Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 243

Chapter 243: Taking the city Chapter 243: Taking the city The sun was high above the city of Arduronaven when Alpheo rode through its battered gates, the sound of his horse’s hooves muffled by the debris and blood-soaked streets.

He sat tall in his saddle, his polished armor glinting in the light, the silver-and-gold cloak of his wife’s house draped across his shoulders.

His expression was stern, his gaze sweeping over the ruin that had once been the proud city of Arduronaven Behind him rode his commanders, their banners snapping in the breeze, bearing the sigils of houses loyal to his wife.

Each lord carried themselves with the satisfaction of a campaign reaching its crescendo, forgetting that their aid in the campaign had been minimal.

Alpheo’s column moved through the streets, flanked by their close guards .

The golden steeds, resplendent in their gilded armor, marched in disciplined ranks, as they in fact had their spoils already counted so there was no need to debase themselves as the common footmen .Soldiers clad in mismatched gear laughed and shouted as they helped themselves to the spoils of war, raiding abandoned homes and overturning market stalls.

 Even Alpheo’s private army, renowned for their iron discipline and unyielding loyalty, had cast off their usual restraint.

Though they moved with methodical precision, their faces betrayed an eagerness to claim their reward, as after weeks of besieging this city they were eager to take in their part.

Looting was everywhere.

Soldiers pulled goods from shops, their arms overflowing with stolen wares.

Women screamed, some pleading for mercy, others bargaining to keep their families safe, as soldiers had no qualms in getting their victor’s due.

 Alpheo had given orders: no indiscriminate killing and no arson, the rest was permitted.

But aside from these constraints, the city had been laid bare for the taking.

His men seized food, weapons, gold, and more, dragging their prizes back to their camps or pocketing them as their spoils of war.

The air was thick with the mingled smells of smoke, blood, and fear.

Alpheo’s horse stepped over a discarded merchant’s chest, its precious contents scattered across the cobblestones.

He barely spared it a glance, just wondering how much silver and copper was in there Ahead, he could see the keep rising like a grim monument in the city’s heart.

It was his next destination, the final bastion of resistance.

For now, the streets were his, claimed in blood and conquest, and his soldiers were making sure no one would dare dispute it.

Alpheo’s horse slowed as he entered the city’s main square, a wide, open space now crowded with the trembling remnants of some of Arduronaven’s populace.  These were the refugees-the desperate souls who had thrown open the gates in a bid to survive.  Alpheo’s sharp gaze swept over them as he approached, his horse moving with a measured, almost disdainful gait.

His commanders rode behind him, their expressions unreadable, while his guards flanked him, their hands resting warily on the hilts of their swords.

From the dense crowd, twenty figures emerged hesitantly, their steps faltering as they moved forward.

The tension among Alpheo’s guards was immediate, their hands tightening on their blades as they prepared for the slightest sign of treachery.

“Hold,” Alpheo commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

His guards froze, though their eyes stayed locked on the advancing figures.

The twenty men moved closer, each step more hesitant than the last, until they finally stopped a few feet away.

In a single motion, they dropped to their knees.

Alpheo’s keen eyes studied the kneeling figures before him, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face.

These were the soldiers he had smuggled into Arduronaven, disguised as refugees-his handpicked men who had turned the tide of this siege with their cunning and resolve.

A small, satisfied smile played on his lips.

“Rise,” he said, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic warmth, though his tone retained its usual authority.

“I know you, men.

You were the key to this victory, the shadowed blade that opened the gates of this city for my army.

Without you, this conquest would have been far more costly.” The soldiers exchanged glances, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten, their faces lighting up with pride.

They bowed even deeper, their voices murmuring gratitude as Alpheo continued.

“You have done more than your duty.

Such feats do not go unnoticed, nor unrewarded.

Rest assured, your due will be worthy of what you’ve achieved here today.” The kneeling men smiled broadly, some visibly fighting back tears of relief and joy.

They knew the weight of their prince’s word and bowed even lower, their voices rising in unison, “Thank you,your majesty” Behind Alpheo, the assembled lords and commanders of his wife’s court exchanged quiet, uneasy glances.

Though they made no move to voice their thoughts, their disdain was apparent in the stiffness of their postures and the faint flicker of disapproval in their eyes.

To them, the conquest of Arduronaven through guile and treachery was not the path of glory or honor.

A city taken by open siege, with steel clashing on the battlefield, was the way of true conquest.

Yet they held their tongues, for now.

Whatever their misgivings, Alpheo had delivered them victory.

The city was theirs, its walls breached, its defenders scattered.

Pragmatism dictated their silence.

As Alpheo prepared to turn his horse, a voice rose from the group of kneeling men, hesitant yet firm.

“Your grace, may I speak?” The interruption drew Alpheo’s sharp gaze, his highbrow rising as he surveyed the speaker.

A moment passed before he inclined his head slightly, granting permission with a subtle gesture.

The man, Lucius, stepped forward from the group, his demeanor humble but his tone steady.

“My prince, for the past weeks, my men and I were barely fed .

The people behind us,” he gestured toward the refugees, “were enlisted in this cause with the promise that once the city fell, they would be fed.

We ask that your word ensures they are granted that mercy.” Alpheo’s features hardened slightly as he considered the request, his dark eyes narrowing in thought.

Then, after a short pause, he gave a curt nod.

“It will be done.

The city’s stores will be opened to them.

Their hunger will be sated, as promised.” After all giving a bit of food costed him nothing Lucius bowed his head in gratitude but hesitated before stepping back.

“There is one more matter, your grace” he said carefully.

Alpheo’s gaze flickered again, though his tone carried a hint of impatience.

“Speak, then.” “Many among the defenders of this city,” Lucius continued, his voice lowering, “are kin to these people.

Brothers, fathers, husbands.

