Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 173

Chapter 173: Bad new over bad new Chapter 173: Bad new over bad new Maesinius, the newly crowned King of the Northern Kingdom, sat at the long wooden table in the grand throne hall of Thelogontia, his new capital.

The dim light of the fire flickered in the hearth, casting shadows along the stone walls and highlighting the tension in the room.

Maesinius leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, one hand covering his mouth in deep thought as he stared down at the parchment spread before him.

After their resounding victory at the Battle of Messenia, Maesinius stood before his closest vassals and declared Thelogontia as the capital of the newly formed Northern Kingdom.  He appointed his most trusted vassals to key positions at his court, ensuring that those who had fought alongside him would continue to shape the future of the new emerging kingdom  As for the rest of the northern lords, they returned to their lands, their wagons laden with the spoils of war-silvers and gold , grain, and tools seized from the empire’s defeated forces.

For the first time in many years, their people would not face the biting sting of winter’s hunger as bad as they had in previous winter .

The knowledge that this winter’s famine would be far less cruel filled the hearts of their people with hope.

The lords left Thelogontia knowing that they had not only won a great victory but also secured their future through battle and blood.

The North, for the first time in living memory, was united under one banner.

The young king’s black hair, slightly tousled, fell down onto his neck .

A fire crackled nearby, illuminating the faces of the few loyal vassals gathered around him, their expressions mirroring the gravity of the moment.

“Lord Harold,” Maesinius said, breaking the silence, his voice low but firm.

He removed his hand from his mouth and looked up at his closest advisor, his sharp blue eyes piercing.

“Is the news reliable?” Harold, standing beside him, nodded solemnly. His scarred face was set in a grim expression as he confirmed the worst.

“It is, Your Majesty,” Harold said with certainty, his tone as firm as the stone walls surrounding them.

“The reports came from multiple sources.The kingdom of Sarlan is being ravaged by an horde of Tribesman as we speak..” Maesinius sighed heavily, the weight of his new responsibilities pressing down on him like a leaden cloak.

“Not even half a year into our reign,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“And now we receive word that the Sultan of Azania is preparing an expedition southward.

To make matters worse, a horde of tribesmen has somehow managed to make their way south through a path we know nothing about.

Who knows if other tribes will follow ?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table, his brow furrowing in concern.

Turning to Harold he asked, “Do you have any idea how they managed to travel south without even passing through the Bane?” Harold’s expression mirrored the uncertainty swirling in Maesinius’s mind.

“I have no idea, my king,” he replied, his voice steady yet tinged with concern.

“Since they moved through Sarlan’s lands, they must have passed the great Ice Flow” Maesinius’s eyes widened in shock, disbelief washing over him like a cold wave.

“Gods!” he exclaimed, his voice reverberating through the stone chamber.

He recalled his visit to the Ice Flow from the northern banks, standing before the colossal forces of nature that had sculpted the landscape.

It had left him in awe, leading him to conclude that only the Storm God himself could traverse such a formidable river-especially in the heart of winter.

Uther’s deep voice cut through the charged atmosphere, commanding attention.

“It matters not,” he declared, his tone resolute and unwavering.

“If they dare set foot in our kingdom, we will smash them, just as the North has done for centuries.” His words resonated with the weight of their heritage, a testament to the resilience and ferocity that defined the northern people.

“The king of Sarlan must be calling his lords to rally against them as we speak,” Harold stated.

Maesinius leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.

A grim realization washed over him; if the reports were true, then a horde of tribesmen, were really being accompanied by giants on their fearsome steeds, then the situation was even more hopeless than he thought.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that King Sarlan would face a grim fate “With such an army converging upon him,” he murmured, “he may very well be facing death itself.”  Maesinius shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the daze brought on by the unsettling news.

His mind swirled with thoughts, weighing every possibility.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice distant, almost as if he were convincing himself.

“The news of the tribes invading Sarlan…

it’s not our immediate problem,” he said slowly, his words measured.

Harold, however interjected, “If they passed through the Ice Flow once, there’s nothing stopping them from doing it again.” Maesinius turned his sharp gaze toward Harold, frustration flickering in his eyes.

“Any tribe that moves south does so for one reason: warmer lands, fertile enough to farm,” he said firmly.

“And now, whoever leads this horde-whether the spawn of a god or devil-finally sees that dream in front of them.

Do you truly believe they would risk it all by crossing back through the Ice Flow to reach us, just to settle in lands as cold and barren as their own?” He leaned forward, voice lowering with intensity.

“They wouldn’t even find enough wealth here to be worth raiding.

The only reason that might make sense would be to avenge thousands of years of bloodshed between us , but even then, what sound man would lead an entire tribe to certain death for such a meager cause, especially when the lands ahead must seem like heaven to people coming from nothing but snow and ice?” The room grew quiet again, his words hanging heavily as they both contemplated the mysterious motives of the invaders.

