Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 244

Chapter 244: Bonds Chapter 244: Bonds Two soldiers grunted as they hoisted a heavy stack of timber from the cart, sweat dripping from their brows in the noonday sun.

The makeshift fortifications surrounding the enemy’s inner keep were already beginning to take shape-barricades, sharpened stakes, and wooden palisades designed to hold any sudden attempt at a breakout.

It had been two days since Arduronaven fell, and the soldiers of Alpheo’s army worked tirelessly, fueled by both orders and their own hunger for profit.

The first soldier, a wiry man with a crooked nose, set his bundle down with a loud thud and straightened his back, groaning.

“I swear, if I see another copper coin, I’ll spit.

Damn peasants didn’t have more than a few silvers between them.” The second soldier, a broader man with a patchy beard, wiped his hands on his tunic and nodded.

“Tell me about it.

Thought we’d be walking out of here with enough gold to live like lords.

What did I get?

A sack of copper, few carrots, and a pair of boots that don’t even fit.” Crooked Nose snorted, grabbing another plank.

“Same here.

Most of ’em barely had anything worth taking.

It’s all in there.” He jerked his head toward the imposing inner keep, its tall stone walls defiant despite being surrounded.

“That’s where the real treasures are-gold coins, jewelry, silks, good women.” Patchy Beard nodded, his eyes narrowing at the keep.

“Figures.They are on their last leg they are simply waiting for us to descend on them.” Even after two days of looting Arduronaven and the battlefield outside its walls, the average soldier in Alpheo’s army found their personal spoils underwhelming.

For all their efforts, most had barely managed to scrape together the equivalent of two months’ pay.

The city’s common folk had little to offer beyond copper coins, a few tarnished silvers, and household trinkets, while the real wealth remained locked away in the inner keep The battlefield had offered more promising plunder: weapons, armor, and the occasional pouch of silver taken from fallen enemies.

However, Alpheo’s decree had been clear-spoils of war in the form of arms and armor were to be surrendered to his private stores.

Instead of immediate coin, soldiers received signed paper bonds from their prince, promising a specific sum to be paid out after the campaign concluded.

Though some soldiers grumbled about not holding their silver immediately, most of them trusted Alpheo.

His reputation as a leader who honored his word and rewarded loyalty carried significant weight.

Better this than a sack of worthless armor I can’t carry.  Was the common thought passing on soldier’s head  Still, the lack of tangible silver left a trace of saltiness in the air.

As many would have preferred to hold the coins in their hand What began as mild discontent soon turned into a creative workaround.

Soldiers started using their bonds as currency among themselves , for bettering or paying each other .

Some even used them to buy extra rations .

“Got a bond for five silver,” Crooked nose spoke as bragged to his friend, shaking a slip of parchment in the air.

“Won it off a poor bastard who thought he could out-roll me.” Before long, a bustling micro-economy emerged, running almost entirely on Alpheo’s promises of future payment.

As soldiers referred to the paper as “Alpheo’s Marks”, though it was an economy that relied mostly on betting and repaying debts to each other.

Crooked-Nose continued to boast to his companion, his voice loud enough to carry over the clatter of tools and the shuffling of wood.

“I tell you!

If lucks continue to favor me as she did until now and I will have enough to buy an horse once this war’s done,” he said, smirking as he held up the parchment bond as if it were a royal decree.  His friend meanwhile wasn’t listening.

His face had gone pale, and his eyes darted behind Crooked-Nose before he quickly bent into a low bow.

“What’s got you-” Crooked-Nose began, turning with a half-formed sneer.

But the words caught in his throat as he came face to face with none other than Prince Alpheo himself.

Alpheo sat tall on his horse, his calm gaze fixed momentarily on the pair before it drifted down to the trench being dug before them.

Crooked-Nose, suddenly aware of the parchment still in his hand, stuffed it hastily into his tunic and bent into a clumsy bow, his mouth still slightly open.

“Y-your Grace,” he stammered, eyes darting to the prince’s boots.

Alpheo’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Don’t mind me.

Return to your work,” he said, his tone measured and even, as if speaking to a council rather than soldiers fumbling at their labor.

The prince then turned his attention to the keep, his face growing serious again.

