Asymmetrical

Lugging his heavy armor and strapping it on, Antigonos finishes up a few more permits for lots around the city. The City is built first as a military base, with a city full of civilians around them.

Make no mistake, this is a military institution training children as young as 4 to join the military.

Antigonos hefts his sword into its scabbard with a grunt. The weight of it, once a comfort, now feels like a burden. He glances around the dusty street, his eyes scanning the faces of the civilians that bustle about their day.

The children are heading to their academies wearing state made gear, and now that 3,000 soldiers have gathered in the square with their new steel weapons, it's time to move out north.

Antigonos, feeling the weight of his age and the heaviness of his role, joins the mass of soldiers marching towards the city's gates. The cobblestone streets echo with the rhythmic clank of iron and the thud of booted feet. He can't help but wonder what kind of future these young recruits are marching into.

The youngest is 14 and the oldest is 21, and since the colony's inception just a few years ago, these are the only group of naturalized citizens he can gather from this Iberian stronghold.

Mastiapolis is going to bleed a lot in the future, and new blood will constantly be drained from now on.

The sun beats down on the soldiers as they march out of the city gates, leaving the relative safety of the city's embrace for the vast, untamed wilderness beyond. Antigonos squints into the horizon, where the dark line of a forest looms. The air is filled with the scent of iron and sweat, mixed with the faint sweetness of blooming wildflowers that dare to grow alongside the road. The young soldiers' faces are a blend of excitement and fear, their eyes wide and unblinking as they stare ahead at the unknown.

Antigonos is at the back of the column, leading the men forward.

"Stay in line! Keep your eyes open, and keep your mouths shut!" he barks out orders, trying to keep his own fear at bay. The young soldiers obey, their youthful exuberance tempered by the gravity of the situation. The older ones look to him for reassurance, for a sense of control amidst the chaos that is war.

This is it, we're sending children to war, children end up fighting in wars to further the ambitions of old men.

The march is grueling, and the hours stretch into days as the column of soldiers snake their way through the countryside. The inexperienced recruits grumble under their breaths, their enthusiasm waning with each mile that passes beneath their blistered feet. 

The disciplined ranks enter the forest, constructing a road made of cobbled stone as they go. Everything must be done step by step, and these recruits had enough experience to become temporary construction workers.

Antigonos calls for a halt as nightfall approaches. The soldiers, exhausted, drop their packs and begin setting up camp. Fires crackle to life, casting flickering shadows across the weary faces. The smell of roasting meat fills the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and leather. 

Even though these kids are still green you can tell they look fresh, not even slightly scared of what's to come, they even look eager. Obviously after some propaganda here and there they have an idealized vision of what a soldier is.

They have the philosophy of self sacrifice ingrained into their heads, that dying in the battlefield is nothing to be afraid of, and is just the destiny of everyone.

The young soldiers, though inexperienced in the full brutality of combat, are already proficient in the art of soldiering. Their youthful limbs move with precision, their eyes dart around the landscape, taking in every detail, every potential threat. 

They have been drilled in strategy, tactics, and discipline since they were old enough to hold a wooden practice sword. They know the weight of their responsibility, the future of the city and their loved ones resting upon their shoulders.

As the camp settles into a rhythm of preparation for the night, the recruits help each other set up tents and cook meals, their movements fluid and practiced despite their fatigue. Antigonos watches them, a mix of pride and sadness swirling in his heart.

Let's be real here, we are at war.

2000 soldiers are stationed in the center of the forest, pushing their heels into the neck of the river, with the Iberians just a few clicks north.

The first skirmish comes as a surprise. An arrow whistles through the air and lodges into a young soldier's neck, his eyes widening in shock before his body crumples to the ground. The forest explodes with the sound of clashing steel and the screams of men. The Iberian forces emerge from the underbrush, their war paint blending them into the shadows of the trees.

The soldiers of Mastiapolis however don't make much of a sound as they fight the incoming Iberian rabble, dividing themselves into groups of 3 or 4 they pick off Iberian soldiers using the trees as leverage.

The first clash is swift and brutal. The inexperienced recruits are thrown into the fight, their training put to the immediate test. The sound of swords clanging against each other fills the air, punctuated by the cries of pain and the grunts of effort. The forest, once a peaceful sanctuary, is now a battleground stained with the blood of young men.

Antigonos, his sword drawn, fights alongside the recruits, his movements swift and precise. Years of experience guide his every step and swing, cutting down the Iberian attackers with a fierce efficiency that belies his age. His eyes, hardened by countless battles, never miss a beat as he assesses the situation, shouting orders that echo through the trees.

Ideally orders shouldn't be shouted into the void but in the beginning of order management the lack of coded messages and efficient order relay is making the field a lot more chaotic.

The diplomat Antigonos sent a few weeks ago made it easy to march this deep into enemy territory but getting out and getting land out of this arrangement is another story entirely. 

Antigonos knows that their position is precarious, the Iberians are notorious for their hit-and-run tactics and their ability to melt away into the forest. But his men are disciplined, their formations tighter than the Corinthian harlots.

"Hold the line!" he shouts, his voice carrying over the din of battle. The young soldiers, their faces now etched with the grime of war, stand firm, shields raised, javelins at the ready.

Antigonos quickly assesses the terrain, his mind thinking through the tactics he's taught himself in his days of late night study. The river to their south, a natural barrier, but it also limits their escape. The forest to the north, dense and wooded, ideal for ambushes.

He signals for archers to take position along the riverbank. The fighting is suddenly quiet, with only the sounds of grunting being heard as the men from both sides start shooting at each other from the long thickets of wooded area.

They are so close that Antigonos can almost see the whites of their eyes, the fear and determination in them, but they refuse to make a sound in order not to reveal their positions.

Men from both sides start grouping into three and taking vantage spots in the forest, turning the woods into a chessboard. The Iberians, known for their guerrilla tactics, have the upper hand in this terrain, but Antigonos's recruits have been trained to adopt this type of fighting style.

The groups of three spread out, their eyes peeled for any sign of movement among the trees. They blend into the foliage, using the natural cover to their advantage.

"This isn't open battle… this is stealth combat." Antigonos sighs.