Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 586

Chapter 586: Catching up(2)
The chamber was warm, filled with the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the tall windows. Alpheo, now properly dressed in a deep blue tunic embroidered with silver thread, knelt down with a bright, boyish grin on his face. His hands clapped together in loud, enthusiastic bursts as he laughed, the sound echoing richly through the chamber.

Before him, the tiny figure of Basil crawled with determined wobbles across the thick carpet, his little hands and knees patting the ground with stubborn rhythm. His soft hair, the same dark shade as his father’s, was a ruffled crown atop his round head. His chubby cheeks flushed with the effort, his eyes — wide, bright, and gleaming with curiosity — fixed squarely on his target

“That’s it, my brave little knight!” Alpheo praised, “Come on, Basil! Show your old man how strong you are!”

Behind him, Jasmine leaned casually against a carved pillar, a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter. Her emerald eyes shone with delight as she watched the reunion unfold. The maid assigned to Basil — a woman clad in the modest blues of the royal household — stood respectfully near the door, a faint smile playing at her lips as she silently retreated a few steps to give the royal couple their moment.

Basil let out an excited, breathy giggle, one that sounded more like a squeak, and pushed forward with all the might his tiny arms could muster. His crawl was more of a determined wiggle, his bottom swaying side to side with each valiant lurch. As he neared his father, Basil, in a grand gesture of triumph, lifted one pudgy hand and clumsily batted at Alpheo’s shin — almost knocking himself over in the process.

“Oho! A fierce warrior already!” Alpheo cried out with a laugh, scooping the boy up in one strong arm before Basil could topple. He lifted the child high into the air, spinning him once before cradling him against his chest, planting a noisy kiss on Basil’s soft forehead.

Basil responded with a delighted gurgle, grabbing a handful of Alpheo’s hair with his tiny, merciless fingers and giving it a victorious tug.

Outwardly, Alpheo wore a smile — a big, easy grin made for his son and his wife watching from across the chamber. Yet behind that smile, his mind was far from the warm room, from the tender moment with Basil. It was still chewing relentlessly on the matter discussed only a few hours prior: Sorza’s so-called “proposal” for royal marriage.

He had refused it, of course — refused it before Jasmine could even finish uttering the words. There had been no hesitation, no need to ponder, no weighing of options. The idea was almost offensive in its arrogance.

First of all, they had absolutely no reason to bend their necks now. Their enemies were like wounded animals: still breathing perhaps, but the grave was already dug and the tombstones all but carved. What peace could Sorza offer that Alpheo could not simply claim by standing still?A marriage proposal now was nothing but a desperate bandage slapped onto a battlefield already lost.

Basil squealed happily, tugging again at Alpheo’s tunic. The prince absently shifted the boy to his other arm, nodding and humming nonsense words to him, but in his mind he was already painting grander, bloodier maps.

Secondly, and more importantly, there was the question of principle. Enemies were enemies. Alpheo had not spent three months smashing armies just to turn around and call them ‘family.’ He didn’t care how pretty Sorza tried to wrap it — kinship between rulers would make annexation, the true goal looming ever larger in Alpheo’s mind, far less palatable.

He spun Basil around gently, earning another chorus of giggles from the boy, and caught Jasmine’s eye. She smiled, thinking he was simply reveling in their family reunion.And he was — in a way.Just not only that.

Because even in this tender, glowing moment, Alpheo was dreaming not just of a peaceful court, but of a future where the crowns of Oizen and Herculia were smashed, melted, and reforged into something greater.His future.Their future.

One where the south would be blessed with the first kingdom in his history.

And Sorza?Sorza would be a memory — nothing more, a stone for that great castle of Alpheo’s dream.

Yet another, quieter fear gnawed at Alpheo’s mind as he played with Basil .

The matter of blood.

It was easy now, in the first warm bloom of their reign, when victory sang their names and no voice dared to oppose them. But time…time had a habit of corroding even the sturdiest crowns.Their son — their bright, laughing Basil — carried half-common blood in his veins. Jasmine was a princess, yes, ruler in her own right, but Alpheo? Alpheo had no ancient pedigree trailing behind him, no lineage of gilded ancestors adorning temple walls.

Would they someday prefer a prince with the “proper” blood, a child born of an old, royal line — like one sired from the union of Oizen and Yarzat?Would they, given time and whispers and enough incentive, turn their backs on Basil for a face more palatable to their snobbery?

Accepting Sorza’s proposal would not only grant their enemy legitimacy in survival, it would forge blood-ties too dangerous to risk. Sons born from a union of their two houses would carry the weight of royal names — heirs who could become rallying points for discontent, for division, for rebellion.

A poison in the well.

Alpheo bounced Basil higher, making the boy squeal with delight, but his own smile was cold beneath its warmth.I will not risk your future, he thought fiercely, not for peace, not for politics, not for any damned treaty.

No, the only future worth fighting for was one where no lord could dare question Basil’s right. One where no rival bloodline could be raised against them.And if Oizen must be buried for that future to exist, so be it.If Herculia must be broken bone from bone, so be it.

