Panta stood above the Command Table, a frown touching his lips. While the situation shown on the maps was worthy of his concern, it wasn't the cause of his displeasure.
While the circumstances at the Triad had radically changed a little over a month ago with the attack, since then, the situation has remained relatively the same. The beastkin held the Northern and Western Forts, and not once since has the legion been able to see what was happening behind the walls.
All that those on the Middle Fort could see was a dome of shifting blurs. Scouts reported thousands entering the Northern Fort, but not once in all that time was so much as a single sound from within the walls heard. Forget someone actually seeing inside.
The knights reported similar domes within the Northern Forest and in the Cradle. Along with bands of beastkin numbering from a few dozen to thousands roving the countryside.
None of the scouts he ordered across the river to try and sneak inside the domes returned. He did wake up to find three scout pins on his nightstand the next morning, which was a… pleasant surprise.
Even with the full might of Olimpia behind him, Panta no longer had faith in winning a full-scale confrontation with these… Kin. He was reasonably confident that was the proper term, but not completely. Mental note, check on the terms before talking to them. Underestimating or insulting the Kin again would only lead to failure. And even if the legions did defeat them, Panta suspected it would be a pyrrhic victory.
On the other hand, he was becoming increasingly certain the Red Tail Faction of the Kin had not lied. Not about what mattered.
They had made no move to attack and focused on securing and fortifying what they had already taken. The few skirmishes the 15th had with beastkins were off on the western shore, and from the reports, they all were wolven of bird beastkins. The giant bear men and multi-tailed foxes on the northern shore only mirrored the knights and cavalry they came across without much hostility. Making it clear multiple factions existed within their force.
It was a weakness he could potentially exploit, but that was a subject for the future when they had the means of doing so.
Despite what most would say, Panta thought the situation at the Triad was stable, if not as in his favor as he would like.
To the west, things weren't looking nearly as good. It was all just… bad luck.
North of the city of Cross, a line of forts stretched between the Great Lake and the Northern Forest. Those fortresses could have once housed an entire legion each. But with the threat of the beastkin becoming nearly nonexistent, most had been decommissioned.
The last word that Panta heard on the subject was that the governor of Cross had knocked down the number of active forts to three, spread out across some three-hundred-fifty miles.
A single legion manned the forts if you could call what they did manning, as most of the legion was composed of light cavalry. The fortifications acted as little more than supply dumps. It was a perfect plan to catch the small bands of beastkin constantly flowing down the Funnel — the stretch of land between the Great Lake and Northern Forest — into the grasslands.
Sadly, either Panta's message on the Command Table was too late, or no one ever saw it because the first message from Cross was that the 17th legion was pulling back from the forts. Their full losses were still unknown, but it was estimated that 17th was, at best, at half strength.
The 18th legion was also moved off into the plains, where it was noted that they were conducting some kind of training.
In the following weeks, the 18th was set upon by a hoard of ten thousand beastkin that came from nowhere while they were marching. Luckily the losses were light, but it significantly slowed them down, as they were starting to be attacked nearly hourly.
As a response, the 17th — who actually ended up fairing far better than expected, only losing 2/10th of their force, most of which were those trapped in the forts — were sent out to act as a screening force for the 18th. Four days out from Cross, the force ended up in the middle of three hoards of beastkin, numbering around four thousand each.
The ensuing running battle ended up costing half of their numbers, putting them around two thousand five hundred capable horsemen from their original force of six thousand from five weeks ago. The 17 Ala — which is comprised of five turma, each with thirty men — of cavalry barely made it back to Cross, the beastkin nipping at their heels up to the gates of the city.
Beset from all sides and with no chance of reinforcements, the 18th legion beelined for the shores of the Great Lake. Where they had to fight through another hoard of beastkin that just so happened to appear in their path right before they arrived at the small town of Scaly Peak. The weirdly named town was placed on a bluff overlooking the water and acted as the trading center for the local fishing villages. Making it the best place the beleaguered legion could defend.
Another interesting occurrence — that was historically inaccurate according to all records Panta had read — was that while the 18th was dealing with thousands of beastkin, the walls of Cross were relatively quiet. In all past accounts of beast waves, the walls outside Cross had a perpetually rolling sea of beastkins as they poured into the grasslands while skirting the Great Lake.
But the maps showed there were hardly enough beastkins outside the walls of Cross to justify staying behind them.
As the western side of the Command Table stood now, the 16th was securing Cross, the 17th was raiding nearby hoards of beastkin and scouting, and the 18th was waiting to be pulled out by boats or for legions to march up from Scipio. Exactly what was going to happen was still being decided.
While the events in and around Cross could in no way be called good, at least he knew what was happening to the west.
From the time this had all started, the only word he had received from Basetown was a public notice delivered by a mounted messenger that the city had spotted, "Unusually high numbers of beastkin coming from the Broken Peaks."
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Putting aside the understatement of the century, the messenger had no more relevant news. He had only stopped in Basetown for a matter of minutes after coming from the mining camps. But he should have heard any big news spreading through the city.
Apparently, the events of the Triad did not count as big news because the courier was astonished to learn that a hostile force currently held two-thirds of the Triad. And even more shocked to learn the force was inelegant beastkin.
Panta stopped the messenger from returning, sighting some article in the legion manual that he needed all capable people of fighting age.
Really, Panta just didn't want to see another young man die for no reason. And that would be exactly what happened if he let the messenger return to Basetown. It was apparent all messages were being cut off along the journey.
There was no longer a doubt in Panta's mind. Even if the beastkin had never told him there were secret forces of another empire infiltrating Olimpia, who could also control beastkin, he would be wondering. Looking over his shoulder for someone pulling strings in the shadows.
