Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 456

Chapter 456: A dark storm Chapter 456: A dark storm The wooden door of the barracks creaked open, and a soldier stepped inside, rolling his shoulders with a weary sigh.  The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, damp wood, and the faint lingering smoke of last night’s fire.

His boots thudded dully against the floorboards as he made his way toward his bunk, fingers already reaching up to unfasten the straps of his helmet.

With a grunt, he pulled it off, revealing damp, matted hair, before setting it down onto its allocated spot along with his breastplate.

The polished steel caught the dim light of the torches mounted on the walls, reflecting the worn and lived-in state of the barracks-simple yet sturdy, built by the rough hands of the gang members who now toiled as communal slaves within the settlement.

Across the room, a cluster of eight soldiers huddled around a makeshift table, their voices carrying a mixture of amusement and frustration.

Dice clattered against the wood, rolling to a stop as groans and cheers erupted in equal measure.

Coins exchanged hands, alongside slips of parchment bearing written credits-promises of their next month’s salary, wagered away in the heat of the game.

There was an unspoken rule among them, never written down but followed religiously: no one could bet more than what they’d earn in the coming month.

It was a measure of control in an otherwise reckless pursuit, ensuring that no man dug himself into a hole too deep to climb out of.

And yet, as the soldier glanced at the small pile of credits growing in front of one particularly smug-looking player, he wondered just how many men had already gambled away their next weeks before they’d even begun.

The soldier had barely stepped inside when one of the men at the dice table looked up and smirked.

“Ah, look who’s finally done sulking,” he said, shaking the dice in his palm.

“Come sit with us.

You’ve been here how long and still haven’t played a single round?

That’s practically a crime.” Another chuckled, tossing a handful of coins onto the floor.

“Come on, even the greenest recruits throw dice at least once.

What’s stopping you?

Fear of losing all your precious savings?” The soldier sighed, unlatching his breastplate and setting it down with a dull thud.

“Not interested,” he muttered, rubbing at his neck as if trying to relieve a persistent ache.

The group at the table erupted into laughter.

One of them leaned back, grinning.

“Not interested?

You’re retiring soon, and you’ve never even played a single game with us?

That just ain’t right.

What kind of soldier leaves the company without even rolling the bones?” Another, younger than the rest, raised an eyebrow.

“What, scared you’ll lose your pension before you even get it?” The soldier gave them all a flat look before exhaling sharply.

“Betting is foreign to me,” he said with irritation.

“And I’m not in the mood.” “Not in the mood?” one of them mocked with exaggerated pity.

“Poor bastard must’ve had a long day.” At that, the man who had clearly been winning the most let out a loud sigh and slumped back against the bench.

“You think he had a long day?

I just wasted a quarter-hour arguing with some wretch who couldn’t speak a damned word of our tongue, and for what?

A bloody dagger.” One of the men snorted, tossing his own dice across the floor.

“A dagger?

And?” The man waved a hand in frustration.

“Fifteen damn minutes.

I had to get a translator because I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

Thought he was begging for food or coin, maybe even that someone was murdered in his family.

But no.

Turns out he was just going on and on about how someone had stolen his dagger, bloody hell, not even if it was made of fucking gold.” Laughter erupted again from the table.

Another soldier wiped at his eyes, shaking his head.

“A whole dagger?

By the gods, what a tragedy!” “It must have been a fine blade,” another teased.

“What was it?

Gold hilt?

Jeweled pommel?” The soldier let out a huff.

“Steel, apparently.

Some old thing, but he was damn well attached to it.

Kept pointing at his hip, wailing like someone had cut off his hand instead of just taking his knife.” He ran a hand down his face before slumping into a seat.

“Ended up just giving him mine to shut him up.” That sent another round of laughter rippling through the group.

One of them clapped him on the back, shaking his head.

“You’re a damn saint!

You better make sure the decurion doesn’t find out, though.

If he hears you’ve been handing out standard-issue gear to every beggar that cries at you, he’ll have you digging horse dung for a week.” The man rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry.

I’ll make sure of that.” The laughter carried on, dice clattering across the floor, coins changing hands, and the air thick with the scent of sweat and ale.

The dice clattered against the wooden floor once more, and a round of groans and chuckles followed as the winner raked in his winnings.

The conversation shifted naturally, turning toward their work here in the settlement.

