Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 269

Chapter 269: Rewards Chapter 269: Rewards The grand halls of the throne room came alive that morning, courtiers in their richly adorned robes clustered in groups, whispering among themselves .

Nobles, clad in their finest but still bearing the subtle marks of recent campaigns, a sight that was purposefull kept, stood in solemn clusters awaiting for the princess to start the ceremony.They held their head high, with their recent victory over the Herculains being the crown they put atop their head  At the far end of the hall, the High Priest, stood near the dais, while his servants kept swinging the ball, burning the incense.

High Priest Oren, was a venerable figure with a long, silvered beard and sharp..

Though his expression remained calm, the undercurrent of his thoughts told a different story.

His gaze occasionally flicked toward Alpheo, the Prince Consort, with a subtle tinge of frustration.

Oren had long harbored a quiet resentment toward Alpheo.

It wasn’t just the prince’s infrequent attendance at the grand temple’s ceremonies that irked him-though that alone was enough to stir whispers among the devout-it was the utter disinterest he showed in matters of faith.

Oren had made several attempts over the years to offer counsel, to guide the prince toward deeper devotion to the Five Gods, yet each suggestion had been met with polite indifference or outright disregard.

Alpheo’s ears seemed perpetually closed to divine wisdom.

If he did not know better-if it weren’t for the prince’s outward adherence to the necessary rites-he might have believed that Alpheo didn’t truly believe in the Five Gods at all and was an heretic .

A thought which was, in fact, the truth, though Oren remained oblivious to it.

Instead, he rationalized Alpheo’s dismissive attitude as a product of poor education.

After all, it was not unheard of for provincial temples especially in the empire, to inadequately teach the subtleties of faith, leaving their congregants half-informed or even skeptical.

In Oren’s mind, Alpheo was a victim of such negligence, a man who simply needed the right enlightenment to rekindle his devotion.

Returning to the ceremony , the Princess sat gracefully upon her high-backed throne.

The hall fell silent as she rose slightly, her emerald-green eyes sweeping across the assembled courtiers, nobles, and high-ranking priests gathered before her.

Her black hair was neatly braided and adorned with a delicate silver circlet, giving her an air of serene majesty.

When she finally began to speak, her voice carried across the vast hall with measured clarity.

“My lords and noble friends,” she started, her tone steady but warm.

“Today, we stand united in celebration of our victory, not merely against swords and shields, but against the dishonor that sought to stain the name of Yarzat and this crown.” Her words were met with a low murmur of agreement, and a few nodded their heads.

Jasmine paused, allowing the sentiment to settle, before continuing.

“The vile ambitions of our enemies sought to bring shame upon us, to question our sovereignty, and to diminish our strength.

Yet through your loyalty, your courage, and your sacrifices, we have proven that neither our honor nor our people can be so easily subdued.” She sat back slightly, her hands resting on the arms of her throne, her gaze softening as she looked over the room.

“But I know full well that this triumph is not mine to claim.

It is the fruit of the unwavering support of my leal lords and gallant knights-those who took up arms to defend this realm without hesitation.

To each of you who marched, who fought, and who gave of yourselves to protect Yarzat, I offer my deepest gratitude.” Her voice grew gentler but no less sincere.

“You have not only preserved the honor of this land; you have strengthened the very bond between crown and kingdom.

And for that, I will forever be in your debt.” Princess Jasmine’s voice took on a more deliberate tone as she raised her hand to command attention once more.

“Such loyalty,” she declared, her eyes meeting those of the gathered nobles and knights, “must not go unnoticed.

Nor should it go unrewarded.” The room grew quiet as her words resonated through the hall.

She stood briefly, her gaze settling on one figure in particular among the crowd.

“Let us begin with a man whose wisdom has guided this realm through its darkest and brightest hours.

My grandfather, Lord Shahab, Primus Ministerio of the court.” Lord Shahab with his silver-streaked hair and a weathered but dignified face, stepped forward.

He moved with the steady grace of a man accustomed to the weight of responsibility.

Bowing deeply, his robes brushed the stone floor as he paid his respects to Jasmine.

“Your Grace,” he said simply, his tone reverent.

Jasmine inclined her head slightly, her voice warm but formal.

“Since the day I ascended the throne, you have been one of the shields standing before me, protecting this crown and this land with your wisdom and loyalty.

Today, we honor your service.

Tell me, Grandfather, what reward would you ask of me?” The room waited in hushed anticipation as Lord Shahab straightened, his sharp eyes meeting hers with a hint of familial pride.

“Your Grace,” he began, his voice steady but humble, “whatever I might have desired has already been given to me-a granddaughter who rules with grace and strength, and a kingdom that stands firm under her reign.

I ask for nothing more.” Which clearly translated meant :For now I do not want anything, but maybe in the future I will.  After all it wasn’t rare for a lord to want the crown to owe a favor to him, as after all one never know what could happen in the future, and whetever that favor will come in handy “Even so, you have my gratitude,” she said sincerely.

