Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 144

Chapter 144: Surrender or die Chapter 144: Surrender or die Thalys hung from the post, his body sagging under the ropes that bound him tightly.

His face was a mask of agony, sweat pouring down his skin as he gasped for air, his muffled cries turning into pathetic whimpers.

His eyes, wide and filled with terror, darted around, searching for some mercy that would never come.

The red-hot blade had already done its gruesome work.

The dagger sliced into his abdomen.His viscera, slick and glistening, was out, the foul smell of blood and burning flesh mixing with the air.

Thalys continued to let out a guttural scream, but it was choked by the gag in his mouth.

Tears streamed down his face, his body trembling violently, but he was still alive, horrifically so.

His intestines, half spilling from his gaping wound, twisted in a sickening display of slow torture.

Each movement, each twitch of his body, sent fresh waves of unbearable pain through him.

His eyes rolled back, and for a moment, it seemed like his body might finally give in.

But death was slow, too slow, and the agony kept him conscious, trapped in his body as it betrayed him.

Thalys’s cries grew weaker, turning into hoarse sobs.

His lips quivered, and his face contorted with sheer desperation, as if he could plead with whatever gods were listening to end his suffering Alpheo stood a few paces away, his eyes fixed on Thalys as the man writhed in excruciating pain.

The sight was grotesque-blood pooled at Thalys’s feet, his viscera spilled out from the gaping wound in his stomach.

His muffled cries had faded into weak sobs, more animal than human.

Alpheo’s face, hard and unflinching, twisted into something akin to disappointment.

He let out a bitter sigh, muttering under his breath, “Even revenge is made pathetic now.” For a moment, Alpheo stood in silence, watching as the once-defiant commander-now reduced to a pitiful, broken creature-clung to life.

There was no satisfaction in this.

Only a hollow feeling.

Alpheo dismounted and slowly unsheathed his sword, the steel catching the light as he approached Thalys with deliberate steps.

Thalys’s eyes fluttered weakly, barely conscious, but he seemed to sense his impending end.

His body convulsed one last time, a final shudder of pain.

Alpheo, his face expressionless, raised his sword high.

The blade gleamed for an instant before slicing through the air in a clean, swift arc.

It met Thalys’s neck with a sickening crunch, severing it in a single stroke.

Blood sprayed across the dirt, and the pitiful gasps ceased instantly.

Thalys’s head fell down, the body now only a corpse, no longer in pain.

“Mercy,” Alpheo muttered, the word slipping from his lips without warmth as he wiped his blade on the dead man’s tunic ”In the end my promise came true..” Alpheo then turned his horse and after mounting with a sharp pull of the reins, his back now to the trembling figures on the wall.  Without looking back, he neared to his man .

“Jarza,” he called out, his voice sharp “Put the laborers to work immediately.

I want the fortifications finished without delay.

And assign an additional hundred men to guard them-double the watch if need be.” Jarza gave a firm nod, ready to act without hesitation.

Alpheo’s tone left no room for question or delay.

As Jarza turned to carry out his orders, Alpheo glanced back briefly toward the execution site.

“And leave the body where it is,” Alpheo added coldly, “but bury it at sundown, we don’t want it spread sickness to us…

Let them see it until the last moment.” Jarza gave a grim nod, fully understanding the message Alpheo intended to send.With that Alpheo then turned toward Ratto, his voice low but firm.

“Tell Egil to meet me in my tent.

I need to speak with him.” Ratto quickly nodded and hurried off, while Alpheo turned his horse toward his quarters.

The ride back to his tent felt longer than usual.

His hand throbbed under the bandages, a constant reminder of the near moment that could have ended his life.

As he reached his tent, Alpheo dismounted with a grunt, pulling off his cloak in one swift motion.

He tossed it onto the ground, the heavy fabric crumpling into a heap.

His mind was clouded with exhaustion, frustration, and pain.

He walked over to his bed and let his body collapse onto it, sinking into the rough fabric with a sigh.

Minutes ticked by, and the noise of the camp outside became a distant hum.

Alpheo’s body ached, and the tea he had been given earlier had dulled the pain only slightly.

He had just closed his eyes, trying to gather his strength, when the sound of footsteps approached the tent.

The flap opened, and Egil stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto Alpheo.

He hesitated for a moment, sensing the tension and weariness that hung thick in the air.

