The sky was still a deep blue canvas. Just a sliver of fish-belly white showed on the eastern horizon. The whole Dardan Valley manor slept. Only Aeneas's courtyard held a torch. It crackled. Its light fell on a tall young figure under an olive tree. His full bronze armor gleamed with a cold light. Between the torch and the dawn. Like a statue come to life.
He rotated his ankles and wrists. The movements were crisp. Then high knees. Stretching his arms and back. The greaves and arm guards rubbed. Made a dull, rhythmic sound. His breath puffed white in the cold air. The little clouds scattered with each motion.
(Alright, Allen Buffett. Now you're a seventeen-year-old Trojan prince, he mocked himself internally. With a modern man's self-deprecation. The goal is clear. Maybe I can't beat a demigod like Hercules. Or that freak of nature, Achilles. But at the very least—aim for a Leonidas of Sparta! Three hundred against tens of thousands. Now that's peak human fitness and will!)
With that thought, he bent his knees. Began a set of squats. The armor's weight made him slightly slower. But his form stayed perfect. Back straight. Heels firmly planted. Sweat beaded at his temples. Glittered like tiny jewels in the torchlight.
Next, he bent at the waist. Assumed a posture almost alien to this era—hands apart, back straight, legs extended. He began pushing his body up and down. The armor thumped dully with each rep. After just a few, he exhaled a white cloud. A grin broke out on his face. "Ha! Troy's first fitness influencer is now live!"
Warm-up done, he grabbed his spear. Swung it through the air a few times. The whoosh of it tore the morning quiet. Echoed off the courtyard walls. It even startled a half-asleep bird from a branch. Aeneas's lips curved. A smile of satisfaction. And of sheer stubbornness.
Then, rapid footsteps. Demos, the old night-watchman, hurried into the yard. He held an oil lamp. It shook in his trembling hand. Nearly went out. When he saw the full suit of armor gleaming in the torchlight, his face froze. His mouth hung open. Like he'd seen the god of war himself.
"Y-Young master!" His voice quivered with fright. The lamp almost slipped. "Are you... marching to war? What's happened?"
Aeneas lowered his spear. Breathed heavily. Sweat dripped from his dark-gold hair. He wiped his forehead. Showed a slightly mischievous grin.
"War?" He laughed lightly. His chest still heaved. "Heck no, old Demos. This is called working out! Way safer than battle. And better for you!"
Demos stood frozen. The lamp in his hand wobbled. Its flame danced like it was laughing. He looked at the young noble. This heir who was also an odd boy. He couldn't decide whether to be shocked or just baffled.
In the courtyard, torchlight, armor, and the boy's sweat mingled in the half-dawn. Aeneas wiped the sweat from his temple. His eyes locked onto the tallest rock under the old olive tree. He'd already claimed it as his makeshift plyo box.
He grabbed his shield and spear. Slotted his bronze sword into the shield's holder. Took a deep breath. Then he pushed off with his legs. Leapt. The bronze armor clattered. Like a heavy pot being upended. But the thirty kilos of gear crushed his momentum. He only made it partway. Then landed heavily on a lower rock with a dull thud.
"What the—!" He barely swallowed the curse. His grin froze into a grimace. (Miscalculation! This getup's heavier than I thought! Modern weight vests are lingerie compared to this!) He fumed internally. The armor made his breathing ragged.
The stubborn boy quickly changed tactics. He found his footing on the lower rock. Gathered his strength again. This time, he made it onto the big 'box'.
He panted, gasping. Didn't wait to catch his breath. Just rolled off and back to the ground. Then he started jumping around wildly. From chair-rock to table-rock. Back to chair-rock. To the ground. Threw in some rolls and short sprints.
"Hu—Ha!" The armor and spear clattered with every jump. Sounded like a few blacksmiths were at work in the yard. Sweat streamed down his dark-gold curls. Dripped into the dust. Kicked up little puffs of dirt.
Just three minutes. He felt drained. His legs shook. He leaned heavily on his spear. His chest heaved. He was drenched. Breathing hard enough to blow out the torch.
