Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 252

Chapter 252: Talks before swords Chapter 252: Talks before swords Alpheo sat comfortably on a simple wooden chair, his fingers drumming idly on the armrest as he glanced at the small table before him.

Two seats had been arranged, one for himself and one for his guest-a modest setup that hinted at civility before a proper start for the siege.

A pitcher of cider and two cups sat on the table, untouched.

He was mildly surprised that the lord of Bricaterun had requested a parlay so soon.

Typically, these things dragged out, with defenders holding onto their pride and usually waiting for the attacker to call the parlay.

Yet here they were, barely into the first stages of encirclement.

I suppose it helps kills time, Alpheo mused, adjusting his posture.

Sieges, after all, were dull affairs.

Long stretches of waiting punctuated by occasional skirmishes and endless logistical headaches.

The chance to look his opponent in the eye and measure the man was a welcome diversion.

At Alpheo’s side stood the various lords that he had chosen to witness the parlay with, them being , lord Shahab , lord Xanthios , lord Damaris , Jarza and Asag.

Egil, however, was notably absent, as he was out with his riders this time under Alpheo’s orders , tasked with requisitioning half the food stores from each village within the surrounding territory.

His orders were explicit: take enough to sustain the army but leave the people largely unmolested.

Not a decision born of kindness-Alpheo knew the difference between mercy and strategy-but one made with an eye toward negotiation.

If this parlay turns sour, Alpheo thought, his mind neutral ,iron and fire remain at our disposal and are still an open option for the sorrounding land.

The creak of the city gates was the first sound to break the tense stillness.

All eyes turned toward the opening, where a small contingent of men began to emerge.

Alpheo, seated at the makeshift table set between the camp and the walls, rose deliberately from his chair, his gaze narrowing on the approaching figures.

Ten men accompanied the lord, their armor polished enough to catch the sunlight.

Behind them, fluttering in the light breeze, was a banner bearing the sigil of a stone tower-the unmistakable symbol of House Hervius.

Alpheo studied the group closely, his expression unreadable but his mind working swiftly.

So this is lord Ilbert, he thought.

Beyond the name, he knew little of the man who ruled behind these walls.

I wonder if he’s the kind of lord who bends when he is in the corned or the kind who breaks after biting hard….

The contingent marched forward.As they neared, Alpheo stepped away from the table, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword-a gesture not of threat but of readiness.

His own advisors and knights shifted subtly, forming a loose semicircle behind him.

The two groups approached each other at an even pace, closing the distance until they stood a respectful few paces apart.

Alpheo’s gaze swept over the man at the forefront of the opposing party, and he immediately presumed this was Ilbert Hervius, the lord of the city and head of House Hervius.

Ilbert was tall and broad-shouldered, his full black beard neatly groomed, contrasting against his fair skin.

His long, dark hair fell just above his shoulders, framing a face marked by a life of command but not untouched by weariness.

His sharp, dark eyes observed Alpheo with quiet calculation, measuring the man before him just as Alpheo measured him.

lbert was the first to break the silence, inclining his head respectfully, as protocol dictated.

“Prince Alpheo,” he began, his deep voice steady and measured.

“I would have preferred that our paths crossed under more amicable circumstances than the shadow of siege and war.” Alpheo returned the gesture with a faint nod, his tone polite yet laced with an edge of pragmatism.

“Lord Ilbert, your courtesy does not go unnoticed.

I, too, might have wished for a meeting free of swords and walls between us.

But fate, it seems, has other plans.” He gestured toward the table, his expression neutral.

“Shall we?” The two men clasped hands briefly, their grips firm but devoid of unnecessary theatrics, before lowering themselves into the chairs set at the table.

Their entourages remained vigilant a short distance away, silent witnesses to the unfolding parley.

Ilbert leaned slightly forward, his features adopting an air of polite cordiality.

“Your triumph on the Bleeding Plains was no small feat,” he remarked, his words chosen with care.

“Especially considering the disparity in numbers” Alpheo allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, though his eyes remained as sharp as ever.

“You honor me, Lord Ilbert, though I merely wield the blade I’ve been given.

A lesser man might despair at the odds, but the tools of war often yield to the hand that wields them well.” His tone darkened as he leaned back slightly, his voice steady yet colder.

“As for our mutual friend, the prince-it was high time someone taught him that meddling in matters beyond his grasp comes with consequences.

Some lessons are best learned with the sting of the rod, lest the dog forgets its place and growls where it should bow.” Ilbert chose not to address Alpheo’s biting remark about the prince, his silence a subtle acknowledgment of the awkwardness of speaking ill of one’s liege.

He shifted slightly in his seat, maintaining a calm and measured demeanor.

Alpheo broke the silence, his tone laced with curiosity.

“I must admit, Lord Ilbert, I hadn’t expected you to be the one to request a parlay.

It’s not often the defender seeks out the invader.” Ilbert met Alpheo’s gaze, his expression steadfast.

“I have always preferred peace to war, Your Highness.

Bloodshed is costly, and it seldom spares the innocent.” Alpheo smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair.

“Peace, yes.

I’d love peace too-if I were losing the war.

But as I see it, I’m not.

In fact, I’d say I’m winning, and very well at that .” His words were sharp, his gaze unyielding as he studied the man before him Ilbert inclined his head slightly, not rising to the bait.

He chose his words carefully.

