After a long while, the deputy, Philesius, came to report. “The army is ready.”

With a stoic expression, Davos announced, “Move out.”

When he was just part of a squad, he hadn’t felt it so keenly. But now, as a leader with a view of the entire operation, the problems were glaring. In his past life, though he was no soldier, he had gleaned enough from movies and online forums to know that strict discipline and rapid mobilization were cornerstones of a victorious army. During his university military training, emergency assemblies were timed in minutes. Now, it had taken over an hour from the first horn blast to the final formation. This sluggishness dampened half the excitement he’d felt about becoming a leader.

For now, with no military reputation to his name, he could only observe quietly, take note of the shortcomings, and ponder solutions. Reforming the army and its systems was a matter for a more opportune time, a task that would likely be a long and arduous road.

Once nearly half the troops had marched out of the camp, Philesius said, “General Davos, it’s time for us to depart as well.”

Davos nodded as Hylos brought him his horse. The day before, when Davos learned that generals were entitled to ride, he had been nervous, as he had never learned to ride in his previous life. To his surprise, once he mounted the horse, he found he could control it with ease. As it turned out, the Thessalians were one of the most skilled equestrian peoples of the Mediterranean world at the time. The original owner of his body had herded sheep and horses since childhood, and the residual memories and ingrained muscle memory were enough for Davos to handle the horse effortlessly.

He grabbed the reins, swung himself onto the horse’s back, and gave a gentle squeeze with his legs. The steed tossed its head with a soft whinny and broke into a trot.

Davos sat tall and proud in the saddle. Tolmides’s words from the day before had dissuaded him from the notion of sharing the hardships of his men by giving his horse to the old, weak, or wounded. For now, he needed to sit high on his mount, constantly reminding the soldiers: he, Davos, was their leader. Gestures to win their hearts could wait until he became a world-renowned general.

A sense of pride swelled in his chest as he looked out at the vast, winding column of troops.

This is how a true man should live!

Davos guided his horse at a steady pace, with Philesius and Axistes close behind, followed by Hylos’s squad on foot. After leaving the camp and marching some distance, they arrived at the army’s main rendezvous point.

He had thought his own contingent was slow, but he was surprised to see that other units had yet to arrive. It seemed that sluggishness was a common ailment among mercenaries, one that everyone had grown accustomed to.

Chrysophus’s Spartan contingent was already in formation up ahead. As Davos rode over to greet him, a commotion rippled through the troops he passed. Soldiers from other camps recognized him as the general who had given the inspiring speech the day before. However, some were jealous and resentful, seeing a young upstart riding high above them. They muttered insults, questioning his ability to command. Axistes, following close behind, flushed with anger, but Davos paid them no mind, his gaze fixed forward.

Only Chrysophus’s contingent remained silent, as if they hadn’t even noticed his arrival. This prompted Davos to study the true Spartan warriors more closely. They stood in a perfect phalanx, each man a formidable figure in full armor. Silent and still, they resembled towering green pines, a unique and disciplined spectacle amidst the noisy assembly. Davos could sense from their sharp, murderous eyes that should this silence be broken, it would unleash a terrifying power. Body, skill, tactics, and discipline all forged into one—this was the Spartan warrior.

Davos looked on with envy. When will I command such elite soldiers? Only later did he learn that just a third of Chrysophus’s force were actual Spartiates; the rest were Perioikoi[1].

Flanking the Spartans were the smaller mercenary units of Sosis, Pasion, and others. After the general assembly, most of them had chosen to join Chrysophus’s command. The other main generals had also absorbed smaller groups, but no one had shown any interest in joining Davos’s contingent. He couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated by this.

His own army, however, formed up quickly this time, largely following the order in which they had left the camp. The heavy infantry formed four columns on the outer flank, while the light infantry formed two columns on the inner flank, making the two sections equal in length, stretching for over half a mile. This formation was designed so that if the enemy attacked from the left flank, the marching columns could execute a simple right turn, instantly creating a standard battle line with heavy infantry in front and light infantry behind. The baggage train was positioned to the inside of the light infantry, on the left side of a large central clearing. Davos and his guard took up a position between the light infantry and the baggage train.

After another half-hour or so, all the contingents were finally in position. The bronze horns sounded again, and at last, they were on their way.

The pace of the march was slow, largely held back by the various baggage trains. Tents, food, medicine, and other supplies that couldn’t be carried by men had to be loaded onto pack animals. The horses couldn’t pull carts that were too heavy, as the harnesses of the era would press against their windpipes and suffocate them. Oxen were stronger but lacked stamina and had unreliable temperaments. Davos saw Mersis darting back and forth within the baggage train, dealing with mishaps and calling on soldiers for help. He was silently grateful he had taken Mersis’s advice and assigned a company to assist him. Finally, his eyes fell upon Crystoia among the crowd of women. Though they all wore similar attire, her posture and aura made her stand out like a crane among chickens, easy to spot.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head to look in his direction.

Davos quickly averted his eyes.

“At this pace, we won’t even cover ten miles in an hour,” he remarked.

“We should be glad the Persians aren’t harassing us,” Philesius said thankfully. Just as he finished speaking, a disturbance erupted from the rear.

“What’s happening?” Davos’s heart tightened as he quickly asked.

Axistes immediately sent a runner to the rear to investigate.

A short while later, the runner returned on horseback. “It’s the Persian commander Mithridates! He’s riding with about thirty cavalrymen along the army’s right flank, shouting offers of surrender!”

Psychological warfare, Davos thought, his brow furrowed.

“Mithridates was one of Cyrus’s commanders,” Philesius said calmly. “But his tricks won’t work. We’ve been fooled by the Persians once already. Only a fool would fall for it a second time.”

Davos nodded. “Keep an eye on him and continue gathering information,” he ordered, while having Axistes dispatch the second runner so they could receive reports in alternation.

“More than twenty soldiers have thrown down their weapons and run to the Persians! They… they’ve surrendered to Mithridates!”

A chill went down Davos’s spine. Philesius had clearly overestimated the mercenaries’ wisdom. Moreover, Hieronymus’s contingent had been squabbling over the election of their leader just yesterday. Now, Mithridates’s lies had easily torn a rift in their disjointed ranks. Could this create a snowball effect throughout the army? Davos began to worry.

“Mithridates is circling around to the army’s rear, shouting at Cleanor’s contingent! About ten more soldiers have dropped their weapons and defected!”

Damn it! Davos’s fears were coming true.

Philesius’s face was also tight with tension.

It was clear that Mithridates intended to circle the massive Greek formation, continuously chipping away at the soldiers’ morale. And soon, he would be in front of Davos’s own troops.

“If only we could drive him off,” Axistes said bitterly. But he knew it was impossible. The enemy were light cavalry, swift as the wind, while the mercenaries had no cavalry at all.

“Let’s just shoot him with our javelins!” Matonis shouted from within the guard squad, pulling one from his back.

“And how would you do that?” Axistes retorted. “By the time you get out there with your javelin, the Persians will be long gone! Besides, their horse bows have a longer range than our javelins!”

A spark of inspiration flashed in Davos’s mind. He turned to the runner and asked urgently, “When Mithridates was shouting, how far was he from our formation?”

“About a hundred meters out.”

“When the deserters ran over, did the Persians retreat?”

“No.”

***

Davos fired off several more questions. After getting the answers, he met the puzzled gazes of Philesius and the others. He paused in thought for a moment, then turned to his deputy. “I have an idea. Tell me if you think this could work.”