“Your wisdom, your valor, and your tireless service shall not be forgotten.

The crown will remember this, and so will I.” It came as no surprise to the gathered court that Jasmine chose her grandfather, Lord Shahab, to be honored first, as after all he was her closest immediate family.

None begrudged this recognition, even though the lion’s share of the recent campaign’s merit clearly lay with her husband, Alpheo.

When Lord Shahab returned to his place, Jasmine’s voice rang out again.

“To my prince consort ” she called, and all eyes turned to the prince consort.

Alpheo stepped forward with a practiced grace, his black hair brushing his shoulders as he knelt before her.

Jasmine’s voice softened slightly, yet it carried a weight that commanded respect.

“Alpheo,” she began, “you have stood steadfastly by my side, both as my consort and as my champion.

For your victory over the Herculian prince, for the capture and execution of the turn-cloak rebel, and for the subjugation of Bricaterun, you have shown this realm and all who watch us the undeniable strength of the crown.” Her emerald eyes shone with a mix of pride and gratitude.

“For this, I hereby grant you the lordship of Confluendi, along with the fealty of the nearest castle within its bounds.I also give you the right to bear vassals sworn to you and enfoiffe them as you wish.

May you continue to serve as a shield to this realm.” Alpheo bowed his head deeply, his voice steady but humble as he replied, “I am honored, Your Grace.” Jasmine nodded, a flicker of satisfaction passing over her features as she motioned for him to rise.

As Alpheo returned to his place, the murmurs of approval among the court began to rise.

Jasmine allowed them a moment before raising her hand once again.

“Now,” she announced, her voice firm, “Lord Xanthios, step forward.” Jasmine’s gaze settled on Lord Xanthios, her tone warm yet authoritative as she spoke.

“Lord Xanthios,” she began, her voice carrying across the great hall, “for your valor in holding the line against the forces of the turncloak, allowing our army to secure what would become a decisive victory, and for the many contributions you have made throughout this campaign, it is only fitting that your loyalty and bravery be rewarded.” She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, “For these deeds, I hereby grant you lordship and the fealty of the castles of Verathis, Greystone, Nitholme, and Ravnor.” A ripple of astonished murmurs spread through the assembled lords and courtiers.

Lord Xanthios himself froze, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Though he had been assured by the prince that his service would not go unnoticed, he had never imagined such a grand reward.  He stepped forward, bowing low before the princess.

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion, “I am…

unworthy of such generosity.” Truthfully, all that he wanted was to take the head of Vroghios, and now that the prince had delivered on what he promised , everything that came afterward was a bonus for him.

Jasmine’s lips curved into a faint smile.

“Your actions prove otherwise, Lord Xanthios.

The crown remembers those who serve it well.” He bowed even lower, his voice steadying as he said, “Then I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of your faith, now and always.” Jasmine’s gaze shifted across the hall, her voice resonating as she called out, “Sir Egil, step forward.” There was no surprise among the assembled nobles and commanders at the name; if anyone in the hall deserved recognition, it was Sir Egil.

His deeds during the campaign were already the stuff of legend-no one could deny his achievements on the battlefield.

Murmurs of approval rippled through the gathered lords as Egil strode forward with his characteristic nonchalance, a faint grin playing on his lips.

Jasmine addressed him, her tone proud and formal.

“Sir Egil, for your unmatched valor in the campaign against the Herculeians, for besting a larger contingent of knights and leading the charge that secured our great victory, and for your significant role in defeating the second expedition mounted by the Herculeian prince, it is only fitting that your service be rewarded.” She paused for effect, her emerald eyes glinting as she continued, “I hereby grant you the castle of Raventhorne and the fealty of the nearest villages.” Egil knelt before her, his grin widening into a genuine smile as he bowed his head.

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice carrying his usual easy charm, “you honor me beyond words” Jasmine inclined her head slightly, a satisfied smile on her lips As he rose and returned to his place among the nobles.

Egil’s grin returned, his manner relaxed but his pride unmistakable.

The ceremony proceeded with a steady rhythm, Jasmine meticulously fulfilling the promises Alpheo had made to his commanders during the campaign.

Among the recipients was Lord Damaris, whose role, though less dramatic than others, had been pivotal in its own way.

As one of the main contributors of men and resources, his support had been essential to sustaining the campaign’s momentum.

He was rewarded with the castle of Vehron and its surrounding villages, a holding distant from his ancestral seat of Megiorduroli.

This arrangement, though generous, subtly ensured that his influence in the heartlands remained balanced.

It was understood that the new lands would likely be passed to his second son.

The distribution of honors continued in this manner, with Jasmine rewarding those who had achieved notable but less celebrated feats during the war.

Castles, villages, and titles were bestowed upon nobles, ensuring their efforts were acknowledged.

Even sir Mereth, that had fought alongside Egil in the night attack over the Herculeian expedition , who also captured by single combat the enemy general, was rewarded with a small castle near Aracina, the costal city where everything started for Alpheo.