“Honestly,” one of the older soldiers muttered, stretching out his legs, “this might be the easiest post I’ve ever had.

We stand around, walk a few patrols, break up some drunken fights, and every now and then, we have to listen to some poor sod complaining about something we don’t understand a smooch of .

Hardly what I’d call soldiering.” Another soldier, a grizzled man with a thick beard, grunted in agreement.

“Aye.

And compared to marching through mud, sleeping in ditches, and waiting weeks for half our pay, this is practically a vacation.” One of the younger men smirked.

“Nice for this to be our last work before retirement, eh?

I’d rather spend my final years of service sitting on my ass here than bleeding in some gods-forsaken field.” A murmur of agreement spread through the group.

This was an easy post-calm, steady, effortless.

No desperate battles, no starvation, no harsh winters spent shivering in a tent.

For men who had spent their lives marching and fighting, this was a fine place to wait out the end of their service.

As the dice rolled again, one of the players glanced up and called out, “Hey, Dain!

What about you?

What do you think you’ll do once you’re out?” Dain, the soldier who had just entered, exhaled through his nose and leaned back against the wall.

“I’ll take the land they owe me,” he said simply.

“Find a woman.

Marry.

Become a farmer.” A few chuckles spread around the room.

One of the younger soldiers whistled.

“Farming, huh?

Trading steel for dirt?

Good luck with that boring life.” He shook his head and smirked.

“Not for me.

When the time comes, I’ll refuse the retirement line.” “Oh?” Dain raised an eyebrow.

“Aye,” the younger soldier said, grinning as he scooped up his dice.

“I like the work.

I like the looting when there’s war,I like the girl that I can take after a city falls and I like the easy coin when there’s peace.

As long as my lance arm holds, I’ll keep taking pay and drinking on the prince’s coin.” The others chuckled, some nodding in approval, others shaking their heads in amusement.

Dain just exhaled and shrugged.

“To each his own.” The laughter in the barracks was suddenly drowned out by the distant but unmistakable sound of shouting.

At first, it was faint, just a ripple on the edges of their awareness, but within moments it grew into a chaotic, frenzied roar-men yelling, voices raised in panic and anger, the sharp clamor of metal striking metal.

Then came another sound.

A crackling, snapping noise, followed by the acrid scent of smoke creeping through the gaps in the wooden walls.

The dice had barely settled when the barracks doors crashed open with a loud BANG.

A soldier burst inside, panting like a dog, his face pale and slick with sweat.

His chest heaved as he tried to suck in air, but the words still tore from his throat like he was choking on them.

“Armor!

Get your damned armor on!

NOW!” For a moment, nobody moved.

The weight of the command, the sheer urgency in his voice, paralyzed them just long enough for the next sound to hit them-the unmistakable, gut-twisting screams of men .

That was enough.

Chairs scraped against the floor as the soldiers shot to their feet, coins clattering as they abandoned their game.

The dice rolled uselessly across the table as hands grabbed for armor and weapons.

Boots slammed against the wooden planks as men rushed to their designated places, tightening straps, pulling on helmets, reaching for swords, axes, maces and spears.

“What the hell is going on?” one of them barked, fumbling with the buckle of his breastplate.

“It’s chaos!” the breathless soldier gasped, bending over with his hands on his knees before snapping upright again.

“Shouts, fire-the savages are rioting, the locals are too, it is fucking chaos!” “The hell do you mean rioting?” another soldier demanded, yanking his sword from its scabbard.

“I mean it’s a godsdamned warzone out there!” The soldier’s eyes were wide, his breath coming fast.

“I don’t even know who they are fighting against!There are fires going through some houses” He swallowed hard before adding, “If you’ve got a star to pray to, you’d better start now.” The barracks, once filled with the easy laughter of men with their boots kicked up, now erupted into a storm of action.

Armor clanked, blades hissed from their scabbards, men muttered curses under their breath as they grabbed whatever they could.

The laughter was gone.

The dice, the bets, the idle talk of retirement-all of it was drowned out by the rising din outside, the distant clash of steel, the screams.

One soldier, his hands shaking as he adjusted his helmet, turned to another.

“This was supposed to be an easy post,” he muttered.

The other soldier, already fastening his weapon belt, just spat on the ground before grabbing his axe.

“Not anymore.” Then, without another word, they rushed toward the door.