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"So Vito, they're really willing to swear loyalty to me?" Tiberius set his cup down, taking in the news Vito had just delivered.
"Yeah, and it's damn good news, Tiberius!" Vito grinned, teeth flashing. "Forget everything else—Habro still has a hundred battle-hardened veterans. Bring them in and the Lightning Company's combat power jumps a whole level!"
"Demetrius—sure, half his three hundred are just porters, but the man's a real centurion straight out of the Myr army! Formations, troop training, how to drill junior officers—he's leagues ahead of us wild ones. Bringing him in can only help the Lightning Company!"
"Lysapo—yeah, I admit the little noble's a bit of a coward. I can't stand that timid look of his. But think about it—the Lightning Company is going to grow past eight hundred men soon, maybe more! You're the captain. You can't train the troops, haggle with employers, and still calculate grain and payroll all by yourself. No, Tiberius, you're not some three-headed, six-armed freak. A captain should act like a captain! Some things you can delegate. Your time's limited—you need someone who can handle the numbers and the supplies!"
[This really is a good thing,] Tiberius thought. [The Lightning Company does need more manpower, and the old debt-slave recruitment is too expensive and slow anyway. Plus…] He glanced at the Lightning Company troops.
In his view, the Lightning Company had plenty of weaknesses: no real shock cavalry, no heavy infantry. Its core of spearmen, pavise crossbowmen, and wagon-laager tactics made it a defensive outfit—better at holding ground than attacking.
More importantly, most soldiers were former slaves. Tiberius had turned them into a fighting force with crash training, but they still weren't true elites.
In this era, real elites were knights on warhorses or professional soldiers who'd trained with weapons since childhood.
The Lightning Company's first batch were contract slaves at heart. Training time had been short, and numbers were always a weak point.
Plus Tiberius himself needed proper military theory. Relying only on transmigrator ideas wasn't enough. Through Demetrius and Habro he could learn real blood-and-sweat knowledge and battlefield experience.
"This really is good, Vito," Tiberius said. "If nothing else, once they join we'll jump to nearly eight hundred men!"
"But swearing in needs a proper ceremony!" Tiberius's eyes glinted with sly calculation. "I want even the dumbest grunt to know loud and clear: your old captains have new bosses now!"
---
The next day at noon, in the open space at the center of the temporary camp, a platform of packed earth and timber stood tall.
The stage itself wasn't high, but clever design created two levels: Tiberius stood alone on a slightly raised rear platform, while the main lower stage was left for the three new followers. Every one of the hundreds of soldiers could see everything clearly—showing the leader's authority while keeping the ceremony intimate enough.
Tiberius wasn't in fancy clothes. He wore polished practical leather armor under a dark silk cloak, a longsword at his waist. It looked dignified without being flashy. Hands at his sides, posture straight, his young face carried a calm beyond his years. His gaze swept the crowd below with appraisal and expectation.
Then Demetrius, Habro, and Lysapo climbed the steps and stood before Tiberius. The three drew their swords and planted them point-first into the platform.
Following the pre-agreed order, the oldest and most senior mercenary—Habro—spoke first on behalf of all three. He stepped forward, turned to the soldiers below, voice ringing so everyone could hear:
"Brothers of the Lightning Company! Brothers of my own company! I, Habro, swear on ten years of mercenary life and the sword in my hand! From this day forward, I and my one hundred seven brothers place our lives, honor, and blades entirely in the hands of Captain Tiberius! His will is our direction. His enemies are our mortal foes!"
The moment his words ended, Demetrius and Lysapo followed with their own solemn oaths. Demetrius's was short and soldierly; Lysapo's was more elaborate, full of noble phrasing and rhetoric.
Once the three had finished, Tiberius stepped down from the platform himself. He looked at the three men who had just sworn to him and spoke in a tone that left no room for doubt:
"Good! From today onward, you are members of my Lightning Company!"
