Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 313

Chapter 313: Great raid(2) Chapter 313: Great raid(2) By many hailed as Emperor, Mavius stood tall on the rise overlooking the camp.

The sun, low on the horizon, bathed the sprawling tents and banners in a fiery orange glow.

His gilded armor gleamed in the fading light.

A column of cataphractarii, their heavy armor clinking faintly with each step of their steeds, delivered the latest batch of prisoners into the camp.

The captured barbarians trudged forward in a ragged line, bound by thick ropes that snaked between them.

They wore for the most part little more than fur pelts, their faces streaked with sweat and dirt, their heads bowed low in defeat.

Mavius observed them with an inscrutable expression.

There were 340 prisoners in all-warriors of the tribes that had dared raid the empire’s borders.

These men had been caught during the rout after the devastating charge of the cataphractarii had broken their ranks and crushed their hopes of escape.

This was the third barbarian band stopped in its tracks on imperial soil this week , and Mavius felt a satisfaction at the sight.

The so-called “sons of the north” were learning that the empire’s lands were not as weak as they had believed.

Already, slavers were preparing to take possession of the prisoners.

Merchants and handlers, some with parchments in hand, moved among the captives, evaluating them with cold efficiency.

The deals had been struck even before the final capture, payments made to the imperial coffers for these new slaves.

Their fates were sealed: labor in the mines, a short and ugly sentence for the rest of their life.

Mavius’s gaze lingered on the barbarians as they stumbled into the camp, their once-defiant postures broken.

These were men who had thought themselves invincible, raiders who had sacked villages and taken what they pleased.

Now they were nothing more than property Mavius stepped into his grand tent, the flickering light of oil lamps casting shifting shadows across the heavy canvas walls.

His armor clinked softly as he removed his gauntlets, handing them to an attendant before turning to the guards stationed outside.

“Bring the prisoner,” he commanded, his voice sharp and even.

Within moments, the guards reappeared, escorting a man into the tent.

The prisoner was no common barbarian; he wore fine clothes-a woolen tunic of deep blue, trimmed with subtle embroidery-and his clean, composed appearance suggested he had been treated well.

Yet, as he entered, he knelt immediately, pressing his knee into the dirt-strewn ground of the tent.

“Your victory is nothing short of magnificent,your grace” the man said, his tone deferential, his head bowed in respect.

Mavius studied him for a moment, then sat on the cushioned stool at the center of the tent.

“You flatter me too easily,” he said.

“We defeated a mere detachment of their forces-a small band of raiders.

But my scouts tell me the rest of the barbarians have begun amassing as soon as word of their comrades’ defeat reached them.

Soon we will have a real battle at hand” The man on the ground bowed lower.

Mavius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded the prisoner closely.

“The information you provided was accurate,” he said, his tone measured but tinged with acknowledgment.

“Had I not known their movements, it would have taken far longer to assemble my forces and repel them.

Time, as always, is the edge of the blade.” The man lifted his head slightly, his expression calm yet tinged with a certain humility.

“My master is honored to have served the emperor” he replied.

His voice carried the faintest note of pride, though he maintained his subservient posture.

Mavius had initially planned to march south.

His mind had been set on accomplishing on what he failed last year. Yet, before the full army could be raised, a messenger arrived at his doorstep, bearing an unexpected plea.

The man, clad in travel-worn but well-kept clothing, introduced himself as a servant of Aric, the new lord of Aldo.

He claimed that some of the tribes who had overrun Sarlan were now planning a great raid on the lands of his master.

Of course that was a cover-up story that Mavius bought.

As soon as his scouts confirmed the story , the emperor of the east departed the capital with the men raised thus far-2,000 footmen, 600 archers, and 250 cataphractarii.

And right now, after that small taste of victory, there was the question of what to do with what he held in his hands right now.   “I am thankful for the information,” he said, his tone even and measured, “but I must ask-why did your master risk his new overlord’s wrath by bringing this to me ?” The man bowed low before speaking, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Your grace….each passing day, the good Sarlani people are mistreated, enslaved, and robbed of their dignity.

