Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 851

Chapter 851: Trembling dog(2)

Khairo was his.

The greatest city the Western Continent had ever known lay broken at his feet, its proud walls shattered, its citizens herded like cattle, soon to be dragged across the sea and sold to the highest bidder. The wealth of a dynasty that had ruled for centuries was already being carted off, divided among lords, captains, and even the lowest of common sailors.

By all rights, Blake who had orchestrated this triumph should have been exultant. But instead of savoring his conquest, he seethed with anger.

The god who had guided his hand, the patron of that decrepit witch, had intervened,shielding the crowned whore of Khairo , a strange choice considering he had killed her minutes later.

Still, that meant the deity had his own designs, ones Blake had not been told.

The expedition was meant to punish a ruling house for hubris. Yet here was that same god preserving its bloodline. The whole affair stank. And Blake, though he burned with fury at being used, knew better than to openly rebel.

The god had shown him enough to temper his rage with fear. Their pact would stand for now.

He would let the god have his temples when he got his kingdom. Blake would humor him, even spread his faith if it served his own ends. And perhaps one day, he would see the Sea-God’s worship eclipsed entirely. Blake owed nothing to that one . He had never owed anything that wasn’t obtained by his own strength.

His brooding was broken as the great door of the Sultan’s chamber groaned open.

“Admiral!” his guard barked, then faltered, eyes wide as they drank in the obscene splendor of the room. Gold leaf gleamed on every surface, mosaics glittered like stars, and the very bed Blake lounged upon was veiled in silk. The guard’s gaze lingered on the woman tangled in those sheets, her bare shoulder rising and falling in sleep.

Blake’s voice cracked like a whip. “What?”

The guard flinched, tearing his eyes from the scene. “Forgive me, Admiral. There is… a problem with your brother. He’s laid claim to slaves already marked for a captain sworn to Salt-Beard. Neither he nor the captain is backing down.You may have a corpse for a brother soon if you don’t intervene”

Blake’s jaw tightened, the anger in his gut flaring hot. What in the hells is wrong with that fool? The last thing he needed was his own blood sowing disunity among men whose loyalty was already stretched thin and was about to end. Salt-Beard’s captains were not men to offend lightly, not if Blake intended to keep their oaths intact.

His decision came quick. “Lead me to him.”

———-

The guard had not overstated the matter.

When Blake arrived, he found the two camps already squared for blood. On one side, the crew loyal to Salt-Beard’s captain, armed and itching for the order to blood. Opposite them stood Cain and the six men Blake had left with him,an inadequate shield, judging by how close his brother seemed to be brushing death each day

If it came to blows, Cain’s side would crumble. That much was plain in the taut stances, the weapons half-drawn, the murderous gleam in too many eyes.

Cain himself stood at the front, chest puffed, chin raised, daring the taller captain to strike him down. The crippled leg made his stance uneven, yet his gaze did not falter. He looked ridiculous and defiant in same way, a man who ought to have an axe buried in his skull already, were it not for the blood he shared with Blake.

And then things worsened.

The crowd parted, and through it strode a figure Blake would have preferred not to see: Salt-Beard himself. The oldest of the raiding lords, his hair as white as sea-foam, his beard long and braided with gold rings. He had ruled his deck longer than Blake had drawn breath, and his mere presence silenced the grumbling men around him.

Salt-Beard’s gaze skimmed Cain like a stone skipping water, dismissing him as one might a barking cur, before settling on Blake,the one who mattered.

“Hardgut,” he greeted with a nod. His tone was neutral, his eyes sharp. They had never been enemies. In fact, they had fought shoulder to shoulder before, casting their votes together in the election that had made Blake High Admiral at the Call. Since then, no quarrel. But neither had reason to test the other’s strength. Until now.

“Salt-Beard.” Blake inclined his head.

The old raider gestured with his chin toward Cain. “It seems your brother has stirred some trouble.” His words carried a faint curl of disgust, as though Cain’s existence alone was an insult.

Blake’s eyes cut toward Cain, his tone flat as iron. “Is it true you’re laying claim to slaves that are not yours?”

Cain didn’t shrink. He never did. “I offered to buy them,” he said, unapologetic. “Two of them. Offered to pay fair coin. Ten silverii for a boy barely past childhood and a middle-aged man who will be dying after a day’s work. That’s more than generous. They refused.”

Blake turned his gaze on the captain who had challenged him, measuring the man’s reaction.

