Day 3

They led us into a new world, completely different from the one we used to know. Here there is magic. Whatever action is taken contributes to a precise definition of any individual. Each of us is given a Class depending on our abilities. We have Skills to cultivate and Levels to raise.

No one told me why I was transported here. No one told me why I was chosen between so many valiant warriors, whether there is a reason why I, Themistocles of Frearri, am more worthy than a cobbler from Athens. But now I am here, after having given prestige to the Greek people and being ostracised for treason. Salamis was my victory and my defeat. No one seems to remember who gave a strategy to the resistance at the Thermopylae.

With my weak joints filled with serum, I was about to eat a poisoned meal. It was impossible to bend my spirit, forged by countless sufferings. And, as soon as my heart stopped, nothing was worth the tears of my daughter and my son beating my chest trying to revive me with screams alone. I was finally able to rest. Neither the accusations of corruption or the Persians or my scant nobility at birth prevented me from leading a city to a Golden Age that I could never really witness. Yet the will of the Harbingers was enough to deny me rest. They brought me into this world with other desperate, unprepared, absolutely not brave people. Anger and regrets - which many have already tried to spend as a bargaining chip - were not enough to return home, and it doesn't seem possible to see the land that generated us ever again.

I know about the Harbingers as much as I could know about the Persian gods. These supernatural creatures have provided us with information on all human knowledge without ever even staring into our eyes, as it befits the gods. They didn't bother to meet ordinary mortals. They just gave instructions: we only have one month to prepare to fight against enemies.

We don't know who these enemies are. At first, we didn't even know if we would have allies.

We immediately understood that those suspicious and grumpy people, who welcomed us with sharp glances, would be the only kind of ally we could ever hope for.

Any inhabitant of my Polis had had a wide-open door in their eyes that led straight to the soul; here, the Vanedenis protect at all costs their furious and belligerent spirits, brandish their weapons as Athena does, judicious and attentive. Taking steps, they reveal a savage, invincible character. Opening their mouths, a roar appears to have been hidden, but echoes can be heard. When I was still young, I remember hearing warriors barking that they would drown their enemies with their blood if it were necessary. The Vanedenis, on the other hand, are ready to go back from the burial mounds and tear apart their enemies’ flesh, piece by piece, with teeth blackened by fire and broken by fists, to recover the shreds of anyone who opposed them.

It didn't take long to realise that our hopes of victory are meagre, so much so that, for a few moments, I thought I'd dedicate this last month to celebrating our renewed lives. However, it was a fleeting thought. The spirit of these men, women and children is so strong that it could untie the Gordian knot just by being close to it. No wonder an indomitable people like this was able to subdue even the monstrous Dragons and the brilliant people of the Hydras. No magic or steel could chain their mighty limbs.

Defeated by a twist of fate, they faced a losing war without ever lowering their heads. Many, too many of them died. Of eighty million people, barely two million are left. These alone are their resources, yet they are still convinced that one of them will rise above the others, that they will once again be able to force the rest of the world under their yoke. The catastrophe that caused endless mourning to the Trojans was less fatal than what the people of the Vanedenis suffered. In spite of all of this, they did not give up.

Aeneas himself, one of the greatest warriors of Troy, was saved by the gods and destined for a future of eternal glory. And it was the Harbingers that let me know. They introduced me to the history of humanity, they instilled unparalleled knowledge in my mind. Now I am aware of the decline of Greece, of the power of Alexander the Great, of the Romans' debt to us, of the existence of a larger Earth than I could have imagined when I was alive. Of space. Planets.

The Harbingers allowed me to know all of this.

They, as distant and unattainable divinities, can do everything. They can even die.

One of them sacrificed himself for them, for the Vanedenis. He chose humans to be transported to this continent. They reminded us not to waste what they called the "undeserved gift of a degenerate man". We should be the salvation of the Vanedenis, the hope for victory they yearn for, for which they sacrifice their children's young tunics, removing them from their arms to make them put on their armour and greaves. However, not for a moment had the Harbingers nor the Vanedenis dared to think that the hero was among us.

