Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 245

Chapter 245: Fall of the soul Chapter 245: Fall of the soul The day of the assault dawned gray and heavy, the air thick with the kind of tension that pressed down on the shoulders of every soldier before the start of the meatgrinder.

The skies above were eerily empty, the usual flocks of ravens that circled battlefields conspicuously absent.

Far beyond the city walls, they feasted still on the banquet left for them by the Yarzats few days prior, when fleeing stragglers and discarded corpses littered the fields a few kilometers away.

The silence in the skies only deepened the foreboding stillness.

It was as if even nature itself held its breath, sensing the storm that was about to break.

The small walls sorrounded the keep, was their last bastion, their last hope built on sands and ready to unravel at the slightest touch of reality.

Behind the walls, the remaining embers of the army that defended the city now moved with the same hopeleness of a man going to work knowing that tomorrow he would die, each soldiers casting final glances at comrades who might not see another sunrise.

Inside the city, the defenders were gripped by fear, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of what was coming.

But outside, it was a different story.

Alpheo’s men weren’t paralyzed by dread; they were restless, driven by the promise of victory.

Many of them weren’t thinking about survival-they were thinking about the wealth waiting behind those walls.

Craving to get their hands on the richness of a noble house that lingered for half a century On the walls of the keep, fewer than 200 men remained, a ragged and desperate force standing between the invaders and the heart of the city.

Most were barely equipped, some clutching rusted spears or clubs , their tattered armor if they had any offering little protection.

Among them were fewer than two dozen archers, each with a dwindling quiver of arrows-just enough, if rationed carefully, to last through the day.

They were tired, hungry, and painfully aware of the odds stacked against them.

Beyond the walls, an army of 1,800 soldiers stood ready.

Every man wore chainmail that glinted under the pale daylight, and they carried weapons sharpened for the final assault.

Even the lowest-ranked soldiers were better outfitted than the defenders, many wearing armor stripped from those that would need them no more.

In the rear, rows of archers stood in formation, arrows nocked, awaiting the signal to unleash volleys in support of the advancing infantry.

Alpheo sat on his warhorse at the back of the army, His commanders flanked him, their faces set with the excitement of the final assault.

Alpheo’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword, poised to give the command that would unleash the fury of his soldiers.

But before the words could leave his lips, the creak of wood caught his attention.

The gates of the keep groaned open, and a single figure emerged-a man clad in patched armor, clutching a white flag that fluttered weakly in the breeze.

The army fell silent as the figure descended the slope, his movements hesitant yet deliberate.

He stopped before Alpheo, dropped to his knees in the dirt, and raised his head to speak.

“My lord sends word-” Alpheo raised a hand, cutting him off sharply.  “I am tired of your lord’s games,” he declared, his voice carrying across the ranks of his soldiers.

“If he wishes to talk, let him walk to me himself.

Let him kneel before me and hear my terms.I had offered him before and he proudly said that he would fight, now that the time has come, he hesitate?Is a lord’s word could only when it comes from the knowledge of safety?” The emissary’s face paled, but Alpheo continued, his eyes narrowing.

“You will tell him this: he has exactly one hourglass to appear.

Should he fail to trudge from his keep and fall to my feet, I promise you, there will be no mercy.

Not for him, and not for anyone who remains within those walls.Soldiers , servants and family alike” The man bowed his head, trembling, before scrambling to his feet and retreating toward the gate.

The minutes dragged on with a tense stillness, and when Alpheo believed that he was to give the order after everything , the gates leading to the keep creaked open.

A lone figure emerged.

He was clad in battered armor that once might have shone with the wealth of a noble house, now dulled and scratched from weeks of siege and desperation.

His helmet was tucked under his arm, revealing a weary, pale face with lines etched deep from sleepless nights and mounting dread.

His steps were slow but steady, his armor clinking softly as he made his way down the slope, passing through the ranks of Alpheo’s soldiers.

The army bristled as he passed, hundreds of hardened men glaring daggers at the lord of the city.

Some gripped their weapons tighter, their disdain for the man who had resisted them for so long barely held in check.

Others whispered among themselves, sneering at the image of a noble now forced to walk through the enemy’s lines like a common petitioner.

He bore no banners, no prideful insignias of their house, only the reality of defeat etched into his stance.

Vroghios hesitated for only a moment before his knees hit the dirt, his armor clanging as it met the ground.

The proud lord bowed his head low, his hands trembling as he clasped them together in a pitiful plea.

