The council's decision felt like a gift wrapped in poisoned silk. Two new Cohorts, yes—but when Leonidas met them for the first time, he understood the trick.
The men who stood before him were not the young-blooded recruits he had molded in Lakonia, nor even the hardened veterans of his Iron Cohort. They were older soldiers, many bearing scars as badges, some missing eyes, others with arms replaced by crude wooden staves or legs bound in iron braces. What should have been four hundred spear points looked, at first glance, like half that number.
The overseer who had once called for Leonidas's execution watched with a serpent's smile. "These are Sparta's cast-offs. Too old, too broken, too few to serve in the front. If you are the leader you claim, prove it—make them into iron again."
Doros muttered beside him, "They've given us ghosts."
But Theron's sharp eyes caught the difference. "Not ghosts. Wolves with worn teeth. Watch them move."
And Leonidas did. The new Cohorts were scarred, yes, but when their captains barked drill commands, the line shifted with a precision that startled even him. Shields angled at the same breath. Spears struck forward in a rhythm tight enough to drum a wall into place. Each man's flaws—limbs missing, breath short, scars thick—were offset by instinct, by experience honed across decades of campaigns.
The overlay flickered: [Cohesion: 90% | Loyalty: 72% | Combat Readiness: Limited by Physical Attrition].
Leonidas saw what the council had done. They had sent him men too broken to win glory, but too dangerous to leave idle. If he failed, he would drown in their dead weight. If he succeeded, he would forge something even Sparta itself had thought impossible.
---
He began integration immediately, pairing these veterans with his Lakonian recruits. The old men sneered at first, their scars proud, their eyes sharp with disdain. But as the drills continued, something remarkable happened. The veterans corrected the recruits, showed them shortcuts in grip and stance, taught them to listen to the rhythm of a line instead of their own hearts.
"These old wolves," Kyros whispered to Leonidas one night, "they may not strike as hard, but they know where to bite."
Theron only nodded. "If they had younger bodies, they'd be gods."
The overlay confirmed what Leonidas already felt: [Tactical Acumen: S-tier | Physical Limitations: Severe].
---
Then the mountain shuddered. The system pulsed a warning:
[Unexpected Event: Minor Wave Incoming.]
[Time Until Contact: 6 hours.]
Scouts returned breathless. A swarm of twisted creatures, not men but mockeries of them, spilled from a rift in the earth—half-formed, claws dragging, eyes burning with unnatural hunger. Smaller than the great Waves to come, but deadly enough to crush unprepared troops.
Leonidas stood before his men, both old and young. "The council gave us a broken wall. Now we show them it still stands. Together."
---
The battle was chaos. The creatures hurled themselves against shields with suicidal frenzy, claws scraping bronze, teeth gnashing. The recruits wavered, panic edging their voices. But the veterans barked them into line, voices like steel striking flint.
"Hold the shield higher!" one snarled, bracing a boy's arm with his own scarred stump.
"Step into the strike, not away!" another roared, driving a spear clean through a monster's throat and shoving the shaft into a recruit's hands.
Even those missing limbs fought—one-legged men anchoring shields in the dirt, one-armed veterans stabbing from behind the line with relentless accuracy.
Leonidas directed from the center, his voice steady. Doros crashed through where the line threatened to bend. Kyros darted into gaps like a viper, spearing two monsters with one thrust. Theron moved like shadow, killing before fear could bloom.
The overlay pulsed as the battle raged: [Iron Cohort – Cohesion: 98% | Lakonian Recruits – Cohesion: 82% | Broken Cohorts – Cohesion: 92% (rising rapidly under fire)].
Slowly, the tide turned. What had begun as a desperate defense became a steady advance. When the last creature screeched and fell, the field was slick with blood and ash, but the wall still stood.
---
The system shimmered with triumph:
[Minor Wave Repelled.]
[Reward Granted: Cohort Reforging.]
[Both new Cohorts have been restored to their prime.]
Leonidas blinked as the overlay shifted. Before his eyes, the bent backs of veterans straightened, limbs regrew where they had been lost, and eyes once clouded with age or scar gleamed clear again. Muscles swelled, armor fit anew. Cripples became warriors, and weary wolves became predators reborn.
The soldiers themselves gasped, looking at their own restored forms in disbelief. One man flexed a hand he had lost ten years prior and dropped to his knees in tears. Another sprinted across the field, laughing like a boy.
The overlay finalized the change: [New Cohorts – Cohesion: 95% | Loyalty: 85% | Physical Capacity: Fully Restored.]
Leonidas raised his spear. "The council thought you broken. Now you are reborn. You are Sparta's fire, and together, we will burn the world."
The roar that answered shook the valley.