Napoleon of Another World!

Chapter 15 - The First Battle

I never wanted to be a soldier.

I was just one of the many poor desperates who enlisted in the legion simply because they were unable to find their own happy place within the social pyramid of the Empire.

The land I came from was poor, and when an epidemic took my parents away, the army became the only way out to avoid starving.

It had only been two years since I received the armor, and I had never seen a battlefield in my life since.

But just when I was beginning to believe all those rumors that being a legionnaire meant lounging around and camping out all day in parades and honor guards and other similar nonsense waiting to take my leave and use my five years' pay to start a business, here comes the rip-off.

First, they had sent me to Eirinn, just a spear throw from the most dangerous border of Saedonia, –it wasn't the regions of the east where they fought day and night with the rebel barons, but not even the patrols under the hot sun of Floradis– and now I was marching with my entire unit straight into a mob of enraged slaves.

General Ron who was leading us had harangued us that it was a trifle, that we would cheerfully slaughter a few beggars and then go home without a scratch, but for some reason I couldn't be so optimistic.

The rumors circulating among my companions, painstakingly kept at bay by our centurions, told a quite different story; it was said that there was a human, a tough guy to lead the revolt, and that given the premises it could not be excluded that in addition to the slaves we would also have to deal with the inhabitants of the region, who were anything but lovers of the Empire and its armies.

"Don't worry." my brother Darius kept repeating to me while marching at my side

"You make it look easy. It won't be your first battle."

"There's no reason to be so tense. They're just a band of marauders. It will be enough for us to kill some of them and the others will fall on their knees begging for mercy. Trust me, it won't even be called a battle."

We had almost reached the point where we should have left the Via Imperiale to march against the ghetto, when a scout sent to check the situation turned back and informed the commander that there was an army of at least six hundred warriors waiting for us nearby.

"Have they gone mad?" I heard General Ron say, "Do they really think they can go head-to-head?"

Indeed, despite being recruits we were more than three times their size, and even I knew that with such a numerical advantage and being able to count on better weapons and equipment it would have been a piece of cake to prevail over the enemies.

But the General was not the kind of commander that underestimates the enemy, and we were ordered to march forward in fighting formation, at a slow pace and with weapons ready.

We proceeded like this for a few hours, until we turned a bend and found the rebellious slaves barricaded on a low hill that dominated the road.

It was as my brother had said; more than an enemy army they looked like a motley crew of ill-equipped two-legged animals, proudly waving a flag-shaped banner of rags.

Most of them were armed with a simple spear – some even wielded nothing but pointed sticks – and with just a few layers of patched leather to serve as armor. Despite this, they looked strangely disciplined, and as we formed up in front of them they didn't move or speak, just staring at us.

Suddenly a white horse appeared from behind the enemy formation carrying a young man with a penetrating gaze, dressed in a simple but respectable way, who was respectfully saluted by the rebels.