We are their support, their number of expendables, or we should have been. But we are indeed too few. We are only twelve. The four hundred inhabitants of this tiny town, Ankon, have told us that the enemies are more than a thousand, that they are stronger, that they have more Levels than them. The Classes of the enemies are not superior to those of the warriors that we will support, but they have more weapons and resources.

Citizens are prepared, determined. They are all expert warriors. They have already lost one war and would give everything to win this one. On the other hand, there are twelve of us, most of whom don't know how to hold a sword in our hands and whine irritably. But among us, there is also him, an Achilles who looks like a court jester. So we have twelve people who are unlikely to change the war. Twelve people like that and then a Maximilian.

…

"Oi, tanny!" the man cackled while Themistocles watched the Vanedenis train in the military camp set up not far from the town of Ankon.

Turning to him, who seemed to have decided to be his new brother bound for life, he noticed a furious crowd following him with heavy steps; there were mainly pregnant women who could not fight, old maimed people who jumped on one leg waving a fist at him and children throwing stones. Themistocles wouldn't have complained too much if one of them had hit Maximilian right on the back of his head.

Yet, every stone that approached him was deflected by one of the Skills acquired in those few days there.

[Enhanced: Telekinesis]

He did not even listen to the story of the latest misdeed committed. How curious, the world from which Maximilian came. And what a curious thing, Maximilian himself.

"—And then I drew a huge penis on the black tower."

Themistocles tilted his head and squeezed his mouth into a thin line. "I'm not sure I want to continue listening further or witnessing any action you have taken."

"Bollocks, you weren't listening? It was a bet! I told them I could blow up a house wall without making it collapse. What did I know that these shacks were made of tissue paper?"

Maximilian looked at his friend, brought the two index fingers close to his lips and dragged the curve of his mouth upwards, inviting him to smile innocently. Themistocles seemed shaken by the man's lack of interest, but after only three days, he had got used to it.

"Maximilian, are you telling me you demolished a house?"

Themistocles finally understood why such a large group of people was chasing Maximilian, screaming. He looked away from the man in front of him and noticed that some women were headed to the training ground to warn their husbands. The warriors exchanged furious glances and, with angry grimaces, did not seem particularly prone to dialogue.

It was not credible that such a reaction had been provoked by the collapse of a single house. More than one family seemed to be ready for a war.

"One? Then you really weren't listening to me, you cunt! Six houses exploded. Another six or seven were damaged by the explosions. But I personally treated the wounded and pulled two children out of the rubble - I'm practically a hero, please. Quiet. Don't worry! Themistocles, don't look at me like that! I said I'm good, I have a clear conscience! How was I to know that there would be a strange resonance with the walls and the shock wave would, in short, bring it all down? I mean, do we mean it's all my fault and not the people's who built those houses?"

Had it not been for the enormous contribution made by Maximilian, or perhaps more for the fact that none of the Vanedenis had yet had the suicidal idea of challenging him again, he would have already been killed in broad daylight and left to rot in the centre of the town. And this was not Themistocles' speculation. It was instead an ancestral certainty that was impossible to change. Perhaps Themistocles himself would also have participated in the lynching. But never say never.

In his time, such an affront, a nefarious act capable of hurting women, children and the elderly who had served their homeland for decades, would have seen the whole city rise up. However, he wasn't sure what would happen if everyone decided to take sides against him.

Themistocles had soon understood what kind of person Maximilian was, so he did nothing but nod, relaxing the expression on his face. He looked him up and down, trying to penetrate the blanket of mystery that surrounded him, immediately surrendering to the certainty that this would be an impossible undertaking. It would do no good to argue or try to punish him.

Maximilian began to explain that he had decided to repay the Vanedenis by trying to rebuild their houses and that, after being practically thrown out of the neighbourhood, he had left a "sign of shame", a symbol that would remind them of the great mistake they had made in refusing his saving intervention: he had drawn a giant phallus on the tower which he himself had erected, for no apparent reason, two days earlier. Meanwhile, the Athenian was cogitating.

There would have been people to calm down, but this event would have been helpful for two reasons: the destructive force of Maximilian, on the one hand, would have stirred fear in the hearts of the Vanedeni. But, on the other hand, his power and ability would have given them hope; even the monstrous Cerberus has become a faithful guardian of his master's abode.

