Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 475

Chapter 475: War plan(2) Chapter 475: War plan(2) Alpheo’s breath came in ragged gusts, his broad chest heaving as if he’d just run through a battlefield rather than stood in a council chamber.

When he spoke, his voice was a blade dragged across stone-low, grating, and honed to a killing edge.

“I bled for this.” He started “for all of this ” His gaze-dark as a starless night, burning like siege fire-swept across the room, challenging every soul present to contradict him.

None dared.

“I’ve dug graves in ditches foaming with shit and rotting men.

Taken the lash until my back was a map of scars.

Every soldier who let this crown prance in victory’s sunlight?

I dragged them from the pyre they were meant to burn on.

Gave them the chance to have graves instead of ashes.”  His voice surged now, raw as a gut wound, every syllable dripping with the filth of a hundred battlefields. “And now, after crawling from the dark on hands and knees-you ask me to kneel?

To hand over what I carved out with my teeth?” A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw.

His breath hissed through his teeth.

“You want me to grovel at Herculia’s feet?

To let the Empire plant its banner in our soil like we’re some backwater province begging for protection?” A laugh tore from his throat-hollow, vicious, the sound a dying man might make with a knife at his throat. “No.

I’ll see this place drown in fire before I hand one inch of what I’ve earned to those vultures.” He spat on the flagstones, the wet crack of it echoing like a gunshot in the silent chamber.

“They’re not lions.

They’re not even wolves.

They’re fucking crows, circling what they think is a corpse.” His burning stare locked onto Jasmine, then Shahab, then each council member in turn, branding them with his conviction. “But I am still breathing.

And I do not fear carrion-eaters.” He took one deliberate step forward, his presence rolling over them like a stormfront.

“They think numbers win wars?” His lips peeled back, teeth bared like a war-dog’s. “Let them come.

Let their banners blot out the sun, they’ll burn.

I’ll pile their corpses so high, their own mothers won’t recognize the rot.

Aracina taught them.

The Bleeding Plains taught them.

Every gods-damned field where ‘invincible’ armies learned the price of crossing me.And yet the only lesson they learnt was that they were not fight alone against me” His chest rose and fell like a bellows, his pulse a war-drum in his temples.

But his voice never shook.

“I will not bow.

I will not bargain.

And I will not-“ His gaze seared into Jasmine’s, the words a vow etched in steel, “-let one fucking concession undo everything we’ve paid for in blood.” Slowly, deliberately, his fingers unclenched.

The fire in his eyes did not dim.

“So unless someone has a plan that doesn’t reek of surrender?” No one stirred.

He bared his teeth. “Then this?

This is just another wall.” His fingers twitched-the phantom weight of a sword already in his grip. “And I know how to handle walls.” Another step.

The room trembled, breathless as a hanged man’s last gasp.

“I break them.” His composure cracked then, fury spilling through like blood from a fresh wound. “And when they rebuild?

I’ll shatter those too.

Again and again and again, until they learn that no matter what they do the result won’t change!” His voice rose to a roar, shaking the very stones beneath their feet,.

His breath came fast now, his body coiled like a spring, every muscle taut with the need to move, to fight.  “You want me to kneel?” The word tore from his throat like something vile. “To that backstabbing worm who mocked me at my own wedding?

To that spineless coward that can only attack when others push his back while prattling on and on about a perceived slander like a broken flute?

To those bloated leeches that aren’t satisfied with what they have?” A laugh-hollow, deranged-ripped from his chest. “I’d rather have been come out stillborn from my mother womb.

At least then I wouldn’t have to live in a world where snakes like them think they deserve my surrender.” Shahab turned his face away, as if suddenly remembering the acts that the men in front of him accomplished .

Jasmine meanwhile had gone utterly still.

Only the faint tremor in her fingers betrayed her, gripping the throne’s arms like she was bracing for impact.

Alpheo leaned forward, palms slamming onto the table.

The wood groaned in protest.

Then- CRACK.

His fist came down like a warhammer on the table.

In the ringing silence that followed, Alpheo lifted his head.  “We do not kneel.” The words were final, absolute.

“We do not beg.” His voice was ice, sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.

“We fight.

We break them.

And we paint the earth red until the only thing left trembling-” He bared his teeth  “-is their memory of us.” After a long, suffocating silence, Alpheo exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair before sinking into his chair.

The fire in his eyes had not dimmed, but the storm within him had momentarily settled.

