Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 492

Chapter 492: Developments(2) Chapter 492: Developments(2) Lord Eurenis, a man well into his fifties, with sharp, hawkish features and a knowing smirk, leaned forward, studying Robert with open amusement.

His voice, laced with intrigue and mockery, broke through the silence.

“Well now,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk, “I never imagined I would find the right hand of Prince Arkawatt among us.How long has it been?At least four years since we laid eyes on each other..”  Robert met his gaze without reaction.

He didn’t scoff, didn’t frown, didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

He simply took in a slow, measured breath, as if steeling himself against the weight of old ghosts pressing in from the past.

Eurenis chuckled, amused by the lack of response.

“Things went very well for you after your prince’s unfortunate demise, didn’t they?” he continued, resting an elbow on the arm of his chair.

“A castle, new lands, a fine title-you were made a lord.I suppose you should have been among the most loyal to the princess or rather to her dog.” His eyes glinted as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“And yet, here you are, sitting among those marching against the crown.

You must understand our surprise.

After all, none of us had any idea you were here.” The gathered lords exchanged glances, some curious, others suspicious.  Robert slowly exhaled, forcing himself to remain still.

He let his gaze drift over to Elios, the man who had vouched for him, despite his doubts.

For all his zealous belief in the gods, Elios had at least understood the value of hearing Robert out, but that did not mean he believed him.

It was because of him that Robert was here at all.

A rare flicker of gratitude passed through him, though he said nothing of it.

“Lord Robert,” Niketas greeted smoothly.

“I have not seen your banner anywhere among the host.

One would think a man of your reputation would ride beneath his own colors.I apologize for the lack of company from us, but as lord Eurenis has said, we were not aware of your presence.” Robert met his gaze, his expression unreadable.

He did not fidget, did not shift uncomfortably like a lesser man caught out of place.

Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, tilting his head ever so slightly before replying, “That’s because my banner isn’t here.” His voice was level, almost indifferent.

“My son holds the reins of my house now.

I’ve come here for… something personal.” Niketas studied him for a moment, but before he could probe further, Robert continued.

“I’ve thrown my lot in with this cause, and I will see it to the end.” Before anyone could respond, Lord Lysandros scoffed, his patience clearly thinning.

He leaned forward, his sharp, predatory gaze sweeping between Robert and Elios.

“Enough pleasantries,” Lysandros said, his tone edged with irritation, as the constant knowledge that his family could be in danger made him feel jumpy .

“I want to know why we were called here-why Elios went out of his way to arrange this little gathering just so you could present yourself.” His gaze flicked to Elios for the briefest moment before settling back on Robert.

“There must be a reason for this, and I expect to hear it.” “There is a reason,” he conceded “And that reason is to stop you from making a colossal mistake.” He let the words settle, let the tension in the room grow thick as the lords processed them.

Then, with a measured pause, he added, “A mistake that will ruin any chance of victory before the true war has even begun.” The tent was silent now.

The weight of his words lingered, pressing heavy against those gathered, as if the very air itself had thickened with their meaning.

Robert turned his gaze to Lord Eurenis, his expression unreadable, though his eyes carried a weight that was impossible to ignore.

He let the silence stretch, watching the other man, before finally speaking.

“Tell me, Lord Eurenis,” he said, his voice level, “do you know why I was given titles and fiefs from the crown?” Eurenis furrowed his brow slightly, as if trying to measure the intent behind the question.

“Was it not for your long and steadfast loyalty to her father?” he asked.

Robert exhaled slowly and shook his head.

“She wouldn’t give half a rat’s corpse for her own blood,” he said flatly.

“Loyalty meant nothing to her.

No, the reason for my generous rewards was because I was the one who led Lord Ormund and his eldest son into an ambush that cost them their lives.” A quiet tension gripped the tent as the lords stiffened, their expressions shifting from curiosity to unease.

Some leaned forward slightly, others exchanged glances, but none interrupted.

Robert pressed on.

“I was made to act as the princess’ envoy, sent to beg her uncles to raise their men and come to her aid,” he continued.

“At the time, the city was controlled by mercenaries, the prince consorts’, and she played the role of the desperate ruler, pleading for support.” More than a few lords tensed at his words, realization beginning to set in, though Robert did not stop.

“Lord Ormund answered the call,” he said, his voice taking on a grim edge.

“He was invited to take the throne, promised power on the condition that he betrothed his eldest son to her.” The lords remained deathly silent.

“And so he marched,” Robert went on, his tone edged with bitter finality.

“But before he could grasp what was promised, he was ambushed by the prince consort and his men, cut down before he ever had the chance to take the crown he had been lured toward.Useless to say instead of a crown he was given a sword to the throat” He let his gaze sweep over the assembled lords, their faces now carved from stone as the weight of his words settled upon them.

“Does any of this feel familiar?” he asked, his voice cold and steady.

“It should.” He let the silence stretch before finishing, “Because it is the same trick being used on you.” Lord Lysandros leaned forward, his hands pressing against the wooden table as his sharp eyes bore into Robert.

His voice carried the steel of conviction, unshaken by the revelation.

“We have proof that says otherwise,” he declared.

“You expect us to throw all of that away based on your word alone?” Robert didn’t flinch.

He had expected resistance.

He had expected doubt.

His fingers tapped once against his knee before he spoke, his voice unwavering.

“I don’t care what proof you have,” he said, meeting Lysandros’ gaze without hesitation.

“Documents, envoys, oaths are sworn before the gods themselves-it changes nothing.

This stinks of the Alpheo’s plans, and I will believe that until the day I die.

You should, too.” A heavy silence settled over the tent, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows against the canvas walls.

The gathered lords exchanged glances, the weight of Robert’s warning hanging thick in the air.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if doubt had begun to claw its way into the rebel host’s council.

Then, Lysandros straightened, his jaw tightening as he looked around the tent.

His eyes hardened as he swept his gaze over his fellow lords before speaking with a voice like tempered steel.

“Trap or not, those bastards are going for my family” he said.

“Nothing will stop me from marching down onto the Low Prince.” His hand curled into a fist against the table.

“Nothing.” From the side, another voice broke through the tension.

Lord Niketas stepped forward, his expression resolute.

“The proof we’ve received is too tangible for it to be some mere trick,” he stated firmly.

“It’s too much for the prince to fake.

The lords must understand that they are sorrounded and are jumping from the dead horse to the riding one.” Murmurs of agreement stirred among the gathered lords.

The tide of the conversation was shifting, and Robert could see it.

Yet, despite the tightening noose of their determination, he could not let himself back down.

Because if he was right, they were marching toward disaster.

They had already set their sights on the march south, their convictions locked in like iron gates.

There was no stopping them-not with words alone.

But perhaps… they could be guided.

He lifted his gaze, sweeping over the gathered lords, measuring their resolve.

Then, with a voice steady as a seasoned commander addressing his men before battle, he spoke.

“If you believe this is the truth, then that is your right,” Robert said, his tone neither mocking nor patronizing.

“If you are certain this path leads to victory, I will not be the one to wrench you from it.” He let the words settle for a moment before continuing.

“But if there is even the smallest chance that what I say holds truth, even the slimmest possibility that this is a trap, would it not be worth taking some… precautions?” The firelight flickered in their eyes, illuminating the moment of thought his words had earned.

“Precautions that, should things turn for the worse, do not cost you the war in one fell swoop.” His gaze hardened as he leaned forward, his next words carrying weight.

“Let me be the one to lead the vanguard.”