Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 388

Chapter 388: What can a month bring(2) Chapter 388: What can a month bring(2) As Jasmine listened to Alpheo’s explanation, she tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful.

Of course, she didn’t know the intricacies of trade or the lives of common folk.

Growing up in the palace, her world had been one of luxury and privilege, far removed from the struggles of those born outside noble bloodlines.

For her, the low-born had always been an abstract concept-people who lived their lives, paid their taxes, and occasionally took up arms when summoned by their betters.

It wasn’t indifference that kept her detached, though.

On the contrary, she harbored a quiet detatched interest with those who lived so differently from her.

Of course that was only secondory compaired to what intrigued her most, which was Alpheo, who in his rare moments of candor, would share glimpses of his life before entering her father’s service.

Whenever he opened up, she would listen with rapt attention, ears keen for any details about the enigmatic man she had married.

To Jasmine, Alpheo was a puzzle-a figure shrouded in mystery.

He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, a man of no noble lineage, and in the span of a single year, he had transformed their kingdom’s fortunes.

Under his guidance, their country had risen to a regional prominence, a feat that nor Jasmine and nor her father had never dared to dream of achieving alone.

Of course, much of this newfound stature rested on the foundation of imperial support, but that hardly diminished Alpheo’s accomplishment in her eyes.

Making her question on jow had this man, with no apparent ties to royalty or great wealth, managed to know so much about the business of ruling ?

Alpheo was never short on ideas, and he rarely hesitated to share them with her.

Yet, when it came to his own past, he was as impenetrable as stone.

Jasmine had tried, more than once, to draw him out, be it in bed or outside.

Each time, however, he deftly sidestepped her questions, dismissing them with a smile or a clever change of subject.

But Jasmine was neither stupid nor blind.

She had noticed the scars on his back-jagged lines that crisscrossed his skin like an artist’s cruel etching.

Though he went to great lengths to hide them, always undressing with his back to the wall, and never showing his back during sex.

Still ,there were moments when his careful charade faltered.

In the restless heat of summer, when he wore only a light tunic to bed, the faint outline of those marks would betray him.

Or on nights when he twisted and turned in his sleep, the fabric shifting just enough to expose the truth.

The thought that her husband had once been a slave had never occurred to her.

Slaves were broken by design, their lives snuffed out long before they could carve out even a shadow of what Alpheo had accomplished.

No, she had reasoned, those scars must be the remnants of some punishment meted out during his time as a mercenary, which was the only thing he mentioned about his past.

That was the story he had given her, after all, and it was plausible enough.

Soldiers of fortune ofter received the lash of discipline.

What Jasmine didn’t know-what Alpheo would never tell her-was that those scars were not the result of a drunken brawl in a mercenary camp or a punishment for some misconduct.

They were the price of breaking a sack of grain when he was still a slave following the army in the principality of Arlania.

There were rare moments in their conversations when Alpheo would lose himself, letting his words flow freely as if caught in a current of his own thoughts.

This was one of those moments.

“You see,” he began, his tone taking on that lively edge Jasmine had come to associate with his deeper musings, “the further you descend the ladder of society, the more people try to mimic the structure of power above them.

It’s almost instinctual.

Take states, for example.

Why do they even exist?

It’s because people-knowingly or not-sacrifice part of their well-being to escape a worse state of living.” Jasmine tilted her head, intrigued as always when he took this tone.

“Think about it,” Alpheo continued, gesturing animatedly now.

“Peasants hand over a portion of their grain, their hard work, to their lords.

And what do they get in return?

Protection from bandits, a semblance of order-laws, even.

Except,” he leaned back slightly “those laws, more often than not, are crafted to benefit the lords more than the people they’re supposed to protect.

It’s a bargain, sure, but it’s a loaded one.

The peasants pay, and they endure, hoping the trade-off is worth it.Until it reaches a certain point where it isn’t a choice anymore.” “The same principles,” Alpheo continued, his voice carrying the rhythm of a storyteller who had spent years thinking about such things, “apply to trade guilds.

Smaller merchants hand over a slice of their profits and abide by the rules set by the guild to avoid something far worse-a complete collapse of their livelihood.

For instance, a merchant who loses his fortune on a risky investment can appeal to the guild for a loan with an incredibly low interest rate, giving him a chance to rebuild his savings.

It’s a lifeline, yes, but one that comes with a price.” He leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful but edged with a subtle bite of disdain.

“And so, the trade guilds become miniature lordships in their own right, exerting control over the mercantile life of the city.

They monopolize everything: who buys, who sells, and at what price.

But their reach doesn’t stop with merchants-it seeps into the everyday lives of artisans and shopkeepers, too.

These shop owners rely on raw materials provided by the guild-affiliated merchants.

Many times, they’re coaxed into becoming clients of the guild, not full members, but bound by benefits and agreements they can’t afford to refuse.” Jasmine frowned slightly, the weight of his words settling over her.

Alpheo, noticing her reaction, gestured to emphasize his point.

“This system, though,” he continued, “can work against them.

Let’s say a new merchant enters the city with better goods or lower prices.

If that merchant isn’t part of the guild, local shop owners won’t touch their wares.

Doing so would violate their agreements with the guild, cutting off their supply of essential materials or even blacklisting them entirely.

It’s not loyalty-it’s fear.” He paused for effect, then added with a hint of exasperation, “And if the guild decides to raise the price of raw materials?

The shopkeepers have nowhere else to go.

No alternative.

They’re trapped.

It’s a vicious cycle-one where the guild profits at the expense of everyone else.” Alpheo leaned back in his chair, his expression tightening with resolve as he cradled Basil against his chest.

His gaze, usually warm when directed at his family, took on a sharper edge “This,” he said, gesturing vaguely as if encompassing the trade guilds and all their dealings, “is exactly why, in the future, I plan to see the crown take over the entire trade guild network.

It’s the only way to ensure the city remains truly under our control-administratively, yes, but mercantile as well.” Jasmine tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face.

Alpheo, noticing her unspoken question, continued with a passion that made his words feel like declarations carved in stone.

“Think about it,” he said, shifting slightly to better meet her gaze.

“Right now, the guilds are like parasites, feeding off the city while pretending to support it.

They dictate prices, stifle competition, and ensure that everyone-from the smallest shop owner to the wealthiest merchant-answers to them.

But if the crown were to absorb their structure to take direct control over trade, we could eliminate these power struggles entirely.

No more secret deals, no more monopolies.

Instead, everything would flow through us.As it should.” Jasmine arched a delicate brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

“You know” she began, her tone light but edged with playful accusation, “sometimes it feels like you don’t just want to govern this city-you want to own it entirely.” Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Alpheo didn’t respond.

Then, a chuckle escaped him, low and unrepentant.

Basil squirmed slightly in his arms, and he shifted the infant gently, his free hand brushing over his son’s soft hair.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his voice carrying a note of humor mixed with genuine resolve.

“I won’t deny it-I think we should have complete control over the city .

But…” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

“If in taking over the city, we can ensure that everyone benefits then isn’t it a goal worth pursuing?” Jasmine studied him for a moment, her playful expression softening as she saw the sincerity behind his words.

“You make it sound noble , when you just want to pursue your ambitions.

No need to mask them when you are in front of me.

I already know what goes through your mind by now.The same goes through mine after all…”