Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 471

Chapter 471: New player Chapter 471: New player Two soldiers stood in front of the great wooden gates of Herculia, their spears resting idly against their shoulders.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the cobbled road leading into the city, but neither of them paid it much mind.

It had been a quiet day-too quiet for their liking.

“By the gods, this is dull,” grumbled the first soldier, a broad-shouldered man with a patchy beard.

His name was Myron, and boredom, it seemed, had become his greatest enemy.

“I swear, if one more beggar plead with me to enter the city, I’m going to run him through just to see some excitement.” “Go ahead,” said the other, a younger, leaner man called Darios.

“Wouldn’t make much of a difference.

All they do is whine and beg.

You’d be doing the city a favor.” “That’s what I’m saying,” Myron huffed.

“It’s the same thing every day.

What I wouldn’t give for something interesting.” “I wouldn’t be so whistful ” Darios muttered, kicking a loose stone with his boot.

“Last time we said that, we ended up on the front lines outside Arduronaven, knee-deep in Yarzat’s finest.” Myron scowled.

“Yeah, and look where that got us-cold, hungry, and still behind on our pay.” Darios chuckled dryly.

“I was waiting for you to bring that up.

Thought we might actually go an hour without complaining about it.” “You’re not mad?” Myron shot him a look.

“We’re two months behind, Darios. Again.

Tell me how I’m supposed to afford anything when the damned price of bread keeps jumping like a hare in a wolf den.” Darios shrugged.

“I’ve stopped thinking about it.

At this point, I’m just happy we still get fed at the barracks.

If I had to live off my wages alone, I’d be gnawing on my boots by now.” Myron let out a bitter laugh.

“You’d be lucky to have boots left.

You seen the price of leather?” “Leather?

Forget that-bread, Myron.

Gods damn it, nine loaves costed 2 bronzii before the war.

Then it went to three bronzii, then five.

Last month it jumped to ten.” “Aye, and just last week it went up again,” Myron grumbled.

“You know how much now?

Fifteen.

Fifteen coppers !

You know what that means?” “Yeah,” Darios sighed.

“Means I’m stretching my rations thin because there’s no way in hell I can afford to eat outside the barracks.” “Means someone’s making a killing off our misery,” Myron spat.

“Probably some fat merchant sitting in his nice warm villa, laughing at all the poor bastards like us scrounging for scraps.” Myron leaned back against the stone wall, crossing his arms as he let out a deep sigh.

He cast a glance at the street leading into the city, his eyes narrowing at the sorry state of things.

The once-bustling entrance to Herculia, where merchants and travelers used to stream in with carts full of goods, now felt like a ghost of its former self.

The people who did pass through looked weary and gaunt.

“You ever seen Herculia looking this bleak?” he muttered.

Darios shook his head, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

“Not in my lifetime.

I remember when you couldn’t even stand here without getting shoved by some merchant trying to push through the gates.

Now look at it-half the stalls are empty, and the ones still standing sell scraps at prices only a noble could afford.” “Gods, the beggars,” Myron groaned.

“You saw how many of them were huddled by the west market?

Could barely take a step without tripping over one.” Darios scoffed.

“West market?

You should’ve seen the temple district.

I swear, they’re breeding like rats.

And what do we get told?

‘Go in there and clear them out!’ Right, because that’s exactly what’s going to fix things.” “Don’t remind me,” Myron spat.

“We must’ve dragged out hundreds of them last week alone.

” “And for what?” Darios sneered.

“So they can go sleep in the alleys instead of in front of the temples?

We might as well have thrown them straight into the river for all the good it did, fucking parasites.” Myron shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.

“I never thought I’d see the day when the capital of Herculia looked like this.

” Myron’s expression darkened.

“And we know exactly whose fault that is.” Darios spat on the ground.

“Yarzats.

May the gods curse them.

If they had just stayed on their side instead of raiding our lands, none of this would’ve happened.Fucking thieves!