He lowered his shoulders, forcing the tension from his muscles, his breath evening out.

His gaze flicked over the others-Jasmine, Shahab, the council-each still frozen in the wake of his outburst.

The weight of it lingered in the air, heavy and unshaken.

He let it sit a little longer, let them feel it.

Then, at last, he spoke, his tone measured, composed.

“I lost my temper,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, restrained but no less sharp.

He exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it before shaking his head.

“That was… unseemly of me.” His fingers drummed idly against the armrest, his usual smirk flickering back like embers catching wind.

“Frustration aside, our situation is not as dire as it seems.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the splintered table, gesturing loosely.

“The prince of Herculia?” He scoffed.

“He’s about as dangerous as a caterpillar in the rain .

Ambition doesn’t win wars-strategy does.

And he has none.

He might fancy himself a conqueror, but the truth is, his only real option is to sit on his ass and hope he can starve some border castles out.” His smirk widened, all teeth.

“And hope alone does not win sieges.” He let the words settle before shifting his focus.

“As for the prince of Oizen-” he tapped a finger against the battered table, each knock punctuating his words, “-he cannot even think of marching on the capital until he takes Aracina first.

And that,” he said, his voice gaining a razor’s edge, “buys us all the time we need to deal with the rebels.” His gaze flicked to Jasmine, unwavering.

“We fortify it.

Make it a bleeding wound in their advance.

Let them crash against its walls, let them exhaust themselves trying to break it.

We stretch them thin, force them to throw bodies into the fire until they have nothing left but ash.” The room had shifted now-the weight of his anger had become something else entirely.

No longer wild and unchained, but sharpened into something precise.

A weapon.

“We are not fighting three enemies at once,” he continued, voice smooth and certain now.

“This is not three against one.” He sat back again, fingers drumming rhythmically, his smirk deepening.

“This is one against one against one.” His eyes gleamed like a gambler who already knew the outcome of the game.

“And that,” he murmured, “is a much easier battlefield to play on.” He traced a slow circle against the armrest with his thumb, watching as the tension in the room shifted.

The weight of panic was lifting, replaced by something far more useful-calculation.

“They cannot merge their forces.

They are too far, too divided, too suspicious of one another.

Each of them is looking over his own war.

And that means,” his smirk turned sharp, “all we have to do is pick them off.

One by one.” He glanced at Jasmine and Shahab, watching as realization dawned in their eyes.

“One at a time,” he reiterated, leaning forward just slightly, “until there’s no one left to march against us.” As he said so Alpheo turned his gaze toward Asag, his sharp eyes locking onto tman with the weight of expectation.  “You will take the Third Corps and sail for Aracina,” he declared, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.

“Once there, you will recruit reinforcements from the city and fortify it.

Hold it.

Keep them at bay.” He paused, letting the words settle before continuing.

“Meanwhile, we will deal with the rebels here.

Quickly.

Once that’s done, we will come to reinforce Aracina and put an end to the Oizenian prince before he can take a single step toward the capital.” He leaned back slightly, his expression calculating.

“At that point, we will turn our full attention to Herculia.

By then, they will be alone, and without their allies propping them up, they will fall like rotten fruit.” He studied Asag carefully, his gaze weighing the man’s resolve.

“Do you think you can do it?” Asag did not hesitate.

He placed a firm hand on the table, straightened his shoulders, and met Alpheo’s gaze with a confidence that bordered on defiance.

“Just give the order.” A slow grin tugged at the corner of Alpheo’s lips.

He exhaled through his nose, nodding once.

“Exactly what I hoped to hear.” After that he turned his gaze around the room, his sharp eyes locking onto each person present.

His voice, steady yet filled with an undeniable fire, carried through the chamber with the weight of conviction.

“Just as we have done every time before,” he said, his tone unwavering, “we will come out of this victorious.” His fingers drummed against the table for a brief moment before he spread his arms slightly, as if embracing the challenge ahead.

“I know the odds look grim.

I know what we face.

But I have fought battles that should have crushed us .

We have stood against situations that should have ended us.

And yet, every single time, we walked away the victors.” His gaze moved from face to face-Shahab, Jasmine, Asag, and the others.

Some looked tense, others wary, but they all listened.

“All we need to do is what we have always done: trust in each other.

Trust in me, as you have before.

Give me that, and I will deliver results once again.” There was no false bravado in his voice.

No empty reassurance.

Just cold, unshakable certainty.

Because that was the kind of man Alpheo was.