Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 674: Open up(1)

Three men strode through the gutted halls of what had once been the heart of Herculia’s grandeur—the royal palace of a fallen dynasty.

Now it echoed like a mausoleum, hollow and stripped of splendor. Where once tapestries depicted triumphs, bare stone walls loomed naked and scuffed. Chandeliers were gone, their brass skeletons wrenched from the ceiling.

Even the candle-holders had vanished, along with the thick woven carpets that once muffled footsteps. Nothing remained but dust, faded outlines, and the faint perfume of dignity long since looted.

Yet the trio walking those desecrated halls held no reverence. They moved with the swagger of men who had earned the right to desecrate. The heroes of Yarzat, the top heads of the military power of a rising star, and today, they weren’t headed for a council or a feast.

They were on their way to abduct a prince from his desk.

"Remind me," grunted Egil, his lean frame flexing as he twisted his neck until it cracked like dry twigs. "When was the last time he actually did anything with us? I’m startin’ to think he’s holdin’ a grudge."

Jarza, tall and muscular like a lance carved from obsidian, cast a sideways glance at him, "Maybe because he’s been working," he replied, his tone like iron dipped in vinegar. "Unlike you, who’s spent the last three weeks drinking anything that fizzes and bedding anything that breathes. Or doesn’t. I’m not sure anymore."

Egil snorted, unbothered. "I earned my indulgence. ’’

Jarza rolled his eyes. "You haven’t earned anything. Try sorting quartermasters, managing levies, filing grain requisitions, disciplining the troops for a bit. That’s what command means, I have helped Alph with his work . You don’t do any of those, I still wonder why Alph is so lenient with you."

’’Benefits of friendship,’’ Egil said with a smirk

"Still," Asag cut in, voice low and smooth as oil, "He has a point."

Both men turned to him. The smallest of the three, Asag, was neither towering nor heavily built, but he had shown everybody at Aracina what mettle he was made of.

"When’s the last time you saw Alpheo outside his chambers?" he asked, raising a brow. "Just—scribbling like a mad priest. Feels unnatural; he usually liked to take long walks during the night with me; he liked the quiet well.

He hasn’t made one in weeks."

That stopped the other two for a moment. The clack of their boots echoed through the vast hall. Silence reigned—until they realized they didn’t have an answer.

"...Shit," Egil muttered. "You’re right."

It had been three weeks since Herculia, the proud Lechlian capital, had fallen into their hands. A city of stone and blood, turned into a prize chest.

But victory, it turned out, came with a monstrous price in work.

The prince handled it all—distribution of loot, letters to Yarzat, negotiations with Imperial merchants, soldier payrolls, even grain shipments for the coming winter. Day after day, locked behind the same desk, beneath the same candlelight, which he did not know but used to be a concubine’s receiving chamber.

"Seems like we ought to do something, ain’t we?" Egil muttered, cracking his knuckles as they reached the foot of the grand hallway that led to the prince’s private chamber. His eyes slid sideways, checking Jarza and Asag for resistance—or approval.

Jarza’s response came after a brief sigh. "It wouldn’t kill him to breathe some fresh air for once," he said, adjusting his collar with an air of reluctant consent. "We’re not exactly dragging him to a brothel. Just... a friendly outing."

Asag, who had been silent, smiled faintly and added, "Count me in."

With their pact unspoken but firm, the three of them continued down the corridor, their boots clapping over marble veined with age and soot. Portraits of long-dead princes looked down at them with hollow stares—ghosts of a realm they’d shattered, now silent witnesses to their stroll.

Outside Alpheo’s chamber stood the usual suspects: a squad of royal guards, men drawn from the old core . They stood tall, proud, in perfectly kept armor that gleamed even in the dull light of the looted palace.

Jarza raised a hand as they neared. "Hey, Vrosk," he greeted, clasping wrists with the broad-shouldered guard captain, whose beard was as thick as his forearms.

Vrosk nodded with a grunt and clasped back. " Boys." He gave Egil and Asag a nod in turn. "Still alive, I see you haven’t fall from the bed."

"How’s it going?" Jarza asked, tone casual.

"Same as always," Vrosk replied, gesturing vaguely at the hall behind him, which without servants passing around, looked pretty creepy. "Standing. Breathing. Looking angry. You know, soldier stuff."

Egil gave a long sigh and leaned his weight onto one leg, as if he could contemplate the same problem too.