“Exactly,” Myron growled.

“We marched onto war following the prince, and what do we get for it?

Empty bellies and empty streets, those that at least died did not have to witness this shit.” “They took everything from us,” Darios muttered, shaking his head.

“The war, the taxes, the hunger-it’s all because of them.

And now we’re the ones left to suffer for it.” “Aye,” Myron agreed, gripping his spear so tightly his knuckles turned white.  As the two soldiers grumbled, the faint sound of hooves echoed from the horizon.

Darios straightened first, squinting against the sunlight.

Myron followed, his hand tightening on his spear.

“Rider,” Darios muttered, his posture stiffening.

“About time something happened,” Myron replied, though his tone lacked any real enthusiasm.

The rider approached quickly, a trail of dust swirling in his wake.

As he neared, the guards stepped forward, lowering their spears into position.

“Halt!” Myron barked.

“Name yourself!” The rider yanked at the reins, his horse skidding to a stop.

Sweat gleamed on his face, his cloak heavy with dust.

It took only a moment for recognition to dawn-it was one of their own, a scout from the patrols beyond the city.

“Trouble?” Darios asked, lowering his weapon slightly.

“Not trouble,” the scout panted, voice sharp with urgency.

“But you’d best get the commander-there’s a force marching this way.

Three hundred, maybe more, and you might want to close these gods-damned gates before they arrive.

The last thing we need is hundreds of sellswords wandering in unchecked.

Damn thieves all of them…” The two guards stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances as the rider spat onto the ground.

“Who are they?” Myron demanded.

“The fuck should I know?” the scout shot back with a shrug.

“All I know is they’re carrying a white banner, and they’re headed straight for us.” Without another word, the two stepped aside, letting the scout ride through at full gallop.

The sharp clatter of his horse’s hooves echoed down the empty streets before fading into the city’s depths.

Darios felt his stomach tighten.

Myron let out a long breath, his expression dark.

If the prince was hiring new bands of mercenaries, it could only mean one thing.

Another round of war was coming.

As if the current famine was not enough, they were with high probability going to be enlisted to march once again, going to risk their life following a prince that only knew defeat in this war.

Darios shifted his grip on his spear, muttering, “Back to war, then.” Myron’s face twisted with something between frustration and fear “And against the same bastard who burned our fields last spring.” Neither of them said anything more.

They simply stood there, spears in hand, watching the horizon and waiting for the storm they both knew was coming.

Soon enough, the distant thunder of marching boots filled the air-a steady, rhythmic drumbeat that carried over the city’s outskirts.

The mercenary force had arrived.

From their vantage point atop the walls, Darios and Myron watched as dust billowed beneath hundreds of boots, the fading sunlight stretching long shadows behind them.

The gates remained firmly shut.

No one had to give the order.

Letting hundreds of armed mercenaries inside, no matter who had hired them, was a risk no sane man would take.

From above, the two guards silently observed the scene below.

The sellswords wasted no time.

As soon as they reached the city, they began setting up camp just outside the walls.

Tents went up with practiced ease, campfires flickered to life, and men settled in for what looked to be a long stay.

Darios let out a slow breath, gripping his spear a little tighter.

“Doesn’t feel real, does it?” Myron scoffed.

“You’d think we’d be used to it by now.I don’t want to fucking fight against them again….” Darios didn’t answer, though Myron suspected he was of the same opinion.

His gaze remained locked on the blurred shapes below-mercenaries moving in small groups, sharpening weapons, inspecting armor, gnawing on whatever stale rations they carried.

Even from a distance, the scene was all too familiar.

The two guards should have been complaining about their pay.

They should have been griping about how their wages barely covered the rising cost of bread.

But as they stood there, looking out at the men camped just beyond the city, their unpaid coin felt like the least of their worries.

After all, what good was gold to a man who wouldn’t live long enough to spend it?