Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 195

Chapter 195: Common ground(2) Chapter 195: Common ground(2) Alpheo turned slightly, fixing his gaze on his loyal captain.

“Jarza.” he called out in a low voice At the sound of his name, Jarza stepped forward immediately, his sharp gaze locked onto Alpheo’s, awaiting his command without a hint of hesitation.

His posture was upright, and rigid .

“Tell me,” Alpheo began, his voice calm but carrying a deliberate weight, “what are our men doing right now, back in Yarzat?” Jarza didn’t need to think twice.

“At this hour they would be training, Your Grace,” he answered, his tone as unwavering as his stance.

Alpheo allowed a faint smile to curve on his lips, but he continued, pressing his point.

“And tomorrow?” Jarza’s eyes gleamed slightly, recognizing the intent behind Alpheo’s repeated questioning.

“They’ll be training, just the same,” he replied Alpheo nodded slowly, though the glint in his eyes suggested he wasn’t yet finished.

He leaned forward, his gaze intense, and asked once more, “And the day after that?” Jarza didn’t falter, his response as solid as steel.

“They’ll still be training,the answer won’t change if you go by the weeks , Your Grace.”  A spark of satisfaction crossed Alpheo’s face, and for a brief moment, he glanced at Lord Xanthios, as if to underscore his point.

Alpheo, maintaining his calm yet commanding tone, kept his questions going “And how much are these men paid for their loyalty and their lives?” Without hesitation, Jarza answered, “Each footman earns five silverii a month, Your Grace.

Our archers receive three, while any rider is compensated with ten.” Alpheo nodded approvingly, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.

“And what do I demand in return for that pay, Jarza?” “Absolute obedience,” Jarza replied, his voice steady and unwavering.

“Discipline that knows no lapse, and strength in every step, no matter the odds they face.” “And if a soldier were to fall-if they were to be maimed or to die-how will their families fare?” “For the next two years,” Jarza explained, “their families will receive the soldier’s full wage, Your Grace.

Beyond that, any adult in the immediate family has the right to appeal for work, a means to sustain themselves.” With a look of satisfaction, Alpheo turned his focus back to Lord Xanthios, his voice filled with calm conviction.

“Each one of my soldiers knows that they fight with the assurance that their families will not suffer in their absence.Which means that they may go into the afterlife with an unburdened heart.

They train as intensely as constant practice will allow, and their discipline is unshakable.

Above all, their armor and weapons are of the best make, their strategies grounded in resilience.

Such preparation ensures that they are equipped to shatter whatever comes against them.

A mountain would break before them.” Alpheo continued, his tone steady “In our last clash against Oizen, half my infantry stood their ground as wave after wave of their knights bore down on them, steel crashing against shields, hooves tearing at the earth.

For two hours they stood.

The other half fought against an army twice their number.

And they endured,” he paused, letting the gravity of those hours fill the hall, “until reinforcements arrived and together, overturned the enemy lines.” Lord Xanthios nodded slowly, the flicker of respect in his eyes unmistakable.

He inclined his head, acknowledging the feat,he knew that what the prince was employing was not arrogance , but confidence, as his results backed his claims.  “But of course there is a price to sustain such an army,” he went on, voice lowering, “a cost far heavier than armor and weapons alone.

It takes mountains of gold, rivers of silver, to keep these men clothed in steel, their families fed and housed, their futures secure.” Xanthios raised an eyebrow, the subtle frown on his face showing his curiosity.

“How much?” he ventured, his voice betraying both intrigue and apprehension.

Alpheo didn’t hesitate.

“The annual cost of maintaining this force comes to five thousand aureii.” The impact of the number hit Xanthios like a blow; his eyes widened, his lips parted in shock.

He blinked, no doubt mentally calculating it against his own holdings.

With an income that stretched barely to two thousand aureii a year, the sum Alpheo spoke of was nearly unimaginable.  He came to wonder how they managed to sustain such an expenditure, as he knew very well that Jasmine’s father was known as the mud prince.

Alpheo took in Xanthios’ reaction with a faint, knowing smile.

He understood the disbelief, the slight dismay, perhaps even the envy.

“We nearly saw our coffers emptied down to the last coin,” he continued, a hint of self-deprecating humor coloring his tone, “but somehow, we’ve managed to stay afloat.

And each time we’ve scraped the bottom of our treasury,” he gave a slight shrug, “we’ve had faith that our efforts, our sacrifices, were worth it.” Lord Xanthios looked at Alpheo and nodded slowly.

