Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 332

Chapter 332: Other side of the coin Chapter 332: Other side of the coin The first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, casting a soft golden light across the rebel camp perched atop the fortified hill.

The morning mist clung to the trenches and palisades, painting the scene in an eerie stillness that felt like the calm after a storm.

Inor stood near the edge of the hill, his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

His face was drawn, his gaze fixed on the winding path leading to the camp.

The faint sounds of weary footsteps and clinking metal grew louder as the remnants of the night attack emerged from the distance.

He had risen before the dawn, unable to sleep, and now watched the somber procession with growing dread as he sadly found out that his worries were well-founded Of the three hundred who had departed under Gerric’s command, fewer than fifty returned, their leader not even being with them.

Their battered forms shuffled up the slope, their heads bowed in defeat.

Mud and blood caked their clothes, and their hollow eyes saying everything that words could not  As the survivors neared the trenches, those within the camp sprang to life.

Soldiers helped their comrades over the earthen barriers, while others formed a silent line, their expressions grim as they counted the few who had made it back.

From among the tents and makeshift shelters, women began to emerge sometimes with children sometime alone, their faces lighting with brief hope at the sight of movement.

They hurried toward the trenches, calling for their husbands.

But as the moments passed and the truth began to settle, hope gave way to sorrow.

Those searching faces furrowed and crumbled, the realization dawning that their loved ones were not among the returning.

Quiet sobs broke the stillness, and a wave of grief swept through the camp like an unwelcome wind, damping the morale of the entire camp.

Inor’s jaw tightened as he watched, his knuckles whitening where they gripped his arms,turning away into anger as he retired into his tent.

—————– Inside the tent, Lucius was bent cleaning his nails with a small dagger.

Marcus sat nearby, sharpening his sword with a whetstone, his calm expression betraying none of the tension that had overtaken the camp.

“You damned fool!” Inor barked as he entered, his voice loud enough to make both men look up sharply.

“Three hundred men!

You caused three hundred men to walk into that slaughter, and fewer than fifty returned!

What in the gods’ hells were you thinking?” Lucius straightened, his face a mask of neutrality that only stoked Inor’s fury, he after all had much less attachment to the fate of the band than him .

“I was thinking of weakening the prince’s forces,” he replied coolly, his tone deliberate.

“And for what it’s worth, Gerric was supposed to strike swiftly and return.

It’s not my fault he lingered, that ‘s what happen when one doesn’t have useful underlings.The plan was sound the execution was not ” “Not your fault?” Inor snapped, his voice rising further.

He slammed his fist onto the table, making the map flutter.

“You planned this idiocy!

You convinced me to let Gerric lead that damned attack!

Don’t you dare wash your hands of this, you bastard!” Lucius’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t tell him to kill time looting tents or what the hell that fool had been doing wasting time around,” he retorted sharply.

“The plan was clear: hit fast, cause chaos, and retreat.He was no cavalryman, and certainly he was not of sharp mind.

Gerric chose to gamble, and he paid the price for his recklessness.

you want someone to blame?

Take a shovel and go find him, but don’t go finding fault with me.” Inor took a step forward, before he could do whatever he thought he would be doing , Marcus interjected, his voice calm but firm.

“Enough, both of you.

What’s done is done.” He set his whetstone aside and rose to his feet, his towering frame making Inor thinking twice before picking a fight with Lucius, whom he apparently failed to notice was holding a dagger in a much more straigthforward manner.

Seeing the tension in the tent ebbed, the heated words dissipating into silence. Lucius turned his attention back at cleaning his nail.

After a moment, he brought one finger to his lips and blew softly against it, inspecting it for any stubborn residue.

Satisfied, he wiped his hands on his cloth and glanced at Inor, who still lingered near the entrance, his shoulders tense with frustration.

Before Inor could make another remark, Lucius spoke, his voice measured and calm.

“Before you waste more time finding fault with me, perhaps you should focus on reassuring your people,” he said, his tone cutting just enough to make his point.”They just watched their leader leave after seeing their comrades suffer great casualties.Go back to them you fool” Inor frowned, turning back to face him.

“Reassure them?

And how, exactly, should I do that?” Lucius raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly against the table.

“Start by telling the cook to prepare double portions for tonight.

