Yes, there are a few clear examples. The most famous is the Trojan Horse—Homer and later writers describe how the Greeks used the legend of a “giant wooden horse” to trick the Trojans into bringing it inside their walls, which turned the tide of the war. It’s a myth that was deliberately employed as a stratagem, and the story is recorded in the Iliad and other ancient sources. A more historically documented case is the Battle of Legnano in 1176. The Lombard League’s forces claimed they were carrying the True Cross, a relic that had become a powerful legend. According to contemporary chronicles, the sight of the Cross on the battlefield boosted the troops’ morale and helped secure a decisive victory against the Holy Roman Emperor, which in turn shifted the diplomatic balance in northern Italy. Both cases show how legends, when invoked in the right moment, can alter the outcome of a conflict.

Modern political campaigns still lean on that same psychological edge. Think of viral memes or targeted ads that latch onto a national myth—like the idea that “freedom means something for everyone.” When the messaging hits the right emotional chord, it can shift public opinion or even sway an election, even if the facts behind it are shaky. It’s basically the same trick: use a story that people already believe in, amplify it with slick visuals and data, and the narrative can override the real numbers. The weapon isn’t the sword, it’s the story you tell about the sword.

You’re right, the real power is in the narrative, not the numbers. A well‑timed myth can become a meme that lingers in public memory, making any data you throw at it feel secondary. The trick, as you say, is picking a story that already resonates and re‑packaging it fast enough that people believe it’s new. That’s what makes modern propaganda surprisingly effective, even when the hard facts are buried in a data‑dump.