Chapter Thirty-Three: Greed-The Inner and Outer Worlds(Pokémon)

Korta Camp stood on the outskirts of Athens, a makeshift encampment where slaves toiled in newly cleared fields. A handful of soldiers, acting as overseers, strutted about with wooden sticks in hand, striking without mercy anyone who dared to slack off.

The squad leader, Alix, turned a gold coin over in his fingers—a Daric, bearing the bearded visage of Darius. Ever since the Greeks had defeated mighty Persia, Daric gold coins and Siglos silver pieces from that empire occasionally appeared in trade among the Hellenic city-states. This particular coin had been gifted by a Persian merchant.

Regrettably, their camp was only a temporary outpost for keeping watch over slaves, not an official checkpoint where taxes could be levied on such merchants.

Alix could not help but grow nostalgic. In his twenties, he had fought as a mercenary on the island of Cyprus—crisp fruit wine, hearty whole wheat bread, dates, enchanting women, pillage and murder at his whim. Those days were gone forever.

Now in his forties, he was growing old for a soldier.

“Captain Alix!”

A short, shorn-haired youth rushed over, spear in hand—a camp sentinel.

“Little Daiphis, why are you in such a panic?”

“Someone’s coming!” Daiphis stammered, a touch of childishness still lingering on his face. “I saw three men approaching the camp. They look… odd!”

“Odd?”

“Yes!” The boy, not yet sixteen, quailed before the captain’s notorious brutality. He stammered on, “One of them is fat—almost as fat as the plumpest Persian merchant I’ve ever seen! But his features aren’t Persian, nor Byzantine, nor Thracian, nor Anatolian… not from anywhere I know.”

“And their clothes are very… very…” Daiphis rolled his eyes, searching for words, but he could not describe what he had seen.

“Captain, you’d better see for yourself.”

Alix considered, then donned a set of leather armor studded with iron plates—spoils from Macedonian foes. He strapped on bracers for his arms, greaves for his calves, and belted a Greek war blade at his waist.

This was a kind of iron sword, gently curved, about sixty-five centimeters long.

“Okoro, Yastistes, Gaideus, with me!”

He called his three most seasoned men, each bearing scars from past battles. None were officers, and so they lacked iron swords, but each hefted a thrusting spear and a round shield.

Leaving the camp to stand at the small town’s gate, Alix finally understood what Daiphis meant by “odd.”

In all his years as a mercenary, wandering among many city-states, he had never seen such faces. But it was their attire that most drew his eye.

Yan Luo wore simple black jeans and a black-and-white striped shirt.

Wang Dongwei sported blue trousers and a russet leather jacket adorned with decorative strips of metal.

Zhu Xiaoyong’s outfit was typical of an idle glutton: bright yellow from head to toe.

It was beyond Alix’s imagination. Among Greeks, the most common attire was of two kinds: the Cretan style—pleated short tunics for men, sometimes bare-chested, with a belted wraparound skirt called a chiton; or the Athenian style—a rectangle of cloth folded and pinned with brooches and a belt, called a himation.

The three strangers’ clothing was utterly unlike anything he had seen, and made not of linen or wool.

“What sort of leather armor is that?” The modern, if cheap, leather jacket stunned the four Greek soldiers.

Since the Persian Wars, Greece—especially the city-state of Athens, the most democratic and powerful trade hub—had seen many travelers, but never such as these.

“The dyes… the splendid armor…” Alix mused. If only he could strip the fat man’s vivid yellow garment and fashion it into a himation… No, not enough material; perhaps a chiton. The orange-red “leather armor,” though, would make a fine gift for a senator—then he’d be more than a mere squad leader.

He exchanged a look with his men; they understood at once and grinned with anticipation.

Alix strode up to the strangers.

“Foreigners, where do you come from?”

Yan Luo, Wang Dongwei, and Zhu Xiaoyong halted at the gate.

“We come from the east,” Wang Dongwei replied. Socially awkward Zhu Xiaoyong and aloof Yan Luo left the talking to him. Despite being labeled a “loser,” Wang Dongwei had picked up a fair amount about Greek society in the pre-Christian era and shared it with his companions.

At his waist hung an eight-faced Han sword.

Alix’s gaze drifted from the orange-red “armor” to the weapon. The sword, sheathed in wood, concealed its material, but the scabbard was engraved with coiling dragon motifs and a taotie-patterned clasp—such exquisite decoration set the squad leader’s heart alight.

“Isn’t the east Persia?” Alix asked.

“No. We come from even farther east than Persia.”

Thanks to a world adjustment program’s ancient Greek language module, Wang Dongwei conversed fluently.

Meanwhile, Yan Luo scrutinized the four soldiers. Alix, who introduced himself, stood about 1.78 meters tall. Wang Dongwei had mentioned that ancient people were shorter due to poor nutrition and hard labor—excavated Greek skeletons from around 580 to 250 BCE showed an average male height of 1.66 meters and weight of 62 kilos.

Yet prosperous city-states, sustained by slave labor and trade, allowed their citizens to grow tall. These soldiers were robust, and the forty-something Alix weighed at least seventy-five kilos, all muscle. The other three were all over 1.7 meters.

“May I examine your weapon?” Alix suddenly asked, putting Wang Dongwei in a bind.

In this strange world, nothing was more trustworthy than one’s companions and weapon. Yet the Greek wanted to see his sword… As he hesitated, Yan Luo murmured in Chinese, “It’s all right, show him. Let’s see what he intends.”

“Also, Zhu Xiaoyong, Wang Dongwei, be on your guard.”

At Yan Luo’s words, Wang Dongwei gritted his teeth and drew the eight-faced Han sword.

A sharp, collective inhalation followed.

You feel an intense surge of emotion:

Shock +2, Shock +1, Shock +1, Shock +1

Four men, totaling five points of shock.

The hilt was wrapped in black cord; the blade, ground into eight facets, shimmered with a watery, cold light. Patterns snaked across the steel—ancient, high-temperature forging techniques had created Damascus patterns. Compared to this, Alix’s Greek war blade was scarcely more than a bar of black iron.

Alix’s sword, hilt and blade together, measured 65 centimeters; the Han sword was 108 centimeters, with a 77-centimeter blade! In those ancient days, iron-forging was primitive, and long weapons were rare. Even the famous “Winch Sword” of Qin Shihuang was four chi long—too long to draw from the waist, serving as a display of power.

A seventy-seven centimeter blade, longer than any Greek sword, glowing cold white with mesmerizing patterns—unlike Persian scimitars adorned with jewels and gold, which relied on wealth for their appeal, this sword was simple yet artistic and awe-inspiring.

“Even Xerxes, once called King of Kings, Lord of the Gods, never owned such a treasure…”

Leather armor, a precious sword!

Alix could already see a bright future ahead: if he presented these treasures to Pericles, the archon, he would rise far above a mere squad leader. His eyes now fell on a delicate gemstone ornament in Yan Luo’s hair—a crystalline mask shaped with expressions of joy, anger, sorrow, and delight.

These “foreigners” had no calluses on their hands—clearly not warriors.

He glanced at his three men, who tightened their grips on their spears, eyes glinting with greed.

You feel an intense surge of emotion:

Greed +2

Yan Luo’s hands hovered on the hilts of his paired sabers, his lips curling into an elegant smile. The mask on his head, once expressionless, now showed “joy”—in this state, his agility increased by ten percent.