Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 454

Chapter 454: An hard place Chapter 454: An hard place The attack force had set out in the morning, ninety bandits their target.

Now, the battle was over, and not a single one remained standing.

Victory had been swift, decisive, merciless.

The fight itself had not lasted long-most of the bandits had fled at the first sign of defeat, only to be cut down as they ran.

The ones who had stood their ground met their end with steel, their bodies now strewn across the bloodstained earth.

But it wasn’t over yet.

The work of warriors did not end when the killing stopped.

There was still one final task.

The camp-a wretched place of filth and suffering-could not be left standing.

The very ground was tainted by the horrors that had taken place within its tents.

It needed to burn.

Orders were given, and torches were lit.

The fire started small, creeping along the wooden beams of the makeshift structures.

Then, as more fuel was thrown into the blaze, it grew into an inferno.

Smoke twisted into the sky, thick and heavy, as the camp was reduced to embers.

The bodies of the fallen were dragged into the fire, their broken forms vanishing beneath the hungry flames.

There was no reverence, no prayers-only the crackling of burning flesh and the distant sound of the wind.

But not all the bandits had perished in the battle.

Some had surrendered, throwing down their weapons, begging for their lives.

Perhaps in another place, on another battlefield, their fate might have been different.

A lord might have taken them as prisoners, and sold them to a slaver.

But not here.

Not after what had been found in the tents.

The captured bandits were lined up before the fire, their hands bound, their eyes filled with growing horror as they realized what was to come.

No one spoke.

No one begged.

By now, they knew there would be no changing their fate.

Blades flashed in the firelight.

One by one, their throats were slit.

Their bodies collapsed onto the dirt, twitching, gurgling, before the flames claimed them alongside their fallen kin.

No graves would mark their passing.

No memory of them would remain.

Only ashes.

When the last of the corpses had been swallowed by the fire, the warriors turned their backs to the burning ruin and began their march home.

———— Robert sat atop his horse once more, the beast shifting beneath him with a steady, rhythmic trot.

He had left it behind to fight on foot, the dense forest making cavalry useless in the attack, but now that the battle was over and the road ahea0d was clearer, it was a relief to have the animal beneath him again.

The army, however, was not yet on the move.

The sun sat high in the sky, marking that midday had long since passed, yet the men still remained in camp.

Some sat in clusters, chewing on stale rations while they awaited for the cooks to finish up stirring the pots, while others repaired straps of armor or re-wrapped the grips of their swords.  The scent of burnt flesh still clung to the air.

Robert urged his horse forward, weaving past scattered groups of soldiers and their tethered mounts, heading toward the head of the expedition.

Sir Joshen.

The knight was where Robert had expected him to be, seated atop his own steed near a small gathering of officers.

His polished breastplate gleamed in the sunlight, though the lower half of his surcoat was marred with dried blood from the fighting.

As Robert approached, Sir Joshen caught sight of him, his expression unreadable.

“Sir Robert,” he greeted, nodding once.

Robert returned the nod.

“Sir Joshen.” The army had set up camp just outside the village-the very same one the bandits had been preying upon for food, supplies, and worse.

It was a grim return, for both the soldiers and the villagers, though nothing needed to be said.

The scars left behind by the raiders were evident on the faces of those who had survived them.

Robert pulled his horse up beside Sir Joshen, his eyes scanning the idle camp before turning to the knight.

“Why are we still here?” he asked.

“The prisoners have been returned, the bandits are dead.

We should be moving.” Joshen let out a breath, running a hand through his graying hair before answering.

“The cooks are preparing food.

If we’re to march, we may as well do so with full bellies.

A few more hours won’t make a difference.” Robert frowned.

“Is it really necessary to waste a day’s march over that?” Joshen turned to him with a knowing look.

“Perhaps not.

But this village has suffered, and not all of the women will be taken back by their kin.

The gods only know how many.

If they are to have nowhere else to go, we may as well take them with us.” Robert’s gaze flickered toward the village, to the figures of women who had once been captives, now free but uncertain of their fate.

He said nothing, and Joshen didn’t press him.

Instead, the knight smirked slightly.

“I’ve heard from some of the men.

They said you fought well.” Robert scoffed, shaking his head.

“They were bandits,” he said flatly.

“Men who only knew how to swing at something weaker than them.” Joshen chuckled.

“Still, you handled yourself well.

Some were surprised, I’d wager, from your age mind you.” Robert said nothing.

He hadn’t fought for glory or admiration.

