Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 219

Chapter 219: At war again Chapter 219: At war again April had finally arrived, casting a gentler warmth over the land as winter’s grip finally loosened.

The once-gray skies softened into a mild blue, and buds of green peeked from barren branches, promising renewal.

In the fields, the ground was thawing, and farmers prepared their tools and plows, eager to return to work .

The smell of damp earth filled the air, mingling with the scent of blossoming wildflowers by the roadsides. While most welcomed the end of winter with open arms, not everyone viewed the season’s passing with such enthusiasm.

For the elite regiments of the White Army, winter was something close to paradise.

The cold months offered them an unexpected break from battle, and, with no wars to wage and no threats looming over the borders, they settled into an almost carefree existence.

Mornings were spent in light training, a few hours of marching and drills just to keep themselves in shape, but their afternoons were wide open.

They ate well, their pay continued to flow, and their only enemy was boredom.

 With little to occupy their time, the soldiers turned to cards, dice, and other games of chance, filling their hours with bouts of luck and laughter that echoed around the camp.

On this particular day, Marcus was riding high on a winning streak.

He grinned as he tossed the dice, watching with satisfaction as they clattered across the green and landed on a lucky roll.

A cheer escaped him, and he pumped his fist in triumph, the grin on his face growing even wider.

The thrill of a good roll was something Marcus lived for, especially when it meant seeing the irritation in his friends’ faces.

Lucius, crouched nearby, scowled at the results.

He clicked his tongue in frustration, brushing dirt off his hands as he stood up from his half-kneeling position.

“Today’s my day, Lucius!” Marcus laughed, holding up the dice like a trophy, the smug sparkle in his eye daring Lucius to try his luck again.

Lucius rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to mask his frustration as he stepped back.

“Shut it he grumbled.

He knew better than to keep pushing his luck against someone on a roll.

Marcus lifted his newly heavy pouch, letting the coins jingle with satisfaction.

Around him, the recent losers of the game stood up, grumbling as they kicked at the ground before turning away, muttering curses under their breath.

Turning to Lucius with a broad grin, Marcus said, “Come on, let’s go grab a drink.

It’s been an eternity since we had a good round together.

First one’s on me.” Lucius glanced at him, his expression hardening.

“You know exactly why we don’t go there anymore,” he replied, his tone flat.

Marcus’s grin faltered, but only for a moment, the silence between them suddenly as heavy as the weight of his new winnings.

Marcus’s grin faded as Lucius’s words sank in, a knowing look passing over his face.

He didn’t need Lucius to explain; he remembered well the night things had taken a turn at the inn.

The innkeeper had gone too far, pointing his finger squarely at Marcus and ratting him out when the Watch arrived.

Apparently the calculations he made regarding his night visit to the inn owner, were wrong, and he got into trouble for that.  A tense talk with the Watch’s captain had been enough to clear Marcus’s name, but it had come with a hefty fine-and a bruised reputation among his comrades, who mostly however made fun of it to him.

He hadn’t set foot in that inn since.

Marcus nudged Lucius with a sly grin, breaking the silence.

“So, how’s it going with Sabine?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Lucius clicked his tongue, his face tightening slightly.

“Since that day, we had to meet in secret,” he muttered, his irritation barely hidden.

“Her father doesn’t want her anywhere near me.

Every time we see each other, it’s like we’re sneaking around in enemy territory.” Marcus chuckled, but there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

“Still haven’t tied the knot, then?” he asked, feigning disappointment as he watched Lucius’s face.

“Not yet,” Lucius replied, his tone clipped, though a trace of frustration edged his voice.

“Too bad,” Marcus said, shaking his head.

But before Lucius could respond, his gaze shifted.

The usual calm of the camp was disrupted, replaced by a flurry of activity.

Soldiers rushed about, shouting to one another, some with wide grins, others with furrowed brows, all caught up in the sudden excitement.

Marcus, too, frowned, watching the commotion with a raised brow.

“Doesn’t look like payday to me,” he said, adjusting his own gear.

Catching one of the rushing soldiers by the arm, Lucius asked, “What’s going on?” The soldier, barely able to contain his enthusiasm, quickly replied, “His Grace!

He’s called us all together for a speech!” The two immediately realized the boy to be a green recruit, probably added during the last round of recruitment, as he called Alpheo by his grace.

The oldest followers of the young man called him simply by his name between themselves, yet they were a drying breed, as less than a third of the White Army actually followed Alpheo since the sandy terrain of Arlania, the rest of them being locals recruited during the year.  Lucius released the soldier and glanced over at Marcus.

“Guess we’d better get moving too,” he said, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

Marcus nodded, tying his newly filled coin pouch securely at his waist with a satisfied grin.

————— Lucius stood shoulder to shoulder with thousands of his comrades, each man a part of the vast assembly stretching across the open field.

The air was thick with anticipation as the rows of soldiers waited, their attention fixed on the front where Alpheo would soon address them.

It had been months since Lucius had last seen the young monarch, and in that time, something unmistakable had changed.

The Alpheo he remembered from last campaign had been sharp and cunning, a wily leader with the air of a former mercenary captain-a man who had once been an escaped slave, whose fight had always seemed driven by personal grit and hunger for freedom.

But as Lucius took in the figure now stepping forward to address them, it was clear that Alpheo had shed those past skins entirely.

