Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 500

Chapter 500: Bad news Chapter 500: Bad news Alpheo sat at the head of the long wooden table inside his command tent.

Around him sat those closest to him-Shahab, his son Jared, and finally Jarza and Egil.

The meal before them was nothing grand, just simple pasta with a drizzle of oil and herbs, followed by a side of well-cooked meat.  Outside the tent, the sounds of the camp carried through-soldiers laughing, sharpening their weapons, sharing stories of the day’s victory.

The battle had been short but decisive.

And while they had not caught as many as they’d wanted, they had still won, and with victory came food.

Alpheo was no fool.

He knew the weight that pressed on his men’s shoulders.

They were outnumbered, surrounded on multiple sides, and fighting for a prince that many would say was walking toward his doom.  A weaker army would have already broken under the knowledge alone.Of course the White Army was not like any other, and Alpheo had ensured that they marched with stomach filled with good food , knowing well the truth of an old saying: an army marches on its stomach.

Before and after battle, the men were given hot rations-boiled pasta and potatoes, simple but filling, with of course a side of meat.

It was a small thing, yet in the cold of early morning or after the red haze of battle, it was worth more than gold.  Two days had passed since the ambush.

The army had long since moved away from the site of battle, the charred remnants of the mercenary vanguard now nothing more than a memory left to rot in the sun.

The battlefield had been stripped clean-armor, weapons, food, even the boots off the dead men’s feet had been taken.

Nothing wasted.

He had taken 1,200 men for the ambush, a force strong enough to overwhelm the vanguard and the whole army by surprise, but not nearly enough to take on the full rebel host in a pitched battle.

Staying there would have been madness.

“How much have you gotten out of Lord Robert?” Shahab finally asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Alpheo sighed, rolling his shoulders as if the question itself was a burden.

“Not much.

The old man is proving stubborn-surprise, surprise.” He let out a dry chuckle.

“All he’s given me is confirmation of what I already suspected.

He managed to convince the rebel lords to give him the vanguard by warning them they were walking into an ambush.Strangely the arrogant bastards relented.” “How did he know?” Shahab asked,  ”Oh well it seems like he figured it out….you know that was what we did with lord Ormund, which as you may remember,we made use of him as a central part in.” Alpheo said, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily.

“The only reason it worked at all was because the rebel scouts did a piss-poor job patrolling the road.

They left the forest as it was, thinking it just trees and dirt rather than the perfect place to get slaughtered.” Across the tent, Egil let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Good for us.” Alpheo smirked, nodding.

“Indeed.

Still, what fools. If they’d been just a little sharper, they’d have kept their vanguard intact.

And if they’d done that…” He trailed off, staring at the rim of his goblet for a moment before finishing his thought.

“Then we would have had to fight them at full strength or retreat.

Which would have been… unpleasant.” There was a pause, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Shahab tapped his fingers against the wooden table, his expression unreadable.

He did not say what truly weighed on his mind.

That if he had his way, he’d have paid Robert back in full for what he cost him.

But there were rules-tedious, fragile rules that bound even him.

Torturing a lord, even a captured enemy, was not something he could afford to do, not with so many noble eyes watching his every move.

The last thing he needed was to give them a reason to turn against him, especially since they were apparently on the back foot in this conflict.

Jarza took a bite from his piece of meat, tearing into it with the ferocity of a man who had expected more.

He chewed slowly, his jaw working like a grinding mill, then swallowed and sneered.

“We ought to gut the bastard,” he said, jabbing his knife into the wooden table hard enough for it to stick.

“We were meant to feast on a banquet of corpses, and instead, we got scraps.” His voice carried no humor, only disappointment, like a hunter lamenting a wasted chase.

Alpheo, still chewing thoughtfully, raised an eyebrow at him.

“No sense crying over what’s already done,” he said, setting his goblet down with a soft clink.

“We’ll just have to take the long road instead.Also don’t ruin the table it’s quite a nice one…..” From across the table, Jared-leaned forward, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“May I ask what exactly the long road is, then?

What are we to do now?” Alpheo let out a breath and placed his fork down beside his plate.

“We wait for the scouts to tell us what the enemy movements are” he said simply, his fingers tapping against the wood.

