Aeneas chatted idly with the guards. A mountain wind rustled the olive leaves.
Suddenly, he squinted. A faint figure seemed to flit at the distant forest's edge. It vanished into the shadows instantly.
He stopped. His voice dropped. "Over there in the woods... Huh? Thought I saw someone. Should we check?"
Three pairs of guard eyes snapped to where he pointed. The senior guard stared intently for a moment. Then he just shook his head. His expression was calm. Like humoring a jumpy child.
"Don't worry, young master. Our patrols end at the edge of these cultivated groves. Beyond that is the primeval forest. Sacred to the goddess Cybele. We don't disturb it lightly."
"The goddess's forest?" Aeneas raised a skeptical brow. "Sounds like a handy 'No Trespassing' sign."
The guard didn't understand 'No Trespassing' sign. But the skepticism was clear.
A younger guard quickly added. His voice was hushed and awe.
"Yes, young master. People believe this Mount Ida is the goddess's personal chambers. Even our estate here is respectfully called 'The City of Ida'. It's not just trees in there... There are deer, wild boar... even jackals and lynxes." He swallowed. "The old-timers say you can sometimes hear bear growls. And even... the roar of lions."
His eyes held a flicker of fear by the end. As if a great beast might drag him into the woods any second.
Aeneas couldn't help a quiet laugh.
"Lions? Wow. Didn't know we had those for neighbors. Guess we'd better... mind our manners around here..."
The young guard almost snorted. He pressed his lips together. The old guard gave a dry cough. He pretended heard nothing. But his mouth twitched.
Aeneas nodded thoughtfully. He mentally noted, "Primeval nature reserve? Saves on border defenses. But lots of predators... Potential problem. Deal with it later."
He looked up at the dense, lush forest. The layered shadows formed a natural wall. It separated the human world from the divine.
Aeneas smiled slightly. He said no more. He just clapped the nearest guard on the shoulder. He motioned for them to keep going.
At the bottom, a fortress of earth and timber appeared.
Not grand, but it had everything. Straight wooden palisades formed a square. An earthen rampart was piled outside. A trench snaked around it. A few simple watchtowers stood like wooden block sentry posts. Utilitarian.
Two guards stood rigid at the gate. Their spears glinted coldly in the sun.
Aeneas unconsciously smoothed his plain, commoner-style tunic. "Alright, this 'tourist' look should be fine... right? Probably..."
Heavy footsteps came from inside the fort. A grizzled veteran stepped out. Scarred face. Thick arms. He was around fifty. He wore old, but well-polished leather armor. It looked more reliable than anything new.
"Captain Callippus!" Aeneas's mind registered the man. One of his father's old guards. His name was a gift from Anchises—it meant 'Good Horse'. A symbol of loyalty and reliability.
Callippus froze for a second. His eyes lingered on Aeneas's uncharacteristically simple clothes. Then they lit up. His right fist thumped his chest. His voice was a deep rumble.
"Young Master Aeneas! What brings you here? Here to inspect the garrison?"
For a moment, he was as formal as an employee greeting the boss.
Aeneas couldn't help a laugh. He waved a dismissive hand. "Captain Callippus, don't be so formal. I'm just out for a walk. Thought I'd stop by and see how everyone's doing."
His easygoing smile was infectious. It made people relax.
Callippus's face broke into a wide grin. His rugged wrinkles creased deeply. He nodded repeatedly. Respectful, but warm. "The honor is ours, young master! Please, allow me to show you around."
He stepped to the side. His arm swept out like opening a door. He invited Aeneas into the military camp.
Aeneas looked at the simple, sturdy gate. "Huh. Father's personal guards, alright. Even 'please come in' is a whole production."
He stepped across the plank bridge over the trench. This place was perhaps his first line of defense for the estate. It was also the starting point for dealing with people and their strengths.
Aeneas followed Callippus inside. The camp wasn't large, but it was orderly.
A large, grey-white tent stood in the center. Clearly the command post. Rows of simple barracks surrounded it.
The air held a mix of sweat, woodsmoke, and metal. It wasn't hard to guess life here wasn't comfortable.
A few soldiers squatted in a corner. They carefully sharpened their weapons on whetstones. The scrape of stone on metal cut the silence. It brought war drums to mind.
