Chapter 13: Chapter 13:founding a militia part-2
The next morning, the square of Eretis was alive with activity. The makeshift militia—thirty men and boys with various degrees of reluctance etched onto their faces—had gathered as ordered. Hadrian stood at the center, his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the group. Beside him, Leon and Skyles observed quietly, their expressions unreadable.
The weapons Georgios had provided were spread out on a wooden table: a few rusted swords, a handful of spears, and a collection of bows that looked barely functional. Most of the men were armed with nothing more than tools repurposed into weapons—shovels, pitchforks, and axes meant for chopping wood, not orcs.
Hadrian stepped forward, his voice steady but loud enough to carry. "This isn't going to be easy. I'm not here to sugarcoat things. The goblins will be here in less than two weeks, and if we don't prepare, we'll all die—or worse."
Murmurs rippled through the group, but no one spoke up.
"We're going to start with the basics," Hadrian continued. "Formations, weapon handling, and building endurance. If you're holding a bow, you'll be practicing your aim. If you're holding a spear, you'll learn how to use it in a phalanx. If you're holding a sword… well, you'll wish you weren't."
A few weak chuckles broke the tension, but the group was still largely skeptical. Hadrian gestured toward the open area behind him, where Skyles had marked out a training field with rough chalk lines. "Let's get to work."
The morning was grueling. Hadrian pushed the men hard, moving between groups to demonstrate techniques and correct mistakes. His own knowledge was limited—cobbled together from Kazimir's lessons and his own experience—but he compensated with sharp observation and a knack for adapting on the fly.
The bowmen struggled the most. Their arrows often missed the crude targets entirely, clattering uselessly against the ground. Hadrian corrected their stances, showing them how to steady their aim and draw the string back properly.
"Hold it tighter," he said to a lanky youth named Petros. The boy's arms shook as he tried to follow Hadrian's instructions.
"I… I can't," Petros stammered.
"Yes, you can," Hadrian said firmly. "It's not about strength. It's about control. Focus on the target, not your hands."
Petros nodded hesitantly and loosed the arrow. It struck the outer edge of the target—a miss, but closer than before.
"Better," Hadrian said. "Now do it again."
By midday, the cracks in the group's resolve began to show. The men were sweating, their faces red with exertion. Complaints grew louder, and a few men began muttering openly about the futility of it all.
"This is pointless," one of them said, tossing his spear to the ground. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face flushed with anger. "We're farmers, not soldiers. We're going to die anyway, so why waste our time?"
A murmur of agreement rose from the others.
Hadrian stepped forward, his expression calm but cold. "Pick up your spear."
The man glared at him. "Make me."
Before anyone could react, Hadrian moved. He closed the distance between them in a flash, his speed and agility shocking the crowd into silence. He ducked under the man's reach, swept his legs out from under him, and pinned him to the ground with the blunt end of his training sword pressed against his throat.
The man froze, his eyes wide with surprise.
Hadrian leaned in, his voice low but sharp. "You think this is hard? Wait until you're staring down a goblin with nothing but fear and an empty stomach. If you can't handle this, you might as well run now. But if you stay, you'll learn how to fight, how to survive. And maybe, just maybe, you'll have a chance to protect the people you care about."
He stood, pulling the man to his feet with a strength that belied his small frame. "Now, pick up your spear."
The man hesitated, then bent to retrieve the weapon. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Hadrian turned to address them all.
"I know you're scared," he said, his voice carrying over the group. "So am I. But fear doesn't have to make us weak. It can make us stronger—if we let it."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, the men nodded, their reluctance giving way to determination.
The afternoon went smoother. The men still struggled, but they were trying, and that was enough for Hadrian. Even Leon, who had been skeptical of the training, seemed to take notice.
As they watched the men practice, Leon leaned closer to Hadrian, his voice laced with disbelief. "You're really bossing them around like you've been doing this for years. Didn't know you had it in you."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. "And what did you think I had in me?"
"I don't know," Leon replied, shrugging. "More yelling? Less actual… I don't know… leading?"
"I aim to disappoint," Hadrian quipped, but there was a flicker of pride in his tone. He turned his attention back to the men, his gaze sharp and calculating.
Nearby, Skyles stretched his arms lazily and glanced over at Hadrian with a teasing grin. "Didn't think you'd pull it off, princess. But somehow, they're not running away screaming."
Hadrian sighed. "For the last time, Skyles, stop calling me that."
"Never," Skyles replied, grinning wider. "You'll have to kill me first."
Leon chuckled, shaking his head. "You two are ridiculous."
Hadrian allowed himself a rare moment of amusement before his expression hardened again. There was still so much work to be done.
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The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the village in shades of orange and purple. Hadrian sat at a rough-hewn wooden table inside the command tent, his body aching from a long day of overseeing training. Despite his fatigue, his mind was a storm of ideas, plans, and calculations. Skyles entered the tent, carrying a small bundle of bread and dried meat, tossing it onto the table in front of Hadrian.
"Eat," Skyles said, dropping onto a stool across from him. "You'll pass out if you keep this up."
Hadrian unwrapped the bundle, though he barely touched the food. His mind was too preoccupied. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his messy blonde curls. "We need to do more than just train these men. The village is falling apart, and training alone won't fix it."
Skyles arched an eyebrow, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. "Oh, here we go. Another one of your grand ideas. Let's hear it, genius."
Ignoring the sarcasm, Hadrian leaned forward, gesturing with his hands. "We need structure. Order. A system to make this village more than just a collection of huts barely holding out against goblins."
Skyles smirked. "Sounds ambitious. Got anything specific in mind, or are you just making speeches now?"
Hadrian didn't rise to the bait. "First, we need to move away from bartering. A standard coinage system will make trade easier to control and expand. Second, we need to breed horses and donkeys—not just for farming but to free up manpower for other tasks, like mining and crafting."
Skyles tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly. "Not bad. But how do you plan to convince the villagers to go along with all that? They're already ready to riot over the training."
Hadrian's gaze sharpened. "That's where you come in."
Skyles blinked, surprised. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Hadrian said, his tone calm but insistent. "They see you as one of Kazimir's men. They trust you more than they trust me. If you push these changes, they'll be more likely to listen."
Skyles leaned back, crossing his arms. "And what's in it for me?"
Hadrian's lips curled into a faint smile. "The satisfaction of not having your head mounted on a goblin's spear?"
Skyles chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But seriously, why are you so obsessed with this? You've been here less than two days, and you're already talking about transforming the whole village."
Hadrian hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice quieter. "Because survival isn't enough. If we're going to win—really win—we need to be stronger, smarter, more organized than any of the other races. That starts here, with this village."
Skyles studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright, Hadrian. I'll back you up—for now. But don't get too full of yourself, princess."
Hadrian rolled his eyes, but there was a glint of gratitude in his gaze. "Thank you."
As the conversation died down, Hadrian's thoughts drifted. He stared at the map spread out on the table, his mind racing with strategies and possibilities. Slowly, his gaze shifted to his arm, still hidden beneath the bandages.
Leon's words from earlier echoed in his mind, and a faint scowl crossed his face. If anyone found out about the system, about what it allowed him to do, it would raise more questions than he was prepared to answer.
No, this secret had to stay buried. For now, at least.
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