Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 226

Chapter 226: Explaining the way Chapter 226: Explaining the way As the week passed , the air around Arduronaven had transformed.

Where there was once open land, now stood four well-organized camps surrounding the fortified city, each positioned to lock down one side of Arduronaven, forming a complete blockade.

Tents were set in orderly rows, with barriers and defensive ditches encircling each camp .

Soldiers, numbering around 2,200 in total, had worked tirelessly alongside various laborers brought by Egil, under the direction of Alpheo’s engineers to secure their positions, carving trenches and reinforcing embankments, each camp becoming its own miniature fortress.

Around the camps, fires burned steadily as the soldiers settled into a rhythm of watch rotations, readying themselves for the siege ahead.

At last, five days after the works started the onagers arrived-a full complement of ten, soon brought into the southern camp where more than half of Alpheo’s “White Army” was stationed.

The engineers worked swiftly, securing the machines on sturdy, level ground just within range of the city walls.

Once in place, the siege engines stood ready, their massive arms and loaded slings like poised fists preparing to hammer Arduronaven into submission.

Alpheo wasted no time.

As soon as the onagers were positioned, he ordered a relentless bombardment, eager to announce their arrival with force.

At dawn, the first stones were loosed, flying through the air with a deadly whistle before crashing into the city walls with resounding impacts.

Each hit sent a shudder through the stones of the city’s defenses and stirred dust into the air.

The onagers kept a steady pace, hurling stone after stone until the morning light gave way to the heat of midday.

Then, with during the afternoon they stopped in order to bring more projectiles , before resuming late into evening ,when everyone inside the city was asleep  The defenders, under this continuous barrage, found no respite.

Even in the darkest hours, the constant echo of stone smashing against their walls kept them from rest, fraying their nerves and leaving them tense, sleep-deprived, and worn.

After a full week spent building camps, digging latrines, and following Alpheo’s endless list of orders, the commanders of the army were growing restless.

They had expected that, by now, Alpheo would have given the go-ahead for an assault-at the very least to begin filling the ditch around the city walls in preparation.

Yet, no such, command had come.

Every time one of them cautiously suggested advancing or inquired about attacking the city, Alpheo shut them down with no explanation.

When the call to war first came from the court, most of the lords had little faith in its success.

Many assumed that the campaign was doomed to failure, and, in line with this belief, they only sent token forces: poorly equipped peasant levies with whatever scraps of armor could be spared.

And, having no interest in risking their own heirs, they appointed third or fourth sons-or lesser knights under their service-to lead these contingents.

Yet while their fathers might have lacked enthusiasm, these commanders felt entirely differently.

For them, this campaign was a rare chance.

They saw the war as an opportunity to distinguish themselves, to catch the eye of the prince consort, and perhaps even earn a place at court.

The younger sons in particular, who stood no chance of inheriting their family’s lands, were eager to prove their worth.

For them, this was more than just an assignment; it was their path to a future beyond the religious path or as wandering knights…

As the days dragged on with little action, the tension in the camp only grew.

They had expected a chance to fight, but Alpheo’s refusal to advance-or even discuss his reasons for delaying-left them increasingly frustrated, caught between his inscrutable patience and their own burning ambitions.

Recognizing the mounting impatience among his commanders, Alpheo finally decided it was time to gather them in the war tent.

The murmur of discontent had grown louder with each passing day, and he could sense the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

If he didn’t address it soon, he knew that ambition and frustration might boil over into outright defiance.

In the war tent, thick wooden poles held up the spacious place .

Oil lamps flickered as the commanders filed in.

The knights bore the rough-cut look of soldiers elevated into command, while others, particularly the younger noble sons, tried to mask their restlessness with a veneer of respect.

In the mix there were some minor nobles who , after hearing about the call and without being asked by their lord-liege, mounted their own small forces in hope of getting part of the loot in case of success.  Alpheo waited until they were all present, letting the silence build as he studied their faces-calculating, hungry, some openly questioning.

He knew they all had the same question in mind: Why haven’t we attacked yet?

His gaze was steady as he leaned over the table, his hands resting on it as he silently stared at each one of them.

Alpheo began with a nod of respect to the assembled commanders, meeting each man’s gaze with calm authority.

“My lords,” he addressed them, his voice smooth but carrying a faint edge that cut through the charged silence.

“In these past days, as the camps have taken shape and the final trench lines have been set, I know that many of you have raised concerns-and questions-about our current position and the lack of preparations for a direct assault on Arduronaven.” Many of which rather persistently…

Several commanders exchanged glances, nodding in agreement.

Some crossed their arms, their expressions expectant, eyes fixed on Alpheo .

Here stood the husband of their prince, the man leading their siege, and for many of them, the liege of their own liege.

They had come expecting swift action, especially from the man whose martial record was unblemished by defeat , yet days had slipped by with barely a whisper of forward movement.

