Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 397

Chapter 397: Pioneers of the futures(1) Chapter 397: Pioneers of the futures(1) At just twenty-two winters, Aron was hardly a seasoned diplomat.

His experience in statecraft was limited to a handful of fruitless missions to the Principality of Oizen-exercises in formality rather than actual negotiations.

Not because he lacked skill, but because the power dynamic had been entirely lopsided, with Yarzat becoming too weak to hold its own.

A deal between nations is only upheld after all when both sides wield comparable strength, either to match each other, or enough to make war a costly affair .

If a nation grows powerful enough to discard a treaty that no longer serves its interests, why wouldn’t it?

Likewise, if a stronger nation deems an agreement with a weaker one insufficiently beneficial, it may seek to renegotiate-or dictate new terms entirely.

And should negotiations fail, the decision to go to war becomes a simple matter of weighing risks against rewards.

If the spoils of victory outweigh the costs of conflict, then war is merely an extension of diplomacy by other means.

Of course, not every war is the result of cold calculation.

Some are set into motion by unforeseen events, spiraling beyond the control of even the most cautious rulers.

In many cases, war is not planned-it simply happens, a chain reaction of missteps, ambition, and circumstance leading to the inevitable clash of steel.

Before Alpheo’s arrival, Yarzats had been losing the war in every way that mattered-on the battlefield, and in politics.

The prince’s defeats had turned the crown into little more than a joke.Only with the arrival of Alpheo did things turned around, as with some military victories he managed to succeed into drawing back nobles who had once distanced themselves from the sinking ship that was the royal court.

Now, with momentum on their side, those same lords were slithering back, eager to align themselves with power once again.

Currently Aron’s last week and a half at sea had been, by all means, the most exciting stretch of his life.

For someone who had spent most of his days dealing with the dull formalities of court, the open sea had proven to be a far more unpredictable stage.

At first, the voyage had been uneventful-just the rhythmic creaking of the oars and the steady wind filling the sails, horrible food and the continuous swaying of the ship that made Aron wanting to throw up .

That was until they spotted trouble on the horizon.

Pirates.

Two ships, to be exact, shadowing them from a distance, never drawing too close but never straying far enough to be dismissed.  The head of the expedition, a sub-centurion named Valen Decius, had tolerated their presence for the better part of two days.

Valen wasn’t particularly remarkable in rank-just an sub-centurii of the White Army given a temporary promotion for this mission-but he had the air of a man who valued discipline above all else.

And patience, Aron quickly learned, was not his strong suit.

On the third day of their unwanted escort, Valen had finally had enough.

Standing at the prow of his galley, he barked an order for two of their ships to break formation and give chase.

The military galleys, built for speed and endurance, surged forward, their rowers pulling with the fury of men eager for action.

The pirates, realizing they had lingered too long, tried to flee.

But their smaller, single-masted vessels, propelled only by their meager rowers, stood little chance.

Within half an hour, one of the galleys caught up to its prey, the iron beak of its prow slamming into the flimsy wooden hull of the pirate ship.

The impact sent a sickening crack across the water, splitting planks apart like kindling.

The ship listed to one side, taking on water fast, and within minutes, it was swallowed by the sea, along with most of its crew.

The second pirate ship, seeing the fate of its companion, wasted no time in turning tail and vanishing over the horizon.Strangely to think about, that was the very first engagement that any ship in the Royal fleet had fought in and won, commanded not by a sea-general, but a land one.

Still, that was the last they had seen of pirates.

Whatever band had been testing them clearly learned their lesson.  Aron soon discovered, much to his displeasure, however that the rest of the travel would be incredibly dull.

The days stretched endlessly with little to break the monotony.

When there was nothing to do but stare at the vast expanse of sky above or the endless blue of the ocean below, boredom could easily set in.

And for those, like Aron, who could read or write, such activity was impossible to perform for the rhythmic rocking of the ship.

At this moment, Aron found himself giving in to the first of his options: staring into the blue depths beneath the ship.

He watched the waves break against the hull, the white bubbles rising and popping, carried away by the motion of the water.

It was peaceful in a way, though far too still for his restless mind.

Almost instinctively, his gaze drifted toward the small bundle of papers tucked under his arm, linked with some chain that held the pages together .

Who would have guessed the prince was such an avid seeker of knowledge?

Aron mused as he pulled out the bundle and opened it, the crisp pages flopping open with no resistance.

It was a journal-a completely empty journal.

It wasn’t meant to hold any great mysteries or wisdom, just a task, or more accurately, a favor from Alpheo.

It was his job, or rather his subtle order, to document everything he observed about the tribes they were going to encounter.

In truth, the knowledge of the eastern continent was little more than a blank canvas, painted only with the most basic and often exaggerated snippets of information.

The only details passed down came from Azanian merchants, who had crossed paths with the wild lands in their travels-mostly tales of spice traders and caravans that braved the untamed territories to bring exotic goods back to the empire and sultanate.

Their reports, however, offered little of substance beyond a few well-worn stereotypes: barbarians, they called them, fierce and unrefined; a people who dwelled high in the mountains, far removed from the luxuries of civilization.

They were also told that they had no use for coin.

And to top it all off, they didn’t even practice agriculture-not in any real sense.

To a civilized mind, this was absurd.

Yet this was the widely accepted image of a barbarian.

Such scant knowledge was taken at face value, as no one had any reason to dig deeper into the mystery of these wild lands.

To them, the tribes beneath Azania were an irrelevance.

After all why would they concern themselves with a group of barbaric tribes with nothing to offer?

Still apparently now a prince appeared with such interests, that on itself did not have much value ,except maybe to better understand the culture of people that would settle on his land, but whose main interest wasto feed a mind that craved knowledge in his barest form.

Aron’s mind had begun to wander once again, the monotony of the sea tugging at his focus.

The gentle sway of the ship, the endless horizon stretching out before him, the ceaseless sound of water slapping against the hull-all combined to lull him into a kind of trance.

His eyes lingered on the rippling waves beneath him, the expanse of blue hypnotizing.

He had started to drift, thoughts running aimlessly like the endless currents beneath the ship.

It was then that a sudden shout cut through the air, snapped him from his reverie.

“Land ho!” The cry came from the lookout perched high in the mast, his voice filled with unmistakable excitement.

The crew, scattered about the ship, seemed to vibrate with renewed energy.

A collective cheer rose from the sailors, a sound of pure, unrestrained relief.

Some clapped each other on the back, others shouted prayers or curses to the gods of the sea.

Aron felt his heart leap in his chest.

The endless stretch of water, the oppressive sensation of being at the mercy of the sea, was finally coming to an end.

His legs, stiff from days of standing on the unyielding deck, itched to feel the soft give of soil beneath his feet again.  “Land,” he whispered under his breath, barely believing it.

And yet, there it was, rising slowly from the horizon like a mirage turning real.

He couldn’t contain himself.

A broad grin spread across his face, and he found himself clapping a along too This was it.

This was the moment he had been waiting for-the beginning of the mission that could, if successful, reshape his future.

No longer just the third son of a knight without inheritance, Aron could finally take the steps he needed to carve a name for himself.

He had dreamt of this moment since Alpheo had entrusted him with the task, of proving himself worthy and rising through the ranks of the prince’s inner circle.

“Land at last!” he shouted as he joined in the cheers too.

(Map of the south in this comment)