The Diadochi (Historical: Alexander IV SI)

“You misunderstand me,” The boy spoke with an unnatural authority that didn’t at all match his stature as a four-year-old child. “I refuse to leave my fate in the hands of others. I will join you in this campaign.” He uttered the words like it was already decided, looking up at him with unblinking eyes that burned with intensity that belonged to a soldier who knew that death was close and would be decided with a swing of a blade. It was an intensity that he knew well. 

Polyperchon was an old soldier at sixty years old. He had fought in the many campaigns of King Phillip II, which served as a prelude to the many battles that his son, Alexander, found across Persia. And no sooner had he returned to his homeland of Macedon did Alexander perish, sending his most trusted generals into a mad frenzy to claim the shattered pieces of an empire that didn’t belong to them. 

It belonged to the small child before him, stubbornly glaring up at him and refusing to accept any answer that he didn’t want to hear. Unfortunately, his Persian blood showed. His skin held a natural bronze hue and his hair was pitch black, but he had inherited his mother’s startling green eyes. He’d also inherited his father’s wavy hair, his fine Greek features, and his unconquerable sense of will. 

He was Alexander VI, son of Alexander III, King of Macedon, Hegemon of the Hellenic League, Strategos Autokrator of Greece, Pharaoh of Egypt, and King of Persia. 

He was also a child who was too stubborn to accept the answer of ‘no.’ An unfortunate trait to inherit from his father, but Polyperchon couldn’t deny that it was a trait that had carried Alexander the Elder far. If also to an early grave. 

“I’m afraid the army doesn’t carry armor in your size,” Polyperchon said with a kind, grandfatherly smile, trying to get him to understand, as he had many things he had to attend to. There was a war to be fought, once again. The first war had barely ended before the second was declared -- Antipater, who had ruled as regent of Macedon in Alexander’s absence, had perished. A war that was started because he’d followed Alexander’s will and named Polyperchon his successor as regent.

Something that Antipater’s son, Kassander, took issue with. In a more peaceful time, that would be that. Kassander may shake his fist at Polyperchon for taking what he believed to be his by right, but there would be little he could actually do about it. But this was not a stable time, and as such, Kassander found many allies who saw the advantage of having their pawn on the throne of Macedon. 

“Then don’t give me armor,” Alexander replied bluntly, the joke going either unnoticed or ignored. “I’m not a fool. I don’t expect to be cutting down swaths of men with these stumps of arms and a sword bigger than me. Instead, use me. The Son of Alexander, on the battlefield -- it’ll increase morale, and wherever you choose to stick me, the men will fight harder. You could also look at it as a way to have me killed, if you’re the ambitious sort.”

Polyperchon’s heart nearly gave out when he heard that, choking on denials as well as demands on just who had put such thoughts in his head. It was then he heard the soft chuckle from the one who stood behind the boy, and it felt like a death sentence. His eyes rose to a fair-haired woman, who, despite nearing her forties, still possessed a fine beauty. 

Olympias, the mother of Alexander the Elder, and perhaps the single most terrifying woman that Polyperchon had ever met. King Phillip, her husband, had been similarly terrified of her, to the point of setting her aside. To this day, Polyperchon wasn’t sure if that had been the mistake that ultimately led to his assassination. 

“I already asked her,” Alexander saw the glance that they shared. “She said that I could if I convince you.”

“You cannot condone this- A child, your grandson, on the field of battle-” He started, but he saw it in her eyes. It was little wonder that Alexander was so convinced that Polyperchon would concede to the insane demand. He didn’t need to convince him. Olympias would. 

“It will be good for him, I think,” Olympias replied, her tone indicating that the decision was already made. “My son’s generals have tasted power and forgotten themselves. Now they gorge upon the empire my son forged under the guise of securing it for his son. They will need a firm reminder of their place.”

Which, apparently, started with putting a child on the battlefield where the fate of Macedon would be decided. 

Yet, as he took a step back, he considered all that was said and found that they weren’t wrong. Neither of them. The men would fight harder knowing that the son of Alexander was on the field, just as the armies under the command of Kassander would lose heart. It would also be a firm reminder to the others who squabbled over the parts of the Empire they deemed theirs that the throne belonged to another. 

