Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 347

Chapter 347: Behold my stuff(1) Chapter 347: Behold my stuff(1) “Look at our youngest captain in the family!” Hadrin, the eldest of the brothers, bellowed as he pulled Blake into a crushing embrace.

Blake stiffly returned the hug, clearly unused to the display of affection.

The swaying of the ship seemed powerless against Hadrin’s great bulk, his sheer mass anchoring him firmly.

“You’re a lucky bastard, you know that?” Koros said with a wide grin, leaning against the railing.

“Father made me wait until I’d seen fifteen winters before I could even set foot on a deck.

But look at you-thirteen winters, and already commanding men.

Seems like Father finally picked a favorite.” Blake opened his mouth to protest, but Merek cut in, his voice steady as he worked a piece of limestone along the edge of his axe.

“Well, to be fair, this is a day unlike any other.

When was the last time we saw so many ships gathered together under one banner?

This is a moment that will be sung about for generations-a day passed from free man to free man.

Even Father wouldn’t be cruel enough to take such a moment from his youngest.” Koros chuckled, his sharp eyes darting to Merek.

“Or maybe he just didn’t want to be the one stuck listening to Mother complain if he left the pup behind.” “Watch yourself, Koros,” Blake muttered, his tone more defensive than he intended.

“Easy, little brother,” Kalen teased, striding over and ruffling Blake’s dark hair with one calloused hand.

“Lucky pup, let your elders give you some advice.

Keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper.

We wouldn’t want our glorious day spoiled by your funeral.

Mother would never forgive us-she’s the one who dotes on you the most, after all.” Blake scowled and batted away Kalen’s hand, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment.

“I’m not a pup,” he shot back, his voice cracking slightly as he glared at his older brother.

“And I don’t need your advice.

I’ve got my own crew.” Hadrin barked a laugh, his booming voice echoing over the ship’s deck.

“Your crew follow you only because they’re terrified of father.

But don’t worry, little brother, you’ll grow into it.

Just don’t get any of them killed too early.” He clapped Blake on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.

Koros grinned, leaning lazily against the mast.

“Speaking of growing into it, let’s hope you’ve grown into that axe on your belt.

It’s nearly as big as you are.” Blake’s cheeks flushed, but he stood his ground, gripping the handle of the weapon at his side.

“It’s not the size of the axe,” he retorted, trying to sound more confident than he felt, “it’s how you swing it.” Merek chuckled softly, shaking his head as he continued honing the blade of his axe.

“I have heard such talks in brothel too.

You’ve got spirit, Blake.

That’s good.

Spirit will keep you alive-well, spirit and luck.

Pray the Sea God grants you both, because out there, it won’t matter if you’re father’s son or a favorite.” He glanced up, his sharp gaze locking on Blake’s.

“Out there, you’re just another ship among hundreds.

No one’s coming to save you if you mess up.” The weight of Merek’s words hung in the air, tempering the teasing atmosphere.

For a moment, the brothers fell silent, their thoughts turning to the impending battle.

The sound of the waves and the creak of the ship filled the void until Hadrin broke the silence.

“Enough of that,” Hadrin said, his voice gruff but warm.

“We’ve got a day of glory ahead of us.

Let’s not waste it worrying about what might go wrong.

We’re Elio men.

We don’t lose.” —————- “We’re Elio men.

We don’t lose,” Blake muttered, his voice low but resolute as his eyes followed the rhythmic dance of the waves glinting under the sun.

The endless expanse of the sea seemed alive, pulsing with a quiet power that mirrored the storm of thoughts churning in his mind.

“Everything all right, Captain?” Tonitz’s voice cut through the hum of the ship’s activity.

The man approached with an easy stride, his boots thudding softly against the deck.

“Yes,” Blake replied without turning.

His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.

“Just thinking.” Tonitz gave a short nod.

“Well, the crew’s ready to disembark.

