War was coming.

For many people, those three words could instill the deepest sense of dread as well as the worst notions of anxiety. It would mean death, pestilence, and suffering, and it didn’t matter if you picked up a sword or not. Death could still find you at any time.

Yet to a man like King Nikandros of Sparta, war was something to be looked at fondly.

It was a game where the strongest survived while the weakest submitted, just like it was in nature. In the wilds of the Greek Peloponnese, the arch-predator of the wolf was the highest on the food chain, often feasting on a lesser beast like a deer, not stopping until it had eaten its fill.

King Nikandros was every bit the wolf, as were the people of Sparta—the most dominant and powerful state in Greece. Across the known world, Spartan men had no equal on the field of battle, routinely demolishing their enemies and grinding their bones into dust. They came home to prideful and fierce Spartan brides, and across all of Greece one could scarcely find a population of women as bold and as powerful as those that called Sparta home.

Even still, it wasn’t always like this. His grandfather had told of dark days when Sparta wasn’t so dominant, when her people were dependent on the goodwill of her neighbors. When they were nothing but weak.

Weakness as a trait was something all Spartans abhor. It cannot be tolerated, must not be nurtured, and needs to be eradicated at every turn. That was what the great people of Sparta did, training themselves into fierce warriors that were fit to dominate the entire Peloponnese by the time Nikandros inherited the throne.

And now, just like the wolf, he was going to kill a deer of his own. Across the way from his position lay the small Arcadian village of Pellana. Unlike Sparta, Pellana had no glorious history or mighty armies. The village existed on the periphery of wild Arcadia, close to the border with Sparta. It was made up of a few hundred farmers—men not trained for war or violence. It was ripe for the taking—an easy target for the wolves that made up the Spartan force.

Nikandros gazed down at the village while his mighty army made camp just behind him. In short order, he would command his army to attack the village at once, slaughtering everyone inside the village until none were left alive.

There were a few that asked what caused Pellana to receive such a tremendous fury from Sparta? What offense did they give to draw its ire in this way?

Alas, there was no defense.

“They exist,” barked Nikandros to his generals. “And we will attack them only because they exist. Do I need more of a reason than that? They are a small, weak village without the protection of one of the larger cities and my army needs more experience. For that reason, we will conquer them today and erase this village from the landscape of Greece.”

Nikandros abhorred the weak. And since Pellana was weak, he would be strong by obliterating it. Nature dictated that the village had to perish.

The town had no hope of a defense either. Those few hundred farmers had managed to put together a laughable defense force that now stood in front of their village. Most of the men were either too green or too old. Many of them didn’t have proper weaponry, and only a few sported helmets. None of them looked like a proper warrior and for that, they would pay the ultimate price today.

It was utterly futile for them to resist Spartan power, but they still chose to fight, which made Nikandros smile grimly.

The experience of killing them all would help his army with the struggles to come.

Nikandros had bigger plans than just leveling these border villages on the periphery of Spartan territory. Through the use of his alliance, he sought domination not just of the entire Peloponnese but of all of Greece. All of this land, from the banks of the Eurotas River all the way to the serene waters of the Hellespont would one day come under Spartan dominion.

All he had to do was just reach out his hand and seize it.

When that day came, he wouldn’t just be Nikandros of Sparta but he would be Nikandros of Greece—the greatest king in their history. It was a fate he’d dreamed about ever since he was a boy, and after several carefully-executed moves, he now stood with the most formidable army in Greece at his back.

And they hungered for glory. And he was going to give it to them.

Nikandros was still thinking about that glory when one of his soldiers approached. This particular man had been sent to talk with the leaders of Pellana, and his appearance caused Nikandros to snap back to the present.

“My king, I have word from the Pellanans,” said the soldier, saluting as he came to a rest.

“Well, out with it,” snapped Nikandros. “What do the bastards have to say?”

The soldier smirked. “They beg us not to attack. The entire village is frightened at finding the might of Sparta in front of them. They will do anything we ask in order for us not to attack them. As a show of good faith, they are offering terms.”

