All in all, my men were holding them back, despite the casualties the corpse bombs had inflicted. The runesmiths were also showing their worth, using up their remaining runes to increase our armor, heal the wounded, and disrupt the enemy when they clustered together. I had chosen well in selecting my auxiliary force.
“Alpha’s going in, sir! We’ve caught them with their pants down,” Tavers shouted to me. Having fallen back, I was not alongside the catapults to observe the battle. Tavers was right; alpha had finished its movement and was now taking the reavers in the flank. The maneuver left it exposed, however; the elf archers dropped a few of the men, their sides now left vulnerable in their current position.
At a shouted command from the elf Nharia, several of the reavers grabbed soldiers wounded from the corpse bomb and dragged the helpless men back to where the elf waited. She took the first squirming man and began to carve at him with her blade, causing him to scream out in pain.
“Stop her! Take her down, men!” Tavers shouted, helping shift the aim of one of the catapults to focus on the Ikbose leader. With a laugh, Nharia finished off her victim and scuttled away from the incoming fire, easily dodging it. Other archers ran up and thrust arrows into wounded soldiers before firing them off at our lines. Tavers swore and cajoled the crews to reload faster.
The men began to chant a single word over and over as they fought, the AI populating the information for me as I joined in.
“Durus . . . Durus . . . Durus!”
The Durus: This chant has been unofficially adopted by the 1st Legion of Hayden’s Knoll to terrorize certain foes. Enemies who have violated the laws of war or whom the soldiers have a special enmity for are cursed with this chant. The chant is a signal that no mercy will be given to the foe. All enemies present on the battlefield will be slain and no surrender will be accepted.
I remembered from my study of Latin that durus meant harsh, merciless, unforgiving. It was a good selection by the AI. The men had seen their fellows tortured and impaled on a post by their foes; they weren’t in the mood for mercy today . . . and neither was I.
Alpha was cutting reavers down by the score. The enemy didn’t know how to react. Many continued their assault against bravo while those on the left flank weren’t sure what to do. Some of the reavers turned to face the new threat, but many more just continued to attack the nearest foe, oblivious to the dangers around them.
Then they started to break.
While the majority of the reavers fought bravely, some began to run. The trouble with runners and cowards was that they were like a disease to an army. I had seen this disease before in soldiers; it was highly contagious—and deadly. One, then another, and then a stream of reavers began to follow the lead of the first few cowards. Gaps were torn in the enemy lines as large groups of their comrades abandoned the fight.
The battle turned into a slaughter as alpha closed the circle on the remaining reavers. While my soldiers killed off their foes, I looked across the battlefield to see what was happening with the elves. To my surprise, they had already fled the field. I spotted a scout and waved him over.
“Tail the elves and reavers. See where they’re going and get a count of how many are left,” I ordered. The scout saluted and, gathering a few others, ran off to follow the routing enemy.
Quest Update: Unite the Zone. The Ikbose Clan and its allies have been revealed as hostile. Eliminate them to bring their territory under the Imperium’s control.
You have defeated a substantial force of Ikbose and are awarded 1000 experience, 52 gold gained, and 111 resources.
Sergeant Brooks arrived, his armor dented and a large gash on his left arm. His health bar was slowly ticking up, though, as the game’s accelerated healing and the medics’ new abilities activated.
“Sergeant, form up alpha. I’m taking them to reinforce Wrend in case he needs the help. While I’m gone, have the men police the area and find out the butcher’s bill for this fight,” I ordered, worried about Wrend and the fleeing but still substantial forces that just might be heading to where the ogres were pinned down.
Chapter 12
“Close the gaps. Keep up the pace,” Wrend said to the platoon as an arrow ricocheted off the side of his helmet. Wrend shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, all the while continuing his advance. The enemy force posted at the cave entrance had reacted as soon as Wrend and his men were spotted. Some commanders might have hesitated to order the charge . . . but not Wrend. Wrend loved a fight, and he ordered his men to close ranks and double-time it to the enemy position.