Coming from the city called "London", he had shown mastery of magic within minutes of his arrival. He hadn't waited long before asking Themistocles to back him up in an experiment he called "absolutely necessary. Otherwise, I'll fry you and your mother. So hurry, please, I don't have time to waste." Thinking back, Themistocles still couldn't quite understand the first insane feat he had accomplished. On that occasion, Maximilian had not wanted any other witness but him, as if it had been the rehearsal of a show he would present shortly thereafter.

For a few moments, Themistocles had Maximilian's life in his own hands, almost literally. Then, it would have been easy to take his word back since he hadn't given any and let him die. Yet the other, young at least in appearance, had trusted him as soon as he heard his name. Evidently, history must have restored some of the honour that had been taken from him.

He had looked at Maximilian's body, the fresh muscles of a boy, containing a damned soul that had immediately tried to leave, only to return more joyful, more powerful and more incredible than ever.

The Harbingers had brought them to this new world with Skills and Levels in their bodies, but rejuvenated. Now, they were all back in full force, and their flesh was just over twenty years old. How many opportunities, how much work, how much politics to do. And how could Themistocles miss such an opportunity? How many of his political adversaries, how many Athenians, how many Persians, Spartans and how many past heroes would turn in their graves now, knowing that he had been chosen, he and not them. Not Achilles had come back to life to look again at the rosy fingers of dawn embracing the world or his dear wine-tinted sea, bubbling silently in anticipation of the next storm, not Odysseus nor his rival Aristides.

Perhaps there was a reason why his children hadn't been chosen with him, nor his wife; perhaps this would be the opportunity to win battles without compromise. This time, the aoidos would not have had to bend the lines of the myth to accommodate a small space for normal human beings; in fact, they would have written them a new epic poem, they would have celebrated a new Heracles, a new Theseus. Whether madness took them, it didn't matter. Together they would go mad and earn a place in the history of this new world.

Still, no one had proved truly trustworthy, except Maximilian, who managed to be the most competent and the most insane at the same time. His boundless power was almost hidden by the foolishness he exercised without the slightest restraint.

Themistocles had always been used to wearing a mask. During his political career in Athens until after his exile, he had always had to show one side of his character or another in order to convince those around him to follow the most sensible path. It was difficult to make women and fools understand that being soft would get them nowhere. Yet, once he had on the proper mask, he had convinced the soldiers to jump into waters haunted by deathly spirits to bring down the Persian ships.

And yet...

He looked at the beardless, smooth but sharp features of the man in front of him, as if he were one of the familiar statuettes of a boy, painted in red and yellow. Maximilian allowed him to feel more free than ever before. As great as Themistocles' political and military acumen was, he had no doubt that his Londoner friend could read him like an open book.

There was indeed something monstrous about Maximilian.

If Themistocles had worn a mask at almost every moment of his past life, Maximilian wore a mask at every single moment. It was as if he wore a very thick wax covering on his face, which could be moulded according to the occasion. Themistocles could not have said with certainty whether it was that facade that was anchored to him or that he clung to it like a castaway to the adrift keel of a broken trireme: and if Maximilian had abandoned it, he would undoubtedly have sunk into the abyss of black waters, forever trapped in oblivion. Groping among the currents of humanity, he would be lost; he would become the scariest inhabitant of the seabed, where no man should ever look, on pain of being lost forever.

However, knowing that he was naked in front of him, helpless, they played a game of masks and monsters together. Themistocles knew that every time he indulged him or seemed curious about one of his discoveries or his actions, Maximilian would begin to hide something from him; for no reason other than the fact that this was part of his rascal mask.

And so, while Maximilian was explaining, he pretended not to be interested and instead planned how to exploit the chaos generated to their advantage. The other insisted, but he wasn't indulging him: so something more was revealed to him, to tease him, and he was even more silent than before.

They danced around each other with their toes on sharp blades, at risk of bleeding with every step. Yet, being both expert and witty, it was for them nothing more than a pastime so as not to degenerate into madness.

Being on another continent - or rather, in another world - was certainly not a mere trifle.

At one point, to avoid the crowd, they both agreed with their eyes to moving towards the centre of the village. Themistocles was brought to the crime scene. From there, he could clearly see the very high tower on which the enormous phallus now stood.

