Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 668: The road forward(4)

Silence. Heavy and suffocating.

It hung over the tent like a velvet curtain. Gone was the cordial air, the wine-slicked words, the polite exchange of diplomacy. The prince who had just moments ago worn the mask of a generous host now sat still and unmoving—his posture rigid, one hand pressed to his lips, eyes fixed on the boy before him with an intensity that could have turned bone to dust if he so desired.

The jovial glint in Alpheo’s gaze had vanished.

Across from him, Thalien tried to appear unbothered. His back remained straight, his breathing even, his expression composed. But a faint twitch in his fingers betrayed him—a silent confession of nerves beneath the surface.

So it was him, Alpheo thought coldly, the realization blooming like frost behind his eyes.The Prince of Habadia

The one he’d hoped not to meet—not yet, not here, not as an enemy , not so soon .

Looks like I’ve had an enemy sitting across from me for far longer than I realized.

Alpheo’s thoughts raced, eyes never leaving Thalien. For years, he’d wondered how Herculia had not already crumbled under the weight of its own decay. Rebellion, famine, noble discontent—he had cut down city after city, shattered armies, and yet, something always stitched them back together just enough to resist.

Now the thread had a face.

So that’s the answer... delivered like an offering on velvet cushion.

Finally, after what felt like a full minute of tense, unbroken silence, Alpheo leaned forward ever so slightly, the weight of his gaze still pinned on the boy.

"Thalien."His voice, when it came, was calm—but sharp, like silk hiding steel. "Go back into the city. Deliver my terms. Tell them to yield and raise my banner over the gates."

Thalien blinked, caught off guard not by the command—but by the ease with which it was granted. The bait had been taken. The offer was real.

Everything he had angled for—within reach.

Alpheo continued.

"When that is done, you will return to me. And I will welcome you into the fold. You will have your lordship... and lands enough to suit your ambition."

Thalien’s head lifted, his mask cracking just enough to reveal something—pride, perhaps. Or relief.

But Alpheo was not finished.

"You will swear fealty. Not in name, not for show. With body and soul."His words were quiet, but every syllable landed like a hammer.

Thalien bowed his head in reverence, or perhaps calculation."I will, Your Grace. I swear it."

Alpheo watched him for a long breath, searching for cracks in the pledge, for even a hint of falsehood. But the boy held firm.

"Very well," he said, rising from his chair, every motion deliberate."Then I will have work for you soon. Greater work than you’ve yet imagined."

He gestured to a nearby attendant.

"Bring the gift and have it ready."

Turning back to Thalien, his voice dropped into something low and final.

"Ride now. Take my terms and win me that city.And from now on, whatever you do, you will with my blessing and in my name."

And as Thalien turned to leave, stepping into the light that broke between the tent’s flaps, Alpheo remained still, watching with the eyes of a man who would be the seed whose tree will rot Herculia from within.

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"How is everyone doing ?" Egil shouted , pushing aside the tent flap as he stepped in. He froze mid-step, his eyes sweeping over the grim faces gathered inside—Alpheo’s especially.

"...Never mind," Egil muttered, sensing the weight in the air as he quietly made his way to his seat.

Alpheo stood at the head of the war table, arms crossed behind his back, staring at Egil as he took his seat.

"Now that everyone is here," he began, his voice cool and deliberate, "there have been... developments."

Alpheo didn’t let the silence linger.

"I have just received the formal offer of surrender from the commander of Herculia’s defense. The gates are soon to be open. The capital is ours."

A ripple passed through the tent—quiet murmurs, exchanged glances.

"You don’t look like a man celebrating," Shahab finally said, cutting through the noise. "That news should have put a grin on your face. Instead, you look like you’ve swallowed a nail."

Alpheo’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

"No, I am not smiling," he said flatly. "Because with the surrender came other news—news that has forced me to reconsider everything that was to come next."

Egil narrowed his eyes. "What kind of news?"

Alpheo turned away from the table, walking slowly to the edge of the tent, the fabric of his cloak trailing like a shadow. He let the question hang a beat before answering.

"Our original plan was to press forward—strike quickly while our momentum holds, secure more territory before the lack of food cuts off our advance. Fast, efficient, and necessary, given the limits of our current logistics. In short take as much as we can while we still got food"

He paused, then turned back to them, his expression unreadable.

"But that plan has changed," Alpheo said firmly, the weight in his voice silencing the air like a blade sliding into its sheath. "We’re no longer advancing. We’ll hold position here, in Herculia—for at least a month."

The quiet that followed was thunderous.

Shahab looked as if he’d been slapped. "You want us to wait? With the front open for us? Why in the gods’ hells wouldn’t we push forward while we’ve still got momentum?"

Egil leaned forward, his fingers steepled, eyes narrowing. He had waited longest, most eagerly, for the fall of Herculia. This delay bit deeper than most.

