Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 373

Chapter 373: Playing the game(1) Chapter 373: Playing the game(1) Things were spiraling downhill-at least for the nobility.

For the crown, however, it was nothing short of a golden age.

If there’s one thing the noble caste dreads, it’s the rise of a strong central power that could overshadow their own influence.

And in Yarzat, that very nightmare was unfolding right before their eyes.

The recent war against Herculia was the ultimate wake-up call.

The crown wasn’t just a toothless relic as it had been three years ago, apparently a new prince meant a new heard; it had become a force to be reckoned with.

The nobility had no choice but to watch in growing unease as Princess Jasmine rallied an army of 1,300 soldiers-without so much as lifting a finger to ask for their support.

It was a stunning display of power, one that drove home the uncomfortable reality: the days of a weak and malleable monarchy were over.  Needless to say, the crown’s recent campaign had been an overwhelming success-an outcome that defied all expectations.

By every measure, it was a war they should have lost.

Yet, they didn’t just hold their ground; they emerged victorious.

This turn of events sent ripples of unease through the nobility.

Their wariness of Alpheo, already simmering beneath the surface, surged to new heights.  The nobles, once confident in their ability to band together and crush any royal challenge, now faced a sobering reality: if they ever clashed with the crown, the outcome would no longer be a foregone conclusion.

Times were changing, and they could feel it.

The winds were no longer in their favor, and for the first time in generations, they were forced to question their place in this shifting landscape.

To make matters worse, envy and greed burned hot among the nobility, fueled by the crown’s tightly controlled monopoly over two of Yarzat’s most lucrative industries: cider and soap.

These products weren’t just profitable-they were the lifeblood of the royal treasury, enabling the crown to fund a standing army that none of the nobles could hope to rival.

They had tried everything but the crown remained unyielding.

It was like a lion guarding its feast, unwilling to part with even a morsel of its hard-won meat.

Each rejection left the nobility fuming, forced to watch as the royal coffers swelled while they were left to gnash their teeth in frustration, mere spectators to a fortune they could never touch.

The nobles, like hungry dogs, could only drool at the edge of the table while the crown dined alone, savoring every advantage its monopoly brought.

And the more the crown prospered, the more bitter their envy grew.

From seemingly nowhere, a potential solution to the nobility’s frustrations appeared on the horizon in the form of a long, winding procession traveling from the imperial lands into Yarzat.

At its head rode a priest named Brother Elyos.

The first noble to come into contact with the procession was Lord Niketas of Lonsium.

At first, he treated them with the same cold indifference he reserved for all imperial interlopers.

His instructions to his men were simple: ensure they caused no trouble as they passed through his lands.

Yet, the longer they lingered in Lonsium, the more intrigued Niketas became, as it became clear that the procession didn’t have simple poor religious fanatics, but actual soldiers, with even some knights holding up the star of the five gods patched up in banners fluttering in the winds.

And then, the thought began to take shape.

Slowly, subtly, a dangerous idea took root in his mind.

He could use them.

In a wide, sunlit field nestled at the juncture of their four domains, the lords of Lonsium, Florium, Agripisio, and Corgendaue gathered, their banners fluttering in the breeze.

It was an unusual sight, a rare assembly of such powerful men outside of war or courtly obligations.

Lords of their stature seldom left their lands without dire cause, each fiercely guarding their territory and influence.

Yet, the letter from Niketas of Lonsium had struck a chord The ever-growing power of the crown.

After the crown’s successful campaign , the nobility split into two clear camps.

On one side were those who saw the writing on the wall and chose to realign themselves with the crown.

Lords like Pyrros of Sistorum and lord Damaris of Confluendi, two of the largest landowners, quickly pledged their support, bringing along a few smaller lords who followed their lead.  On the other side, however, were those who refused to bow to the growing strength of the throne.

Instead of falling in line, they focused on rallying as many allies as they could, determined to resist any further shift in power toward the crown.  The four lords sat around a heavy wooden table inside a grand tent The tent itself was large enough to comfortably accommodate them and their closest attendants, with banners of their respective houses hung modestly outside the tent.

