Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 222

Chapter 222: Rebellious lords Chapter 222: Rebellious lords Two weeks passed since Alpheo and his company entered Bracum, welcomed into the heart of Lord Caelum Xanthios’s household.

Alpheo’s quarters in the castle were well-furnished, and his host’s hospitality had been nothing short of meticulous.

Each evening, Lord Caelum held a lavish dinner, inviting Alpheo and his closest knights-companions to feast with him.

The meals were grand affairs-roasted meats, fragrant breads, rare wines-all meant to please his guests Not long after their arrival, Alpheo had heard from Jarza of the lord’s treatment of him, too.

Though Jarza was of low birth, Lord Caelum had welcomed him to his table, showing an unexpected interest in the knight’s methods.

It was rare for nobility to extend such courtesy to a man of Jarza’s origins, and even rarer for one to ask him questions so intently.

Yet Lord Caelum had engaged him fully, asking after his training regimen, his methods for drilling troops, and even the weapons he favored.

In this way, Alpheo soon realized, Lord Caelum’s hospitality was filled with every courtesy the lord could give, probably brought upon by his attempt to please the man that would give him the opportunity to fullfill his long-awaited dreams.

In Alpheo’s private chamber, Alpheo sat in a worn but well-carved chair, helmet resting on a table beside him, while Egil leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with an amused glint in his eye.

Jarza, however, wore none of Egil’s glee.

With a sneer twisting his mouth, he paced back and forth, cursing under his breath “Finally arrived, the lot of them, dripping with silks and feathered crests as if they’re attending some damned tourney,” Jarza muttered, voice thick with disdain.

“And look at what they bring-a handful of polished swords and barely a hundred men between them.

They’d make a grand sight at a feast, but on the battlefield?

Hah!” Alpheo exchanged a glance with Asag, who gave a resigned shrug.

“Hate to say it, but didn’t we expect this?” he remarked, glancing between Jarza and Alpheo.

“Expected?” Jarza’s voice rose, brimming with frustration.

“This is war, not some show of half-hearted courtesy!” He stopped pacing, his gaze sharp and accusatory.

“Sending a token few when summoned, practically an insult, nothing less.

They might as well spit on you, Alpheo, for all the respect they’ve shown.” In the weeks following their arrival in Bracum, Jasmine’s sworn lords trickled in one by one, answering the call to arms-but not in the numbers Alpheo had hoped for.

To his irritation, many arrived with barely sixty men each, some dragging along ragged bands of farmers wielding simple spears with shields.

The men wore mismatched bits of armor if any at all, and few seemed capable of holding a proper formation.

Some struggled even to keep pace with the march.

Alpheo’s frustration grew with each lord’s arrival though he tried not to show it , but each arrival only reminded him of how feeble the support from Jasmine’s nobles truly was.  Alpheo leaned back , crossing his arms, his gaze steady.

“That’s precisely the point, Jarza.

By sending these sixty ill-equipped farmers instead of real soldiers, they’re just barely fulfilling their obligations.

Enough to claim they answered my call, enough to say they’ve done their duty without truly risking anything.

A clever game on their part, and just slippery enough to avoid open reproach.” Jarza’s sneer deepened.

“So they mock us, and do so with polished shields and hollow pledges.” “Exactly,” Alpheo replied, voice calm but edged with steel.

“They’re testing the waters.

Seeing how far they can go without defiance being called treason.” Alpheo let out a measured breath, nodding slightly as he responded, “We expected this, remember?

When we first planned for the campaign, we knew some lords would try this.

Though… it’s not quite as dire as we feared.” Jarza’s brows knitted, his frustration giving way to a cautious curiosity.

“Not as bad?

Why?” “Our numbers are high enough to actually win,” Alpheo replied confidently.

“Between our own forces, Bracum’s men, and the small contingents the other lords sent, we’ve got enough to push forward.” Jarza, somewhat mollified, slumped into the nearest chair, his posture softening as he folded his arms across his chest.

“You’ve already counted then?

How many are we talking?” Alpheo nodded, a small glint of certainty in his gaze.

“I have, and it’s enough for what we need.

We can take the field without over-relying on these… half-hearted reinforcements.” Alpheo looked around the room, his gaze steady as he laid out the numbers.

