The deployment is swift, with a nine hundred pikemen in front, some ranged units behind them, and at the very back 120 or so hoplites personally led by Prince Euenios and Dionysus. As far as they can see there's about 300 or 400 Romans in Green tunics, looking like a small patch of grass.
The Greeks march forward in a well-disciplined phalanx formation, their bronze armor glinting in the afternoon sun. The Romans seem surprised at their sudden appearance, but quickly organize into their own line, raising their shields in a silent challenge. The tension in the air is palpable, as if the very earth holds its breath, waiting for the battle to unfold.
As they got closer, the patch of grass became a terrifying mass of people. The army slowly advances forward, stopping near a lone abandoned watch tower, waiting for the Romans to march into their ranks, their pikes pointed towards them.
Dionysus, astride a fiery steed, brings his horse to a halt beside Prince Euenios. The prince's eyes are sharp, scanning the enemy lines for any signs of weakness. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, and his lips are set in a firm line. The god whispers advice into his ear, his breath warm and reassuring. The prince nods, his eyes never leaving the Romans.
The Romans, all they know is to charge forward, they are brutes. The Archers are first to shoot at the Romans, but as they got closer the Greeks can see the Italian's faces, in their light armor reminiscent of Hermes, and their 4 meter pikes, they charge even closer every moment.
The pikemen lock their shields together, forming an impenetrable wall of steel and wood, their breaths heavy and their eyes focused on the Romans steadfastly approaching. Each man's hand is tightly gripped on the shaft of his pike, muscles straining, ready to thrust forward.
As the Romans charge in groups towards the phalanx, the Greek javelin flies towards them.
The thud of the pikes meeting the Roman shields echoes across the battlefield, the Greeks' disciplined line unyielding as the Romans throw themselves at them. Each collision is met with a grunt and a clang, the air thick with dust and the scent of iron and sweat. The Romans push and shove, trying to break through the impenetrable wall, but the Greeks hold firm, their years of training and the strength of their formation keeping them in place.
The fighting erupts in one of the phalanx formations, the other units hold their ground, watching as their comrades bear the brunt of the Roman barbarians.
After a moment, another group of topless Green Romans with round shields and small swords attempt to go in between the phalanx of another unit, and they are forced to fight back.
After both are engaged, the Roman Cavalry charges into the front due to the javelins hitting their ranks.
The Greeks remain steadfast in their resolve, their eyes never wavering from the oncoming storm of iron and flesh. The Roman cavalry, a mix of elite equites and hastati, come thundering down the hillside, their horses' hooves shaking the ground beneath them. The Greeks' hearts pound in unison with the hooves, their breaths quick and shallow as they prepare for the impact.
The Roman javelins are hitting the two leftmost units of phalanx, forcing them to move to the center, attempting to surround the Romans engaged there.
But the center collapses even before they can walk the small distance to the side, much worse, the left most phalanx got tired of getting pelted by the Roman javelins, started marching towards them, planning to skewer the lighter troops.
The Greeks watch in horror as their meticulously constructed formation starts to crumble, the Romans' sheer ferocity and weight pushing through the gaps they had created.
War… war is terrible, and is this how war is fought now?
The Roman Cavalry takes on the left phalanx and the infantry took on the right, and the cavalry taking on the sides of the phalanx easily started decimating the unit.
The Greeks fight back with fierce determination, their pikes flashing like the teeth of a cornered beast. The Romans, despite their smaller size, are surprisingly strong and agile, dodging and parrying with their swords, trying to find an opening in the Greek shields. The sound of metal on metal and the cries of the injured fill the air, a cacophony of chaos and valor.
The phalanx that marched out to attack the Roman javelins moved back to attack the flank of the Roman Infantry, at the same time the Greek javelins that ran out of missiles moved into the right flank of the engaged Romans currently duking it out with the phalanx in front of them.
The Roman cavalry, noticing the shift in momentum, veered towards the Greeks' left flank, after decimating the phalanx, chasing down the Greek Archers.
The archers, nimble and swift, darted between the trees, their arrows flying, finding their marks in the unarmored horses. Yet, the Romans' superior numbers and discipline began to tell, as more Greeks fell under the merciless hooves and swords of the enemy.
A Roman unit breaks, but the archers are probably done for. The phalanx that planned to attack the Roman Infantry's flank, was attacked by a split of the Roman Cavalry.
The Greek Javelin unit charged into the retreating Roman Infantry unit that split from the others, hacking them to death with the javelin on their hands.
The Roman cavalry, seeing their comrades in trouble, wheeled around to face the Greeks, and in the process of running down the Roman Infantry charged into the Roman Javelins and the Cavalrymen with them.
This entire time, Prince Euenios is nowhere to be found… because the Roman Cavalry is currently chasing him down, an entire unit of cavalry chasing him, who's on foot. This is the most he have ran in his entire life.
Dionysus and Euenios laugh out loud to themselves as they run a marathon, the Roman swords once or twice nearly lopping their heads off their shoulders as they do.