Chương 124: The Storm of Asteria

Menekrates washed the blood off his hands, satisfied. Once again a successful charge. Once again he had proved his bravery and combat prowess not just to Keraion, but to the world. Once again his bravery had been rewarded with a victory. He'd always ensure he was in front of the shield wall. Most leaders took position on the far right of the phalanx, since it was the most vulnerable spot. The spot without a shield covering you. It was reserved for only the bravest and strongest.

Menekrates, however, took it one step further. He walked in front of the phalanx. Sure, some would call him reckless, or selfish, for if he fell his men undoubtedly would panic, and the battle would be lost. But Menekrates knew he was blessed by Keraion. He knew he would not fall as long as he was brave, and he believed himself to be an inspiration to his men. He gave himself a congratulatory nod. His men probably thought him a demi-god.

A legendary duelist walking amongst them, taking the first hits for them, spreading terror across their adversaries. He reveled in the fear he saw in his opponents' eyes as he marched ahead of his own army, alone. The ones who didn't show fear as he advanced showed it after he unleashed his first [Thunderous Strike] and sent dozens of men flying, lightning arcing through the enemy's ranks. Now that he had broken their spirit, Megara would soon fall, and he would have another successful conquest under his belt.

Asteria would add Megara's ports and navy to theirs, further increasing their maritime dominance. Once that was done victory over Ephyra would be all but guaranteed. They might even bend the knee without a fight if they heard the stories of his strength. And he wanted Ephyra, for their luxurious goods might even rival Asteria's. It would be a good look for him to control such a city-state.

Menekrates had tried to subtly drop hints during victory feasts, mentioning how "Menekrates, breaker of men" had a nice ring to it, or how "Menekrates of many wiles" seemed appropriate for his recent deeds. But the titles hadn't taken yet. His men cheered for him, yes, but they hadn't given him that one name that would echo through history. It didn't matter. It annoyed him, sure, but it didn't matter. Results spoke louder than epithets. He stepped out of his tent and inhaled the salty ocean air.

It was different from Asteria's, yet somehow the same.

"Archon," a voice called out. It was one of his lochagoi, a man named Eurysternos.

"Eurysternos," Menekrates said. Eurysternos pressed a fist to his chest.

"The Megarians have sent a messenger. They wish to discuss terms of surrender." Surrender? Already? He was hoping for at least one more skirmish. Another chance to show how powerful he was. How else would he earn a title that would allow him to be remembered throughout the ages? Perhaps he had overdone it. Perhaps he should have held back more. Now they were too frightened of him to fight and he could no longer display his strength to the world. He would no longer be able to claim glory.

Menekrates turned to the sea.

"Surrender? Only cowards surrender. They had their chance. Tell them we can discuss terms when I'm standing in their central plaza and Pontogenes is on his knees in front of me."

"But Archon, we don't have to fight. We could save the lives of—""I am not here to save lives, Eurysternos," Menekrates interrupted him.

"I am here to forge an empire. If they want to surrender, they will do so on my terms. While I look down at them from their own throne." Ah, yes, that was a powerful line, Menekrates thought. Eurysternos was likely to discuss this moment with the other lochagoi and tell them how ruthless he was. It was good to be thought of as ruthless. It prevented mutiny. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Denying their surrender and choosing to fight instead will also make me look fearless. Perhaps they will call me The Storm of Asteria after this battle. I think that would be a suitable name for a man of my stature. And there was nothing to fear in Megara anymore. Kalliope had taken care of their two most powerful champions under the cover of the moon, and Menekrates did not believe they had any others that would be able to stand against him. She had been in surprisingly good spirits when she gave him her report.

He wondered why. The woman still was cold—she always was—but had seemed… satisfied? When she delivered him the news of their demise. He'd expected more defiance from her, especially after what had transpired in her home. It was not unlikely that she had figured out he'd sent an assassin after her girl and that he had sold her out to the king of Silesia. Still, she had been nothing but courteous to him and the Sisters of Mēnē had carried out their missions as they always had.

He wondered about Kalliope's daughter, Hecate, was her name. He had received no news concerning her. In fact, he hadn't thought about her in a while. All he knew there was a big bounty on her head now. Perhaps she was already dead. But if she was, and Kalliope knew about it, she wouldn't be in a good mood.

"Archon! Archon Menekrates!" a man called out from the distance. The man reached him, breathing heavily. Menekrates did not recognize him.

"Speak," he said, annoyed that his thoughts were interrupted.

"It's—It's Menon." A pang of dread shot through him.

"My son? What about Menon?"

"Yes," the man panted.

"He—They found him—""What happened? Who did it? Did he fall with his shield?" The messenger stared at his feet.

"Archon… They found him not among the ranks, but… uhh… They found him in the shadows of the camp. His… uh… strength. His strength had leaked from him."

"What are you talking about? Speak clearly!"

"He was not defeated by man, Archon. He died in the waste trenches. He had been gone for hours before they found him. He was covered in his own waste. He died there, clutching his stomach, drowning in his own excrement." The world suddenly spun, and Menekrates grasped for something to hold on to, but failed to find anything. He stumbled, then regained his composure, then lost it again. It took all the strength he could muster not to fall to his knees and scream. How could a son of his die such a shameful death?

Menon, of all people? Menekrates had been sure Menon would follow in his footsteps. For him to meet his end like this was unthinkable.

"Was he poisoned?" he managed to ask.

"I… We're not sure," the man said.

"Others have also been caught by the flux. It's just… None have fallen to it. Not yet." Surely he must have been poisoned. No son of his would succumb to something as undignified as the flux. But who would dare poison Menon? Kalliope couldn't have done it. She had been in Megara taking care of their champions and wouldn't have had the opportunity. The timeline didn't make sense. Had she ordered one of her witches to do it? It was possible, but he wasn't certain she would dare. She was no fool.

She knew Keraion would strike her down should she stand against him, for standing against him would be to stand against the Order of Keraion, king of all gods. Perhaps she had simply received the news before he did and was gloating about his ignorance. Her information network was faster than his and she always seemed to know what was going on before anyone else. It was also possible that he was imagining it. The woman was notoriously hard to read.

It was possible that he was trying to connect two unrelated events out of grief. He'd rather see that Menon got murdered than drowning in his own diarrhea. He couldn't think of a worse death. How could he spin this? If word got out that a son of his choked on his own shit it would reflect poorly on him. People could even start calling him Menekrates the Shit-Breather behind his back, especially since he hadn't earned a heroic epithet yet.

That would be a disaster, gaining such a disgraceful title due to his son's death.

"Tell everyone he fell during today's battle!" Menekrates yelled, panicked, and louder than he intended.

"B-but Archon," the man stuttered. Menekrates grabbed the man by his collar.

"You will clean him up, and you will tell everyone Menon fell during today's battle. Stab him a couple of times in the stomach so it looks real. Destroy any evidence that says otherwise."

"But Archon Menekrates, the men know he wasn't at the battle."

"You will tell them Menon died heroically during today's battle, and anyone who disagrees will be executed. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Archon," the man said.

"Now fuck off!" Menekrates spat. Menekrates turned back to the ocean and stroked his clean-shaven chin. He had two sons left to carry on his legacy. That would have to do. Anyone who denied Menon died an honorable death would be taken care of. His reputation was safe. Menekrates's reputation was safe. He would still be able to join the gods, eventually. Tomorrow's siege would earn him a respectable title, which would bring him one step closer. This didn't matter. Just another bump in the road. He nodded to himself.

The Storm of Asteria would be a fitting title.