Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 350

Chapter 350: Behold my stuff(4) Chapter 350: Behold my stuff(4) The Call was set to start in three days, leaving Blake with a limited window to make his mark and catch up to the other contenders.

His dramatic entrance had been a strong start, memorable and bold, but anyone who thought that alone would secure his place was a fool.

Blake’s accomplishments over the past year were undeniable.

He had shattered the fragile treaty with the Empire, reigniting the old ways of raiding and conquest.

His victory at Harmway was a defining moment, carving out a haven where the Free Lords and their crews could live as they once had-unbridled, untamed, and reigning over the seas like kings, with the only obstacle that prevented that being now in flame .

While notable achievements could earn respect, they were rarely the most effective way to secure votes-especially when the voting system was as open as the Confederation’s.

For matters of politics, only the Free Lords cast their votes, but when it came to military decisions-like assembling a fleet or choosing its leader-any man who owned a ship had the right to participate.

This broad electorate transformed the process into something entirely different.

The “average voter” in this scenario wasn’t a cultured statesman or a battle-hardened lord.

No, it was the quintessential sea wolf-the rough-and-tumble, wine-soaked, thrill-chasing sailor who cared little for grand strategies or polished rhetoric.

Winning in this arena required more than deeds or lineage; it meant appealing directly to the desires and ambitions of the everyday pirate.

They wanted someone who could promise gold, glory, and endless plunder on the high seas.

There was a reason the democracy of Athens crumbled-a fatal flaw rooted in its greatest strength: the power it granted its citizens, which was the very meaning of democracy.

Every citizens had the right and duty to vote, which meant that if the interests of the populace diverged from the good of the city itself, well-may the city burn as long as they can sing over the flame .

The people would cheer as long as their own pockets jingled and their festivals flourished.

By the twilight years of Athens’ once-mighty empire, civic pride had given way to personal indulgence.

Long gone were the time of Pericles and his empire.

The citizens cared less about securing their city’s future and more about free seats at the theater or revelry at the next grand festival.

They became a people who would trade strength for spectacle and security for a good story, drunk on the pride of a strenght that was no longer theirs to flaunt.

Time and again, this shortsightedness turned on them like a viper.

Their natural suspicion of politicians-though not entirely unwarranted-often led them to exile their most capable generals and statesmen, the very individuals who could have preserved their golden age.

The irony was deliciously tragic: the defenders of the city undone not by foreign invaders but by the very hands they sought to protect.

There’s a reason why modern democracies favor representation over direct rule-a system where the people elect representatives to make decisions rather than entrusting every political choice to the general populace.

History has shown, time and again, the pitfalls of leaving complex matters in the hands of the many without the filter of informed leadership.

Winston Churchill famously remarked that the best argument against democracy was a five-minute conversation with the average voter.

It’s a biting observation, but one that has proven true more often than not.

Considering for example a nation at war, performing admirably on the battlefield yet suffering from rising food prices.

The general populace, feeling the sting of short-term hardship, might clamor for peace, blind to the fact that surrendering now would lead to far greater suffering in the future.

It’s the harsh truth: what’s good for the individual in the moment often conflicts with what’s best for the nation as a whole.

And when the power to decide rests entirely in the hands of the uninformed or impatient, the long-term good is easily sacrificed on the altar of immediate comfort.

Blake spent the last two days in a flurry of activity, orchestrating grand banquets that showcased the spoils of his raids and delivering fiery speeches to gathered free lords and captains, which in fact succeeded in gaining a few votes .

Many were swayed by his charisma and vision, throwing their lot in with him as he promised a future of unchallenged supremacy for the Free Men.

Yet, despite his growing support, doubt lingered in his mind.

The competition was fierce.

Some of his rivals had quite the toll of ben behind.

Every tally of potential votes left Blake unsure whether his efforts would be enough to secure victory.

He knew he needed a more decisive edge.

Among the strategies turning in his mind, one stood out as the most pragmatic and advantageous: forming an alliance with another candidate.

