Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Sealing the deal Chapter 176: Sealing the deal The day of the marriage had arrived, and the entire city was in an uproar of celebration.

Crowds filled the streets, people cheering and laughing as news spread that there would be a free distribution of food to commemorate the occasion.

Flower petals rained down from balconies as if the city itself was in joyous bloom.

Vendors tired handing out bread and roasted meat from carts but not having any luck for the most part, as the city knew of the free meal coming from the royal family.

Amidst all this excitement, Alpheo found himself in what could only be described as the heart of grandeur-the inside of the city’s towering cathedral.

The sacred space was vast and imposing, with columns of marble rising like ancient trees..

Sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows, casting hues of crimson and gold across the polished stone floors.

In front of Alpheo were five massive altars, each grander than the last.

Before every altar stood a goat, its coat gleaming in the flickering torchlight, tethered and calm, waiting to be sacrificed in honor of the gods.

Candles burned in long lines beside them, their flames swaying gently in the faint draft of the cathedral.

The low murmur of the crowd fell into a reverent silence as the priest approached the first altar.

In one swift, practiced motion, he drew a ceremonial blade from his robes-its edge gleaming in the flickering torchlight, thin and sharp as a whisper.

The goat, unaware of the ritual about to unfold, stood still, its calm presence not understanding of his end.

The priest held the blade to the animal’s throat, murmuring an ancient prayer, his voice low and rhythmic.

With a quick, clean slice, the blade cut through the goat’s throat.

Blood poured from the wound, dark and vivid against the white stone altar, pooling beneath the goat as it slumped to the ground in silence.

The other priests at the remaining altars followed suit, each cutting the throats of their respective goats in perfect unison.

Alpheo’s tunic was made of rich, deep crimson fabric, embroidered with intricate gold thread that traced patterns of vines along the sleeves and collar.

Over it, he wore a sleeveless surcoat of brilliant white, fastened at the waist with a black leather belt.

The surcoat bore his own symbol-the two diagonal black stripes-which he had insisted on wearing .

His trousers were fitted, of the same deep red as the tunic, tucked into black, polished boots that gleamed beneath the cathedral’s light.

A cloak of dark velvet, almost black, draped from his shoulders, the inner lining glimmering faintly with silver accents.

His hair, usually worn loose, was pulled back into a tight, warrior’s knot, giving him a sharp, commanding appearance.

A small circlet of silver rested on his brow, marking him as consort-to-be, though he had yet to officially take that title.

Jasmine stood resplendent in her wedding attire, a vision of regal elegance.

Her gown was a flowing masterpiece of ivory silk, with delicate golden embroidery tracing intricate floral patterns along the neckline and sleeves.

The bodice was fitted, accentuating her slender form, while the skirt cascaded gracefully to the floor in soft, rippling layers of gold .

A thin golden belt cinched her waist, adding a subtle touch of opulence without overwhelming her natural grace.

A long, sheer veil of the finest lace,fell from a jeweled circlet atop her head, trailing behind her like mist.

Her dark hair was braided intricately and adorned with small pearls, a symbol of purity and nobility.

As Alpheo glanced at Jasmine, his breath caught for a moment.

She was beautiful-more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

The way her gown shimmered softly in the cathedral’s light, the delicate embroidery catching the glow, made her seem almost ethereal.

Her poise, her grace, the way her veil floated around her like mist-it all captivated him.

Alpheo’s quiet admiration of Jasmine was suddenly interrupted as the sound of footsteps echoed through the cathedral.

The main priest approached, holding a small, ornate bowl in his hands.

Alpheo’s gaze flicked toward the vessel, his stomach tightening as he realized what it contained.

He had heard of this ancient custom before-the groom was to drink a bowl of bull’s blood, a ritual meant to symbolize virility and strength.

It was said that the blood would spread vitality through the body.

But tradition also dictated that it had to be consumed in one gulp, or it would bring bad luck.

The thick, dark liquid inside the bowl made Alpheo’s stomach churn.

