Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 1179: Battle of Tegea (5)

When Muklu galloped to the area, his heart plummeted at the sight before him. It was a disaster. The Tegeans really had betrayed them!

Beside him, Carixenus, the guide from Mantineia, was dumbfounded. "This... The Tegeans betrayed the Arcadian League?! General Muklu, I swear to Zeus, we Mantineians knew nothing about this!"

His expression dark, Muklu had no patience for Carixenus's excuses. He yanked his reins, kicked his horse into a hard gallop, and sped toward the army command center. He had to report this disastrous turn of events to the commander immediately.

Carixenus cast a furious glare at the City of Tegea before riding off after Muklu.

...

As a squad leader, while his fifty soldiers eagerly chased down the enemy, Max had to do his best to control the squad and keep them from scattering.

Theonian Military Law demanded it. The First Legion was one of the most formidable forces in the Daionian Army not just because of their combat skills, but because of their strict discipline. Today, however, maintaining formation during the pursuit was proving monstrously difficult. Despite wearing armor and carrying shields and spears, the fleeing enemies were incredibly fast. Aside from gaining a slight edge when the rout first began, the soldiers soon found the gap widening; they simply couldn't catch the fleeing troops. This infuriated the proud soldiers of the First Legion. In the annual Daionian Army competitions, the First Legion had never fallen below third place in the armed sprint, yet now they were being outrun by a pack of mercenaries!

Sprinting with all their might, the men turned a deaf ear to their officers' shouts. Max shouted himself hoarse, watching helplessly as his squad threatened to break apart completely. Then, a sharp bugle call rang out from the rear.

He instinctively glanced back. Through the churning dust, he saw the colorful legion flags waving frantically in succession, rippling from the front lines to the rear.

The soldiers beside him took up the shout, passing it down the line. Before long, the men ahead of Max halted their pursuit. Panting heavily, they glared with bitter reluctance at the fleeing enemy.

"Form up! Fall in!" Max shouted hoarsely.

He didn't really need to strain so hard. The surrounding soldiers were already automatically converging on him. Some didn't even belong to his squad, but the stark white plume atop Max's helmet gave them a focal point; this was instinct honed by countless drills.

Just as the soldiers of the First Legion converged on their squad and company leaders, the fleeing enemy troops ground to a halt. Then, roaring battle cries, they turned and charged right back.

"Damn it! A feigned retreat!" Alarmed by the sight, Max, standing at the legion's vanguard, ignored the stabbing pain in his throat and screamed, "Form ranks!" He held his spear high in the air, waving it frantically.

Dorieus, a former member of the Spartan Royal Guard and the former military commander of Messenia, had abandoned Messenia without a fight when the Daionian Army invaded. The Council of Elders and the Ephors had nearly exiled him from his homeland for it. Though he was ultimately given a chance to redeem himself, his life in Sparta had been difficult ever since. The Spartan citizens who had lost lands in Messenia glared at him furiously whenever they saw him, even shouting insults. Dorieus had to swallow his pride and take every blow in silence. Always viewed as the pride of his parents, wife, and children, he had never endured such bitter humiliation. He barely knew how he had survived those agonizing days—but all his endurance had been for this very moment.

Now nearly fifty, he fought today on the front lines as an ordinary Spartan Warrior. Throughout the early clash, he had remained firmly on the defensive to conserve his stamina. Yet this rapid sprint in heavy armor had left him gasping for breath; age, after all, was catching up to him. The relentless pursuit of the Daionian soldiers was unlike anything he had encountered in his past battles. He finally decided to stop running, hoping to use his remaining strength to kill at least one enemy before he died. But when he turned around, he saw the pursuers behind him grinding to a halt.

This, too, was something Dorieus had never seen in his past battles. Whenever they had employed this tactic before, the enemy would scatter more and more during the pursuit until they became a completely disorganized mob. Many would even cast aside their helmets and shields, so the moment the Spartans counterattacked, they could easily rout the enemy.

Yet now, staring through the eye slits of his Corinthian helmet, he saw the exact opposite: the Daionian soldiers still gripped their weapons tightly, their armor intact. Furthermore, they were actively contracting their lines, attempting to reform their formation...

Dorieus grew anxious. He absolutely could not allow the warriors' hard efforts to go to waste. Nudging the soldiers beside him with his bronze shield, he roared, "Attack!" Then, gripping his shield and spear, he accelerated into a charge back toward the enemy.

He absolutely could not let the enemy regroup! Driven by this conviction, Dorieus vaulted forward. He thrust his spear with all his might, stabbing at the nearest Daionian soldier.