Alexander the Elder had been an impressive man. From the moment of his birth, he’d decided that he was destined for great things, and he would let nothing stop him from accomplishing his self-imposed destiny. It would be a message that Alexander the Younger was cut from the same cloth.

Yet, it also posed a substantial risk. Should he lose Alexander, he would make a powerful hostage. Should any harm befall him, the consequences would fall upon his head. It was simply a question of whether the risks were worth it…

Polyperchon closed his eyes for a moment, taking a small breath, before opening them. “Very well. A horse shall be made available to you,” he said, hoping that he wasn't making a mistake. Hopefully Alexander had also inherited his father's divine luck as much as he had inherited his will.

Alexander nodded as if it had never been in doubt. 

…

The young king of kings was seated somewhat unsteadily upon the back of a horse, looking down at his feet as if he expected something to be there, before relaxing his grip on the reigns as the horse found a patch of grass to feast on while wives and children wished their husbands and fathers well in the battles to come. Polyperchon watched the boy carefully, his old heart half in his throat with concern that the prince would get bucked off the fair-tempered mare and half… curiosity.

The moment passed and Alexander sat easily on the horse, as if he had been born on top of one. No fear could be found on his face, even as he turned his gaze onward towards the great beasts of war -- the elephants. He had secured sixty of the great beasts, and even their handlers knew to fear them. Alexander, however, had been crestfallen when he was forbidden from petting them. 

‘Unnatural.’ The thought came unbidden to Polyperchon’s mind, though he didn’t know if it was yet a good sign or an omen. The boy’s father had taken to riding as if he had been half horse, but even he had to learn the basics. And never rode so easily so young, even upon that monster of a horse, Bucephalus. 

But he was forced to cast the thought from his mind. “Ride with me,” he instructed Alexander, who did so with a small nod. Polyperchon was keenly aware of the gazes upon them from the walls of Macedon. Primarily the nobility, who looked on from above, some wishing them and their husbands well, while others looked on with a cold glint in their eyes. Measuring their worth before deciding to stay or flee to Kassander. 

However, the gaze that concerned him most of all was Olympias’. A long snake was wrapped up one arm, draped itself over her shoulders, and rested its head upon her hand that stroked its chin like a common dog. Her eyes were every bit as cold and merciless as the snakes. 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he rode towards the front of the assembled army. It was a force that had been prepared swiftly, this conflict being anticipated from the moment that Kassander had rejected his father’s will. 

Twenty-six thousand men in total -- twenty-four and a half thousand infantry, most of which being the tried and tested phalanx. Five hundred missile troops ranging from slings to javelins to bows. A thousand cavalry, a hundred of which would be the personal guard of Alexander. He’d also secured sixty elephants, though the gluttonous beasts were likely to do more harm than good. 

‘Not enough,’ Polyperchon thought to himself as they arrived at the front of the army, his old companions ready to set out to war one more time. They had assembled a formidable force, but it wouldn’t be enough. ‘Not enough because of those damn Athenians.’ 

Kassander had arrived with a force of twenty thousand, according to what his scouts and spies reported. Almost entirely infantry. However, with the Athenian navy escorting his army into lower Hellas, he would be reinforced by the Athenian army, numbering fifteen thousand. A number that had the potential to grow as the Hellenic League were biding their time, waiting for a sign before throwing their lot in with one or the other, all depending on which way the winds of victory were blowing. 

“Men!” Polyperchon shouted, keeping his doubts and hesitation off his face. The odds were long, but he had faced longer. “We march against one of our own. Kassander, who spat in the face of our traditions and the will of his father, all to serve his own greed. He is here to usurp the crown of Macedon, to steal it from the son of Alexander!” 

Alexander the Elder truly had been something special, Polyperchon observed, the army roaring with disappointment, borderline rage that was almost personal. He had been dead near five years now, but he was far from forgotten. Those who had served under him owed him everything, and those who hadn’t loved the mere idea of him as Alexander had conquered the world. They had never met him, never known him, but they loved him. 