“In total, we have about 2,100 troops,” he began, letting the weight of that figure settle in.

“From what I estimate, the Herculians will bring at least 3,000.

Which means,” he paused, letting the implication sink in, “we may be heavily outnumbered.” A tense silence followed, as Jarza, Asag, and Egil exchanged quick, guarded glances but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

They knew better than to interrupt-Alpheo was already leading them somewhere.

“We’ll have to base our tactics on that fact,” he continued, the words steady, yet carrying a quiet intensity.

“We can’t simply match them on the field, as we usually did” Each of his commanders nodded slightly, their expressions thoughtful, the gravity of their challenge clear.

They had faced difficult odds before, but this would demand more from the Egil leaned forward, his rough hands clasped in front of him, and asked, “What tactics can be used when we’re outnumbered like this?” Alpheo paused, eyes narrowing as he looked down at the table.

His fingers drifted over the objects scattered across its surface until he seized a ripe apple, feeling its weight.

With a sudden flick, he tossed it straight to Egil, who caught it reflexively, eyes widening in surprise.

“Overly aggressive attacks,” Alpheo said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“When you’re outnumbered, charging directly strips the enemy of their initiative.

They won’t press forward as eagerly; they’ll be forced to defend.

Whatever strategies they might have planned to trap us or encircle us will falter in the face of a relentless assault.

Add to that our higher quality troops-trained and armored better than most of theirs.

When we hit, we hit hard.

It’ll be devastating.” He paused, letting the words sink in, his gaze steady.

“But,” he added, his tone sharpening, “if they hold their ground… if they manage to blunt our assault and turn their numbers on us, we could find ourselves facing utter disaster.” The weight of his words hung in the air.

Jarza, Asag, and Egil exchanged uneasy glances, their usual confidence faltering as they absorbed the risk Alpheo was laying out.Asag swallowed audibly, his jaw tightening, while Jarza nodded, his expression unreadable but sober.

Even Egil usually brash, was silent, a serious look settling over his face.

Alpheo’s smile broke through the tension, faint but enough to make his companions lift their eyes.

“What’s the matter with you lot?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Haven’t you fought battles like this before?” The men exchanged sheepish smiles, some of the tension easing from their shoulders.

Alpheo leaned over the table, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his companions.

“We’ll have to work with what we’ve been given,” he said, voice edged with resignation.

“This isn’t the force I would have hoped for, but we make do.

Perhaps a decisive victory will teach these lords the cost of their half-hearted support.” He paused, glancing toward the men who had ridden with him, the core of this force who had pledged themselves fully.

“Let them see what they missed, when the spoils are shared,” he continued, a harder tone cutting into his words.

“When the true rewards are given, those who offered us real strength will have the lion’s share.

The others will find their portion far leaner-mere crumbs next to what they might have had.”  Perhapse winning could truly make the nobles commit more troops for the next campaigns, Alpheo thoughts as he was thrutfully on a bind on how to convince the nobles to share more support with the crown, as unfortunately his common background prevented him from that.

Alpheo leaned forward, his eyes sharp with resolve.

“The first thing we’ll do,” he said, “is improve what we’ve been given.

There’s no time to bemoan the lack.

I know Bracum has stores of chainmail inside these walls-if we can acquire them from Lord Xanthios, we might just armor this lot a little better.

He’ll want something in return, of course.

Either we pay him outright, or he gets a greater share of the loot from the campaign.

Either way, we’ll make it happen.” He turned to Jarza, who met his prince’s gaze with an understanding look but a trace of reluctance.

“My lord, the farmers these lords have sent… Well, you saw what’s standing outside those walls.

I’d need months to turn them into anything close to a fighting force.” Alpheo gave a nod, but his expression stayed firm.

“I don’t need them to rival Xanthios’s men, Jarza.

I just need them to hold a spear and march in unison, to have enough cohesion that they don’t break at the first sign of blood.

Give them that much, and we can work with the rest.” Jarza ran a hand over his jaw, mulling it over.

“Aye, I can drill them enough to get them to hold together.

Won’t be pretty, but it’ll hold.” Alpheo cracked a small smile.

“That’s all I ask.

Between Xanthios’s armor, a bit of discipline, and a taste of victory, we’ll make them believe they’re warriors yet.Beggars can’t be choosers after all ”