Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 834

Chapter 834: Might of words(1)

Everything is a tool, if well understood.

A man who knows only the hammer is helpless when the nail must be drawn from the plank. And so it is with rulers: the one who thinks the same answer will serve for every question is destined to shatter himself against the first immovable wall he meets.

Words will never strike as hard as the sword, and swords will never cut as cleanly as words.

Alpheo, who could summon a thousand and five hundred blades with a gesture, knew that truth well enough, each ready to die in his name. That power is real, but it is not infinite nor omnipotent.

The monarch who answers every doubt with steel will find himself remembered not as a sovereign, but as a brute too dangerous to be bargained with, and will be of course treated as the mad dog he Is and put down as such.

Alpheo did not want to die like a dog.

He studied the faces of the nobles and envoys gathered before him,each wearing a masks of pride , or fear , or anger.

For a fleeting moment he wondered how it would be if their places were reversed, if they had been the ones to command the swords, and he the one forced to defend what was his with nothing but words.

The thought withered almost as soon as it was born. He knew the answer already.

They would have torn him limb from limb the moment he set foot on the dais.

They had nearly done so once before, when he had called their aid against Herculia, on the eve of the Bleeding Plains. They ignored him then, dismissing him like a servant.

Only when he returned victorious, laurels dripping with the blood of his enemies, did they suddenly remembered how to listen.

Men, are not so different from dogs.He had understood long ago. Some whimper. Some bark. Some bite. A monarch must learn to answer each one rightly, or risk being devoured.

Whatever pity or understanding he had once felt for them had long since dried up, sloughed away like oil on water.

He was the hammer now, and they the nails. Nails never stop crying out before the blow, but the hammer does not listen.

The victor has no business sympathizing with the defeated. His task is only to bask in triumph, not to dirty his hands with the misery of those beneath him.

The chamber was silent. It was not the great throne hall, with its high arches and jeweled windows, but a bare room, stone, wood, and little else. Spartan, almost crude. Even Egil’s tent had shown more comfort possibly.

He had not come here to entertain them, nor to be entertained. He had come to crush their little rebellion before it found its legs. They knew well enough that, should it come to war, their cause would burn to ashes beneath his steel.

But he also knew that even victory would not be without cost, his body bloodied, his realm frayed, his time wasted.

It was in everyone’s interest to keep the sword sheathed.

So sword It would not be.

He felt the weight of dozens of gazes pressing down on him like stones. Beyond them, he saw what truly lurked: unease, trembling hands, and the twitch of weak spines.

They feared it would go to the sword, that much was certain. Before them sat the tiger who had crushed the rebels, humbled the Oizenians, and swallowed the Herculeians whole.

He had made a nice myth for himself ,now he had come in flesh, teeth bared to gnaw at the dangling feet left unguarded.

He had to play on those doubts, and never appear to falter , not even once.

“We may begin,” he finally said, his fingers stroking the smooth wooden dome atop the armrest of his chair. It was no throne, just a plain wooden seat dragged to the head of a long table.

When the man chosen to speak stepped forward, Alpheo’s features darkened with a scowl he did not bother to hide. Of course, it had to be Damaris.

The bastard’s house had fattened on Jasmine’s reign. She had showered him with trading privileges and fertile lands in return for his cooperation, especially in ventures where the other lords would have wrinkled their noses in disdain.

Damaris had seemed pliable once, greedy enough to be guided with bribes. Alpheo had believed he could keep the man leashed with crumbs of wealth and favor.

Instead, the dog had bared its teeth, and worse, tasted blood. Perhaps now that the crown no longer needed him as desperately, he had grown bold or feared for his position.

If Lord Damaris sensed the prince’s contempt, he gave no sign. He merely bowed, the gesture smooth but shallow as a pebble thrown into and ocean.

“Your Grace,” He begun” we stand before you as leal lords , merely attempting to defend their rights.

We ask for no bloodshed , not struggle.

For generations, each lord has held dominion over his land, his rights, and his revenues.