(Gods, only three minutes! How did the Spartans do it? Three hundred against a hundred thousand... No. This is the hero Aeneas's body. It can handle this. If I don't push, I won't even measure up to Leonidas, let alone Achilles!) He pumped himself up mentally. His eyes blazed with determination.
After a short rest, he gritted his teeth. Went back for two more rounds of torture. Finally stopped when his limbs barely obeyed. He waved at old Demos, who still watched, stunned.
"Bring it!" he rasped. Took the clay bowl. Tipped his head back. Drained the warm salt water in one go. The salty, slightly bitter liquid slid down his throat. It felt like something reignited in his muscles. (The salt here isn't refined... tastes a bit off.)
"Young master... what... what is this water?" Demos ventured timidly. His eyes were full of doubt.
Aeneas wiped his mouth. Still panting, but grinning. "Lose too much sweat, need to replace the salt. Or your muscles cramp. Get it?"
The old servant shook his head blankly. Then nodded hurriedly. Trying hard to look like he understood.
Aeneas looked at him. Grinned between breaths. "Don't worry, old man. It's called science! Uh... never mind. Just think of it as the gods' own secret recipe."
Demos's mouth opened and closed. In the end, he just clutched his oil lamp. Nodded like a woodpecker.
******
The sky was just beginning to lighten. A night chill still hung in the valley. The path downhill was damp with dew. The mix of stone and earth glistened with a cold sheen. Olive trees stood silent on either side. Their leaves dripped moisture. As if holding their breath for this dawn drill.
The heavy thud of footsteps grew louder. Followed by the clatter and jangle of armor. Aeneas, in full battle gear, pushed himself faster along the slippery path. The weight on his back made his breath come in gasps.
Ambush me! he roared in his mind. He threw himself sideways. Tumbled through wet mud and leaves. His shoulder guard slammed into a rock with a dull thud. He scrambled up instantly. Pressed his back against an olive tree trunk. His breathing was heavy but controlled. Like he was truly scanning for enemies. The next moment, he burst from cover. Powered his legs around a large boulder ahead. Ran like he was being hunted. Skidded to a sudden halt. Pivoted. Swung his shield like a massive hammer. Thrust his spear forward fiercely. Then he rolled. Resumed his charge down the path.
"Hu—Ha!" His lungs burned. Felt ready to explode. But his mind was shouting. (My cardio's shot... but this adrenaline rush! Whoa! Beats a boring treadmill any day! This is real combat simulation!)
The armor clung to the wet, muddy ground. Made every step a struggle. But he didn't stop. He kept accelerating. Dodging. Rolling. Counter-charging. Retreating fast. As if invisible foes were right on his heels.
Suddenly, footsteps ahead. Three patrol soldiers were coming up the path. They moved sleepily through the morning mist. Then they saw him. Covered in dirt. Breathing like a winded horse. Eyes alert. They snapped to attention. Gripped their spears tightly. Their faces tensed instantly.
"Enemy attack?!" The lead soldier's eyes turned sharp. He instinctively shoved his comrades behind him.
Aeneas skidded to a stop. Braced his hands on his knees. His chest heaved. He looked up. Forced a tired but genuine grin. Sweat dripped from his chin. "Morning! Don't... don't panic—" his voice wavered, but held a light, teasing note, "Just... training. Carry on with your patrol. Good work!"
The soldiers stared. Exchanged confused looks. Then their shoulders relaxed. The tension melted away. Replaced by a mix of awkwardness and admiration. They glanced at each other. Finally, the lead soldier blurted out with genuine respect, "Young master... you're... incredibly dedicated!"
His voice held awe. The two others nodded. Their looks held no more doubt. Only plain admiration.
Aeneas straightened up. His face was still sweaty. He grinned. Gave a casual wave. Like he was joking. "Dedicated? Nah. This is 'self-punishment'. Don't try it. It's addictive."
The soldiers didn't quite get it. They just offered awkward smiles. But they respected his grit and his easy confidence.
He declined their offer to accompany him. Aeneas turned. Continued his pounding run down the hillside. The soldiers stared after him for a long moment.