dmims Chapter 199 The War Commander's Wrath
Chapter 199 The War Commander's Wrath
Chapter 130 The War Commander's Wrath
Inside Marcus's command post.
The atmosphere was as heavy as cast iron, filled with the smells of blood, sweat, and a bitter taste of "failure."
Marcus stood beside an overturned oak table, his chest heaving. His outstretched finger trembled slightly with suppressed rage as he pointed at Lucius, the defeated general kneeling on the ground, his armor shattered and his face covered in blood.
Marcus's voice was squeezed out from between his teeth, and it was deeper than ever before.
"Tell me—are you a complete and utter idiot?!"
He suddenly sprang up and kicked the surviving low stool next to him away.
Almost all the adjutants present felt a chill run down their spines.
Marcus rarely gets angry, which means that when he does get really angry, things are really serious.
Most officers kept their eyes down and their minds at ease, but they couldn't help feeling smug inside.
Yes, that's a completely idiotic move, making you disobey the War Commander's orders!
"I told you! I clearly told Varo to follow them like a shadow, keep a close watch on them, wear them down with Summer Storm, and let them bleed dry like dead dogs! Because we outnumber them! Our men are more elite!"
"Why launch an attack?! Why let Duovaro stuff the Fourteenth Army Corps into their trap like fools?! Why?!"
"You're an idiot! A complete and utter idiot! For your petty desires, the Fourteenth Legion is finished! Tell me, Lucius Mitra, the rising star carefully nurtured by the Elephant Party, what will you use to pay for this?! Your life?"
Upon hearing this, Lucius's already pale face turned even paler.
"No, I won't kill you," Marcus said coldly.
This was more embarrassing for Lucius than when he drew his sword and killed him.
"Your life, what's it worth? A few coppers?! Enough to buy back the blood of those warriors?! Enough to bring back Varo, my old subordinate?"
His roar echoed in the tent, and the other staff officers and officers fell silent, even their breathing became soft.
They knew that Varro was Marcus's old friend, an absolutely loyal subordinate, and his eternal anvil, enough to make Marcus feel at ease entrusting his back to him.
"General—General Varro, he... he died in a natural disaster—" Lucius stammered. "General Varro displayed superhuman courage; he attempted to charge with the banner raised—"
"Then he was struck by lightning and died, without even a complete body," Marcus coldly added.
"Yes—" Lucius tried to argue, but Marcus's cold gaze forced him to swallow his next words.
"That means the gods have all turned their backs on us."
Marcus turned away, refusing to look at him, as if even a glance would taint his eyes. He turned to the map, staring at the markings of death and defeat, his voice low and menacing, more chilling than his earlier roar: "Gather all the routed soldiers, assess the losses—recover any usable equipment, and find the veterans who are fleeing."
.
"At the same time, keep a close watch on all the major roads leading to the disputed lands, and send out all available messengers to report truthfully to the Senate."
He paused, then added, each word sharp as ice: "Including the specific details of how Captain Lucius Villarius actively advocated for and influenced General Varro's decisions during the campaign, leading to our army's reckless advance and defeat. Not a single word was omitted."
Lucius suddenly raised his head, his eyes filled with despair.
This is tantamount to nailing him to the very top of the pillar of shame for defeat!
Marcus gave the order that plunged Lucius into an icy abyss.
"Take him away and keep him under guard. No one is allowed to approach him without my order."
Two towering guards stepped forward, grabbed the limp Lucius without a word, and dragged him out of the tent.
Silence returned to the tent, broken only by the crackling of torches and the faint wails of wounded soldiers in the distance.
Marcus whirled around and walked to the curtain wall displaying the Legion's insignia, his gaze sweeping painfully over the emblems that represented the glory and power of Valantis.
His finger pressed heavily on the symbols representing the Fourteenth Army "Twilight Raiders" and the Fifth Army "Summer Storm".
The symbols of glory seemed to have dimmed somewhat.
Marcus's voice lowered, carrying an almost desperate weariness.
