Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 165

Chapter 165: Rose’s thorns Chapter 165: Rose’s thorns “Bloody hell,” a man muttered under his breath as he trudged through the aftermath of the battle, his armor catching the dull light of the morning sun despite the grime and blood that caked every surface.

He wiped a hand across his face, smearing a streak of dirt across his brow.

Dead bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, their lifeless faces staring blankly at the sky or at the dirt below.

“This is more tiring than the battle itself,” grumbled another soldier, not far behind.

He kicked a body lying in his path, watching closely for any signs of movement.

The corpse remained still, eyes wide open in a final frozen scream.

“These poor bastards really had the balls to attack us while we were sleeping.” With a sickening sound, the second soldier yanked his lance free from the chest of a wounded man who had been groaning softly until that moment.

A brief gurgle escaped the man’s lips, and then he was silent.

The soldier spat on the ground.

“You can say that again,” he muttered, wiping the blood from his weapon onto the dead man’s tunic.

As they moved forward, the first soldier’s gaze fell on something struggling in the distance.

A figure, barely alive, was crawling across the stony ground, desperate to escape the scene of carnage.

“Hey!” the soldier called out, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

“What do we have here?” The second soldier turned his head, chuckling darkly as he saw the man, dirty and bleeding, trying to drag himself to safety.

“Where do you think you’re going, friend?” he taunted, striding over with slow, deliberate steps.

He raised his boot and kicked the man in the ribs, flipping him onto his back with a sharp grunt of pain.

 His chest heaved weakly as he tried to push himself up, his hands trembling against the cold, hard earth.

Blood trickled down the side of his face from a nasty gash, and he squinted up at his tormentors, lips trembling as if to speak.

“I…

I’m a noble…

I yield!” He tried to shout the words, tried to plead for his life, but his voice wouldn’t come.

His lips barely moved, his throat dry and constricted as terror took hold.

His vision blurred, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

The first soldier looked down at him with a sneer, his lance poised in his hands.

“Doesn’t matter who you are” he said, leveling the tip of the lance at the man’s throat.

“Dead men don’t talk.” The lance glinted in the light, cold and deadly as the soldier prepared to thrust it down.

————  Willios jolted awake with a gasp, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face.

His heart thundered in his chest, the vivid nightmare clinging to him like a suffocating fog.  A sharp ache invaded Willios’s head, radiating from the center of his skull as if a dagger had been driven deep into his mind.

He groaned, a sound of pure agony that escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Instinctively, he moved his arms, only to be met with another sharp jolt of pain in his shoulder.

The sensation shot through him like a blade, causing him to wince.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain and raised a trembling hand to his head, where his fingers brushed against rough bandages.

The touch sent another wave of discomfort rippling through him, and he groaned again.

Suddenly, a gasp broke the silence.

“Lord Willios!

He’s awake!” a servant shouted, her voice high-pitched and frantic with disbelief.

She rushed out of the tent, calling for the physicians and attendants with hurried steps.

Within minutes, the tent was filled with people.

The flurry of activity seemed like a blur to Willios, his mind still struggling to catch up with the waking world.

Several figures appeared at his bedside, each one with an air of urgency.

A group of physicians entered first, dressed in simple robes with leather pouches slung across their shoulders, filled with various herbs and instruments.

They moved quickly, their hands checking his pulse, feeling his forehead, and inspecting the bandages wrapped tightly around his head and shoulder.

Their faces were etched with concentration as they worked, murmuring to each other in low voices as they assessed his condition.

He caught fragments of their conversation.

“No fever…

“Keep the bandages tight, the wound was deep..He’s lucky to be alive.” Lucky?

Willios thought bitterly, his head still swimming with pain.

He felt anything but lucky.

As the physicians finished their examinations and began to step aside, another figure loomed at the entrance of the tent.

Lord Landoff, his uncle..

The tall, broad-shouldered man was dressed in dark, richly embroidered robes, his silver hair tied back neatly.

His face, usually so stern and composed, now softened with a hint of relief as his eyes fell upon Willios.

“Willios,” Landoff said, his deep voice low but filled with emotion, as he approached the bed.

He stood there for a moment, studying his nephew’s battered form “You gave us quite the scare, boy,” Landoff said gruffly, though his words were softened by the concern behind them.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it back.” Willios tried to speak, but his throat felt dry, and his voice caught in his mouth.

He managed a weak nod, his eyes still blurry, the pounding in his head refusing to subside.

“The battle…

did we win?” Willios managed to ask through gritted teeth, the sharp pain in his head making each word a struggle.

“Aye, lad, we won,” Landoff replied, his voice steady “If we hadn’t, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.

You did well-better than most.

After you managed to open the gate, the entire might of the Emperor’s forces stormed the castle.

It didn’t take long after that.

Within a few hours, the God’s Finger was ours, and with it, our road to the capital.” Willios blinked, trying to process his uncle’s words through the haze of pain and fatigue.

The God’s Finger-a fortress nearly impossible to breach.

He had played a part in capturing it.

Despite the agony in his body, a flicker of pride tried to surface, though it was quickly tempered by the reminder of how close he had come to death.

Landoff’s voice continued, more somber now.

