Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 398

Chapter 398: Pioneers of the future(2) Chapter 398: Pioneers of the future(2) It is like a dream come true!

Aron cheered in his mind as he stepped down from the smaller ship, his boots sinking slightly into the soft, warm sand.

The salty breeze tugged at his cloak, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the constant sway of the ship beneath his feet was nothing but a distant memory.

He paused for a moment, turning back to the ship-a floating, creaking mass still anchored just a short distance from shore.

The ship that had held him captive for nearly a week and a half was finally behind him, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to breathe in the unbroken stillness of solid land beneath him.

Finally, he thought, his eyes scanning the horizon.

“I wonder if there are any tribes nearby,” Aron muttered to himself as he stretched his legs, taking slow, deliberate steps on the firm sand.

The sensation of solid ground beneath his boots was almost intoxicating after what had felt like an eternity at sea.

He took a deep breath of the salty air, glancing toward the tree line beyond the beach.

“Or better yet, I hope they speak Azanian.” Of all the obstacles they might face, the language barrier loomed largest.

Alpheo had been clever enough to undestand that and choose somebody that spoke a close language .

Fortunately, their proximity to Azania meant there was a chance-perhaps a slim one-that the locals had traded with the sultanate before.

If so, there might be someone among them who spoke enough Azanian to bridge the gap.

And if not?

Then they’d have to rely on the crude art of hand gestures, a less-than-ideal means of communication.

Not to explain their true goal, of course-how could one possibly convey we wish to take your people across the sea to settle in our lands with mere motions?

No, at first, they would pose as merchants.

Trade was a language spoken by all men, civilized or not.

Through commerce, they could build trust, study their ways, and-most importantly-begin to decipher their tongue.

Only then could the real negotiations begin.

As Aron was busy thinking about the mission , Valen, the head of the expedition meanwhile wasted no time.  “Move, you lazy bastards!

This isn’t a pleasure stroll-get those supplies unloaded now!” he bellowed, his sharp, commanding tone leaving no room for argument as he directed his voice at a group of men.

He stood tall, his breastplate gleaming under the afternoon sun, his hand resting instinctively on the pommel of his sword .

“You lot-start digging a perimeter trench.

I want stakes in the ground before nightfall.

If anything comes sniffing around, I want them to think twice before getting any ideas!” He turned on his heel, fixing another group with a glare.

“As for you get those tents up!

If I see one of those things sagging by sundown, someone’s sleeping under the stars tonight!” The camp began taking shape under his watchful eye.

Men scrambled to follow orders, the rhythmic sound of axes chopping at nearby trees mingling with the thud of wooden stakes being driven into the ground.

Fires were being kindled, tents raised, and a defensive perimeter marked out.

Valen turned to Aron, his eyes narrowed.

“You.

Diplomat.

Try not to wander off.

The last thing I need is you getting yourself speared by some savage before we even start negotiations.Who is going to explain that to the prince then?” Then, without waiting for a response, he was off again, barking orders at another group of soldiers dragging heavy crates through the sand.

The beach was soon alive with the relentless rhythm of labor.

Soldiers and sailors alike toiled under the blazing sun, shovels biting into the earth as they carved out the camp’s perimeter.  Further inland, axes bit into the trunks of sturdy trees, their sharp cracks echoing through the shoreline.

Men grunted as they worked in teams, hacking away until the timber groaned and collapsed onto the forest floor.

Others rushed to strip the branches, leaving behind only the solid trunks that would soon form the camp’s outer defenses’s walls.

Aron stood slightly apart, watching with undisguised curiosity.

He had read of armies building fortifications before, but seeing it in action was something else entirely.

There was a seamless efficiency to it, an unspoken rhythm among the men as they worked together.

He observed as sharpened stakes were driven into the trench, forming a crude but serviceable defense that would deter any immediate threats.

By the time the sun was to dip lower in the sky, the outer perimeter was to be mostly complete-just a ring of trenches and stakes, enough to offer protection for the night.  The real work, however, the wall, would take at least two or three days to finish.  For the men, though, this was just another day’s work.

