Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 879

Capítulo 879: Augustine halls(5)

Now, this wasn’t Alpheo’s first rodeo when staring down the bull’s horns.His first victory, back when he was was just the bethrothed of Jasmine, had been against a force nearly twice his number, and he’d left the field so drenched in their blood that bards still called it the Battle of the bleeding plains.

He was still proud of how he wiped the floor with them.

Blood is all but the ink of fame.

From there, he had made a reputation out of turning hopeless odds into triumphs, outsmarting stronger foes with tricks, traps, and the kind of audacity that made cautious men squirm.

But this, this shit was different.

The boy on the throne had no idea how different.

“Your Grace,” Mesha began, his tone suddenly adopting that courtly stiffness reserved for uncomfortable truths, “many of the victories sung in your name were against superior numbers. I have no doubt you’ll find a way to make such… conditions work again. I will make sure your words are heeded by the army and that none dare to dismiss them. On my name.”

Alpheo stared at him over the rim of his cup. Hardly an advantage for me, he thought, but he didn’t say it aloud.

He let the silence stretch instead. A long pause, one that turned heavy enough to make the young Imperator fidget in his chair, his confidence fraying by the second.

In his past campaigns, Alpheo had always commanded his own men, loyal soldiers who followed his orders without flinching, who trusted him enough to march through fire if he told them to. His was an army molded in his image: disciplined, sharp, quick to obey.

Here, however, he would be leading an army of strangers, bickering nobles, petty captains, and sycophants more concerned with glory and etiquette than strategy. He would not be the supreme commander; he would merely advise, a decorated foreigner whose word the Romelian lords could, and likely would, ignore if it bruised their pride.

And Romelian pride, he thought sourly, is in so much stock that they use it to wipe their arses.

Finally, he broke the silence when he deemed it enough. “What estimates can you give me,” he asked, his tone calm even though his head was a mess “about the strength of the enemy?”

Mesha hesitated, fingers drumming nervously against his knee. “When they invaded five years ago,” he began, “they fielded close to ten thousand men. Infantry mostly, but their cavalry was of pure stock. I have no reason to think this time will begs to be any different” He swallowed, eyes darting briefly toward the window as though hoping the light might save him. “I would not put it beyond reason for them to have more this time. Eleven thousand, perhaps twelve?”

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. And it wasn’t the summer heat that made it.

Alpheo leaned back, studying him. He didn’t curse, didn’t shout. He simply sat there, his jaw tightening, a slow exhale leaving his nose.

He had after all put the bet already, it was too late to get sour as milk under the sun.

“And how many will we be able to raise?” Alpheo asked, his tone measured, though there was a hint of impatience beneath the calm.

Mesha hesitated, eyes darting away as though the answer might be written somewhere on the marble floor. “Well, not all sworn nobles have reached us yet…”

Alpheo’s brow arched. “Your Majesty. Give me numbers. I have everything on you, we have the same interests here. Please do not mingle your words.”

The boy swallowed, visibly uncomfortable under the older man’s gaze. “A—ah… a correct estimate would be, perhaps… seven thousand five hundred men. More or less.”

For a moment, Alpheo felt relief trickle in. Seven and a half thousand wasn’t perfect, but it was something he could work with. He’d fought and won with worse.

He was already turning over the logistics in his mind, he would have to study the terrain to see which one was better to deny the enemy flanking maneuvers and force it into a direct engagement, where Alpheo’s legions would win the day by superior discipline and equipment. That of course was until noticed Mesha’s expression .

His brow tightened.

It couldn’t be right?

“Including my reinforcements?” He found himself to ask.

Mesha’s lips parted, but no sound came at first. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he forced himself to nod. Once. Twice.

Alpheo’s face went still. Then his voice dropped to a low curse. “Gods… fucking damn it.”

It cracked the air. Unwanted and unneeded.

Mesha flinched as though struck, color draining from his face until he looked almost ghostly.He now probably realised how bad it was.

His hands, which had been neatly clasped in his lap, twitched as if he wasn’t sure whether to defend himself or apologize.

“I—” he began, but Alpheo waved him off sharply.

“Seven thousand five hundred including my men?” Alpheo’s tone had the sharp edge of disbelief. “Meaning you’ve barely mustered five thousand on your own soil?”

How was that even fucking possible?

Mesha opened his mouth again, then closed it, his face pale and drawn. He looked less like an emperor now and more like a boy caught in a lie, his confidence from the throne room utterly evaporated.

He had no words to add.

We are betting on the losing horse…when they fought Mavius five years ago they had 9,000, how the fuck do they now have barely more than half?

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to squeeze the exhaustion from his skull. “All right,” he said, voice flat. “What’s the money you raised going to be used for then?”