"Habro, I appoint you deputy captain of the Lightning Company, commanding the First Company—your old veterans stay with you as the core!"
"Demetrius, I appoint you chief drill instructor. You will be responsible for training every soldier in the Lightning Company!"
"Lysapo, from today you are quartermaster of the Lightning Company, in charge of all grain, pay, weapons, and supplies!"
After the oaths, Tiberius personally pulled their swords from the platform and solemnly returned them—highest sign of trust, symbolically placing his own safety in their hands. Habro and the others bowed with hands over their chests, pledging absolute obedience and protection.
"ROAR!"
The moment Lysapo took back his sword, the soldiers below exploded into thunderous cheers.
From today, the Lightning Company was their shared banner!
---
"To be honest, kid, I thought you'd break up Habro's old boys and scatter Demetrius's Myr lads into different companies," Vito said quietly the next day, watching Demetrius and Habro on the training field.
"Demetrius has three hundred, Habro's got a hundred-plus, and you—kid—you've only got two hundred of your own. No matter how you look at it, those two groups together already outnumber the Lightning Company's original core. It's like leading a big bull into a small pen—you gotta watch it doesn't kick the walls down."
Tiberius watched the new arrivals training, watched Habro and Demetrius introducing themselves to the original Lightning Company men, and a confident smile curved his lips.
It was a calm, utterly self-assured smile.
"That would've been the 'safe' play, Vito," Tiberius said softly.
"But if I did that, the only thing it would prove is that Tiberius is a petty, narrow-minded coward who can't even trust men who came to him willingly. The only result would be suspicion and resentment. They'd start looking for the exit the same day."
"In short, it would freeze their hearts!" Tiberius summed up.
"Think about it, Vito. If you were Demetrius or Habro—freshly joined a kid, and the very next day the kid starts mixing sand into your old units, or worse, breaks them up and reorganizes—then Habro and Demetrius would instantly understand: I never really trusted them!"
"They'd be thinking: I came over of my own free will and all I got was my men taken away, no trust, my old command slowly stripped from me. No man can swallow that kind of humiliation. It would plant the seeds of betrayal—especially with the Volantenes breathing down our necks."
He pointed toward the two camps, voice cool and practical.
"Besides, Vito, I don't know Habro's mercenaries' fighting habits or personalities. Forcing them apart would just create endless friction and infighting!"
"And Demetrius's Myr lads with their thick accents—would our Lysene boys accept them right away? Mix them without warning and you get confused orders, dirty looks, and chaos. We'd tear ourselves apart before the Volantenes even arrive!"
"Up till now we've been through the Swordbreak retreat and Stone Crow Town together. We've just started building some real brotherhood. If I smash that apart with a brutal reshuffle, that bond dies on the spot!"
"So the smartest move right now is to leave things as they are. Let them keep commanding the men they know, keep the fighting formations they're best at."
"I want their fighting strength, not a bunch of resentful, low-morale rabble who feel distrusted and broken up. Trust, Vito—the trust I'm giving them right now is the strongest rope we have to hold them."
"And the most important reason of all…" Tiberius looked out toward the open ground beyond Twinbridge's walls and spoke the one truth no one could argue with.
"The Volantenes haven't gone anywhere. The biggest crisis we're facing is still that terrifying empire… and on the battlefield, soldiers trust the man next to them far more than some distant commander."
"Habro's mercenaries believe in each other because of shared blood and loyalty—they'll shield each other with their own bodies. Demetrius's spearmen trust their countrymen completely—they'll hold the flanks."
"That micro-trust built over years of living and fighting together is what makes a unit tough. Rip it apart, force them to relearn everything while they're still grinding in new teams…" Tiberius shook his head.
"We don't have time. By the time we finish blending, Marcus might already be at the gates wanting to hang us from them!"
"Fair enough…" Vito grinned. "You've clearly thought it through, kid. After all, you're the boss now."