The order came with a sneer. The council sent Leonidas south again, this time to a border valley where raiders had taken control of a trade route. Reports spoke of ambushes—swift strikes from hidden ground, archers melting back into hills before infantry could catch them.
Kleon mocked openly when he heard. "Perfect. Let's see your beasts earn their fodder, peasant. I'll wager they scatter faster than the raiders."
Leonidas said nothing. He only gave the order to march. His Iron Cohort followed with steady discipline, and behind them came Eryx with a handful of riders—ten men only, unpolished but determined. The rest of the Cohort watched the riders with suspicion, but Leonidas saw the potential: speed against ghosts.
---
By midmorning, the valley lay before them. Dust curled from the track, broken wagons littered the roadside, and vultures circled lazily overhead.
The overlay pulsed faintly:
Enemy Strength: 120 (mixed infantry and archers)
Enemy Cohesion: 58% (hit-and-run tactics)
Iron Cohort – Cohesion: 96%
Cavalry Unit – Cohesion: 72% (in training)
Theron studied the ridge. "They'll strike and vanish. Standard phalanx will bleed chasing shadows."
Leonidas nodded. "Then we don't chase. We trap."
---
The ambush came as expected. A volley of arrows rained down, striking shields and splintering wood. Raiders burst from cover, screaming, then darted back toward the hills.
Kleon bellowed and charged uphill, predictably reckless. His men scrambled, arrows chewing them apart. Already their loyalty wavered in Leonidas's overlay, dipping below sixty.
Leonidas gave a sharp signal. "Hold the wall. Cavalry—cut left!"
Eryx spurred his mount, the riders following. They thundered along the valley floor, hooves pounding like drums. Dust rose behind them as they curved wide, angling toward the raiders' retreat path.
The enemy faltered. Used to striking and vanishing, they found themselves cut off by a wall of hooves.
---
Leonidas pressed his advantage. "Forward!" The Iron Cohort advanced in lockstep, shields absorbing arrows, spears pushing hard.
The raiders, trapped between riders and phalanx, broke in confusion. Some tried to climb the rocky slope, others turned to fight, but the cavalry swept into their flank, trampling archers and scattering bowstrings.
Eryx's voice carried above the din. "Keep intervals—ride as one!" His riders were green, but under his command they tightened, circling back for another pass.
The overlay shimmered:
Cavalry Cohesion: 80% (rising)
Leonidas's chest tightened—not with fear, but with satisfaction. So the wall can have hooves after all.
---
Kleon, meanwhile, reeled downhill with half his wedge in shambles. He spat curses, his pride bleeding as much as his men. Leonidas ignored him. This victory wasn't Kleon's. It belonged to the wall—foot and horse together.
Within an hour, the valley was theirs. Raiders lay broken, their ambush shattered. The trade road breathed free again.
---
That night, the Cohort feasted on bread and wine offered by grateful traders. The cavalry riders sat apart at first, uncertain, until Doros raised his cup.
"To the hooves!" he bellowed, grinning. "Never thought I'd see a horse save my hide, but today I did."
The men roared with laughter, and even the cavalry eased into the circle. Kyros smirked. "Don't get proud yet. You're still green. But you've earned your bread."
Eryx gave Leonidas a sharp nod. "You proved it today. Sparta may not want horses, but horses will want Sparta."
The overlay pulsed softly:
[Unit Upgrade Progression: Cavalry Integration Successful.]
[New Trait: Mounted Flank – Cavalry units gain +15% effectiveness when striking enemy sides or retreating foes.]
---
When Leonidas returned to Sparta, the council bristled.
"Cavalry?" one overseer spat. "Un-Spartan tricks!"
Another muttered, "Our walls stand on shields, not hooves."
Leonidas met their stares calmly. "Shields stop arrows. Hooves catch those who flee. One without the other bleeds longer than it must. You sent me to Amyklai, and I saved it. You sent me here, and the road is ours. The wall stands—whether you like the shape of it or not."
Damaris's voice cut through the muttering. "Results are iron. Let the council choke on tradition if they wish, but Sparta survives by those who make walls stand."
The overseers fell silent. For now.
---
That night, Leonidas stood outside the barracks, watching the cavalry drill beside the Iron Cohort. Sparks from Phokas's forge lit the dark; the ring of hooves joined the clash of bronze. Slowly, Sparta was changing—not because the council allowed it, but because Leonidas made it so.
Iron walls. Iron hooves. Iron fire. Let the world laugh now. They won't when the First Wave comes.