Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 868

Capítulo 868: Legacy(2)

The small feet of a boy dangled just above Alpheo’s head. If he stood, if he jumped, even lightly,he could grab them and pluck the boy straight out of the branches. But he didn’t. He watched instead, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves, painting shifting gold patterns over Basil’s bare ankles.

“Aren’t you coming down?” he finally asked.Peering up at the light of his life.

From above, a pause. Then the boy’s voice ringed up : “It depends….are you going to punish me?”

Alpheo arched an eyebrow. “If I were you,” he said, “I wouldn’t think a tree would stop me.You are too sharp for that.”

Basil went silent again, his little chest rising and falling between the leaves. A sigh escaped him, too heavy a sound for a child, and then the branches shook as he began to climb down. The boy moved carefully, barefoot against bark, until he dropped to the ground with a soft thud and stood before his father, eyes searching his face.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you?” Alpheo asked. He couldn’t recall the boy doing anything wrong, at least, not lately.

“Mother doesn’t like when I go alone. Without guards.”

Alpheo nodded slowly. “I don’t think I can find a reason why…..Do you?”

The boy nodded

”There are men who’d go through you to get to us.” He crouched slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. “You do understand you’re heir to the throne, yes?”

Basil’s chin dipped. “I do.”

“Then you understand why you need to be watched.”

“I do,” Basil repeated, then added quietly, “but I don’t like it.”

Alpheo huffed a short laugh. “We all do things we don’t like,” he said, voice softening as he straightened and walked to the base of the tangerine tree. He sat down heavily, back against the trunk, boots sinking into the earth. The bark pressed cool and rough against his shoulders.

He opened his legs and patted the patch of grass between them. Basil hesitated, then obeyed, sitting in front of his father. For a few moments, the only sounds were the hum of insects and the faint rustle of leaves above.

“Why not read in the library?” Alpheo asked at last.

“The air smells in there,” Basil said, scrunching his nose. “Old. I like it here better.”

Alpheo glanced upward, following the boy’s gaze through the canopy of green. The branches trembled under a lazy wind. Somewhere distant, a bird trilled.

He liked it too….

“The open air,” Alpheo murmured as if longing for that calm

Basil nodded, plucking at a blade of grass. “It’s quieter here. In the library, everyone watches me. The guards. The tutors. Even the servants who pretend not to. I do not like it”

His small voice faded, swallowed by the garden’s calm.

Alpheo leaned his head back, eyes half-lidded. And I do not like that I am running around preparing for my possible doom, he thought. But I do it anyway.

He looked at his son,the small shoulders, the messy black hair. Did he understand their position?

“You’re right,” Alpheo said at last. “It’s good to have places that belong only to you. But remember, one day, everything you touch will be wanted by others too. The land, the crown, even the air you breathe.”

Basil turned to face him, frowning slightly. “Then what will belong to me only?”

Alpheo smiled, faint and tired. “Your choices,” he said. “And how well you live with them.”He recalled something ”Your mind also is yours alone….”

The boy seemed to think on that, quiet again.

Taking advantage of the silence, Alpheo leaned forward and plucked the book from his son’s lap. The leather cover was worn soft from use.

He turned it in his hands, running a thumb over the faded gold letters. “The Historiae Fabulae, huh?” he murmured.

Basil’s cheeks reddened instantly. “Give it back!” he blurted, reaching for it.

Alpheo smirked, holding it just out of reach. “I see we share the same tastes, then.”

The boy’s frustration melted into curiosity. “You’ve read it?”

“Of course,” Alpheo said, finally handing it back. “When I first came to this land, I was a stranger to everything, the food, the people. The only thing that felt like home were their stories. Myths tell you more about a people than their laws ever could.”

Basil turned the book over in his hands as if seeing it anew.

“Which one did you like most?” Alpheo asked as a father would to his son.

“Mirectra,”Basil said after a pause as if shamed of the choice.

Alpheo could understand why.

Of course it was. Mirectra, the tale of a woman who, in her fury, killed her sons after learning of her husband’s betrayal, then burned her home with herself and her husband inside while clawing her eyes out in despair.

Alpheo sighed, brushing his hand through his hair. “Fuck me,” he muttered, half under his breath. “Your mother wouldn’t like that one bit.”

“You cursed,” Basil said quickly, pointing an accusing finger. “She really wouldn’t like that either.”

Alpheo chuckled. “Then I suppose we both have leverage over each other.”

The boy laughed, small and bright.

Alpheo reached out and pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. For a while, neither spoke. The sunlight flickered through the canopy, dust motes floating lazily around them. The scent of tangerine mixed with the earth, sweet and raw.

He wished, Gods, how he wished, he could trap this moment . Just him and his son. No politics. No soldiers. No ghosts of friends lost or wars looming. Just peace, fragile as a glass orb in his hands.

But peace never lasted. War was knocking at the door.

He tightened his hold and pressed a hand to Basil’s cheek. “I love you with all my heart,” he murmured.

The boy looked up, puzzled by the sudden gravity in his father’s tone. “Father?”

