"Xanthine, why don't you back down? Many of the mercenary groups have decided not to participate. We now even lack the soldiers to attack. You should know this." Aristotle appealed.

But Xanthine replied in an unequivocal tone, "Don't bother, Aristotle. The bastards killed my younger brother. I am not letting these bastards get away. Even if I am all alone, I will still go."

Aristotle knew the hard-headed bull for more than thirty years and understood he had made up his mind.

But still, he tried to convince him one last time to back down,

"*Sigh*, such is the life of a mercenary. Death hounds us all. Today was Constans, tomorrow could be me, the next day you. Such is our fate." Aristotle said in a deep, melancholic voice.

"If it's my fate to die on this battlefield then so be it. I much prefer to die there surrounded by my foes than in a soft bed, weak and frail, unable to control my own shit and piss." Xanthine gutsily retorted.

Seeing that there was no way of getting to either of them, Aristotle finally gave up.

"Ohh, it seems both of you have made up your minds. Then go. I shall pray for your victory" Aristotle said in a pained, disappointed voice.

"Instead of praying why don't you come to battle with us? What good will praying do?" Nestoras sarcastically asked.

"We have had this conversation before my son. You have made your decision and I have made mine. We both did it thinking it was for the best of this group and I hope I am wrong and you are correct."

Finishing his sentence, the old man seemed to age ten years and his frame seemed to shrink, as he simply turned and walked away, his spine bent and shoulders slouched, like a defeated lion who had been exiled from his pride.

"Hmph, I AM right." Nestoras shot back, indifferent to his master's sadness.

Then he shot back at Pallidus and asked, "And you? What's your excuse for not fighting?"

Pallidus returned a cold reply, " I trust Aristotle's judgment."

"You mean when it suits you. Heh, craven worm." Nestoras cursed.

"*Silence*" Pallidus didn't even bother to look at the mad dog.

Then. at last, he turned to, in his eyes, the betrayer - Theocles.

"Why?" Nestoras spoke a single syllabus that seemed to contain a mountain of questions, inquiries, doubts and emotions.

Because Nestoras really could not think of a reason why someone usually at odds with Alexander would side with him and even defend him so strongly.

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It seemed like he had turned into Alexander's sycophant overnight.

It just didn't make sense to him.

"I believe in Alexander more than you." Came the short, curt reply.

"I thought you believed in money? I thought you said we had to take follow the order because our treasury was empty." Nestoras asked, agitated.

"Birds die for food, humans die for wealth. An empty treasury is better than a filled grave." Theocles answered in metaphors.

"Now you are poet, huh, schmuk." Nestoras lashed out again, furious at not getting a straight answer.

Then he turned to face the crowd, pointed his finger at them and shouted, "All of you bastards remember this- 'This is not the end.' Once I come back, there will be reckoning."

The crowd simply stared back at him with stony silence.

After that, he turned to face his entourage, "Now loyal soldiers follow me. And I promise to lead you into victory. Those who follow me now will also get to keep everything you loot from Adhan." He enticed.

But his little "recruitment" speech did little to inspire the soldiers.

Maybe the promise of wealth could have attracted some greedy and stupid ones, but he had to offer it just after Theocle spoke the poetic words, 'Birds die for food, humans die for wealth', which was still pretty fresh in everybody's memory.

And after the recent show of force by Menes, the revelation of Ramuh's will by Alexander, Nestora's performance in the last battle, and his general state of mind, few soldiers felt optimistic about following their leader to battle.

As such, the crowd around him not only didn't get thicker after his declaration, it instead dispersed, leaving less than a hundred men scattered around him.

It was humiliating and Nestoras face looked darker than a black hole.

But instead of going off like a super volcano, he just simply turned and signaled the men, whose numbers were not enough to even make half a phalanx, to follow, as they made their way to the battlefield.

So, how could Nestowas use this small number of men to make a difference?

How will he deploy them?

Nobody knew, not even Nestoras.

Alexander saw the troops who were 'too small to be called a procession' march off to battle, when suddenly an immature, high-pitched shrill pierced ears, "Alexander, you gotta stop him."

He slowly turned around to locate the owner of the familiar voice, a strong, medium build boy of 160cm, with curly back hair and big doe eyes.

This was Remus and he was currently running towards Alexander in full armor with panic written all over his face.

"Remus! What's gotten you worked up about, boy?" Alexander greeted him calmly, in polar opposite of Remus's urgency.

"It's bad Alexander. Really bad. Romeus went to the battle with Nestoras. You gotta stop him." Remus pleaded.

"Hmm, Romeus is Nestoras's guard. It's only natural for him to go." Alexander logically pointed out.

"But he can't fight. He can't still remember the formations. And with so few that followed Nestoras, he likely won't survive." Remus cried in fear.

"Well if you can figure it out, why can't he? "Alexander asked almost sarcastically.

"Alexander, you know how he is. I tried talking to him but it only spurred him on. They haven't gone far. Please, I beg of you. Just talk to him. He has always listened to you." Remus pleaded for his brother's return with tears in his eyes.

That was not true.

Romeus didn't always listen to Alexander and was a gross exaggeration on Remus's part. He simply listened to Alexander a bit more than others.

"If I go in front of Nestoras now, I will bet the sun and moon that he will leave me at the first chance." Alexander lightly said.

Then his voice turned serious, "Everybody listened to what I had to say. And some chose to stay some chose to go. They each made their decision using their own mental faculties. What's more is there to talk about?"

"Fine, if you won't go, I will." Frustrated at Alexander's indifference, Remus attempted to rush toward Nestoras's group by himself.