“Something that our young prince could not leave unanswered! Upon hearing that he had been challenged, he has taken after his father, proving that he was sired by Alexander, and marches with us!” Polyperchon continued, and twenty-six thousand men roared with the force of a hundred thousand. He smiled lightly at it, seeing the passion burning in their eyes. 

Their morale couldn’t be higher. Their love for the father was being bestowed upon the son, and that would serve him well in the battles to come. 

“Let us chase off this usurper! Let us make right the world!” Polyperchon finished, knowing that nothing else needed to be said, and the truth of it was, his last words were lost in the fever pitch that was the army's cheering at the thought of battling alongside their prince. Regardless of whether or not he was a child and that if he came anywhere near the battle itself then heads would roll. His own quite likely among them. 

The horns blew and the army marched. Kassander awaited in Athens, and they could reach him in as little as two weeks, yet such a thing weighed heavily on his mind. Questioning if that was the wisest path. To be outnumbered wasn’t a concern to dismiss with a shrug of one’s shoulders. Especially when there were allies to be had. 

Something that he kept in mind as they marched for the day, always keeping an eye on the young prince. He seemed to handle the trials of being a soldier with a silent determination, even when it was clear that his body wasn’t yet ready to handle such rigors. The boy had half collapsed off the horse after long hours of riding, doing stretches and groaning like an old man when it came time to set up camp for the night. 

Polyperchon, for his part, retired to his tent where he met with his commanders. All of them weathered faces, well seasoned from a hundred wars with Philip II or his son. And as he sat down in a favored chair that soothed the pressure in his back, he thought young Alexander might have the right idea with some of those stretches. 

Such was the burden of growing old. 

“The mountain passes mean we can narrow their numbers, provided that we choose the right battlefield, but there is an advantage to be held. If we can convince the other cities that we are the ones Nika has her gaze on, they will trip over themselves to offer arms,” Polyperchon began, seated at the head of a long table taken from a Satrap in Persia that he had taken a liking to. 

Along with the eunuch who poured wine into a waiting cup. Alexander’s admiration for the Persians had gone too far on several occasions, but Polyperchon could admit that the Persians had a thing or two worth copying. 

“A hard thing to do when we’re outnumbered by ten thousand men,” Alexios, an old friend and commander of his horsemen said, sipping his own wine. “We have spilled a sea of blood with the League, and we’ve yet to see an end of the bad blood between us.”

“They have not forgiven Thebes,” Nearchos, another old friend, agreed. 

Polyperchon let out a small breath, recalling that day. Alexander had been in a flurry -- desperate to solidify his rule as king, to crush the rebellious Greeks and force them to submit, all so they could take advantage of a rebellion in Egypt. Thebes had served as a warning. One of the great cities of Hellas, unmade, with its people sold to slavery and the very walls of the city itself being torn down. 

It had worked. For a time, at least. Yet, they never forgot and they certainly did not forgive. 

“I did not expect them to,” Polyperchon replied. “But the prospect is not hopeless. I have sent letters to Megalopolis.” Damis, the city's leader, was a shrewd man, according to Polyperchon's recollection and the spies in lower Hellas. Megalopolis was at the center of a power bloc and wielded great influence, meaning that if Damis supported them, then most of lower Hellas  would. If not enthusiastically, then at least enough to not help their enemies. 

Alexios glanced at him, “Do you expect Damis to agree?”

“It’s likely,” Polyperchon reasoned, offering a small shrug. “And if he does not? Then Megalopolis will serve as a reminder that Hellas answers to Macedon.” 

Those at his table shared a glance at that, internally debating the words before speaking. It was Anatolius, a young commander of a phalanx contingent, who found his voice first. “Will that not risk driving the other states towards Kassander?” 

Polyperchon inclined his glass to the young commander, “It will.” Every city-state in Hellas had its time in the sun, but Thebes had enjoyed more sun than most. It had been amongst the largest, the most influential, and the oldest. Yet it had been unmade all the same, with generations of history scattered at slave markets and repurposed into stone. “But, to most, it will be a warning. Kassander is an usurper, one who defies the will of his father for the sake of his own ambitions. He is not trustworthy as it is.”

