Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 362

Chapter 362: Path forward Chapter 362: Path forward Lucius glanced at Egil, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the man before him.

It was only yesterday that he had first laid eyes on the infamous leader, and the image had burned itself into his memory.

Egil’s reputation preceded him-stories of his riders’ savagery, their merciless efficiency, and the chaos they left in their wake were well known across the army.

For many, Egil wasn’t just a commander; he was the spearhead of a cavalry force that thrived on fear and blood , that the prince set forward only when he wanted either destructions or results.

He was basically his glorified hunting hound.

Now, standing in his presence, Lucius found himself struck by the dissonance between the man’s legend and his current demeanor.

Egil’s blond hair fell in loose strands to his neck.

His features were sharp, confident, but there was a relaxed ease in the way his lips curled into a pleased smile, like a predator content after a feast, with his belly filled and interested no longer in hunting.  He wondered if Egil knew of how his name was known, or if he simply did not care.Though from the various rumors going around about the commander, it was the latter.

Egil raised a hand lazily, pointing to the two mismatched seats in front of him.

“Go on,” his gesture seemed to say, though his smile carried an edge that made Lucius feel as though he were being invited into the jaws of a beast.

Marcus and Lucius froze as the realization suddendly dawned, that the man before them lounging casually and smiling as if without a care, was a lord, someone far above their station.

Without hesitation, the two bowed low.

Egil’s laughter rang out, rich and unrestrained, as if the very air inside the tent had been infected by it.

“Why you do that?” He shook his head mockingly, his grin widening into something almost dangerous.

“A year and a half ago, we would’ve shared a pot and slept under the same cursed sky, and now you bow?

Ridiculous.” His sharp eyes darted between them, amusement flickering behind the smile like a flame caught in a draft.

His gaze didn’t waver, though, studying them with an unsettling intensity.

After a moment, he tilted his head, as if weighing something in the air.

“You’re from the old core, aren’t you?” The question was casual, almost playful, but Lucius caught the undercurrent-Egil was asking about their past, about whether they had been part of the uprising, part of the slaves who had risen alongside the prince.

Both men nodded.

Marcus, his voice a little steadier than usual, answered, “From Sandy March.

Left Arlania behind my lord.” Egil’s smile softened, though it still had that mischievous edge.

“Then no need for bows,” he said with a dismissive wave.

“That’s for peasants, not brothers in arms.We go a long way after all….” His voice dropped into something warmer now, almost approving, as if acknowledging their shared struggle.

Without further comment, Egil reached for a jug beside him, his movements smooth and confident.

With a flourish, he filled three cups, the liquid sloshing as he slid them across the table to the center.

“Sit, sit,” he gestured again, almost as though it were a friendly command.

“Don’t make me say it again.” Marcus and Lucius exchanged a glance, the tension still there but a little more manageable now.

With a shared breath, they obeyed, each settling into one of the chairs opposite Egil.

Marcus and Lucius hesitated briefly, the weight of the cups in their hands heavier than usual.

With a silent nod, they raised the glasses to their lips and drank.

The liquid was crisp, cool-definitely not wine.

Egil noticed the shift in their expressions before they even spoke.

His grin stretched wider.

“That’s the court’s drink,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, clearly enjoying their reactions.

Marcus’s eyes flickered with surprise.

“Cider,” he murmured, a mix of wonder and respect in his voice.

Egil nodded, his grin almost smug.

“First time?” Lucius, after taking another sip and savoring the taste, shook his head.

“No, my lord.

The prince sent us bottles after the last campaign.

But there were so few bottles, and so many of us, the officers watered it down with wine just to make sure everyone got a sip.” He raised the cup slightly, eyes wide as he took in the flavor.

“This…

this is something else.” Egil’s lips curled in a knowing smirk.

“Watered it with wine, you say?

Tragic,” he mused, eyes gleaming.

“But go on.

What else have you got?” Lucius suddenly remembered something, and his expression softened.

“Ah, yes-when I married, the prince sent a basket as a gift.

Soap, cider, and some other trinkets.” He paused, a faint trace of regret in his voice.

“Though, I never opened it.

It’s still sitting at home, untouched.” Egil raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and for a moment, Lucius wondered if the man was going to make light of it, but instead, he listened with quiet interest.

Lucius continued, his tone turning more tender.

“But my wife, when she saw that basket arrive, her eyes lit up like I’d brought home treasure from the emperor himself.

She didn’t care what else was in it-she saw that cider, and it was like the gods had delivered it personally to our doorstep.” Egil chuckled, a low, warm sound that suggested he understood exactly the kind of delight Lucius was talking about.

“Ah.

A gift worth more than gold to a woman, it seems.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his expression momentarily serious.

“It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Things you wouldn’t expect to matter, but they do.” Marcus and Lucius exchanged a quick glance, the air between them suddenly lighter, filled with unspoken understanding.

For a moment, it was as if the world outside this tent had faded away-there was just the cider, the warmth, and the strange camaraderie of two former slaves and a lord who had once walked the same path.

Egil leaned back in his chair, swirling the cup of cider lazily in his hand.

“I’ll never understand why men get married,” he muttered, half to himself, half to his guests.

“If it were up to me, I’d stay unwed my entire life.

No obligations.

No expectations.” He sighed, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing his face before he waved the thought away.

