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Adrastus’ plan is failing.
You see him drawing close atop his commander’s platform, a lionhide draped over his brazen shoulder – he is gesticulating furiously, but with little effect. As the first lines clashed, he has pulled close with his reserves, clearly meaning to supplement them or perhaps replace them with fresh troops. Unfortunately, your half of the Argive army is more receptive to your booming voice than his troops are to his, and you’re simply out-fighting him on the lines. Your men make his troops bleed for the effort of every strike, and with exhaustion setting in, you’re pleased with your progress. His outer ranks are beginning to crumble, slowly... and then quickly! You hear the wails of men as they are toppled and beaten by their compatriots – a steady stream of stumbling soldiers are scrambled out of the chaos, some of them bloody. The nerve of Adrastus’ troopers fails in half of his outer line, and they tumble backwards out of the fray – huge clouds of dust erupt on the field as a thousand men turn and run! You resist the urge to order a general charge, and instead have your troops maintain position as you draw your reserves closer. Argyros is pleased that you’re maintaining discipline – if you wrap your reserves around Adrastus’ front line, the battle is effectively over - you’ll have orchestrated a lopsided victory!
It doesn’t escape you though, that one of your battalions is flailing – the one to your middle-left, alone amongst your troops, was savaged by Adrastus’ forces in the opening moments of the conflict. You estimate that they are perhaps at 70% strength. Even though you are in strong position, you’d prefer not to provide Adrastus with a gap in your armor – you belt out a series of commands, and your battered division quickly begins retreating, with their shields facing the enemy, and their companion reserve battalion begins jogging ahead to plug the hole in the line.
You hear your uncle shouting above the din, shouting <span class="mu-i">“NOW NOW NOW!”</span>, and you catch a flash of bronze at the left corner of your vision. Mecisteus and Pronax leap into sight – some trickery kept them hidden. They stand head and shoulders over your troops, their unmarked bronze shining in the morning light; with no distinguishing marks, they look like twinned creations of Hephaestus Χαλκευς. You hiss in frustration as they barrel into your retreating, wounded battalion, making enormous sweeps with their training spears – with every lateral strike, a handful of men are knocked off their feet and into the dust, barring them from further action. In a flash, twenty men are left sprawled across the earth, clutching their sides and limbs. Mecisteus or Pronax – you cannot tell which from which, in their unmarked armor, catches you watching their unhindered advance. He makes a crude gesture in your direction –
<span class="mu-i">I’m coming for you, nephew!
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