Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 203

Chapter 203: The man behind the machine Chapter 203: The man behind the machine It was as busy a day as any other.

While men clashed and bled in the mud, where warriors found either their calling or their end, far behind the battle lines, a single man toiled tirelessly to keep the machinery of the empire running.

At a worn wooden desk sat Keval, his fiery red hair catching the dim light in the room’s quiet space.

One hand held a parchment, eyes scanning the dense lines of text, while his other hand moved swiftly across another page, recording orders, approving requests, and denying others .

Keval worked with an intensity that was almost fierce, his brow knit in concentration as he oversaw every detail, every missive, every decision that kept the empire steady, even amidst the chaos of war As if managing the empire’s affairs wasn’t taxing enough, Keval also found himself contending with the relentless interruptions of his sister, Valeria, who seemed to find a new reason each day to barge into his workspace, demanding favors or special permissions.

She would arrive with a determined stride and an unyielding list of requests, piling yet more chaos onto his already staggering workload.

After enduring several days of her persistence, Keval finally reached his limit.

He had ordered his guards to stop letting her in altogether, instructing them to tell Valeria he was either unwell or simply not in his chambers.

Keval sat at his desk, the steady hum of activity outside his chambers fading into silence as he took a report from the stack beside him.

His fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded the parchment, his eyes skimming over the lines of text.

To the high and noble standers in court, I, Lucius Marcellus , Governor of Caticareto sends word with utmost urgency and gravitas, as I find myself compelled to address a grave and deeply troubling matter that concerns not only our province but the entire reach of the imperial seas.

Over recent months, I have received numerous complaints and appeals from our local merchants, each detailing encounters of unprecedented hostility upon the seas.  Initially, I believed the menace to stem from small bands of lawless ship-armed rogues, common scourges that our patrols should readily deter.

Yet, as the days passed, the frequency and brazenness of these assaults multiplied.

Disturbed by the apparent persistence of these incidents, I began to suspect a lapse in vigilance among our patrol fleets and, thus, dispatched envoys to make direct appeal to the esteemed Governor of Harmway, trusting him to coordinate an immediate response.

It was not until weeks had passed without any response or reassurance from Harmway that my concerns grew into a well-founded alarm.

Determined to unveil the truth, I launched a discreet but thorough investigation.

To my dismay, the findings have been bleak: it is confirmed that Harmway no longer bears the empire’s standard.

Instead, that once-loyal bastion, pivotal in keeping the Free Lords at bay, has fallen under the sway of our adversaries, now bearing the flag of the scourges of the sea.

It is with a heavy heart and an urgent sense of duty that I place this report in your hands before the customary end of the month, believing this intelligence to be of unparalleled significance.

I implore the court to consider this matter as one that demands an immediate and decisive response.

May the wisdom of the empire guide us in addressing this crisis.

Yours in earnest service, Governor Lucius Marcellus of Caticareto” With each word read, his face grew paler.

A moment later, he closed his eyes, dragging a hand over his face as if to wipe away the weight of what he’d read.

Frustration boiled over, and with a sudden burst of fury, he slammed his fists down on the table.

The sharp sound echoed through the room, a brief release of the turmoil roiling inside him.

He slammed the paper down onto his desk again , fists clenching tightly at his sides.

“Damn those wretched sea rats!

Curs of the ocean, every last one of them,” he spat, each word edged with venom.

He shoved his chair back, pacing the room in a growing storm of anger.

“Harmway, of all places!” he growled.

“A vital stronghold, a key to our defenses-and they’ve let it fall like some worthless fishing port!I have written to that fat idiot to pay more attention to the defense ” His voice rose, echoing in the chamber, as he struck the edge of his desk with the side of his fist, pain flaring through his hand, only seeming to stoke his frustration.

“Where were the blasted patrols?

Where were the supposed garrison of Harmway?

Did they just sit idly by as these sea-roaming vermin claimed the city for themselves?” He seethed, his thoughts spiraling into anger at the incompetence, the betrayal, the shame of it all.

