Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 188

Chapter 188: Unwanted evening Chapter 188: Unwanted evening Alpheo sat in the dimly lit chamber, the papyrus pages of an old manuscript resting delicately in his hands.

His fingers traced the rough texture as he turned another page.

The chair beneath him creaked softly as he leaned back, frowning at what he was reading.

how crude, he thought as he turned another one.

The door swung open, and Jasmine stepped into the room, her brow already furrowed in disapproval.

“Why are you still not dressed?” Alpheo glanced down at his simple tunic, then sighed heavily, closing the book with a soft thud.

“I got…

lost,” he admitted, his voice trailing off as if the explanation was as much for himself as it was for her.

His fingers tapped the closed papyrus for a moment before he stood up, moving languidly towards the wardrobe.

Jasmine watched him, arms crossed, her frown deepening.

“You know we need to be there.” “Do we truly?” Alpheo asked as he slipped the tunic over his head, folding it carefully.

He reached for his formal attire-a deep blue robe-and began dressing himself with practiced ease.

“I had some work to finish,” he continued, his voice tinged with reluctance as he fastened the robe’s clasps.

He pulled on a wide leather belt, adjusting it before reaching for the gleaming silver cuffs, sliding them over his wrists.

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, we need to be there.

I don’t care how much you hate these dinners” Alpheo nodded absently, picking up his boots and slipping them on, one after the other.

“I just don’t see why we need to endure all the pomp.

There are things I could be doing, things that would actually matter.” He straightened his collar with a sigh, pulling his dark hair into place, his fingers lingering in his locks .

Jasmine’s eyes glinted with amusement as she stepped closer, her tone now layered with playful mockery.

“For this one, it’s better if we’re both there.

You know as well as I do, that old senile fool might blurt out something we really don’t want him to.” Alpheo smirked, his voice casual as he replied, “I trust you enough to take care of it on your own.

You’ve always had a way with smoothing things over.” Without warning, Jasmine cupped Alpheo’s cheeks in one hand, kneading them forward with just enough pressure to pull him closer.

“I appreciate the trust” she purred, tilting his face towards hers, “but you should really move your ass.” she pushed him away Alpheo chuckled, a deep, soft laugh rumbling from his chest as he finished adjusting the last fold of his robe.

“I’m ready.

See?” he said, raising his arms slightly to show off his efforts.

Jasmine sighed, her fingers slipping from his face as she shook her head with mock exasperation.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t let the servants dress you.

We’d be out of here much faster.” Alpheo shrugged, a light grin playing on his lips.

“I’m only comfortable letting others touch my things when it’s armor.

And even then, I leave that job to Ratto.” .————— Alpheo sat at one end of a long, lavishly decorated table, set with an array of dishes and drinks, reflecting the wealth and power of the palace.

Platters of roasted meats, fragrant breads, and colorful fruits were spread out before them, the rich aromas mingling in the air.

Alpheo’s gaze, however, was not on the food but on the man sitting opposite him-the imperial envoy who had frequently requested this very dinner, eager to meet the so-called genius.

Across the table sat the old man, Arstolier, the supposed mastermind behind the famed products.

His frail hands trembled as he slowly moved another morsel of bread toward his lips, his fingers shaking visibly, as though even this simple action required great effort.

His eyes, cloudy with age, blinked slowly under heavy brows, and his mouth moved in small, careful bites, as if every chew took deep concentration.  Doria leaned back, enjoying his meal as he turned his attention toward Jasmine.

“Once again, I must express my gratitude to Her Grace for accommodating my request,” he said, his tone smooth and diplomatic.

Jasmine returned the smile with grace.

“It is our pleasure, Lord Doria,” she replied, though her eyes flickered briefly toward the old man at the end of the table, a subtle reminder of why they were here.

Doria, after taking a bite of chicken, glanced at the frail figure of Arstolier, who sat with his hand trembling slightly as he lifted another morsel to his mouth.

“Arstolier,” Doria said with a polite but probing tone, “when did you finally succeed in your work?

When did these innovations come to life?” The old man blinked several times, his lips trembling as he tried to form his words.

“I-I…

ah, yes, it was…

a few…

a few w-weeks after I w-was…

accepted into c-court,” he stammered, his hands shaking as he set down his food.