His sharp gaze lingered on the sturdy stone walls and the banners still defiantly fluttering atop them Crooked-Nose and his companion, still frozen in their bows, exchanged nervous glances before hurriedly picking up their tools again, digging with newfound fervor as Alpheo’s presence loomed behind them.

As Alpheo continued gazing at the keep, his voice suddenly broke the awkward silence.

“What was it you were talking about just now?” Crooked-Nose froze mid-swing of his shovel, a bead of sweat instantly forming on his temple.

He cleared his throat, fumbling for words.

“J-just, uh…

just some vulgar talk between soldiers, Your Grace.

Nothing worth troubling you with.” Alpheo turned his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Vulgar talk, you say?

Before I was a prince, I was a common soldier like you that led men, many of the officers above you are familiar with me on a close basis.

I’ve heard my share, and perhaps worse.” Crooked-Nose straightened, his nervous chuckle breaking into a weak grin.

“Well, uh…

actually, I was just saying I won some marks yesterday, Your Grace.” Alpheo’s brow arched sharply.

“Marks?” His companion, standing stiffly beside him, quickly blurted out, “The bond, Your Grace!

The papers you issued us after the battle, in exchange for the loot.

We’ve been calling them marks, your grace’s marks more exactly .” Alpheo’s smile grew a touch wider as his gaze dropped to the trench again.

He allowed a brief pause, as if savoring the thought.

“Marks,” he echoed, the word rolling off his tongue with faint amusement.

His mind flicked to a distant memory,from a book he had read about the evolution of curreny .

He recalled the Maritime Republic of Genoa’s ambitious attempt at introducing paper currency in the 12th century.

Which unfortunately did not work for various reasons , amongst all the fact that such paper bonds were only accepted through some specific banks, as in fact it was not a currency for the average person, but instead as a promise to certain merchants that if they went to another bank under their firm, they would usually get the amount that was written in that bond.

A method mostly used for merchants that would have long travel towards the holy land, as bringing with them their money was too dangerous.

Remembering his past, Alpeho’s lips curled into a smirk, his amusement at the unintentional parallel evident.

“Marks, indeed,” he murmured, as if to himself.While thinking on the back of his mind to try and employ something similar.

His sharp eyes were scanning the soldiers and their trench.

Then he turned back to Crooked-Nose, who stood stiff as a pole, unsure whether to keep digging or stand at attention.

Alpheo’s smile lingered, but his tone took on a more thoughtful edge.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said, his voice calm but steady.

“But let me give you one piece of advice, soldier.” Crooked-Nose blinked, his nervous grin fading as he hung on the prince’s words.

“Luck,” Alpheo continued, “can be a powerful ally…

or a cruel deceiver.

It’s blind, fickle, and never something to trust too much.

A wise man uses luck when it comes his way but never leans on it.

Keep that in mind.” Crooked-Nose gulped, nodding quickly, his earlier bravado completely deflated.

“Y-yes, Your Grace.

Of course, Your Grace.” Alpheo gave a small nod, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face at the soldier’s earnestness.

“Good.

Now, back to it.” As he said so he moved away from the trench, letting the clatter of shovels and muted chatter of the soldiers fade behind him.

As he walked through the busy encampment surrounding the keep, a familiar figure hurried into view-Vronsk, the towering and broad-shouldered head of his personal guard.

The man’s brow was furrowed with concern, his armor glinting dully in the daylight as he jogged up to Alpheo’s side.

“Your Grace,” Vrosnk said, his voice low but thick with frustration, “where have you been?

You disappeared without a word.

I had half your guard scouring the camp for you.” Alpheo turned slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I simply decided to take a walk,” he replied, his tone light, almost teasing.

Vrosnk’s brows furrowed deeper.

“With respect, Your Grace,” he said, his words measured but firm, “next time, I’d appreciate being informed before I send your guards running in circles.” Alpheo exhaled softly, his expression relaxing as he resumed his pace.

“Your diligence, as always, is noted and appreciated, old friend,” he said, his words kind yet deliberately noncommittal to the request just made.

Vrosnk opened his mouth as if to protest, but he quickly clamped it shut, swallowing any further retort.

His shoulders stiffened as he fell in step a few paces behind Alpheo, clearly exasperated but unwilling to press the matter further.

Unbeknownst to the loyal guard, Alpheo’s brief excursion had sparked a fresh idea-one he intended to explore further and implement on a small scale as an experiment.