The sun was barely in the sky when the men of Sparta began training. They began at sunrise, and didn’t end until after sunset. There was no weakness in Sparta, only the glory of the death.

The King of Sparta, Leonidas, was watching over his men. An unlit cigar was in between his middle and ring finger, and just as he lit it, he glanced back to look over his shoulder with a frown. He didn’t waste a second, putting his free hand on the hilt of his spear.

“Who’s there?”