He set his wine cup on the table, “What’s more, it will prove to the rest of the city-states that the cost of rebellion is beyond what they can afford. The days of Macedon being deemed a lesser state to the north, barely Greek at all, are long since over. Alexander conquered the entirety of the Persian Empire, and that strength is now ours to command. We can unmake Hellas, city by city, and they know it. They merely require a strong hand and a stern reminder.”

Fear was a powerful motivator and an even better reason to keep your head down. It was quite likely that Damis would deny him. If he didn’t, then all the better for everyone. But if he did…

“There is another way,” Polyperchon heard a young voice say, and he had to bite his tongue as all eyes swiveled over to the source. Their expressions were exactly what he expected them to be -- wide-eyed shock, lips parted with surprise, eyes filled with befuddlement and confusion. 

Alexander the Younger entered the tent and strategy meeting, seemingly unbothered by the expressions he was receiving and giving Polyperchon his full attention. Polyperchon, for his part, wondered if he should simply snip this in the bud. Allowing the prince to ride with the army was a useful concession, but to sit in on strategy meetings, offering advice? 

Yet, he hesitated. Simply because Alexander was by far the strangest child that he had ever encountered, and there was a sense of curiosity. Something that Alexander took advantage of as he helped himself to an empty chair, though he was forced to stand to lean over the edge. 

“By all means,” Polyperchon said, making a gesture for him to speak. Simply to hear what he had to say. If it was foolish, then it could easily be dismissed. But if he spoke wisdom… then perhaps there was more truth to Alexander the Elder’s claims that he was a son of Zeus than Polyperchon had believed. 

“A reverse of Thermopylae -- we make them attack from the narrow pass,” Alexander began, already catching his attention. “We bait them into attacking and then retreating into a prepared position. A mountain pass where they can’t leverage their numbers properly. A wagon fort could be constructed to help defend the pass if needed. Then, once they are committed, we send a force through another pass, a longer one, towards Athens. Threaten the city and the Athenians will be split.” 

Polyperchon sat in his seat, a loud silence falling upon the meetings. He already saw problems with the plan of course. The risks and challenges in terms of logistics. Still, it struck him that the boy seated across from him was a child. One that had never ridden to war. Never fought in a battle. While most boys were learning their letters, Alexander was pondering a serviceable strategy.

“The difficulty would be to ensure that Kassander does not learn of this other force. Many eyes will be on the battle, and it will be difficult to hide half an army slipping into the shadows,” Anatolius spoke first, giving the strategy due consideration. 

“There is also the issue of the elephants,” Alexios seconded, also thoughtful. Their eyes met, and they were in agreement -- it wasn’t a bad plan. And that was disturbing. 

“The elephants can be dealt with. They could even work to our advantage,” Alexander refuted. “We grease pigs and set them on fire to be unleashed in their direction. Elephants are intelligent creatures, and like any intelligent creature, they will turn around and flee if there is a flaming screaming boar chasing them.”

Polyperchon breathed in sharply, imagining it. The challenge with elephants had always been their charge -- simply put, there weren’t a lot of things that you could put before a charging elephant to stop them. Or even slow them down. The tried and tested method was to wound them, kill their riders, and wait for them to either bleed out or flee. Using their own base animal instincts to get them to reverse their charge was hardly an original thought, but the method of doing so?

That was a stroke of brilliance. 

“As for sneaking the army past them… I failed to consider that,” Alexander admitted easily. It was understandable. He was young and not used to the realities of warfare. “But, perhaps we can muster another army to do the deed for us? Instead of threats, we offer gifts. Perhaps a marriage?”

“Whose?” Polyperchon questioned sharply, looking at Alexander with new eyes as it steadily dawned upon him the depths of the unnaturalness of the child before him. How he was no mere boy. He was more of a fully realized man in the shape of a child. And what he said next only solidified that thought. 

“Mine, if needed.” Alexander answered with a small, almost dismissive, shrug of his shoulders. 

The hand of the prince would be a tempting prize. Enough to spur the indecisive states of Hellas into action. His mother and grandmother would have his hide for it, and without doubt, his position would be challenged by the generals who carved up the Empire. They would seek to discredit him, claiming that he married the prince off for personal gain. Which might even be true, to a degree. 

