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The Adrestia sailed smoothly into a small, secluded cove near the main Spartan landing beach in Megaris. The coast here was rugged, with sharp cliffs giving way to a dusty plain where the Spartan camp was already dug in. The ship itself showed only minor scrapes from the ramming, a testament to Atlas's strategic hit and Barnabas's quick maneuvering.
Atlas stepped onto the wooden planks of the hastily constructed dock, followed by Kassandra, Alexios, and Lukas. Before they took their first steps toward the camp, Atlas turned back to the ship.
"Barnabas," Atlas said, his tone serious. "Take the Adrestia to the nearest safe port for immediate repairs. That Trireme hit was hard. And keep an eye on Phoibe. Most importantly, do not engage in any trouble. Pay for whatever supplies you need."
He pulled a heavy, tightly cinched leather pouch from his belt and tossed it to the Captain. The gold drachmae within clinked loudly. "Use this for repairs and expenses."
Barnabas caught the sack easily. "Aye, Captain! Repairs and no trouble. Consider it done. We'll be ready when you call for us."
Atlas looked down at Phoibe, who was already pouting by the railing.
"Phoibe, you stay with Barnabas and the ship. You are safest here. When the battle is over, we will bring you something wonderful, I promise."
Phoibe crossed her arms, kicking the ground. "But I want to see the Spartans! And the fighting!"
"Absolutely not," Atlas said firmly, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "This is a war, not a show. Stay here and be safe, little one."
Phoibe sighed, defeated. "Fine. But bring me back a horse, Alexios!"
"If I find a good one!" Alexios promised, giving her a wink.
With that settled, the four turned and began walking toward the rising sound of thousands of cheering men.
Arriving near the Spartan encampment, they saw a massive assembly of soldiers—spears raised, shields polished, standing rigidly in formation. In the center of the camp stood a familiar, commanding figure giving a rousing speech: Nikolaos, the Wolf of Sparta.
Beside Nikolaos, listening intently and standing with a disciplined air, was a Spartan officer who looked to be in his early thirties—muscular, stern-faced, and clearly a man of importance.
Nikolaos's voice boomed across the plain, filled with fierce pride. "See how the Athenian dog Perikles fears you! He cowers in his Parthenon, surrounded by playwrights and sophists. He dares not face you with honor on the battlefield. He knows you are too strong. He knows Athens's days in Megaris are numbered. And he knows Athens is next!"
The soldiers roared in unison, stamping their spear butts against the dusty earth. "HO! HO! HOOOO!"
The sheer volume of the shout made the ground vibrate.
Alexios scornfully shook his head, arms crossed on his chest. "Hmmp! What a big talk. Too much bluster, too little action."
Lukas, ever the pragmatist, nudged Alexios with his elbow. "Oh, come on, Alexios. Although you don't like your old man, you have to give him some credit. He just raised his soldiers' morale instantly. That's leadership."
Atlas nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on Nikolaos. "He also possesses a fierce will and is a great fighter. He commands respect."
Alexios was still not convinced, a dark shadow passing over his eyes. "A great fighter? Ha. We will see about that."
Kassandra, however, said nothing. She simply stared at Nikolaos, her face a mask of conflicting emotions—resentment, curiosity, and a faint echo of the child she once was.
As the four of them lingered at the edge of the camp, Nikolaos's speech concluded. The general clapped the younger officer beside him on the shoulder and began walking toward the main tactical tent, surrounded by lieutenants.
"Let's go," Atlas said, taking the lead. "We need to catch him before he locks himself in a strategy meeting."
Just as the four were about to enter the densely guarded Spartan camp, the thirty-year-old officer who had stood beside Nikolaos stepped sharply into their path, blocking their way. He was clearly waiting for them.
"You," the man said, his voice crisp and demanding, his gaze falling directly on Atlas, the obvious leader of the group. "Are you the mercenaries responsible for the smoke column rising from the Athenian blockade? Did you destroy the Athenian ships?"
Atlas met his gaze evenly. "Yes, we did. They were in our way."
The man's stern expression gave way to an impressed look. "I'm Stentor, a Spartan officer. Sparta owes you thanks. Tyche has blessed you, my friend. You arrived in time to watch my pater achieve a glorious victory."
When Stentor said the word "pater," he glanced toward the retreating figure of Nikolaos with clear adoration.
The four companions had identical looks of surprise. Atlas and Lukas immediately looked at Kassandra and Alexios, whose jaws had dropped slightly. Clearly, neither of them had any idea who this Stentor was.