The humans with their axes and shields formed in a group in front of the half dozen elves who immediately began to pelt his troops with rapid and accurate arrow fire. The scouts attached to his force returned the favor, using the mass of soldiers to sneak within range of their weapons.
Bolts flew from the score of scouts accompanying his platoon, the shots hitting the mass of reavers. They might lack the firing arc that the longbows gave the elves, but his soldiers’ crossbows were more effective at penetrating armor. The human reavers began to bunch up in anticipation of the platoon reaching them. Wrend grinned at the amateur mistake, his teeth bared.
“I don’t think these reavers have ever faced soldiers of the Imperium before, boys. Ready, loose!” Wrend ordered. The reavers appeared surprised when the legion advance stopped, then loosed a volley of javelins into the tightly packed mass of warriors. Dozens of reavers were hit, dropping several and leaving many more with depleted health pools.
Just before the two groups met, the runesmiths made their appearance. The dwarves hurled forgefire runes into the enemy force, blasting huge holes just as the soldiers arrived. The shattered lines of reavers held steady for a bit, exchanging axe blows in return for thrusts from the soldiers’ swords, but the outcome was already clear. Better gear and training proved its worth, and the reavers had trouble getting through the soldiers’ stout shields and steel armor. Meanwhile, the legionnaires’ blades had no trouble inflicting wounds on the lightly armored reavers.
The reavers fought with a berserker-like intensity, throwing as much strength as they could behind each axe blow. Ignominia began to take casualties, but it was killing the reavers at a rate of five to one. Looking to the side, Wrend watched his scouts fan out and try to get a shot at the elusive elves who were attempting to keep the mass of melee combatants between them.
“Face me!” a deep voice bellowed from the cave behind the shield wall. The scouts looked on in confusion as all the elves turned to attack the newcomer. Stomping from the cave and into the mass of elves was a huge ogre, easily twelve feet tall. The ogre wielded an axe larger than any pair of human hands could have held, the head of the axe stained with the blood of countless battles.
The bellowing call must have compelled the nearby enemies to attack it , thought Wrend as the reavers closest to the ogre turned and charged alongside the elves. With a great two-handed sweeping blow, the bloody axe clove through the ranks of elves and men. Four of the elves were cut in half at the waist. The sole reaver within reach had his shield shattered, the ogres axe finally stopping as it lodged into his chest.
“This ain’t a spectator’s event in the arena. Get back in the fight, men. Leave the ogres alone! We don’t want to fight them if we don’t have to,” Wrend ordered. The men, friend and foe alike, had paused in their fight at the display of strength and carnage the ogre had just put on.
The arrival of the ogre and renewed attacks from Ignominia proved too much for their opponents. The remaining pair of elves fled the field followed by the surviving reavers, the scouts peppering them with crossbow bolts until they made it out of range.
Looking back to the ogre, Wrend could see the giant creature had been joined by five others. The others were smaller yet still imposing. One of the newcomers was struggling to pull a reaver off the end of its ten-foot-long spear.
With a sickening, wet sucking sound, the largest ogre freed his axe from the reaver’s chest.
Instead of standing down, the ogres looked ready to continue the fight with Wrend and his men. Wrend ordered his men to lower weapons, but he did notice the scouts backing up a bit and rushing to load a bolt before lowering their crossbows; he didn’t tell them to stop, either. Raytak might want these ogres as allies, and Wrend would do what he could, but he wasn’t going to tell his men not to prepare to defend themselves.
“Hold your axe, ogre. We weren’t sent here to fight you. Our beef was with them,” Wrend said, pointing to the mound of dead enemies between the two of them. Taking off his helmet and sheathing his sword, Wrend walked toward the ogres and away from his men. It did no good to show fear in the face of such a creature.
“Well, do you have a name, or should I keep calling you ‘ogre’? You can talk, can’t you?” Wrend said. Not one to concern himself with diplomacy, Wrend always felt the best approach was the direct approach.
