The moon hung pale above Sparta, silvering the rooftops and making the training yard glow like bone. Leonidas stood with Theron at the edge of the barracks, listening to the quiet breathing of his men as they slept.
The overlay pulsed faintly, a whisper in his vision.
[Loyalty fluctuation detected: Two recruits registering below 80%.]
[Possible hostile influence.]
Leonidas's jaw tightened. His men had never slipped so low without cause. So it begins.
---
The next day, the cracks widened. One recruit, Orestes, fumbled drills he had mastered weeks ago. Another, Timon, lagged in formation, his shield a half-breath behind the line. Both carried faint smirks when Leonidas corrected them, as if someone else's voice whispered in their ears.
Kyros noticed. "They move like men who think they have a secret."
Doros growled. "Secrets rot walls."
Theron's eyes were sharper. "The council planted them. Or Kleon. Doesn't matter which."
Leonidas nodded slowly. "Then we'll make them show their hand."
---
That evening, he ordered a surprise night drill. Fifty men roused from sleep, shields clutched, spears ready, their eyes still heavy with fatigue. Leonidas paced before them, voice calm.
"Tonight we march as if the enemy were inside our walls. No shouting. No hesitation. Only trust."
They formed and moved, weaving through the darkened yard like a serpent of bronze. When Orestes hesitated at a corner, Leonidas caught it. When Timon lagged on the flank, Leonidas marked the gap.
There, the overlay whispered. Weak seams in the wall.
---
At the drill's end, Leonidas dismissed the men but called Orestes and Timon forward. Their faces were pale in torchlight, sweat slicking their brows.
"You move like men with divided hearts," Leonidas said. "Tell me why."
Silence.
Orestes swallowed. "We… we heard whispers. That your wall is not truly Spartan. That you… bend men's wills."
Timon nodded quickly, too quickly. "The overseers say it. Kleon says it. If it's true, why should we trust you?"
The overlay flickered—Loyalty: 68% (Hostile Influence Active).
Leonidas stepped closer, his voice low but sharp as a blade. "If I bent wills, you would not speak those words. You doubt because someone feeds you poison. But poison only kills if you drink it."
His gaze swept them both. "Look at your brothers. They stand because they choose to. They bleed because they trust the wall. If you cannot, then leave now. Better fifty iron than fifty-one with rust."
The men shifted, guilt flickering in their eyes. Orestes looked away first, shame clouding his face. Timon hesitated longer, his loyalty bar flickering like a dying flame.
Finally, he dropped his head. "We… were wrong, captain."
The overlay steadied:
Orestes – Loyalty: 82%
Timon – Loyalty: 79%
Not healed, but held.
---
Later, as the men slept, Theron leaned against the barracks wall beside Leonidas. "You knew they wouldn't walk away."
"They had to feel the choice," Leonidas replied. "Only then does loyalty mean something."
Theron studied him. "And if one day, someone does walk away?"
Leonidas's jaw tightened. "Then we use them. A spy with a leash is better than one in the dark."
The system pulsed, almost approving:
[Event Resolved: First Sabotage Attempt Survived.]
[Gift Path Progression: Deception Unlocked.]
[New Tool: Traitor's Mark – Identify compromised soldiers. Option to use or mislead them for advantage.]
Leonidas's lips curved faintly. So even sabotage becomes a weapon.
The system pulsed, almost approving:
[Event Resolved: First Sabotage Attempt Survived.]
[Gift Path Progression: Deception Unlocked.]
[New Tool: Traitor's Mark – Identify compromised soldiers. Option to use or mislead them for advantage.]
Leonidas studied the glowing words in silence. He could feel the system pressing at him, dangling the choice: expose traitors now, or let them walk long enough to sharpen the knife against their masters.
Theron noticed the tension in his captain's face. "Another gift?" he asked softly.
Leonidas's jaw flexed. "A dagger. I can use it now and cut the rot clean… or leave it hidden, and bleed the hand that planted it when the time comes."
He closed his fist. "Not yet. The wall is still too small. We need every brick—even the ones cracked. When the enemy leans on them, that's when I'll decide where the cracks break."
The overlay dimmed, as if the system acknowledged his restraint.
The next morning, Kleon strutted into the yard, smirking. "I hear two of your boys questioned you. Not so iron, are they?"
Leonidas met his gaze without flinching. "Iron bends to test its strength. Bronze snaps."
Kleon's smirk faltered, but only for a heartbeat. "We'll see whose wall cracks first."
Leonidas turned away, not wasting breath. His overlay lingered on Kleon's men across the yard—loyalty bars hovering no higher than sixty. A wall already crumbling, waiting for the right push.
And Leonidas intended to give it.