“Unfortunately, many of the lords escaped before we could lay hands on them.

We’re left with only minor nobles as prisoners.

No doubt they’ll seek refuge with the remaining forces of the usurper” Willios’s brow furrowed as he absorbed the news.

“When do we depart for the capital?” he asked, his voice raspy but eager.

He could almost feel the pull of the battle yet to come-the final march that would bring them to the heart of the empire.

Landoff’s gaze hardened, though not with anger.

There was something else there.

Concern, perhaps?

Disapproval?

“In a few days’ time,” he said, his voice dropping in tone, as if bracing for what he had to say next.

“But you, Willios, you won’t be coming with us.” Willios’s eyes snapped up, the sharpness of the words cutting through his haze.

He tried to push himself up on the bed, but his body betrayed him, the pain flaring violently in his shoulder and head.

“What do you mean?” he protested, his voice weak but filled with frustration.

“I’m not staying behind.

I can still fight.” Landoff raised a hand, his expression stern but not unkind.

“Willios, the gods saw fit to spare your life on that battlefield.

It would be madness to spit on their generosity by rushing back into danger before you’re healed.” “But-” “No buts, boy,” Landoff interrupted, his tone final.

“You’ve done more than enough.

You’ve earned the right to rest.

The physicians say your wounds are deep, and you’re lucky to be alive as it is.

Pushing yourself any further would be foolish, and I won’t let you destroy yourself out of pride.I owe it to you and your father.Gods only may know how much he must be hating me seeing the state his son is in ” Willios clenched his fists, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

He had fought tooth and nail to get here, to prove himself, and now he was being told to stand down.

Sensing his nephew’s turmoil, Landoff leaned forward, his gaze softening slightly.

“Listen to me, Willios.

You’ve made me proud.You managed to do what thousands of men thrown onto the walls could not.

You’ve made the Emperor and our family proud.

In fact, he’s honored you with a banquet for your bravery immediately after the battle .

And when the war is over,” Landoff’s voice grew quieter, more serious, “the Emperor has decreed that the God’s Finger-this very castle you helped us take-will be yours.” Willios’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of those words sinking in.

“Mine?” he echoed, disbelief lacing his voice.

“Aye,” Landoff confirmed, his eyes filled with something like pride.

“The Emperor himself declared it.

Once the rebellion is crushed, this fortress will be awarded to you, and with it, the lands that surround it.

You’ve earned your place, Willios, but now, you need to heal.

You’ll have your time again soon enough.” Willios was silent, the anger that had surged moments ago now melting into a mixture of awe and exhaustion.

The God’s Finger, one, if not the most important fortresses in the Empire…

would be his?

He had fought for glory, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined something like this.

He was set for life.

Just the tax coming from all the caravans moving through it was enough to fund 500 knights .

And now it was his….

Landoff rose from his stool, his large hand resting briefly on Willios’s shoulder.

“Rest, lad.

The battle for the capital will be there when you’re ready.

And when it is, you’ll have more than proven yourself.” With that, he turned and left, leaving Willios alone to process the enormity of what had just been said.

As soon as Lord Landoff left the tent, the physician, who had been standing quietly in the corner until now, stepped forward with a small wooden cup in his hands.

He was an older man, with silvered hair tied back and a weathered face that spoke of years spent tending to the wounded.  “Drink this,my lord ,” the physician said, offering the cup filled with a murky green liquid.

“It will help ease the pain and calm your body.” Willios eyed the concoction warily, sniffing it.

The scent was earthy, with a faint floral undertone.

Seeing his hesitation, the physician added, “It’s a mixture of lavender, chamomile, and various barks.

Usually, I would prescribe only one of these remedies, but considering your condition, I believe all three are necessary.” With a grimace, Willios took the cup.

His body ached, his head pounded, and even though the mixture didn’t look appetizing, he didn’t have the strength or will to argue.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a deep gulp of the thick liquid.

The taste was as bitter as he expected, sharp with astringent notes and a hint of something floral from the lavender.

The liquid was so thick that it stuck to the sides of his throat as it went down, making him gag slightly.

He swallowed again, but a bit of the liquid slipped into his respiratory canal, causing him to cough violently.

The sudden fit of coughing sent sharp pains shooting through his chest and shoulder, making him wince.

His body trembled as he tried to catch his breath, feeling the bitter liquid burn at his throat as he struggled to calm himself.

“Easy now,” the physician said calmly, placing a hand on Willios’s back.

“Take it slow.

Your body’s still in shock, but this will help.” Willios nodded, his eyes watering from the coughing, but he forced the rest of the mixture down despite the discomfort.

Finally, after a few moments, he took a deep breath, the taste lingering unpleasantly on his tongue.

“Rest now, my lord ” the physician said, his tone softer now.

“The herbs will do their work.

Sleep if you can.

You’ve fought hard-let your body recover.” Willios leaned back against the pillows, his mind still swirling with thoughts of the battle, of his uncle’s words, and the Emperor’s decree.

But as the warmth of the herbal concoction began to spread through his body, he felt the pull of sleep slowly creeping in, the tension in his muscles finally beginning to ease as he let the sensations have the better of him.