Themistocles could see the marks of the shattered houses and the foiled attempt to restore them.

"Don't you care about the families who no longer have a roof?" asked the Athenian.

He did not understand if Maximilian didn't care or if he knew how far he could go without really hurting anyone. If he had had to throw himself into uncertain hypotheses, he would have determined that, most likely, the truth was somewhere in between.

He noticed that some bricks were absorbing the ground around to reform their proper shape with the corner of his eye. Then, in a great silence, the blocks had begun to levitate in mid-air, starting to rebuild the skeleton of the houses. The burnt parts came off like dry skin, while the ground around it seemed to restore the missing pieces.

"What?" was the only answer, preceding a moment of extensive silence.

Where did he find the white dye to draw that— don't think about it. Asking would be the equivalent of admitting he had won.

"The members of the village did not like the tower. I suppose it was the same with..." Themistocles reached out his hand so as not to be forced to finish the sentence, merely pointing.

"What, the huge cock? Bollocks! I mean, do you think they didn't like a huge phallic figure in the centre of the village? I bow to you, my insightful strategist."

The ensuing bow was literal, and truly exaggerated.

Frowning, Themistocles stopped gazing at the tower and turned to his friend.

“It is useless."

Why did you do that? That was what Themistocles really wanted to ask.

"It's funny. And useful."

Maximilian shrugged and gestured a little in the air with his hands.

I've been a different person since I've been here. Getting close enough to normality is not easy. I'm still groping.

"And what use would this entertainment have?" asked the Athenian.

I don't think your results are good enough.

"Well, you have to try different combinations, ain't it?" Maximilian smiled.

If you don't even try, you are left with nothing.

"And what if it doesn’t work?"

What would the consequences be? - That was what the Athenian meant.

“This will work.”

There is no other way.

Few things in the world would have been as hard to justify as the gargantuan three-by-seven-meters image of a massive, veiny phallus on a proportionally huge black tower that had appeared out of nowhere. How a man would need this to be a man, to be normal, to save the village, was beyond the conception of most people; however, Themistocles saw in those actions the difficulty of emerging in this life, the difficulty of finding a space for oneself that did not deprive others of their own.

To be honest, Maximilian was not so harmless. If Themistocles was now the chief of the village, he could only thank him. Although, he wondered who would be the first victim of his uncontrolled normality. Maximilian played with things that would have annihilated mere mortals. Coming from a society based on its heroes as much as, if not perhaps more so, than the Vanedeni one, Themistocles ignored the cowardice of the ordinary people. Being ordinary people, stable and not quick to anger, was for him a sign of weakness. Even Odysseus, with his calloused hands, had torn his wife’s obnoxious suitors to pieces without sparing anyone.

"Then, if we want to be honest, it's not even that bad, once you get used to it ..." Maximilian put his chin between forefinger and thumb, holding his elbow still with the other hand.

Noticing the troubled expression on his Greek friend's face, he asked, "Innit?"

“No.”

"Are you sure you don't want me to intervene in the battle?" said Maximilian.

Themistocles was tempted to sit down. In those three days, he had thought of nothing else. Their chances of victory were nonexistent without the person in front of him. They had explored terrifying hypotheses together. Sometimes, he did not even understand some of the assumptions that Maximilian had made, wondering if he had not exaggerated.

Three days in a month was a considerable amount of time, but less than Themistocles needed to get used to Maximilian. Perhaps not even three years would have been enough to fully understand the man next to him.

But they both knew that there was a problem with the plans they were trying to make together, to transform the most remote fantasy into reality. Both, however much they might have denied it - however much Themistocles denied it - they both felt the same adrenaline running through their veins when one was in the presence of the other. Neither Maximilian nor Themistocles had met such formidable people in their lives. So formidable as to be suspicious of the incredible company of the other.

"Do you think your presence here is… normal?" asked the Athenian.

Every so often, they both put down their masks, their ridiculous madness and political seriousness, to discuss the fate imposed on them by the Harbingers.

"Themistocles, people are levelling up very slowly. Enemies have more than one warrior at level thirty. There are no other Earthlings as strong as I am. Adding twelve people cannot change the weights on the scale", commented Maximilian, starting to move towards the outskirts of the village.