The soldier quickly raised his long shield. With a crisp

Riding his forward momentum, Dorieus threw his body into a forward slam with his bronze shield. The two shields collided with a resounding

Dorieus thrust his spear again. Sliding perfectly over the upper rim of the opponent's long shield, the spear shot like lightning toward the enemy's exposed throat.

The soldier quickly jerked his head aside. The spear knocked his helmet off and carved a horrific, bloody gash across his face, making him scream in agony.

Dorieus did not thrust his spear again. With a lateral shove of his round shield, he battered the wounded Daionian soldier aside and continued charging forward. He trusted that his comrades would finish off that enemy.

He had barely taken a few steps when a sudden force slammed into his back, followed by an agonizing pain. Beneath the sheer agony, his gathered strength rapidly drained away. Staggering a few steps, he twisted around in disbelief, only to see the wounded Daionian soldier staring at him with resolute eyes. The hand that had been holding a spear was now utterly empty. A split second later, the soldier was swallowed up by the swarming Spartan Warriors.

Dorieus slowly collapsed to the ground. Even as he died, he harbored a bitter sense of unfulfillment: he had failed to kill a single Daionian soldier to wash away his sins.

When the trailing Spartan Warriors in the feigned retreat pivoted to the offensive, the warriors ahead of them immediately followed suit. The time required for the entire army to transition from a rout to an attack was incredibly short, requiring no bugle calls to command them. This was the tacit coordination fostered by long-term training since childhood.

Meanwhile, the vanguard soldiers of the Daionian First Legion were already scattered. Facing the surging tide of Spartan Warriors, they simply could not return to their ranks in time. Yet, even knowing they were vastly outnumbered, they did not turn and flee. Instead, they bravely held their ground to block the enemy, buying precious time for their comrades behind them. This was the result of long-term training among the soldiers of the Theonia Legion in strict accordance with Theonian Military Law.

Max's squad still numbered fewer than fifty men, but the situation was critical. Unable to wait any longer, he immediately shouted the order: "Tortoise Formation!"

The entire squad swiftly formed a column five men wide, facing the oncoming Spartans. The outermost soldiers raised their long shields to their chests to form a shield wall, while the soldiers inside locked their long shields over their heads. Then, everyone tossed aside their spears and drew their short swords, for in the cramped space enclosed by the long shields, spears could no longer be wielded.

Nearly all the officers issued the exact same order. Because the hastily formed squares were spaced far apart and temporarily cut off from friendly support, the Tortoise Formation undeniably offered the strongest defense when facing encirclement.

Max's makeshift squad had just finished forming up when the Spartan Warriors crashed into them. Although the Daionian formation was bizarre to them, the Spartans did not halt their attack, striking with shield bashes and spear thrusts.

These two most common methods of attack clearly had little effect on the strange Daionian formation. Some Spartan Warriors simply resorted to slamming their bodies directly against the shields, only for Daionian short swords to dart out from the gaps like venomous vipers, stabbing and wounding them.

The vanguard of Spartan Warriors found themselves momentarily stymied by the Tortoise Formation. However, the relentless surge of warriors from the rear forced them to keep moving, pushing them to continue their headlong charge forward.

Before long, Max's entire squad was completely surrounded by Spartan Warriors. Inside their cramped, enclosed space, the Daionian soldiers could not see the outside, but they could hear the deafening roars of the enemy. Tense and strained, they threw all their strength into resisting the shuddering impacts hammering their long shields while carefully dodging the spears jabbing through the gaps. In return, they continuously thrust their short swords out to wound any enemies who pressed too close to the shield wall.

These small Daionian squares positioned at the very front were like tiny boats in a stormy sea, rocking wildly and threatening to capsize at any moment. For the Daionian soldiers inside the Tortoise Formations, every passing second felt like an eternity.

As for the officers at the center of each formation, the only thing they could do was continuously encourage the soldiers in hoarse voices: "Hold on, brothers! Our reinforcements will be here soon!"

...

Ever since the Spartan right wing had initiated the feigned retreat, Agesilaus had been gripped by nervous tension. He constantly dispatched guards to the front to carefully scout the battle in the center. When word reached him that the mercenaries on the right side of the center had begun to retreat in some disarray, he cursed furiously, even wanting to rush over personally to rally their morale, but was dissuaded by his guards.

Not long after, when he received news that the Spartan Warriors had halted their retreat, launched a counterattack, and thrown the Daionian battle lines into disarray, his face lit up with excitement. Clenching his right fist, he pumped it forcefully: "Well done!"