50 Years before Anthony is Reborn.
Legionaries were known to obsess over the condition of their Abyssal armour. Fussing over the plates, burnishing the living stone, polishing the enchanted metal. All of these were important, vital components that ensured the proper function of the suit, providing the all-important protection that allowed their soldiers to endure blows no other army could, and exert strength no sapient should possess.
Yet, in the eyes of Grand Marshal Cicera, they didn’t pay enough attention to the most fundamental and key piece.
Her worn hands moved with practised ease as she felt along the inside of the armour. Even without looking, she could shift from strap to strap, her indelicate fingers sliding along each one with gentle grace as she checked for splitting and wear. Without the straps, the damn thing wouldn’t hold together, would fall off in battle, plates sliding out of place in the thick of the fight. Not on her watch.
The flickering torchlight was all the Grand Marshal needed to complete her check before she began to strap the armour on. Forearm plates were meticulously positioned and tightened, followed by shins and boots. Once that was done, her aides stepped forward to assist, holding the heavier and more cumbersome sections in place as they were buckled down and then snapped into their interlocking folds.
The process was completed in silence, each aware of the import of doing every little task perfectly. Attention to detail, no mistakes, that was how Cicera ran her Legions. That was how the Legionem Abyssi won wars.
After the two attendants had completed their final check, running their eyes and hands over every plate with focused care, they nodded and stepped back. The Grand Marshal picked up her helmet and placed it over her head, the heavy Abyssal Iron sliding into place with an audible click as it joined with the shoulder guards.
There was a world of difference between a complete set of armour and one missing even the slightest section. With her helmet now in place, the full set of enchantments hummed to life, drawing deep on the mana that circulated through her body along with her blood. Every circuit vibrated with power, returning that strength back to her in turn.
Fully dressed, she acknowledged both her aides before she stepped out of her personal tent to greet those who awaited her there.
“Commanders,” she said as she stepped over the threshold.
“Grand Marshal,” they each saluted solemnly, fist to heart.
“Walk with me,” she directed before she strode off at pace, her junior officers falling into stride behind her. “How goes the deployment of your Legions? Atticus, you first.”
“Of course, Grand Marshall. The eighth has deployed as requested, along the south west bank. Artillery has been established and fortified a kilometre behind the front.”
“Have your officers been properly inducted to the order chain?”
“They have.”
“Metorii.”
“The twenty third is entrenched along the west bank as ordered, Grand Marshal. The mages have been condensing the earth mana for six hours, as directed.”
“Good. And the twenty fifth?”
“We are alongside the twenty third. In position and spoiling for the fight.”
“I hope that eagerness has been tempered with caution and reason, commander.”
It didn’t sound like a rebuke, but each of the officers knew that it was.
“The soldiers have completed all checks with due diligence,” the commander hastened to assure his leader. “No steps have been skipped.”
Cicera nodded.
“I am pleased your soldiers do not shy away from the challenge that awaits us, but victory comes to those who are prepared.”
She looked out now across the field and took in the sight for the first time.
Banners waved, metal gleamed and the proud colours of the Abyssal Legions were on full display. Ten full legions, deployed and ready to fight. In the distance, across the water, loomed their target. Against the might of the Legion, it was sure to fall.
“We cannot afford failure today,” she said. “Monsters that grow powerful enough to shift the balance of power cannot be allowed to survive. You know as well as I do the blood that soaks the trunk of that tree. Too many have been killed already, we will end it today.”
“We will, Grand Marshall.”
“There will be sacrifices. No victory can be achieved without paying the price. Have you spoken to your soldiers?”
Each of the commanders nodded. They had moved through their own legions the previous night, speaking to each soldier in turn, shaking their hands and looking the people they would send to fight in the eye. Every Legionary was prepared to die in the defence of civilisation itself.
“Very well,” Cicera said finally, her voice flat and emotionless. “Send word to begin bombardment.”
“Begin bombardment!”
The call was repeated and echoed down the line and into the command tent, from which it was sent through the network of glyphs that relayed her words to the teams deployed across this vast battlefield. She watched in silence, though her keen ears could hear the work being done in the background as auxiliaries and mages prepared their deadly work.
With a rushing roar, it began. The first round flew through the air, propelled from the enchanted ballista the Legion had come to call the Death Monger. Trailing bright flames, the projectile reached almost a kilometre high as it whistled through the air before falling to strike with tremendous force and an explosion of fire some five kilometres distant. The first seemed to act as a signal, as a second was fired, then another ten, then another hundred.
A thousand artillery pieces lit up the sky, the final shot landing just as the first had reloaded, ready to shoot once again. Already the flames had begun to spread around the base of the tree, the roots catching alight as the payload of alchemical flame spread across the wood.
“The mages may begin to cast,” Cicera ordered calmly, the words echoing out from within her helmet.
Again, her orders were relayed across the entire field in moments. As one, the reserve mages stood and began to pool their mana. Ten great fireballs, each more than a dozen metres across, began to take form as hundreds of mages poured their energy into them, deepening the colour and intensifying the flames.
“Extend the bridges.”
The earth mages, after six hours of relentless preparation, finally let loose their condensed rock. From one island to the next, a great span began to form, pushing aside the mighty waters of the lakes and providing a way forward for the legionaries.
The fireballs were unleashed, flying across the field to detonate with thunderous force against the enormous tree. Cicera could almost imagine she heard it groan in pain, though it might just be the wood shifting.
“Advance.”
