Lysaro Rogare staggered across the finish line and immediately collapsed, hands on his knees, chest heaving like a bellows. Sweat poured down his face in rivers, splattering onto the cracked earth. He looked up at Tiberius, who stood beside him—equally drenched, face pale but still upright—and whined through ragged breaths:
"Cough… Tiberius! Fuck me… is this training even human? I'm dying here! I swear my lungs are about to crawl out of my throat!"
Lysaro wasn't some pampered weakling. To prove he wasn't just a soft poet and to slap Mario Ferrero's face raw, he had been grinding through the same brutal regimen as the Lightning Company soldiers for weeks now.
The difference? At night he retreated to the luxurious private quarters Tiberius had set aside for him—soft feather bed, iced wine, meals prepared by his personal chef—while the soldiers slept in packed barracks and ate plain rice and fish stew.
After catching his breath, Lysaro glanced at the Lightning Company men stretching and loosening their muscles nearby. His tone turned hesitant.
"Cough… look, Tiberius, I'm not doubting you. Your methods are incredible—you turned a bunch of slaves into real soldiers. But…" He pointed toward the camp gate, voice laced with worry. "I heard Mario's recruiting famous veterans. Arena fighters, sword-masters who can take on three or four men at once. Shouldn't we… maybe spend a little coin and bring in a few big names too? Just for show? I mean, look at what he's got…"
"Absolutely not. Don't even think about it!" Tiberius cut him off sharply.
"Why?" Lysaro asked, shrinking back a little. Ever since the public executions, he could feel a cold, murderous aura rolling off Tiberius.
"Young Master Lysaro, think carefully." Tiberius pulled over a chair and sat down to explain.
"Those so-called 'star mercenaries' might be impressive in single combat. But they're also the most undisciplined, slippery, back-stabbing bastards alive. Why would they listen to a twelve-year-old boy? Because I'm handsome? Because of your name? And they come with their own rotten set of rules—rules that let them slack off, cut corners, and save their own skins. They'd poison the discipline and spirit I've spent three months beating into these men with whips, hunger, and blood."
Tiberius pointed at the Lightning Company soldiers drilling in perfect silence.
"Look at them. They might lose a one-on-one fight to those veterans, but they understand obedience. They understand teamwork. They trust the man beside them. When I order them forward, they don't ask why. When I order them to hold, they plant their feet even if they're terrified. That kind of rock-solid discipline and unity is something those glory-hunting lone wolves will never bring."
"Let Mario buy his 'stars,'" Tiberius sneered. "Who knows how many of them are actually any good? Most are just packaged hype."
"Would those so-called stars be willing to die for the 'slave soldiers' they look down on? Would they hold the line in the worst, most hopeless moment of battle, bleeding out to the last drop for men they consider beneath them?"
"And those stars only shine when the wind is at their back. The second things turn ugly, the first thing on their minds will be saving their own necks and their precious reputations. Bringing them in would be like dumping a bucket of cold water into a pot of oil I've finally brought to a rolling boil. It would ruin everything. They'd become the most unstable element in the company, tearing apart the discipline and loyalty I built with three months of sweat and blood."
"Besides," Tiberius added with a cold laugh, "at least with these men I only pay once. Try haggling with those veterans? Ha! They'd play you and Mario against each other like whores in the Perfumed Garden. Today they fight for you, tomorrow they jump to whoever offers one extra copper. They eat from every table and stay loyal to none."
---
Later that evening, after washing off the day's grime, Tiberius sat in his tent with a cup of warm honeyed milk and unrolled a sheet of parchment, looking tired but satisfied.
"Alright, Lysaro. Time for a proper report on the company's current strength."
The Lightning Company had grown quickly thanks to Lysaro's full support—hand-picking the best men straight from Rogare estates and mines.
"First, the core: one hundred and eighty spearmen, split into three companies of sixty. They're equipped with long spears, cleavers or hand-axes, and I've issued them breastplates and helmets. Light leg protection to keep them mobile. Their formation discipline is the strongest in the entire company—because spearmen who break formation die first against enemy spears or cavalry charges."
"Then we have our ranged firepower: sixty crossbowmen plus sixty dedicated loaders, for a total of one hundred and twenty. Captain Vito personally selected and trains every one of them. They wear breastplates and helmets and focus on accurate, volley fire. The loaders keep the rate of fire high."
"Paired with them are sixty pavise bearers—massive shields, cleavers, javelins, and darts. Their coordination with the crossbowmen is excellent. One shooter, one loader, one shield-bearer forms a self-contained fighting unit that can advance or defend."
"We also have forty-plus light infantry: cleavers and hand-axes as sidearms, short spears as primary weapons. A few carry bows or light crossbows. Most of these are the freeborn recruits—hunters, woodsmen, fishermen. They're fast, have sharp eyes, and excellent stamina. Perfect for screening the flanks, scouting, and picking off high-value targets."
"Next, our eyes and ears: twenty-five scout cavalry. Thank you again for the horses from your stables. Most are former Dothraki slaves—skilled with curved sabers, lances, and bows. I won't use them for heavy charges; their armor is light and they're too valuable. Their main job is reconnaissance and carrying messages."
"Finally, our mobile fortress and engineering corps: eighty wagon troops. They handle the dozens of modified two- and four-wheeled carts. The wheelbarrows are light and can be pushed forward with spearheads attached as mobile barriers. The larger wagons carry supplies and, when linked together, form a quick defensive laager. These men also receive heavy engineering training—shovels, picks, axes, flails. They're our builders, sappers, and emergency reserve."
"They're also the hardest-working men in the company," Tiberius added with a shrug. "Digging trenches and building field works every single day."
"Fantastic!" Lysaro clapped his hands, eyes shining with excitement. "Proper organization, clear roles! Tiberius, you haven't disappointed me at all! Now I can take this army and smash Mario's face into the dirt!"
Tiberius thought to himself with dark amusement:
[You still haven't noticed I've quietly taken complete control of the Lightning Company, have you? Good. Let's keep it that way…]
---
Later, after watching the spearmen shift formations with silent precision, the crossbowmen unleash coordinated volleys behind their pavises, and the wagon troops swiftly link carts into a defensive circle, Jules's usual relaxed expression slowly faded.
When the inspection ended, he walked over to Tiberius and studied the exhausted but fiercely determined soldiers.
"The pavise-crossbow idea is excellent," he said, genuinely impressed. "Strong defense and offense. Vito's already spreading it through the crossbow companies. Almost no one objects. As for your spearmen…" He paused, voice carrying real praise. "Their discipline is better than most mercenary companies I've seen—and even many regular armies in Westeros or Essos. How the hell did you turn a bunch of slaves into this in just three months?"
"Honesty, the whip, and real rewards, Uncle," Tiberius answered with a tired shrug.
"They used to live like dogs—lied to, beaten, humiliated. Now I give them better lives than they ever had, and I keep every promise. Most importantly, I gave them dignity. Look at them when they go home on Sundays, Uncle. They walk tall, carrying grain and coins. Except for the slave brand, they live like proper free men with property."
Jules looked at his nephew for a long moment, then simply patted his shoulder and walked away without another word.
"Oh, right, Uncle," Tiberius called after him. "When are you going to teach me swamp witchcraft? I've already learned fifteen hundred characters!"