They fought because they had no choice, not out of rebellion or defiance.

We humbly ask if it would be possible to spare their lives.” ”Did you promise that too?” Alpheo asked briefly Lucius eyes trembled ”N-no your grace..” A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd, the refugees daring to hope for clemency.

At last, he spoke.

“As your reward for the service you’ve rendered,” he said slowly, “this mercy will be granted.

Those who have surrendered and layd down their arms will be spared and released without arm , and if wounded they will be treated ” The words were met with a wave of audible relief and gratitude.

The refugees, overcome, prostrated themselves before him, their foreheads touching the ground.

Cries of thanks and blessings for “His Grace” rose among them, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere that had enveloped the square moments earlier.

Alpheo watched them for a moment, his face a mask of detached composure, before turning his horse with a swift motion.

Behind him, the lords exchanged more uneasy glances, but they held their silence once again As Alpheo turned his horse to depart, Sir Mereth, riding a short distance behind, cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice measured but edged with reservation.

“Your Grace,” the knight began, addressing Alpheo with the proper title, “the men you’ve promised mercy-they fought against us, spilled the blood of your loyal soldiers.

Does such defiance not demand justice with blood?It would be unjust toward them to extend such treatment to their killers…especially given how they resisted us.” Alpheo halted his horse and turned his gaze toward the knight, his expression unreadable.

He held Sir Mereth in a brief, piercing stare before speaking, his tone calm but laced with authority.

“The fact that we’ve conquered this city with so little bloodshed has put me in a merciful mood, Sir Mereth,” Alpheo said, his words slow and deliberate.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, “Do you think your charge into a routing army, as admirable as it may have appeared, is the reason we stand victorious today?” Sir Mereth’s face reddened slightly, and he lowered his head, bowing in deference.

“No, Your Grace,” he murmured.

“If it weren’t for these men infiltrating the city,” Alpheo continued, gesturing subtly toward the kneeling group of Lucius and his comrades, “we would still be hurling our soldiers’ lives at those walls, hoping for a break.

If the cost of this city’s fall is to spare a few hundred men and provide a few thousand mouths with meals, then I’ll pay that price with my eyes closed.” His voice dropped into a softer, cutting tone.

“Do you have any further objections, Sir Mereth?” The knight immediately bowed his head lower, his armor creaking slightly with the movement.

“No, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone contrite.

“Good,” Alpheo said curtly, turning his horse once more.

“Then let us proceed.

There is much to be done.” Behind him, the lords exchanged brief glances but remained silent.

Sir Mereth kept his gaze down, his jaw tight, as the prince led the procession forward, his authority unquestioned and his decisions final.

Egil spurred his horse forward, the animal kicking up a cloud of dust as it closed the short distance to Alpheo.

Leaning closer to the prince, Egil’s youthful face morphed into an happy smile , his blonde hair tousled beneath his helm.

“It’s time someone shut that old man’s foul mouth” Egil muttered under his breath.His hand briefly tapped the hilt of his sword as if to emphasize his frustration.

Alpheo turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze meeting Egil’s care-free one.

Though he remained silent for a moment, his expression conveyed that he was already aware of the tension simmering between the two commanders.

It had been present since the campaign’s start, a rivalry impossible to ignore.

Sir Mereth’s staunch sense of honor and rigid adherence to chivalry clashed fiercely with Egil’s chaotic and pragmatic approach to war.

The seasoned knight commander had long believed that Egil’s brash demeanor and unorthodox tactics disqualified him from the title of knight, a sentiment he had not hesitated to voice, albeit indirectly.

Egil, for his part, seemed to revel in proving the old knight wrong at every opportunity.

His greatest triumph-a devastating victory in which his light cavalry annihilated a far larger force of heavily armored knights-had only served to deepen the rift between them.

While Egil’s victory had cemented his reputation as a brilliant tactician among the younger soldiers, it had further antagonized Sir Mereth, who saw the unconventional tactics of skirmishing on horse as lacking the honor befitting true knighthood.

Alpheo’s lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile, though his eyes betrayed no amusement.

He placed a hand on Egil’s shoulder, his grip firm, a silent reminder of the discipline he expected from his commanders.

“Egil,” he said evenly, his voice low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the lords and men behind them, “we’ve just taken a city.

Save your fights for the battlefield, not within my ranks.” ”Come on Alph, you know very well that some rivalry between commanders is a good thing, it spurn us forward” Alpheo simply didn’t aknowledge the statement with his attention as he moved his head the other way looking straight at the other two.

“Jarza, Asag,” Alpheo began, his tone commanding yet conversational, “when the soldiers are done enjoying their spoils, I want them to start fortifying our position around the keep.

That’s the last ember burning before this city is truly ours.” Asag groaned theatrically “I was hoping for a little rest.

Surely a few hours to enjoy the fruits of victory isn’t too much to ask?” Alpheo let out a low chuckle, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“I didn’t realize you were so delicate.

Perhaps I should send you to a farm.

I hear the cows could use another hand.” Jarza barked a laugh, and Asag rolled his eyes, though his grin widened.

“Fine, fine.

I suppose I can push through for your sake.” “You’re too kind,” Alpheo said dryly”Perhaps next time, I’ll have cushions and sweet wine with some strawberry brought out to the battlefield just for you, to let you know not to overstretch yourself and take care of your health.” The four men chuckled, their camaraderie briefly lightening their surroundings.

Jarza straightened in his saddle, his grin fading into a look of determination.

“Understood, Your Grace.

We’ll see to it immediately.” Asag nodded, his playful demeanor giving way to a soldier’s resolve.

“The keep will be surrounded and secure before tomorrow night’s over.” “Good,” Alpheo said, satisfied.

“Let’s finish this the way we’ve started-efficiently.”