"If there's a limit to the energy that brought us here, the weight of each soul must have been important - or at least that's what you've assumed, right?"

"Twelve people are too few. If the situation is the same in the other villages and towns, or fortresses, as you want to call them, there will be a huge slaughter in a month. I'm sure your chances of victory are tremendously low. Of course, there is a possibility that I am overestimating my value within this space-time equation, but there is also a good chance that I am right. In which case, you are doomed without me, Themistocles. As is everyone else, more or less. Bloody hell, I wouldn’t want to be the other villages’. Maybe some will rise above this challenge and heroes will be born, but the price to pay in human lives will be sky-high. Speaking of heroes, that may have been the goal of the sacrifice, to bring few and valuable people. Yet, if I had to guess, it seems to be more likely that there are fewer people here than there should have been."

"I don't think we should judge before we have observed our enemies closely," said Themistocles.

"Unless they lied, we are facing a genetically stronger enemy, you cunt. Not only that: they have weapons, they have Levels and Classes - even if the Vanedenis seem to say otherwise about the Classes."

"Imagine this is all true. What if you could really change the balance of conflicts so much? What if it was just the beginning of a series of trials, and they lied to us? What if this were all a game played by the gods?" the Athenian had a fatalistic note in his voice.

As happens when two intelligent people meet, they had some pretty scary hypotheses. It was not to be excluded, according to Maximilian, that there was no continent, that all this evidence was nothing more than a sardonic game of some bored divinity. Maybe they were the only humans, and the enemies were just some race of demons.

Of course, Maximilian would have complimented the excellent background lore that had been given to the Vanedenis, who therefore could not have been anything other than projections, pretences of someone's sick imagination. Still, following this reasoning, perhaps even Themistocles and the other Earthlings were nothing but illusions.

"The next opponents would be at my level, not yours if the worst hypothesis were real," sighed Maximilian.

Although he considered his friend too cautious, he had to admit that he wasn't entirely wrong. In such an absurd situation, suspecting the gods were playing with them wasn't so implausible. In a mentality like Themistocles', coming from an age when the Gods were all but good, he didn't understand why one of them would have to sacrifice himself to save only a small part of the humans of this continent.

Maximilian had kept quiet about the most troubling hypothesis he had made, which was that everything could have been a crazy joke of his imagination. After all, being transported to another world after what he had experienced before certainly left no room for a blind trust for everything that was in front of him.

However, he had ruled out this possibility. There were too many details, too many useless extras for him to be in the throes of some sort of psychotic crisis.

Maximilian would never have said such a thing in front of Themistocles, but the Athenian was not precisely the historical figure with whom he would have wanted to fight the rest of his imaginary world.

Taken by his stream of consciousness, Maximilian muttered to himself: "Ave Caesar, morituri te ..."

Themistocles ignored him and kept wondering what if it is a test, and if the gods want to slowly put us in front of the new labours of Heracles? What would have happened if they had improperly exploited Maximilian and the next test had been tailor-made for HIM?

"We would all die."

"I can still help by building fortifications, scouting ahead towards the enemies. I know you don't even trust the Vanedenis. I can bring pictures, I can ..."

Maximilian was trying to put options on the plate.

Disconnecting his brains again, Themistocles began to reflect on what their actual chances of victory would be. Going against a people who had already put an end to the lives of the majority of the continent’s original inhabitants, even more so without having great resources, would have been catastrophic, to say the least. Yet something told him that unleashing Maximilian on his enemies could have been even worse.

If only they had had access to the whole continent, he would have immediately ordered a retreat to some cave, refuge, in short, what they would call Dungeons. These were wonderful places, natural or artificial - but mostly natural on this continent - where monsters continually proliferated and protected treasures and weapons of enormous value. They were perfect not only for those looking for rare resources but also for training low-level people, or even very high-level people in some extraordinary cases. Perhaps almost all of them would die if they challenged a Dungeon, but they would come closer to the heroes of the stories that mothers told with starry eyes to their daughters and with which they created new standards for grabbing the best husbands.