Weapon racks stood against the wall. Spears, bronze short-swords, javelins. All neatly arranged. They carried a solemn air.
"We have a permanent garrison of one hundred men," Callippus explained as they walked. Pride in his tone. "Half train and rest here. The other half man posts or patrol. This is the main defensive line. It protects the lord's manor and the valley town."
Aeneas nodded. His dark eyes swiftly scanned the surroundings. His inner "transmigrator" assessment mode activated automatically.
"Mostly bronze weapons. Only a little iron... Armor is mostly leather and thick linen. Occasional bronze cuirass." He mentally calculated. "Wood-and-hide shields. Basic protection. Archers... their self-bows look flimsy. All just straight staves. No composite or recurve tech yet? That limits range and penetration... Arrowheads... mostly bronze. I wonder if the territory can produce its own?"
He asked casually, "How are the soldiers' training and rations usually?" His tone was curious, conversational.
Callippus answered promptly. "Daily drills focus on wrestling, javelin throwing, and sparring. We do short runs and loaded marches weekly. For endurance. As for rations..." He grinned. "Mostly barley porridge, beans, cheese. With olive oil. Sometimes we get a bit of mutton or fish. That's a feast day."
He lowered his voice, like sharing a secret. "But thanks to the Lord's sufficient supplies, at least they get full bellies. The men grumble the porridge is too thin. But no one goes hungry. That's why they have the strength to guard the land."
Aeneas laughed. "The porridge is too thin? Hah! Now that's an honest complaint!"
His tone was light. Like sharing a joke with a friend.
Callippus stared. Then he burst into laughter, his beard shaking. The soldiers sharpening weapons nearby sneaked a look. Seeing the young master's easy expression, they grinned too.
Aeneas felt a quiet internal relief. "Good. Morale seems stable."
He moved through the camp with a light step. His pace had a relaxed rhythm.
He stopped. He smiled and nodded at a soldier polishing a spear. "Good morning, Atnis! How's your little sister doing?"
The soldier jolted. His mind buzzed. His face showed shock and delight. "Young Master... She... she's well!"
He turned to a young soldier polishing arrows. He joked, "Look at you. Polishing those shafts brighter than my dog!"
The soldier blushed. He gave a sheepish grin. "Young Master, I... I've never compared it to a dog!"
Aeneas chuckled. He shrugged mentally: These kids are so easy to tease.
He occasionally let a modern quip slip. "Nice work, brother!"
The soldiers glanced at each other. Some chuckled softly. Others scratched their heads. They didn't fully understand. But the atmosphere was warm.
Aeneas moved through the camp. The initially stiff soldiers relaxed. They gathered around him. Their smiles were bright. Their eyes shone with pride. Someone murmured, "Our young lord is really approachable!"
Another quickly straightened his posture. He saluted eagerly. "Young Master Aeneas! It's a real honor to see you, sir!"
Laughter, the scrape of metal, occasional chatter wove together. The whole small camp seemed to come alive. Aeneas looked at these eager faces. Warmth rose in his chest. He gave a mental nod. "Good. Morale is solid. That's crucial."
As he prepared to leave, Callippus and several soldiers stepped forward. In unison, they said, "Young master, let us escort you to the town!"
Aeneas stared. He almost laughed.
(Then why did I even change into these commoner clothes? I might as well have a full honor guard. A proper nobleman's procession... So much for my low-key inspection!)
He smiled and waved a hand. "Thank you, but I'd prefer to look around on my own. You guarding your posts is the best protection for me."
He clapped Callippus on his experienced, scar-laced shoulder. His tone was warm, firm. "I know very well how hard you work."
The soldiers looked both satisfied and slightly disappointed. They nodded. They watched Aeneas walk out of the camp.
Aeneas passed through the camp gate. Sunlight fell on his dark gold curls. It cast a warm halo. Behind him, the soldiers still watched with reverent eyes.
The camp's laughter, lit by his presence, lingered.
His steps were steady, light. As if the whole Ida valley unfolded at his feet.
As he walked, he sorted the intel in his mind. It felt like playing a strategy game.
"Economic base is decent—the olive groves are productive. Steady income. I just don't know the total yield. Militarily... Three hundred freeman professional soldiers plus fifty elite slave-soldiers. That's a reasonably strong force for this era. But... equipment and training need improvement. Especially ranged firepower. Hmm. Need to figure that out."
