Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The days passed in an unchanging rhythm, with Tiberius settling into a routine, each moment blending into the next in the quiet solitude of his room. Yet despite the steady flow of monotony, he noticed a shift in his young servant. The boy’s eyes always held Tiberius figure whenever he entered , always making sure he was disarmed, even though he attempted to keep his gaze respectfully lowered.

Tiberius found the transformation almost amusing. Where once the boy had slipped into the room like a shadow, practically ignoring Tiberius’s presence, he now lingered just a moment longer as if waiting to catch a hint of expression or movement. And though their exchanges were wordless, Tiberius could sense the boy’s tension whenever he set the tray down.

He’d even become more eager to answer this time, readily disclosing small details whenever he asked something

It was remarkable, he mused, how quickly a person’s attitude could change, as though with one sharp encounter.

Over the next several days, Tiberius managed to extract more than just guarded glances and quiet observations from the young servant; he even got his name—Edric. At first, the boy muttered it reluctantly, barely meeting Tiberius’s eyes as he stammered his own name. But it was a beginning, and Tiberius used the boy’s interest in talking to coax more information out of him. It started with simple details about daily life in the outside world, but soon he had Edric sharing bits of news from the empire itself.

The stories Edric shared were scattered,among the first thing he spoke of , was the fall of the Finger.

Hearing that Tiberius tried to put up a still face, but within, he was startled; he had once visited it and knew how hard it was for such a thing to fall. Edric spoke of other things, such as how the northern territories were still in open defiance of the crown and how the Wise council was reinstated once again by the order of that red bitch.

Yet, it was the news of his own family that stirred him the most. The second prince, Mavius, was moving south with an army.

Tiberius digested each detail with guarded skepticism. It was hard to know what parts of Edric’s information were real and what might be embellished or simply wrong. The boy was young, after all, and likely gathering these rumors second-hand from servants, soldiers, and the occasional passerby, who might not know the truth themselves.Words after all have such an easy way to distort themselves from mouth to mouth. But whether the information was fully accurate or not, he knew that the empire was in that same crisis that he had felt when he was a free man.

For as much as he hated both the empress and the dynasty that cast him aside, he hoped that if it came to a siege, Mavius would succeed in his violent ambitions. In his mind, he could almost picture the capital—a place he’d once thought of as home—swarming with soldiers, the streets filled with terror, and the palace in flames.

He had no illusions about his half-brother Mavius; he knew enough to see him for what he was: ruthless, unyielding, driven by a lust and ambition that eclipsed even his kin’s notorious pride and lineage, as the member of their family were known to have hot-blood.

Tiberius could imagine the carnage that would follow if Mavius reached the heart of the empire. It would be a butcher-house, a massacre beyond reason. And even though those who might fall were family, the thought brought a twisted smile to his lip

Tiberius allowed himself a grim smile at the thought. Between the empress and his half-brother, he knew there were no heroes. Yet, of the two, he knew who was the better one

”Let him burn it all to the ground,” he thought, the image of the imperial palace set ablaze vivid in his mind. ”Let him tear down that shitty place, brick by brick.” He felt an unexpected satisfaction. Despite the bitterness that simmered within him, one thought softened Tiberius’s resolve. Clara. He hoped—almost prayed—that she would escape the chaos of Mavius’s wrath, that somehow she’d slip through the carnage that he could only imagine would sweep the palace.

”Let the palace fall to ash, but spare her,” he prayed to whatever god would listen, feeling that usual feeling savaging his chest ”If anyone deserves to live, it’s her. She’s the only one worth saving in that cursed place.” He imagined her in the gardens, her movements light and quiet as she had always been, her eyes filled with a kindness he’d found nowhere else in the stone walls of the court.

He missed her in way that words could not put.

Tiberius turned from his thoughts, his gaze drifting toward the small window. Outside, in the narrow patch of the estate he could see, four mangy dogs circled each other, baring their teeth as they fought over a single bone. The largest one lunged, gripping the bone tightly in its jaws, while the others barked and snapped, desperate and hungry, yet unwilling to back down. Tiberius watched them with a neutral look, feeling a strange interests with the animals clawing for scraps.

Tiberius kept his eyes fixed on the dogs, watching intently as the largest one clenched the bone tighter, backing away as the others closed in. He barely reacted when he heard the door creak behind him, his voice dry as he said, ”The tray’s on the bed.”

He had no question to ask the boy.

He expected the soft, near-silent shuffle of the boy’s feet, the same routine he’d been following for days, bringing in food with his wary glances and eager ears. But the step that followed wasn’t the timid scuffle he’d grown used to. It was heavier. Tiberius froze, his senses sharpening, a chill spreading down his spine.

He turned around abruptly, heart pounding, gaze hardening as he searched for the figure behind him.

Behind him stood a tall man, his silhouette blocking the doorway with an imposing presence that felt as if it had absorbed all the shadows around him. The dim light caught the edges of his face, revealing the deep lines etched into his skin.

He was old

His once-blonde hair was now streaked with shades of silver and ash, hanging down in rough, uneven strands that brushed the edges of his jaw. His features were starkly chiseled, his cheekbones sharp, and a jagged scar ran from just above his right brow down across his cheek.And yet the most striking feature, however, was the dark leather eyepatch stretched across his left eye.

Lord Julian stood there, as real as the breath now caught in Tiberius’s throat.

For the past six months, Julian had been a ghostly rumor, a legend gone to dust. No one knew what happened to him, and most came to the end that he had been killed during the battle, others that he vanished after the battle, not to bear the consequence for his failures that caused the emperor’s death . Whatever the story, all roads pointed to one fact—Julian, the dagger of the empire, was dead.

And yet, here he was , standing and breathing in front of him.

A sharp, humorless laugh broke from Tiberius, as sudden as a spring cracking through ice. It was a sound mixed with disbelief and a twisted kind of relief. Julian watched him with a raised eyebrow, his one visible eye gleaming with mild curiosity, though his expression remained stony and unreadable.

”And what, may I ask, is so amusing?” Julian’s voice cut through the quiet, low and steady, with that controlled calm that once unnerved even the hardiest of soldiers.That was the first time Tiberius heard the second most dangerous man in the empire speak, never having had an exchange with him.

Yet his voice sounded just like he thought it should, cold and deep like the ocean with the same sharpness that the hidden blade of the emperor should have.

Tiberius leaned back, still chuckling, his mind racing to piece together this improbable meeting. ”Out of all the people who could be behind this... I spent days trying to figure out who my savior was. And here you are,” he said, voice thick with irony, ”Lord Julian, the dagger of the empire himself, thought dead and yet still kicking.If that isn’t something worth laughing about, what is?”

The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eye. ”The empire has its way of swallowing men and spitting them out just as quickly. Sometimes it pays to... simply vanish.The bigger the ocean the more predators in it...”

Why? Tiberius looked hard at the old man, searching his expression for a hint of his motives.Why would he disappear with all that is happening? Did he have a hand in it?

Julian remained silent for a moment, his gaze steady, as if assessing Tiberius with a quiet, clinical detachment. Then, with a slow nod, he gestured to the chair by the desk, his deep voice coming out of his mouth ”Sit, Tiberius. We have much to discuss.”