Yet now, with the crown’s latest decree, our right to levy taxes upon our own holdings is being encroached upon. This is not a trifle, nor some quibble of coin.

You are breaking a sacred covenant between the crown and its vassals, an overreach that cannot be accepted.

If the authority to raise and collect taxes is stripped from us, what remains of our sovereignty? We are not stewards, Your Grace, to be ordered about at the whim of you. We are lords. And the denial of this right is no less than the denial of our dominion itself.

We hereby expects the crown to rescind the decree previously made and restore the order that was built between the crown and us, leal lords.”

In front of Damaris’ elaborate declaration, Alpheo’s reply was swift, cutting, and utterly deflating.

“No.”

A ripple went through the hall. Damaris blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. “Your Grace?”

“Are you hard of hearing?” his voice ringing against the bare stone walls and reaching the incredolus faces of the lords. “Did you think I called you here, into my wife’s own hall, merely to nod my head like some temple idol and bless your complaints? No.

This is a negotiation, my lords. Nothing more, nothing less. By the end, you may very well wish to say ‘no’ yourselves. That is your prerogative , just as It is mine to answer to that as I see fit.”

He paused, leaning back slightly

“And it will be an answer in kind, of that I assure you.”

They can make of that what they wished, Alpheo thought, watching the uncertainty writ plain across their faces .

“This is unheard of!” a voice burst out, shrill with indignation. One of the younger nobles, his cheeks still smooth, half-risen from his chair. “We are speaking of the breaking of the lords’ prerogatives!It Is too much!”

Alpheo didn’t even bother to turn his gaze toward the speaker . Instead, he let the silence crush the boy for a heartbeat.

“I see some of you suffer from selective memory,” he said coldly. “Lord Gregor’s son in particular, It would seem.Are you a traitor as your father?”

The young man faltered, his bravado shriveling as quickly as it had flared.

“You speak of prerogatives as though they were sacred scripture,” Alpheo continued. “And yet more than half of you—” his gaze swept the table, pinning men one by one like insects under glass—”broke the crown’s prerogatives not four years past. When the banners were raised against me both yours a and foreign, how many of you answered the call? Do not look at your cups. Do not look at your boots.” he snapped his finger together ” Look at me.”

Heads turned downward. Lord Mash in particular could not meet his eye; his gaze fell to the floor, shame gnawing at his lips.

“You,” Alpheo’s voice softened, though it carried a sharper sting for it, “should know that truth better than most.Rights,” Alpheo went on, letting the word drip like venom, “Doesn’t the crown have rights too?Still…we are digressing.

For I believe what we are truly dealing with here is not law, not ancient custom. It is gold. Gold denied, gold lost. That is the marrow of your grievances, nothing more.Nothing sacred , nothing honorable or with glory ”

His hand came down in a deliberate clap, the sound startling against the still air.

“Then let us speak plainly and without deceit. I will offer you both.

Gold, and glory. For those who still wish for either.” The lord’s faces irked up with confusion.

“I think before that , however, that first some reassurances are in order for no honey can be tasted when rot is on tongue…

You fear that your coffers will run dry, that the merchants who once fattened your purses will be giving you none but fly”

A few heads nodded, tight and wary.

“Yet allow me to say that the truth is far less dire.” He let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth “Not all can afford what the crown offers. In fact, very few will.

Those who can are already ours and mostly tend to keep to the road , because they are aware that the path to the capital is safe, that their goods will not be lightened by the hands of brigands before they reach the gates.”

He spread his hands as if to show his point. “Why would they risk your roads, my lords? clogged with tolls and bandit as they are , when the Prince’s way lies open and untroubled?

Already, most have bypassed your cities entirely. Still you must haven’t realised that , thanks to the many merchants that I have attracted to our lands, for which you May thank me in time.” He have a private smile at that

“The loss you imagine, my lords, has already passed you by, and yet you live, your halls still stand, your tables are not bare.

“In short,” Alpheo concluded, “the blow you dread will not strike as deep as you think.

You will barely feel it. A scratch, nothing more.I assure you of that, word on my name that as never came short both for foes and friends.”