Greek Brutes X Blue-Eyed Persian Cats?
"Great King of the Skies, Jupiter, Father of the Gods (Zeus), thunder is your scepter, lightning is your roar, its power is the thunder that pierces through the stars!"
On the hilltop, a group of Magecraft accompanying the army chanted the name of the chief god, cooperating with the priests to offer up their magical power and perform a large-scale ritual incantation.
Rumble...
The sky was covered with dark clouds, a strong wind was blowing, and lightning bolts, shaped like tree branches, stretched out and tore through the clouds, with hundreds of dazzling blue-white arcs of light striking outwards.
In the blink of an eye, dozens of Persian Spellcasters were pierced by lightning. Before they could even scream, they were reduced to ashes along with the Flying Carpet.
"Our Lord of Light, the Tethra, Father of Flames. Flame is light. With this spirit of fire, we dispel darkness and cleanse impurity!"
But then, the Persian Spellcasters in mid-air also chanted rapidly, raised their divine lamps, and spewed out a golden light membrane in the shape of lamp flames from the spouts. As it burned fiercely, it covered the bodies of these spellcasters, blocking the lightning arcs and bombardments. The arcs of electricity and flames flickered and shimmered.
Zeus versus Tontra? Greek Brutes versus a blue-eyed Persian cat?
With the two fronts locked in a stalemate, Samael, unable to intervene, began to drift off course. As soon as these keywords touched his mind, certain images involuntarily began to veer off course, conjuring up scenes of men on top of men.
There's nothing we can do about it; it's just that old acquaintance who's both friend and foe. He's willing to sleep with anyone, regardless of species or gender, truly a fearless stud in the world of harems.
Realizing he had gone off-topic, Samael shuddered and quickly snapped out of the nauseating images in his mind, shifting his attention back to the battlefield.
Previously, due to the frequent battles between the old rivals Persia and Rome, they knew each other almost inside and out, and when their spellcasters fought, it was basically a close call.
However, the Festival of Lupercalia caused a major upheaval, leading to the collapse of the Pantheon, the dissipation of its power, and the assassination of dozens of high-level Magecraft and priests. Coupled with the three-front war, the skill level of these urgently deployed spellcasters has noticeably declined.
As the tide turned and the second and third waves of Persian Spellcasters ascended into the sky to attack, the Roman Legions legionary Magecraft were gradually overwhelmed and their situation became increasingly precarious.
Pompey placed high hopes on him, and he infiltrated the heart of the enemy's Roman Legions. However, as he approached Darius III's court, he was stopped by an army of over two thousand men dressed in black armor, wielding Curved Swords and Round Shields.
Under the simultaneous, chilling arcs of light, thousands of beams of light cleaved through the air, creating a series of wailing and howling sounds. Where the coldness passed, blood splattered, and the Roman Soldier charging into formation with their shields were cleaved apart by the sharp energy.
As the black-clad army withdrew, drops of blood slid from the tips of their scimitars to the ground. With a single strike, the Roman Legions in front lost an entire elite hundred-man squad, while the Persian soldiers opposite suffered only a handful of casualties.
As for the wounded, even if their arms were severed or their abdomens were pierced by arrows, they could still casually press the severed arm against the wound and let the flesh and blood regenerate, or pull out the arrow from their abdomens and continue fighting.
The silver masks on their faces gave off a ghostly glow, and the emotionless look in their pupils created a sinister atmosphere that sent chills down the spines of their opponents.
"Long live Rome! Long live the Empire! Charge!"
With the arrow on the bowstring, the Centurion brandished their swords and roared, as tens of thousands of soldiers charged forward.
Swing the sword, slash...
Swing the sword, slash...
Swing the sword, slash...
The Persian soldiers, clad in black armor, moved like emotionless machines, mechanically and precisely repeating their monotonous yet practical movements.
