The small fortress of earth and timber stood quiet in the morning mist. Its walls were damp with dew. The rough, earth-grey surface wasn't grand. But it felt solid. Resilient. The silhouettes of sentries came and went. In the distance, cookfire smoke rose slowly. It carried the scent of burning wood and boiling porridge. Mixed with the crisp morning air.
A rapid, pounding rhythm shattered the quiet. Aeneas stumbled to the camp entrance. Drenched in sweat. Breathing like he was tearing his lungs apart. Beneath his helmet, his dark-gold curls were plastered to his forehead in wet strands. They shook with each ragged gasp. His armor was caked with grass and dirt. His boots dragged clumps of wet mud. He leaned heavily on his spear. Braced himself with his shield. Like he might collapse any second. But he forced his back straight. A weak, stubborn effort to show he was still standing.
The guards at the gate froze. This sight—disheveled, exhausted, but eyes blazing—was nothing like the elegant young noble they knew.
"Young master!" A booming, urgent voice cut through. Callippus, on his morning rounds, strode over quickly. His armor clanked with the movement. His face tightened instantly. His hand went to his sword hilt. His eyes scanned Aeneas's mud-stained form like daggers. "What happened... Bandits?! Who dares to attack you!"
Aeneas tried to stand taller. A coughing fit stopped him. He waved a hand forcefully. His words came in broken gasps. "Captain... Don't... don't worry... Not an attack... Training..."
Callippus stared. Frowned hard. As if searching every drop of sweat for a lie. He saw no blood. No wounds. His tense shoulders finally dropped. He let out a heavy breath.
Then he burst into roaring laughter. It echoed across the camp. Even the cookfire smoke seemed to shake. "Hah! Good! Very good! Now this looks like a general who leads troops!"
His thick hand slapped his own breastplate. "Far better than those young lords who just pose on the parade ground!"
Soldiers stirred inside the camp. They peered out. Their looks of confusion and worry shifted. They saw Aeneas, covered in filth but still standing tall. Their expressions turned to surprise. Then to open respect. One man even straightened his own back, subtly. As if ashamed a noble's son trained harder than he did.
Aeneas felt all those eyes on him. His lungs still burned. His legs trembled from the run. But he couldn't help a lopsided grin. A touch of pride. "Don't mind me... looking half-dead... It's 'self-punishment' mode. Don't worry. I'll get used to it."
The soldiers blinked. Didn't understand the strange term. But they saw his bedraggled state and his stubborn boast. They started to chuckle. The laughter spread like the dawn light.
Aeneas stood by the gate for a moment. Just breathing. His chest heaved like bellows. He wiped the sweat from his temple. Hefted the heavy bronze shield onto his shoulder again. Spun his spear in his palm. Then tucked it under his arm for balance.
He looked at Callippus. A glint of stubborn humor in his eyes. "Captain. A few more laps," he said, his voice raspy but bright.
Callippus raised an eyebrow. Opened his mouth as if to object. Then just gave a single nod. Crossed his arms. Stood and watched in silence.
Aeneas took a deep breath. Launched into a run along the camp's wooden palisade. His shield and armor clanked with each footfall. The rhythm was heavy. Relentless. Like a war drum beating in the dawn light.
At first, just a few soldiers paused. Watched curiously as the young master circled the grounds. Soon, more put down their porridge bowls. Gathered by the field's edge, smelling of sweat and woodsmoke. Some muttered. Others raised eyebrows. A few just crossed their arms and stood straighter. Without anyone noticing, a ring of spectators had formed.
Aeneas's breathing grew heavier. His chest burned. A wry thought popped into his head. Gods, this is torture... But worth it!
He glimpsed the soldiers from the corner of his eye. Their eyes held a gleam—not mockery or doubt, but a flicker of respect. He couldn't help an internal chuckle. All these eyes on me... Ah, kinda embarrassing! But what they're showing is acceptance. Trust. Huh. A leader's authority isn't won by riding in a fancy chariot. It's earned. With sweat. With grit.
His feet begged to run farther. A fleeting thought—maybe dash down to the river settlement? He glanced down at his filthy, fully armored self. Immediately rolled his eyes.
Nah. Better not scare the villagers into thinking it's a raid. The camp's fine. Same effect. And it's a live show. All these guys are the target audience!
