Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 963: Farewell(2)

With the boy-Imperator now firmly ensconced in his shadow, Alpheo began to weave his tale.

"The first legacy your brother left you, before we carved a bloody road to this Rock, was a pile of rubble where a fortress should be," Alpheo began, his voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of a master mason. "Your primary concern, above all, is mending these walls. I am no architect, but I know that a man who sleeps in a house with no doors has no right to be surprised when he wakes to a knife at his throat. Start the work tonight. The sooner the mortar dries, the longer your reign shall live."

It was a redundant truth, perhaps even a patronizing one, but Alpheo knew that in the intoxication of victory, it wouldn’t hurt to remind them that their feet were on the ground.

"Station a proper force here," he continued. "Spare no coin, no matter how the treasury moans. Holding the Fingers is not merely holding a pass; it is holding a dagger to your brother’s jugular. Second, understand that a sword is only as sharp as the belly is full. When Mavius marched south, he let his troops treat the earth like a common whore, displacing villages and torching granaries. Famine is coming, and it will bring a tide of refugees and bandits in its wake. Tell me, do you believe supply carriages are best escorted through a landscape of starving, desperate men?"

"I believe our soldiers are capable enough to scare off a few gutter-rats," Tyrios snorted, a dismissive wave of his hand. "Unless these bandits have a collective death wish, they would do well to leave the Imperial eagle’s supplies alone."

"That would be so in a world governed by reason," Alpheo shot back, his golden eyes flashing. "But it would be a dangerous delusion to think the Pretender will not fund, arm, and direct these ’outlaws’ to harass your rear.

A partisan with a torch is sometime more dangerous than a enemy with a lance. I know this tactic intimately; I have used it to bleed men far greater than me in arms. Do not underestimate such way of waging war."

He had been doing, and was still doing this in Oizen, after all.

"I do not believe we can provide substantial aid to the scorched provinces," Keval interjected, his nose twitching as he mentally tallied the mounting debt. "And we cannot overstep into the domains of the high lords with steel without sparking a different kind of fire."

"They will forgive a great deal of ’overstepping’ if it comes with grain and seeds," Alpheo countered. "You have won a great campaign; use that momentum. Press them while they are awed, offer tax cuts to the loyal. If you lack the resources to mend the wound, at least ensure the infection doesn’t spread.

Take the sons of the lord who did not answer their call. Make sure such a thing does not repeat itself once more."

Mesha’s expression was becoming increasingly grave as the magnitude of the labor was unveiled. "We shall keep that in mind. Is there... anything else, Your Grace?"

"Regarding your internal rot? No. But we must discuss the world beyond your gates."

"External measures?" Tyrios asked, his brow furrowing.

"Indeed. For eight years, you cowered while raiding parties sallied from this rock to burn your lands. Now, the wheel has turned. Why should you not return the favor?" Alpheo leaned in. "Just because you are busy tending your own garden does not mean you cannot release pests into your neighbor’s. Do you truly think the sudden mass defection of your nobles, or the silence of those who ignored your call, was a mere stroke of bad luck? It was a masterpiece of subversion, years in the making. Your brother has been fighting you with shadows since before he came down from the fingers, yet he only showed his cards when you were unable to do anything about it.

The initiative is yours. The handle of the blade is in your grip. Do not merely defend your border; haunt theirs.

If you cannot convince a high lord to defect to your banner, then you must plant the seeds of doubt within the enemy’s own ranks," Alpheo continued, his voice a low, instructional hum. "When your parties go raiding, give the order for a single fief to go untouched while the lands on either side are ravaged. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Have your men find good sport in one valley and leave the next in pristine silence. Make the Usurper look at his own council and wonder why the wolves bypassed certain doors.I believe soon a lack of smoke will be often seen as a sign of treason. He won’t be able to differentiate a loyal friend from a phantom foe, and he will tear his own house apart looking for the ghosts you’ve created."

The three sat in a profound, heavy silence. The sheer, calculated cruelty of the suggestion gave them a great deal to think about; Alpheo wasn’t just suggesting war, he was suggesting the systematic dismantling of a man’s mind and political apparatus.

"With that," Alpheo said, standing and smoothing the front of his doublet, "everything I can do for you is done. I have given you the castle, the crown, and the map to keep them. The rest is a matter of your own resolve."

Mesha looked up sharply, his expression falling with a sudden, visible heaviness. The boy looked small in his massive chair, as if the departure of Alpheo meant the departure of the only solid ground he had known in months. Despite the fact that the Prince’s presence had been in a time of blood and hard truths, Mesha had clung to him like a storm-tossed sailor to a broken plank.

"You are leaving?" Mesha asked, his voice thin. "So soon?"

"It has been a long and grueling campaign, Your Majesty," Alpheo replied, his tone softening only slightly. "The sun has set on this war, and I find myself wishing for the sight of my own hearth. I wish to go home."

"But... I had intended to launch a feast!" Mesha said, leaning forward, his eyes searching Alpheo’s face. "Half a week of celebration to honor you, to show the world that you stands with us. There should be music, wine, and the songs of your victory."

Alpheo looked at the boy, then out at the exit of the tent.

"I have no stomach for feasts,your Imperial Majesty," Alpheo said, his voice carrying the finality of a closing tomb. "I have seen enough wine spilled for one lifetime, and most of it was red and warm upon my lips. I ought to return to my princedom. I will find the company of my family more to my liking than the noise of a banquet."

Mesha’s eyes became downcast, the shadow of the crown seemingly growing heavier with Alpheo’s looming departure. Thinking little of the boy’s melancholy, the Prince rose from his seat, the leather of his boots creaking in the silence. But as he stood, he was met by a gaze from the young Imperator that was no longer that of a frightened child.

Mesha took a deep breath, his small chest rising as if he carried the labor of the entire world upon his narrow shoulders.

"I have been informed of the circumstances regarding your lord and friend, Egil," the boy uttered, his voice steadying. "Specifically, his history with Romelia. I know of the scars our people left upon his kin."

Alpheo went still. He waited with a face of iron, for the reason his dead friend’s name had been summoned by those royal lips.

"I would have liked to extend my apologies to the man in person," Mesha continued, looking carefully at Alpheo. "Unfortunately, the time for words has passed. Now,I only hope that my actions can reach him. I will send word throughout my reign, to every corner that is sworn for me, offering great rewards for any who find the survivors of the Askulai tribe.’’

The boy gripped the arms of his chair his knuckles white. "It will take time, I admit. But as they are found, I shall send them home to you. I may not be able to thank your friend for the blood he gave to put me here, but this is the barest thing I can do to honor a man who died for a Empire that had once shown him only the lash."

Alpheo found himself speechless.

He was unprepared for the sudden, radiant warmth that bloomed in his chest.

He looked at the boy and realized he had gotten him wrong.He had thought him shallow. He was not.

Not by a long shot.

"I am... grateful, Your Majesty," Alpheo said, his voice uncharacteristically thick. "More than you know."

Mesha offered a small, sad smile, the laurel crown people tried to put on him finally looking as though it belonged on his head under Alpheo’s eyes. "It is we who are grateful, Prince Alpheo. To you, and to Egil. I wish for you to know, as you ride for your own hearth, that you shall always find a friend in the North. Our gates will never be closed to your banners.If you call for aid Romelia shall answer."

Alpheo bowed, and this time it was not a gesture of a diplomatic facade but a genuine salute of one peer to another, expressing only respect.

"And you," Alpheo replied, his brown eyes shining with a rare, honest light, "shall always find the same in the South. May the Star watch over your walls, friend of Yarzat."