The letter arrived at dawn, borne by a messenger draped in the bronze colors of Sparta's elders. He bowed stiffly, handed over the scroll, and departed without a word. Leonidas broke the seal beneath the watchful eyes of his captains. The script was heavy with authority: "Captain Leonidas, son of Sparta. You have overstepped. The forge of Taygeton belongs not to your hand, but to the city. You will return to Lakonia immediately, surrender command of your men, and submit to the judgment of the council. Failure to comply will be considered treason."
The Cohort muttered darkly. Doros spat into the dirt. "They dress their fear in words. They'll cut your head the moment you step inside the bronze hall." Kyros grinned without humor. "Let them try. Better to burn their hall down than kneel in it." Theron was quieter, studying the letter. "This is no summons. It's a noose. They want you gone, not judged. But if you refuse, they'll paint you traitor. If you go, they'll knife you in the dark." Leonidas folded the scroll. "Then we'll give them a choice they didn't plan for."
Three days later, Leonidas entered Lakonia—not alone, but with the Iron Cohort at his back, their shields gleaming, their steps in unison. Behind them marched two hundred Lakonian recruits and a score of Taygeton smiths, carts rattling under the weight of newly forged spears.
The council chamber erupted. Elders rose, voices sharp, accusing him of arrogance, of theft, of building a private army. The narrow-jawed overseer shouted loudest: "You bring mercenaries to Sparta's gates! You spit on law, on tradition! Guards—seize him!" But the guards hesitated. They had seen the trial when fifty broke a hundred. They had heard the whispers of Taygeton's fire. Their loyalty to the council wavered, while their awe of Leonidas burned steady.
The overlay flickered in Leonidas's vision: [Council Guard Loyalty: 58% → 42%]. He stepped forward, calm, his voice carrying without effort. "I come not as a traitor, but as proof. Sparta is stronger today than it was yesterday. The forge of Taygeton burns for us. The Cohort stands unbroken. You speak of law. I speak of survival. When the next Wave strikes, will you cling to tradition—or stand behind the only wall that does not bend?"
The chamber split. Some elders fumed, but others whispered, their resolve cracking under the weight of truth. Then Damaris rose, his staff striking the floor. "The wall holds," he said simply. "And when the Wave comes, we will need more than words. Captain Leonidas has forged more than weapons—he has forged unity. Sparta cannot afford to cast aside such iron." Murmurs turned into reluctant nods. The overseer sputtered, but even his allies looked away. The system pulsed: [Political Outcome Shifted: Council Gambit Backfired.]
Damaris's voice carried again, calm but final. "Leonidas of Sparta. You will no longer stand as captain. You are hereby promoted to Polemarch—commander of two full Cohorts beyond your own. You will oversee the Iron Cohort and two more under your banner, with authority to expand and prepare for the coming Waves. Fail, and your head is mine. Succeed, and Sparta endures."
The chamber echoed with the strike of his staff. The overseer glared poison, but the decision was sealed. Leonidas bowed his head, though his eyes burned. "Then I will make Sparta iron." The overlay confirmed: [Rank Increased: Polemarch] [Troops Under Command: 2 additional Cohorts (total est. 400 men).] [Loyalty Baseline: 80% (Iron Cohort), 72% (new Cohorts).]
Outside, the Cohort roared when they learned of the outcome. Doros clapped Leonidas so hard his new cloak nearly slipped. "Polemarch! From peasant to polemarch in less than a year! The elders must be choking on their own bile." Kyros grinned wider. "Two more Cohorts now. Twice the mischief." Theron's voice cut steady. "The council will strike again. They failed with letters and knives. Next time, it will be armies." Leonidas looked over the square, where citizens already whispered his name, where recruits eyed him with awe, and where the glow of Taygeton's Forgeheart seemed to burn even here in Lakonia. "Then let them come," he said. "The wall grows taller. And taller walls cast longer shadows."