My lord Aric’s heart bleeds at the thought of such suffering and begs for your intervention.

He promises that, should your army cross the Morzul River, he and his men, along with his fellow lords, will rise to your banner, swear loyalty and banish those barbarians to the desolate place they came from.” Mavius leaned back slightly, his piercing gaze fixed on the messenger.

The emperor’s mind worked swiftly, considering the implications.Of course he had no intention to do that….for now after all he was in contest to take his throne.

Still, he had no reason to refuse an opportunity to establish an informant in his new neighbor’s court who would without doubt follow with other raiding parties in the future  After a brief silence, Mavius offered a diplomatic nod.

“My heart, too, bleeds at the thought of such suffering,” he said, his voice resonant with conviction.

“I will come to their aid, but only once the war against the traitors has reached its conclusion.

Order must first be restored here, and then I will march to Sarlan’s liberation.” The messenger knelt low, his forehead nearly touching the ground.

“Your grace’s kindness will not be forgotten,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

“My lord will await your banner and stand ready when the time comes.” Mavius leaned forward, his sharp eyes fixed on the prisoner kneeling before him.

“In the meantime,” he said smoothly, his tone carrying both authority and calculated warmth, “I hope your master will continue delivering such important information.

If I am to liberate the poor Sarlani people, I will need all the help I can get.” The prisoner raised his head slightly, still careful to keep his eyes low, and replied with earnestness.

“Your grace, my master, had this intention from the very start.

He is committed to aiding your righteous cause in every way possible.” Mavius gave a single nod, gesturing to the guards stationed nearby.

“Cut his bonds,” he ordered.

The guards obeyed without hesitation, drawing their daggers and severing the ropes that bound the man’s wrists.

The prisoner flexed his hands briefly, a faint relief visible in his expression.

Mavius rose from his seat, his tone shifting to one of apology.

“I regret that you were brought to me in such a manner,” he said.

“I needed to be certain this wasn’t some elaborate trap.

I trust you understand the necessity of caution in times like these.” The man stood slowly, rubbing his wrists but maintaining a respectful bow.

“There is nothing to apologize for, your grace.

What you did was prudent-what any wise ruler would do in your position.” Mavius studied the man for a moment, then nodded again, his expression unreadable.

“Good,” he said simply before dismissing the men and ordering his men to give him a tent and a bath.

Until now, the campaign to repel the raiders had gone remarkably well.

In three separate engagements, his forces had crushed bands of 1,500 barbarians, killing more than half, capturing 340, and scattering the survivors into disorganized routs.

But now, his scouts reported unsettling news: the remaining bands had united into a single force, determined to give battle.

Mavius wasn’t sure how to feel about this development.

On the one hand, facing the raiders all at once meant he could end the campaign decisively with a single victory.

On the other, the sheer numbers gave him pause-he was outnumbered nearly two to one.

Yet numbers weren’t everything.

The enemy lacked both discipline and cavalry, two elements he could exploit to devastating effect.

If he played his cards right, the day could still be his.

He considered waiting for reinforcements.

But delaying would come at a steep cost: it would give the raiders more time to wreak havoc on his lands, to torch villages, and plunder what little they hadn’t already taken.

Worse, it would project an image of weakness, something he could ill afford after the sting of his last defeat.

Though his previous campaign had been largely successful, that single blemish still hung over his reputation.A bold and immediate victory would go far to erase it and what better enemy than half naked barbarian raiding onto his land?

Mavius leaned over the map on his table, his fingers tracing the routes his forces would take.

The decision was clear.

“Luck favors the bold,” he murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile, drawn up both from his decision and the fact that he now had an informant between the barbarian line, not knowing however that he was not the one playing them, but instead the one being played by one who quickly learnt the art of intrigue.