“Offering terms?” barked Nikandros. “They do not offer me terms! It is only I who will dictate terms, as the victor on the battlefield!”

“My king, their terms are quite acceptable,” replied the soldier. “They offer all the gold and silver in their town. They are also disarming all of their soldiers. They will put the entire village at our disposal, swearing to uphold Spartan peace as long as we let them live.”

The soldier then leaned in ever closer. “As much as I’d love to fight them, it’s hardly an honorable victory to go to war with them now. Not when we have their total and complete subjugation.”

Nikandros considered that statement for several moments before he replied.

“Fine,” he said, giving a nod. “See to it that all the gold and silver are collected. The rest of the army will remain in battle formation until this is completed. I want all their men to go home as well. They are to leave their weaponry where they stand and go back to their houses. As long as they do that, I will not harm them.”

The soldier saluted and instantly turned heel, marching back to the Pellanan delegation and informing them of the Spartan king’s acceptance. Relief was visible on their faces, even from this distance, and Nikandros watched as all their soldiers threw down their weapons and swiftly departed for their homes.

A short while later, several of his soldiers returned to camp, carrying bags of gold and silver, all that could be claimed from the town. It was scarcely a fortune by any stretch of the imagination, but it would at least go toward some of the costs of maintaining this army in the field.

And though the Pellanan people were now much poorer as a result, they at least didn’t fear that death was about to visit them.

How wrong they were all about to be.

As soon as the gold and silver were secure, Nikandros had his generals gather around him.

“I want all of you to prepare your units for combat at once,” ordered Nikandros, causing several of the generals to look at him with surprise.

“But my king, the village has surrendered,” sputtered one general. “Are we going home? Are we fighting someone else?”

Nikandros wanted to reach over to strangle the man. “No, our enemy is right here in this village. We’ve managed to get the fools to completely disarm themselves but we’re still going to have a fight today. I just made it much easier on our soldiers.”

“What are your orders then, my king?” asked another general.

“I want two of our units to surround the village from the northern side,” replied Nikandros. “We will all converge on the center. Everyone in the town is to be considered an enemy combatant—men, women, and children.”

Nikandros almost expected that they might balk at that last statement but they didn’t. Spartans under his command were used to being utterly ruthless in their fighting, leading to several actions that would be seen as savagery by their fellow Greeks.

“Leave no one alive,” continued Nikandros, taking the moment to look into the eyes of every single general. “Move out now.”

All of them sprung into motion to carry out his orders. In less than half an hour, the army was positioned to advance on the village, tightening the ring of steel around the people of Pellana.

Soon enough, the villagers found out they’d been double-crossed but it was too late for them to do anything about it. The Spartans already had the weapons they’d been foolish enough to surrender.

Now they would have to fight them with sticks and rocks.

The result was already a foregone conclusion. By the time that night was descending on the plain, there existed not a single Pellanan left alive. All of their bodies were gathered near the center of their village where they were then set aflame—a funeral pyre for the entire town.

It was an inglorious end for a village that had committed no offense to anyone.

It was also the same fate that Nikandros had in mind for Corinth. It was only this afternoon that news arrived of the city’s betrayal, one that he took personally since it wasn’t all that long ago that his people had negotiated the entry of Corinth into their alliance. And the Corinthians had played their hand shrewdly, waiting until the garrison had left the city before abrogating the alliance, putting an end to any hopes of a quick end to their betrayal.

It was the kind of behavior that Nikandros found insulting. The weak and cowardly Corinthians had to find a way to sneak out of the alliance, as if Sparta would just forget that they’d ever been part of the Peloponnesian League.

No, Nikandros had a long memory, and he was going to bring fire down upon Corinth for their betrayal.

But it also put into question the status of another city. Argos was ripe for a change in leadership, and his envoy had brought him a deal that might see Argos delivered to the alliance without the need for bloodshed.

It was for that reason that Nikandros decided to head north. In a lightning fast campaign, he would welcome Argos to the fold as well as punish Corinth for her transgressions. With those two cities subjugated, Nikandros would be lord over most of the Peloponnese.

And all of Greece would tremble at his might.