Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 257

Chapter 257: Being a Father Chapter 257: Being a Father The camp was alive with activity as dawn painted the horizon in pale shades of orange and pink.

Soldiers moved sluggishly through the camp, their armor clinking softly, boots crunching on the frost-laden grass.

The air was heavy with the scent of smoke from the cookfires, where pots of thin stew bubbled faintly.

Some men cleaned their weapons, others checked their gear, but all carried the weariness of the campaign etched into their expressions.

Among them, Lucius and Marcus, two of the twenty soldiers who had led the disguised refugees to breach the gates of Arduronaven, sat cross-legged on the dew-soaked ground.

They leaned against their packs, the morning chill barely bothering them, as they shared a quiet conversation.

The bags under their eyes spoke of exhaustion, but their laughter was light, tinged with the satisfaction of men well-rewarded for their efforts.

“Seventy silverii,” Marcus muttered, running his thumb over a small pouch tied securely to his belt.

He shook his head, still in disbelief.

“Can you imagine?

That’s more than a year’s salary in one night.” Lucius chuckled, tapping his own pouch.

“The prince sure knows how to keep his men loyal.

I’ve seen lords in our camp who wouldn’t part with a single coin after a victory, let alone something like this.” To some, seventy silverii considering that they made 5 each month, might not seem like a fortune, but to them, it was life-changing.

The footmen in the prince’s private army were already paid well compared to most.

Earning five silverii a month, meant that they made more than twice the income of a skilled artisan.

This wage allowed them to live comfortably, purchasing grain-the food of choice for those above the barest subsistence-and even indulge in meat regularly .

Feeding a family of five for a month was no trouble on such wages, and still, there would be enough left to save for the future.

But this gift was another matter entirely.

Lucius smiled to himself, thinking how the coin perhapse would finally convince that old fat oaf to allow him to have the hand of Sabine, Marcus meanwhile, less grounded, was already dreaming of ale and a pair of boots without holes.

The two fell silent for a moment, watching the camp come alive around them, much more than usual. Soldiers seemed to move with a sense of urgency that was uncommon in the slow, groggy hours of the morning.

Groups were gathering in clusters, murmuring with an energy that spoke of something extraordinary.

“What’s all this about?” Marcus muttered, standing up and brushing dirt off his trousers.

He exchanged a confused glance with Lucius before they both rose to their feet.

Marcus spotted a passing soldier, a broad-shouldered man grinning ear to ear, and reached out to clasp him by the shoulder.

“Oi, what’s the ruckus?” Marcus asked, his tone curious but tinged with the irritation of someone pulled from a quiet morning.

The man turned, his grin stretching wider, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Haven’t you heard?” he said, his voice brimming with joy.

“Her Grace, the princess-she’s with child!” Lucius and Marcus blinked at the news, their expressions caught somewhere between surprise and dawning understanding.

“And that’s not all,” the soldier continued, his excitement spilling over.

“The prince himself has declared that today, there’ll be no drills, no duties.

Full rest for the entire army!

And tonight?” He clapped his hands together with a laugh.

“Meat for supper.All hail the prince!” Marcus exchanged a glance with Lucius, their confusion replaced by a broad smile.

The news was welcome, both in what it meant for the future and in the rare gift of a day’s reprieve.

Marcus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well,” he said, clapping Lucius on the back, “guess the prince knows how to celebrate.” Lucius nodded, his smile warm.

“And how to keep morale high.

Can’t say I mind a bit of meat and rest after the weeks we’ve had.” The two stood for a moment, absorbing the ripple of happiness spreading through the camp, their earlier fatigue washed away by the good news.  ————– For the ordinary soldiers, the news of the princess expecting a child came as a delightful surprise, made sweeter by the prince’s declaration of a celebratory feast.

The promise of meat for supper, a rare luxury in their ranks, was enough to spark cheer and laughter across the camp.

For these men, it was a day of rest and camaraderie, a brief escape from the grind of their service.

But for the soldiers of Alpheo’s private army, the announcement carried a deeper significance.

These men, who spent most of their year stationed in the capital, often found themselves in the prince’s presence.

It was not uncommon for Alpheo to stroll among them, sharing a word or two, asking after their well-being, or making a speech.  That, combined with the exceptional treatment they enjoyed-higher pay than nearly any soldier in the realm, generous care for the wounded, and assurances that their families would be provided for should they fall-fostered a bond that went far beyond duty.

To say they were loyal to the prince was an understatement.

For many, it was not just a matter of following orders but of genuine devotion.

Alpheo’s leadership had not only earned their respect but also their unwavering trust.

They knew he valued them as more than tools of war, and in return, they would give their lives for him without hesitation.

Now, hearing that their prince was to be a father filled them with warmth they hadn’t expected.

Making them willing to toast not only to the health of the princess and her unborn child but to the prince himself, a man they felt privileged to call such.

The loyalty of Alpheo’s private soldiers ran so deep it bordered on the unshakable.

These were not men who served out of fear or obligation , making their morale soar into the sky.

Their allegiance extended beyond Alpheo himself; it now encompassed the unborn child he and the princess awaited.

If, by some cruel twist of fate, the prince were to fall that very day, there was not a shred of doubt among them about what they would do.

Every man in their ranks, hardened by countless campaigns and bonded by years of shared sacrifice, would immediately take up arms to safeguard the future of Alpheo’s line.