There was no room for divided loyalties. No room for half-measures.The only peace he would allow would be one built upon ashes and silence.

He leaned down, setting Basil carefully on the thick carpet once again. The boy squealed and immediately tried to latch onto his father’s boot, but Alpheo chuckled and gently pried his tiny fingers free.

“I have something for you, my little boy ,” Alpheo said, ruffling Basil’s soft, curly hair.

He turned toward a low table nearby, where a polished wooden box waited. With a deliberate flourish — as if presenting a treasure to an eager court — he opened it. Inside, nestled on a velvet lining, was a colorful marionette: a tiny soldier, clad in a bright black and white uniform with gold-painted buttons and a tiny sword at its side. The little figure seemed ready to march into battle at the twitch of a string.

Basil, seeing the toy, gasped in wonder, tiny fists opening and closing as he babbled with excitement.

With a smirk, Alpheo lifted the marionette by its strings and gave it life.The little soldier straightened stiffly, then bowed low, one arm sweeping theatrically across its chest. Basil shrieked with laughter, clapping his hands wildly. Alpheo grinned and made the puppet dance, stamping its feet and swinging its arms in a clumsy jig.

Basil, thoroughly enchanted, flung himself forward, trying to grab the magical little man. His fingers brushed the puppet’s boots, and Alpheo deftly lifted it just out of reach, making it tumble backward dramatically.The boy roared with glee, his laughter filling the room with pure, unfiltered joy.

Watching from the bed, Jasmine couldn’t help but laugh herself, her hand pressed lightly to her mouth. “You’re quite talented with that,” she said warmly. “I had no idea.”

Alpheo shot her a quick, teasing glance. “When I was a boy, I had a marionette just like this,” he said,reminding himself of the life that came before this one, his voice carrying a wistful undertone as he manipulated the puppet to dance once more. ” I used to spend hours every day making it bow, duel, parade across the room.”He smiled at Basil’s bright, wide eyes.”It made me feel like I could command an entire army”

Basil, determined, made a second attempt to seize the soldier, this time with a loud grunt of effort. Alpheo laughed, letting the marionette tumble into the boy’s eager hands.Basil immediately tried to chew on its head before being stopped by Alpheo.

After that failure , the boy clutched the marionette with both chubby hands, giggling as he tried to make it move like his father had. He jerked the strings in wild, random pulls, causing the poor wooden soldier to flop about clumsily, collapsing in a heap more often than it marched.

Alpheo watched the boy’s determined little frown with amusement.

After a moment, he knelt down beside him, his strong hand enveloping Basil’s tiny one, steadying it.Gently, he guided the boy’s fingers, showing him how to tug and lift the strings with a smoothness that made the marionette stumble back onto its feet and give a clumsy, but recognizable, bow.

“You see, little one,” Alpheo said, his voice rich with mirth and something deeper, “there’s no use getting angry when the soldier doesn’t obey your will.”

He glanced at Jasmine, who smiled, already sensing where her husband’s mind was wandering.Alpheo returned his gaze to Basil, still holding the small hand steady in his own.

“It’s your fault,” he said softly, the edges of his lips curling upward talking in a soft one with matters that should require an hard one . “If the strings are pulled poorly, then it’s not the soldier’s betrayal — it is simply the master’s failure to command properly.”

Basil blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, clearly not understanding, but fascinated all the same.

Alpheo chuckled, ruffling the boy’s soft hair before continuing in a more thoughtful tone.”Every action, when stripped to its barest form, calls for a reaction. Whether it’s a doll made of wood or a man made of flesh and ambition — the principle is the same.”He paused, letting his thumb stroke gently over Basil’s small knuckles.

“But,” he said, his voice dipping lower, taking on the cadence of one pondering something vast and ancient, “the older you grow, the less clear the strings become. A gentle pull that once made a man kneel may later cause him to bare his teeth. A harsh tug that made another bow in fear may make a different one lash out.”

Basil stared at him, his round face scrunched up, utterly lost. The soldier doll dangled limply in his grasp, forgotten as he puzzled over the flood of words.

Alpheo laughed quietly, his hand tapping Basil lightly on the nose.”You do not understand now,” he said, not unkindly, “but you will.”

He would make sure of that.

With that he leaned back on his heels, looking at both the boy and the marionette with the air of a man who saw far beyond the small, sunny room — into a future shaped by invisible threads and careful hands.”To rule is not to force,” he mused, almost to himself. “It is to know when to pull… when to loosen… and when to let the puppet believe it dances of its own will.”

Jasmine, from her seat, watched her husband’s face as he spoke , the soft tone spoke however, with hard eyes. He then looked at her laughing son, thinking his father was teaching a game.

And in Basil’s innocent gaze, still too young to understand, she wondered if perhaps he already glimpsed the weight of the crown that one day might rest upon his head.

One that she knew would bear much more heavy by the hands of that who would forge it for him.