With a calm, deliberate pause, Alpheo continued, “I understand your desire for haste.

I know many of you see this campaign as an opportunity-one to prove yourselves, to rise in honor and rank.” Alpheo’s gaze swept over the eager faces of the assembled commanders, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“For those of you who crave action,” he began, “I bring good news.” With a swift motion, he produced a sealed letter and tossed it onto the table before him.

The commanders’ eyes fixed on the letter, curiosity sparking in their expressions.  “This letter,” Alpheo continued, “is from one of my informants inside the enemy capitals” He gave them a moment, watching as the significance of the message settled over the men like a storm cloud.

“It reports that the Herculian prince is assembling an army at the capital to relieve Arduronaven.” A murmur rippled through the tent, and Alpheo seized the moment to look each commander in the eye, one by one, his voice steady and controlled.

“I have known for some time that the enemy would rally forces.

Knowing this, I decided against a costly assault on these walls.

Why weaken our own strength in a reckless storming of the city, when a far greater battle awaits?The city may come to us later as we instead wait for the enemy to directly come to us.” Amidst the murmurs that filled the war tent, a young man stepped forward, shoulders squared with the air of someone eager to prove himself.

“Your grace,” he announced, his voice cutting through the room, “I am Leontis, son of Lord Pyrros of Sistarorum.” Alpheo turned his gaze toward Leontis, who continued with a steady but questioning tone.

“How long, do you think, before we face them directly?” “At most, a few weeks,” Alpheo replied, his expression calm.

He studied Leontis as the young man nodded thoughtfully.

Still undeterred, Leontis pressed further.

“Then, your grace ” he ventured, “wouldn’t it be wiser to start preparing siege engines now, to bring the city under heel?

After all, the turncloak Vroghios is right here in front of us.

We could capture him before the Herculian army even arrives.” There was a stillness as the young lord’s words hung in the air, the commanders’ eyes flickering between Leontis and Alpheo,some even nodding at the young noble’s intervention.

Alpheo’s voice rang out firmly, commanding the room.

“I’ve already stated,” he began, “there will be no assault on the walls until our enemy’s reinforcements reach us.

That day will come, but not now.” Leontis’s jaw clenched, and he leaned forward, his discontent plain.

“But my lord, surely a small attempt could be made to taste the water ,” he argued as his rashness went ahead of his “and if your grace is not confident into breaching them , may I volunteer to lead-” Alpheo cut him off sharply, his voice rising with frustration.

frustration he felt at everything that started from the blatant lack of participation from the great lords, to the consistent questioning of men beneath him.

Erupting from the blatant overconfidence of a young man barely older than him, and yet with no experience in war whatsoever.

“Lead what,Sir Leontis?

The mere dozens of men your father sent with you?

Men whom I personally had to equip with proper armor because they arrived here with nothing but spears and shields?Completely turning a blind eye to the state they were in, and whom your father believed wise to send them as their due to the crown?” His gaze was unyielding, fixed on Leontis, while most of the men in the tent knew the accusation was not only against him  “Are you so confident you could take these walls with so few, or merely arrogant enough to think you might?Or perhaps you thought that I would allow you to lead my soldiers when clearly your father did not give you enough?” The young lord faltered, remembering at that moment that the person a few summers younger than him was the prince consort of his liege, a man who personally delivered the crown to the princess, after smashing every enemy that had risen against her in rebellion, whom some believed he had plotted the death of the rebel lord.

Seeing the young man leaning back, Alpheo’s voice softened but remained resolute as he continued, addressing everyone in the tent.

“I have given my orders and my reasons, none of which will be questioned anymore ” Alpheo stated, sweeping his gaze over the gathered commanders.

“This is a battle we will fight when we are ready, not a day before.

Each one of you is here to see Yarzat’s justice delivered, and that will come not through impatience but through strategy.

So, let there be no more questions on this matter, the city will fall after we win against our enemy in battles.” The tent fell silent, the commanders exchanging glances, Leontis sinking back into his place as the other big lords in the room, nominally Lords Damaris, Shahab, and Xanthios, all clearly stood in support of Alpheo as none came in support of his interjection.

Meanwhile maye tkaing pity in him , Lord Damaris stepped forward, a slight smile on his lips as he gave a respectful nod to Alpheo.

“Your grace ,” he interjected smoothly, his tone light but firm, “forgive the young Sir Leontis.

He is merely hot-blooded, eager to prove himself in service of Yarzat.” He cast a measured glance at Leontis, who immediately took the way out kindly offered by the lord ”Yes my deepest apologies your grace, I was out of line…”He spoke as he bowed Alpheo exhaled, his tension easing as he nodded.

“Very well,” he replied, his tone softening.

His gaze swept over the commanders, his expression now returning to one of calm stoicism “If there are no further questions,” he said, “it is time we focus on what truly matters-our preparations for when the Herculian army marches toward us.”