“Godless, thieving bastards!” Keval took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to steady his anger.

He sank back into his chair, his hands running through his hair as he slumped into the worn leather.

The weight of it all pressed down on him, heavy and inescapable.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, piecing together the numbers he knew all too well.

That little island alone, Harmway, had provided more than 4,500 aurei each year-a crucial flow to the empire’s strained coffers.

And now, with the court’s finances already gasping under the weight of rebellions and costly secessions, losing that income felt like being tipped over a precipice.

He pressed his palms over his face and, fighting the frustration that seared in his chest, let his forehead rest against the cold wood of the desk.

He had poured endless hours into small reforms, scrimping and cutting where he could, painstakingly reworking every coin spent to salvage the empire’s income.

Just when he’d thought the scales were beginning to balance, just when he’d dared to hope that the impossible problem was coming to heel, life came in to make sure he remembered his place, sticking all his effort up his arse.

A firm knock sounded at the door.

Keval blinked, straightening up and quickly smoothing his hair and adjusting his collar.

He took a steadying breath, then called out, “Who is it?” “It’s Dorian, my lord,” came a voice from the other side.

“Come in,” Keval replied, regaining his composure .

“I trust you’re here to report good news…” The door opened, and Dorian stepped in, his posture respectful as he inclined his head.

“Yes, my lord,” he greeted.

“I come with news of success-the products we moved from the southern princedom of Yarzzat were sold in their entirety within three weeks.” Keval’s eyebrow lifted with interest, and he nodded for Dorian to continue.

“We purchased 200 urns of cider and 350 pieces of soap, spending a total of 3,700 silverii,” Dorian explained.

“The soap sold for 10 silverii per piece, and the cider for 15 silverii per urn, yielding us a raw gain of 6,900 silverii.” Keval took a slow, deep breath, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders as the numbers settled over him like a balm.

He managed a faint smile, the stress of his earlier fury beginning to dissipate as he considered their profit.

It wasn’t the solution to his mounting problems, but at least, for a moment, it was a bright spot in a storm of darkened finance.

They were still not out of the storm , but at least the winds were not as fierce as before.

Keval gave a thoughtful nod, his brow easing as he leaned back in his chair.

“This is good, let’s waste no time.

Double the purchase for each product on our next venture.

We should capitalize on this market especially now that we desperately need more finance.” “It will be done, my lord,” Dorian replied with a respectful nod.

But he hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Though… if I may, there’s one more thing to report on this matter.” Keval straightened slightly, his interest piqued.

“Go on, what is it?” Dorian cleared his throat, lowering his voice.

“While in Yarzat as an envoy, I had occasion to meet the one responsible for crafting these products-the supposed inventor.

A strange man, my lord.

He’s quite old, rather frail… and there’s something unusual about him.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

“He told me, quite earnestly, that the inspiration for his creations came to him in a dream.

He claims it was a revelation granted to him by none other than the All-Knower.” Keval raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from intrigue to skepticism.

“A revelation from the All-Knower?” he repeated, almost amused , as he encountered many times men claiming such things.

Of course by the end most of them went burning on a pyre.

“And what do you make of such claims?” Dorian smirked, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

“I believe his words are nothing but fanciful tales, my lord.” Dorian continued, his tone growing more serious as he leaned slightly closer.

“It seems that this old man, worked in temples as an amuenensis before ” Dorian paused for effect, “when I sent someone to search for clues about his past, none of the nearby temples acknowledgedever hiring this so-called blessed Arstolier.

You would think if his story had any merit, they would’ve made note of it. ” Keval’s brow furrowed as he processed Dorian’s words yet still not grasping the underlying meaning .

“What do you mean to say?Be quick with it” Dorian nodded , his eyes narrowing with conviction.

“I believe that the old man is just a face thrown there to keep the attention away from somebody else all together.And my lord , if I have to be frank my current suspicious turn to one man alone, Alpheo Veloni-isha, the prince consort of the ruler of Yarzat.”