Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 186

Chapter 186: Running against time(1) Chapter 186: Running against time(1) Marthio’s pov:  A month had passed since the fall of the Gods’ Finger, the ancient fortress that once seemed impregnable, now under the rebels.

In that time, lord Marthio had wasted no moment in mounting his response.

He had led his army down the Everlasting Road, an ancient stone route that carved through the empire’s southern block from Romelia up to the Finger .

Remarkably, they had marched three-quarter of the entire length of it in just under ten days, a pace unheard of for such a large force.

Over twenty-five kilometers each day, through rain, cold, and rough terrain – a feat that had pushed men and horses to their very limits.

The old commander had done everything in his power to ensure they would arrive in the north before it was too late.

He knew very well that now that the Finger fell, the southern nobles would have no real reason not to flock to the second prince’s side, which meant that the only way the young emperor could mantain power was to soundly defeat Mavius in battle.

Now, The Imperial army had built camp across the wide plains of Durbegicum.

The camp was a sea of tents and banners, fires flickering under the evening sky.

In the center of it all stood the command tent – a large, imposing structure adorned with the imperial standard alongside that of Achea.

Inside, Marthio sat at the head of a long table, his fingers tapping against its wooden surface as he surveyed the men gathered around him.

At that table were the various lords and commanders Marthio had managed to rally to his cause, alongside those that were sworn to him personally.  They wore armor and cloaks of varying colors and designs, their faces set in hard lines as they murmured among themselves, waiting for Marthio to speak.

He studied them carefully.

Convincing them to send their forces had been a battle in itself.

But here they were, assembled around him.

Marthio’s gaze shifted toward one of the lords seated along the table.

His sharp eyes settled on Lord Varyn Harkain of House Harkain, a tall and gaunt man whose house had long been sworn to his.

Varyn swallowed nervously as Marthio’s silent command was made clear – it was time for his report.

Clearing his throat, Lord Varyn rose from his seat, his voice slightly wavering as he began to speak.

“My lord, our search parties…

they’ve scoured the hills, the forests, and the lowlands north of us .

We’ve put all effort into locating him, but as of now, we still do not know his exact whereabouts.

We’ve heard unsettling news, however…

rumors from the local villagers and travelers.” Varyn hesitated, glancing nervously around the table before continuing.

“They speak of carts set aflame, entire caravans burning along the side of the roads.

And the bodies…

dozens of them, my lord.

Left in the open, but without their heads .

It’s clear-” “I already know what he’s been doing,” Marthio interrupted, his voice steely and calm, though the frustration was evident in his eyes.

“I do not need another recounting of his valor in defeating his grace’s enemy.

What I need, Lord Harkain, is to know where he is.” His hand clenched into a fist atop the table as he leaned forward slightly, staring the lord down.

The weight of his words hung in the air like a blade.

Varyn shifted uneasily in his armor.

“How,” Marthio continued, his voice rising just enough to command the room’s full attention, “is it possible for a man leading over one hundred warriors to simply vanish into thin air?

No matter how cunning he might be, men of that number don’t just disappear without a trace.

And yet he appears, time and time again, only when it suits him.” Marthio’s eyes narrowed.

“Do your scouts report nothing of value?

Not a trail, not a witness, not a single lead?

He can’t be a ghost, Lord Harkain.

Find him.

I need to know where my son is, not just what he’s left behind.” Lord Varyn’s face paled further, and he stammered, “W-we will intensify the search, my lord.

I’ll double the patrols, scour every village, every shadowed path…

I swear, we’ll find him.” Marthio exhaled sharply, his frustration palpable.

His hands gripped the edge of the table as he leaned forward, eyes scanning the faces of the lords before settling back on Lord Varyn.

“We have received messages from him,” Marthio said, his voice low “He sends us letters, where he reports the enemy where-abouts.

How is it that he can reach us, but we cannot reach him?” Lord Varyn swallowed nervously, his hands resting on the table in front of him.

“My lord,” he began cautiously, “the messengers were mere travelers, paid to deliver his letters.

They carried no allegiance to him nor did they ever meet him personally, only the promise of gold if they reached our lines.

Your son-he seems intent on avoiding detection, perhaps to continue his raids without being slowed down.” Marthio’s fist clenched slightly at the mention of his son, though his face remained composed.

He sighed, more out of concern than anger.

“I know what he’s doing, Varyn.

I’ve read his reports.

But we need to know where he is.

He’s out there with over a hundred men, fighting a guerilla war against Mavius’ forces.” He leaned forward, his tone sharper.

“How can he simply vanish from our sight when we need him found?” Varyn met Marthio’s gaze with hesitance but spoke nonetheless.

“It seems, my lord, that your son wishes to remain hidden-perhaps to maintain his element of surprise against Mavius.

His actions have been effective, but he’s making it difficult for us to track him down.” Marthio leaned back, rubbing his temple, clearly more concerned for his son’s safety than the inconvenience his tactics caused.

“Effective, yes.

But he’s playing a dangerous game.

Every day he stays behind enemy lines is a day closer to something going wrong.” Marthio sighed inwardly, his thoughts drifting to his son, Tyros.

Stubborn, relentless, and fiercely independent- I’d have an easier time teaching a bull to dance, he mused as he thought of his eldest son , than getting my boy to obey me.

Suddenly, the tent’s flap burst open, the wind carrying the scent of sweat and dust as one of the scouts rushed inside, breathless.

“Lord Marthio,” the scout panted, “some of the scouts have returned.

They say…

they say someone claims to be Lord Tyros.” Marthio’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat.

“Bring him in.

Now!” he barked, pushing his chair back as he stood up abruptly.

The scout hesitated for a moment before adding, “My lord…

what should we do about his ‘soldiers’?” Marthio shot him a sharp look, his voice dripping with impatience.

“Are you really that incompetent?

Do I need to spoon-feed you instructions on how to deal with a few dozen men?” The guard, still fidgeting nervously, swallowed hard.

“My lord,” he stammered, “there are…

at least 300 outside, and if I may be honest…

they don’t really have the air of soldiers…” Marthio’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Three hundred?” He paused, processing the number.

“Let them in.” The guard nodded stiffly, still visibly anxious, before rushing out.

Meanwhile Marthio rubbed his temple, already feeling the dull throb of frustration.

What in the gods’ names has hid son done now?

he wondered, his mind racing as he made his way toward the camp’s entrance.

The image of his son was fresh in his thoughts-bold, reckless, and with a habit of defying orders at every turn.

Marthio had long since learned that Tyros could be as unpredictable as a storm, and predicting his actions was as useless as commanding the waves to stop.

Marthio sighed deeply, rising from his seat.

“We’ll convene again tomorrow,” he said, dismissing the gathered lords with a wave of his hand.

The lords exchanged uncertain glances but quickly stood, offering respectful nods as they exited the tent, leaving Marthio to face his recently found son.