“I see now why your forces are unmatched, Your Grace.”  Alpheo inclined his head in agreement.

“Indeed, no army, hastily assembled and trained in mere weeks, can ever compare to one built with time, and most importantly, money.

Every true army demands the commitment of its leaders.

So,” he paused, studying Xanthios with quiet calculation, “I wonder if you might ever desire something similar.” Xanthios gave a short, humorless laugh, glancing away before answering.

“What man wouldn’t?” he admitted, his voice low.

“But even if I had the will-and the need-I could never sustain a force of such size and quality.

The coffers of Bracum can’t even begin to support an army like that for a quarter of a year.” Alpheo nodded understandingly, though his eyes didn’t lose their intensity.

“I maintain a standing army of nearly a thousand soldiers,” he said, letting the weight of the number settle in the air.

He saw Xanthios tense almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenching as he processed the number.  Alpheo sighed, a hint of frustration entering his tone.

“But even with such a force, the divisions within the princedom prevent any cohesive action.

To rally an expedition against Herculia would require unity Yarzat hasn’t seen in decades.

A rift that our late ruler unfortunately only deepened.” Lord Xanthios frowned, fearing that the war he had so wanted would die before it could even start “Revenge must be exacted upon the traitor of Arduronaven,” he murmured.

“Surely, the lords will rally in the name of justice to bring down this turn-cloak.” Alpheo’s smile was wry as he inclined his head slightly, his voice calm yet unyielding.

“Ah, I wish it would be so, my lord.

But the reality… I fear it will lean otherwise.” He paused, letting his words settle, watching Xanthios carefully.

“If we cannot rely on overwhelming numbers, then we must place all faith in the quality of our blades and armor-the edge we can craft ourselves.

And that, my lord, brings us to a critical question.” Xanthios looked up, a flicker of intrigue sparking in his eye.

Alpheo’s voice took on a tone that was at once inviting and sharp.

“Will you be the sword to cut down both your enemy and mine?” He paused, studying Xanthios with grave intensity.

“If you are ready for this, then we may finally turn to the real reason I came to Bracum.

But if you hesitate, if you aren’t the man I need for this, I will find another.” A silence fell over the hall, the weight of Alpheo’s words hanging heavily between them.

Lord Xanthios held Alpheo’s gaze, wrestling with the gravity of the offer laid before him.  “If it means I will hold the head of the traitor in my hands,” Lord Xanthios declared, his voice steady and resolute, “then I can be that man for any task you set before me.

As long as you grant me justice, my full commitment will be yours.” Alpheo nodded, a sense of purpose igniting between them.

“Very well then.

I believe it is time to reveal the true reason for my visit.

I will provide you immediately with the necessary equipment and four thousand silverii for the endeavor.

I’ll send my trainers to establish a rigorous training regimen for your troops.

By the end of winter, I want you to have an army of 400 footmen that mirrors the strength and discipline of my own.I will provide everything all you have to do is stand back and admire the strenght that will be built in front of your eyes.

Of course the money I will send will be more than enough to maintain such a force , however, I will get very angry if I discover that we went with a soft heart regarding expenditures…as money is the last of my concerns.” Alpheo leaned in closer, his eyes locked onto Xanthios’s.

“So I ask you once more: will you be my sword?

Will you seize this opportunity to finally reach that thing you crave?” Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the offer, Xanthios felt a swell of ambition rise within him.

The thought of building such a force-something he had always aspired to-stirred a fire in his heart.

With a firm nod, he replied, “Yes.

I will be your sword, Your Grace.

Together, we shall forge a path to justice.” With a solemn nod to seal their pact, Lord Xanthios reached into his shirt and pulled out a small, weathered box hung around his neck by a length of leather cord.

Alpheo’s gaze sharpened, curiosity flickering as Xanthios delicately unclasped the box.

Alpheo felt a chill seep into him as he squinted at the box, unable to pull his eyes away.

Until now, he’d dismissed the stories-rumors that the Lord of Bracum kept his murdered brother’s finger close, swearing to carry this reminder until vengeance was complete.

And yet now that he saw it with his own eyes, the young man came to wonder whether the lord’s condition would prove to be a liability or a boon for his cause, as that box contained a short, shriveled finger.

And so the young man, who in his life saw just how deep human cruelty could really go , barely managed to mask his horror as Xanthios looked down at it, murmuring with fierce devotion words that would chill the heart of any man.

“Our revenge will finally come brother…”