The meeting began with Lord Niketas of Lonsium rising to address the gathered lords.

The air in the tent was tense, each noble seated around the wooden table eyeing the others .Niketas started, his voice calm  “It is good that we’ve all come together, united by a common purpose,” he began, resting his hands on the table.

“The ever-growing power of the crown is deeply troubling, especially now that it rests in the hands of a common-born mercenary.

His greed for riches and influence knows no bounds, and it is encroaching on all of our interests.” Lysander, the Lord of Agripisio, leaned forward, his expression grim.

“It was a mistake to ever allow a mercenary to marry the princess,” he said bitterly.

“We should have done as Ormund did-rallied in rebellion before it came to this.

The signs were all there.” Crovan of Argendaue shook his head, his jaw tightening as he responded.

“Before we even understood what was happening, Ormund was dead.

Killed by that mercenary in battle.

And before we could rally, the princess announced her marriage to him.” His voice carried a hint of frustration, tinged with regret.

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their silence giving Crovan room to continue.

“We all sent envoys, didn’t we?

Hoping to dissuade her.

We appealed to reason, to tradition.

And yet every single one of us was denied.

Not one voice among us could sway her.” He paused, his tone sharpening.

“Clearly, the marriage wasn’t one of duty-it was done at swordpoint.

There can be no other explanation.” The lords nodded reluctantly, murmurs of agreement passing around the table.

Still what could they do now?

Lord Gregor of Aratum leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as he broke the tense silence.

“And to make matters worse,” he began, his voice carrying a sharp edge, “our own peers-lords who should stand with us-are instead bowing their head to the crown.

Sistorum, Confluendi, even some of the lesser houses.

They’re abandoning tradition for promises of royal favor.

Spineless, every one of them.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the faces of the other lords.

“If-gods forbid-we were to rise in arms against the crown, with the state of things as they are now, we’d be crushed.

There’s no question about it.

Unless, of course, we can secure help from outside our borders.” The tent grew still as his words sank in, the lords exchanging glances, the weight of their predicament pressing down on them.

Lysander of Agripisio cleared his throat, breaking the momentary silence.

“Outside help?” he repeated, his tone tinged with skepticism.

“Lord Gregor, I hope you haven’t forgotten who the crown is dealing with to the north.

The Romelians themselves have joined hands with that mercenary.

They’ve already cast their lot with him and his wife.What that cur did not share with us , he freely gave it to them” He leaned forward, his gaze locking on Gregor.

“Do you know what that means?

It means they have every interest to make sure that the current situation is standing.We are one letter away-one plea for aid-from sending an allied contingent to march straight into our lands. Romelian soldiers, armed to the teeth.

If we rebel, we’d not just be fighting the crown, but potentially the empire as well.” Niketas cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the lords, drawing their attention.

His sharp eyes scanned the room, ensuring he had each of them fully focused before continuing.

“Gentlemen,” he began, his tone deliberate, “this meeting wasn’t called just to lament our situation or discuss what’s already gone wrong.

We know that.

No, we are here to consider what comes next-and how, perhaps, we can level the field before it’s too late.” The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air as the lords leaned forward, their interest piqued.

Niketas allowed a moment of pause for the tension to build, then continued, “I may have found a way to shift the scales in our favor.

A new player, one we can bring into our fold.

Someone who can counterbalance the growing strength of the crown.

However…” He let the word linger.

“It will require sacrifice.

From all of us.” The lords exchanged glances, curiosity written on their faces.

This was the first real spark of hope they had heard all day.

Each of them had come in frustrated, overwhelmed by their options, but now-just for a moment-there was the glimmer of something different, something potentially game-changing.

“What kind of sacrifice?” Gregor asked, narrowing his eyes as he leaned forward.

He had never been one for half-measures.

”The one that perhapse we may not like, but that is always a much better than the one we are going to get if we our situation does not change..”