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Chapter 17 - Troy Travel Crew, Move Out!!

The time was early morning, around seven or eight. The spine of Mount Ida glowed with golden light. The sun had cleared the peaks. It burned off the mist filling the Dardan Valley.

The earth woke. The air held the scent of olive trees and damp earth. In the distance, the outline of Troy shimmered in the thin haze. A legendary mirage.

Aeneas stood on the stone steps of the estate. He wore a pristine white linen robe. Its edges were embroidered with his family's deep blue insignia.

His black-gold curls shone in the morning light. He looked vibrant. Yet steady.

The attire marked his noble status. But it was simple. Practical. Fit for a long journey.

He took a slow, deep breath. As if drawing the dawn and the scent of the land into his chest.

Achates stood ready at his side.

His leather armor was polished to a high shine. The bronze clasps reflected sharp glints of light. His entire demeanor was alert. Efficient.

This was his first official trip as the "young lord's steward and chief guard." He felt the added weight.

He adjusted the short sword at his hip. Spoke quietly to Aeneas.

"Young master, we are all ready. We can depart."

Aeneas nodded. A hint of a humorous smile played on his lips.

"Right. My first business trip with the team. Achates, you're on guide duty."

Achates gave a soft cough. A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes. The words sounded strange. But he understood. His tense expression eased slightly.

Behind them, Nisus and Euryalus stood side by side.

They wore new, light-colored linen tunics. Simple leather cuirasses covered their chests. They looked earnest. Respectable.

Nisus held a sturdy oak tray. On it lay the wooden sword that killed the boar. Its cracks had been carefully cleaned. Rubbed with olive oil. It gleamed softly in the morning light.

The tray was carved with olive branches and an owl. Symbols of Athena. The sword rested on wool. Covered by a linen cloth embroidered with a shield and a wisdom serpent.

The whole offering looked like a sacred artifact. Perfectly suited as a gift for the goddess.

Nisus's expression was focused. His brow held a near-reverent seriousness. The tray in his hands was just a wooden sword. But he held it like a divine blade bestowed by the gods.

He whispered a reminder to his brother. "Be steady. No fooling around. We're not heading to the hunting grounds today. We go to the city to honor the goddess."

Euryalus couldn't contain his excitement. He tried to look solemn. Failed. Muttered under his breath.

"It's just... I feel like we've landed a proper job. Look! Look at that sword! It looks more precious than my life already."

Nisus shot him a stern look. His voice was low.

"You're wrong. It is more precious than your life. It's the lord's offering to the goddess. We must protect it with everything we have. Second only to Lord Aeneas himself."

Aeneas heard this. He chuckled. Turned to look at the brothers.

"Relax. Respect for the goddess is right. But don't tie yourselves in knots.

The city nobles go to the temple all the time. They're just better at putting on a show than you are."

Euryalus grinned immediately. Nodded. "Understood, young lord."

Nisus stayed silent. A trace of wariness remained in his eyes. He clearly understood this trip's significance better than his brother.

At Aeneas's command—"Let's go"—they set off down the mountain path outside the estate.

The dirt road was ancient. Hard-packed from years of use. On either side stretched cultivated olive groves. Their leaves shimmered silver-green in the sun.

Beyond lay the primal forest. Dark branches. Occasional animal roars and bird calls from the shadows.

That was said to be the sacred grove of Cybele. Her dwelling on Mount Ida. Hunters rarely ventured there. They preferred the long way around. They dared not offend.

Achates moved closer to Aeneas. His steps were sure. He spoke quietly but clearly.

"Young lord, I suggest we take a boat to Troy today."

Aeneas had been gazing at the distant mountains. He turned, brow raised. "A boat? Troy isn't that far. Wouldn't horses be faster?"

Achates's expression didn't change. But his eyes shifted slightly. He gestured with his chin toward Nisus behind them.

Nisus was carefully cradling the decorated offering. Sweat beaded on his temple. As if one misstep would desecrate it.

"The ride would be jarring. It would be difficult for Nisus, holding the sacred offering for the goddess," Achates explained calmly. His tone was patient, as always.