Kassander… the moment that his father, Antipater, had died and named him his successor over his son… 

There had never been any doubt in Polyperchon’s mind what kind of man Kassander was. Nor, it seemed, had there been in the mind of his father. 

As such, it was not a question of what Kassander would do to him should he assume the regency. 

“Sparta,” Nearchos ventured, already taken with the idea. “Their rivalry with Athens has already been carved into legend, and they have looked to become relevant politically for decades now. They pounce on the chance like a starving dog given a bone.”

He wasn’t wrong. Sparta was a shadow of its former self, of what it had been during the Persian invasion. Most of that downfall was entirely its own fault. Foolish traditions were clung to no matter how obvious it was that they were harming the small city-state. They only took pride in their soldiers, but these days, they struggled to even field an army. That, and they had isolated themselves as much as they were spurned by their fellows. Within the turn of the century, he had no doubt that Sparta would collapse in upon itself. 

Yet, Polyperchon struggled to think of another state more perfectly poised to plant a dagger in the back of the Athenians. Nor one more eager to. Still, marrying a prince of Macedon, of mixed blood or not, to such a political backwater… 

“Letters shall be sent,” Polyperchon decided, thinking that they would catch more bees with honey than vinegar. “Let the city states compete with one another as they hate each other almost as much as they hate us. Kassander will find he has fewer friends in Hellas than he thought.” 

With the decision made, their course was set. 

…

In the days following, Polyperchon and his commanders gained a new awareness of Alexander. They always kept an eye on the unusual child. For his part, Polyperchon wasn’t even certain what he was watching out for. Just more strangeness. Perhaps of the boy picking up a blade and felling swaths of men with a single swing, or spouting the wisdom of philosophers in their twilight years. 

What he saw was Alexander charming the soldiers. He understood his role well, so he was always seen amongst the men. He helped them with their tasks, even if it was beneath him, such as gathering firewood or cleaning boots. The men indulged him, half in awe and half with the familiarity of humoring a son that wanted to be helpful. They already loved him because of his father, but Alexander was swiftly earning love through his own merits. 

They marched slowly into lower Hellas. Macedon was a land of great hills and fertile fields, while Hellas itself was a place of jagged peaks and narrow paths. Very few were suitable for an army marching -- wide enough that they wouldn't need to spend weeks funneling three men apiece down a path or sturdy enough to endure the punishment of twenty-five thousand men walking as one. 

It served as an excuse. Kassander stayed in Athens, his army amassing and waiting for them to cross a point of no return. Meanwhile, Polyperchon sent out the letters to all the notable city-states, and he received replies. Most weren’t promising, but it didn't take long for the cities of the Hegemony to do what they did best -- plot against one another to ensure that none of their rivals managed to ascend higher than them. 

Megalopolis sent a dignitary first, and Polyperchon met with him. As had Alexander, convincing him that he spoke with his own voice and that he very much was his father's son. With the action, Megalopolis’ rivals sent their own dignitaries, which in turn, made their rivals send theirs. Messengers flowed back and forth, discussing the possibilities of support and what they would cost. As they did, they argued down the price, going from a marriage with the next king to simple trade concessions or a contract favoring one city-state over another. 

The effect worked beautifully.

Alexander’s plan had merit, but there were key flaws born of not understanding how an army functioned as a cohesive whole. Much like an elephant, the momentum of an army was difficult to stop. The soldiers on the ground were ignorant of broader plans -- they would see a feigned retreat as the real thing, and that would turn it into an honest rout. Yet, with a few touches, the flaws of the plan were smoothed away to become something serviceable. 

Kassander wasn’t blind nor deaf. He would hear of the Hellenic League attempting to extort petty bribes in exchange for support against him, and he would feel the political tide shifting against him as many of the city-states were making grand showings of mustering armies, be they as few as a hundred or as many as a thousand. He would know that it would take little for words to become deeds. 

Meaning that time was suddenly no longer on his side. 

“Kassander has left Athens,” a scout informed and Polyperchon smiled. “He marches towards us. He will arrive as swiftly as noon on the morrow.”

