Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 409

Chapter 409: Among the tribes(2) Chapter 409: Among the tribes(2) Aron stepped out of the small hut, the dry earth crunching beneath his boots as he followed his escort through the village.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of woodsmoke, livestock, and the ever-present staleness of unwashed bodies.

Around him, the daily life of the tribe unfolded, though he could feel the weight of countless eyes lingering on him as he passed.

Women tending to small fires paused their work, their hands stilling over clay pots.

Children, some bold and curious, others wary, peeked out from behind their mothers’ legs.

The warriors, however, made no attempt to hide their scrutiny.

They stood in clusters, sharpening weapons or adjusting the leather of their armor, their expressions unreadable.

Aron had been given the option from Valen to bring some of his men with him for protection, but he had refused.

It would have caused problems as not all could be as welcoming to differences as him , and, in truth, it would have done little to assure his safety.

If these people wanted him dead, no handful of guards would be able to stop it.

No, he had to trust in the thin, fragile thread of diplomacy he had woven between them.

As he walked, he studied the village with keen eyes.

The huts were crude, little more than wooden frames lashed together .

All of them made of wood and hat.

It confirmed what he already suspected-these were not people accustomed to staying in one place for generations.

They were semi-nomads at heart, herders and raiders who followed their food, taking what they needed from weaker neighbors when the land could no longer sustain them.

His gaze flicked to the herds of goats and sheep grazing in the open spaces between huts, their presence yet another sign of their reliance on movement rather than cultivation.

No fields, no orchards-only the animals, their lifeblood.

If the herds ever failed, would they starve?

Do any of the other tribes practice agriculture?

Aron was led through the village until they arrived at a great hut-one that dwarfed the others in both size and construction.

Unlike the smaller dwellings hastily built from wood and thatch, this one had sturdier walls reinforced with thick beams, and its roof was layered with animal hides, likely to keep out the rain.

Smoke curled lazily from a hole at the top, a sign that a fire burned within.

This was unmistakably the dwelling of the leader.

Standing at its entrance were several warriors, their expressions impassive but their presence unmistakably imposing.

Aron’s escort stepped forward, exchanging a few brief words with them.

Whatever was said, it earned a short bark of laughter from one of the warriors.

Aron caught the glance thrown in his direction, and though he did not understand the words, he understood well enough that he might be the subject of their amusement.

He kept his expression neutral, not allowing irritation to show.

There was no point in reacting to a jest he couldn’t even understand.

The moment passed, and with a final nod, his guide turned back to him and gestured toward the entrance.

Without a word, Aron stepped forward, ducking slightly to enter the dim interior of the great hut.

Inside, the hut was dimly lit, the flickering glow of the central fire casting long shadows along the wooden walls.

The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of cooked meat.

Smoke curled lazily toward a hole in the ceiling, the only true escape for the thick haze that hung in the air.

The interior was surprisingly sparse, but not without signs of importance.

A few wooden tables and chairs-simple in design but sturdy-were placed around the room.

Some held earthen jugs and carved bowls, while others were bare, their surfaces worn smooth from years of use.

Animal pelts lined portions of the floor, their presence offering a modest sense of warmth in the otherwise rugged space.

The translator leading him strode ahead without hesitation, his boots thudding softly against the dirt-packed floor.

He moved with familiarity, as if he had done this countless times before, and Aron followed in his footsteps, his own steps measured and careful.

At the heart of the room, just beyond the fire, sat the leader of the tribe.

He was perched on a sturdy wooden stool, a seat that, despite its simplicity, seemed almost like a throne in this place.

The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the hardened lines of a man who had lived through countless battle.

His expression was unreadable, his gaze steady as he regarded Aron in silence.

After several moments of locking gazes, Varaku was the first to break the silence.

“He hopes the hut you were given suits you,” the translator said, his voice steady, as he gestured toward a chair.

Aron nodded and took a seat.

In turn, Aron looked at the leader and smiled, the words coming with a respectful tone, “Please tell him that the hut, while small and simple, is indeed appreciated.

Where I come from, the rooms I reside in are three times the size of this one.

But I understand that our ways of living are different.

And despite its modesty, I am thankful for the hospitality that has been offered to me.” Varaku said something with a small gesture, pointing to a modest table where a few slices of cheese and dried meat were laid out.

The translator relayed the message: “He is offering something to eat.” Aron’s stomach rumbled quietly-he hadn’t eaten since the night before, and the thought of food made him momentarily forget the weight of the conversation.

He smiled and reached for the knife, cutting a piece of cheese.

As he tasted it, he couldn’t help but appreciate the rich, sharp flavor.

It wasn’t the luxurious fare he was used to, but it was satisfying, nonetheless.

The meat, too, was flavorful in its own way-tough, but hearty.

However, as his eyes moved over the small portion of food, he quickly noticed the lack of bread, fruits, or grains.

The food was sparse, with no sign of anything fresh.

It was a meal meant to fill the belly, not to please the senses.

His earlier suspicions about the tribe’s way of life seemed to be solidifying.

They lived frugally-and probably did not have cultivation of any type.

Curious, Aron looked up and asked, “Do you practice agriculture here?” The translator spoke with Varaku for a moment before responding, “We do not have the right terrain for farming.

The cultivable land in the entire region is very few, and all of it is already occupied.” Aron nodded thoughtfully.

That would explain the lack of crops or fields.

It made sense, though it only reinforced the tribe’s limited lifestyle-a life sustained by herding and hunting, rather than growing or cultivating.

Varaku’s expression remained impassive as the translator relayed his words, his voice measured and steady.

“We have furs, cheese, goats, wool, and sheep to offer in exchange,” he said.

Aron had expected this.

He nodded along, but inwardly, he already knew the answer.

These were the goods of struggling people, necessities rather than luxuries.

No fine silk, no precious metals, no rare spices-nothing that could truly entice those who already lived in wealth.

Their offerings were the kind any backwater settlement could provide, things of little worth to the prince he served.

He kept his expression courteous, though the thought of them believing such meager goods could be a fair trade almost amused him.

When the translator finished, Aron let out a slow breath and smiled, though there was an unmistakable sharpness to his tone.

“I appreciate the offer,” he began, “but I must be honest-everything you have named is of no real value to us.

We have thousands of goats and sheep in our own lands.

The prince I serve can summon an army of 3,000 warriors, each clad in steel, their weapons sharp enough to carve through even the finest armor.” He gestured to the garments he wore, the richness of the fabric standing in stark contrast to the humble surroundings of the hut.

“Your furs, your wool, your herds… they are not things we lack, nor things we would ever struggle to obtain.” His eyes flicked back to Varaku, watching for any flicker of reaction, as the last thing he wanted was to anger him.

The tribe leader’s brows furrowed ever so slightly.

It was a subtle thing, but Aron saw it-felt the unspoken shift in the room.

This was not the response they had expected.

These people had lived trading such goods for generations, and now, for perhaps the first time, they were being told it was not enough.

Aron allowed a brief pause, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing.

His voice was firm, but not unkind.

“However,” he said, leaning forward ever so slightly, “there is something you possess that I do desire-something that, in turn, can bring you all the things you’ve asked for.” He let the words hang between them, the air thick with a meaning he had yet to reveal.