He shook his head slightly. A faint, wry smile touched his lips. "Paper-making, sanitation... all that can wait. Looks like I need to spec into the 'military tech tree' first? Improve the bows? Research metallurgy? Maybe some fun new ideas? Headache..."
Then he thought of the soldiers' loyalty. He nodded slightly. A good sign. Must maintain it. "Father's prestige, the veterans' experience... key factors. Keep the troops' hearts steady, the territory stays steady. If the economy allows, we should improve their conditions."
He walked the stone path toward the river valley town. He felt the sun warm his shoulders. The breeze carried the rustle of leaves. The distant whisper of the Scamander River.
His steps grew more determined. He was no longer just an observer. He felt like a strategist. Slowly sketching the map of his entire domain in his mind.
Every village, every olive grove, every patrol route. They were like squares on a game board. Waiting for his next move.
His thoughts shifted like pieces. Arranging themselves quickly in his mind. Calculated, yet wildly creative.
"Maybe... light up the military tree first. Then consider lifestyle tech and economic improvements..."
He pondered silently. The corner of his mouth quirked up. A glint of sharp intelligence flashed in his eyes.
This was a game of wits and patience.
And he was ready.
The town's outline grew clearer. Morning mist rose from roof chimneys. Villagers began their busy day. Aeneas quickened his pace. Anticipation filled him. Every detail of this era could be a key. A key to understanding this world, this domain.
Around eight or nine in the morning. The sun burned off the last mist.
The biggest village in the Dardan valley appeared in gold light.
The air smelled of woodsmoke. Flatbread baking. Olive oil, faint and fruity. Livestock, earthy. The real smell of an old town.
Aeneas took a deep breath. He chuckled inside. "So, this is 12th century BC 'downtown'!" Humble, but full of life."
The central square buzzed with life. Vendors lined both sides of the dirt road.
A pottery seller held up reddish-brown jars, calling out.
Coarse linen and wool hung on racks.
They swayed in the breeze. Almost winking at Aeneas.
Bright fruits and vegetables piled high. Olives and pickles smelled salty and sharp. It drew villagers to stop and browse.
By the public well, women drew water. They chatted in low voices. Their laughter skipped through the air. Sprinkling the village with warm notes.
Aeneas's gaze was drawn to the smithy—a bronzesmith's workshop, really. Craftsmen heated bronze over charcoal fires. Their hammers fell with a clear Clink! Clink! Sparks danced like tiny fireworks.
He crouched to watch. He mentally noted, "The bronze forging process is interesting. Melt the copper-tin alloy first. Pour it into clay molds. Then hammer and polish it repeatedly. Until it's shiny and hard. Simple, crude, but enough for everyday weapons and tools. Looks good! At least the territory can produce its own bronze gear."
Next door, a baker used padded gloves to pull flat wheat cakes from a clay oven. Heat wafted out. It carried the smell of grain and slightly charred edges.
A few old men sat on a stone bench at the square's edge. They held cups of watered wine. But their eyes tracked the passing crowd. They shared occasional snickers. Like they were watching a small play.
Pairs of guards patrolled the market. They kept order. But their expressions were relaxed. It gave a sense of stable peace.
Aeneas walked, his shoulders loose. He observed the flow of people. Vendors were busy but unhurried. Children chased each other between stalls. A few goats ambled across the dirt road.
His eyes kept landing on armor, wooden tools, or vendor's trinkets. He assessed the era's pace of life and labor allocation.
"Hmm... It's lively, but the sense of order is good," Aeneas evaluated internally. He raised a brow slightly. A relaxed smile played on his lips.
"This town has its own rhythm. Thick with the smell of life. Even the clang of bronze is like background music."
He continued his stroll. He occasionally reached out to touch the wool fabrics on a stall. Or crouched to examine freshly baked flatbread. He muttered quiet comments in his mind. "If I were an RTS player, the resource points here are decent. Farm produce, handicrafts, bronze weapons... Not a bad starting location."
The sunlight grew brighter. The whole village looked to Aeneas like a vibrant painting. Busy, yet orderly. Ancient, yet brimming with vitality. And he, this tall young noble with a warm smile, was slowly blending into it. An observer, and the land's potential guardian.