Herpos was focused on treating patients and had no time to manage the field hospital or maintain order. Besides, he was not a man skilled in administration; he much preferred to delve into the study of medicine. And so, once things were running smoothly, Davos had no choice but to leave his guard captain, Hylos, behind to temporarily oversee the hospital’s management. But Hylos was a trusted confidant of Davos; steady, intelligent, and capable. Davos had intended to cultivate him as a powerful right-hand man. Making him the head of a small field hospital was a waste of his talents, but he could only look for a more suitable position for him later.

Davos returned to his tent as dusk was approaching.

Finally free, he began to review the day’s battle, analyzing the problems in his command and searching for better ways to respond. He also cross-referenced the events with the military knowledge from his past life. This was a ritual he performed every night before sleep, a method he had devised to rapidly improve his own military command abilities. Some men could spend a lifetime at war and remain mediocre generals, while others, at a young age, could turn war into an art. The most important difference lay in their attitude toward war itself.

The last battle had shown Davos the limitations that terrain and space imposed on infantry in the age of cold weapons, and the immense damage that could be caused by a panic-induced stampede in a dense formation. Today’s battle, however, had taught him how powerless archers were against fully armed heavy infantry.

What if they had used javelins against the heavy infantry? Davos wondered. The lethality would certainly be greater than arrows. He had once had Matonis throw a javelin at a discarded piece of armor; at close range, it could pierce right through heavy plate, and it could certainly puncture a bronze shield. Why didn’t Tissaphernes do this? The answer was obvious: he had no effective javelin-men. The Greek mercenary army, on the other hand, had nearly three thousand light shieldbearers, most of whom were Thracians,¹ the most skilled peltasts in the entire Mediterranean, whose javelin skills were second to none.

His thoughts then turned to the javelins used by the later Roman soldiers—the pilum. Its slender point was designed to bend upon striking a shield, rendering the shield a cumbersome burden and forcing the enemy to discard it, effectively neutralizing their defense. He took his thinking a step further: What if Tissaphernes had possessed heavy infantry of his own? Davos thought it over and concluded that the only path for the Greeks would have been surrender. Even in the Battle of Cannae from his past life, where Hannibal had faced a much larger Roman force, the most critical prerequisite for his creative use of a thin, crescent-shaped line was the vast superiority of his cavalry, which allowed him to crush the Roman wings and complete his encirclement. In the present situation, the Persian cavalry outnumbered the Greek’s by a factor of dozens.

Davos jotted down his thoughts and insights on a sheet of papyrus using Chinese characters as he continued to ponder. This time, he put himself in Tissaphernes’s shoes, trying to anticipate the Persians’ next move.

Just then, someone entered the tent. “General Davos, you have a visitor.”

“Olivas, it’s you! Are you fully recovered?” Davos was pleasantly surprised to see Olivas standing before him, not noticing the man’s odd expression.

“I’m fine. Herpos told me to come back,” Olivas explained, though it was more of a stretch. In truth, he had asked to be discharged. Seeing that he was not seriously injured, and with the field hospital overflowing with new casualties, Herpos had let him go.

“You’ve just recovered. You should be resting. Why are you on guard duty? Where is Hylos?” Davos asked with concern, only remembering after he had spoken that he had left Hylos at the field hospital.

Olivas quickly went out and led the visitor in.

The guest wore a flowing chiton, her head covered by a himation,⁵ the loose linen garment unable to conceal her graceful figure.

“Crystoia!” Davos blurted out.

The visitor raised two slender, snow-white hands and lifted the himation from her head, revealing her beautiful face. She curtsied elegantly. “General Davos.”

Olivas shot Davos a suggestive wink and backed out of the tent.

Davos suddenly remembered. It had been Olivas who, when he had first been reborn into this world, had said that Crystoia was as beautiful as Aphrodite.⁶

Seeing Davos lost in thought, Crystoia chided him playfully. “Is General Davos not pleased to see me?”

“Your arrival has made me so happy I’ve forgotten what to say, and your beauty has robbed my mind of its ability to think,” Davos replied. With the body of a nineteen-year-old and the mind of a thirty-five-year-old, his casual compliment carried a hint of flirtation.

“General Davos, you certainly have a way with words,” Crystoia said with a radiant smile. “These past few days in the baggage train, all I’ve heard are tales of your victories. Mithridates and Artaozus were, from what I know, two of Cyrus’s most capable generals, and both were defeated by your hand. That should be enough to dispel anyone’s doubts about your abilities. I’ve come to offer my congratulations. I hope it’s not too late.”

“A single word from you is worth a thousand from anyone else,” Davos laughed. “But you didn’t come here just to congratulate me, did you?”

“I have a request,” Crystoia said, her eyes fixed on him. “You told me I could come to you with any request.”

“Of course, of course. Please, speak.”

“I want to work in your field hospital,” Crystoia said with earnest conviction.

“What?” Davos thought he had misheard. “Did someone at the hospital treat you poorly?”

“Mersis has been very good to me,” Crystoia said, pausing to choose her words. “But everyone is busy with the march and the fighting, while I alone am idle. I have visited the field hospital several times. The work those slave women are doing, I believe I can do it too, and do it better.”

“Are you sure you want to go to the field hospital? There, you will see terrible wounds and scarlet blood every day. You will have to touch the dirty, smelly bodies of soldiers, comfort patients driven mad by pain, and you might even have to endure their harassment…”

Davos tried to persuade her to abandon the idea, but her expression was firm. “I am not afraid. In fact, you don’t seem to know your own wounded soldiers very well. Not only did they not bother those women, but they have been nothing but grateful to those former slaves.” Crystoia closed her eyes for a moment, as if recalling what she had seen.

Davos watched her, feeling as if he were looking at a woman from modern society, striving to do something meaningful to prove her own existence.

“Alright, I agree.”

“Really?!” Crystoia’s eyes flew open in disbelief. In most Greek city-states, citizen women were kept under strict watch. Before marriage, they were governed by their fathers; after marriage, by their husbands; and in old age, by their sons. They had almost no freedom of their own. Crystoia, feeling insecure and fearing she would be abandoned by the army if she remained idle, and envious of the respect the slave women in the hospital had earned, had decided to test the waters with the unconventional young leader. She never expected him to agree so quickly.

In truth, Davos knew little of Greek customs. On the contrary, he was long accustomed to the modern idea of equality between men and women. In his world, hospitals were staffed predominantly by women. His initial opposition was only out of concern that Crystoia’s beauty might cause trouble.

“Really,” Davos confirmed, his voice serious.

An ecstatic look on her face, Crystoia rushed toward him. He instinctively opened his arms and embraced her fragrant form. In that moment…

***

“Olivas, what are you doing eavesdropping by the tent instead of standing your post?! That’s against military regulations! You could be thrown out of the army!” Giorgis, arriving to relieve him, hissed urgently.

“Shh!” Olivas put a finger to his lips and whispered mysteriously, “Come listen to this!”

Giorgis was confused.

Olivas pulled him over, and he leaned in close.

“Davos’s spring has arrived!” Olivas’s face was a mask of envy. “That lucky bastard. He’s actually gotten together with the most beautiful woman in the entire army…”