Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 435

Chapter 435: Tribal meeting(2) Chapter 435: Tribal meeting(2) As Torghan’s final words hung in the air, the square erupted into a storm of voices.

Warriors turned to one another, their faces a mix of disbelief, curiosity, and outright suspicion.

The tension was high and in the ear of every men, like the crackle of lightning before a storm.

“Two hundred heads of livestock?” one man muttered, his brow furrowed as he scratched at his beard.

“That’s no small gift and the fact that they want nothing is even more strange….” A burly warrior, his arms crossed over a chest riddled with scars, let out a derisive snort.

“Loyalty?

To outsiders?

I’ve lived on our ancestral land since I could walk.

My father and his father before him bled for the soil we were deprived of.

And now we’re to pack up and leave?

For what?

Pretty words and promises?” A younger warrior, his face still unmarked by the harshness of life, stepped forward, his voice sharp with frustration.

“Did you not hear him?

The Leader’s son saw it.

The land is rich-richer than anything we’ve ever known.

My cousin was among the group, and he told me the same.

Fields that stretch forever, soil that yields without struggle.

Are we so proud that we’d rather starve here than thrive there?” The older warrior spat on the ground, his eyes blazing.

“Thrive?

At what cost?

Our freedom?

Our honor?

Better to die free than live as a slaves.

What happens when they demand our sons for their wars?

Or decide they no longer need us?

They’ll cast us aside like broken tools as soon as they are done with us!” Another voice cut through, sharp and mocking.

“And what’s your plan, old man?

Stay here and watch our children wither ?If the boy speaks true, we’d be fools to turn our backs on this.” A low, rumbling chuckle came from a man who had been silent until now.

He leaned against a post, his arms folded, his gaze steady.

“The real question,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate, “isn’t whether the land is fertile.

It’s whether the outsiders’ word is worth the dirt they’re offering.

Promises are easy.

Trust is hard.” The murmurs grew louder, a cacophony of doubt and hope clashing in the square.

Some men nodded, their eyes alight with the possibilities Torghan had painted.

Others shook their heads, their faces dark with suspicion.

The air was thick with the weight of decision, each warrior grappling with the choice before them.

Torghan stood firm, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the crowd.

He had expected this-the doubt, the fear, the resistance.

But he also knew the truth of what he had seen.

The land beyond the sea was real.

The opportunity was real.

And now, it was up to him to make them see it.

He stepped forward, his presence commanding the square like a storm rolling in.

The murmurs died instantly, every eye fixed on him as he began to speak, his voice sharp and unyielding.

“A few days before I left,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, “this square was alive with the sounds of preparation.

Men and women salting meat, storing grain, trying to stretch what little we had to last the winter.

But tell me this-was it enough?

Is what we have now enough to feed our children, to keep our elders from the cold, to ensure we survive another year?” The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the unspoken truth.

Warriors shifted on their feet, their eyes darting away, unable to meet his gaze.

Torghan pressed on, his voice rising like a flame.

“That salt we used-where did it come from?

It wasn’t ours.

It came from the outsiders.

And don’t fool yourselves into thinking it was trade.

It was a gift.

They have so much that they gave it away without a second thought, while we ration every grain of it , every scrap, like beggars clinging to crumbs!” His words cut deep, and the crowd stirred uneasily.

Torghan’s eyes burned with intensity as he continued, his voice ringing out like a war drum.

“They have so much grain that they toss it aside like it’s fucking nothing!

And yet here we stand, debating whether to accept their offer, as if we have the luxury of pride , and the arrogant belief of choice.

Look around you!” He spread his arms, his voice rising to a roar.

“Do you not remember the months before they came?

The empty stores?

The hollow eyes of the children?

The silence of the hunt when the game grew scarce?

Or have you already forgotten what it means to starve?” The square was utterly still now, the weight of his words pressing down on every soul.

Torghan’s voice dropped, low and dangerous, as he delivered the final blow.

“Have you forgotten what comes next if we do nothing?