Levels…

Themistocles was still overwhelmed by such a concept, by how people could get stronger during a moment of rest from a battle, after doing some training or learning something new. The levels had created new bottlenecks for the world, but they had also removed the greatest of all for Earthlings: mediocrity.

He kept thinking about solutions... another possibility would have been to use natural monsters as a defence against the creatures they would have to fight against within a month.

Unfortunately, around the two villages, theirs and that of their enemies, the Curtain had been lowered. This was an impenetrable barrier that divided all the towns in the southern part of the continent, where the survivors of the Vanedenis had taken refuge.

Not even the lightning directed by Zeus could have breached the barrier erected by the gods of this world; the same divinities who had abandoned them among other men, devoid of any idea of how to escape this situation. The Dungeons were out of reach, resources in their hands too scarce. The village was just an iota of what it should have been in order to hope to win.

Yet, Maximilian was convinced that he could somehow penetrate the Curtain and find out if there really existed a world outside of it, whether or not they were at the mercy of bored gods or if they had been too paranoid up to that moment.

Staying inside the village all the time would be their end: they didn’t have any great test against which to temper the newcomers and himself, as well as levelling up the Vanedenis. If they hadn't been able to find anything to face before the end of the month, when the fight came, it would kill them.

"Themistocles", Maximilian placed his hand on the shoulder of the [Commander].

The other turned, no longer surprised by the physical contact that the Londoner initiated each time without his consent.

"Remember that, should you die or risk getting yourself killed, I will go into battle anyway. So it is better to delay the moment of your death", Maximilian told him, in a strange tone, more serious than usual.

"And then, where will we turn our hopes in case all this were a game?"

The mischievous expression, with the usual big smile with pearly teeth, reappeared on Maximilian's face.

"The gods are just a step above us, you wee cunt. Levels and Classes make it easy to understand how powerful you can become. The gods are just more powerful than all the rest, like they are the masters of the circus, understand? And what I understand is that they don't want to have anything to do with any of this. In any case, in our history as human beings, we have repeatedly looked at rulers, or rich people, or priests, as gods.”

"If we need, we will rise above them, annihilate the divine and unleash an era dominated by us, not by the gods. Imagine you are facing people who can eventually die. Even the largest of elephants can be devoured alive by thousands of ants."

"We have neither thousands of ants, Maximilian, nor are we sure we can even scratch the Harbingers, not even with a thousand years of preparation."

"Listen to me, my friend, I've had even more years than you can imagine. You don't have enough ants at your disposal, but say a word, and I will eat the elephant."

...

Themistocles went from house to house, trying to pry a few more details out of those people. He needed knowledge. Even the slightest extra advantage would make a difference.

As he carefully studied if whoever had been spared from training actually had potential, peering through the open windows of nearby buildings, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a blonde girl walking past him.

She was no more than fifteen years old and carried an anvil - by Zeus, an anvil? - holding it by the two horns as if she were carrying a half-empty basket. She was grunting like a warrior during training. Her arms were lean and muscular. There was a savage force in that girl's immature profile; she was the mirror of an entire culture of fighters. She could have become the emblem of her people.

The Vanedenis, as evidenced by the silhouette of the girl with sharp features, who was already moving away, were a different breed of people. Themistocles had already thought enough about what he knew. Now he had to figure out how to go further, how to make the nature of that people become an even more terrifying weapon than it had been in previous millennia.

Even before strength, there was the belief, impossible to destroy, to be stronger, indeed, to be able to become the strongest. In this world, there were races superior to humans. But none of them had managed to overcome the madness of the Vanedenis in the last millennium. They had managed to tax the Dragons. During the greatest of all world conflicts, they had attacked both sides involved. AND THEY HAD WON.

The spirit of these people was almost as great a weapon as Maximilian.

Themistocles headed for the house Maximilian had erected for him on their first night in the village of Ankon. Spartan and without much comfort. How much he missed being able to read something interesting, perhaps the exploits of his distant Homeric ancestors. Although there was not a single roll of papyrus in the village, wax tablets, or anything that might contain information in writing, every member of the village who had been questioned had provided him with a concise history of their own people. The muscular arms of the little girl that he had met on the road evoked the vivid memory of one of the greatest heroes in the history of the Vanedenis: the one who had first led his people across the vast continent of Kome.