Alpheo’s gaze drifted to the horizon. “I’d love nothing more than to spend my days like this. You, me, the quiet , your mother…. But I can’t. And neither can you.”

Confusion clouded the boy’s eyes.

“We both have our duties,” Alpheo said. “Mine is to protect you and what’s ours. Yours is to grow strong enough to carry it after me.”

Basil frowned slightly, the words heavy only half-understood.

“Your mother told me,” Alpheo went on, “that you prefer being alone. That you stay away from the other children.”

The boy stiffened, worry flickering across his face. He thought he was being scolded. That look…cut deep into Alpheo’s chest.

“I’m not angry,” he said gently. “I just want to know why.”

Basil hesitated before whispering, “It isn’t that I don’t like them… It’s that they’re shallow.”

Alpheo tilted his head, fighting a smile. “Oh? And what does shallow mean?”

Basil’s face flushed crimson. “It means… it means they don’t think much,” he muttered.

Alpheo laughed softly and reached out, tweaking the boy’s nose, the same nose he saw in the mirror every morning. “I understand,” he said. “I’m not reprimanding you for that. Solitude can be a good teacher. But remember, someday you’ll wear a crown. And a prince must learn how to draw people in. To make them want to listen.”

Basil blinked up at him, unsure of what that meant.

“You’ve got my nose,” Alpheo went on, “and your mother’s eyes. That’s a good start you got the looks.” His voice softened into a grin. “Half the battle of ruling is getting people to look at you and want to follow. The rest…” He paused, brushing a leaf from Basil’s shoulder. “The rest is knowing what to say when they do.”

The boy looked down at his book again, his small fingers tracing the worn spine.

Alpheo watched him with quiet pride and quieter dread.

He’ll learn soon enough, he thought. About charm. About power.About the shame of half his blood and about how much he will have to struggle….

“Was that why uncles follow you?” Basil asked, breaking the long silence that had settled between them. His voice was small but steady, curious in the way only a child’s could be.

Alpheo blinked, pulled back from his thoughts. Uncles. He knew exactly whom his son meant, Jarza, Egil, Asag. Men who had shared his bread and blood through the years.

“Well,” Alpheo began with a slow exhale, “that’s a bit different.” He smiled faintly, “What binds us isn’t something shallow, Basil. It wasn’t born in comfort or in the shine of titles.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes drifting to some distant horizon only he could see. “Half a life of battle and a dozen trials forged what we have. They would not have lived without me, and I cannot live without them. We crawled through the same mud, starved in the same winters. When men survive that together, the bond is stronger than blood.”

He noticed the flicker in Basil’s expression,something that was not quite sadness but close enough. A child’s quiet envy. The longing for connection.

Alpheo reached out and cupped his son’s face in both hands, his palms rough and warm. “Do not fret, my boy,” he said softly. “With time, you’ll find people you can trust the same way. Not because of who you are, but because of what you share. What I have with them wasn’t made through crowns or commands.”

He brushed his thumb across Basil’s cheek. ” Every man needs someone who would bleed with him when the world begins to burn.I cannot find them to you, but I will give you the chances for that in due time.”

Basil smiled faintly at that, the tension in his brow easing. Alpheo held the look for a moment longer, letting the stillness of the garden wrap around them.

Then came the crunch of boots on leaves.

Alpheo’s head turned first, instinct sharper than thought. From between the hedges emerged a tall figure clad in armor, the sigil of Yarzat glinting faintly on the breastplate.

His face was carved from the same stone as the northern snow wasteland: expressionless, cold, efficient.

“I am sorry to disturb you” Vrosk said, stopping a few paces away.

Alpheo’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly, his spine straightened, his shoulders squared. The father’s ease drained from him like warmth from cooling steel on water. “What is it?”

The captain of his guards bowed his head slightly. “An envoy, sire. Bearing the Romelian flag. Scouts report their approach,they’ll reach the city within two days.”

For a heartbeat, neither man moved.

All of it washed away like sand pulled under by the tide.

Alpheo’s jaw set, his hand slipping from his son’s shoulder.

“I see,” he said at last. His voice had changed.

Vrosk gave a nod. “Shall I prepare the escort?”

“Do so,” Alpheo replied. His gaze lingered on Basil, who now looked up at him with puzzled eyes, unaware of how quickly peace could rot into duty. “And send word to Lord Shahab. He’ll want to be present when they arrive.The man is assigned to bear with our foreign relations after all…”

Vrosk bowed once more and retreated, the sound of his steps fading into the distance.

Alpheo stayed still for a moment, staring past the trees toward the faint shimmer of the horizon. His fingers twitched once, as though reaching for a moment already gone. Then he rose to his feet.

“Come,” he said quietly, forcing a smile for Basil’s sake. “Let’s get you back to your mother.”

And as the boy picked up his book and followed him through the garden’s sunlight, the only thing his eyes laid on was the great back of his father, who at that moment he believed could take over the world.

But which in that instance was half father, half prince, and neither allowed to be whole.