Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 372

Chapter 372: Joining hands?(2) Chapter 372: Joining hands?(2) In the end, he was right once again, Shahab mused with a faint smirk as his measured steps echoed through the grand halls of the royal palace.

The polished marble gleamed under the soft light of chandeliers, and at his approach, servants and guards alike paused to bow and step aside, their deference as automatic as the tides.  Two decades ago-well, to be fair, twenty years ago still placed him in his early forties, so calling himself “young” might have been generous-he had dared to dream of his grandson claiming the throne from his son-in-law.

A son-in-law who, by all accounts, was a walking disaster in royal garb.

The man had been a calamity of contradictions: insatiably greedy yet perpetually broke, brimming with grand ambitions but woefully lacking the talent to achieve even the smallest of them.

He had somehow managed to alienate half the nobility through a combination of arrogance and ineptitude, reducing his court to a den bootlickers, who never dried up of complimenting to spit on him.

Yet, no matter how colossal a failure his son-in-law proved to be, Shahab found himself repeatedly cleaning up the man’s messes, scrambling to salvage dignity and stability after every one of his reckless attempts to prove he was something more than a pretender.

The years dragged on, and with each one, it became increasingly clear that another son would not be born to carry the family’s legacy.

At last, Shahab was forced to accept a bitter reality.

Ormund , Arkawatt’s brother would take the throne, so the best he could achieve was to have his son marry his grandaughter.

And then, from the most unlikely of places, the impossible happened.A small mercenary appeared from nowhere and from then everything changed.

Through clever maneuvering, calculated risks, and undeniable talent, Alpheo managed to kill Ormund throwing his lot with Jasmine.

She became the sovereign in her own right, firmly planting her feet where her predecessors had faltered.

What followed was nothing short of extraordinary.

The kingdom’s annual income quintupled, the once-bleeding coffers now brimming with wealth.

Wars that had seemed as unwinnable war turned into triumphs, beginning with the capture of the Oizen princeling.

Not long after, the Herculians were crushed, a quarter of their lands annexed as trophies of victory.

The realm flourished like never before, and at the center of this golden era was one man: Alpheo.

The young prince had proven himself to be not just capable, but transformational.

Shahab, who had once resigned himself to mediocrity, could only marvel at the unlikely hero who had turned despair into prosperity.

Shahab finally arrived at the ornate double doors of the guest chamber, their polished wood gleaming under the warm glow of the corridor’s lanterns.

Behind him, the rhythmic patter of his steps came to a halt, and the silence was broken only by the faint crackle of a nearby brazier.

A servant stepped forward, bowing slightly before raising his hand to knock on the door.

Three firm raps echoed through the air, followed by a moment of expectant stillness.

A muffled voice from within granted permission to enter.

The servant, with practiced precision, turned the heavy brass handle and swung the door open just enough to allow Shahab to stride through.

He entered with measured grace, his own flowing robes brushing softly against the marble floor, as his eyes appraised the envoy even as a warm smile spread across his lips.

“Lord Veritia’s esteemed representative,” Shahab greeted, his voice smooth and welcoming, “I trust your accommodations have been to your liking?” The envoy bowed slightly, returning the smile with one of his own.

“They have been more than satisfactory, my lord” Shahab clasped his hands behind his back, inclining his head slightly as he addressed the envoy.

“My sincerest apologies for having stepped away earlier.

However, after a brief exchange with Her Grace, I now have a much clearer understanding of where her interests lie.” His tone was warm and diplomatic, his words laced with intent.

The envoy, whose name was Adrastos Veritia, gave a small nod, his face remaining impassive.

“I appreciate your candor, Lord Shahab.

In that case, let us get to the heart of the matter.

How many ships might we count from Her Grace’s fleet?” Shahab didn’t hesitate.

“Twenty,” he replied smoothly.

“Seventeen galleys and three galeasses.

Each of the latter is a formidable vessel, capable of cutting through an enemy galley with ease.” Adrastos’s expression didn’t shift, maintaining the calm, practiced neutrality of a seasoned diplomat.