A continuous flash of sword light, like layers of stacked ocean waves, gave the seemingly thin defensive line a chilling, dark blue hue.
One by one, the Roman Soldier who crashed into it were mercilessly cut in half with their spears, cleaved in two with their swords and shields, and torn apart with their flesh.
Even though the Roman Legions were of higher quality than the regular Persian army, a single hundred-man unit could still overpower a Persian army of over a thousand men.
But in the face of these black phantoms, the gap between them and these monsters was an insurmountable chasm. It often took nearly ten elite soldiers to barely take down one of their black-armored warriors.
The scene quickly turned into a bloody slaughterhouse in front of the two armies, with severed limbs and scattered organs everywhere, and casualties on both sides soaring.
Despite repeated attacks by the Roman Legions, these black monsters, riddled with wounds, severed limbs, and disemboweled, stubbornly held their line and withstood the enemy's penetration and division.
It's those two bitches raising Undying Army again!
On the low hill, Pompey watched the group of black phantoms who had retreated from the fortress and were now blocking his own legion's advance and division. His expression was uncertain, and he cursed under his breath.
The opportunity to fight has been lost; we can't delay any longer!
Pompey waved his hand dejectedly, signaling his troops to pass on the message of retreat. His eyes were full of resentment, but he was also helpless.
If it were just these spineless Persian soldiers, even if tens of thousands more came, they would only be lambs waiting to be slaughtered.
But on earth where the Age of Gods had not yet completely faded, the gap between mortals and heroes could not be bridged by numbers alone. A mere two thousand retreating Undying Army held off tens of thousands of Roman Soldiers.
There are at least seven or eight thousand of these monsters in the city!
Once the remnants of the Tenth Legion are slaughtered, or more than half of the Undying Army have completely retreated and penetrated deep into the heart of the Persian army, this legion will have no way to leave!
"Waaaaah!"
As the mournful sound of horns rang out, the Roman Legions, having received their orders, bound together, formed shields, and retreated in an orderly fashion.
Want to leave? Not so easy!
As time went on, the Persian army, whose flanks had been breached, was gradually regrouped under the leadership of the old general Memnon.
After stabilizing the royal court, the old general Memnon, seeing that the Roman Legions were showing signs of retreating, sneered and, in coordination with the main force, flanked them from both sides, intending to surround and devour the intruding Roman Legions.
At this moment, Pompey, who was on the hill, saw this and couldn't help but laugh in anger, coldly waving his hand.
As orders were relayed, a cloud of dust rose high, and two groups of Roman cavalry, each several thousand strong, charged out from behind the hills like two scimitars. With lightning speed, they plunged into the flanks of the Persian army. The Persian soldiers, who had just finished their maneuvering and flanking maneuvers, had no time to turn around before they were overwhelmed and fell to the ground, their cries of agony filling the air.
The Roman Legions were not just infantry!
Within a standard corps, there are light cavalry serving as vanguards and scouts, corps cavalry protecting the flanks, and imperial guards cavalry guarding the command post—all are present.
Even with the Roman Legions' century-old elite force, they couldn't defeat the Undying Army, let alone deal with you Persian regular troops who are only fit to wave flags and shout from behind.
Pompey gave a sinister sneer, his expression arrogant.
"Kill!"
Meanwhile, the Centurion, frustrated by their defeat at the hands of the Undying Army and seening their cavalry break through the Persian formation, immediately drew their swords and roared. They led their various detachments, skillfully splitting and flanking the fleeing soldiers, like well-coordinated killing machines, cutting down and slaughtering those who stood in their way.
A bunch of useless trash! Can't be helped!
When the old Persian general Memnon saw his newly assembled regular Persian army scattering and fleeing like headless flies, his face twitched violently. He wished he could grab these bastards one by one and hang them. A strong sense of powerlessness welled up in his heart, and he could only watch helplessly as the Romans slaughtered a group of Persian soldiers and swaggered out of the encirclement.