Lucius couldn’t help but notice the stoic expression that marked Alpheo’s face, as if the man had become a vessel of authority itself, far away from the happy and carefree expression he remembered in the early days he wore day and night.  The silver-colored cuirass hugged his torso, shaped to fit him perfectly.

The silver gleamed in the sunlight, adorned with intricate etchings and patterns that resembled flowing rivers, or maybe flawers ,Lucius could not distinguish the difference.  Beneath the armor, his cloak flowed like a dark shadow, its weight pulling gently at the fabric as if to contrast the brilliance of the silver armor.

Behind Alpheo, Lucius spotted two familiar figures: Egil and Asag, both close companion who had fought alongside Alpheo during countless campaigns.  The two stood as a silent wall behind Alpheo, their stances mirroring his resolve.

He knew that whatever was to be talked here was very important if all three of them were present.

Alpheo’s mouth finally opened ”Since the start of my wife’s rule in this gods’ blessed land , you have been nothing short than the shield protecting her, the swords that culled her enemies and the pillars from which her rule stands on .

You are the steady river upon which our kingdom sails forward, the fire that warms our people and scorches those who would do them harm.

“Today, as tomorrow and ever more , as we face what lies beyond and inside our borders, know that you do not fight alone. You are more than soldiers; you are the breath of Yarzat’s spirit, its unwavering heartbeat, and as long as you stand, so shall our people and our kingdom endure.” Alpheo’s voice carried out over the gathered men, clear and unwavering.

“For all this, you are treated well-better than any soldier under the sun,” he declared, his tone a blend of pride and command.

“Tell me, what man among you can claim to know anyone that every month his stomach is filled, his purse never empty?

And should fate take him from this world, what other man can claim that that man’s family will be looked after, provided for, in his absence?

What army, I ask you, is treated with such honor and justice by their sovereign?” A cheer rose from the ranks, a wave of voices merging into a powerful roar as soldiers lifted their fists and smashed them against their armor in thunderous unity.

The sound echoed across the field like rolling drums, reverberating with pride and loyalty, swelling as Alpheo’s words settled in.

Alpheo’s gaze sharpened, his expression hardening as he continued, his voice carrying a steely edge.

“But now,” he intoned, a simmering anger beneath his words, “the honor of the prince and princess, the very souls you have sworn to defend, has been spat upon.

Our dignity has been mocked-during our own marriage celebrations, no less.

Those barbarians from Herculia dared to insult the sacred hospitality we extended to them, trampling on our peace with reckless disregard.” Alpheo’s voice grew louder, filling the air with a tone of dark resolve.

“It seems the prince of Herculia has decided it wise to make an enemy out of us, sowing discord in our lands as he tried to foment revolt againt her grace’s rule” he declared, his voice steady yet laced with iron.

“Tell me, men, will we accept this insult, lying down, silent and beaten?” A thunderous chorus of “No!” erupted from the soldiers,Lucius’s voice adding in the chorus, their voices blending into a wave of defiance that seemed to shake the earth beneath them.

“Then tell me,” he continued, raising his voice even higher, “will we stand idle, or will we march straight to their gates and repay this insult with blood?Taking all of their golds and women on the way there?” All men around roared in response, a cheer rising from the ranks that drowned out everything else, their fists pounding against their armor as they shouted their readiness for vengeance, as war always brought them an opportunity for some good old raiding.

Alpheo waited, standing still as the roaring enthusiasm of his soldiers gradually quieted.

The men, seeing their prince’s hand raised, fell into a respectful hush, their eager eyes fixed on him as they braced for his next command.

With a voice that cut through the air, Alpheo shouted, “Then spread the word to any with ears to hear it-friend, foe, and kin alike-that Yarzat marches to war!

And with her, she brings her loyal sons.

” A ripple of fierce energy surged through the ranks as he continued, his voice filled with a chilling resolve.

“We will raid their lands, seize every piece of gold we can lay hands on, and leave behind a wall of blood for the next fools who think to test us.

Let no one doubt-Yarzat’s honor will be defended, and its enemies will fall.Yes, let it be known,” he called, his gaze sweeping over his men “that for every insult hurled at our honor, we shall return a tempest.

For every slight upon our dignity, we will repay with thunder and fire.” He raised his fist, the glint of silver catching the light as his voice softened yet intensified, each word deliberate and laden with purpose.

“When we march, we bring the fury of the mountains, the unyielding tide of the sea.

We are the hammer that breaks upon the shield, the flame that endures through the fiercest storm.

And we do not go alone-we go as one, bound by purpose, bound by a kinness not of blood.” A murmur of agreement rose, the soldiers’ eyes blazing with shared purpose, but Alpheo continued, his tone almost reverent.

“When we cross their borders, they shall tremble, for they will know that Yarzat’s wrath is upon them.

For every field they have scorched, we will bring a fire three times as fierce.

For every insult they’ve thrown, we will write our answer in iron, in flame, and in blood.” He paused, letting his words linger, watching his men as they hung on his every breath.

“Bring our banners high, bright against the sky.

Let them know that we do not forget, we do not forgive, and we do not fall.

Together, my brothers, we will carve a path through their lands, and we will lay the foundation of our honor upon the stones of our triumph.

And when we return to our beloved Yarzat, the sun itself will bow in envy of what we have done.

For that my friends and sons is what we are.” The silence stretched, vibrating with tension, before it shattered into a thunderous roar as the soldiers raised their fists, the sound echoing over the fields.

We march to war then,Lucius undestood as that familiar tremble of excitement passed through his back.