"There ain’t much to do here, now is there? We’re all just sittin’ on our arses waitin’ for someone to give the word to march again. The only ones getting exercise are the horses under my riders—gods, how they miss a good gallop.

Worse still I can’t even go to a brother, apparently it is not a place where a nobleman should be found..."

Vrosk chuckled. "You think that’s bad?You at least have a wife back at home warming your bed. Try this. We haven’t moved ten paces in days. At this point, the only skill I’m sharpening is leaning on a spear."

"Speaking of Alpheo " Jarza said, eyes flicking to the heavy oaken doors behind them. "How long’s he been in there?"

"Hell if I know," Vrosk grunted. "He hasn’t left since breakfast, there had been two changes of guards.We sure as hell don’t know what happens behind the wood...might still be breathing, might’ve become one with the paper. Man’s quiet as the grave when he works."

"Good," said Egil, stretching his arms. "Then he won’t hear us comin’. We’ve got some business with him. Think you could take a stroll for a bit?I am sure you said something like, you could do some movement "

Vrosk raised an eyebrow, thick and suspicious. "What kind of business you have?’’

’’What ?You don’t trust me?’’He asked hand on chest as if he was hurt by the question

’’Now was it Jarza that asked me or Asag? I wouldn’t have bat an eye and gone to take a shit , but with you?That’s another story’’

"Just taking a friend out for a breath of fresh air," Jarza said, spreading his hands innocently. "It’s practically a health intervention, Egil’s fine..this time."

The brow stayed arched. "You want me to just abandon my post because you want to cheer up the prince?"

"Cheer up?" Egil scoffed. "If he spends another day in there, we’ll be dragging out a corpse.You really want to tell his wife, he died from too much work?We all know how much she dislikes all of us...that’s just giving her more arrows."

’’Actually the one she hates is you.’’ Vrosk corrected him, ’’I haven’t really seen her shouting to any other.’’

As he said so, he folded his arms, unimpressed. "Still, you’d better give me something better than that if you want my cooperation."

Egil’s grin stretched with slow, deliberate mischief, his eyes narrowing like a man about to win a game he’d set in motion years ago. "Don’t tell me you forgot the mare’s milk."

Vrosk blinked, stunned by the sheer absurdity of the remark.

"You can’t be serious."

"Oh, I’m deadly serious," he replied smoothly, as if discussing a matter of sacred tradition. "That was the finest bowl of mare’s milk this side of the sea. Creamy, sour, just the right hint of grass."

Vrosk’s mouth twisted in disbelief. "That bowl was lukewarm, smelled like goat piss, and it made me shit myself for two days straight. Also—that was five years ago."

"Exactly!" Egil beamed, pressing a hand to his chest like a bard recounting a great legend. "That’s how you know it was authentic.What’s worth more? Gold from a rich noble or cheese from a starving peasant?"

Vrosk groaned, rubbing his temples with both thick hands as if trying to physically massage the absurdity out of his skull. His voice was halfway between disbelief and defeat. "You’re really asking me to break protocol for fermented horse juice?"

"We are not asking you to burn the palace down Vrosk" Jarza said, taking the conversation away from Egil "Just a quiet walk down the hall. Five minutes. That’s it. You still owe Egil, apparently."

Vrosk’s expression tightened. His jaw clenched and his eyes darted toward the closed doors behind him, where the prince had sealed himself inside . He opened his mouth—closed it again. Finally, he groaned like a man surrendering to fate.

"Motherfuckers " he began under his breath, then cut himself off "Fine. But if he loses his shit over this, you’re explaining it."

From behind them, Egil gave a snort, already brushing past with his usual way of walking. "He’s always mad," he said, slapping Vrosk on the shoulder with a heavy, amused hand. "What’s he going to do, lecture us to death?"

Vrosk scowled but turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder. "Oi! Morens, Vabio, Merii! Get your gear—we’re taking a stroll. We’re ghosts for the next two minutes."

The three guards had been chatting lazily with Asag until then. At Vrosk’s command, they snapped into motion with a shared nod, adjusting belts, spears, and cloaks with a fluidity born of long training.

With a few quiet clinks of armor they followed their captain down the corridor, vanishing around a corner with practiced grace.

As their armored footsteps faded into the distance, the trio of warriors stood before the heavy doors, now unguarded, staring at the last obstacle between them and their overworked, overburdened prince.

Jarza cracked his neck again. "Shall we?"

Egil gave a mock bow. "After you."

And with that, they pushed open the doors to Alpheo’s chamber, ready to remind their prince what the world outside paper felt like.