But for Aron it was mesmering, he may not have been a soldier, but even he could see that this was the work of men who knew how to carve a defensible camp from nothing.

Aron weaved through the bustling camp, sidestepping soldiers hauling logs and sailors hammering stakes into the ground.

He scanned the organized chaos for Aven, his impatience mounting with each passing second.

Finally, near a stack of freshly cut timber, he spotted him-locked in conversation with the expedition’s engineer, a wiry man gesturing animatedly toward a direction Aron hesitated for a moment before stepping forward.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he said, clearing his throat.

Aven turned his head, exhaling sharply through his nose before leveling a tired gaze at him.

“What is it, Aron ,right?” he asked, voice clipped.

“As you can see, I’m busy.” “I can see that,” Aron admitted, his eyes flicking to the engineer, who was now eyeing him with mild annoyance.

“But I wanted to know when we can send scouts to make contact with the local tribes.” ”I am sorry, but right now I am dealing with other things.We will talk about that at a later time.”Aven said in an even tone.

”I would just like for some estimates.” Aron retorted, pressing for an answer.

Aven’s brow twitched, and though he clearly tried to rein it in, irritation bled into his tone.

“Tell me, do you see these men?” He gestured broadly at the workers around them, sweat-drenched and exhausted.

“Do you see the trenches, the logs being hauled, the stakes being hammered in?” “Yes, I-” “And do you, by any chance, notice how every single one of them is occupied?” Aven continued, folding his arms.

“Now tell me, with what manpower do you suggest we send scouts while the camp is still being built?” Aron swallowed back his frustration.

“That’s exactly why I’m asking for a date,” he said, forcing himself to remain composed.

Aven let out a long, slow sigh, rubbing his temple as if warding off an oncoming headache.

“Half a week,” he muttered.

“That’s how long it will take to finish the camp.

After that, we’ll start the mission.And begin scouting for any sign of civilization around us” Aron hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Can’t we spare just a dozen men to go out and start looking?” His tone was measured, but there was a clear edge of impatience beneath it.

Aven exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it as if he were dealing with a particularly slow-witted squire.

“We have enough supplies to last for months,” he said flatly.

“So tell me-what exactly is the rush?” Aron opened his mouth to respond, but Aven wasn’t finished.

He swept his hand toward the camp, where men were still hauling logs, digging trenches, and hammering stakes into the dirt.

“All hands are needed here,” he said.

“Every single one.

You think walls build themselves?” Aron shifted his weight, crossing his arms.

“And let me remind you,” Aven continued, his voice dipping lower, “we have no idea how the locals will react to our arrival.

They could be friendly-or they could see us as invaders.

And if things turn sour, We will be very happy to have some walls between us and their spears.

In fact, I bet you’ll kiss the hands of every damn soldier who hammers in the planks.” His expression hardened.

“So, no-we cannot spare a few dozen men.” Aron bit down on the retort forming on his tongue.

He could argue, but it wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Instead, he forced himself to nod.

“Understood,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

“Thank you for the answer.” Aven grunted, already turning back to his discussion with the engineer.

Aron took that as his cue to leave.

Aron walked away, his steps a little too firm, kicking up small puffs of sand with each stride.

His jaw was clenched, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the frustration boiling in his mind.

Arrogant, stiff-necked bastard of a soldier.

He had expected some resistance, of course.

But Aven hadn’t even considered his point-had just shut him down like he was some over-eager squire asking pointless questions.

Oh no, we need every single pair of hands to build some sticks in the dirt!

Aron scoffed internally.

Gods forbid we actually start doing the job we came here for.

His fingers curled into a fist before he forced them to relax.

He took a slow breath, trying to push the irritation away.

It wasn’t like arguing would do him any favors.

Aven was the one in charge here, at least in a military sense, and if Aron wanted this mission to go anywhere, he’d have to find a way to work with him.

But, as he muttered under his breath, “Perhaps that’ll be harder than I thought.”