The cliff-march.

The cold, slow walk to the edge of the world, where we send our elders to die so the rest of us might live another season.

Is that the future you want?

Is that the legacy we leave for our children, teaching them already that the end they will witness will be their own?” A shiver ran through the crowd, though the morning sun still warmed the air.

Torghan stood tall, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with a fire that dared anyone to challenge him.

“The outsiders are not our enemies,” he said, his voice steady now, but no less powerful.

“They are offering us a way out.

A way to thrive, not just survive.

The choice is yours.

But ask yourself this-what will you tell your children when the winter comes and the tables are empty again?

Will you tell them you were too proud to take the hand that was offered?Where will you lay your eyes on when your parents shall do the march of those before them?Will you as a coward move your eyes away from the reality that you yourself created?” “A son is filial,” he began, his tone heavy with the weight of tradition, “when he accepts the sacrifices of his parents and carries forward their wisdom.

That is our way.

That is who we are.” His gaze swept over the crowd, piercing and unyielding.

“But tell me this-what is the difference between honoring their sacrifice and refusing to save them when the chance is right in front of us?

What does it make us if we stand by and watch our elders march to their deaths, knowing full well there was another path-a path that could have spared them?” He took another step, his voice rising like a storm.

“How is it any different from pushing them off the cliffs ourselves?” The words struck like a thunderclap”If you refuse this offer, you are choosing for them.

You are choosing starvation.

You are choosing suffering.

And for what?

Because you are suspicious?

Because you fear what you do not yet understand?” His eyes burned with accusation as he turned, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip.

“You could have guided them to a new life.

You could have given them peace in their final years.

But instead, you would let them wither away for no reason other than your own pride.

So I ask you-who here is truly the monster?” The square was utterly still, the weight of his words pressing down on every soul.

Torghan’s chest heaved, his fists clenched at his sides, as he continued, his voice like iron striking stone.

“Do you fear being swindled?” he demanded, his gaze locking onto the doubters in the crowd.

“Do you think this is some elaborate trick?

A lie meant to lead us to ruin?” His voice rose, sharp and unyielding.

“Then prove it.

If you believe my words are false, if you think I have deceived you, there is only one way to know for certain.” He slammed his fist against the breastplate he wore, the metallic ring echoing through the square.

“I will go.

I will be among the first to settle this land.

I will work it with my own hands, live as you will live.

And if it is barren, if it is a trap, then I will starve alongside you or if you prefer, you may lynch me if the anger is more overbearing than hunger.

My fate will be tied to yours-flourishing or perishing, as one of you.” His eyes swept over the warriors, daring them to challenge him.

“Does that sound like the act of a man who lies for his own gain?

You may doubt the outsiders.

You may doubt the land they promise.

But will you doubt me?

Will you doubt my resolve?” A heavy silence settled over the square, thick as the morning fog rolling over the hills.

No one spoke, no one moved.

The warriors of the tribe stood with arms crossed, brows furrowed in thought, their gazes flickering between each other, between Torghan and their leader.

Then, from within the crowd, a lone voice broke the hush.

“I don’t want to see my parents walk the cliffs.” The words hung in the air, raw and heavy with truth.

Heads turned toward the speaker-a broad-shouldered man, his features lined with the hardship of past winters.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“Not if there’s another way.” Another voice joined him, hesitant at first but growing stronger.

“If the outsiders did not have salt in abundance, why would they gift it to us?

Who gives away something they do not have plenty of?” Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a slow-moving tide.

“They gave us some grain too, and they didn’t ask for anything in return.

What kind of merchant parts with his wares for nothing?” “They wear armor like the one Torghan wears.

If they are strong enough to arm all their men like that, then they are not desperate.” The voices grew, one after another, until the silence was replaced with a low hum of discussion, doubt battling against reason, tradition against opportunity.

Torghan remained still, letting them speak, letting them wrestle with the truth he had laid before them.

One by one, the seeds of change had been planted.

Now, all that was left was to see who would let them take root.