Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 384

Chapter 384: Confederation’s Strategy Chapter 384: Confederation’s Strategy Never a war been so much profitable, Alvarie thought as he calmly gazed at the sea.

The merchant stood atop the deck of his ship taking in the beauty of the sea.

His clothing was certainly a display of wealth,as that was all that merchants could flaunt.

The nobility did so with blood and steel, and the merchants did it with their gold .

The main cloth was a deep crimson doublet of fine wool, trimmed with gold thread.

Over it, a dark brown leather belt, fastened with an ornate buckle shaped like a lion’s head, cinched his waist and supported a short dagger in a scabbard-though he had never used it; after all, if a merchant had to get his hands on his weapon, then with much chance it was already over for him.

Since if even with all the security they employed they were attacked, it meant that either the attacker had enough numbers to be sure of winning or that they were desperate for money, both cases were bad, of course.

However above all the most eye-catching piece was a wide-brimmed hat crowned his head, adorned with a single white feather tipped with red dye that looked very similar to the decoration that the sub-legionarii of the Black Stripes used.

Alvarie was a proud member of Yarzat’s Trade Guild.

So of course he had to look the part of being a member of the sprawling and tightly woven network of merchants who controlled much of the city’s commerce.

When the elders of the guild gave the official nod to buy up as much grain as they could, the news rippled through the merchant community like wildfire.

For once, the rules were clear, and the path to profit wide open.

The merchants, sharp-eyed opportunists that they were, knew all too well about the lucrative deal struck with the Imperial armada.

The demand for grain was insatiable, and the Romelians were paying generously-more than generously.

Most merchants didn’t need to be told twice.

Many eagerly sold off small properties or took out loans against their future earnings to stockpile grain, turning warehouses into veritable fortresses of golden wheat.

Risk?

Of course.

But the promise of profit outweighed any fleeting concern.

What made this moment particularly exceptional-and set every merchant’s heart racing-was the guild’s unusual decision to let them keep the lion’s share of their profits.

Typically, the guild controlled much of the trade, regulating how much of any product a merchant could buy or sell and taking a hefty cut of the earnings.

But this time, in an uncharacteristic gesture of generosity, the elders imposed only a modest levy on grain sales.

For once, the merchants weren’t just middlemen lining the guild’s coffers-they were players in their own right.

The docks and markets of Yarzat were soon abuzz with activity, as grain flowed from the hinterlands into merchant warehouses and gold changed hands faster than a gambler’s dice.

Alvarie, like many of his peers, moved from village to village , securing deal after deal.

For a merchant, this was the kind of moment dreams were made of-where the right decisions, bold risks, and a touch of luck could turn a fortune into a dynasty.

To anyone with even a passing glance, it was obvious that the Trade Guild of Yarzat was a relentless, iron-fisted institution.

Its control over the merchants under its umbrella was stifling, almost oppressive.

Rules, quotas, taxes, and regulations-they were the tools the guild wielded to maintain its dominance, keeping every merchant, from the smallest fish to the biggest whales, firmly in line.

But one could ask tbe reason on why the merchants tolerated it?

Why didn’t they rise up, break free from the suffocating grip?

The answer lay in the perks of membership-perks that outweighed the restrictions for most.

Chief among these was a safety net that no merchant dared to undervalue.

If a member made a bad deal and found themselves financially ruined, they could apply for a loan from the guild.

T he terms were shockingly favorable, with a meager interest rate that was practically unheard of elsewhere.

For struggling merchants, this was salvation.

A second chance.

A lifeline to rebuild their trade, restore their livelihood, and start over without spiraling into destitution.

For the wealthier merchants, this wasn’t much of a concern.

A poor gamble here or a bad season there wasn’t enough to sink their ships.

They had resources to cushion the blow, investments to fall back on.

But for the small and mid-level traders-the lifeblood of Yarzat’s markets-a single misstep could spell disaster.

To them, the guild’s safety net wasn’t just a perk; it was survival.

It was the promise that one mistake wouldn’t reduce them to beggars on the streets.

And that, of course, was exactly how the guild maintained its grip.

The promise of protection, of stability, of a safety net, was a powerful incentive.