The captain sneered. “The offer might’ve been fair. But I’ve a hold bursting with bounty and I’m not hurting for coin. I don’t sell cheap when the coffers are full.”

Blake let his words fall like a blade. “We’ve taken thousands of slaves. The price will crash before long. Better you take the silver now than sit on spoiled goods.”

The logic was sound, as always, but logic did not ease insult.

The captain spat to the side, eyes never leaving Cain. “Maybe so Admiral. But it’s not the offer that sours me. It’s the boy’s tone. You’d think a cripple would speak softer, know his place. Seems sharing blood with you has swelled his head.”

Salt-Beard chuckled. His eyes slid to the shadow behind Cain,the girl “Or perhaps,” he said, his voice thick with mockery, “too much swelled lower. Maybe it’s not his head but his balls.”

Blake was tired. Tired of games, tired of petty squabbles, tired of having to mediate fools when greater matters gnawed at his mind. He had conquered Khair, broken the pride of a dynasty, bent the wealth of a continent to his will. And here he was, wasting time on a quarrel about slaves.

He gave Cain one long look. “Can’t you let it go? Forget these two. Why even bother? I can have twenty girls sent to you before nightfall, each one a virgin and beautiful. Isn’t that enough?”

Any other man he’d have sent crawling back to the sea without a thought. But Cain was his brother, crippled or not, and the strange turns of his mind had helped win them the Sun Palace.

Cain stood firm, defiant as always. “Nah,” he said flatly. “I need a child to wash my feet and a man to keep my household. I offered fair coin for them. Then that bastard”—he nudged his chin toward one of the men glaring daggers—”called me penniless, mocked my manhood, and offered to rent my slave for a night.”

His voice hardened. “So I smashed my cane against the side of his face.”

Blake’s eyes flicked to the man in question, sure enough nursing a bleeding eye. He lingered there, then shifted his gaze to Cain’s slave. She was staring across the square, too long, too intently, at the two chained souls Cain had tried to buy. Blake raised a brow at his brother, silent accusation in his stare. Cain, of course, ignored it.

Blake sighed, a deep growl in his chest. He owed his brother, too much to dismiss him now. And besides, this gave him a clean excuse to intervene about where he was kept.

He drew one of his axes with a hiss of steel. At once, the crowd recoiled, men stepping back as if the weapon itself was aflame. The Red Angel’s reputation walked before him like a phantom, and every man there knew the cost of standing in his way.

Only Salt-Beard did not flinch. He arched a bushy brow, his weathered face unreadable. “What are you doing, Hardgut?”

Blake made a casual sweep with his axe, the gesture sharp enough to cut the air. “That man,” he said, pointing at the sailor with the bloody eye, “has insulted my brother. Called him an eunuch. Disrespected him. I’ll have his head.”

The silence that followed was heavy as an anchor. Salt-Beard held Blake’s stare for a long moment, weighing him, the tension strung taut as a bowstring. Then the old raider exhaled and shook his head. Slowly, almost lazily, he drew his sword.

For a heartbeat, the whole square braced for slaughter.

But Salt-Beard turned. His blade flashed once, and the bleeding-eyed sailor’s throat split like rotten sailcloth. The man crumpled without a sound.

Salt-Beard cleaned his blade on the corpse’s tunic and spoke as if he’d merely trimmed rope. “Next time,” he said evenly to the others, “make sure you don’t insult the admiral’s kin.” He kicked the body aside and turned to Cain. “Blood has cost. You’ll pay double what you offered. The dead man’s family will need silver to swallow their grief.”

Cain didn’t argue. Blake answered for him, tossing a heavy purse of silver at the captain’s hands. The sound of coin thudding on meat ended the matter the usual way this things went, blood and coin.

The two slaves were brought forth, chains clinking, their eyes wide with confusion and terror. Cain said nothing to them. His slave took them gently, gathering them close, and for the first time her face softened as if a piece of her own soul had been returned.

Blake watched the exchange, jaw tight. There would be words later. Harsh ones. But for now, the business was done. He inclined his head deeply to Salt-Beard. “My thanks.”

The old wolf returned the nod and a smile. “We owe you that, Hardgut. You’ve given us plunder enough to fill lifetimes. When you plan your next raid, call us. We’ll be there.”

“You will,” Blake promised.

Without another word, he turned, seized Cain by the collar, and dragged him forward like a boy caught stealing bread. Cain, strangely enough, did not resist. He let himself be hauled along, limping, and giving a long mesmerized look to the girl, and her new charges hurried to keep pace.

Smiling all the while.