"And..." He paused. A hint of a smile touched his eyes.

"Young lord, have you forgotten? These two brothers from the hills haven't had riding training. If they tried to ride, they'd likely be slower than walking."

Euryalus overheard. He scratched the back of his head and laughed.

"He's right. We mountain folk trust our own two legs best.

Feels unsteady on a horse's back. Like you might break your neck any second."

Aeneas laughed, rubbing his own neck. But inwardly, he cursed himself.

(Right! Saddles and stirrups! Damn! How did I forget that?)

He was so used to images of medieval cavalry. He'd forgotten this era had no saddles. No stirrups. Riding meant a cloth on a bare back. Balancing at speed with just your legs and the reins.

To a modern person, that was an extreme sport.

Achates seemed to notice his distraction. He added,

"Most who ride are noble sons. Or a few herdsmen raised with horses.

In the army, anyone who masters riding becomes a scout. Their status is much higher than a regular soldier's.

For long-distance travel, you need a chariot."

Aeneas's mind flashed to a movie image of Achilles. Sweeping across the battlefield alone on horseback. He snorted inwardly.

(Hollywood! So deceptive. That great hero from the Homeric epics was really a chariot-borne infantryman. He jumped down to fight his duels.)

He glanced again at Nisus and Euryalus.

The former looked determined but sweaty, holding the offering like he barely dared to breathe. The latter walked with a loose-limbed gait, his legs clearly used to solid ground, not a horse's back.

(Alright. Almost made another assumption error. Intel! On-the-ground observation! That's the key to solving problems.

Remember, Allen, you're not here to write a novel. You're here to beat the game—Military tech tree: Saddles, stirrups. Prioritize R&D when we have the horses!)

He took a deep breath. Pushed the chaotic thoughts down. Put on an easy smile. Clapped Euryalus on the shoulder.

"True enough. Walking on your own legs, at least you won't break a bone right away.

Alright, we'll follow Achates's advice. Walk to the ferry. Take a boat today."

"Yes, young lord," Achates nodded.

Nisus, clutching the offering, finally allowed a faint, relieved smile.

Euryalus laughed heartily. "Great! I've always wanted to try a river boat. Safer than a horse's back!"

The party moved on. Down the path between the olive groves.

Aeneas walked downhill. He casually pushed aside an olive branch near his feet. His soles left clear prints in the hard-packed earth.

The road wound down from the city of Ida. Flanked by olive groves planted long ago. Sunlight filtered through the leaves. Dappling his and Achates's figures.

Achates pointed downhill. Briefing his new lord.

"Young lord, this camp of Callippus at our feet is the land's first lock and key.

It guards the estate and the valley towns. A hundred soldiers are stationed here. But only two horses, for the scouts.

If you need to ride, you must go east another kilometer. To the bridge upriver on the Scamander.

The river narrows to three meters there. The camp of Thrasimenes on the far bank holds six horses."

Aeneas raised an eyebrow. His steps didn't falter. But a mental strategic map was already forming.

He muttered softly. Like he was making notes for himself.

"Three camps. A hundred men each. A triangular defense. The bridge is the choke point. No wonder the horses are concentrated there."

Achates watched him. Saw he was paying close attention. He added,

"Besides Callippus and Thrasimenes, there's the camp of Zentharios south of the mountain. It guards the village of Cebrenia and the Lady's Maple Ridge across the hills. Also a hundred men. Only two horses."

He paused. His gaze held a steward's prudence.

"These three camps are independent. But they support each other. If bandits or raiders come, the drum signal can rally all three forces within half a day."

Aeneas tilted his head. A playful smile touched his lips.

"Achates, you sound like you're giving me a lecture on strategic management. Should I just start a military academy and make you headmaster?"

Achates blinked. Then he shook his head with a quiet laugh.

"Young lord says things I don't understand again. But... if you truly intend to clear the Red Bean Forest of bandits, knowing these camps and roads is essential."

"True..." Aeneas agreed softly. He looked toward the distant, hazy valley and bridge. His eyes gleamed—Resource allocation. Node control. Strategic planning. He even had to consider logistics. Supply lines.

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