Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 309

Chapter 309: An ugly job Chapter 309: An ugly job Lucius and Marcus stood on the edge of the training grounds, the sun bearing down on the dusty field where the rebels drilled.

A group of peasants, their clothes patched and worn, clutched spears with unsteady hands, stepping forward in staggered lines as they thrust clumsily into the air.

The wooden shafts wobbled with every jab, their grips uneven, their stances weak.

Further away, a ragged circle of slingers spun stones over their heads before letting them fly toward makeshift targets-scraps of bay and tattered cloth tied to wooden poles.

The stones clattered harmlessly off or missed entirely, thudding into the dirt.

The air was filled with the sound of labored grunts, the dull snap of wood hitting earth and the steps of two bored man walking around as if they were outside of it.

Lucius crossed his arms, his sharp gaze scanning the disorderly display.

“How do you see it?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above the breeze that stirred the dust around them.

Marcus let out a long, measured breath, shaking his head as he looked over the scene.

“Worse than I thought,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw.

“Their starved and half of them hold their spears like it’s the first time they’ve touched one.

I’d need at least a month to whip this lot into something resembling soldiers.” Lucius turned his head, arching an eyebrow.

“We don’t have a month,” he said flatly.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Marcus replied, turning away from the dismal drills to face him.

His expression was grim, eyes narrowing with frustration.

“But look at them.

This isn’t a fighting force.

They are sheep with sticks and stones.

You can’t make a wall of spears out of wishful thinking.” He gestured back toward the ragged lines, where a handful of men stumbled over their own feet while stepping into thrusts, nearly falling over.

“They wouldn’t be able to assault stables, let alone castles,” Marcus continued, his voice edged with irritation.

“I’ve seen better coordination from drunkards fighting over a loaf of bread.” Lucius sighed, his gaze lingering on the rebels as one slinger released a stone too early, sending it flying backward and narrowly missing another man’s head.

The poor fool yelped and ducked as his comrades erupted into laughter.

“This is going to be a problem,” Lucius muttered.

Marcus crossed his arms and looked back at the rebels.

“A problem is putting it kindly.A problem is waking up on a wet bed after a drinking night, this is a catastrophe.” Alpheo’s plan had been laid out to the two before their departure, making them understand his over-all plan and to better act on it .

The peasant rebellion, unrefined and desperate, was the perfect smokescreen for Alpheo’s plans, and the two would have to make sure it worked as he wanted.  The plan was simple in principle and in execution, especially for a man that knew just how useful espionage and sabotage truly was.

First, the peasants would be incited to attack lightly defended targets-small castles, who he was certain would be lacking in manpower to mount a true defense, given that the prince had just raised an army and most certainly took a good portion of the various garrisons to mount the numbers .

Lucius and Marcus were to guide the rebels by influencing his leaders , encouraging their attack with the promise of more provisions.

Once a castle fell, the peasants would then strip it bare-food, weapons, and valuables-before leaving the castle entirely .Then Alpheo’s force would be sent to occupy the castle.

 The rebellion would move on, unaware that they were nothing more than tools in a grander game, and Alpheo would point them to the next target.

Each victory would deepen Lechlian instability while bolstering his own power .

”Look at them.

They’re hopeless.

” Marcus said as he kneaded his highbrows Lucius rubbed his jaw, his gaze heavy as he took in the scene.

“Then what do we do?

Someone expects results.” Marcus turned to him, his face hard.

“We push them.

We drill them day and night until they stop thinking like farmers and start acting like something more similar to soldiers .

Because if we don’t, they’ll break the moment they see an actual fight.” The two both knew they were running out of time.

The prince had been generous enough to keep them updated with his intelligence.

Word had arrived that the Lechlian prince had raised an army, and it was already on the move.

Fortunately, for now, fortune favored them: the prince’s forces had first been dispatched to deal with the peasant uprising in the east, while Inor’s growing band of rebels operated in the west.

This small twist of fate meant they would be among the last to be targeted, but it was only a reprieve, not salvation.

The noose was tightening, and both men felt its grip.

 The prince had appointed Arnold’s eldest son as commander.

The appointment reeked of politics, of course.

Lord Cretio, desperate to restore his family’s pride after the humiliating defeat his forces had suffered at the hands of Yarzat’s cavalry, had sweetened the offer.