Maesinius leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, his eyes distant as if searching for clarity in the haze of uncertainty.

“You’re speaking from your own perspective,” he said slowly, his tone more introspective now, “as people who’ve fought against these tribes for hundreds of years.

We think like Northerners, like those who have always had something to protect-our lands, our people.” He paused, his gaze shifting to Harold, then back to the flickering flames in the hearth.

“But perhaps we cannot understand the view of those on the other side.

Their goal isn’t to raid or just to conquer-it’s to survive.

To them, it’s not about wealth or vengeance, but about living through another winter.

About escaping a life where starvation is more common than harvest.

Maybe thoughts of revenge will come in the future but right now all they must have in their mind is to survive” Maesinius stared into the flickering fire, his thoughts drifting to a memory he had hoped to forget.

In the imperial palace at Romelia, deep within the Hall of Relics, he had once seen the bones of one of the giants’ steeds, preserved in glass for centuries.

The sheer size of it had left him breathless-the skull alone was as tall as half a man, and its ribs were like the beams of a great ship, towering above him.  He remembered standing there, staring at the bones, feeling small, insignificant even.

His hand had rested on the glass, trembling, unable to fully grasp the scale of the beast.

It was one thing to hear tales of the giants and their massive beasts, but seeing the remnants of such a creature made the legends all too real.

Now, as he sat in his throne room in Thelogontia, his hand began to shake again at the thought of facing an army with such things.

Giants and their monstrous mounts, beasts that could tear through lines of soldiers as easily as a blade through cloth.

The very idea sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He had fought battles, faced down lords and savages-but this?

This was different.

This was a force beyond human reckoning.

Uther’s booming voice cut through the tension like a hammer on steel.

“Maybe it’s time for the others to face what we’ve been keeping out for hundreds of years.” His words echoed in the chamber, resonating with the fierce pride of a people who had long stood as the first line of defense against the horrors of the frozen lands.

Maesinius glanced at him, his own thoughts pulling back from the dark images of giants and their steeds.

There was truth in Uther’s words.

But still, the situation in Sarlan was beyond their reach for now, and as much as it did not sit down right with him, he should be washing his hands off of it.

With a sigh, Maesinius shifted in his chair and spoke, his voice more grounded.

“Perhaps.

Still for the tribes in Sarlan… that’s not our battle, not yet.

Their problem is out of our reach, and we can’t stretch ourselves too thin worrying about it.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, before his tone turned sharp and focused.

“For now, we have a much more pressing threat closer to home-the Sultan of Azania.

We know he is preparing an expedition to the east,we are the obstacle separating him from the rest of the empire, and after the thaw of spring, his armies will march toward us.

That is what we should plan for.

We need to prepare our defenses before he comes knocking at our door.” Harold leaned forward, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“The border from which the Sultan will pass is vast, too big to pinpoint where the attack might come.

We’ll need to send word to the lords in those regions, instruct them to fortify their holdings and increase their garrisons.

Perhaps even send them some weapons, if we can spare it.” Maesinius sighed heavily, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair as he gazed into the flickering fire.

“Our coffers are already too light to support such a commitment,” he muttered.

“The cost of preparing for the Sultan’s invasion is, while also buying enough food for the winters, …

daunting.” His eyes darkened as his thoughts drifted back to history.

“The last time Azania marched through Imperial lands was eighty years ago.

They brought an army of 24,000 soldiers with them.

A force like that is difficult to sustain, especially over such long distances.

Their supply lines will be stretched thin.” Maesinius leaned forward, his gaze sharpening as a new idea formed.

“The Sultan will need the cooperation of Arlania to move such a force efficiently.

Our greatest hope might be to convince the King of Arlania to betray him in the middle of the campaign.

If the Sultan finds himself trapped between two foreign lands, his mighty army will starve, and we will be able to annihilate them.” Harold met his king’s gaze, cautious but not dismissive of the plan.

“This is all assuming we can convince the King of Arlania to turn on the Sultan,” Harold said, his tone laced with skepticism.

“And that’s no easy feat, considering that he is the reason for which the Alarzat sit on the throne…” Maesinius leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative as he weighed the potential outcomes of their discussion.

“If our plan to convince the King of Arlania fails, then we will have no choice but to meet the Sultan’s forces in battle the usual way.

We might even need to consider hiring mercenaries to even the odds.” Harold raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into his voice.

“And how do you propose we pay for these mercenaries?

Our coffers are nearly empty just as you said….” A wry smile albeit forced tugged at Maesinius’s lips.

“There are many ways to convince mercenaries to fight for us.

Coins is one way the other is something that that any warrior dream of and luckily for us something that we have lots to spare…”