I stood watch, lost in thought as usual, though nothing specific occupied my mind. Thoughts drifted freely until they settled inevitably on my own path.
What had I achieved in all these years? In strength? In purpose?
For four long years, I had known little rest. Every training session, I pushed myself harder than the others. More than once, I hunted deadly beasts alone. I sought to break the boundaries of what mortals were capable of.
I brought my attributes close to twenty in each of the core disciplines. And then I hit an invisible wall. As if nature itself demanded something beyond raw power. It wanted a sacrifice. That I break something within myself. Reforge my being.
Only then, perhaps, would something greater be revealed.
*
Name: Damocles
Age: 20
Strength (physical might): 25 (Base: 20 + Bonuses)
Agility (speed, reflexes, evasion): 19 (Base: 16)
Endurance (fatigue, durability, resistance to disease): 25 (Base: 20)
Intellect (learning, understanding, languages): 15 (Base: 12)
Charisma (leadership, inspiration, persuasion): 15 (Base: 12)
Defense: 21 (7 body resilience, 11 armor, +3 bonuses)
Talents
Son of Sparta – +1 to all starting stats. (Innate, active since birth. Counts toward base stats.)
Spartan – +3 to all attributes. You are a true warrior and man. You gain skills of war more easily.
Evasion 21% – A chance to avoid a fatal blow. Your body has survived many injuries that could've been deadly. It has adapted, reacting instinctively to danger.
David – When facing a stronger enemy, you gain a +10% boost to all attributes.
Stone's Endurance – +3 to defense. Injuries don't faze you. Bleeding is reduced by 20%. You resist overpowering enemies with grim resolve.
Fleeting Shadow – +20% to stealth. You are harder to detect. Your movements are fluid, like a shadow in motion.
Cunning of Hellas – Deception comes naturally. You've survived many gambits and learned to adapt, manipulate, and slip from dire circumstances unnoticed.
Woodsman – You navigate forests with ease. You can light fires effortlessly and find food in the wild. Camouflaging among vegetation is second nature.
Born of War – +2 levels in any skill related to battle, warfare, or combat. The battlefield is home.
Abilities
Disease Immunity (Passive) – When infected, gain +4 temporary Endurance.
Combat Mastery Lv. 15 (Passive) – +14% to Agility and Endurance during battle. Improves attacks, highlights enemy weaknesses, enhances defense and counterstrikes.
Swordsmanship Lv. 13 – Your sword skills are at an intermediate level.
Spear Mastery Lv. 18 – Your spear skills are at a high level.
Furious Tempest – A lightning-fast triple strike with a spear. Ignores 30% of enemy armor.
Jagged Wounds (Passive) – +20% to inflicted bleeding. Wounds from your sword do not heal easily, prolonging your opponent's suffering.
Spartan Phalanx (Active, with allies nearby) – +30% to all attributes. In formation, you become part of a unified frontline unbreakable.
Gear / Artifacts
Spear of the Hundred-Year War – +2 Strength, +2 Endurance. The spearhead has tasted more blood than any other, with countless lives claimed by its edge.
Veteran's Helm – +5 Defense. Reinforces will and spirit. It has absorbed the valor of every fallen warrior who wore it before.
*
Much had changed. I had grown far stronger. Now, even my Spartan brothers could no longer match me in strength or in skill. But I hungered for more. After the war, something awoke within me a rage I had never known before. The first time I stared into the face of war's true horror, I realized how weak I had truly been. And how far I still had to go.
The helmet that came into my possession had guided me along this path. I could feel the imprint of the warrior who wore it before me his pain, his fear, his triumphs. They lingered in the iron.
Even now, I marvel at how the spear came to me. Its shaft soaked so deep in enemy blood, it seemed to breathe the fury of a hundred battles. The red hue on its surface wasn't paint. It was memory hardened, frozen war. No blade could scratch it.
Sometimes I wonder: will I ever find a weapon even stronger? But the true artifacts... they rest with the gods. And I do not yet know if I could survive their wrath.
At least, not yet.
*Caw*
A raven appeared beside me, landing silently on the ground like a shadow. It stared at me with a dark, bottomless eye.
I tensed, gripping my spear tightly. What did this bird want?
"Why are you here?" I asked, as if hoping it might understand.
*Caw. Caw. Caw.*
It cried out a few times, then rose into the air and perched on a nearby tree. It was waiting.
I jumped to my feet and scanned the surroundings. A harsh, suffocating stench of ammonia struck my nose. I knew that smell when too many bodies rot together, they poison the very air.
I strained my ears toward the darkness. But heard only a deathly silence.
Then CLANG my spear struck my shield, hard. The metallic echo tore through the camp like a bell.
Everyone nearby jolted awake, hands rushing to weapons.
"It smells like death," Heron muttered, breathing deeply through his nose.
"We're close," he said grimly. "One of the places where the unrestful have appeared. It must be cleansed. Then to the nymphs."
He glanced around, raising his shield and locking it into the metal prosthetic on his arm.
A bear had taken his forearm, but the limb remained above the elbow. The prosthetic was heavy, clumsy even but it held the shield firm.
"Light the torches. We'll find them."
At his command, we lowered torches into the fire.
Flames erupted, casting dancing shadows as we moved toward the stench of death.
*Caw*
Again the same call.
I looked up. There, perched among the branches, sat a raven. It watched us in silence, as if already anticipating a feast upon our bones.
The stench of rotting flesh thickened in the air, nearly choking. We froze, ears tuned to the faintest sounds scratching. Like claws against bark.
The torches couldn't pierce far into the woods, and the forest beyond the trees remained cloaked in shadow.
"I'm alive… I'm still alive… t-t-t… y-yes… th-they… I'm… what's my name?.." A dry, rasping voice whispered from among the trees followed by the clicking of teeth.
The torchlight caught a silhouette. A warrior. Clad in torn Spartan armor. His body was nearly skeletal flesh dried and clinging to bones, ribs exposed, skin pale as chalk. His face barely masked by scraps of withered flesh, revealing the raw things beneath. In his hands he held a weapon. It looked forged from darkness itself. Just like his eyes.
[image]
"Go in peace, Spartan. Your glory will live on in song. You were a brave warrior." He rested a hand on the corpse's shoulder.
The spear and sword those twisted weapons wrought from shadow began to fade, unraveling like mist. Then the body itself followed, crumbling into darkness.
All that remained was a single, worn helmet, which hit the ground with a heavy thud. Heron stepped forward and picked it up. He turned it in his hands, inspecting the inside. A name had been carved into the metal.
"Favlant," Heron said softly. "We'll deliver your helmet to your family."
He handed the relic to one of the soldiers, who carefully wrapped it in cloth and placed it in his satchel with reverence.
"Damn Athens and their coward's blood," Heron growled, bitterness thick in his voice. "They wouldn't face us in battle so they set fire to the forest. We never even got to bury many of our brothers."
*Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*
A sudden rustling swept through the woods, coming from all directions at once. Every man tensed, weapons drawn.
The forest held its breath.