“We’re from the Imperium, and these jokers decided to try and stop us from reaching where we wanted to go. I’m no speech-maker; I’m a simple soldier, so I’ll shoot it to you straight. My commander is a good man. He’ll help you if you’re friendly and want a hand with the elves, or we’ll kill you all if you want trouble.
“No fancy talk. Either agree to meet with Captain Raytak and talk or get to swinging with that axe. It’s been too long of a day and I’m getting hungry, so let’s get to talking or get to fighting,” Wrend said with a sigh as he placed the helmet on his head and drew his sword once more.
Several moments passed with the ogres staring down at the man. Finally, the one with a reaver still stuck on his spear began to laugh.
“Ha, I have to say I like this one. He has heart even if he is a moron for provoking the Goreaxe Clan. What do you think, Stench? Should we talk with this Raytak or kill these soldiers for dinner?” the ogre asked his larger companion with the bloody axe.
Wrend looked the ogre called Stench right in the eye. The larger axe-wielder was obviously the leader of this group of ogres. With a nod to the spear-wielding ogre, Stench lowered his axe. The other ogres followed suit, to Wrend’s relief; he knew he wouldn’t have lasted five seconds against the powerful creatures.
“You’ve done nothing to harm my people, so I will stay my axe for the moment. I take it you’re responsible for most of the Ikbose forces leaving a little bit ago?” Stench asked. Wrend was surprised that the ogre—while having a booming and intimidating voice—spoke clearly and with intelligence.
“Yes, that would be the work of our legion. They’re likely mopping up the rest of these Ikbose as we speak. The elves took two of our own last night, torturing and killing them before we found their roadblock this morning,” Wrend said.
“I would speak with your captain about that. Can you arrange it?” Stench asked.
“Yes. If I know Captain Raytak, he’ll be along shortly, if you don’t mind waiting a bit,” Wrend said. The ogre nodded in agreement as the giant humanoids stood silently, waiting. The men, realizing there wasn’t going to be a fight with the ogres—at least not yet—went about their duties. They prepared their dead, of which there were ten, and gathered up any javelins that were still serviceable. The medics tended to the wounded; one approached Wrend, holding up a bundle of bandages.
“Sergeant, do you want me to offer to help the big guys over there?” the medic asked. Wrend took a closer look and could see all the ogres bore wounds to one degree or another. There were slashes from axes or swords, and many had arrows sticking from their bodies.
“Yes, if they’ll let you,” Wrend advised. The medic walked up to the ogre Stench, holding up a bundle of bandages and pointing toward his wounds. With a nod, Stench gestured toward the most injured of the ogres. The medic approached, and with a huff, the injured ogre sat down so the medic could reach his wounds.
Tentatively, the medic began to bandage and treat the worst of the wounds. The magically enhanced bandages soothed and sped the healing process. When the ogre grunted and growled menacingly as the medic pried the first arrow from its chest, the medic leapt back, startled.
“Little human, I’m not going to eat you while you’re trying to help. That just stings a bit,” the ogre grumbled while indicating the bleeding hole where the arrow had been. Training took over and the medic treated the wound, moving to the other ogres before finally finishing with Stench, who insisted the other ogres should be treated first.
Wrend found himself respecting Stench. Any true leader cared for his men—or in this case, ogres—before himself. These were not the ogres he was familiar with. Typically, ogres were as dumb as rocks and only concerned about filling their bellies with whatever they could catch. These ogres were smart, organized, and cared for each other in a way that Wrend cared for his own people.
Wrend was brought out of his contemplation as a scout pointed to legionnaires approaching them from the northeast. He quickly recognized the banner of alpha company and spotted Raytak at the head of the column.
“Stench, that’s some of our force along with our leader, Raytak. He’s an honorable man and will keep his word with you. Deal straight with him and he’ll do the same with you,” Wrend said. Stench rose and walked toward Wrend, standing by his side as he waited for Raytak to arrive. The medic scurried behind him, trying to finish treating the moving ogre.