It was incredible that they had not yet become entirely extinguished by dint of wars that could have become self-destructive, or that someone had never subjected them to the yoke of slavery. But, instead, they had fought everyone and turned them hostile.

Maximilian could have flaunted his innumerable abilities as much as he wanted but, at his current level, not even he could have defeated one of the much-venerated heroes of the Vanedenis. If the citizens Themistocles had known were only a blurry and tarnished reflection of the glory of their heroes, their souls must have been terrifying.

Themistocles shivered.

The enemies they would face a month from now were virtually unknown to the Earthers. Despite the general reticence, the Athenian had managed to collect some information, overlooking the violent hatred that the Vanedenis harboured for them. First, the opponents were creatures created by Dragons; second: they had managed to rebel against their creators, to escape and get to safety; third: the average weight of a male of their species was nearly double that of an average human, and the muscle mass three times that.

Their charge would be fast enough to destroy a regular line of hoplites. Yet, with the Vanedenis - Themistocles looked around, wondering how much he could really count on them - perhaps there would have been a possibility from a physical point of view as well.

When he had challenged Tukker, the chief of the village military garrison, he had won only because his mastery with the spear was underestimated. Had their confrontation turned into a test of strength, Themistocles would now have ended up three meters underground.

Themistocles prayed that the indomitable power of the Vanedenis could save them without having to resort to him.

...

Themistocles opened the door of his house and entered it. He hesitated for a moment, then turned to close it. In the distance, he saw a short but wiry man, with a gaze as hard as iron, approaching his house with great strides. He sighed to himself, trying not to let his exasperation show through. He should have been faster, shut the door and barred the windows, but there he was, still waiting for the ineluctable, useless conversation that would take place within seconds. Maximilian had reassured him, telling him that those windows would never be penetrated by any human inside the village. As long as they were closed.

Apparently, the magic of the Londoner would not be enough to save him from a conversation whose main topic he could already imagine.

The man who approached him threateningly was Tukker. He had been the head of the Ankon military garrison, and before Themistocles earned the right to make decisions through threats, it was he who ran the entire village.

It did not take long to understand that all the years of war they had faced had shaped the mind of the Vanedenis. They would have thrown themselves headlong against their tragic enemies, just to proclaim to the world that among them there was at least one hero, a man who could suddenly and magically vanquish all the threats that besieged them left and right. Just training wouldn't have helped. Hoping for a hero to come would have been even worse.

Themistocles had immediately guessed how it would end if he didn't take the lead and if he didn't swerve this chariot violently.

Only later did he learn that the Vanedenis were really great strategists, and not clueless barbarians. The last few years of lost wars and constant frustrations had clouded their judgment, but they had not lost their warlike traditions. There were still several techniques handed down from father to son, war secrets and unique strategies taught to the youngest, treacherous traps ready to be set.

The first thing that jumped to Themistocles' eye when the [Captain] was a few meters away was the pulsating vein on his neck and, immediately after, the one on his forehead.

"Themistocles!" thundered the man, stopping his march exactly a few centimetres from the Athenian's face. The latter, in response, took a step back, not thrilled by the idea of getting spit in his face at his every word.

"Captain," Themistocles nodded, praying to all the pantheon of gods he could recall for the Vanedenis not to be too angry at Maximilian's behaviour.

"There are four families left without a roof over their heads!"

Only four? I thought it would have been worse. However, he did not give voice to his thoughts to avoid coming to blows.

Themistocles had been able to quickly understand Tukker's character: three days of military discussions had been enough. Usually, Tukker was a relatively relaxed person, or at least he had been for most of the time he had been away from Maximilian. All the inhabitants of the town had reported to the Athenian that the [Captain] had been very benevolent and fair in managing internal affairs. The same man was only stern enough with the recruits, which still resulted in terrifying training, considering the Vanedeni standards for becoming warriors.

Themistocles had stopped listening to Tukker's reproaches after the first sentence, already imagining where he was going. Wasting more time would have been totally useless.

"Captain," he cut him off sharply, "you are right. Maximilian has exaggerated. But remember that you are talking about a person who just blew up half of your village for a little farce. And now he is rebuilding it. He healed everyone involved. And that's it. I don't think there's much more to discuss."