If he could find someone whose ambitions aligned with his own-or someone who could be persuaded to take a secondary role in exchange for something-it might be enough to push him over the threshold.  Blake weighed his options carefully, considering the three candidates he could potentially ally with.

The first was Harrick Stormcaller, the eldest of the contenders and as unyielding as the tides themselves.

His age brought experience and respect, but also a stubbornness that made negotiation a challenge.

Then there was Saltbeard.

His following was substantial, making him one of the frontrunners in the race.

Aligning with him might tip the scales, but his chance to win also made him a difficult ally to bargain with-if he even needed one, as after all in a race one would not cede his place to those behind.

Lastly, there was Wavecleaver, a brash upstart whose arrogance seemed to grow in proportion to his wealth.

He was ambitious and well-funded as island was filled with iron mine, but his youthful hubris made him utterly unapproachable.

Convincing him to join forces would be about as likely as taming a lion barehanded while holding a piece of meat in hand .

In the end, the only realistic choice was the first one ————————————- “Well, well,” Harrick said, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.

“If it isn’t the youngest lord to ever captain a ship.

Your reputation precedes you, Blake.

I’ve heard tales of your raid-bold, audacious, and successful.

The kind of courage our younger generation needs.”  Blake inclined his head respectfully, hiding the pride that flickered in his chest.

“Your words honor me,lord Harrick .

I’ve only done what I could to prove myself worthy of our name that had been under the heel of the Romelians for far too long” Harrick chuckled, gesturing for Blake to sit across from him.

“Worthy, indeed.

It’s been many years since anyone dared to raid the lands you’ve tread, let alone come back with such spoils.

Your bravery reminds me of the days when we roamed without fear, when every raid was a declaration of our defiance.” Blake took his seat, meeting Harrick’s gaze steadily.

“Bravery alone isn’t enough, my lord , you may recall that we were humbled in the sea by same people we scorn.

I’ve learned that survival requires not just daring, but foresight.

And it’s foresight that brings me to you.” Blake leaned back slightly in his chair, the faint creak of wood echoing in the dimly lit room as he regarded Harrick Stormcaller with a curious smile.

“I apologize if this question may come out wrong.

But , what do you think your chances are, truly?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Harrick leaned on the table, his gnarled hands clasping a tankard, his expression as calm and weathered as the sea after a storm.

“Trying to predict the outcome of men’s ambitions,” he began slowly, “is like claiming to own the sea itself.

You might chart its currents or sail its waves, but you never control it-not for long.” Blake tilted his head, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“A poetic answer, my lord.

Wise, even.

But not quite what I was asking.” He leaned forward now, his voice dropping slightly.

“Let’s be honest.

A man like you, with all your years and experience, must know the lay of the field.

So tell me-what are your chances of winning ?” Harrick studied him for a moment, the flickering lamplight catching the sharp angles of his face.

“You’re persistent” he said, his lips curling into a faint smile.

“But let me turn your own question back on you.

What do you think your chances are?” Blake didn’t hesitate.

“If we’re being honest?

I’d say both our chances are slim.

Very slim.” He paused, letting the words sink in before adding, “At least individually.” Harrick’s thick brows furrowed slightly, and he repeated the word with an edge of curiosity.

“Individually?” Harrick’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a deeper tone.

“There’s only one position, boy.

One winner.

Two cannot win.

If you think otherwise, you’re chasing a fool’s dream-or worse, playing at politics like some landlocked lord, we are above that, you should be above it , especially one who did so much for the Confederation .I expected more than some treacherous intrigue chaser from the one who raised the voice for our rise.” Blake didn’t flinch, his grin growing broader.

“True enough, I apologize if I am not what you expected ” he said smoothly.

“But even lords and sometimes heroes know when to strike alliances for the greater good.

And you’ve already admitted-you don’t try to own the sea, my lord .

You navigate it.So instead of running our ships individually toward the storm, I believe it would be much more profitable for one to help the other, with of course one leading the way and the other following closely behind…”