Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 820

Chapter 820: Baptside by fire(3)

“Come on! FASTER! FASTER!” Blake roared from the prow of his longship, voice like thunder over the crashing of oars. His throat burned with the force of it, but he did not care. He watched with bloodshot eyes as the second of his prized galleons strained against the current, its hulking bulk fighting against the treacherous flow of the Buush.

Ahead of him, bells screamed across Khairo’s walls, tolling like mocking laughter. Each brazen note grated against Blake’s skull, reminding him of his miscalculation.

He had believed the winds would favor them, that the river’s current could be mastered by the strength of oars and the size of his ships. He had been wrong. Dead wrong.

Where is the fucking god’s blessing when I need it?

The slender longships darted forward like knives, slipping through the harbor’s mouth, their hulls slicing the water with speed enough to outrun the rising chains. But the heavy galleys lagged, straining desperately, and only two of the great galleons had even the faintest hope of squeezing through.

One of them was already too late.

The Great Beth, his juggernaut, one of the hammers of his assault, groaned in protest as her captain forced her onward. She seemed almost to hear Blake’s desperate screams and tried to answer, her sails straining, her oars digging deep. For a moment, Blake almost believed she would make it. Almost.

But she did not.

–CROOOAAAKKK–

The grinding, tearing shriek was like the final rattle of a dying beast. Every Free Man on the river froze at it, their arms faltering on the oars, their jaws slack. To them it was not just timber groaning, it was a father’s deathbed whisper, the shudder of a dying god. The kind of sound that burrowed into marrow and made men want to look away, though none could.

The chains had risen, drawn taut across the harbor like the poised blade of an executioner’s axe. Beth’s prow struck first, splintering against the steel links. The shock reverberated up her spine, shattering planks like ribs. She groaned again, a terrible, hollow wail, before the water rushed into her wounded belly.

Steel bit deep into wood, sawing, ripping, devouring. The chains carved through her as if through living flesh, tearing open her guts with surgical precision. Planks exploded outward, shards flying like bone fragments. The timbers cracked, groaned, and then broke with a final, heart-wrenching scream.

Blake watched in horror as the Great Beth,one of three glorious beast of war he had , began to list. Water surged over her decks, swallowing screaming men. Her proud banner dipped, shuddered, and then sank beneath the frothing tide, trailing bubbles and broken bodies.

Her death was slow, agonizing, every inch of her descent a humiliation that clawed at Blake’s chest like guilt. He wanted to roar, to throw his axe, to leap into the water and rip the chains apart with his bare hands, but all he could do was watch as her girl went down.

She was dead.

The Great Beth, the third pride of his fleet, was sinking into her watery grave. But Blake would not, and could not, allow her death to drag the whole campaign down into the depths with her.

He had a feat to write on those hot sands.

This was their one chance, the moment they had bled and starved and waited for. His men were already throwing themselves into a near-suicidal assault. If he let despair take root now, the city would stand and all their sacrifices would have been for nothing.

Blake raised both of his great axes, crossing their blades high above his head. Sparks flew as he smashed them together.

CLANG—CLANG!

The sound cracked like thunder over the water, almost drowning out the tortured groan of another galley breaking her back on the harbor’s chains, following Beth’s example.

“Men of the sails!” Blake bellowed, voice raw with the fury of grief hiding the sound of more ships failing to reach them and getting to the bottom as their price to pay. “The Great Beth is whimpering on her deathbed, hear her calling for us! She begs for vengeance!”

CLANG!

Sparks went up.

“She bellows for us to carry her name into the heart of Khairo! To strike down those who dared raise their hand against her!”

CLANG!

“Do not soil her memory with cowardice! Do not let her sink alone and forgotten! Make her dying scream your fire, your fury, your purpose!” His chest heaved, eyes alight with madness. “SAIL FORWARD! TO GLORY AND REVENGE!”

His final smash of the axes sent a final spray cascading into the wind.

He had hoped the roar, the spectacle, would ignite his crew,but instead he saw it plainly in their faces: the cold realization of what he was asking.

“Sir!” one of the men cried, voice shaking. “Nearly half our force is gone already! The rest turn back to join the outer assault! This is madness!”

For a heartbeat Blake considered it.

Considered letting his axe fall then and there, burying it into the man’s skull to feed the hunger gnawing at his arms. But no—his death would soil the first bloodshed he would have in a while.

He could not devalue that moment so.

Instead, he lashed him out with a kick. The man shrieked as he toppled over the rail and into the river with a heavy splash.

After killing him, he of course, then answered his question.

“So what?” he asked tilting his head to the others “Have you all gone senile? Or are you cravens, shitting yourselves at the smell of battle? The harbor is right there, our path wide open, and the Azanians barely rouse their dogs to guard it! Look at me! Do you see me faltering? I am at the head of the attack! I will be the one with the first axe to pass through the gate between hell and glory!”

His teeth gleamed as he leaned forward, snarling, “If I have no fear, why in the Sea-God name should you?”

The men’s eyes widened.

Then, from the water below, came the sight that made Blake’s lips curl into a grin. A hand, pale and dripping, clawed its way onto the side of the ship. The man he had cast overboard was clinging desperately to the railing, refusing to drown and calling for aid admist mouthful of water.

“Oh?” Blake chuckled pleasantly surprised. “The sea spat you back out? Then perhaps it deems you worthy after all of another attention.”

The crew around the man watched at their captain for instructions; he, after all was the one that sent him out, who would risk to ire him by aiding the man?

Before anyone could move, Blake seized the man’s wrist in one massive hand and, with terrifying ease, hauled him up from the wrist and hurled him back onto the deck like a sack of grain.

With armor and all, he must have weighed 80 kilos at the very least, and yet their captain raised him without trouble.

The soaked sailor collapsed in a coughing heap, spitting brine. He looked up with disbelief at the captain who had both tried to kill him and saved him in the same breath.

“Congratulations,” Blake said with a smile far too kind to be anything but cruel. “The sea has chosen to not embrace you yet. You’ll live to take part in this assault.”

He planted one of his axe heads into the deck, the wood cracking beneath it.

“You dropped yours,” Blake added smoothly, gesturing with his chin. “Take mine and make good use of it; it is very thirsty.”

The sailor blinked in shock as Blake ripped the axe free and shoved it into his arms.

“Use it well, and then at the end of the battle give it back to me. Remember, you are borrowing it, don’t you dare keep it! ” Blake continued, his voice softening just enough to unnerve. ” By the way, I see you falter even once…” He leaned in close, eyes burning. “…I’ll murder you myself. You may choose whichever to die beneath, Azanian steel or mine.”

The man clutched the weapon as though it burned, too terrified to answer. Around him, the crew shifted uneasily, whispering under their breath, not sure what to make of it.

Though they had to admit despite the fear that their captain struck in them, he truly was charismatic.

Blake gave them no time to dwell on it.

He strode to the prow, planting one foot firmly on the rail, his chest swelling with breath. Then, throwing his head back, he let out a roar that seemed to shake the very air.

It was maddening.

They were close enough now that the shouts of the defenders carried over the water. The bells still tolled, the chains still groaned, but none of it mattered truly.

They had reached the harbor.

And the rising star of the Confederation and future king of the Isle jumped onto the maws of hell; whether it be his or theirs was yet to be seen.