"Children, Themistocles, children were injured! Shall we allow such a man to continue humiliating us just because you believe he is untouchable? My people have chosen to fight until the last of us is buried as their own ashes or until we will not have regained our rightful home! And you think an uncontrolled arsonist can be scary enough to..."

Evidently, the Vanedenis had short memories. Themistocles had never believed or assumed that Maximilian was untouchable. On the contrary, he knew with absolute certainty and no margin of doubt that, if Maximilian had wanted to, he could have easily razed to the ground this village and that of his enemies.

"So what would you like to do?" asked Themistocles.

"Such a man cannot live with us and continue to humiliate and endanger the people I am responsible for!" roared Tukker.

"Why’s that?”

"He's trying to kill us all! What do you think..."

"Captain, Maximilian could be our only hope of victory. And at the moment, our chances of survival in an armed confrontation are practically non-existent," the Athenian retorted.

"And how do you think he can help us if he hurts the very people he is supposed to protect? What idiot could possibly bet that he could hold up a whole house with telekinesis and blow up a wall?"

The man before Themistocles had not come here prepared, but only holding onto a fury soon to be dissipated.

"If we were certain that putting him on the battlefield would have no repercussions, no one would die, literally no one, of all your men, women and children you preach so much about. Maximilian assured me that he will intervene if we are about to lose. He promised me that he is willing to exterminate even the gods in order to make this village and all the citizens who live there survive."

Hearing those words, Tukker's eyes widened. Themistocles immediately took the moment of dismay to pursue him. The other had not come prepared, but he instead had always been.

"Lakaner of the Marigolds cut your King's throat hundreds of years ago. He endangered your whole continent for a war that no one had asked him to fight. A Gardener of your people has become one of the greatest heroes ever. More than one valiant warrior died in his vineyards because he did not know how dangerous they were. Now, Maximilian has erected a tower by transmuting the same land you have under your feet. Inside, he's experimenting with rituals that could raze the whole city to the ground. While trying to show some of the greatness you seem to have forgotten, the man destroyed some houses. He healed the children, Captain, saved those who had remained under the rubble and rebuilt the houses. Now they are even higher. Tell me, what do you want from me, and what do you want from him?"

"Are you comparing Maximilian to a Hero?"

What a blasphemy I must have just said. The Vanedeni had a real obsession with their idols.

"No. Maximilian is already a Hero."

"Themistocles, Maximilian is part of your group, a group of riff-raff without the blood of the Vanedeni Heroes in their veins."

"And there are at least three of your Heroes who were not Vanedenis by birth, but took their insignia, changed their history. This is what the veterans of your wars proudly told me."

Did Tukker really think Themistocles had won his own wars armed only with his spear? No, he had already won all of them even before entering the battlefield.

It seemed that the man, now still and silent, had been convinced by the sharp, pointy and precise words of the Greek not to follow his desire to instigate a civil war against Maximilian. What a waste of lives it would have been, and the blood of every Vanedeni would have turned the streets red.

At times, Themistocles loved to be pleased with his oratory prowess: like the cunning Odysseus, he was a master of words and defended his interests like no one else could.

"Good, since we agree, now I'd like to rest a little while. Surely when rested, we will discuss the defence plans and how my companions' training is proceeding. I'm sure Maximilian could somehow help them level up, both the newcomers and the Vanedenis, even if this solution is not the most appreciated. I promise you, Tukker, that we will win not as Barbarians, but as Vanedenis."

Themistocles nearly patted himself on the shoulder as he invited the [Captain] to go back home, sure he had just accomplished a small feat.

Everything would have been fine, if only –

If only at that moment Maximilian had not passed right there, holding in his arms a whole damn pig, while a woman chased him brandishing a particularly pointed spear.

"Damn it, thief! Give me back my pig before I put your head on a pike!"

"Oi, cunt! Bacon and sausages won't make themselves! Trust me, they will be delicious! Call it a loan!"

Tukker, who still had Theostocles' arm on his shoulders, turned his head towards the Athenian with a murderous gaze.

Okay, maybe it would be a very challenging feat.