Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 273

Chapter 273: New turns Chapter 273: New turns Keval moved with through the grand halls of the imperial palace of Romelia, his polished boots clicking against the intricately tiled floor.

The corridor stretched endlessly before him, lined with towering columns of alabaster veined with gold and lit by the soft glow of chandeliers dripping with crystal.

Murals of Romelia’s past glories adorned the walls, depicting victories in battle, the crowning of emperors, and the divine blessings bestowed upon the dynasty.

Every detail spoke of grandeur, yet to Keval, it felt more like a theater of hypocrisy, he hated the place, but mostly he hated the work.

As the regent’s son and the former empress mother’s brother, his presence here was a necessity, given what his father regarded as a fantastic work done the one he did in his absence  Truthfully he just wanted to retire back home, with his wife, instead of going to sleep dark in the night with his daughter and wife already asleep.

With a sigh he kept walking forward Guards in ceremonial armor stood at intervals, their gazes forward but their awareness acute.

Keval met none of their eyes, though he noted their posture and positioning.  His mind was clouded as he passed under a massive archway carved with depictions of the imperial eagle, its wings outstretched .

The symbol, once something he had admired as a boy, now seemed hollow.

It reminded him of his sister, the former empress mother-her rise, her arrogance, and her catastrophic fall.Her audacious attempt to abduct her own son, the emperor, still echoed in the court, though none dared speak them aloud when Keval or the regent was near as it was kind of a taboo.

Her disgrace had splashed over the entire family, staining their family’s prestige.

And here he was, her brother, walking the halls he had once walked as regent.

Keval’s fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, more out of habit than necessity as he reached the door leading to his father’s study.

As he approached the heavy oak doors, he noticed two familiar figures standing vigil outside.

The first was Alaric, the knight-commander of the emperor’s personal guard, someone that he actually respected given his great fervor in protecting his nephew.  While on the other stood…

Garvin.Once a lowborn mercenary, he had been part of the group that abducted the young emperor, only to turn against his companions and ensure the boy’s safety when he realized the full weight of their crime.

His actions had earned him a pardon from Emperor Mesha himself, who, in a rare moment of magnanimity mostly spurred from his young age , granted Garvin a place in the crown’s guards.

It was a post Garvin had embraced eagerly, no doubt spurred by the generous pay and steady position-a far cry from the precarious existence of a sellsword.

As Keval’s eyes settled on him , the rugged guard’s demeanor shifted.

For all his confident bearing moments before, Garvin now looked down, his gaze fixed on the polished stone floor.  Keval paid it little mind, lifting his hand to knock firmly on the heavy door before pushing it open and stepping inside.

The room beyond was warm, with the glow of midday light spilling through tall, arched windows.

Scrolls, maps, and ledgers lay in neat but voluminous piles on a massive desk of dark oak.

Behind it, Marthio, the regent, sat .

At sixty-five, he bore the weight of his years with dignity, though the lines on his face and the silver in the little hair he had , betrayed the burdens of ruling in his grandson’s stead.

His piercing gaze lifted to meet Keval’s entrance, softening briefly in acknowledgment.

Beside Marthio stood Emperor Mesha, an eleven-year-old boy who carried himself forward with all the confidence a boy could have.

Keval paused for a moment, he remembered his nephew as a child of laughter and unrestrained joy, his bright smiles lighting up any room he entered.

But those days seemed far away now.

The events surrounding his mother’s betrayal had left their mark on the boy too .

The once vibrant boy now carried a shadow in his eyes, his smiles rarer, his laughter more subdued.

He was still a child however , so sometimes smiles and laughter came to him on their own.  And yet, amidst the sorrow, Keval saw the bond that had grown between the boy and his grandfather.

Marthio had stepped into the role of protector and mentor with fervor, and Mesha, in turn, had gravitated toward him.  Marthio’s sharp gaze fell on Keval the moment he entered the room.

The regent, always perceptive, leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled before him.

“Keval,” he began, “I assume you’ve come to report?” Keval inclined his head respectfully, stepping forward.

“I have, Father.

Pontius wrote.” At the mention of the name, Marthio’s expression shifted into one of keen interest.

He had basically been ,a gift to the princess, while in reality it was for her husband .

Officially, he was an engeneer and architect sent to assist the Yarzat court with his knowledge , while instead behind the scene, he served as Marthio’s eyes and ears in Yarzat.

His missives were detailed and frequent, providing the regent with a steady stream of insight into court politics,and military action that the prince-boy took while in war.

It wasn’t like they were fundamental for him, however, he believed that since a great deal of the Empire’s interest lay with the boy-prince, it was better that they knew what was going on in his backyard.

For the last months , Pontius had been their primary source of information regarding Alpheo’s conflict with Herculia.

The reports ranged from military victories to the movement of the army.

Marthio nodded, gesturing for Keval to continue, meanwhile Mesha, standing quietly beside his grandfather, glanced up at Keval as well, his youthful curiosity momentarily breaking through the solemnity that had come to define him in recent months.  Over the past months, Mesha had become an increasingly present figure in the day-to-day administration of the empire.

