Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 296

Chapter 296: Brutal but cunnning Chapter 296: Brutal but cunnning Geowulf sat on his throne with the calm poise of a man who had weathered countless storms, his axe resting upright against the arm of the seat.

The weapon gleamed faintly,one could hardly believe that it had been his weapon for decades , during which it saw countless battles.

Edvard, standing just beside him, couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to the axe, its hild worn and battered, triggering a wave of nostalgia.

He remembered the many spars he had with the Knotur as a boy.

The heavy axe, far too unwieldy for his young hands, he had tried to wield many times, all of which failed.

Those lessons were always grueling strangely now that he was an adult he remembered them kindly Edvard’s gaze shifted upward to Geowulf himself.

The silver streaking through his golden hair stood out in the warm light of the hall, a sharp contrast to the vibrant locks Edvard had always known.

Lines etched into the older man’s face told stories of battles fought, losses endured, and victories hard-won.

The sight hit Edvard harder than any blow he had ever taken in training.

The realization that time was slowly catching up to Geowulf was more painful than if he had borne the years himself.

The unshakable rock of his life, the man who had seemed as eternal as the mountains, was aging.  Geowulf looked up at him, his sharp blue eyes cutting through the air like the edge of his axe.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the arms of the throne.

“How many tribes answered the pup’s call?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying a weight that demanded honesty.

The “pup” in question was Virguth, the son of Klarik the same men who a week prior he had killed.

After Klarik’s death, Virguth had clawed his way to power, solidifying his claim by cutting down two of his cousins who dared to stand against him.

To honor his father, Virguth had called for a raid, a bold proclamation that had set the men of his tribe alight with excitement.

Edvard straightened slightly, his tone measured as he responded.

“Three tribes.

The Frosthides, the Embercloaks, and the Thunderhorns.” The previous kingdom of Sarlan, a land once united under a single crown, had long since fractured into a tapestry of rival tribes following its collapse.

The fertile plains, rugged highlands, and dense forests of Sarlan were now dominated by seven great tribes, each having carved out his domain after the kingdom collapse.

There was the FrostHides,the Emberclaoks,Thunderhorns, Ironroots, Bronzehalls and the riverclaws.

To Geowulf, the tribes that joined Virguth’s raid were not mere possible rivals; they were enemies.

And Virguth himself-hot-headed and driven by ambition-was the greatest threat of all.

Geowulf had no illusions about the younger man.

He knew Virguth would not stop at raids or tributes.

Sooner or later, Virguth would come for his throne, and when that time came, it would not be with words but with blades and he feared that at the time he will not be able to fight back.

“Tell me,” he said, his tone edged with steel, “how many of our tribe do you think would join the enemy if I were to call for a succession of blood?” Edvard, standing tall before his chieftain, did not flinch.

“Few,” he replied confidently.

“Our tribe has stood with you through the thick and thin of it.

Many believe your bloodline to be honored by the ancestors, a lineage marked by their favor.

And they hold your son-in-law in the highest esteem for his sacrifice-building that bridge across the Great Ice Flow was what allowed us to live through the last winter.” He flexed his arm, scarred from countless battles.

“As for the ones who might grumble about it, know this: I’ve not gone soft in the arm.” Geowulf allowed a rare smile to play across his lips.

Edvard’s confidence was contagious, but it was the loyalty of his tribe that warmed him most.

He understood how vital it was to have his backyard secure, free from treachery and doubt.

His thoughts shifted to the other sworn to him.

The lords who had bent the knee to him would likely heed his call, he knew.

Their eldest sons were under his roof, hosted as honored guests but also held as collateral.

It was a simple equation: defiance would mean risking the lives of their heirs Geowulf’s smile faded as his mind shifted to the task ahead.

If he was to secure his hold and stave off the chaos that Virguth’s ambitions threatened to unleash, his enemies had to be weakened before they could muster strength against him.

A storm had to be dealt with before it could rage.

Geowulf’s voice was low but commanding as he spoke.

“Do you have everything ready?” Edvard nodded, his expression steady, though the flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes.

“Aye, we’ve chosen the right man for the task.

He is sharp and reliable .

The information we’ve given them is good enough and the face of the operation was made to cooperate.” Geowulf raised an eyebrow, seeking assurance in his words.

“The man at the heart of it,” Edvard continued, “is loyal to the core.

He’s seen enough blood and fire to harden his spirit, and he’ll hold to the story we’ve crafted, no matter what.

Even if they break every bone in his body, they’ll hear nothing but what we want them to hear.” Geowulf leaned back, a shadow of approval flickering across his face.

He knew Edvard’s meticulous nature and trusted his judgment.   “Then send him,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of his choice.

He glanced at Edvard, catching the flicker of unease that crossed his old friend’s face.

“You disapprove?” Geowulf asked, tilting his head slightly, his piercing gaze probing for the reason behind Edvard’s reaction.

Edvard hesitated, then nodded, his expression grim.

“I do,” he admitted, his tone quiet but firm.

“Even after everything, they are our brothers.

The tribes should stand united, especially now, with enemies pressing on every side, we should not stab each other in the backs especially now.

Weakening ourselves only makes us prey for others.Right now we are damning them to death; we both know that.” Geowulf sighed deeply, his expression momentarily softening as if sharing Edvard’s sentiment.

“Sometimes, Edvard, you have to cut off a finger to save the arm.

The alternative is losing it all.

Or do you mean to say you won’t do it?” Edvard straightened, his jaw tightening.

“I swore an oath to you” he said, his voice carrying the weight of unyielding loyalty.

“And I’ll keep it, even if it’s the last thing I do-no matter if the order I carry out is against what I believe is best for us.” Geowulf sighed again, leaning back against his throne.

His shoulders bore the weight of years and choices he wished he didn’t have to make.

“I wish it weren’t necessary either,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with regret.

“But if my grandson is to survive, if the bloodline is to endure, then it means betraying even those we once called brothers.

This isn’t about what I wish-it’s about what must be done.” Geowulf leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and his voice dropped to a tone both firm and weary.

“When my time comes, and you take the reins of this tribe, you will need to understand something, Edvard,” he began, his gaze piercing yet laden with the wisdom of experience.

“The right choice is almost never the easy one.

A man must weigh his integrity against what he truly cares about.

Sometimes, doing what is necessary means staining your soul.

And sometimes, it means questioning if what you hold as sacred is worth something else that you care about, and you keep making that choice until you finally reach the point where the weight goes to the other side, at that moment you know there will no come back.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the implication of sacrifice and the burden of leadership.

Geowulf’s eyes softened as they settled on Edvard, his expression betraying a rare vulnerability.

“I hope,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost a plea, “that you’ll never have to bear a weight like this one.

It’s a burden I wouldn’t wish on someone I see as my son” For a moment, the room was silent, the words between them filling the space with an unspoken understanding.

Geowulf’s gaze lingered on Edvard, as if willing the younger man to understand the depth of what he was saying-not just with his mind, but with his very soul.

Unfortunately, he did not.

How could he?

A man who had walked a straight road all his life, where the good thing and the right choice were always one and the same, could never truly grasp the thorn-laden path of the man burdened with ultimate responsibility to make the choice, where even the best decision could leave scars that would never fully heal.