"Look—look at the price we paid. The Twilight Raiders, our heavily armored bulwark—their banner has been taken, a complete disgrace, and half of them have died in Cannibal."
"【Summer Storm】The iron cavalry that come and go like the wind have a low casualty rate, but they will not accept our orders next time. Next spring, they will have to resist the invasion of the Dothraki."
He took a deep breath, as if the air itself smelled of rust.
"And what about us? Our war with the Kingdom of the Three Daughters isn't over yet! But what's the current situation with our legions?"
"The First Legion [Six-Winged Celestial Army]—our oldest and most glorious legion, the cradle of our legion's eldest sons—is now exhausted and needs time to recover!"
"The Third Legion, the 'Uncrowned Princes,' those arrogant noble lads, their equipment is top-tier, brought by themselves, and their combat strength is indeed formidable. However, their casualty rate has reached a point we cannot afford!"
"The fall of every noble's eldest son signifies an earthquake within the family! If the fighting continues, their fathers and brothers will impale me on spears as a sacrifice for their dead children!"
He abruptly raised his hand to stop the adjutant from speaking, and continued pacing along the curtain wall, as if taking stock of his assets or reading an obituary.
"Who else can we use? Should we send in the Fourth Army [Iron Totem]? They are excellent engineers, but the majority are support personnel; they're not suited for this kind of head-on, field assault!"
"Should we send the Twelfth Legion [Gladiators] to fill the gap? They are well-trained slave warriors, berserk fighters who will fight to the death for freedom and to pay off their debts, but they lack experience and discipline in large-scale battles!"
His fingers traced the insignia of the Sixth Legion [Executioners] and the Seventh Legion [Fist of Valantis], and he shook his head.
"The Executioners and the Fist of Valantis must not move! They must keep an eye on our loyal mercenaries and our loyal city-state allies."
As he said this, he grinned, but there was no warmth in his smile.
"Now they're talking about whether Valantis has fallen? That was an entire legion!"
"Tell them that even if they lose an entire legion, Valantis is still the proud eldest daughter of the city-states, still powerful enough to crush every brick and tile of theirs and force them to swallow it!"
"But if there are further losses, who knows if those hyenas will turn on us when they smell their own blood?"
"Moreover, we will also have to deal with the Dothraki cavalry and the warlords and tyrants of Slaver's Bay in the future. We need deterrent power."
"The Eighth Legion [The Just]? They're military police, good at maintaining discipline, but their numbers are already insufficient. Are we going to send them into battle? That's murder, murder of the entire army!"
"—The Fifteenth Legion [The Tower Guardians]? Those scholars and strategists? Sending them to the battlefield would be a joke! As for the Seventeenth Legion [The Zealots]—" His face revealed undisguised disgust and worry.
"Those brainwashed by the priests of the Lord of Light are too unstable; they must be kept under close watch, otherwise who knows what kind of trouble they might cause!"
His voice trailed off, his gaze becoming distant and pained, a deep regret and sorrow flashing in his eyes. He slowly clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white from the force.
"If only—if only we were still the Valantis with thirty full legions—how could we have been turned upside down and humiliated by a remnant army of a few thousand in our own territory?"
He closed his eyes, as if recalling past glories, or as if enduring the lash of reality.
"If the Thirteenth Legion, the Sons of War—our largest, most diverse, and most stable citizen-soldiers legion—hadn't been utterly decimated in the Frontier Wars of 96 AC, to the point of being forced to disband—if the once-powerful Sixteenth Legion, the Sons of Valyria, hadn't rebelled in 80 AC with eight other legions—"
He didn't say anything more, but the heartache and helplessness in his unfinished words weighed heavily on the hearts of everyone in the command post.
The glory of the past has long faded. Today, Valantis is outwardly strong but inwardly weak, forced into such a desperate situation by a lone army. Marcus opened his eyes, his gaze filled with only cold resolve and a trace of weary ruthlessness.
He knew that, no matter what, this battle had to be fought and won, even if it meant draining the last bit of vitality from the massive empire.
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