Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 129

Chapter 129: King of Snow(1) Chapter 129: King of Snow(1) After the decisive battle with the Messenian lord, Maesinius swiftly consolidated his victory.

His terms were generous, offering leniency and security to those who had opposed him.

The defeated lords, recognizing the futility of further resistance and the wisdom in aligning with the first prince, bent the knee one by one.

Maesinius, ever the statesman, accepted their fealty with grace, ensuring they retained their lands and status under his rule.Except for the title of High Marshall, that was obviously deprived as the prince would never allow a man to keep such a fertile and important land under his control.  In just a single day, word of the prince’s victory and fair treatment spread rapidly.

The entirety of the province, fell to him.

By the day’s end, the Messenian province was firmly under the banner of the first prince, his authority unquestioned.

The long-standing issue in the northern territories of insufficient cultivated land had been a pressing concern for years.

The harsh terrain and limited arable land had constrained the region’s agricultural output, leading to chronic shortages of grain and frequent reliance on imports from the south.

It seemed though that such a fundemental problem had been solved.

Grain surpluses from these newly acquired provinces were expected to flow into the northern markets.

With more grain flooding the markets, the supply shortages would have been alleviated, ensuring a stable source of food for the northern territories.

The prince hoped that this development would not only solve the grain shortage but also spark a surge in commercial activity across the northern lands, particularly in the fur and timber trades.

Typically, the high cost of transporting timber from the north to the south rendered it unprofitable for most merchants to invest in the industry.

However, with the civil war disrupting traditional supply lines, Maesinius believed that many traders would now turn their attention to the vast northern forests.

As the conflict reshaped trade routes, regions like the Kingdom of Sarleon, the Principality of Arlania, and even the newly acquired provinces under Maesinius’ control would increasingly rely on northern timber.

This shift could open up new opportunities, making the north a vital supplier of both timber and fur, further strengthening its economy and integrating it into the broader realm’s trade network.

The war had fulfilled its primary objective.

Maesinius and his allies had secured the lands they sought, with key provinces now under their control and loyal lords bending the knee.

The chaos of battle had subsided, and the once restless territories would now start to settle under new leadership.

Now, the challenge was no longer conquest but consolidation.

Their gains had to be protected, and the territories integrated into the larger realm.

Ensuring stability, keeping the nobles loyal, and managing the newly expanded resources would be critical to maintaining their hold.

The focus had shifted from the sword to governance and diplomacy.

All that mattered now was to keep what had been won, ensuring that the hard-fought victories did not slip away in the fragile peace that would follow.

Immediately after the mass surrender of the enemy forces, Prince Maesinius wasted no time in celebrating the hard-fought victory.

He commanded that a grand feast be prepared, a gesture of gratitude and relief for his troops.

Barrels of ale and wine were cracked open, and tables were quickly filled with roasted meats, bread, and whatever food could be found.

The scent of the feast wafted through the air, invigorating the weary soldiers who had endured the trials of battle.

Outside in the camp, the soldiers rejoiced.

They laughed heartily, their spirits lifted by the victory and the flowing alcohol.

Groups gathered around makeshift tables, throwing dice and playing games.

The sounds of merriment and song echoed through the camp as men toasted to their prince, their victory, and the spoils of war.

At the center of the camp, in a vast tent adorned with banners of the prince’s house, the lords and Maesinius himself sat at a more elaborate feast.

Inside, the nobles indulged in fine meats, freshly baked bread, and the best wines they could find.

The table was laden with dishes as the prince presided over the gathering, seated at the head with a calm but victorious air.

Toasts were made in Maesinius’ honor and their victories Among the nobles feasting in the grand tent sat the lords who had recently surrendered to Prince Maesinius.

They were present, drinking and toasting along with the others, though their mood was markedly different.

While the loyal lords of the prince raised their goblets with genuine pride and joy, the surrendered lords participated with a more subdued air.

Their toasts were less hearty, their cheers quieter-a performance of loyalty rather than an expression of true joy, the biggest example of it being Conte.

Who was in no way with the heart to participate the feast that declassified him to a simple lord, breaking the line of power that started with his great-grandfather.