Yet inwardly, he was taken aback.

Twenty vessels…

and three galeasses?

In a single year?

He hid his surprise behind warm smile, his mind racing Calculating quickly, he added the numbers in his head, with them we would reach 87 ships….

His sharp gaze flicked back to Shahab, seeking any hint of confirmation.

“Am I to take this as a sign that Her Grace is interested in cooperation to rid these seas of the pirate plague?” Shahab’s lips curved into a subtle smile.

“Her Grace has expressed interest in seeing these waters secured.

However, as I am sure you’ll understand, such endeavors are rarely undertaken without due consideration of the benefits to all involved.” Adrastos leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture remaining composed as he began to lay his offer on the table.

“To show the sincerity of my lord’s desire for cooperation, I am authorized to propose that no vessel bearing Her Grace’s heraldry shall pay taxes or tariffs in any of the lands under the Veritia family’s authority, including Harmway itself.” His tone was measured, his words calculated to appeal to Shahab’s sense of pragmatism.

He leaned forward slightly, the flicker of a confident smile on his lips.

“In addition, Her Grace’s fleet would be entitled to a quarter of the spoils taken from any engagement, including goods, silver, and vessels captured in battle.” Shahab listened, his expression calm yet unreadable.

When Adrastos finished, the elder statesman shook his head slowly.

“I’m afraid that is simply too little for us to commit the entirety of our fleet,” he replied, his voice firm but not confrontational.

Adrastos frowned faintly, his composure faltering for just a moment before he schooled his features.

“Surely, Lord Shahab, such terms are fair?

Tax exemption, a quarter of the spoils, and a seat at the table for operations such as this-it is a generous offer, considering that your fleet would be but a small part of the entire naval armament” Shahab’s tone didn’t waver as he countered, “Fair?

Perhaps.

But little when weighed against the value of committing to such a campaign.I am sure that many of your ships are but merchant vessel loaned for this invasion, ours instead are pure ships made and baptized for war.

For that price, you would be using the entirety of our fleet to shoulder a significant portion of the risk.

If we are to fight alongside you, the stakes must align with the contribution.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing.

“Apart from the terms you’ve outlined, we require thirty percent of all tolls collected from Harmway and its surrounding waters once the pirates are dealt with.

It is only fitting that a fleet of this caliber be compensated accordingly.” Adrastos straightened in his chair, his composure finally cracking as he raised his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly, his tone clipped.

“The Crown itself only demanded 30% in return for granting my lord Lisidor the title to Harmway.

For you to ask for the same share, on top of your other demands, is simply unfeasible.” His sharp gaze locked onto Shahab, and he continued with a hint of exasperation.

“Lord Shahab, I urge you to be diplomatic in this matter.

The terms you propose are, quite frankly, excessive.

We are negotiating an alliance, not attempting to mortgage the entirety of Harmway’s future.” Shahab smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth barely moving, as if he had expected this response all along.

“I appreciate your candor, Lord Adrastos,” he replied smoothly.

“But I would remind you that the risks that it provides to us is big too, considering the amount we spent on building such a fleet that honestly would most certainly tilt the scale of the conflict in your favor.” Adrastos’s jaw tightened.

“And yet, 30% is far more than what any reasonable ally would demand.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a calm yet pointed tone.

“You must understand, Lord Shahab, that my lord Lisidor is already shouldering the lion’s share of the costs.

Troops, supplies, and the organization of this campaign-these expenses fall squarely on his shoulders.

Asking for such a cut is asking us to undermine our very cause.” The silence stretched long and taut, the two men staring at each other as if testing one another’s will.

Yet neither man flinched nor broke their gaze.

It was as if the outcome of the entire campaign rested on this moment, the very walls of the royal palace bearing witness about whether or not Lord Lisidor would manage to acquire that ally that could turn the scale of power toward him.

For as Shahab as correctly guessed most of their ships were merchant vessels.

As such seeing twenty military ships in front of them was a good enough bait to make the upper echelons of the Imperial fleet drool at the thought of it, for he knew just how much of a good addition they would be to their armada.