Reborn as a Fantasy General (Army-Building Isekai)

Chapter 5

The only good Kobold is a dead Kobold

- Greyrax Redpaw



Shit.

It was the only word that came to Marcus' mind as he crouch-ran within his Testudo-column, desperately hoping against all hopes that his flimsy shield would be enough to protect him against the storm of arrows coming their way.

The ridge had all but vanished – replaced by a hazy steam-cloud that Deekius' spell of heating had managed to produce. It provided the perfect cover, but Marcus knew there would be casualties even with its protection.

"Priest!" he called out to the shambling robed rat that was bringing up the rear of the formation. "You stay close to me."

He wasn't about to have his only ticket out of here kick the bucket so early.

"I am with you, Sire!" Deekius roared above the din of the cackling troops as they approached the bridge over the Gulch that would take them to the Kobold army's left flank.

Marcus felt the reverb of arrows and pellets bounce of his shield and forced his arms to hold steady. He'd only ever been involved in reenactments – mostly of US Civil War engagements – and aside from the occasional trip to the Renfaire when it came through town, he wasn't exactly accustomed to using a shield as a shock absorber.

Even if this one was little more than a toy by human standards.

The ratlings kept up the Testudo with a surprising level of discipline, even managing to maintain their ranks as they turned and made the crossing over the steam-caked bridge, and Marcus felt it quiver under their weight.

"Forward!" Deekius cried. "In the name of He-Who-Festers! For King Shrykul, and for the Shai-Alud!"

"THE SHAI-ALUD!" the column cried. "SHAI-ALUD!"

Marcus closed his eyes and willed his legs to continue forward as the hail of arrows grew denser by the second. He could tell they were unfocused – that the enemy had utterly lost its line of sight and probably their morale judging by the wild trajectories of their projectiles. Yet still, the logical part of his brain balked at what was happening, right now – of him running like a madman in a column of spear-wielding giant rats that were worshipping him like he was some kind of deity – a hero sent to them by their malodorous God to guide them into battle.

As Marcus through the steam cloud and saw tiny, knife-eared shadows appear in front of the column, he realized that if he wanted to make sense of any of this – if he wanted a way back home – he'd have to throw himself into the part.

Think – what would Hannibal have said at the Battle of Canne when his pincers slammed into the Roman defense? How would he have inspired his troops?

As the running became even more fervent, and the ratmen at the front more agitated than ever, Marcus threw off his shield and bellowed his command:

"Close ranks!" he called. "Front-Guard, shields up! Second row, spears down!"

The ratlings did as they were bid, even though Marcus could sense the desire to charge forward.

The first kobolds to see them screamed, their arrows flying wide or dinging pathetically off the shields of the front guard.

"Advance!" Marcus shouted. "Maintain speed!"

"This is being a moment that shall be written in history!" Deekius chuckled manically, his beady eyes and tatty tail twitching in anticipation.

By this point, the mouths of the ratlings in the column were practically salivating. They crept towards the kobolds flank, while the latter fought the overwhelming desire to scarper and flee.

Then they turned, hearing the death knells of their friends on the right flank, signaling to Marcus that Skeever had already smashed into their formation.

He looked into the tiny, wavering eyes of the kobold archers, breathed deep, and delivered his last command:

"CHARGE!"

The force with which the ratling's spears thrust out almost knocked Marcus off his feet. He heard the first Kobold's scream before his eyes caught up to the carnage. The Testudo column balked, stalled, and then the rat's heaved to, dragging their impaled victims away and shaking them off the tips of their bloodied weapons. Their tiny bodies dripped away in eviscerated chunks, leaving twitching corpses under their feet.

"Ratguard of Shrykul!" Deekius roared above the din of the Kobold archers' screams. "HEAVE!"

"HO-RAH-HAH!"

On the last syllable of their chant the column thrust in again, tearing through the Kobold army's left flank which by this point had all but collapsed. Many of the little critters simply threw their arrows and bows to the ground and started running as the column of living thorns pushed towards them.

Marcus watched the chaos unfold with awestruck eyes. He saw the Kobolds bodies buckle and crumble as the ratling's spears pierced their bloated bellies, spilling blood and ichor across the basalt ground so that Marcus had to watch his footing. A river of dark crimson now flowed beneath his feet.

"Gom-Yip save us!" came the terrified cries of the Kobolds from deeper within the beleaguered army's ranks as they tried running in the opposite direction only to be impaled on the spears of Skeever and his detachment. Slowly but surely, both rat-filled Testudos pushed forward, hemming in the enemy's dwindling forces.

Marcus saw some stragglers jump into the gulch below, taking their chances with the dark waters that still bubbled beneath their feet. A few managed to break out from their haphazard formation and sprint passed the column, and Marcus saw the bloodthirsty red of the front-line's eyes light up.

"HOLD!" he yelled. "L-let them go!"

Marcus could feel his bowels start to lurch at the sights and – and the smells.