“Perhaps,” he began slowly, “there is a path to peace, at least as far as this city is concerned.” Alpheo raised his eyebrows, saying nothing but clearly inviting him to elaborate.

Ilbert took the cue, his tone measured but persuasive.

“I am prepared to offer a substantial gift to spare my people further harm,” Ilbert began, his gaze unwavering.

“Ten thousand silverii, with a quarter of it in aureii, if you would agree to withdraw your forces and leave my lands untouched.” He leaned back slightly, watching Alpheo for any sign of interest or agreement.

Alpheo’s lips curved into a faint, calculating smile, the kind that invited no trust.

His voice was conversational but laced with a biting edge.

“Tell me, Lord Ilbert, what do you think your liege is doing at this moment?” Ilbert maintained his composure, though his shoulders stiffened.

“He is preparing to relieve me, Your Grace.

My prince is not the kind to abandon his vassals in their hour of need.” Alpheo chuckled softly, a low, indulgent sound that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

“Relieve you?” He repeated, almost amused.

“I suppose that’s one way to describe fortifying Herculia like a madman.

My scouts report he’s been turning his precious capital into a fortress for weeks now.

Stones stacked, supplies hoarded, every granary bursting.

And yet…” He paused for effect, letting his words hang in the air.

“…I never had any intention of pursuing him there.” Ilbert’s face remained neutral, though a flicker of unease crept into his eyes.

Leaning forward, Alpheo dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, his sharp gaze piercing through Ilbert.

“Do you truly believe, Lord Ilbert, that your prince would fare better against me in a second battle than he did in the first?” Ilbert said nothing, his jaw tightening as he held Alpheo’s gaze, refusing to rise to the bait.

Alpheo smirked at the silence, his voice turning cold and sharp.

“No, I don’t think so either.” He leaned back in his seat, studying Ilbert like a cat cornering its prey.

“I wonder,” he said, his tone light yet venomous, “how many troops remain with him?

How many lords still swear him loyalty?

I know that some nobles with their troops left his capital these past weeks.

Returning to their fiefs, perhaps?

Raising more men for their brave prince?Or maybe…” Alpheo paused, a mockingly contemplative look on his face.

“…they’ve simply grown tired of propping up a doomed prince.” Ilbert inhaled deeply, his face a mask of forced calm.

“Your Grace,” he said, cutting through the tension, “regarding my offer?” Alpheo’s sharp gaze flicked to him, and his smile vanished.

“There will be no such deal,” he said curtly.

“The only thing I want is the castle behind you.

Here is what I will offer in return: bend the knee and swear fealty to Princess Jasmine of Yarzat.

Do this, and I will leave your lands unscathed.

I will even grant your people a one-year exemption from taxes before resuming the tribute you already paid to Lechlian.” Ilbert’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tone colder now.

“Did you offer such a generous deal to the Lord of Arduronaven?

Surely he would have leapt at the chance, given his history of bending the knee to any man who asked.” Alpheo gave a short, derisive cough, his expression darkening.

“Vroghios,” he said, his voice laced with disdain, “was no lord.

He was a turncoat, a rebel, and a traitor.And he was behaded for that ” Ilbert’s face tightened, his composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm underneath.

His voice was icy and precise as he replied, “Then that is what I would be, Your Grace, if I accepted your terms.” Alpheo threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing across the space between them.

“Vroghios rebelled against the crown over a land dispute, protesting the assignment of lands by Arkawatt’s father to his second son, Ormund, on some land he believed it was his .

A petty grievance.

When he was defeated, he threw his lot in with Lechlian, thinking he’d find safety there.

And what came of it?

Twelve years later, his head rolled clean off his neck.” He leaned forward, his voice taking on a sharp, instructive tone.

“Vroghios went against the oath and contract he made with the crown.

But let’s not forget, Lord Ilbert, that it’s a two-sided coin.

A lord is bound to be loyal and aid his prince.

But a prince is equally bound to protect and uphold the rights of his vassals.

When a prince breaks that contract first, when he fails his duties, the lord is fully legitimized in seeking a new master.” Ilbert stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice measured, “but my lord has done me no ill.” Alpheo’s smile didn’t waver, but his gaze sharpened as he studied the man before him.

“Not yet,” he muttered under his breath, his thoughts unspoken but clear in his calculating expression.

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Ilbert.

“Here’s what I propose,” he began, his voice steady but firm.

“Send word to your liege of your plight.

Inform him of the siege and that you need aide.

If, in two weeks, relief has not come, then it will be clear to all that Lechlian has failed you, breaking the sacred contract between liege and lord.

At that point, you would be lawfully justified to swear loyalty to my wife.Which is what you will be, in exchange I will leave with my army for good, provided you obviously stay loyal to us…” Ilbert said nothing at first, his gaze distant as he weighed the proposal.

His fingers tapped lightly on the table, betraying his inner turmoil.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but resolute.

“And if I do that?

What will I be but a turncloak?” Alpheo sighed deeply, as though addressing a stubborn pupil.

“Then let’s put it plainly,” he said, leaning forward, his tone sharpening.

“I want this city.

That much is certain.

But it can fly my banner outright, or it can remain under your rule as a loyal vassal of Yarzat.

The choice is yours.” He gestured toward the distant walls of Bricaterun, his voice growing colder.

“Remember this: I needed less than a half a week, to take Arduronaven when I decided to put it under assault .

Imagine what I could do here with a month.”