The summons came at dusk, echoing through the barracks. The Iron Cohort was ordered to present themselves in the bronze hall at dawn for a "trial of discipline." No reason given, no mission outlined.
Leonidas knew what it meant. A trap, dressed in ceremony.
When they entered the training grounds the next morning, the hall was packed with overseers, elders, and other Spartan units. Kleon's wedge stood nearby, men smirking, eager for blood. Sthenes's unit watched in silence, their faces uneasy.
An elder rose, his staff tapping the stone. "Leonidas. Your fifty rank high in the eyes of the system. Too high, perhaps. Sparta cannot ignore the whispers that you are more wall than Sparta itself. So today we test your worth."
He gestured to the yard. Two hundred men—mixed units, some trained, some fresh—stood waiting with blunted spears.
"You will hold against them for one hundred breaths. No retreat. No collapse. If you fail, your rank was illusion. If you succeed, Sparta will… consider your value."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. One hundred breaths against four times their number. Even with blunted spears, bones would break.
Doros spat. "They mean to break us like dogs."
Theron's eyes never left the overseers. "Then let's bite harder."
Leonidas's overlay pulsed faintly:
Iron Cohort – Cohesion: 96%
Opposing Units – Cohesion: 65% (mixed, uncertain)
They want humiliation. We'll give them iron.
---
The horn sounded.
The enemy surged forward, a tide of bronze and wood. Arrows of dust rose as feet pounded the yard. Leonidas raised his shield.
"Breathe. Hold. Step!"
The Iron Cohort locked tight, shields a wall, spears thrusting in rhythm. The first wave slammed against them and broke like water on rock. Blunted spearpoints jabbed, cracked, glanced off bronze, but the Cohort gave not an inch.
"Anchor right," Leonidas commanded calmly. "Hinge left. Press."
They pivoted in unison, a motion so smooth the crowd gasped. Raiders of Sparta's own making stumbled, gaps opening. The Cohort pressed forward, driving wedges into the enemy line.
---
Kleon snarled from the sidelines. "They'll tire! They can't hold forever!"
But Leonidas saw the truth. His overlay flickered:
Enemy Cohesion: 62% (dropping)
Iron Cohort – Cohesion: 97% (rising under pressure)
He almost smiled. They forget iron sharpens in fire.
Doros roared encouragement, Kyros mocked the enemy with laughter, Theron's spear darted like lightning. The Cohort moved as if the trial were no different from any battle they'd ever faced.
One hundred breaths passed like the beat of a war drum.
---
The horn sounded again. The opposing units broke away, panting, bruised, some limping. The Iron Cohort stood tall, shields locked, spears leveled, eyes burning.
The overseers whispered furiously. The elder with the staff scowled. "You held. Barely."
Leonidas met his gaze calmly. "Barely is still iron. Sparta needs walls that do not break, not excuses when they hold."
The overseer's face tightened. Damaris's voice cut through the murmurs. "Enough. The wall stands. Whether you like it or not."
Kleon's glare burned hotter than any forge, but Leonidas ignored him. His overlay shimmered with quiet triumph:
[Trial Complete: Iron Cohort Proven.]
[Gift Progression: Loyalty Path Strengthened.]
---
That night, as the Cohort feasted on bread and watered wine, Doros laughed. "We beat two hundred with fifty. Next they'll send the whole city!"
Kyros smirked. "Let them. The more they send, the prouder the fall."
Theron's voice was lower, steady. "The council will hate you more for this. They wanted shame. You gave them glory."
Leonidas nodded slowly. And glory is a heavier chain than shame. They'll strangle me with it if they can.
But he looked at his men—iron, unbroken—and he knew no chain could bind a wall that chose to stand.