Food does wonders for morale, even for men who’ve just lost friends in battle.

Then gather them and remind them of this: whatever happens, whether they fall in battle or live to see victory, their families will be fed, their children looked after.” He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing after thinking of something else “But make it clear that to ensure all of that, they must stay united.

Strong.

We can’t afford divisions now, not with the prince’s army breathing down our necks or some shits like that ” For a moment, Inor said nothing, his face unreadable as he stared at Lucius.

The silence stretched, heavy and tense, before Inor finally gave a slow nod.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the tent, leaving Lucius alone with Marcus.

Lucius smirked as the tent flap closed behind Inor, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

“Stubborn ass motherfucker” Marcus stood silently for a moment, watching Lucius with a mix of concern and impatience.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

“Should we proceed with the plan to leave?” His eyes flicked toward the tent flap as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment.

“Everything’s ready.

Two horses are waiting just outside the camp.

We can be gone before anyone realizes.” Lucius paused, his hand hovering over the map he had been studying.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Marcus’s, giving him a long, contemplative stare.  After what felt like an eternity, Lucius leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We’re still in a fortified position,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

“The enemy will have to assault us if they want to dislodge us, and that’s no small task.

We’ve got the advantage of these defenses, and the men-though battered-are still holding together.

There’s still a chance we can turn this around, I don’t feel like ditching our work so soon.” He tapped a finger against the edge of the map, his gaze distant as he weighed the odds.

“It’s too early to leave.

If we can hold out and bleed them dry, it’ll be a victory worth sticking around for.” Marcus let out a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he nodded.

“It’s your call,” he said, his voice resigned but respectful.

“Just don’t wait too long.

If things start to go south, you know what’ll happen to anyone caught staying too late.” Lucius smirked faintly at that, his confidence undimmed.

“If it comes to that, we’ll leave.

For now, we stay.

There’s more we can do here.” Marcus gave a small shrug, as if to say he’d said his piece.

Then he turned, moving to stand by the tent’s entrance, his sharp eyes scanning the camp outside.  What neither Lucius nor Marcus could grasp, being less than average strategists, was that the night attack had been doomed from the very beginning.

Night assaults, despite their allure, were rarely advantageous.

Given that the enemy would usually think that they could be attacked in the middle of the night, as such they had many contigents to counter that  The failures of this particular attack stemmed from several glaring oversights.

First and foremost was the utter lack of strategic acumen displayed by its leader.

Gerric was a peasant that had never had a real battle, as such he had lingered in the enemy camp far too long without having no real understanding of what could happen.

As instead of killing retreating soldiers, he should have instead sowed widespread chaos.

The northern sector alone bore the brunt of the attack, leaving the rest of the camp ample time to organize, regroup, and counterattack with decisive force without even feeling the effect of being under attack.

The second issue was their crippling lack of mobility.

Even if the initial assault had succeeded in breaking the enemy lines, the attackers were ill-prepared to deal with the inevitable cavalry pursuit.

Cavalry was the bane of retreating infantry, even more at night when confusion compounded every misstep.

This oversight alone rendered the attack a reckless gamble.

A comparison to Egil’s famous night raid illuminated these flaws further.

Egil’s success was not a product of blind aggression but meticulous planning.Egil might not have been a genious, yet he was sharp and most certainly not a fool.  His attack had struck an army unprepared, with the Herculeians believing their enemy was still days away.

Moreover, Egil’s forces had divided into two groups, hitting both the northern and southern ends of the camp simultaneously.

This division ensured chaos reigned everywhere giving no part of the camp enough leasure to understand what was happening.

Egil’s men also prioritized destruction and disarray over outright slaughter, targeting tents, supplies, and morale.

By the time the Herculeians could react, the camp was ablaze, screams and moans filling the night air, leading many to ditch the battle as soon as they caught sight of their sorroundings In contrast, this most recent attack had achieved none of these objectives.

The defenders, far from breaking, had time to rally under the guidance of their lords.

Their levies formed orderly ranks, charged, and turned the tide decisively against the attackers.

What could have been a daring blow to enemy morale had instead devolved into a costly rout, its failure rooted in poor planning and a fundamental misunderstanding of the principles of warfare.