Doria leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued.

“And before that?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

“What were you doing before you joined the royal household?” Arstolier’s fingers fumbled with the edge of his tunic as he glanced nervously around the table.

“I…

I w-worked…

in temples, m-mostly…

yes, yes, as a…

a manuensis, copying…

texts and scrolls,” he stuttered, his words faltering as if each sentence cost him great effort.

“B-but in my f-free time…

I…

I did experiments, small o-ones…

yes, small…

ah, I…

I could only afford s-small experiments…” Doria raised an eyebrow.

“And I assume your budget was quite limited?” The old man nodded shakily, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Y-yes, my lord, v-very…

very light.

But now, with…

with the royal…

support, I…

I don’t have to…

to worry about such things anymore.” He paused, swallowing nervously before adding, “N-now I can f-focus…

entirely on my w-work.” Doria gave a measured nod, watching the old man closely as he took another trembling sip from his goblet, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of the conversation.

He gave a small gaze at the young man sitting on the far end of the table.

Oi, this was not what we agreed on….

, the old man said with his gaze at which point Alpheo could only avert his eyes, ignoring the accusatory eyes.

Doria, his curiosity still not satisfied, set down his fork and fixed his gaze on Arstolier.

“Both the soap and the cider… quite impressive feats, I must say.

But what truly intrigues me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “is how you managed to perfect both products in such a short amount of time.” The old man blinked, clearly uneasy with the question.

His hand trembled as he reached for his cup, but before he could answer, Alpheo subtly clenched his jaw, his expression tightening for just a split second.

He quickly masked it with a calm demeanor.

Arstolier, meanwhile, let out a shaky breath, his frail voice cracking as he spoke.

“Ah…

w-well, you see…

it was…

a miracle, m-my lord…

y-yes, a miracle!” He nodded to himself, almost as if convincing himself of the story.

“In the d-dead of night…

the A-All-Knower…

visited me…

in a dream, y-yes, yes…

He…

He showed me…

such w-wondrous things…” He paused, his hands now shaking more visibly as he continued.

“H-He s-showed me…

how to make the s-soap…

and the cider.

E-every detail…

was revealed to me…

as if…

as if it were a g-gift…

from the heavens themselves.” Doria’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued by the odd response, but he maintained a polite smile.

“A dream, you say?

Quite extraordinary…” Arstolier nodded vigorously, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Y-yes…

extraordinary indeed, m-my lord…

it…

it was truly…

a b-blessing from the A-All-Knower,” he stammered, clearly uncomfortable under Doria’s probing gaze.  Alpheo, sensing the tension in the air and noticing Arstolier’s increasing discomfort, decided it was time to shift the conversation.

With a smooth smile, he turned to Doria and spoke in a lighter tone.

“Lord Doria, speaking of blessings, when might we expect your people to retrieve the convoys and finalize the payment?” Doria, recognizing the pivot in the conversation, responded with ease.

“In no less than two weeks, everything will be prepared, Lord Alpheo.

The convoys will arrive, and the payment will be settled promptly.” Alpheo nodded, his smile widening.

“That’s excellent to hear.

I must say, I’m particularly eager about the armors that the Acheia family is famed for.

I’ve heard much about their craftsmanship.” Doria chuckled, his mood lightening further as the discussion turned to something more familiar.

“Ah, I’m certain the emperor will be more than happy to gift a set of Acheian plate armor to our new friends , especially one fit for a brave warrior such as yourself.” Alpheo, grinning, waved a hand modestly.

“A brave warrior?

I fear I have much to learn before I can claim such a title.

But I will certainly make an effort, especially if it means I can show off such a precious gift.

It would be quite the incentive to push myself harder.” Doria, raising his cup with a practiced grace, smiled warmly as he addressed the table.

“Then we shall cheer to that,” he said, his voice smooth as silk.

“To new beginnings and the opportunities brought by new ventures.” His gaze swept over Jasmine, who returned his smile with a polite nod, and then to the old man, Arstolier, who managed a shaky smile of his own, still nervously fiddling with his utensils.

As Doria raised his cup higher, his eyes briefly flickered across the table to Alpheo, the young man in front of him.  “To the future and to what it helds…” he finished, his voice steady, as he brought the cup to his lips.