readease B3 Chapter 84: It’s Probably Fine
B3 Chapter 84: It’s Probably Fine
B3 Chapter 84: It’s Probably Fine
Perhaps it may have surprised some to hear that Claudius wasn’t, in fact, eager to simply let rip a potentially cataclysmic spell based only on the word of some nameless and slightly suspicious Legionnaire. That much, at least, was a relief to Marcus. He honestly hadn’t been sure what to expect. Still, the centurion exercising any modicum of caution certainly made him hopeful about his warnings being heeded.
Claudius immediately went about establishing a line of communication with the capital, more specifically, with Grand Mage Claude. They were both in agreement that seeking out the opinion of the most experienced mage in the empire was a worthwhile endeavor. And considering what Marcus knew of the man, well… He may be able to warn them about potential consequences better than anyone else.
The Legionnaire and the bard stood together inside the command tent, one of the Legion’s messengers in front of them. Every privacy spell and warding skill available had been layered on the place. It wasn’t too much, considering it wasn’t where these men’s specialties lay and the number of other responsibilities created by the orcs outside. But it was something.
“Contact Aquilifer Lucius,” Claudius commanded. “I suspect we’ll require his approval before the Grand Mage gives us the time of day.”
The messenger nodded and closed his eyes. When he spoke, it was with the clipped inflection of Tiberius’s right-hand man. “Centurion Claudius. You have a report?”
“Indeed, sir. One that concerns our campaign here. I need to speak with Grand Mage Claude.”
“The Grand Mage does not like to be disturbed without reason.” The messenger replied.
“I suspect so. But this is a matter of great import.”
Claudius explained the situation to the aquilifer, with Marcus chiming in to add details and clarifications when necessary. As they finished, the messenger fell silent. “I understand. I presume this is why you insisted on direct communication as well?”
“Indeed. I suspect discretion would be appreciated in this matter.”
The messenger fell silent. They stood there for a few minutes, waiting, until he suddenly spoke again. This time it was with the impatient inflection of the Grand Mage, if not the man’s actual voice. “Yes? What is it? It had better be important—I just got my armor on for combat practice.”
Combat practice? Armor? Marcus schooled his expression to stillness, despite the sudden itch to ask for elaboration. Fortunately, Claudius wasn’t so easily distracted.
“Grand Mage.” Claudius addressed the messenger respectfully, as though speaking to the man himself. “I apologize for the imposition. However, a matter has come up, one that would benefit greatly from your expertise.”
“Fine, fine. What is it?”
“A spell. One proposed for use against the orcish forces.”
Claudius showed the messenger the page. He opened his eyes, which glowed blue as they scanned it over. Marcus knew that the man on the other side was probably projecting the same image to the Grand Mage.
There was silence. For a long moment, Marcus wondered if perhaps simply showing the spell to the mage was enough for him to be struck down by the gods. But that was simply absurd.
“Ah. A spell plague.” Claude finally said with uncharacteristic seriousness. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those.”
“But you have seen them?” Marcus pressed.
“Of course. You don’t get to the level I have without seeing a few. The intelligence booster is familiar too, albeit fairly tame. You should see the ones that higher-tier mages like to mess around with. Neither one is quite my cup of tea, though—the prospect of becoming a drooling vegetable stuck in a loop of endless nightmares isn’t exactly tempting. Nor is the idea of having myself, my tower, and every mage I’ve ever trained turned into a singular heap of molten glass.”
The words were delivered in a light tone, which only made Marcus more alarmed. “So the stories are true, then?”
“Yep. Well, unless you’re talking about the one where someone managed to condense an intelligence booster spell into potion form. That one was just drugs. Great advertising, though.” Claudius hummed thoughtfully. “I gotta say though… This is good work. Who came up with this?”
“We don’t know,” Claudius admitted. Naturally, they’d also tried to find the Legionnaire in question. It shouldn’t have been hard to locate the man among the few hundred Claudius had brought. Yet it remained a fruitless endeavor. It truly was as though the man had disappeared into thin air.
“Pity. They’ve got a bright future ahead of them, so long as they avoid getting smited.”
“How great a concern is that, exactly?” Marcus asked. “Is it a given that casting a spell plague will mean one’s doom, or…?
“Hmm? Oh, nah. Don’t get me wrong, it happens. But only to the idiots who try to cast stuff like this on the wrong target. Spell plague on a single backwater town no one cares about? Totally fine. Spell plague on the temple district of a major city? Big no-no. Same with blessed groves and the like, too. But the stories always make it sound like there’s a no-tolerance policy; people tend to get funny ideas.”
Marcus breathed a small sigh of relief. That, at least, was good news. They couldn’t be certain whether or not the orcs had divine backing of any sort. Still, even if they did, hopefully the Legion’s own gods would be able to protect them. It also explained why he’d never seen a spell like this in action before. The reputation around such things was intense enough that, even now, Marcus felt the fragility of his wavering confidence as it just began to crystallize.
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“There’s no tricks in it, at least. It should do just as advertised. No, you shouldn’t have much trouble,” Claude continued. “So long as it doesn’t spread out of control. Or hit some god’s followers unintentionally. Or mutate, or blow back on you, or… Yeah. You’ll be fine.”
The small bit of confidence was shattered. That conclusion seemed to come with quite a few more caveats than Marcus was comfortable with. But who was he to question the Grand Mage’s judgment?
They continued to converse for a while longer. Claude added a few more footnotes and warnings about the spell that only made Marcus more tempted to burn the paper and never show it to anyone ever again. Claudius, for his part, asked mostly about the practical realities of using such a spell. If there were any things to keep in mind during casting, how best to insulate themselves from it and any negative effects, things like that. The conversation continued until Claude cut them off.
“Eh? What do you mean you’re needed elsewhere?”