“If the enemy host still intends to march against us, then we meet them.

If they don’t… well, then perhaps we take the battle to those among them who are more eager to give us a fight.” He leaned back, letting his words settle before continuing, “We will leave a garrison at Florium to ensure that the rebels cannot march south without breaking their lines of supply.” His gaze flickered toward Shahab.

“And I would like for you to remain in the city with a contingent of troops.

Just to make sure that dear Lord Corvan doesn’t get any clever ideas that may entail taking the fight under another banner.

By all means I trust the man ” He smiled faintly.

“But perhaps in his eyes, we’re the ones on the bad foot of this war.” Shahab exhaled through his nose, nodding.

“With a garrison loyal to the Crown, Corvan will think twice before defecting.Unless of course, he gets their compliance.” “Precisely,” Alpheo said, nodding approvingly.

“Without Florium capitulating, the rebels will have no choice but to siege the town if they wish to continue south-either toward the capital or toward the Voghondai, if their priests insist on burning it to the ground.Either way they will waste a lot of time why we round up the other front of this war.” There was a moment of quiet after that, only the occasional clink of utensils against plates.

Outside, the low murmur of the camp carried through the thin walls of the tent.

The men were fed, morale was high as they had just won a victory, and despite the situation they were in, Alpheo still brought himself forward with a demeanor of a man confident of his chances.

As Jarza tore off another bite of meat, chewing thoughtfully, he let out a low grunt of approval.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he leaned back slightly and looked around the table.

“I’ll say this,” he began, his voice thick with the remnants of his meal, “the Voghondai proved to be good warriors.

Undisciplined?

Like a pack of wild dogs.

But brave, no doubt about that.

Some of our soldiers even warmed up to them and broke bread together.” ”Quite warming, really,” Shahab chuckled.

”We could use more men like that.

Give them proper training, a bit more discipline”  Alpheo tapped his fingers idly against the wooden table, listening as the conversation played out.

His gaze flickered between the men, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he leaned forward, setting his fork down with a soft clink.

“Their traditions lie in ambush and attrition fighting,” he said, his voice calm but thoughtful.

“It’s what they’ve fought with for generations, and I’d wager it’s what’s kept them from being trampled underfoot by larger, better-equipped armies.

That’s what we should be utilizing them for.” Jared raised a brow.

“You don’t think they can be trained to fight in ranks?” “Oh, we can train anyone to march and stand in formation,” Alpheo said, waving a hand dismissively.

“But what’s the point?

We already have soldiers for that.

What we don’t have-what no one else has-are men who can disappear into the trees like ghosts, only to strike at the worst possible moment.Or that truly have the capacity to organize fast and short night’s attacks.

That’s a talent that can’t be taught to men with only some months of training.” Egil nodded, rubbing his chin in thought.

“That would explain why the enemy scouts missed their ambush,” he muttered.  Alpheo smirked slightly.

“Exactly.

And I’d rather sharpen that skill than blunt it by forcing them into tight ranks where they’ll fight like caged animals.

” Jarza let out a low chuckle.

“So, you’re saying we should let the wild dogs remain wild?” Alpheo shrugged.

“Wild dogs make for excellent hunters-if you know how to point them in the right-” He stopped mid-sentence as the tent flap rustled, and Vrosk, the head of Alpheo’s personal guards, stepped inside.

His broad frame, the hardened lines of his face, and the look in his eye immediately quieted whatever else Jarza had been about to say.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Your Grace,” he said, his voice rough like gravel.

“But a letter has arrived.

The bearer said it was urgent.” Alpheo let out a quiet breath, setting his knife down beside his plate.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and Krosk stepped forward, placing the sealed parchment into his grasp.

The wax bore no sigil, which immediately told him everything that he had to know about the sender.

Without wasting time he opened it  His eyes flicked over the words.

His jaw tightened.

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

The others had been speaking in low tones, but one by one, they fell silent as they noticed the shift in his expression.  Alpheo exhaled through his nose, the letter still in his hand as he placed it down onto the table.

His fingers tapped against the parchment once, twice, before he finally spoke.

“Arduronaven has fallen, and the Herculeians are moving toward Bracum.” The words cut through the tent like a blade, as while they were playing around, apparently the enemy was making progress.