Third Line

He only had a serial number when he enlisted: 1174. Not running fast. Archery misses to the left. Riding a horse is so bad that your butt is off the saddle. No one in the group thought that the fat little monastery orphan would survive the first winter. But he has a habit - every road he walks, he will draw a line in his mind. The red line is offense. The blue line is retreat. The third line—the green, dotted line—he never explained to anyone. That was a promise to his soldiers: once all directions were broken, move toward the Green Line. I'll wait for you there. Six years later, 600 people from the vanguard battalion blocked the main force of the barbarians in the Ice Valley. Nearly half were killed or injured. There is a note stuffed in the boot of the living person - it is not an order, it is the direction to his hometown. Ten years later, the Pope asked him in St. Peter's Basilica: How did you win? He said: Because I always have one more way than the enemy. Later he had his first legion. Then he had dragons. Later he owned an entire continent. Later his name - Sergei - became the title of the Supreme Power. But no matter where he stood, there was always an empty cell in the lower right corner of the map. That cell is not a place name or a coordinate. It's a vegetable patch. It's a nun with knee pain. Crooked porch. Two bunches of dried mint leaves hang from the stove beam. From 1174 to the Empire. From the vegetable patch to the throne. He never forgot that everyone who followed him had a way home. The red line is the command. The blue line is the retreat. The green line is him.