Chapter 13
I watched as the large silhouettes of the ogres appeared in the distance, the men of Ignominia standing nearby. As I drew closer, one of the scouts popped up from where he was hidden behind some scrub brush, saluting and reporting.
“Sir, the platoon arrived at the objective and engaged the Ikbose forces. The ogres also emerged from the cave and assisted in the battle. So far there is an uneasy truce between our two sides, and Sergeant Wrend has convinced the ogre leader—a giant of a creature named Stench—to wait for you to speak with him. We’ve had ten casualties, and the wounded, including the ogres, have all been treated by the medics,” the scout advised.
“Good work. Return to your duties. Sergeant, hold alpha here unless trouble breaks out. I don’t want to provoke the ogres by charging in with a whole company. If trouble does happen, get here quick. I don’t like my odds of defeating a war party of ogres with only one platoon,” I ordered. The npc sergeant saluted and moved alpha into a defensive formation, ready to charge into battle if the ogres turned hostile.
Sergeant Wrend stood next to a huge ogre that was holding an impossibly large double-headed axe in one hand. I noticed the ogre was bandaged in several places, no doubt the work of our medics. Even with the healing the bandages provided, the ogre was still down a quarter of its health. These things must have immense health pools, which was no surprise based on the size and power of the creatures.
“Sir, this is Stench, the leader of these ogres. They joined in the battle and helped to route the enemy,” Wrend advised.
“Thank you for assisting my men, Stench. The elves have proven themselves enemies. I hope we can become something different with your clan. I have heard good things about your people from some friends of mine who came across the elves trying to kill some of your elderly and children,” I said, hoping to remind them of the previous friendly encounter with the ogres that Jacoby, Yendys, and the others had experienced.
“The ones you mentioned are known to my people. They risked their own lives to save the younglings from a horrible fate. These Ikbose . . .” Stench trailed off, shaking with anger, taking the time to stomp on and crush the head of one of the fallen elves. The powerful blow shook the ground and popped the elf’s skull like an overripe melon.
“These Ikbose have caused my clan grief for centuries. While we have no love for you humans and your Imperium, we will not fight against you if you give us no reason to. Don’t make me regret my word, Raytak,” the ogre said before walking back to his kin. After a moment, Stench motioned to the other ogres and they all put away their weapons.
The other ogres moved about the scene of their earlier battle and began separating the
corpses of the ogres, placing them in a row away from the battlefield, their crude cloaks placed over their heads. Our own soldiers were doing the same with our dead. It had become habit to bury our dead where they fell. The ground they fell on was consecrated by their blood and brave actions.
The ogres started digging graves with their bare hands, a silent Stench walking over and joining in. Despite their strength, the ogres had a hard time digging in the soil without tools. To their credit, they didn’t try and use their weapons for the task, either. In fact, most had taken the time to wipe down their weapons and gear before dealing with their dead. Stench alone did nothing to clean his weapon, the blade covered in accumulated filth.
“Private, lend some shovels and picks to the ogres,” I ordered, sending over a few privates with tools for the ogres to use. The ogres begrudgingly took the tools and set about their task, the normal-sized entrenching shovels and picks looking like children’s toys in their giant hands.
While they worked, I looked closer at their gear. Three of the ogres wielded large hammers. One held the long iron spear that would have been called a pike in human hands. Stench had his axe and the last ogre apparently fought with iron-reinforced leather gloves that held spikes at the knuckles. These were not the crude weapons usually found with their less intelligent brethren; these were well crafted of iron and leather, stout, and solid in their manufacture. The system rewarded me for my curiosity, giving some basic info on the ogres.
Stench Goreaxe, Tribal Leader, Level 11 (Boss).
Goreaxe Clan Ogres, Level 10 (5).
Once the dead were buried, the ogres handed back the borrowed tools with a grunt of apology for the several they had broken with their prodigious strength. Stench approached as the last of my own dead were covered up.
Limitless Lands Book 4: Opposition (A LitRPG Adventure) Page 13