Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Red and black Mana shells and beams rained down without pause on the Persian army's flank. Charging downhill, the Roman legions seized the chaos and drove their blades straight into the enemy's exposed weak points.
Braving even their own side's close-range Magecraft bombardment, the ferocious Roman legions formed a sharp wedge and crashed through the torn gaps in the Persian lines. They forced their way in brutally, widening the rupture in the formation and pushing deep toward the rear, aiming straight for Darius III atop his war elephant.
In an instant, the weaknesses of the Persian rank and file, their lack of combat ability and fighting spirit, were laid bare. Disorder spread like ripples, quickly sweeping across nearly half the army.
At that moment, atop a low hill.
Samael looked out over the battlefield. His Star Eyes opened and closed, piercing through the dust-filled air and taking in the entire situation at a glance.
Huff...
The Ancient Serpent's chest rose and fell slightly as he let out a long breath he had been holding since the battle began, fatigue creeping in.
To rush reinforcements to the front, Samael had expended what little spatial authority he had only just recovered, while also deploying large-scale Runes to support the army. The fifty-thousand troops were able to accelerate their march, conceal their movements, and reach the battlefield in just seven days.
He wasn't some rigid fool bound by doctrine. Divine Spirit power wasn't meant for slaughtering ordinary people, true, but no rule said it couldn't be used to aid his own side.
Besides, he was only acting as a Magus now. Who could possibly single him out?
In any case, the effort had paid off. It had worked.
Samael glanced sideways at Pompey, who stood calmly issuing commands through horns, signal flags, and Magecraft incantations. He gave a faint nod, a trace of admiration flashing through his eyes.
A seasoned and renowned general indeed, able to seize the exact moment, exploit the enemy's weakness, and shape such a favorable situation.
Of course, that required the patience of a hunter and the vision of a strategist.
In truth, thanks to Samael's subtle intervention, the fifty-thousand troops had already arrived at the battlefield's outskirts the moment the city fell, witnessing the collapse of the fortress held by the Tenth Legion.
Yet Pompey hadn't rushed to commit his forces to relieve them.
Once the fortress line had fallen, it had already lost any value worth saving.
With such a disparity in strength, acting on emotion and throwing away troops would achieve nothing, worse, it would cost them their only remaining leverage.
In a disadvantage like this, the first priority was simple, make no mistakes. Only then could there be a chance to turn things around.
So Pompey restrained his army strictly, waiting with remarkable patience. Like a veteran hunter hidden in the grass, he stayed concealed, quietly watching the battlefield unfold.
It wasn't until Darius III committed his elite force, the ten thousand Immortals, into the fortress for the assault that Pompey's tightly furrowed brows finally relaxed.
At once, the veteran general sounded the war horn, stirring the defenders' fighting spirit. Confirming that the Immortals were tied down inside the citadel, he immediately seized the opening and launched his attack.
The regular Persian troops were mediocre at best. Without the Immortals anchoring them, they simply couldn't withstand a close-range charge from the Roman legions.
And just as Pompey had predicted, the gold and crimson Roman legions surged forward like molten lava flowing across the earth, unstoppable. They tore through the Persian flank with ease, drove deep into the rear, and continued to expand their gains.
"General, you've exceeded my expectations."
Samael's gaze carried clear approval. By any fair measure, this man was an excellent player of the board.
"Your Highness, you give me too much credit."
Pompey looked toward the spreading chaos across the army and shook his head calmly. After a brief pause, he spoke in a low, earnest tone.
"If Darius I or Xerxes were in command, I would likely have abandoned this position and withdrawn to the Ninth Province to rebuild our lines. But both are away on the Athens campaign. With Darius III leading here, we still have a chance. He may be a qualified ruler, but he is far from a capable commander."
Samael fell into thought at the frank assessment.
The reasoning was simple.
Avoiding mistakes only preserved the possibility of turning things around.
Waiting for the enemy to make the first mistake, that was the real opportunity to win from behind.
Put in modern terms, hold steady when you're behind, and you can still win. Stay disciplined when ahead, and the enemy will eventually lose.
Otherwise, a single misstep could collapse an otherwise winning position.
Still, an opportunity was only an opportunity. It was too early to decide victory or defeat.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Just as the Roman legions surged forward, within the chaos of the Persian army, a force led by the veteran general Mannoon stepped in against the tide. Swords drawn and shields raised, they advanced head-on, cutting down every fleeing soldier without mercy.
"By Mithra, Lord of Light, His Majesty is watching you! Stop this at once! Immediately!
Point your blades at the enemy, and leave your backs to your comrades!
Otherwise, you spineless wretches, be ready to face the punishment of being burned alive by the Holy Flame when you return!"
Seeing this, Darius III turned his head slightly.
"At a time like this, and you still hesitate! If they break into the main camp, we're all finished!"
Memnon sensed the king's unease. Forcing down the urge to curse, he twisted his face into a grim expression and ordered his personal guards to raise their killing blades.
Under the repeated flashes of cold steel, amid the stench of their comrades' blood, the sight of severed bodies strewn across the ground, and the old general's frantic, roaring commands, the soldiers finally snapped out of their panic. Gritting their teeth, they turned and faced the oncoming Roman legions.
Although the waves of chaos spreading toward the center of the formation were brutally suppressed, the defensive line hastily assembled by the old general Memnon couldn't cover everything.
Faced with the Roman legions' precise coordination and relentless assault, the Persians, forced to turn back by sheer fear, were no match for the Romans charging like ferocious beasts.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Just as the Persian flank began to crumble, on the verge of being completely torn apart, the sharp sound of arrows slicing through the air rang out endlessly. Like meteors streaking across the heavens, a rain of arrows howled down onto the embattled flank.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
In an instant, dull tearing sounds echoed everywhere. Persian and Roman soldiers alike were pierced through and pinned to the ground by arrows, crimson blood spraying and pooling freely.
"Defensive formation! Defensive formation!"
The centurions, the backbone of the Roman legions, shouted orders as they directed the troops. Units of a hundred men closed ranks, raising their tower shields and locking them together to form a continuous barrier, resisting wave after wave of arrows.
Even so, the sheer force of the arrows, strong enough to pierce metal and stone, proved overwhelming. In mere moments, dozens of shields inscribed with defensive runes shattered. The tightly packed Roman soldiers fell in swathes, like grain cut down by a scythe.
The Meteor Legion!
From atop the low hill, Samael's eyes sharpened. This indiscriminate barrage had already inflicted heavy losses on the Roman legions since the charge began.
Beside him, Pompey immediately issued new orders, commanding the troops to push through the arrow-covered zone and engage the Persians at close range.
Relying on their exceptional discipline, the Roman soldiers swiftly adjusted their formation. Cracked shields were replaced and rotated with practiced efficiency as the ranks advanced steadily under the relentless arrow storm.
They trampled across blood-soaked ground, slick beneath their feet, and over Persian corpses bristling with arrows like hedgehogs. Any wounded still groaning were finished off without hesitation. Before long, they had pushed deep toward the heart of the Persian army.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Suddenly, dense chanting filled the air. One magecraft circle after another formed upon the ground, and spirits of bright yellow flame surged forward. Waves of scorching heat swept through the battlefield, and Roman soldiers touched by even a spark had their flesh split and burned, screaming as they collapsed, their bodies reduced to charred remains.
Fire spirits, Ifrits!