Though still young, the boy had shown a keen interest in understanding the vast machinery of governance.

He often stood at his grandfather’s side, listening intently as Marthio dictated orders, reviewed reports, or doign anythign worth watching. From time to time, Marthio would pause to offer his grandson a lesson, explaining the reasoning behind his decisions or testing Mesha’s own understanding of the matters at hand.

Though the child was still growing into the weight of his responsibilities, his sharpness and resolve were unmistakable, traits Marthio privately attributed to the father’s blood, which luckily he took more than from the mother.  Among the many matters that occupied the regent mind was the quiet acknowledgment that Prince Alpheo of Yarzat was undoubtedly aware of Pontius’s true purpose.

Alpheo was no fool, and Marthio respected him all the more for it.

It was one thing to allow a spy to operate under your nose; and another being aware of that and limiting him to just what he wanted to show.

In truth, Marthio often praised Alpheo in private for his remarkable acumen.

The reports of the prince’s victories-especially the decisive triumph against the Herculeian prince-had left the regent genuinely impressed.

The sheer strategic brilliance of the campaign, coupled with Alpheo’s ability had taken Marthio aback.  Keval began his report in a measured tone, relaying the details with precision.

“For the past month, the Yarzat prince has been orchestrating raids into the lands of the Herculeian prince.

His forces have laid waste to the countryside, burning villages, torching granaries, and plundering supplies, while sparing the people .

Notably, one of his retainers, leading the light cavalry, intercepted and destroyed an expeditionary force dispatched by the Herculeian court to halt the raiding.

The enemy was smashed before they could organize effectively.” Keval paused briefly, ensuring he had Marthio’s full attention before continuing.

“Following the weeks of fire and pillaging, the Yarzat army withdrew back into their territory.

Supplies in Bracum, already scarce, forced their hand.

They left the Herculeian lands devastated, but they avoided prolonged engagements or any attempts at sieging more castles.” Marthio leaned back in his chair, his shrewd eyes flicking to his grandson.

The faintest smile tugged at his lips, more in thought than mirth, as he turned his gaze toward Mesha, who was following the conversation with keen interest.

“Why do you think the Yarzat prince chose to pillage the countryside,” Marthio asked, his voice low and reflective, “instead of laying siege to additional castles?

Surely he could have taken them, or at least tried.” Mesha furrowed his brow, his young face a mask of concentration as he pondered his grandfather’s question.

After a few moments, he ventured, “Perhaps they lacked the supplies to sustain a siege?

That would make it difficult to hold their position long enough to take the castles.” Marthio gave a soft chuckle, the sound more approving than amused.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly.

“But the real reason lies elsewhere.” His tone shifted, becoming the instructive cadence of a mentor imparting a lesson.

“You see, Yarzat has no natural defenses-no rivers, mountains, or dense forests to shield them.

Their territory is an open plain, a land that invites invasion.

The only barrier between them and their enemies are their border castles.

Those fortresses are all that keep Yarzat from being overrun.” Marthio’s sharp gaze lingered on Mesha as he continued, his voice deliberate and precise.

“Before the princess ascended the throne, her father’s reign was marked by repeated invasions from the prince to the south.

Now, with the boy-prince leading the armies, the Yarzat prince has taken a different approach.” The regent leaned back again, his expression thoughtful.

“This campaign wasn’t about taking castles.He saw an opportunity to cripple his neighbor to the west-the Herculeians.

And to do that, he turned his attention to the villages.

By setting them aflame and leaving the countryside in ruin, he’s inflicted a wound far deeper than the loss of a few strongholds.” Marthio gestured lightly, as though conjuring the image of the scorched lands.

“For the next year, the Herculeian prince will face famine and a loss in manpower.

His granaries are ash, his fields untended, and his villagers displaced.

Worse still, the banditry will surge.

When the Yarzat prince’s forces left those villages unmolested, they left behind thousands of hungry, desperate people.

Many of them will turn to theft and violence to survive.” The regent’s eyes gleamed with respect “This isn’t just a raid-it’was a punch to the gut .

By the time the Herculeian prince recovers, he’ll be weaker than ever.

And all the while, Yarzat secures its western border, while leasurely sending his army to besiege more fortresses once the autumnal harvest comes…” Keval’s eyes flickered toward Mesha as the young emperor nodded earnestly, absorbing every word his grandfather spoke.

The boy’s youthful face, was set in a mask of intent concentration.

He listened as Marthio continued his explanation, his small hands resting on the table in a posture far more serious than his years should have allowed.

Keval couldn’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy as he observed his nephew.

The transformation was undeniable.And yet, for all the sorrow that lingered in the shadow of recent events, Keval also saw something else: Mesha’s growing competence.

Perhaps this is for the best, he thought.

His nephew was finally receiving the education and guidance he deserved, lessons that would prepare him for the monumental responsibility of ruling an empire.

Marthio had taken the boy under his wing, not merely as a grandfather but as a mentor, sculpting him into a ruler worthy of the throne, even if the cost for that was his own daughter, an exchange that the more time passed everyone believed heavily leaned onto everyone’s best interest.