinder as thick as an arm and about one hand's-breadth long. Its surface was smooth and cool to the touch, and inside its hollow center sloshed a milky orange liquid that almost seemed to glow in the darkness. One end was sealed with some kind of waxy substance that prevented the liquid from escaping.

Quintus inspected the item, turning it over in his hands with a frown. "There are no indications of what these might be used for?"

"Could be booze!" One of the men called over hopefully.

"No, sir," one of the scouts replied, ignoring the comment. "At least, no certain ones. There appears to be some sort of warning on the crate they're stored in. A primitive pictogram of an irregular, many-pointed star. But there are a dozen of these at least."

He frowned in thought and mulled over the information. Perhaps they were instead potions meant to be ingested or simple light sources—though the glow they emanated was far too dim for him to believe that. Also, that wouldn't quite explain the makings the man said he found.

Their construction also seemed to suggest something different. They were not shaped like a drinking vessel, and the sturdiness of the seal and apparent fragility of the crystal suggested that it wasn't meant to be opened once sealed. Rather, it seemed designed to shatter and spill its contents.

If it was a tool used in the mines—and a dangerous one at that—perhaps it could be repurposed for their own devices.

Ideas began to formulate in his mind. But before they truly committed to anything, he needed to confirm a few things.

"Stay inside," Quintus ordered his men. "I'll return shortly."

He stepped out the door of the storeroom, looking both ways to ensure the coast was clear. Then, pulling back his arm, Quintus hurled the cylinder at a wall as far down the tunnel as he could, opposite of the direction they'd come.

As it flew through the air, Quintus had time to wonder if he had misjudged the situation. What if these crystal containers really were meant for a different purpose? His assumption that they might be remotely similar to a throwing weapon had precious little to support it—this was a mine, after all, not a battlefield. Perhaps he'd jumped to conclusions too quickly—

Suddenly, he was reeling back, his vision gone white, and a blinding flash filled the tunnel. The ground rumbled, and Quintus felt a smattering of debris impact his arm as he hastily brought it up to protect his face. After a split second, the light faded, leaving only spots in its wake.

Quintus rubbed at his eyes, cursing. His ears were ringing once again as though filled with the screeches of those monsters—although this time he felt no accompanying sense of dread. Behind him, he heard the muffled sounds of the door slamming open and his men rushing out to investigate.

They moved into formation with practiced efficiency, waiting to see if the sound had attracted any attention their way. As the ringing subsided and no enemies appeared, Quintus ordered them to stand down.

"The coast is clear, it seems." He worked his jaw with a wince. He could barely hear his own words. "And we have the answer to one question."

The Legionnaires relaxed slightly, filing back into the storeroom. "So… I take it those things weren't booze, then?"

"I wouldn't give up so easily, Cassius," One of the other men goaded. "The stuff inside could still be drinkable. You should try it, just to make sure."

"Poison yourselves once the battle is won," Quintus admonished his men as they egged each other on. "Right now, we have work to do."

Quintus looked over to where the cylinder had shattered. A clean chunk had been gouged out of the tunnel wall as though bitten by some titanic beast. The ground lay littered with boulders and small rocks where the impact had loosened them from above.

A savage grin spread across his face. They'd discovered some sort of concussive tool used in mining. It likely wasn't meant for battle, but given what it could do… perhaps it was the next best thing.

"That," Quintus replied, "Is the backbone of our battle plan."