The Peloponnesian War left Athens battered, its pride crushed by Sparta. The brutal aftermath under the Thirty Tyrants led to murmurs of discontent among intellectuals about the flaws in democracy. But no one had ever criticized Athens' system as incisively as Juleios just had. His sharp words were like arrows, piercing through Xenophon's unwavering faith. The once-solid foundation of his beliefs now felt alarmingly fragile.
"...Could it be that Sparta has the better system?" Xenophon muttered, his voice heavy with doubt.
"Sparta?" Juleios repeated, a sharp laugh escaping him. "Sparta's downfall was sealed the moment it reduced its own Greeks—the Messenians—into Helots. Think of it! A few thousand warriors tasked with suppressing a population ten times their size. Spartan warriors may be brave, but their society is a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the first crack."
"But Sparta is the most powerful city-state in Greece!" Oliver interjected, his loyalty clear.
Juleios smirked, his voice calm but cutting. "Let's see how long that lasts." He folded his arms, his mind filled with the certainty of what was to come. History had already revealed the rise of Thebes and the eventual dismantling of Spartan dominance. For him, it was not prophecy—it was inevitability.
"Is that a prophecy?" someone asked in awe, their voice hushed.
Juleios shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. Neither confirming nor denying, he let the ambiguity hang in the air.
"Then tell us, Juleios," Xenophon pressed, "which city-state has the best system?"
Juleios locked eyes with Xenophon, his gaze steady, his tone thoughtful. "No city-state yet has the answer," he said, pausing as if weighing his words. "But if we live long enough, perhaps one day you'll see it."
At dawn, the world outside stirred to life. Voices echoed through the camp, rising with urgency.
"He's awake! My nephew is awake!" Antonios burst into the room, his voice trembling with joy. He rushed to Juleios, pulling him into a bear hug. "Thank you! Thank you! Asistes is alive!"
Still groggy, Juleios muttered, "Really?"
"Yes!" Herpus exclaimed, entering with equal enthusiasm. "His fever has broken, and he's even managed to drink some porridge. It's miraculous!"
Herpus's admiration shone in his eyes, but Juleios waved it off with a tired hand. "Asistes isn't out of the woods yet," he cautioned. "Follow the instructions I gave you, and keep a close watch. Recovery will take time."
"Understood!" Herpus replied with vigor.
"Juleios, there are people outside who want to see you," Xilos said, stepping into the room.
"Oh, it must be Kapus and his men," Antonios guessed, his tone tinged with guilt. "Word spreads quickly, and they probably need help too. I'm sorry, Juleios. You've done so much already."
"Kapus?" Juleios asked, unfamiliar with the name.
"A commander of another infantry unit in the camp," Xilos explained.
Juleios nodded. "Let's go meet them."
As he stepped outside, a wave of murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd.
"There he is—Juleios!"
"Don't be fooled by his age. He's truly favored by Hades!"
"Juleios, one of my men is gravely injured—please help him!"
The small courtyard buzzed with desperation and hope, the soldiers pleading for Juleios's help. Amidst the noise, his calm presence stood out. Memories of his past life—facing angry farmers armed with tools in a heated land dispute—flashed through his mind. If he could calm that storm, this was manageable.
Raising his hand, he shouted, "Everyone, quiet down!"
"Silence!" Antonios and Xilos echoed, lending their voices.
Gradually, the crowd stilled, their eyes fixed on Juleios.
"I deeply appreciate your trust," he began, his voice steady. "We are comrades, bound by our shared struggles and dangers. I will work tirelessly to help any brother in need. Together with Herpus, we will do everything in our power to treat the injured. No one will be abandoned!"
His words, spoken with conviction, ignited a wave of gratitude.
"Thank you, Hades!" someone exclaimed.
"Juleios, you're our savior!"
"Juleios, if you ever need anything, I'll give it my all to help you!"
In an era where infections often led to death, Juleios had become a symbol of hope. His willingness to act magnified his reputation, and the crowd's cheers rose like a tidal wave.
"Juleios! Juleios!" they chanted, their voices reverberating through Menon's camp.
Juleios stood at the center of it all, his heart swelling with determination. This wasn't just about saving lives—it was the beginning of something far greater. He was no longer just a soldier. He was a leader, a beacon, and perhaps, a harbinger of change.