He had promised 200 footmen and 40 knights to support Arnold’s son in the campaign with the only condition being that Arnold would be the commander, no doubt hoping to wash away the stain of dishonor and rebuild his house’s reputation in the prince’s court while bolstering that of the first prince.

Obviously that made the prince accept the appointment as what his forces lacked most were actual numbers, for after a month he had just managed to raise 450 footmen and 30 knights, which now, thanks to Arnold’s patron, would be 650 footmen and 70 knights, a number more than sufficient to beat a horde of starving peasants, or so he had hoped.

Having faced the Herculeian forces at the Battle of the Bleeding Plains, Marcus and Lucius had a clear understanding of their enemy’s strength.

While the royal army’s prowess could only be described as average at best, it was more than enough to crush starving peasants, whose fighting spirit was little more than desperation.

It was clear that leaving the Herculeian army’s defeat to chance-or to the scattered efforts of ill-prepared rebels-was a hopeless gamble, like playing with the dice of your opponents.

If they wanted any chance of victory, they would have to actively shape Inor’s ragtag force into something resembling an army.

And yet, time-their most precious resource-slipped away like water through clenched fists.

The royal army was coming, inevitable as a storm on the horizon.

Marcus finally broke the silence.

“If strength alone won’t win this fight, we’ll need numbers-fast.

That’s the only advantage we can hope to exploit.” Lucius nodded, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping over the disjointed drills before them.

“Strength may fail, but numbers might just bridge the gap.

If they can’t fight as warriors, then perhaps they can hold as a flood.” Marcus scoffed grimly, his tone edged with pragmatism.

“We’ve got word of other bands scattered nearby.

It’s time we threw them a bone-food, weapons, something-and brought them under Inor’s banner.

If they’re to stand a chance, they’ll need every man we can get.” Lucius furrowed his brow as he observed the disorganized training efforts before them, his voice low and measured.

“There’s a leadership problem we’re overlooking.

The other bands near us have far more men than Inor does.

If we approach them, we’ll be the weaker force.

They’ll see no reason to fall in line.” Marcus snorted, his expression hard but calculating.

“Perhaps.

But we’ve got something they don’t iron.

Show them what we have, intimidate them with the steel we carry while dangling the promise of ample food, and they’ll won’t think twice.

Maybe not the whole lot, but I’ll bet plenty of those peasants will splinter off and join Inor.

And if that doesn’t work, we offer their leaders autonomy-let them keep their bands, let them lead them, as long as they follow orders when the fighting starts.” Lucius grimaced at the thought, his distaste clear.

“A decentralized army?

Bands led by whoever fancies himself a captain?

I don’t like it” Marcus turned to him with a weary shrug, his voice sharp with frustration.

“I don’t like it either.

Just like I don’t like sitting here, risking my neck to teach these dirt-poor peasants how to hold a spear straight.

But apparently what I want doesn’t matter.” He gestured toward the ragged men struggling to train while throwing daggers at Lucius, who was the one responsible for him being there  “You are as unpleasant as acid milk, always complaining and complaining.

Still, we either do this, or we get swept away when the Herculean army comes knocking.” Lucius stood quietly for a moment, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon as if calculating their odds before continuing as he thought of something “If things turn sour, we can always run.” Marcus turned his head sharply, his brow furrowing.

“Run?” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes.

“Didn’t you say that he expects results?” Lucius gave a slight nod, unfazed by the question.

“He does.

But the prince was clear about one thing above all else: we are to keep our support hidden.

If it looks like everything is about to collapse, we cut our losses, sever all ties, and vanish.

No one can trace this back to him.” Marcus let out a low breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he considered those words.

“So that’s the contingency plan?

Abandon the whole mess if it falls apart?” Lucius gave a faint shrug, though his expression remained hard.

“It’s better than staying and dying for a cause that isn’t ours.

If the peasants break, or if the Herculeian army proves too strong, we disappear.” He turned to Marcus, his voice cool and deliberate.

“Alpheo plays the long game.

This rebellion is a tool-nothing more.

If it shatters, we leave it behind.” Marcus gave a dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it.

“Well, that’s comforting,”  Let’s hope he doesn’t think the same for us, he thought in his mind while deciding on doubling his effort on teaching those rebels how to fight.