Polyperchon took a steadying breath as the war council spoke urgently about the last-minute preparations that needed to be done. The momentum had shifted because of Alexander and his plan. Before, Kassander had been free to sit idle in Athens to court the other states, luring them to his side as he had correctly assumed that Polyperchon would not attack a fortified position when he was outnumbered. 

But, the moment the tide started to turn against him, Kassander’s hand was forced. The city-states could possibly join Polyperchon in a formal alliance, and as a result he would lose his numerical advantage. So, he was faced with a dilemma -- did he continue to wait in Athens and maybe sway the other cities to his side? Or did he press the attack while he had a certain advantage in numbers?

The choice felt like it might be obvious, but Polyperchon had doubts that Kassander would take the bait. Because waiting was the wiser option. The rashness of youth was a powerful thing. A dangerous thing. 

As soon as the news was delivered, a flurry of messages were dispatched. The army moved with sudden swiftness towards the chosen battleground of Thermopylae, securing the entrance of the pass to prevent Kassander from leveraging his numbers, but left unfortified to prevent him from thinking better of attacking. Meanwhile, the goat passes that the Persians had once used against them were fortified, preventing him from taking a long way around to flank them. 

Polyperchon felt the weight of history at the pass, knowing that the fate of more than one kingdom had been decided on the narrow stretch of road. To one side was an unclimbable cliffside. On the other was the sea. No ability to maneuver on either side, leaving them no choice but to grind each other down until one broke. 

At the helm of the army, he watched Kassander arrive a day later, dragging his feet in an attempt to find a battlefield that favored him more or a way around the ‘wagon forts’ that were placed on the goat paths. The pass itself was wider than one would expect when they heard of how a paltry sum of men had managed to hold off the entire weight of the Persian army. A hundred men could walk the pass shoulder to shoulder, with another ten added to the tally if they didn’t mind walking along the edge of the cliff. 

Kassaner arrived, his men arranged in a phalanx that was a hundred men wide and thousands of men deep. Missile troops gathered at the front and the edges, but they didn’t unleash anything yet. But, once the army arrived in force, Polyperchon saw them. 

The war elephants. Massive gray-skinned beasts that wore a harness for their riders. They didn’t wear armor, as they simply didn’t need it. Their hide was so thick and rough that it would naturally turn away anything other than a direct blow. The army moved around them as they were brought to the front, bellowing and stomping their feet in a learned display of aggression. 

Polyperchon swallowed the temptation to order that they bring forth their own elephants, knowing that such a thing would raise the spirits of their men. Few things were more reassuring than seeing that they had similar monsters on their side, and in greater numbers. But that would defeat the purpose of the plan. What he didn’t expect was for a messenger to ride forth from the army and approach the middle of the field. 

With a gesture, Polyperchon sent a messenger to meet with him and the message was exchanged before his man came back. The young man wore a familiar expression -- one that was often worn by messengers delivering words that they hoped wouldn’t end with them dead for delivering them. 

“The… usurper Kassander demands your surrender,” the messenger began. “He names you an usurper of his inheritance and accuses you of using the heir of Macedon for your own benefit. He claims that you… sell the boy as one would sell a whore as a wife.” He delivered with a wince, and then another when he saw Polyperchon’s expression. “He offers clemency, however, should you surrender here and now. He will not seek vengeance upon you, and those that march against him will not suffer reprisal.”

Kassander. The son of his friend. A creature of pride, gluttony, and ambition. He was, perhaps, the single most perfect example of everything wrong with the current age. He would gorge himself on the entirety of Alexander’s empire if he could. And if he couldn’t, it would not be because of a lack of effort. 

“I refuse,” Polyperchon replied, his mind looking towards the battles to come. The wars to come. There would be many as Olympias was entirely correct in her estimation of Alexander’s chosen generals. By the time Alexander the Younger grew into a man, they would have ruled independently for the better part of a decade. They would have tasted power that belonged to kings, and they would grow drunk on it. 

“Deliver this to the boy,” Polyperchon began. “His father knew what kind of man his son was, and that is why he was not chosen to inherit the regency. Antipater knew without doubt that should Kassander assume the regency, that he would slay the young Alexander and his brother Heracles to sate his own ambitions. He knew it, I know it, as do the gods. He, who names me usurper, has no claim to what he attempts to seize with force of arms.”

