Under the cover of absolute darkness, the plain of Pasargadae had transformed into a silent and hidden construction site.
The Median army, a few leagues away, was immersed in the celebration and revelry of their next day's victory.
Here, there was no sound of hammers or the roar of a furnace.
Only the sound of men's heavy breaths, the rustle of wooden shovels in the soft earth, and the quiet whisper of commands in the darkness could be heard.
Kourosh's engineering disciples were now in the greatest practical test of their lives.
They, along with hundreds of local workers, were preparing the stage for the final act of Kourosh's grand performance.
The leadership of this nocturnal operation was entrusted to "Artin," Kourosh's most intelligent engineering disciple.
A slender young man with eyes that shone with focus even in the darkness.
He held a scroll of Kourosh's detailed maps in his hand, looking at it with the faint light emanating from a small, covered lantern.
The map showed all the details of the terrain with incredible precision.
Every hill, every groove, and every natural pit had been turned into a part of a deadly trap.
Artin said to one of the elderly workers who stood beside him with respect, "Father, do you see? The prince has even thought about the direction of tomorrow's wind."
"We must dig these channels in the exact place where the dust of the battle will hide them from the sight of the enemy's horsemen."
They silently activated the hidden obstacles that had been designed in the previous days.
In the parts of the plain where the main charge of the Median cavalry was predicted to occur, they dug shallow pits.
They filled them with sharp-tipped wooden stakes pointing upwards.
Then they covered these pits with thin nets and a layer of dry grass.
From a distance, it looked exactly like normal ground.
These deadly traps, known in history as "lilia," were meant to break the first wave of the arrogant Median cavalry's charge.
In other parts of the field, the workers made the shallow channels, which looked like natural grooves in the ground, deeper and wider.
These channels were not deep enough to completely stop a horse, but they were sufficient to unbalance the horses and turn the orderly formation of the cavalry into a deadly chaos.
The workers skillfully put the excess soil into cloth sacks and moved it to a distant place so that no sign of this nocturnal activity would remain.
The work was precise and grueling.
Hundreds of men, in an eerie silence, worked with perfect coordination like ants building their nest.
They knew that the slightest mistake, the smallest extra noise, could ruin the entire plan.
Artin was constantly moving among the different groups.
He would give commands in a quiet whisper, check the angles, and ensure the flawless execution of the plan.
He looked at the tired but determined faces of the workers and, in his heart, praised the genius of his young commander who had been able to turn these ordinary people into a vital part of his war machine.
One of the young workers, while wiping the sweat from his forehead, quietly asked Artin:
"Master, can... can these small pits really stop that great sea of horsemen?"
Artin placed his hand on his shoulder and replied with a confident smile:
"Brother, a small stone can overturn the largest of chariots."
"Tonight, we are placing the stones in their path."
"Tomorrow, the courage of our soldiers will finish the job."
"Every shovel of dirt you lift tonight will save the life of a Persian soldier tomorrow."
These words gave new morale to the tired workers.
They continued their work with greater speed.
They were no longer just workers digging the earth; they were the silent engineers of a great victory.
They were preparing the stage for the final act; an act that was destined to be colored with the blood of the arrogant Median army.
This chapter of the story focused on the hidden and vital efforts of these unsung heroes.
Those whose names were not recorded in any history, but whose work determined the fate of an empire.
As dawn approached, the work was finished.
The plain of Pasargadae, on the surface, was the same calm and safe plain of yesterday.
But beneath that calm surface, a deadly and complex trap had been laid.
Artin and his workers, like phantoms who had risen from the heart of the night, disappeared in the darkness before dawn and returned to the safe haven of the city.
They had done their duty.
Now everything depended on the main actors of this performance.
And on the genius director who, from a distance, was watching the sunrise that was destined to witness the greatest deception in history.