The agoge yard was chaos given form.
Two hundred boys moved in squads across the packed earth, dust rising in choking clouds as wooden spears cracked against shields. Overseers stalked among them, rods in hand, striking the slow or clumsy. Shouts of cadence, groans of effort, and the crack of blows filled the morning air.
Leonidas stood at the edge, his heart hammering. He was older by years than most here, yet weaker than even the youngest. A few boys, no more than twelve, glanced at him with wide-eyed curiosity before smirking. The older trainees—hardened youths of sixteen to twenty—looked at him with contempt.
"Too old."
"Skin and bones."
"Won't last the week."
Their whispers burned, but Leonidas did not answer. He simply watched.
The overseer barked, and the drills began. Rows of boys lifted wooden shields, slamming them together in tight formation. Others lunged with spears, their thrusts sharp and practiced. Leonidas was shoved into a line. The shield nearly dragged his arm down with its weight. His first thrust wavered, too shallow, and the boy next to him laughed.
The rod struck his back, hard enough to stagger him. "Straighten your spine, peasant!" the overseer roared.
Pain flared across his shoulders, but Leonidas forced his body into position. His muscles trembled, his breaths came ragged, yet his mind was clear. He counted beats, measured stances, noted wasted motions. The boy beside him swung too wide; the one ahead of him leaned too far on his thrust. If this had been a real battle, Leonidas could have broken both within minutes.
The System flickered:
[Observation: Drill Efficiency]
Trainee #47 – Strength: 6 | Agility: 4 | Potential: C
Weakness: Overcommits on thrust. Easy to counter with shield feint.
Leonidas's lips twitched despite the sweat dripping down his face. Even here, surrounded by boys stronger and better trained, he could see the cracks. He could exploit them—if only his body could keep up with his mind.
---
Meals were no reprieve. The boys crowded into the hall, snatching at the coarse bread and thin stew. Leonidas received the same ration as the rest, but for him it was never enough. His stomach growled even after the last bite, his ribs aching from emptiness.
That night, lying on a reed mat in the barracks, jeers filled the air.
"Old man!"
"Peasant rat!"
"Tomorrow he'll crawl home crying."
Leonidas closed his eyes. He had endured worse. Hunger had been his companion for twenty years. Pain was nothing new. What mattered was tomorrow. What mattered was survival.
---
The first spar came three days later.
The boys circled in the yard, overseers looming above like hawks. Leonidas was shoved into the ring against a younger trainee, no more than fifteen but broad-shouldered and quick. The boy grinned, raising his wooden spear.
Leonidas analyzed instantly—stance too wide, grip too high. He knew the exact angle to step, the strike to parry, the thrust to land with minimal effort. His mind mapped the fight perfectly.
But when the clash came, his body betrayed him. His arms were too slow, his shield too heavy. The blow struck his ribs, sending him staggering back with a grunt of pain.
He forced himself upright, eyes locked on his opponent. The next strike came—he read it, stepped aside, jabbed forward. His spear glanced off the boy's shoulder. Not enough. Another strike crashed into his thigh, nearly toppling him.
Pain roared through him. His vision swam. Yet he refused to fall.
At last, with sheer desperation, he baited the boy into overextending, twisting his shield just enough to deflect the thrust. He lunged forward, his spear striking the boy's chest with a dull crack. The overseer barked, "Enough!"
Leonidas collapsed to one knee, gasping. His body was battered, his limbs shaking, but he had won. Barely.
The boys watching were silent, then whispers spread. Not respect—not yet—but surprise.
The overseer's eyes narrowed, studying him as though reassessing a wager. Leonidas wiped blood from his lip and forced himself to his feet. His body was failing, but his mind had carried him through.
And in the corner of his vision, the System pulsed faintly:
[Trial Survived. Adaptability Recognized. Potential Growth Confirmed.]
Leonidas allowed himself the smallest of smiles. He had endured. He would endure again.
This was only the beginning.