"For what purpose are we to rot here longer than necessary?" he asked coldly.

Alpheo’s jaw tightened, but he answered without hesitation. "Because our assumptions were wrong. We thought we were at war with one man—Lechlian. We were not. From the very start, we were fighting a shadow far larger."

He let the silence stretch just long enough to draw their attention fully.

"It seems the Prince of Habadia has been quietly supporting Lechlian since our first campaign in Arduronaven. Supplies. Men. Silver. All delivered discreetly—but steadily."

Egil blinked. "Who the fuck is that?" he asked turning to his right

"The fuck should I know ," muttered Jarza with a shake of his head.

Alpheo ignored them.

"It is enough to know that he is now our opponent—and a dangerous one. A man with reach longer than the maps suggest, and with enough subtlety to hide his hand until now."

Shahab scoffed. "Then all the more reason to strike harder. If we make Herculia burn, we cut the roots before the tree grows again. Show that helping Lechlian is a losing bet."

Lord Xanthios, the newest face at the table, nodded in agreement. "If we move fast and break the last pockets of resistance, we might force Habadia to back off entirely."

"I thought the same," Alpheo said. "But then I considered this: Lechlian was supported even when half his princedom was on fire. His authority crippled. His legitimacy shattered. And yet the aid still came."

There was no lower than he could gett

Alpheo turned to face the room fully, eyes cold and sharp.

"That means Habadia’s prince was not just helping a wounded ally—he was investing in a long game. And if he deemed it worth the cost then, when Lechlian stood at the edge of ruin, he will almost certainly do so again, that he is in danger to lose everything. "

A heavy silence settled, darker than the last.

The mood around the table thickened into something sour, a soup of uncertainty and irritation.

Alpheo saw it, and his expression changed. His features tightened—not with concern, but with disgust.

"What’s with the long faces?" he snapped. "You all looked as if you’d been told fed shit. Should I remind you this is good news?"

No one spoke.

He stepped forward, voice rising up in volume and tone "You should be grateful we now have a clearer view of the board. Do you honestly prefer to wage war in ignorance? To chase phantoms in the fog, swinging at shadows thinking them monsters hiding in the dark?"

Jarza dropped his gaze.

"Have you grown so pampered by victory that the first gust of wind sends you toppling like spoiled brats?" Alpheo’s voice thundered, the anger now fully unshackled. "Did you think fortune was your handmaid? That conquest would come without resistance? Have you forgotten who we are? What we’ve clawed through just to stand here?"

He slammed his fist onto the war table. Cups jumped. The map rippled beneath his knuckles.

"We have bled and scaled every mountain they threw in our path. And now you sulk like children because the wind has shifted?" His eyes blazed. "Reality will never bow to your comfort. It slips through your fingers like water—no matter how tightly you grasp it.Getting angry over it is a fool’s game."

"Our plan failed. So what?Shit happens and plans fail. It’s not the end of the world. We adapt, or we die. That’s war. That’s life."

He straightened again, surveying them with a sneer of disdain.

"Now get your heads out of the dirt. We hold Herculia. That is good enough, so get your fucking mind where should it be."

He turned, cloak whipping behind him, and added without looking back:

"Stop pouting like wet-nosed recruits and start acting like the men I made you into."

A heavy silence lingered in the tent, thick with shame and the raw echo of Alpheo’s outburst. The weight of his words clung to them—like smoke after a fire, pungent and undeniable.

Jarza was the first to move. He dropped his gaze to the table, fingers curling into a fist over the crumpled edge of the map.

"He’s right," he muttered, voice low but firm. "We’ve dealt with worse than this. I’ve lost count of how many times we made camp thinking that would be our last night alive, and we still pressed on." He looked up at Alpheo.

Egil exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his beard as if wiping the shame from his face. "Aye," he admitted gruffly. "I let my tongue speak before my brain caught up. This isn’t the worst hand we’ve been dealt. And I’ve never known us to fold. Still I would have really liked for that battle"

Alpheo’s expression softened, just slightly—like a storm breaking at the edge of dawn. He looked at them, each in turn, and gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"That’s more like it," he said, voice lower now, almost approving. "That’s the kind of men I led through hell and back. The ones who didn’t flinch when the rivers ran red or when the world turned against us. I don’t expect perfection. I expect grit.

Plans fall apart. Shit happens," he said plainly, with a tired smile that held no humor. "Walls crack. Allies betray.You think life didn’t throw every damn obstacle in our path? And yet here we are."

He stopped at the head of the table again, planting his hand on the map.

"So we adapt. We rebuild the plan. New pieces. New paths. We have the capital. That’s leverage no one can ignore.

And in that time—we find where to strike next. Harder. Smarter."

The room, once brimming with tension, now hummed with quiet resolve. Shoulders straightened. And eyes met his again , this time with fire.

As this was the effect that Alpheo had on them