Lakonia was theirs, but Leonidas knew conquest alone was never enough. The system had whispered as much:
[Potential Detected: Artisan – Unrevealed. Seek within Lakonia.]
So while his men drilled and the militia learned the rhythm of the wall, Leonidas walked the village, his eyes scanning the people. The overlay shimmered faintly, flickering names, skills, loyalties. Most dim. Some brighter. Then one—blazing like coal under ash.
---
At the edge of the village, a small workshop clung to the hillside. Inside, a young woman bent over a clay furnace, sparks dancing around her as she coaxed flame with careful breath. Metal hissed and sang as she poured molten bronze into molds. Her arms were lean, her movements precise, her face smudged with ash.
The overlay pulsed:
Strength: 5
Skill (Metallurgy): A+
Potential: S (Rare Artisan – Weaponsmith)
Loyalty: 38% (Distrustful, defiant)
Leonidas stepped into the doorway. "You work fire when others rebuild roofs."
She glanced up, her blue-grey eyes hard. "Without weapons, roofs burn again. Someone has to think further than tomorrow."
Theron, who had followed, raised an eyebrow. "Sharp tongue for a smith."
She ignored him, focusing on the mold. "If you came to take my forge for Sparta, save your words. I serve no council."
---
Leonidas studied her work: a spearhead, cleaner and sharper than most Spartan forges produced. The balance was precise, the edge truer. He could feel the difference just looking at it.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Lyra."
He nodded. "Your hands shape weapons better than most men I've seen. Come with us. Sparta needs more than soldiers. It needs steel that doesn't break."
Lyra snorted. "Sparta only takes. It doesn't ask. Why should I follow you?"
The overlay shimmered—Loyalty: 36% (Hostile).
Leonidas met her gaze. "Because I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for them." He gestured to the training square where Lakonian militia sweated under Spartan drills. "They hold shields because I stand with them. They bleed because I bled with them. You shape iron with fire. I shape men with it. Join us, and your fire will hold more than roofs. It will hold the world."
Her eyes softened slightly, the flamelight dancing in them.
Loyalty: 44% (Considering).
---
That evening, Leonidas brought Lyra to the camp. Phokas eyed her warily from his anvil. "Another smith? Thought you had me."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Then prove you're better, old man."
Phokas barked a laugh. "Ha! Fire in her belly. I like her already."
Together, they set to work—Phokas hammering, Lyra pouring, sparks lighting the night like stars fallen to earth. The Cohort watched, murmuring in awe as weapons gleamed sharper, harder, cleaner.
The system chimed:
[Recruitment Complete: Artisan – Weaponsmith Lyra.]
[Faction Upgrade: Weapon Sharpness +15%. Critical strike chance increased.]
---
But word traveled fast. By morning, the overseers had heard of Leonidas's new acquisition. In the bronze hall, voices hissed like snakes.
"He hoards artisans like kings hoard gold."
"He builds his own Sparta, brick by brick."
"Soon his men will follow him more than us."
Damaris alone remained silent, his gaze heavy on the others. But Leonidas knew the truth—the council's patience was cracking.
That night, as Lyra's forge glowed in the camp, Theron sat beside Leonidas at the fire. "They won't ignore this much longer. A farmer, a smith, a horse trainer, now her. You build too much too fast. They'll strike before the Wave does."
Leonidas stared into the flames, the system pulsing softly in his vision.
[Warning: Council Hostility Level Rising.]
[Sabotage Attempts Likely.]
He clenched his fist. Let them come. Daggers in the dark break before walls of iron.
---
The Cohort drilled with sharper weapons, steadier food, stronger horses. Lakonia's militia grew more cohesive with every day. And in the distance, banners still burned in the heavens—Evelyne's knights swelling, Rome's legions marching, Persia's terror looming.
But Leonidas smiled faintly. He had fire, bread, hooves, and walls.
Iron sharpens iron. Let them sharpen me further.