Merchants stayed loyal not out of love but necessity, knowing that stepping outside the guild’s shadow meant losing that lifeline, something that made most of them accept the downsides, knowing that it was better to be covered for the hard times of the future than to simply relish the good times of the present.  Alvarie leaned against the rail of his merchant ship, gazing out at the endless expanse of blue that surrounded them.

The sun glimmered on the waves, a faint breeze carrying the salty tang of the ocean to his nose.

His thoughts, as they often were, danced between profit margins and future ventures.  Suddenly, a voice rang out from above, slicing through the rhythmic creaking of the ship’s timbers.

“Ships on the horizon!” the lookout shouted from the mast, his arm outstretched and finger pointing westward.

Alvarie’s head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat.

He turned, squinting against the sunlight as he followed the lookout’s direction.

Far in the distance, faint shapes broke the seamless line of the horizon.

Ships.

And they were moving fast.

A knot formed in his stomach.

They were still several kilometers away from Harmway, far from the Imperial fleet’s protection.

Why would there be other ships here?

He gritted his teeth, instincts screaming that something was off.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, before spinning toward the crew on deck.

“Faster!

Get those paddles out now!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the sudden buzz of unease among the sailors.

“We’re not waiting to find out if they’re friendly!” The crew sprang into action, the practiced rhythm of seasoned mariners driving them as they readied the large wooden paddles stored below deck.

The ship groaned as the paddles dipped into the water, adding muscle to the sail’s effort.

But even as the ship picked up speed, Alvarie couldn’t ignore the ominous truth creeping closer with every passing moment. The flashes of sunlight glinting off numerous paddles confirmed his worst fear-they were military ships, galleys.

The three ships following them came closer with terrifying speed, their sleek, dark hulls cutting through the water like knives.

The sound of their oars crashing against the waves echoed ominously across the sea.

There was no mistaking it now-these were not merchant vessels, nor any friendly ships.

It was the absence of any flag, any symbol of the Veritia’s house or the Empire, that made Alvarie’s stomach churn.

These ships weren’t allies; they were enemies.

The merchant’s pulse quickened, a cold sweat beading on his forehead as he stood rigid at the edge of the deck.

His thoughts turned frantic, heart hammering in his chest.

Pirates.

They are pirate ships.  His gaze darted to the thirty guards he had hired for protection-men he had thought would ensure his safety in any situation.

They were a rough crew, but their faces were just as pale as his own.

They knew exactly what was happening.

“Get ready!” one of them shouted, gripping a cutlass, his knuckles white.

The others followed suit, reaching for their weapons, forming a tight ring around Alvarie.

They could see what was coming, and their fear was palpable.

Alvarie’s mind raced.  The thought of his life-his hard-earned fortune-being taken by ruthless raiders twisted his gut into knots.

He had imagined many scenarios in his life, but never one where his wealth could lead him straight into the hands of death.

The pirates were closing in now, their ships like shadows looming over the merchant vessel.

Alvarie could see the rough faces of the boarding party-broad-shouldered men with cruel eyes and grins that could cut through steel.

They didn’t need to speak.

The knives, the grappling hooks, the heavy boots as they slammed against the planks-everything was clear.

As soon as the wood of the two ships creaked together ,the boarding started.

Alvarie’s mind raced in a blur of chaos, his every instinct screaming at him to fight, to run, to escape this nightmare.

But he couldn’t.

His body was paralyzed by terror, rooted to the deck as the pirates closed in around him, their eyes glinting with malice.

This is it.

A bloodbath will start now.

They’re going to butcher us.

I- Suddenly, a sharp, rough hand clamped down on his shoulder, yanking him forward with terrifying force.

He was thrown, stumbling, unable to regain his balance in time.

His arms flailed as he hit the wood, the sharp pain shooting through his palms.

His breath caught in his throat as he lay sprawled on the deck, gasping for air, the world spinning around him.

Then the unmistakable clatter of steel hit the deck.

One after another, the noise echoed, growing louder, sharper.

Thirty pieces of steel, one after another, falling to the ground like coins from a fallen purse.

They were surrendering bringing an end to the shortest fight that he had ever witnessed.