2

Lochagos were a military rank, commanders of a unit of 256 men. They were respected figures in Sparta, and to pass on their wisdom, they trained the next generations. At least, that's how I understood it.

I couldn't speak to him unless he addressed me first. Respect for elders was an unbreakable law here.

And so, we walked in silence.

I had to admit before me stood a true Spartan, hardened by battles, having witnessed more than one war. The average age of a Spartan warrior was thirty years. Here, old age was a privilege of the few.

Creon looked like a man who had walked through blood and death. Surviving such things was no small feat.

I followed him in silence, watching his crimson cloak billow in the wind.

Although the difference between a Spartan's civilian and military appearance wasn't too noticeable, it still existed.

Right now, Creon was dressed in civilian attire no armor, just his cloak, shield, and spear. His body was unarmored.

But in war, a Spartan always wore a cuirass to protect his torso, along with bracers and greaves. The armor never restricted movement, only covering the vital areas. The rest of the body was exposed but shielded by the hoplon.

And in the Spartan phalanx, no enemy could break through their ranks. One could say they had the perfect armor for their style of combat.

We left the city and its outskirts behind, eventually reaching a camp consisting of hundreds of tents.

There were no fortifications or serious defensive structures here, just a small earthen rampart.

For Spartans, the best defense was not walls or barricades, but their spears pointed at the enemy.

We approached a group of children my age engaged in training.

Watching over them was an eighteen-year-old Spartan. He had not yet completed his training but was already required to pass his wisdom to the younger generation until he turned twenty.

"Aretes, take the new recruit," Creon said.

"Yes, Lochagos," Aretes replied.

Creon turned and left, leaving me behind.

"We're having sparring matches right now," Aretes said. "He needs an opponent. Who will it be?"

"I will," a boy volunteered.

We weren't too different in appearance both with perfectly shaved heads. But his physique was more developed than mine, and he was slightly taller.

I hadn't expected that the moment I stepped into the camp, I'd have to fight immediately.

"The fight continues until one of you surrenders. Begin," commanded Aretes.

The boy lunged at me without hesitation.

This fight would determine my worth. If I showed weakness, I would become an outcast a target for ridicule and humiliation.

So even if I had to fight until the bitter end, surrendering was not an option.

I raised my guard as best as I could to block his strike and countered with a punch to his torso. In return, I immediately took a hit to the head.

The impact nearly knocked me out darkness clouded my vision. Just how strong were the children here?

I staggered forward, ducking under his next blow, grabbed him by the waist, and shoved him hard, sending him to the ground.

He immediately kicked me away, rolled to the side, and jumped back to his feet.

We clashed again.

I knew anatomy. A downward strike to the skull could reach the brain and knock him out. There was a chance I could kill him, but I clearly didn't have the strength for that.

I gathered all my power, clenched my teeth, and struck swift and without hesitation.

My fist slammed into his skull with a dull thud. Due to the underdeveloped structure of young bones, the impact landed directly on his brain.

The boy staggered, his face twisting in pain. His eyes widened filled with a mix of horror and rage. His legs wobbled, but he remained standing.

He didn't surrender.

I had missed my chance to attack again, foolishly hoping he would fall on his own that I wouldn't have to finish him off.

But he did not fall.

"You'll pay for that!" the boy growled, launching himself at me.

He charged like a wild beast, raining furious blows. His fists moved fast, with incredible force.

I couldn't keep up. I couldn't block them all. I had no way to withstand his relentless assault.

Blood was already streaming from my nose, my face swollen from the blows. Every movement echoed with pain. Shadows blurred my vision, and my body barely held itself upright.

I couldn't surrender.

A punch from the left slammed into my temple.

My head rang, the world spun before my eyes. But my body moved on instinct. I stepped to the side, dodging, and seized the moment I lunged forward. Grabbing his shin, I yanked upward. He crashed to the ground, kicking up dust.

Without wasting a second, I threw myself on top of him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and began to choke him.

"Come on, give up!" I shouted, squeezing tighter.

"No!" the boy rasped. He thrashed, trying to break free, striking me with his hands and feet, but his breathing grew heavier. His strength was fading.

"That's enough. Well done. That's all for today, you can rest," came Aretes' voice.

I let go of him and struggled to catch my breath, inhaling in ragged gasps. My body was filled with a leaden exhaustion. I simply lay on the ground, unable to move.

The boy didn't get up either. He lay beside me, barely drawing breath, his chest rising in uneven jerks.

"What's your name?" I asked between labored breaths.

"Damipp," he whispered with difficulty.

"You fought well, Damipp," I replied, staring at the sky. In Spartan society, praise from an opponent was an honor.

"You fought well too," the boy exhaled weakly. With great effort, he turned onto his side and collapsed beside me.

"Enough lying around!" Aretes' sharp voice rang out. "You're in the way of others. Go to the healer, have your wounds treated."

I forced myself to rise. My legs wobbled, my body ached from the beating. Damipp barely stood as well. We exchanged glances both of us looked like we'd been through a meat grinder. Supporting each other, we hobbled away.

I didn't know the way, so Damipp led me.

We reached the healer's tent. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke. Other boys of various ages lay there. Some had blood-soaked bandages, others clutched broken ribs or dislocated arms. Many had clearly suffered injuries from weapon training.

The healer a grim-faced old man with a gray beard and cold eyes walked up to us. Without a word, he tossed us a pungent-smelling ointment and waved us off.

"Where's the sleeping area?" I asked, barely able to move my tongue from exhaustion.

"Hmph, wherever you find a spot that's yours," Damipp chuckled, shrugging.

I found a free patch of ground with some softer grass and collapsed onto it, barely reaching my destination. The pain in my body reminded me of every blow, but fatigue was stronger. With my last bit of strength, I smeared the ointment onto my bruises.

Before slipping into unconsciousness, I noticed that Damipp lay nearby.

At the edge of my awareness, a notification flickered.

*

You have defeated an opponent stronger than you.

Talent acquired: "David" When your enemy is stronger than you, your stats increase by 10%.

*

I stared at the message in my mind and felt a strange sense of relief. So, talents could be earned randomly by meeting hidden conditions? Interesting. What other abilities could be unlocked? I would think about that later.

My strength finally left me. A heavy weight pressed down on my body, and I drifted into sleep. It was still daytime, but my battered body demanded rest.

I slept peacefully, as if on a soft bed rather than the hard ground. My past life seemed distant, almost unreal. Old memories faded, pushed aside by this new reality.

I tried to remember my name. It lingered on the tip of my tongue, but each time, it slipped away. The longer I was here, the more the past dissolved into mist.

But that made sense.

Now, there was only the camp. Only training. Only survival.

I hoped I would survive.