The moon was thin that night, a pale blade above Lakonia. The Cohort slept in their barracks, the forge quiet, the fields still. Leonidas lingered by the fire alone, going over reports from Theron and Damon. His overlay shimmered faintly with the system's counter, whispering time down to the Second Wave.
Then a warning flashed.
[Hostility Spike Detected: Assassination Attempt Incoming.]
The hair on his neck rose a heartbeat before the shadows moved.
---
Three figures slipped from the darkness, knives glinting, faces hidden. They came silent as cats, their steps rehearsed. One darted left, another right, the third rushed straight for Leonidas.
The first dagger struck where his throat had been, but Leonidas twisted, the blade grazing his shoulder instead of opening his neck. He drove his fist into the man's gut, feeling ribs crack beneath the blow.
"Up! To arms!" his voice roared, louder than the night.
The barracks erupted—Doros barreling through the door with a spear in hand, Kyros laughing like a madman, Theron calm and deadly as always.
The assassins faltered but pressed on. One lunged at Leonidas again. Theron's spear found his ribs before the knife could fall. The second slashed at Doros, but the big man caught the assassin's wrist, twisting until the bone snapped like a twig. The third turned to flee, only to be tripped by Kyros and pinned to the earth, laughing breath hot in his ear.
"Where do you think you're running?"
---
The fight was over as fast as it began. One assassin dead, another writhing, the third bound and cursing in a tongue thick with fear.
Leonidas stood over him, shoulder bleeding, eyes burning. "Who sent you?"
The man spat blood. "Sparta devours its own."
Theron's spear pressed to his throat. "Council dogs."
Leonidas nodded slowly. The overlay pulsed:
[Council Hostility: 87% – Escalating.]
He turned to Doros. "Take him. He talks, or he feeds the pigs."
Kyros grinned. "Either way, he'll squeal."
---
Later, in the quiet, Leonidas sat alone again by the fire, his cloak wrapped tight around his shoulder wound. His men celebrated survival in the background, but his mind was already racing.
The Cohort was iron in the yard, unbreakable in battle. But he himself? He had no shield when the knives came in the dark. He could not always rely on chance warnings or loyal men waking in time.
I lack what the others have, he thought grimly. Evelyne had her Hero, Seraphine, a shield in flesh and steel. Marcus of Rome had his legions layered like stone walls. Darius of Persia had fear itself as armor. And he? He had iron soldiers, yes—but no eyes in the shadows, no daggers hidden in the folds of night.
If the council struck once, they would strike again.
---
He rose, bleeding but unbent, and summoned Theron. "I need more than soldiers," Leonidas said quietly. "I need shadows. Men and women who see what others do not. Who strike where walls cannot reach."
Theron frowned. "You mean spies. Assassins."
Leonidas nodded. "A wall is strong, but it is blind. A knife slips past what a spear cannot stop. We must build our own knives. Slowly. Carefully. Men loyal not to the council, but to me—and to Sparta as it should be."
Theron considered. "It will take time. Years, maybe. Such corps are not built in a night."
Leonidas's voice hardened. "Then we start tonight."
---
The system shimmered, almost approving:
[New Path Unlocked: The Shadow Corps.]
[Progress: 0/100. Recruiting will require time, resources, and trust.]
[Note: Corps will only succeed if loyalty is proven through secrecy and shared purpose.]
Leonidas exhaled slowly. Another wall, built of whispers instead of stone.
He looked up at the thin moon. His enemies thought him vulnerable, thought him an orphan of shadows. Soon, they would learn iron could cut in the dark as well as in the light.
Steel bent. Bronze tarnished. Iron endured.
And now iron would grow teeth.