Hunger returned like a shadow.In such conditions, we had to find new ways to survive. My first idea was to catch fish.
I shared the plan with the others, and we got to work right away. The concept was simple: we dug shallow trenches along the riverbank, connected to the main flow. Water filled them and with it came fish. Inside, we shaped small pits where the fish would swim in and settle. All we had to do was block the exit, and they'd be trapped.
We set up several of these traps along the river.
In time, I realized that if we deepened one of the trenches and gave the water an open path, the current would strengthen and more fish would swim in. With a few tweaks, the traps began to yield results.To lure more in, we started dropping scraps of food as bait.
The catch was modest but enough to tame the hunger, if only a little.Fish gave us strength. The boys grew tougher, more resilient and with that came calm.
We started to understand better how to survive in the wild. There were some failures: a few times I poisoned myself with inedible mushrooms and berries. But even that proved useful, as a new talent soon revealed itself to me: "Forester". With it, I began to notice animal tracks, distinguish edible plants, and feel like part of the forest.
Unconsciously, I spent another year in the camp, then another, and so on, until I turned twelve.
Every year, I fought against Kratos, testing how much stronger I had become. Though I lagged behind him, the gap wasn't so wide. It was an achievement in itself to be comparable to a demigod. However, the difference would likely become much more apparent once he matured. That's when the hidden powers, bestowed by the gods, would awaken.
Heracles, too, had immense strength since childhood, but it truly manifested only after his first labors when he repeatedly stood on the edge of life and death. That was when he embraced his power and made it part of himself. I wonder how old he is now?
One day, I asked the elders if they had heard of a warrior named Heracles. Such a name should be known throughout all of Hellas, I thought. But Arethid simply shook his head either he didn't know, or he didn't want to speak of it.
But let's return to our confrontation.
I lost to him four times in a row. But at the age of ten, I managed to bring Kratos down and lock him in a choking hold. That was my first and only victory. After that, he began training twice as hard and over the next two years, he defeated me again and again, almost without giving me a chance.
Nevertheless, a new phase of Spartan life had begun for me.
We were no longer just children we had become those who survived the first stage of selection. Those who had once seemed like boys were now called emerging warriors. A loud word... but it burned from within, pushing us forward.
There were twenty of us left.
Many had perished from sickness, hunger, and freezing winds. Not all had made it to the end.
"From today, each of you will be given a wooden spear and shield. From now on, they are your main companions. You will sleep with them, eat with them, and relieve yourselves with them. Losing your gear will result in punishment," the senior, named Lykros, declared.
Arethid had left the Spartan camp three years ago, becoming a full-fledged citizen of Sparta. Since then, much had changed. Lykros was already the third instructor since we arrived as children.
We stood in a straight line and began receiving our equipment one by one. It was clear the gear had passed through many hands it had belonged to boys who either survived and became warriors or fell in the attempt. When I took the spear and shield in my hands, I felt their weight not just physically. The cracks in the wood and the bloodstains on the shield in some places dark, nearly black were old, yet they still held memories. These were not just tools. They were a sign of who we were meant to become.
From this day on, we were forbidden to part with our weapons. Even in sleep, they had to lie next to our bodies as if an extension of the arm, as if a second soul.
At first, the training was simple running, pull-ups, push-ups, strikes. But soon, the real combat training began. We were taught how to hold the spear properly, block blows with the shield, form ranks, and be part of a unified mechanism.
The adult Spartans beat the weakness out of us. Sometimes, literally. If anyone fell, they were forced to get up and keep going. And for every fallen one, the rest suffered the beatings, push-ups, carrying heavy weights, standing in uncomfortable positions until cramps set in. We had to become one. The strongest. Or die.
A new phase. Even more pain. Even more grueling training.
My hands were covered in scrapes and splinters from the rough wood. My left forearm, after constant blows against shields, pulsed with pain, as if a second, wounded heart beat inside it. Sometimes, I could barely suppress a tremor, but despite everything, I kept holding the shield. To let go of it meant breaking. Losing.
Now we were taught not only to fight, but also to obey. The main thing was the formation. The cohesion. The commander's will as law. Everything had to work like one living mechanism.
We trained with wooden swords not to become masters of fencing, but to understand what it felt like to sense the weight of the weapon, to hear its blows against the body. Those in the third row struck the enemies who broke through the first. Their task was to kill. Those in front were to stand. Unyielding. Without fear. Without stepping back. Because if the formation broke everything broke.
So two more years passed.
Now I was fourteen.
Seven years of hell behind me.
I hadn't seen a single outsider. Only those who lived in the camp. I had no idea what was happening beyond its borders no news, no talk of the outside world. Only discipline, pain, and endless military craft.
It was hard to endure, though over time, my mind became calmer.
I had grown stronger.
But still not strong enough.
*
Name: DamoclesAge: 14
Strength (Physical Power): 10
Dexterity (Speed, Reflexes, Evasion): 8
Endurance (Resistance to illness, fatigue, survivability): 12
Intelligence (Comprehension, learning, languages): 7
Charisma (Leadership, inspiration, eloquence): 8
Defense (Armor, physical toughness): 7
Talents:
Son of Sparta – +1 to starting stats
Evasion (10%) – You have a chance to avoid a fatal blow. Your body has already survived many injuries that could have been deadly. It's adapted to respond to threats in time.
David - When your enemy is stronger than you, your stats increase by 10%.
Endurance of Stone – +3 to defense. When injured, you can ignore pain. Bleeding is reduced by 20%. Easier to withstand enemy pressure.
Fleeting Shadow – Stealth increased by 20%. You're harder to notice, and your movements are smooth, like a shadow.
Cunning of Hellas – You find it easier to deceive others. Having survived many schemes, you've learned to adapt, subtly manipulate, and escape tough situations.
Forester – You can easily navigate forests, light fires effortlessly, and find food. Hiding in vegetation comes naturally.
Abilities:
Disease Immunity (passive) – When infected by viruses or illness, Endurance temporarily increases by +2.
Combat Mastery, Level 5 (passive) – Increases Dexterity and Endurance by 9% during battle. Improves attacks, helps detect enemy weaknesses, defend, and counter.
Swordsmanship, Level 4 – You're still early in your path as a swordsman, but already capable of decent blade work.
Spear Mastery, Level 6 – Your spear-handling skills are at an advanced level.
Spartan Formation (active, when near allies) – Increases all stats by 30%. In Spartan formation, you become part of a unified battlefront.
*
I had already reached the strength of a grown man from my old life. And I was only fourteen. The brutal training and conditions forced us to mature faster, drawing from inner reserves. During this time, the only new things I'd acquired were two abilities and one of them only worked in formation. If I had to fight one-on-one, I had nearly no suitable skills.
Six more years remained, but I was already strong, able to endure any burden with ease. What worried me more was the upcoming trial, which was set to happen very soon. For a warrior to become truly hardened, his mind must get used to the sight of blood and death especially when it's caused by his own spear and sword, no matter who ends up beneath the blade.
We were to attack the helots powerless slaves and kill them. There was a grim, mandatory rule: each of us had to take a life. If there was no blood on your sword or spear, if you couldn't prove your first kill, you would be punished. There was no choice.
Yes, something inside me resisted, but life here had changed me too much. What truly troubled me was the certainty that the helots would fight for their lives. They had no proper weapons, but even a single well-placed strike, even with a stick or crude spear, could be fatal.
Our squad consisted of boys no more than ten of us. The village we were to raid had around a hundred people, thirty to forty of whom were men.
I'd have to fight for my life and for the lives of my brothers if I wanted to survive.