He spoke loudly, letting the men hear him. To let them understand what they were fighting for. All of them were aware of the young prince sitting at the back of the army, safe as anyone could possibly be on a battlefield. To the men, he was no longer a distant idea. A name without a face. They had met him. They had spoken to him. They knew him. And they knew his fate should they falter. 

“I make no offer of clemency for such a creature, nor any that would fight for him and his grasping hands. Should they desire mercy and forgiveness, then I expect Kassander to be brought to me bound,” He finished, and with a gesture, the message was delivered. That message wasn’t for his ears, but for the Athenians who were among his council. He was planting an idea in their heads for later. 

Polyperchon learned the exact moment Kassander heard the message because a series of shouts went out before the line of elephants began to move forward. He couldn’t deny how his heart trembled at the sight of them, and for a moment, he doubted. Was he really going to risk it all on the word of a boy? A boy who had never known battle? 

“Prepare the hogs!” Polyperchon shouted, and two dozen cages were pushed to the front of the line. The boars were smeared with grease, giving them a pungent aroma that became all the sharper when men arrived with torches. The elephants thundered forward, and he could feel the ground trembling under his feet. “Now!”

The men set the boars on fire as others yanked up the entrance to the cage, unleashing them upon the elephants. The smell was almost familiar -- burnt hair and cooked bacon, but the noise was something else entirely. It was a sound of torment and anguish, a high-pitched squeal that almost sounded human. The pigs, blinded by pain and smoke, simply charged forward mindlessly in an attempt to escape those that had bound and set them alight. 

His heart hammered in his chest when the hogs closed in on the charging elephants before he saw it -- panic. The elephants bellowed, fearful of what they were seeing. Perhaps they feared a similar treatment. Or perhaps it was the sight of fire that drove them to act, but heedless of their rider’s commands, the elephants began to turn to flee back to where they came. 

Through the smoke and dust, Polyperchon saw signs of panic amongst the traitors and Athenians. He heard more of it as they shouted in fear, trampled upon by their own stampeding elephants. Their formation was disrupted, trying to calm or stop the beasts as they cut deep into an army that had no ability to maneuver. 

Now was the time to strike. He gave the order for the phalanx to march forward, pouncing on them while they were disrupted and disorganized. The smoke and dust covered their approach, but Kassander soon learned that they were upon him when the sounds of battle echoed across the pass. The dust made it almost impossible to see the battle progress, which was why he had scouts overhead looking on from above, and they gave a sign that the battle was going well. 

Polyperchon sat upon his horse well away from the front -- a burden of age. Fighting was a young man’s game, and he didn’t have it in him anymore. But, that did have its advantages. It was easier to conduct a war from behind the front. It also made it easier to receive messages. 

“Sparta has mobilized, Lord Regent. A day ago,” the messenger informed. Meaning that the army of Sparta would soon arrive at the gates of Athens. With only a handful of meager promises to prod them into taking action against their ancient foe. 

“Meaning that the news shall soon arrive at Kassander's camp,” Polyperchon muttered, knowing that the tide of battle was moving his way. A mixture of clever tactics, politics, and positioning. 

‘The boy is going to be a monster,’ Polyperchon thought to himself, the dust clearing to show how poorly the battle was going for Kassander. His men were pressed on all sides, the frenzied elephants’ momentum slowing, but the pressure of his phalanx made it impossible for them to form up properly. This victory was due to Alexander -- his plan, his tactics. 

He meant the thought with the highest form of praise. His father had been a monster, one who could look upon the might of Persia and decide that victory was not only possible, it was certain. As had been his grandfather, Phillip, who had faced down countless battles and faced even worse odds but cleverness and wisdom saw him to victory time and time again. 

“If they don’t kill him, that boy will be a king,” He muttered to himself, watching as Kassander’s army suddenly seemed to be at odds with itself. The news had been delivered of Sparta’s attack, and every Athenian in the army knew what that meant for their kin back home. 

The battle was won at that moment, Polyperchon knew, though it was an hour more before it was official. Polyperchon had his commanders gathered up, and among them was Alexander, who was perched on top of a horse and watching as the Athenians arrived, waving a banner painted with a symbol of peace. With them was a familiar face, though his eye was blackened while he was bound and gagged. 

