The valley of Amyklai slowly healed. Smoke no longer curled from the rooftops, and the sound of hammers and axes carried through the air as villagers rebuilt what the raiders had burned. Leonidas walked among them with Theron at his side, eyes scanning not for soldiers this time, but for something else.
The overlay shimmered faintly, names and faint glows flickering above common folk as they worked. Most burned dim, ordinary. But one glow shone brighter, not in bronze or steel, but in the soil itself.
[Potential Detected: Rare | Artisan Skill – Agriculture.]
---
An older man knelt by a small plot at the village edge, hands deep in dark soil. Despite the ruin around him, he moved with patient care, checking shoots, pulling weeds, and murmuring to himself as if the earth were listening. His frame was wiry, but his eyes were sharp as a spear point.
Leonidas crouched beside him. "You tend fields while others mend roofs."
The man glanced up, unimpressed. "A roof keeps rain off your head. Bread keeps you standing. Which do you think breaks first in war—walls or stomachs?"
Theron's eyebrow lifted. "Not a fool, this one."
"What's your name?" Leonidas asked.
"Damon," the man replied.
The overlay flickered:
Strength: 4
Skill (Agriculture): A
Potential: S (Rare Farmer)
Loyalty: 41% (Distrustful)
---
Leonidas studied him. A farmer with rare potential. Bread is as vital as bronze. Without food, even the strongest wall crumbles.
He spoke evenly. "I want you to come with us. Sparta needs more than soldiers—it needs the men who keep them fed. With your skill, we can plant fields that yield double, maybe triple."
Damon snorted. "Spartans don't eat bread. They eat people. I've seen your kind take what they want."
Leonidas did not flinch. "Then see something different. I don't take—I build. If you join us, your fields won't burn with every raid. They'll feed an army that protects them."
Damon's eyes narrowed. "And if your army falls?"
Leonidas's voice dropped to steel. "Then we fall with full stomachs, not empty ones."
The overlay pulsed faintly: Loyalty: 55% (Considering).
---
That evening, Damon walked the camp, watching the Iron Cohort drill and the horses circle under Eryx's commands. He saw Phokas's forge throwing sparks into the night sky. Finally, he turned to Leonidas.
"You build like a man who wants roots, not just spears," Damon said. "I'll join. But if you waste my work, I walk."
Leonidas inclined his head. "Agreed."
The system chimed softly:
[Recruitment Complete: Artisan – Farmer.]
[Faction Upgrade: Food Supply +20%. Campaign duration extended before resupply needed.]
---
The next morning, Damon inspected the camp's rations with sharp disapproval. "Rotten barley. Half your sacks would spoil in a month. We'll fix that. Rotate fields, dry grain proper, dig silos where the earth stays cool. Men who eat well fight well."
The soldiers grumbled, but Doros chuckled. "Better bread, less bellyache. I'll take it."
Kyros smirked. "If he can make barley taste like wine, he's worth his weight in gold."
Theron's voice was quieter, but approving. "With smiths, horses, and fields, you're building more than a wall. You're building a city."
---
But word reached the council quickly. When Leonidas reported the recruitment, overseers scoffed.
"A farmer?" one sneered. "Sparta is not fed by dirt. It is fed by bronze."
Another spat, "You waste time with plows while others sharpen spears."
Leonidas stood unmoved. "Without bread, men starve. Without men, walls fall. Sparta survives not by bronze alone, but by what fills the hands that carry it."
The overseers muttered, unimpressed. But Damaris, as always, spoke last. "Bread or bronze, he builds what holds. Let him. When the First Wave comes, we'll see which wall breaks."
---
That night, the Iron Cohort ate bread fresh from Damon's ovens. It was simple, coarse, but stronger than what they'd carried before.
Leonidas tore a piece in silence, staring north at the stars where Evelyne's banner still glowed faintly. She had knights and heroes, gleaming steel and grand armies.
He had bread, fire, hooves, and fifty iron men.
And when the wave comes, that will be enough.