If anything, the battle had been nothing more than another step forward-whether toward redemption or ruin, he had yet to know.

Joshen studied Robert for a moment before speaking again, his tone thoughtful.

“Still, it’s one thing to say they were just bandits.

It’s another to face them and come out on top.

I imagine it’s been some time since you fought like that.” Robert gave a short, humorless chuckle.

“It has.

My fights were usually fought from horseback or from behind a line of men I commanded.

I gave orders, they carried them out.

Simple.” Joshen nodded, understanding.

“And yet, this time, you stood among them, sword in hand.

Not quite the place of a nobleman, is it?” Robert glanced at him, his expression unreadable.

“So you know of me?” Joshen let out a low hum, watching as a group of soldiers sat around a fire, laughing over some crude joke.

“Enough to know that you are a castles and villages bound in oath to you.” He turned back to Robert.

“Do not worry I will not ask of why you are here marching among men swore to never know opulence, each one has his demons to fight after all.

So, tell me, did you feel anything?

Standing among them, fighting with your own hands?” Robert’s grip tightened slightly on his reins.

“Nothing worth speaking of.” Joshen let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders as if easing the weight of his armor.

“We’ll be marching in a few hours.

Best use the time to rest and eat while you can.” His voice was steady, but there was something distant in his tone, as if his thoughts were already elsewhere.

As he spoke, he turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward a small group moving slowly through the camp-girls, their faces pale and streaked with grime, their thin shoulders hunched as if the very air pressed down upon them.

Tears ran silently down their cheeks, their eyes fixed on nothing, lost in whatever horrors their minds refused to let go of.

Joshen’s expression darkened.

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his chin.

“I feared as much,” he muttered.

“Their troubles aren’t over.” Robert followed his gaze, watching the way the girls clung to each other, how some flinched at the sudden clatter of armor or the bark of a soldier’s laugh.

Their bodies had been freed from the bandits, but their souls?

That was another matter entirely.

Joshen’s voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“They may never find peace from what happened to them… but at least tonight, they’ll find a warm meal from us.” It was a small mercy, and they both knew it.

But in a world where mercy was scarce, it was all they had to give.

—————– Robert sat down heavily on a rough patch of earth, his body aching from the battle, though he barely registered the discomfort.

Before him lay a simple wooden bowl filled with thin, watery porridge and a piece of hard bread that looked like it had seen better days.

He stared at it for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Once, his meals had been a display of wealth-roasted venison, spiced fowl, fine cheeses, and wine rich enough to make a man forget his troubles for an evening.

Now, he was reduced to this.

Bland slop and stale bread.

With a quiet sigh, he let his eyes wander across the camp.

The soldiers, for the most part, kept to themselves, speaking in low tones or tending to their weapons.

Some ate, others rested, and a few gathered around fires, letting the warmth soothe the stiffness of battle-worn limbs.

He had expected worse.

In another army, one less disciplined, the women they had rescued would have likely been dragged into tents under the guise of comfort, coerced into repaying their so-called saviors.

But here?

Here, the men gave them space.

Whether out of pity or something else, he did not know.

His gaze drifted idly, until a familiar figure caught his eye.

Just a few meters away, sitting among the others, was the girl he had freed.

She was thin, frail-looking, her face still marked by dried tears and exhaustion.

Yet, even as she sat in silence, there was something guarded in her posture, something that refused to break completely.

Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, she stared at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, as if debating whether to say something.

Then, as quickly as it happened, she looked away, lowering her gaze and turning her attention elsewhere, as though ashamed of being caught.

Robert paid her no mind.

He dipped his spoon into the porridge, lifted it to his lips, and took a slow bite.

It was as tasteless as he had expected.

Robert grimaced as the bland porridge hit his tongue, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to swallow.

He muttered a curse under his breath before scoffing, “Gods, even water has more fucking taste than this.” He stirred the mush with his spoon, watching the lifeless mixture slosh around in the bowl before he let out a sigh of disgust.

“I’m not eating this grub.” Without another word, he set the bowl down on the ground, letting the stale piece of bread fall inside with a dull plop.

As he rose to his feet, his eyes flicked back to the girl.

She was still sitting there, still avoiding his gaze.

“Take it if you want,” he said as he turned to walk away.

“I am not going to eat that” He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t bother to see if she would reach for it.

Whatever she did with it wasn’t his concern.

His boots crunched against the dirt as he strode off, leaving the girl-and the tasteless slop-behind.