Most of them drank out of necessity, a gesture of submission to the prince who now held their fate in his hands.

Their smiles were forced, the clink of their cups more of an obligation than a celebration.

Every toast and cheer felt like a small surrender, a public acknowledgment of their new liege.  The northern lords instead roared with laughter, cups brimming with ale and wine, as they gathered around Edmund, the young lord who had led the cavalry in bait.

His face was flushed with drink, his speech slurred, but that only seemed to enhance the drama of his storytelling.

“Ah, you should’ve seen it!” Edmund bellowed, swaying slightly as he stood, his tankard spilling some of its contents as he gestured wildly.

“We were outnumbered seven to one, but by the gods, we broke them!

Their lines…

shattered like glass!” His words were punctuated by exaggerated sword swings, mimicking the battlefield chaos.

The lords around him clapped and cheered, refilling their cups as Edmund continued.

“And there I was, right at the front!” he shouted, grinning broadly, clearly enjoying the attention.

“The cavalry was like a storm-a hurricane of steel and horseflesh as they charged towards us!Then I sounded the horn and the infantry came pouring from the flanks.

It was chaos , axes , lances and javelins thrown around.

You should have seen them scared out of their wits!Then we turned around and joined the slaughter…” Lord Murth, equally drunk, shouted, “And how many did you kill, Edmund?

Ten?

Twenty?” Edmund paused dramatically, “Thirty!

At least thirty by my count!

Maybe forty if you count the ones trampled under my horse!But nothing in comparison with Uther, that tall bastard must have killed half and scared the other into running away.” The lords erupted in laughter and applause, banging the table with their fists in approval.

“To Edmund!” one of them cried, his tall stature and double axes distinguishing him from the other , raising his cup.

“The boldest rider in the north!” “To Edmund!” the others echoed, drowning the toast in another round of ale.

Edmund, clearly reveling in the moment, raised his tankard high, his voice booming above the din.

“To our prince!

To victory!

And to many more battles yet to come!” —– Meanwhile on the other side of the tent, the atmosphere was quieter, more subdued amidst the frenzy of celebration.

Elenoir, draped in a deep green cloak, edged closer to her father, Lord Harold, who sat comfortably, watching the drunken revelry with a faint, almost paternal smile.

She leaned toward him, her eyes briefly flicking to her brother, Edmund, who was still at the center of attention, boasting loudly about his heroics.

“It seems Edmund is having quite a bit of fun tonight,” she remarked, her tone gentle but with a hint of amusement as she watched her brother slosh ale from his tankard.

Harold chuckled, the deep sound rumbling from his chest.

His eyes, tired from years of battle and responsibility, twinkled briefly with pride.

“He’s earned it,” he said.

“Led his part of the charge perfectly.

The boy may have a love for drink and stories, but when it comes to battle…

there’s a natural fire in him, I can see that .” Harold said with a bit of pride, not knowing that during the battle his young son was almost shitting himself .

Elenoir nodded, glancing once more at her brother, who was now animatedly recounting some story “He did well,” she admitted softly, though her voice carried a note of hesitation”When you will actually start to groom him for his future role?He is almost a man already…” Harold sighed, his gaze turning thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his cup.

“He’s young, Elenoir.

The world still feels like a grand stage to him, where every battle is a chance to carve his name into legend.

In time, he’ll learn that leadership is more than just swords and cheers.

It’s heavy…

heavier than any armor he’ll ever wear.The better teacher sometimes his life itself.” Elenoir’s expression shifted, her playful demeanor fading as a more serious tone took hold.

She leaned in closer to her father, her voice low and deliberate.

“When will you take the next step?” she asked, her gaze steady as her eyes moved to the prince.

Harold didn’t answer immediately.

His eyes drifted away from his daughter and settled on Prince Maesinius, who sat near the head of the table, surrounded by a crowd of newly sworn lords.

The prince was animated, drinking deeply from his cup as laughter and cheers erupted around him.

He was in his element, entertaining his vassals, playing the role of a victorious ruler.

For a long moment, Harold simply watched, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were calculating something far beyond the merriment of the feast.

His strong, weathered hands gripped the edges of his cup, but he didn’t drink from it.

He thought for a second and then decided that it was time.