Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 907

Capítulo 907: Catastrophe

”Water!” Mavius croaked, his throat raw from cold and dust. The world tilted beneath him as he staggered off his horse, clutching at the nearest servant.

The boy rushed forward, hands shaking as he offered a jug. Mavius snatched it and drank greedily, half of it spilling down his chin and soaking the collar of his mail shirt. The water was freezing, but it burned good going down .

Behind him, the gates of the Fingers groaned and then slammed shut with a heavy thud. The echo rolled through the courtyard like a heartbeat. For the briefest of moments, Mavius felt relief wash over him , that primal comfort of knowing there were walls between him and the army that hunted his shadow.

It lasted all of five seconds.

He turned. And wished he hadn’t.

What staggered through the gates after him could scarcely be called an army. Twelve thousand men had marched south under his banner , proud switzeled with gold and crimson that had once fluttered across the air. Now only forty-six hundred limped through the iron gate, all tired and thirsty.

The pursuit had cut them down, yes, but the real losses had come later , in the flight, the panic, the endless days of marching north through day and night. Deserters vanished by the hundreds each night, taking their food, their armor, their oaths with them. What had begun as a retreat had turned into a slow, rotting disintegration.

It had taken them a week to reach the Fingers ,a week of fear and frost and silence , but finally, here, among these cliff-carved walls, Mavius could breathe again.

He had made the right choice.

Every city south of here would have betrayed him the moment he rode through their gates. He had seen the faces of those lords as his banners passed. They would’ve handed him to the Imperator the moment they smelled blood in the water.

No. The Fingers were his last sanctuary. And unlike those perfumed traitors, the Lord of the Fingers would not bend knee to the victors.

Still, that didn’t ease the shame.

He stared at the dirt beneath his boots, feeling the weight of failure sink in. He’d been so close. The capital was within reach , he could almost taste the purple cloak, the acclamation, the roar of the Eternal City.

And now? He was right back where he started, only this time without an army or allies.

His jaw clenched until it hurt. “How?” he muttered. “How did it happen?”

The reports had said the enemy’s cavalry was pinned , locked deep in the melee. But then, out of nowhere, came another host, cutting across his flank like a scythe. Where had they come from? No banners, no warning. He knew it was that damn peasant leading those curs.

The White Army.

He could still see their dust burning through the air, could still hear their horns cutting through the chaos.

He slammed his gauntlet against the wall, the metal ringing sharp. “That peasant bastard,” he hissed. “I’ll repay this humiliation. I swear it on my name, on my blood — I’ll—”

But his words faltered. Even his fury couldn’t drown out the truth that hung unspoken in his mind.

Because while he was nursing his wounded pride behind these walls, the Imperator , that smug boy-emperor with the lucky star ,was sweeping south of him. And all those lords who had so eagerly bent knee to Mavius when he rode victorious were now flocking back to the winning side, just as quickly, of that he would bet his balls.

He could already seen them , sending envoys and letters, begging for pardon, offering coin and troops.

Mavius didn’t know that, and yet he did.

If he had, he might have realized that vengeance would be a luxury , one he’d only enjoy if he somehow managed to survive that winter, since apart from the eagle, the fox was looking for his blood.

For now, all he could do was stand there,since he had bigger things to worry about.

With his thirst finally sated, Mavius let the jug drop, the last drops of water splashing against the dirt at his feet. The chill of it still clung to his lips. He straightened, forced his trembling hands to still, and barked the first order since his arrival.

“Lord Willios!”

The name hadn’t even finished leaving his mouth before a shadow moved to his side.

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?”

Willios the Hammer was as his name suggested: built like a weapon, blunt and unbending, If he held any of the resentment his fellow lords surely nursed after the retreat, he hid it well behind that fortress of a face.

“Prepare the city for siege,” Mavius ordered. “I want every tower manned. If you need men to prepare the defenses, I’ll see to it they’re sent. Whatever you require, you will have it.”

Willios bowed his head.”With your permission, Your Majesty, I will see to it at once.”

He turned to leave, but Mavius called out again, his voice sharp enough to cut the cold air.”Lord Willios.”