“But, alas, duty calls.Not for me of course, it was a duty that was forced onto me.” He took a sip of his cider, his tone shifting as he continued, “Speaking of duty, earlier this morning, we found the body of the rebel leader.You two were the one that recognized him right?” Lucius and Marcus exchanged a glance before nodding.

Egil smirked.

“Good.

Would’ve been a bore hunting him down like hounds after a fox, and I certainly would not want to report such failure before Alpheo.” His piercing gaze flicked between them, catching the silent exchange of looks that passed between the two men.

His lips curled into an amused smile.

“Ah, I see it on your faces.

You’ve got questions.” Lucius stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of his cup.

“I… uh… my lord,” he stammered, searching for words.

“If it’s not too bold… You are right , I-I’d like to ask some questions.” Egil chuckled, leaning forward with an air of casual authority.

“Well then, Lucius.

Ask away.

Let’s hear what’s rattling around in that head of yours.” Lucius blinked in surprise, his grip tightening on the cup as he realized Egil had addressed him by name.

His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to recall if he’d introduced himself earlier, but no memory surfaced.

Egil caught the look on Lucius’s face and chuckled.

“Ah, surprised, are we?” His smile widened, the corners of his lips curling with amusement.

“Of course I know your name.

You think Alpheo would send me to two men without telling me a thing about them?” He gestured around the tent, his voice light but laced with a certain sharpness.

“Let’s not pretend I called you here just for a nice drink and a chat.” Lucius swallowed, unsure how to respond.

Egil leaned back again, the amused grin never leaving his face.

“Anyway,” he said, waving a hand dismissively, “don’t let that stop you.

Ask your question.” Lucius hesitated for a moment before finally asking, “Were the men who rescued us in the camp for long?” Egil’s lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and knowing.

“From the start,” he replied casually, taking another sip of his cider.

“Our prince… He’s many things, but one thing he always is-an overthinker.” Egil tilted his head as if reflecting on the thought.

“And, annoyingly enough, he’s right more times than he’s wrong.” Lucius and Marcus exchanged glances, their expressions betraying the question that lingered in their minds.

Egil caught it immediately, his smile widening.

“You’re probably wondering why they didn’t rescue you sooner,” he said, cracking his neck as though shrugging off the weight of the question.

The two nodded almost in unison, their curiosity undeniable.

Egil leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Back in my tribe,” he began, his voice taking on a reflective tone, “we had a method for finding water.

This was when we still roamed the Steppe Sea of Barthai…before they were foolishly enough to move across the sea through an imperial fleet to settle in the Empire.” “These are stories my father used to tell me,” he began, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“By the time I was born, the tribes had already been settled onto Imperial land.

My memories of the Steppe Sea of Barthai are secondhand-shaped by tales, not experience.” He tapped the table lightly with his knuckles, the sound rhythmic as he spoke.

“There’s this misconception that everyone on Barthai is a nomad, but that’s far from true.

Many are semi-nomadic, tied to certain places, but still moving when the seasons or the land demanded it.

Their main challenge wasn’t food or shelter-it was water.

Out there, water is life, and finding it meant survival.” Egil’s gaze drifted momentarily, as if picturing the sprawling grasslands of Barthai.

“One method they used was rather clever.

They’d find baboons-furry beasts that live mostly in trees, they are as big from your belly to your head.

They’d take salt-something irresistible to those creatures-and hide it inside a hollow tree trunk.

The baboon, curious as it is greedy, would climb up and grab the salt.

That’s when the trap would be sprung, and the beast would be caught and bound in ropes.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“With nothing to eat but the salt, they’d wait a few hours.

When the baboon was released, it’d be so parched it wouldn’t waste a moment, leading the hunters straight to its secret water source.

You see, baboons are hoarders by nature-greedy little things.

But in their greed, they gave the tribes what they needed to survive.” Egil paused, his smile faint but contemplative.

“The tribe would settle by that water source, knowing they had a constant supply.

And so, life went on.” Lucius and Marcus exchanged puzzled glances, the story clearly lost on them.

Egil rolled his eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

“You two really don’t get it, do you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the small table.

“You were the baboons,” he said bluntly, watching as the realization dawned on their faces.

“We needed you to lead the rebels into a trap.

To lure them all together so we could wipe them out in one clean sweep.

And guess what?

It worked.They were on a forest where we could not reach them with our horses, however we lured them out toward the plains where we could attack them.” The two men nodded slowly, the pieces finally falling into place.

Lucius hesitated before asking, his voice cautious, “So… does that mean the prince isn’t disappointed in us?” Egil leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face.

“Disappointed?No, a bit peeved maybe that you were captured, but he understands that this is your first time, well second considering Arduronaven.Also If he was disappointed, do you think he’d want you working for him again?” Lucius and Marcus looked at each other again, this time even more confused.

“What you mean , my lord?” Marcus asked, furrowing his brow.

“The prince has plans for you,” Egil explained, his tone casual but pointed.

“He wants to make use of you again in the future.

Of course, you can refuse.

But I’m telling you this now so you can have your answer ready when you meet him in Yarzat.

One thing about the prince-he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Not that many do..” Egil’s piercing gaze lingered on them for a moment, as though measuring their worth.

“So, think it over.

But I’d make up my mind before you’re standing in front of him.

It’s bad manners to make powerful men wait, especially those holding power over your lives.”