His voice, once firm and commanding, cracked with desperation as he began to speak.

“Your Grace…

I beg you…

for mercy.

Not for myself, but for my family.

They do not deserve the fate that awaits them.

Please…” He knew very well he had lost and right now the only thing he wished was for his house’name not to fall with him.

Alpheo remained mounted, gazing down at Vroghios with a cold stare.

He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, the faint curl of a smirk on his lips.

“This look of hopelessness suits you well, Vroghios,” Alpheo said, his voice smooth yet laced with contempt.

“It’s a pity you didn’t adopt it from the start.

Things might have gone differently.” The kneeling lord flinched but kept his head bowed, unable to meet Alpheo’s piercing gaze.

“You must remember,” Alpheo continued, his tone turning sharper, “I offered you terms-terms that were, I daresay, rather lenient, especially considering the crimes your family has committed over the years.

And yet, you, in your arrogance, rejected them outright.

You thought yourself better than me, better than my army, better than the reality that faced you.You were not of any of them…” Alpheo’s horse shifted slightly, the prince tilting his head as he continued.

“But I think you now understand where that arrogance has led you, don’t you?

Here.

On your knees, in front of the man you thought you could defy.

And behind me?” Alpheo gestured to the battered wall, his voice hardening.

” walls that have crumbled-piece by piece, stone by stone-just as your pride has.

It only needed a final push to fall completely.” Alpheo sat tall upon his horse feed himself on the pride of his victory, his voice cutting through the tense air with the authority of a king and the venom of a serpent.

“These are my final terms, Vroghios.

There will be no further debate, no more games, no more pathetic attempts to salvage the unsalvageable.

You will either accept them, or you will refuse.

Accept, and your house will be spared to continue its existence.

Refuse, and your house will fall, fighting bravely, I’m sure-” his voice dipped into sarcasm, “-but utterly and irrevocably destroyed.

The choice is yours, though I suspect your pride would prefer the latter.” Vroghios flinched, his breathing shallow, his hands still clasped before him in submission.

Alpheo leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“You have proven yourself, with this last act of desperation, guilty beyond question.

You defied me when you had no right to do so.

You gambled the lives of your people, squandered your soldiers, and failed. You, lord Vroghios, are hereby sentenced to death .”  “Your eldest sons-like their father-have forfeited their right to live free.

They will enter the church, along with your wife, to spend their days in prayer and penance for the crimes of their father and husband.

Your daughters and your youngest male son, however, will be spared.” He allowed the words to hang for a moment, then continued, his tone biting.

“Your daughters will be married to men, chosen by the crown, their futures decided by the good graces of their conqueror.

Your youngest son will retain a noble title, as he will be granted a lordship deemed appropriate when he comes of age by her grace” “As for your city,” Alpheo said, gesturing broadly with one hand toward their sorroundings “it will no longer bear your banner.

It will fly the standard of House Veloni-Isha.

It will pay tribute to the royal house and to it alone.

This is no longer your city, Vroghios-it is of my wife.” Alpheo’s lips curled into a cold smile, his gaze cutting into Vroghios like a blade.

“So tell me, lord of nothing, will you choose mercy, or will you choose the ruin your arrogance has courted all along?” Vroghios bowed his head, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed his teeth might crack.

His voice was low, trembling with suppressed rage and humiliation.

“I…

accept.” Alpheo regarded him for a moment, his expression unreadable save for the faintest flicker of satisfaction in his sharp gaze.

He inclined his head, a regal nod that carried both dismissal and finality.

“Wise of you.” His tone, though calm, carried an edge that hinted at mockery.

“You have one hour.

Your soldiers are to disarm and leave the keep.

At that time, you and your family will vacate the premises and place yourselves in the custody of my officers.

Resist in any way, and mercy will be rescinded.

Completely.” Vroghios didn’t respond, his head still bowed, shoulders trembling with the weight of defeat.

Alpheo’s lips curled into a faint, cold smile as he studied the broken man before him.

His voice dropped to a quieter, more personal tone.

“Your house will live on,” he said, almost contemplatively.

“Though what it will become… well, that depends on how wise your remaining son is.

Without waiting for a response, Alpheo turned his horse, his dark cloak trailing behind him as he rejoined his commanders.

Behind him, Vroghios remained on his knees, the echoes of Alpheo’s words a bitter taste in his mouth, as he was walking to his death simply to make sure that his house did not die with him, not knowing if it would ever rise again to the prominence it once had.