“We ask for peace,” an Athenian commander requested, tossing the bound Kassander off his horse. “Let us withdraw from this pass unmolested, and we shall set down our arms.”

Polyperchon smiled, looking down at Kassaander. His hair was fair, his eyes a warm brown, while his face was covered in a layer of stubble. He looked so much like his father, Polyperchon felt his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight of him. All the more so because there was a stubborn defiance in the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. 

“I’m sure that is a possibility. With some negotiation,” Polyperchon started, much to the Athenians’ ire, but their attention was swiftly stolen by Alexander, who dismounted from his horse. They watched on with uncertainty, their guards rising as he approached Kassander, who seemed to realize who Alexander was. 

He tried to say something, but whatever it was, it was lost to the rag stuffed into his mouth. And though he didn’t know it yet, those would be his last words because a knife flashed in Alexander’s hands before he buried it in Kassander’s throat. Blood spurted across Alexander’s hand, but with what almost looked like practiced ease, he dragged the blade across with a sharp yank. 

Blood spurted out, dousing the boy, who looked down at the body of Kassander, which twitched and spasmed as his lifeblood soaked the dirt. No one uttered a word, no one was sure what to say, and that was all the more true when Alexander let out a breath of such relief that one would think that Kassander had been his most hated enemy rather than a man he had never laid eyes on before. 

Alexander wiped his knife on Kassander’s toga, and once it was clean, he looked up at Polyperchon, blood dripping from his face but his gaze was steady. Then, with a deliberate action, he looked upon all of those assembled and spoke with a calm certainty. 

“Let any who seek to take my life know this -- they had best be prepared to die in turn!”

In that moment, whatever his age, Alexander looked like a king. 

And more than anything else in the world, that terrified him down to his bones.

…

For those unaware, the Diadochi Wars were the conflicts that followed Alexander the Great’s death among his generals and other political actors. While the Macedonian Empire was still technically a single empire in the early years, it was being carved up internally and they were fighting over who would get the biggest piece. 

The Diadochi Wars are probably one of my favorite points in history because it’s just an absolute madhouse of political intrigue, backroom politics, and warfare between Alexander’s S-tier generals. And while I’ve always wanted to do an Alexander SI, I’ve always struggled to plot out what would happen after the conquest of Persia because by that point, the SI would absolutely be the top dog of the world. An Alexander IV SI, however, is a very different story. 

Alexander IV was the official heir of the empire, born after Alexander the Great’s death, to a Persian wife of the name Ronshnak. In our history, Kassander won the war against Polyperchon, who got spanked at Megalopolis and chased off by Kassander. Polyperchon went into exile after jumping ship, essentially abandoning Alexander and his mother, who were placed in the care of Kassander. 

Who murdered them both once Alexander was approaching the age where he could become politically relevant at the age of 13 or 14, wiping out Alexander the Great’s bloodline and putting an end to the idea of the Macedonian Empire’s unification. Something that the SI was quick to put an end to, but Kassander was merely the first of many.

Despite being the heir, Alexander IV is very much the underdog in the Diadochi Wars. He’s up against political masterminds and some of the most talented generals of Antiquity. No gamer abilities to help carry him, just a lot of experience playing Total War, Mount and Blade, or any Paradox games. That, and watching a fair few Kings and Generals, Historymarche, and Invicta videos on a second monitor. He needs to make some moves and shake things up if he wants to survive, much less take the throne of what is the largest empire of the age. 

I think it has the potential to be a fun story, but probably not a long one. I’d call it in the ballpark of 30-40 chapters -- enough to flesh out the competition and to climb the ranks of power, but not so long that the conflict starts to feel stale. But, if it proves to be an unexpected hit, there are options for expanding the story -- for example, the manga Kingdom roughly takes place in the same timeframe, which follows the unification of China by the Qin dynasty. Likewise, the Rome-Samnite Wars also happened around the same time. Getting involved in either would require a bit of map painting, but if anyone would be a map painter, it would be the son of Alexander the Great.

So, let me know what you think!

Also, relevant: Link