Mesha, who had looked one breath away from shrinking into the floorboards moments earlier, suddenly perked up like a hound who’d just found a bone. “It was a solution to our manpower problem,” he said, sitting a bit straighter.

Alpheo said nothing, only stared with that piercing stillness that always made lesser men talk too much.

The boy took the bait. “We anticipated this… well, not this badly,” Mesha admitted, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “So we entered into contact with some well-known mercenary companies, until we found one worth hiring.”

He paused, dramatically, perhaps unintentionally, before saying, “The Black Axes.”

For a moment, Alpheo’s face was confused. He just blinked once, twice… and then leaned forward slightly, what’s there something problematic with it?

He thought for a few seconds then the realisation came in.

”One of the companies that gutted your father’s army and was guilty of taking his head?”

Mesha nodded, as if it were a perfectly reasonable arrangement.

Alpheo let out a low whistle, half amusement, half disbelief. “Did they really accept an offer from the son of the man they helped kill? Gods above, I’d have thought they’d assume the moment they set foot in Romelia, you’d have them drawn and quartered.That is not in the plan I suppose?”

“I had to offer some reassurances,” Mesha said quickly, leaning forward, eager to justify himself. “First, a royal pardon for their crimes. Second, hostages, some of my cousins, mostly the useless ones. And finally, of course, there was the matter of payment.”

Alpheo rubbed his temple again. “Naturally.”

“I’ve promised them a substantial amount,” Mesha continued, “and they’ve since increased their numbers to nine hundred strong.”

Alpheo’s stare was somewhere between horrified and impressed. “…nine hundred mercenaries,” he murmured. “That’s going to be a very expensive mistake if they decide to switch sides halfway through.”

Mesha’s tone softened, almost boyish again. “I negotiated the down payment myself. They wanted half up front, but I talked them down to thirty percent. And I… offered them some minor titles to the officers, to secure their loyalty ”

That caught Alpheo’s attention. His brows went up, and for the first time since entering this city, he allowed himself a flicker of approval. “Titles?” he said. “You gave titles to mercenaries?”

“Yes,” Mesha said firmly, finding confidence in his own explanation. “If we win, they’ll become landed knights, while the captain a noble .”

“A bloody clever trick” Alpheo interrupted with a faint grin. He respected the initiative”Risky, but clever. You’ve got balls , compliments on that.”

For a moment, Mesha looked proud, like a boy who’d finally pleased his father.

“Very well,” Alpheo said, clapping his hands once as if to break the tension. “With that, we’ll have eight thousand four hundred men, give or take. When can we expect your Axes to arrive?”

Mesha’s newfound confidence faltered. He looked away, his tone shrinking. “Ah… about that.”

Alpheo froze mid-motion, his eyes narrowing. “…Is there something else, Your Majesty?”

Mesha cleared his throat. “Well, there’s the matter of transportation. They can’t… exactly march here. For obvious reasons.”

“Obvious reasons…” Alpheo repeated slowly, his voice dropping in pitch. “You mean the fact that they’re mercenaries who butchered Romelian soldiers, and a member of half your noble houses, many would gladly have their heads the moment they cross the border?”

Mesha gave a weak smile, guilty as sin. “Yes, that would be the one.”

So there is another one?

“So where are they now?”

“In Arlania,” Mesha said, hesitating. “Waiting for someone… dependable… to bring them here.”

It hit Alpheo before the words even finished leaving the boy’s lips. He apparently was the dependable one.

He groaned and leaned back again, rubbing both eyes now. “So apart from my men and my coin, you also want my ships, is that it?”

Mesha nodded sheepishly. “You’re the only one with a fleet we can trust.”

Well, he was the only one with a fleet in the south that wasn’t a pirate.They would need time to get the necessary ship and they would be merchant ones, he was the only one with a standing navy…

Alpheo let out a long, ragged laugh that ended somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Gods save me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve somehow found myself bankrolling a civil war I shouldn’t be in with both money and men ,and now ferrying murderers you ought to have strung up years ago. What else do you want while I’m at it, your laundry folded and your sheets aired?”

Mesha’s face went slack for a second, then steadied. He swallowed, every word tasting like confession. “May I… count on your fleet, Your Grace?”

Alpheo blinked. The absurdity of it all almost made him grin. “Why not? I’ve already bet more than any sane man should. What’s one more ship? What’s one more fleet?”

When the relief hit the boy, it showed, shoulders lowering as if a rope had been cut. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart,”

Alpheo waved a hand, still half amused, still half furious. “You’ll get the ships,” he replied, but his tone sharpened. “And I’ll take them to Arlania and fetch your black-axe murderers if you insist. But I’m not doing it for charity.” He leaned forward, eyes cooling like steel. “There are conditions, sensible things you’ll listen to if this venture is to be more than a funeral for Romelia.I have a lot riding on this, and I will do eveyrthing to make you win, but I will need something in return from you.”