Marcus tilted his head in confusion, but it didn’t seem that the man was speaking to them. Instead, he continued to talk as though to himself. “Trouble? Ah, is that what that blasted racket is? Well, fine. Seems like we’ll have to cut things short. Like I said, you should be fine. So good luck!”
With that, the messenger blinked his eyes open once again. He immediately turned to Claudius with a serious expression. “Sir. It appears there’s trouble at the capital. An attack.”
The centurion’s face darkened. He turned to Marcus. “Well… I suppose that settles it. We move forward with the plan.”
“Are we really?” He asked. “Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes. The mage said it should be fine, and if the capital is under attack… Well, I don’t expect we should count on any more reinforcements coming our way.” Claudius glanced at the messenger, who gave an answering nod.
Marcus took a deep breath. “You realize the enormity of what we’re about to do, right? If all goes well, there won’t be any orcs left.”
Claudius raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem? I figured that you would celebrate the opportunity to rid yourself of pests like this. Especially given how long they’ve proven a nuisance to the land.
He pursed his lips. “Make no mistake. I harbor no particular fondness for the orcs. But there’s a difference between driving them back and something tantamount to genocide.”
“They have killed our men. What did you think would happen to them?”
Marcus blinked. Images of men nailed to wooden crosses lining the roads filled his mind. It was an image that he found himself conveniently forgetting more often than not. But it served as a quite vivid reminder in the present moment.
“If we wipe them out in their entirety, then I will take that as a blessing. But I doubt we’ll be so lucky.” Claudius turned toward the door. “Come. Let’s prepare.”
Marcus nodded, but remained where he was. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again. “One more thing, Claudius. I… I want to be the one to cast the spell.”
The centurion’s eyebrows shot up as Marcus continued. “Don’t misunderstand. This isn’t some act of altruism. I simply want to limit the spread of this information and ensure that, no matter how well or poorly things go, this does not become a standard part of the Legion’s repertoire. Despite his confidence, the Grand Mage’s assurances were filled with enough caveats and potential issues that I still hesitate to advise this course of action. Were the need not dire…”
The centurion looked back at him. Slowly, he nodded. “Do you believe that I take this decision lightly?”
“Far from it,” Marcus quickly reassured the man, adjusting on the fly. “Everything about your actions thus far indicates that you understand well the severity of a spell plague. However, what of the others? Can you tell me with full confidence that your brethren would all share the same caution? That none would give in to temptation?”
He’d read the spell over himself. Even with his relatively limited understanding of the arcane, its simplicity made it easy enough for him to understand. And if he could understand it, then the Legionnaire mages in training certainly would. If they could understand it, then they could also reinvent it, incorporate elements into their own spells. Make new plagues.
That wasn’t even getting started with the mental enhancement part of the spell, either. But he decided to pick his battles. It may prove fruitless either way, as Tiberius would surely need to hear of what happened here, and the emperor may not feel the same moral compunctions. But Marcus had to try. And that meant preventing others from accessing the knowledge as much as possible.
“...All right,” Claudius said after what felt like an eternity. “I will allow it. We will continue to use discretion in this matter.”
Marcus relaxed. He released his grip on [Charm] and [Silver Tongue] as it became clear this wouldn’t turn into a fight. “Thank you.”
The centurion nodded and turned back toward the tent opening.
***
The battlefield had not remained idle during their conversation. The Legionnaires had made considerable progress with their fortifications, forcing the orcs to charge against walls of living bone that speared out to strike them or simply stay back. Considering the no man’s land that now lay between the two forces, they had chosen the latter. Though the few dozen orcish bodies and segments of shattered bone made it clear that the choice hadn’t been immediate.
As expected, the swirling patterns of color and light that adorned these new defenses didn’t seem to have any obviously supernatural effects on the orcs. Not at this distance. It seemed that they’d need to step out of the field and into the narrow band before the defensive line for that to happen. Though Marcus found he had to pull his own eyes away lest he stare for too long. These were constructions geared for war, not for entertainment like his own specialties.
The branded orcs continued to keep their troops in line, launching ranged attacks to harry Claudius’s men from afar. The Legionnaires did much the same, albeit with greater effectiveness. The half mages chanted words of power from their own spellbooks, calling down storms of razor-sharp icicles and sending forth gouts of brilliant flame. The magic carved into the enemy’s ranks, felling dozens by the minute—a slower pace than Marcus honestly expected. Still, evidently, natural orcish resilience was not to be underestimated. The damage was made even more insignificant as the tunnel that the Promethean Worm had bored continued to spew out orcs and replenish those who had fallen, emphasizing how futile a battle of attrition would prove.
Marcus watched as another Legionnaire was pulled back from the line and healed of a head wound. An unlucky stone strike to the temple left the man dazed. It was a small and easy-to-fix thing, but how long could they keep this up for? Hours, certainly, but days? Weeks? And what would happen to their brethren in the meantime? Sooner or later, the orcs would either overwhelm the trapped men in the pass, starve them out, or escape their current encirclement. Or perhaps they’d place another skill inactivation field to render all of these fortifications useless. Or simply make another tunnel.
He scanned the orcs across the battlefield with intense focus before pointing out one in particular. “There. That one.”
It was a complete brute, practically swollen with muscles that rippled with every movement. Judging by the ease with which it accidentally brushed its compatriots aside, the orc’s strength was impressive even for its own kind. More importantly, its eyes were the blank and unseeing brown of a cow’s, and a long line of drool dribbled down from its massive tusks.
This was a strong orc. And also a complete idiot. Perfect for their needs.
Claudius followed his gaze and nodded, then turned back to Marcus. “When you’re ready.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. Marcus looked down at the page in his hands as though it were a live viper waiting to strike. Then, he began to chant.