They would rally to the child, swearing their lives to ensure the heir’s ascension to the throne.

And any noble harboring ambitions of usurping power or exploiting the vulnerability of a regency would face a grim reality when they looked upon the thousand of battle-scarred soldiers gathered outside the gates, led by men such as Egil, Jarza and Asag who would have gladly died in service of their prince, with whom while at the head of command , made the soldiers only know victories and luxury.

—————— Inside the private tent, laughter and the clinking of cups filled the air as Alpheo sat surrounded by his closest companions.

The announcement of the princess’s pregnancy had unleashed a wave of celebration, and his friends had taken it upon themselves to ensure the prince joined in.

Jarza, his face already flushed with drink, grinned as he poured yet another round of wine into Alpheo’s cup.

“Come on, Alpheo” he teased, raising his own cup high.

“You’ve won battles with half an army, stormed walls with fewer men than this, and now you’re telling me you can’t finish a little cup?

Truly, you’re slipping.” Egil leaned back with a roaring laugh, slapping the table.

“Leave the man be, Jarza!

He’s about to become a father-he’ll have no time for wine when the little one’s cries are ringing in his ears.” He turned to Alpheo with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Though I wager the real trouble will be Jasmine.

She’ll have you play with him while she leads court meetings, you will become the woman of the royal family.” Alpheo rolled his eyes but smirked as he took a sip from his cup, earning cheers from his companions.

“If I will know fatherhood to be that bad, I might consider spending all years at war” he quipped dryly, eliciting more laughter.

Alpheo finished his cup with a satisfied sigh, setting it down with a deliberate thud.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over his companions, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he began, his tone light but edged with meaning, “when will the rest of you get around to having brats of your own?

I’d like for our sons to be brothers too.” The laughter rolled for a moment, but Alpheo’s expression shifted, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

His voice took on a serious edge.

“Jest all you want, but hear me on this.

When we return to court, you’ll all be lords.

The days of wandering as free men are coming to an end.

Titles bring duties, and one of those is securing your line.” The men quieted, the weight of his words sinking in.

Alpheo continued, his tone firm.

“With Vroghios dead, his two daughters are eligible for marriage.

The eldest is of age and can be wed immediately following the ceremony.

The younger will wait until she comes of age, but that still leaves her as a valuable match.” Egil set his cup down, his earlier mirth tempered by thought.

“You’re saying one of us should marry them?” Alpheo nodded.

“Not just one of you, two.

I mean to see that each of you is established-secure.

This war has cost us much, but it has also opened doors.

You’ve stood by me through battles and blood.

Now, it’s time to claim the rewards of victory.

” Alpheo leaned forward, his gaze settling on Egil with a determined glint.

“The eldest daughter of Vroghios should be wed to you, Egil.

It was your charge that shattered the rebels’ line and won us this war.

Such a reward is well deserved.” Alpheo’s eyes turned to Asag and Jarza.

“As for the younger daughter,” he began, “I’ll leave it to you two to decide who will take her hand.

She won’t come of age for a few years, but she’ll be a valuable match when she does.” Asag glanced at Jarza, his face breaking into a sly grin.

“Let Jarza have her.

The man’s older, and let’s be honest-he’s got less time to put that cock of his to use before it stops working altogether.” The tent erupted in laughter, Egil nearly choking on his drink as Jarza scowled in mock indignation.

“I’m in my late thirties!” Jarza protested, a hand on his chest as if deeply offended, lying as he was instead in his early forties.

“Hardly old enough to warrant such slander, you bastard.” Egil leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh.

“It’s nice to know my future is being decided without so much as asking me.

Maybe I don’t want to get married at all.

Did that thought cross your mind?” Alpheo smirked, raising his cup to his lips before pointing it at Egil.

“If you waited to marry when you wanted to, you’d go down in history as the patron deity of whores.” The tent erupted in chuckles, Asag nearly spitting his drink as Jarza thumped the table in amusement.

Egil glared at Alpheo, though there was a trace of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“And why is it that you get to decide when and who I marry, eh?” Alpheo leaned forward, his tone light but firm.

“Because it’s not your choice, Egil.

It’s been decided.

The eldest daughter of Vroghios goes to you, and the youngest to Jarza.

That’s final.” He sat back, his smirk returning.

“And you’ll marry as soon as this war is over.

The match is perfect-not just for you, but for the rest of us too.

They’re nobles, Egil.

Tying you and Jarza to high society will do wonders for all of us.” Egil groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Just what I need-embroidered silks and court intrigue.” Asag clapped him on the back, grinning.

“Don’t forget the estates, titles, and a bed warmer with proper manners, and a lady waiting for you .

It’s not all bad.” Egil shot him a withering look, but the humor in his expression betrayed his resignation.

Alpheo raised his cup.

“To the soon-to-be-lord Egil, then.

You’ll thank me one day, I promise.” The group laughed, Egil shaking his head as he lifted his drink.

“Sure.

When that day comes, I’ll let you know.” Alpheo pushed himself up from his seat, his cup held high above his head.

“To the new lordships!” he declared, his voice steady but brimming with warmth.

“To Egil, Asag, and Jarza.

May your estates be vast, your wine plentiful, and your children bear the strength of lions!And may them be brothers to each other as if they came from the same womb” The group erupted in cheers, cups clinking together in a chaotic symphony.

Even Egil, still feigning reluctance, couldn’t help but lift his drink with a crooked grin.