Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 121

Chapter 121: Reunion(1) Chapter 121: Reunion(1) The vast imperial throne chamber was silent, save for the faint rustling of tapestries hanging from high walls.

Empress Valeria sat regally on her throne, draped in royal finery that caught the flicker of the sunlight coming out through the windows.Beside her stood her son, Mesha, a boy of no more than ten winters, his young face filled with confusion.

He shifted uneasily on his feet, glancing at his mother for some kind of reassurance.

Valeria caught his gaze, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

The message was clear.

Mesha straightened immediately, fixing his gaze forward, his confusion masked by forced composure.

The air in the chamber was thick with tension as they waited for the arrival of the one person Valeria both feared and sought to emulate-her father, the man who cast a long shadow over the entire empire.

The heavy doors at the far end of the chamber finally creaked open, drawing the attention of every courtier lining the hall.

Whispers died on the lips of those present, as the man who entered needed no introduction.

Marthio, was a figure known to all, though few courtiers of low lineage had the courage to speak to him or of him.

Marthio was tall, his lean frame almost deceptively thin.

His eyes, cold and calculating, were the same shade of piercing green that Valeria saw every day in the faces of her siblings and hers.

He remember those eyes staring at her whenever she misbehaved that seemed to knwo the truth from lie.

His hair, or what remained of it, was combed forward in a futile attempt to hide his advancing baldness, though it only served to highlight the starkness of his features.

His jaw was sharp, his lips thin and unsmiling.

Valeria’s hand tightened on the armrest of her throne, though her face remained a perfect mask of calm.

Lord Marthio of House Acheia was known far and wide as the wealthiest lord in the southern reaches of the empire.

His fortune, however, was not merely a gift from the fertile lands under his control, though those lands had long produced bountiful harvests.

Marthio’s true talent lay in how he leveraged his resources to accumulate wealth and power.

Sharp as any blade, he understood that mere reliance on the land would never bring him to the pinnacle of influence.

In the aftermath of the rebellion, where he had steadfastly supported the late Emperor Gratios, Marthio secured numerous trading privileges that made it difficult for many to distinguish between the roles of emperor and lord.

His fortune grew not only from grain but also from the shrewd use of his extensive trade networks.

His influence in the empire’s southern reaches stretched across borders and kingdoms, where his shipments of grain filled granaries, and his power over the north was reflected in the trade caravans that once brought riches back to his coffers, which he had almost a monopoly over.

But when the civil war erupted, a substantial part of his northern profits vanished.

Undeterred, Marthio shifted his focus and found new ways to keep his fortune intact.

He expanded his trade into the southern principalities, offering them a constant flow of iron mined from his lands.

These raw materials became the foundation for crafting the most coveted weapons and armors in the empire.

Crafted with intricate designs, the ‘Acheian pieces’ became a symbol of prestige among the princes and lords of the south.

It was said that no true ruler could claim their title without donning an Acheian blade or armor, further cementing Marthio’s reputation as the most influential trader in the south.

The court herald began to intone the emperor’s titles with practiced solemnity: “His Imperial Majesty, Lord of the Golden Throne, Protector of the Realm, Sovereign of All Peoples-” Marthio, unlike the other lords who had knelt before the emperor, did not kneel.

He merely gave a respectful bow, one that recognized the emperor’s station but fell short of subservience.  Empress Valeria, seated beside her young son Mesha, leaned forward slightly.

Her face, while composed, held the slightest trace of tension.

“I trust your journey was pleasant, Lord Father?” she asked, her voice calm not even trying to be authoritative.

Marthio straightened, his green eyes-eyes so eerily similar to her son’s-locking with hers.

“As pleasant as one can expect, Your Grace, though the roads these days are not what they once were.

But I made it here without trouble,” he replied smoothly.

Valeria offered a tight smile.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” There was a brief pause before Marthio continued, his voice taking on a tone of formality.

“With your permission, Your Grace, I would ask to retire for the moment.

The journey, as smooth as it was, has left me quite weary.” Valeria nodded, though she knew the request was more than just a plea for rest.

She could sense the desire for a private conversation-something that couldn’t take place within the ears of the court.

“Of course, Lord Father.

Take your rest.

” Marthio bowed again, a subtle acknowledgment of the empress’s words, before turning to depart.

———- Empress Valeria sat alone in her private chamber, a goblet of rich red wine cradled in her hand.

The room was dimly lit, only the flickering flames of candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.

She took a slow sip, letting the warmth of the wine ease the tension that had settled into her muscles.

Her quiet reflection was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

“Your Grace,” came the voice of one of her servants from the other side.

Valeria straightened in her chair.

“Enter.” The door creaked open, and the servant stepped in, bowing low before speaking.

“Lord Marthio sends his apologies, Your Grace.

He regrets that he is too tired to accept your invitation to meet tonight.” The servant hesitated, knowing the next part of his message would not be taken lightly.

“However, Lord Marthio invites you to his quarters instead, at your earliest convenience.” The goblet froze in mid-air as Valeria’s hand tightened around its stem.

She took a slow breath, forcing herself to remain composed, though the message was clear: her father, less than a day in the capital, was already making it known who held the true authority.

‘He refuses to come to me… and instead calls me to him,’ she thought bitterly.  But it was not a surprise.

Her father had always been a man who wielded power like a blade, sharp and precise, never one to bend to another’s will-even when that other was his daughter, the Empress of the realm.

Yet, in truth, she needed him.

Her influence, once strong and unquestioned, had eroded in recent months.

The “Wise Council”-that ever-meddling group of advisors and nobles-had subtly siphoned away her authority, making decisions behind her back, whispering in corners, and garnering favor with the other lords.

The balance of power was slipping from her fingers, it did not help the fact that the garrison loyal to her was less than a third of the total.Luckily her father had arrived with an army at his back.

Without his support, she would be at the mercy of the council and the fickle loyalties of the other nobles.

They were already circling like vultures, sensing weakness, and only her father’s backing could scatter them.

Yet even as she recognized the need for his aid, Valeria could not ignore the gall of his behavior.

He hadn’t even bothered to wait a full day before making it clear who was truly in command.

You may wear the crown, but I hold the power, was what he wanted to say Setting down the goblet, she stood up, straightening her gown.

Power games were part of courtly life, but she had learned from the best-her father himself.

And if she had to bend for now, she would find a way to rise again.

Empress Valeria strode purposefully through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, her silk gown whispering against the cold stone floors.

Her face was composed, regal, though beneath her calm exterior, thoughts churned.

The palace was quiet, save for the distant murmurs of courtiers and the occasional clink of armor from passing guards who bowed to her , before proceeding.

As she neared the wing where her father had been given quarters, she suddenly stopped, her eyes narrowing.

Ahead of her, standing like sentinels at the door of her father’s chambers, were two of her son ‘s personal guards-the very ones she had instructed to remain by her son’s side at all times.

They were dressed in the imperial colors, their armor polished and their posture rigid.

When they saw her approach, they immediately bowed low in deference.

Valeria’s eyes flickered between the two men, suspicion rising.

“Why are you stationed here?” she asked, her voice sharp but measured.

One of the guards straightened, clearing his throat nervously before responding.

“Your Grace, the young Emperor is inside, speaking with his lord grandfather.” And it came down on the Empress, her father already held the emperor with him.Even her last card was lost.

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