The man halted, half-turned. His armor gleamed dully in the torchlight, every dent a finger pointing at the loss they received.

“This is only a setback,” Mavius said, the words rasping out between clenched teeth. “A momentary wound, nothing more. We’ll be back on the march before long. The Usurper’s luck will run dry ,I’ll see to that myself.”

Willios regarded him for a heartbeat, his gaze steady and unreadable. Then, with that quiet gravity that only men of absolute conviction possess, he spoke.

“As long as the Fingers hold, Majesty, we are the knife at his throat. You gave me this fief, and I will not shame that gift. I swear to you ,I’ll die on these walls before I see another banner flying over them.”

For a fleeting moment, Mavius felt his chest ease. If there was one man he could still rely on, it was Willios , the gatekeeper he should be called, and really he was the most important man he had to make sure was loyal to him.

He was the one holding the castle through which all armies had to pass to enter Mavius’s dominion after all.

With his chest a bit lighter he watched the man retreat toward the inner keep, his heavy steps echoing against the courtyard stones.

One small pebble to fil the gape in him.

That was when Mavius felt a hand settle on his shoulder , firm, uninvited.He turned his face to see that of his father in law.

“Your Imperial Majesty…”

Mavius turned just enough to grant him permission to continue, his patience stretched thin by exhaustion.

“I know that you are weary after such a long march,” Lord Landoff began, hands clasped before him, his grey eyes low but unblinking. “But I believe it would be prudent to write to my daughter and request reinforcements. The sooner we strengthen these walls, the better. As things stand, Your Majesty, too many of our lords troops over-reach our own.”

Mavius raised his gaze to him, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and disdain. “You believe snakes slither among us, Lord Landoff?”

The old lord hesitated, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. “We are in tall grass, Your Majesty. I do not know what lies beneath our feet , but I know enough to keep my sword drawn while I walk.”

A ghost of a smile touched Mavius’s lips, humorless and sharp. “You think any of my lords would dare turn their cloaks now? After years of service, after fighting beside me twice against my brother’s hosts? Would they renounce all the privileges I’ve showered upon them?”

Landoff’s eyes flickered, searching his emperor’s face, as though wondering whether he was jesting or truly blind. His silence said what words could not: you poor fool.

Finally, he sighed, voice low and cautious. “Your Majesty… most of those privileges will mean nothing if the throne remains unclaimed. And though I do not doubt your destiny, I fear the gods may have written a long and bloodied road to it. A month ago, every man under your banner believed we’d be dining in the Eternal City by winter’s start. Now we stand here, praying the Fingers hold. Only the gods can see the hearts of men, but I’ve lived long enough to know what fear does to loyalty. I would sooner prepare for betrayal and be wrong than assume faith and be undone by it.”

Mavius waved a hand, half-dismissing him. “Minor setbacks, nothing more. We were bested once before by that old lion in the south , did any of the lords turn then?”

“No,” Landoff admitted.

“Then why,” Mavius pressed, his voice hardening, “should this be any different?”

The old man bowed, hiding his grim expression behind formality. “Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty. My apologies.I did not know what I was intending.”

But in the shadows of his mind, Landoff thought of what his son-in-law refused to see , that last time, the Core had been too weak to pursue victory, and there had been no Peasant Prince leading their armies with the cunning of a wolf wearing a crown. Mavius was repeating his old mistake, and pride was the snare closing around his throat.

He bowed deeper to hide the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I still urge caution, Your Majesty,” he said softly. “If only to grant me some peace of mind.”

Mavius exhaled through his nose, weary and irritated. “If it will soothe your nerves, then do as you please. Write to your daughter. Order her to send reinforcements if you must ,I will not beg a woman for aid, but I will not forbid you to command your own blood.”

Landoff inclined his head. “Your generosity humbles me, Your Majesty.”

He turned to leave.

Behind him, Mavius stood tall and proud in the torchlight, looking every inch the conqueror he still fancied himself but was not.

Landoff knew what he saw instead.

A man cornered by his own delusions , an emperor who still thought himself the hunter, even as the wolves began to circle.

But still he had already thrown the dice and was stuck with his old bet.