Before Alexios could blurt out a question, Kassandra cut him off, stepping forward.
"If Nikolaos is your father," Kassandra stated, a wry smirk on her face, "I guess that makes you… my brother."
Stentor stared at her blankly, then laughed—a short, barking, joyless sound. "Did you take a blow to the head during battle? What are you talking about?"
Kassandra crossed her arms over her chest, her stance defiant. She pointed a finger first at Alexios, then thumbed back toward herself.
"The Wolf is our father as well as yours."
Stentor's jaw tightened. He replied firmly, his voice low and dangerous. "Ridiculous! Before he adopted me into his home, he had two children, and they both died in Sparta many years ago. They are gone."
Kassandra spread her arms wide, gesturing to their whole group. "Well, now they are standing before you."
Stentor shook his head, regaining his composure and forcing a chuckle. "You almost fooled me, but I wasn't born yesterday, misthios. Let's stick to the subject of why you're here." Stentor's expression turned severely stern. "What is a mercenary doing sailing into a war they aren't being paid to fight in? Tell me why you're really here before I cut you down for wasting my time."
Alexios, his face flushed with anger at the disrespect, took a step forward, his hand instinctively gripping his sword hilt. Atlas grabbed his arm, holding him back with a firm, silent pressure. Atlas gave Alexios a quick glance, gesturing for him to let Kassandra handle this.
Kassandra, frustrated by Stentor's dismissive attitude but understanding the political tightrope they were walking, relented. "We have come to meet the Wolf of Sparta."
Stentor laughed loudly for a moment, shaking his head. "You cannot simply meet with Nikolaos. He has command of the entire Spartan army. If you truly came all this way to meet him, you might be disappointed."
Kassandra bristled, returning the insult. "Are you sure you're in charge here? You don't strike me as a typical Spartan. Perhaps it's best if I just talk with Nikolaos."
Stentor regarded her with cold disdain. "A sense of humor is not a trait I see being useful for a sell-sword. If you're here to earn drachmae though, I could make use of a capable mercenary."
He looked out toward the Athenian positions. "The Athenian fleet might be destroyed, but Megaris is still firmly in Athenian control. We need to weaken their position if we are to take to the field and drive them back to Athens."
Kassandra asked in genuine confusion, "Why do you need a mercenary to do that? You seem to have plenty of soldiers at your disposal."
Stentor explained, tapping his chest plate. "It's not a question of manpower. The Megarians are our allies. We do not want to commit Spartan troops until we know victory is assured and we can minimize collateral damage. My scouts are already locating key targets that we can hit to demoralize and weaken the Athenian command structure."
Kassandra thought for a moment, glancing at Atlas, clearly asking for permission on how to proceed.
Atlas gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. He knew this was the unavoidable path laid out for them.
Kassandra turned back to Stentor, the mercenary hardening her voice. "We are ready to serve. Together, we will ensure that Sparta is victorious."
Stentor nodded in satisfaction, a small smile finally appearing on his face. "Good. You can go to my subordinates over there and do the tasks they will be giving you. Show this to them."
Stentor tossed a heavy, embossed Spartan seal, which Kassandra caught deftly. She briefly looked at the detailed engraving before replying to Stentor, her voice carrying a strong, final challenge.
"And once we have brought the Athenians to their knees for Sparta, we will get that meeting with Nikolaos. Or you'll be next."
Stentor, who was already turning to leave, gave a helpless sigh at her brazenness, then replied over his shoulder, "Send those Athenian dogs to Hades, misthios. Do this, and the Wolf will personally see to it that you are rewarded."
Stentor strode away toward the Spartan command tent.
The moment he was gone, Alexios exploded, his voice low and furious. "Atlas! Kass! Why did you let him have his way? We can still meet Nikolaos in other ways! That pompous bastard!"
Atlas placed a calming hand on Alexios's shoulder. "It's better to do this, Alexios. It avoids swords being drawn to us immediately. If we charge in now, we're enemies of Sparta. If we do this, we earn a meeting, and we gain valuable information on the state of the war."
Kassandra nodded in agreement, tucking the seal into her pouch. "And we get to fight Athenians. I'm not complaining about that."
Lukas, ever the loyal friend, also agreed. "We need to know what we're walking into, Alexios. This is a battle, not a family reunion. Patience."
Alexios could only agree helplessly, his resentment for his father now extended to his unexpected half-brother.
The four started walking deeper inside the Spartan camp to look for Stentor's subordinate, ready to earn their meeting with the Wolf.
(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)