Spirits are high-it’s been a hard week of sailing, but the thought of setting foot on land again has them eager.” Blake finally tore his gaze from the waves and glanced at Tonitz.

“Good.

It’s time.” He straightened, his voice ringing with command as he called out over the deck.

“Crew, prepare to disembark!

Lower the vessel and anchor the ship.

Bring out my things.” A ripple of excitement surged through the crew at his words, their tired faces breaking into wide grins.

The promise of solid ground after days at sea was enough to ignite their spirits.

With a collective cheer, they sprang into action.

Men swarmed to their tasks, uncoiling ropes and securing pulleys with practiced ease.

The anchor chain rattled as it plunged into the depths, the ship shuddering slightly as it came to a halt.

A smaller vessel, sleek and sturdy, was carefully lowered into the water, bobbing gently alongside the larger ship.

Blake’s lips curved into a rare smile, sharp and full of self-assured charm.

It was a smile that often left his crew wondering whether he was about to commend them or unleash chaos.

His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he turned to Tonitz, who stood nearby, waiting for further orders.

“Bring the hunchback horse to my ship,” Blake said, his voice carrying a note of amusement.

Tonitz arched an eyebrow, a flicker of confusion flashing across his face before realization dawned.

“That ugly-looking horse?” Blake chuckled, a low, almost predatory sound.

“Yes, that one.

Let the free lords see what spoils I bring from the distant sands.

It’s not every day they’ll witness a beast so strange-and so far from home.Make sure to bring out the other animals too.I want every man to be talking about it to their friends .” Tonitz smirked, nodding quickly.

“Aye, Captain.

They’ll be talking about it for weeks.” ”Make sure to chain the hag to my room , I don’t want words to spread that I have witches in my ships” as he said that Blake turned back toward the sea, the breeze tugging at his coat as he watched the smaller vessel rock gently in the waves.  The crew moved quickly, their hands steady as they guided the animals onto the small vessel before lowering it into the water .

The camel groaned, its lanky legs moving awkwardly on the swaying planks, but the men handled it with care, their laughter bubbling up as they adjusted to its odd gait.

The salty wind whipped Blake’s dark hair, but his thoughts were far from the present.

The message he had sent weeks prior had been clear and urgent: the Imperials were amassing a fleet, he had sent his fastest ship, and the free lords were quick to amass at the call.

The seas would soon be painted red with war once again, and this time, it would not be a battle fought solely for plunder or pride.

It would be a reckoning-a chance to avenge the crushing loss at Rock Bottom.

That cursed battle had been the undoing of House Elio.

His family, once a force to rival the strongest captains of the Free Isles, was reduced to just two survivors: himself and Koros, his mad brother, whose mind had shattered under the weight of loss and fury.

Blake clenched his fists, the memory of their deaths-Hadrin’s laugh silenced by steel, Kalen’s steady guidance lost forever, and Merek’s bravery extinguished too soon-burning like fire in his chest.

The Call was more than a meeting.

It was a chance to rally the Free Isles against the Imperials, to avenge not just his family but every life lost to their relentless expansion.

Blake had endured a decade of waiting, scheming, and gathering strength for this moment.

He had clawed his way up from the wreckage, building a fleet that carried not just his house’s name but their ambition.

They would pay in blood for Rock Bottom, for his family, and for every insult they had ever dared to hurl at them His hand tightened on the railing, the wood groaning under his grip as the island grew larger before him.

For all his charm, cunning, and ruthlessness, Blake’s mind was singular in purpose: vengeance.

This Call would decide the course of the Confederation.

He intended to be at its center, guiding its fury like a tempest.

It was his time to reclaim the legacy stolen from him and his kin.

His lips curled into a smile-not of joy, but of satisfaction.

The Free Lords would hear him as he went to claim what was to be his, command over the flee-fleet that would be raised, for he was the most worthy and the strongest of them all.

The Romelians would soon learn what it meant to cross Blake Elio.