The misfortune Cross had suffered was too convenient. It appeared Derho Cross was writing off the events as bad luck, but some of the notes he left were… suspicious. Like he didn't fully believe that everything happening to his legions was all just a coincidence.
From what Panta knew, the man was clever, if young, and his instincts would serve him well. If someone doesn't put a knife in his back first.
Panta wanted to warn him, but an open message on the Command Table, where anyone in all three forts could see, would do no one any good. And such a claim needed proof.
Proof that lay in the memories of all the dead legionaries scattered around Southtown.
If the squads marching around the streets weren't obvious enough, squads marching around with their hands clutching swords and staring down anyone that came close, along with the fifteen bodies found around town, made it clear. Something dangerous was inside the walls.
More than the deaths, the whole situation was causing him a growing headache. The morale of the fort and town was plummeting as the bodies were found, making civilians increasingly scared to walk outside their doors. The growing fear is joining the grumbles about his leadership, saying he cost them two-thirds of the Triad, creating an increasingly tenuous situation in the town.
Luckily word of the dark elves hadn't gotten out, but it was only a matter of time. When it did, he would have to be prepared to contain the mobs hunting for elves in the streets.
Regardless of how poorly things were going in Cross or what had to be a dark elf plan brewing in Basetown, an even more pressing problem was causing his frown.
"What a dump!" echoed the problem's pompous voice through the fort's hallways. "No engravings on the walls! No tapestries or paintings! Has the Void already taken this barren wasteland? Kumu!"
"Yes, Milady." Said an old man.
"Did I die? Am I now in the Void?"
"No, Milady."
"Then why was the only statue I have seen since coming here, Utolos Demolos? He is an important figure and deserves his place in the main square, as he held the Triad with a mere three legions against a hoard of one hundred thousand, but why aren't there others? I mean, if you want a story to aspire to, it is a good one. Did you know that he never lost a single fort?"
"No, Milady." Stated the person who had to be the valet of the little noble in a dry tone that never fluctuated.
"Ohh, yes. It is recorded that Utolos said he would rather die than lose a single fort. Sure, by the end of the battle, the legions under his command dwindled to just over a single over-strength legion, but such is the cost for greatness." The feminine voice managed to sound regretful at the necessity as she stated the last part. Like the death of fifteen thousand legionaries was normal.
And most of those deaths were to preserve the ego of a man who blustered when he first took command by saying, "no part of the Triad will ever fall under my command."
The statue acted as a reminder to all commanders of the Triad. A reminder of how the Triad was designed. That no single side was worth holding if the losses to hold it would be too high.
So long as a legionary stood on the walls of the Triad, they would reclaim it all.
Now a snot-nosed brat who had never been outside of their parent's house was trying to shame him with that fact.
Shoulders pulled back and spine straight, Panta stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at the Command Table.
He ignored the inane remarks perpetually spewing from the noble. He was not the only one letting the voice wash over him by the sound of it. Even her voice could not drown out the stomping of a dozen feet approaching his room. And of far as Panta had heard, which was admittedly a lot sooner than he would have thought possible, he had not heard a single other person so much as say a word. Other than the valet, but the old man hardly counted. It was his job to answer.
It was anyone's guess whether those following the noble thought that anything they said would be drowned out or only invite the wrath of a fickle noble. All that was clear was no one was saying a word.
"Halt and identify yourself!" Shouted one of Panta's personal guards stationed outside the door of the Command Center.
He didn't need to shout quite that loud, but Cetlon wanted to ensure he knew someone was outside the doors.
Now was one of the times that he needed the warning the least, as the racket the group had made was enough to wake the dead, but a leader never criticized good habits in their subordinates. Especially the subordinates he trusted his life to.
In the past, the number of personal guards he walked around camp with would be one at most, but with the recent events, he was not one to take chances. A minimum of six were with him at all times right now, four in the room and two outside.
"How dare you!" shrieked the affronted noble. "I am Lady Shree Ponpti, the new Tribune Latic of the 15th Legion! I bring with me the Legatus of the 3rd Senatorial Gaurd, Numok Hellieous, who will rectify this unmitigated disaster."
"Tribune Po—
"Tribune Latic!" Corrected the noble, her nose no doubt stabbing the sky. Panta couldn't help but shake his head at the woman's actions. His guard was trying to give her respect, but she didn't even know enough to shut the fuck up.
"Trubune Latic," Said his guard in a notably more frosty tone, "while you and the Legatus are, of course, welcome to enter, but your… aids will have to wait out here."
“…W-what~!?" Spluttered the Trubune Latic, “H-how— dare~ you!"
"The Legatus of the 15th Legion, Commander of the Triad, and Guardian of the Northern Line has ordered that only essential personnel may enter the Command Center, Tribune Latic." Said his guard flatly.
More grumbling and rattling of swords followed, but eventually, a scowling young woman, followed by a middle-aged man, barged into the room, their followers remaining outside.
The woman had a pinched face and small button nose, long auburn hair falling to her back, and wore a long white loose dress clasped behind the neck, leaving her shoulders free. Her arms were covered in gold and jade bracelets, and a belt of woven gold strands hung at her waist. At least she's wearing boots.
Panta could not bring himself to do more than glance at the man. He was wearing armor. But the gaudy equipment would do better in the trash than on someone's body. It does look pretty with all those gold and silver inlays.
"Legatus Valee," Sneered the woman without bothering to salute him, "If you do not immediately mobilize your legion to retake the Triad, you will be charged with dereliction of duty by order of the Senate."
Lifting an eyebrow, Panta just looked at the pair. "I see."