5

A soldier burst into the lochagos' tent. Seeing him, Creon tore himself away from his work and looked up.

"What happened?" he asked.

"On the way to the camp, the food cart collided with something. There was a stick stuck in the road, with bloodied rags hanging from it," the soldier reported, breathing heavily.

"Was any food lost?" Creon straightened up sharply, his voice tense.

"Yes, but only a little. A small sack of dates, a sack of barley, and a basket of apples," the soldier replied.

Creon frowned in displeasure.

"Were you robbed by children? I'm beginning to doubt your competence," he said with cold mockery.

"No, lochagos! It couldn't have been people, let alone children. It was the work of satyrs! No one approached the cart, no one was nearby, yet the food simply vanished. We looked in all directions but saw nothing!" the soldier said passionately.

Creon furrowed his brow.

"And yet, the food is gone."

"Yes, lochagos," the soldier muttered, lowering his head.

"Send out scouts. Let them inspect the area and find out how they managed it," Creon ordered.

"Lochagos, if we find the culprits, do you want them executed?" the soldier asked.

Creon shot him a heavy glance.

"No. Punish those who were guarding the cart. They failed their duty, and our food is gone. If this were war, such negligence would mean defeat for the entire army!" his voice rose into an angry shout.

He stepped closer, his cold gaze hardened by countless battles making the soldier shudder.

"This is unacceptable, even in peacetime! You must have thought no one would dare touch you, yet you were robbed by children. How can you call yourselves sons of Sparta?" Creon gestured irritably. "The scouts will find out how it happened. If they discover where the food is hidden, they will leave it be. The thieves have earned their reward, while you your punishment."

"Yes, sir!" The soldier saluted sharply and hurried out.

Creon was left alone, gazing thoughtfully toward the camp. Then, rising, he made his way to the senior agelai. After questioning them, he found that only one unit had two boys missing from the morning drill. Arethid explained that they had fought and lost consciousness.

And then, Creon understood everything. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

He recalled a boy named Damocles. His first impression of him had been unremarkable weak, unexceptional. Creon had not placed much hope in him, assuming he would not endure the training and would eventually drop out like many before him.

But now… Now, he saw him differently.

"You know how to surprise, boy," Creon muttered, smirking, before returning to his tent to await the scouts.

An hour later, the scouting party returned with their report. A pit had been dug into the road, and the food had been hidden in the forest, covered with a stone. Everything had been left untouched. The only certainty was that children had done it. Creon now had two names: Damocles and Damian.

It seemed they had deliberately staged a minor conflict to draw attention away, giving themselves a chance to slip out of the camp and raid the supply cart.

Creon smirked.

"Not bad, Damocles. I'll let you enjoy your victory. But next time, if I find evidence against you, you will be punished," he said with a cold smile.

Damocles' POV

For the first time in a long while, we ate our fill. Too much, even. We devoured as many apples as we could, as if they were the sweetest and most forbidden fruit. We ate endlessly, unable to stop. Joy and satisfaction overwhelmed me.

But the thought of punishment made us pause. We knew that if we were caught, they would take all the food away and whip us for theft. Back at the camp, we were on edge, fearing that at any moment, someone would figure it out and come for us.

Yet no one even tried to track us down.

We had enough food for a couple of weeks. The barley could be cooked for a long time, occasionally mixing it with dates.

Usually, all the ingredients were thrown into a thick porridge and eaten as a dense mass, but in that form, the food was less enjoyable. It was much better to eat it separately.

Even then, I was already thinking about how to get even more food.

With each passing day, I felt my body growing stronger, my muscles adapting to the exertion and increasing in size. This did not go unnoticed among my peers. Eventually, they began asking questions where were we getting so much strength?

I knew I needed reliable people for my plan. So I started watching, choosing those I could trust.

A few weeks later, I had gathered five. These were the ones I knew wouldn't talk, no matter what.

To show them we were serious, Damian and I split the remaining barley, cooked porridge, and shared it among everyone.

"You said you could get even more food. How?" asked Androcles, one of my peers.

We still looked very much alike equally thin, with similar faces, only differing in the shape of our noses, eyes, and ears. Our body structure, our gait it was all the same. Perhaps because the elders had been selecting children from birth.

I smirked.

"We're going to steal food straight from the kitchen," I said.

"That's absurd! We'll never get past the guards!" objected Galix, a boy with slightly darker skin.

"We won't go past them we'll go under them," I replied. "We'll dig a tunnel and reinforce it with wooden stakes so it won't collapse. We'll disguise the entrance and only work at night, passing the dirt to one another. We'll need tools and a few weeks of work."

I paused to look at them, then continued:

"To stay on course, we'll use thin metal rods to pierce the ground and check our direction. Once we reach the kitchen, we'll have a steady supply of food. But if anyone talks, we'll all be punished," I warned, scanning their faces.

I saw the spark ignite in their eyes. They understood this was a chance. A way to get food. Hunger drove us mad, turned us into beasts.

"We're with you. Even if it doesn't work, thank you for sharing your food with us," said Androcles.

And so, our excavation plan began.

For equipment, we had only wooden plates, woven baskets to carry dirt, flat stones to dig with, and thin metal rods to correct our direction.

At first, we dug in groups of three. The displaced soil was immediately compacted and reinforced.

Day after day, night after night, we stubbornly carved our way forward.

It was long, grueling work.

But we had an overwhelming drive to reach the food.

Our plans had to be put on hold because of the Spartan Games. Despite their name, they were nothing short of brutal fights to the end.

It was simple: the agelai were pitted against one another.

The entire training camp was divided into several groups of agelai units of boys who trained together. Ours had about thirty-six, and the others were similar in size.

I didn't understand how we were grouped perhaps it was random.

During the Games, the strongest among the agelai competed in grueling contests. The simplest were obstacle races, followed by more difficult physical challenges with various equipment, and finally, the fights against one another.

The grand prize for the victor was tempting a whole month without grueling drills and an increased food ration. That alone was enough to make everyone, according to the older boys, fight to the last breath.

By my estimate, there were three camps of agelai our age, including ours, which meant the competition wasn't too overwhelming. Though if our food plan worked, winning wouldn't even be necessary.

But it wasn't just about food.

Glory and honor meant far more. Those who triumphed in the competitions immediately gained the favor of their instructors. And that was the best path to a higher standing in the army the best chance to etch their name into history.

In Ancient Greece, your deeds and your name meant everything.