By the third lap, he'd slowed noticeably. His steps dragged. But they never fully stopped. His shoulders heaved. Sweat trickled down his neck into the armor. Hot and sticky. Still, he clenched his jaw. Pushed himself forward. Step after step.
The heavy thud of his feet echoed across the grounds. Sank into every soldier's heart. They held their breath. Even the wind seemed to still. Leaving only that stubborn rhythm.
When he finally finished the third lap, he stopped, leaning on his shield, gasping. A low, genuine murmur rippled through the crowd. The soldiers exchanged looks. Their last shred of doubt vanished.
Callippus watched him. His mouth was still a firm line. But a smile reached his eyes. He didn't speak. Just gave a slight nod.
Aeneas straightened up. His face was drenched, but he wore a lopsided grin. "Well, that's one way to work up an appetite!"
A few soldiers chuckled. The tension broke like the first ray of sun.
That morning, watched by the entire camp, Aeneas—disheveled but determined—waved a farewell. But to the soldiers, he was no longer just a distant, privileged noble. He was a leader. One who sweated with them. One they could fight beside.
The golden dawn light spilled over Mount Ida's ridge. Bathed the whole Dardan Valley in a soft glow. Dew clung to the leaves in the forests. A gust of wind shook them. Like someone scattering silver coins through the woods.
Aeneas jogged slowly back to the manor along the cool, earthen path. He was breathless. Sweat traced lines down his temples. His pace had slowed to a brisk walk. But his mood was oddly light. The burning fatigue in his chest had transformed into a strange satisfaction.
He was wiping his brow when three patrol soldiers appeared ahead. He'd seen them earlier. All three stopped in perfect unison. Stiffened their spines. Raised their right arms in a crisp, powerful warrior's salute.
Aeneas was startled for a second. Then he smirked inwardly. This feeling... not bad. Better than a hundred empty slogans. This, the sweat, it's real. He'd accidentally leveled up his 'Approachability' and 'Leader Charisma' stats.
He casually raised a hand in a simple acknowledgment. His steps felt lighter. Even the exhaustion seemed to fade.
The manor's stone wall and main gate came into view. He slowed his pace. His chest still heaved. He pressed a hand over his unruly breathing. Let out a deep sigh as he approached. Two guards stood rigidly by the entrance. They bowed their heads when they saw him.
Aeneas kept his voice low. Tried to sound casual. "Are my father and mother awake yet?"
The older guard responded quickly. "The master and mistress haven't risen, young lord."
Aeneas felt a whoosh of relief. Allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. His shoulders slumped a little. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Then he moved like a thief. Rose onto his toes. Muffled his breathing. Slipped silently across the courtyard.
The morning air stayed cool in the yard. Petals and leaves, wet with dew, caught the sun. He moved slow, dodging branches that might drip loud. Each step on the stone—he prayed it kept quiet.
If Mother sees me drenched in sweat, gasping like a drowned man, she'll definitely fret about me 'overexerting'... Then she'll force-feed me a mountain of rich food. Nope. Better keep a low profile!
His thoughts buzzed like flies as he walked fast. He only breathed out when his door came into view.
Then, just as he neared it, someone slipped out—quick and light. Like a fawn bouncing from the morning mist. It blocked his path.
It was Terani. The young maid's eyes sparkled. Her hair, tossed by a quick turn, flung out strands of gold and brown.
She planted her hands on her hips. She looked like a woodland sprite who'd just dashed through the trees. Full of energy. Her voice was as clear as a mountain bird's call. "Good morning, young master! Are you practicing that... that 'cat-walk training' again? So it really is a new training method! I thought you were just teasing me last time!"
Aeneas jumped at the sudden interruption. Halted. His chest rose and fell slightly. He quickly controlled his breath. Tried to keep his face stern. He pressed his lips together. Deliberately steadied his voice. "Your young master is always honest," he said, straightening his shoulders. A sly glint flashed in his eyes. "If I say it's the latest training method, then it is. Why would I lie?" His tone was firm. As if each word could pin down the morning breeze.
Inside, he chuckled. Lucky she's so gullible! 'Cat-walk'? I totally made that up to stop her endless questions. And she actually bought it! Almost blew my cover!
He didn't dare linger. Gave her a quick smile. Turned instantly. Slipped past her with swift, silent steps. Like a morning breeze sliding into his courtyard.
Terani stood blinking. Watched his disappearing back. An innocent smile played on her lips. She seemed completely unaware she'd almost unraveled her young master's little scheme.