“You asked for me?” Egil said, his voice measured, as he observed the general sprawled out on the bed.

Alpheo sat up, his body moving slower than usual, but his gaze was sharp as he met Egil’s eyes.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“We need to talk.” “Well, go on and ask, then,” Egil said, leaning against the tent post, his posture casual yet attentive.

Alpheo didn’t waste time.

“How far did you ride?” Egil scratched his chin, tilting his head in thought.

“Hard to say exactly.

Ten, maybe fifteen kilometers?

Give or take.” “And every village you passed, empty?” “Not all of them,” Egil shrugged.

“The ones closer to us were cleaned out, but the farther I went, the more I found untouched.

Could’ve kept riding, but we ran into a few hundred laborers working the fields.

Figured there wasn’t much point in going further after that.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Why so curious?” Alpheo leaned forward slightly, wincing at the dull throb in his bandaged hand.

“I need to calculate the damage to the land…

for after.” Egil raised an eyebrow, giving Alpheo a long look.

“Always thinking three steps ahead, aren’t you?.” Alpheo didn’t respond directly, just gave a tight smile, his mind already working through the logistics.

Egil stretched his arms behind his head, his tone shifting to something more casual.

“So, what’s next for me and my men?

I’m guessing it’s not charging straight into those walls on horseback.” Alpheo chuckled dryly.

“No, unless your horses have suddenly learned how to jump five meters straight up.” Egil smirked.

“Shame.

Would’ve made this siege a lot more exciting.” “You’ll be on patrol, mostly.

Riding the perimeter, hunting down any foragers they send out-if they send any.

There could be hidden tunnels used for smuggling.

Wouldn’t be surprised if they try using them for sorties or sneaking out food gatherers.” Egil let out a dramatic sigh.

“So, basically…

I’m a glorified scout, chasing shadows.

Exciting stuff.” “Still it’s the job you’ve got,” Alpheo said, smiling despite himself.

“At least you’ll be out riding all day, while the rest of us dig.” “Ah, yes.

Fresh air, open fields, the wind in my hair while I track down starving peasants.

Truly, the pinnacle of warfare,” Egil quipped, his tone dry but playful.

“You really know how to keep a man motivated.” As Egil turned to leave, he gave Alpheo a parting nod, his playful demeanor fading as he stepped out of the tent, the flap falling closed behind him.

Alpheo sat in silence for a moment, staring at the empty space Egil had just vacated.

The pain in his hand pulsed, sharp and relentless, making him wince despite his best effort to ignore it.

“At least it’s the left hand,” he muttered to himself, flexing his fingers slightly and feeling the sting radiate up his arm.

“I can still write.” The thought gave him some small solace, but it didn’t erase the discomfort gnawing at him.

Alpheo reached for the cup on the small wooden table beside his bed, but after a moment of hesitation, he pushed it aside.

Instead, he grabbed the heavy urn of wine and tipped it directly to his lips, taking a long, unmeasured gulp.

The bitter liquid slid down his throat, warm and heady, offering a temporary numbness to the pain throbbing in his hand.

He set the urn down with a dull thud, leaning back on his bed, his bandaged hand resting on his thigh.

He sighed deeply, staring up at the dimly lit canvas of his tent.

His thoughts were heavy, circling around the attack, the siege, and the blood that would inevitably follow.

He leaned back against the wooden headboard of his cot, allowing the faint warmth from the drink to spread through his body.

He let out a long, tired sigh.

After this siege…

he mused silently, staring at the dark fabric of his tent, I’m taking a week of complete rest.

No campaigns, no parlaying with traitors, no thinking of food supplies or enemy sorties…

Just silence and bliss.

He imagined a quiet estate somewhere far from the front, perhaps nestled in the rolling hills of the countryside.

A place where the war felt distant and the only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves and the trickle of a nearby stream.

A week of sleep…

of doing absolutely nothing but drinking and lying in bed.

Alpheo smirked faintly at the thought.

He could almost picture himself in a chair, boots off, his feet propped up before a roaring fire, a glass of wine in hand.

Maybe even a hot bath, he mused.

Not the freezing river water we’ve been bathing in, but a real bath…

The siege would be over eventually, one way or another.

And when it was, Alpheo swore to himself he’d disappear for a while-just long enough to remember what peace felt like.

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