He was disgusted by the thought, but he kept his face neutral, unwilling to show any sign of weakness before the crowd.

The eyes of the court were on him, and now was not the time to waver.

Just drink it, he told himself.

One gulp, and it’s done.

Without a word, Alpheo took the bowl from the priest’s hands, lifted it to his lips, and steeled himself for the bitter taste that awaited him.

Alpheo lifted the bowl to his lips, taking a deep breath before tipping it back.

The thick, metallic taste of the bull’s blood flooded his mouth, heavier and more bitter than he had imagined.

He forced himself to swallow it all in a single, long gulp, as tradition demanded.

His throat worked hard, fighting the urge to gag, but he drank it down.

A small trail of the dark blood escaped the corner of his mouth, slipping down his chin and tracing a line along his neck, cold against his skin.

The warmth of the blood lingered in his chest as he lowered the bowl, fighting back the wave of disgust, determined not to show any discomfort.

His hands, steady, held the now-empty vessel as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the trace of blood staining his fingers.

It was done.

As Alpheo lowered the bowl, his gaze met Jasmine’s.

Her emerald eyes locked onto his, intense and unwavering.

There was something unspoken in that moment, a silent understanding passing between them.

Just then, a female priest stepped forward, her ceremonial robes swaying with her movement.

In her hands, she held a silver plate, and on it rested the heart of a swan, glistening from the heat of being freshly cooked.

The sight of it drew a murmur from the gathered crowd, but the ritual was well-known-everyone was waiting for the next part.

The bride would have to eat the heart.

Alpheo’s eyes flicked from Jasmine to the heart on the plate.

The dark, glossy meat was clearly cooked, the scent of herbs faintly rising from it.

At least hers is cooked….

Jasmine, with her gaze still locked on Alpheo, slowly reached for the plate.

Her fingers were steady as she picked up the cooked swan heart.

Without hesitation, she lifted it to her lips and took a bite, her movements graceful and deliberate.

The crowd watched in respectful silence as she finished the ceremonial act, proving her commitment and fortitude.

The high priest, a man dressed in flowing robes adorned with symbols of the gods, stepped forward as Jasmine lowered the plate.

His voice rose through the sacred halls of the cathedral, solemn and powerful.

“By the ancient rites of our ancestors and the will of the gods above, we gather here to unite these two souls,” he proclaimed, his arms raised to the heavens.

“May the gods bless this union, granting strength in adversity, prosperity in peace, and harmony in all seasons.

As the earth nourishes the seeds that grow, may this marriage bring forth fruit and flourishing.” The priest lowered his hands, his voice becoming more intimate as he continued.

“O gods in the sky, bless this couple with your favor.

Let their love be as constant as the stars, as strong as the mountains, and as deep as the oceans.

In your wisdom, bind them together, so that no storm may tear them apart.” Turning to Alpheo, the priest’s tone grew more formal.

“Alpheo, groom of this day, you stand before us, before your bride, and before the gods.

Do you vow to take this woman as your wife, to honor and cherish her, to defend her against all perils, and to protect her with your life, as the gods watch over this sacred bond?” As the priest finished his blessing, Alpheo and Jasmine turned toward one another, the weight of their vows settling between them.

Slowly, Alpheo leaned in, and their lips met in a kiss that sealed their bond.

Jasmine tasted the faint tang of blood still lingering on his lips, a trace from the bull’s blood he had just swallowed.

It was metallic, warm, and strange-but she didn’t flinch.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

The noise of the crowd, the scent of incense, and the flickering light from the candles all faded into the background.

It was just the two of them, standing at the pinnacle of their journey.

When they finally pulled apart, Alpheo’s eyes met Jasmine’s, and he saw her emerald gaze reflecting his own feelings.

In that moment, Alpheo realized that everything he had fought for, every ambition he had nurtured in the depths of battle, had finally come true.

He had gained power, and the throne he desired most was standing before him, through what was now his wife.

He was on the road to win that promise he made in that hot desert of a long-forsaken life..