Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Before the age of absolutism—when monarchs centralized their power so thoroughly that few institutions or nobles dared to oppose them—wars involving entire kingdoms were far from streamlined, often as chaotic as they were brutal. Unlike later national conflicts, where the full resources of a state could be marshaled by a single ruler with sweeping control, wars in earlier centuries were deeply shaped by the delicate and often volatile relationships between kings and their vassals, which many times made it so that the leader of an army, more than a military commander was the head of a confederation of forces each with his own voice , as he had to always heed his ear to the bigger opinion in the camp least he faced the fragmentation of their army before battle.

In those times, a king’s call to war did not automatically signify the united strength of his entire realm. Instead, his success depended largely on the loyalty, ambition, and resources of the lords beneath him. A strong and respected king could wield significant influence, rallying his vassals not just with orders but with his authority. Such a king could command a sizable force, as his vassals were more willing to heed his call, seeing it as aligned with their own interests or, at the very least, out of deference to his power.

In contrast, a weaker monarch faced a very different reality. When a king was perceived as ineffectual or lacking in authority, his summons could be met with reluctance, delay, or outright defiance. Powerful lords might hesitate to commit their forces or might negotiate terms more favorable to their personal ambitions, viewing the king’s weakness as an opportunity to expand their own power or resist his influence. In such cases, what was supposed to be a ”national” war quickly splintered into a bid to get as many supporters as possible

Alpheo’s position in Yarzat, while outwardly powerful, was complicated by the realities of his low-born status, apart fromt the fact that he was a kingslayer . Unlike a king who inherited generations of noble blood and the unspoken authority that came with it, Alpheo’s word alone did not carry the weight it might have had he been born to one of the great houses. This lack of noble lineage made some of the princedom’s lords slow to heed his commands, and, as a consequence, even the words of his wife—the rightful ruler—could fall upon stubborn ears unwilling to bend.

It wasn’t that Alpheo himself was weak. On the contrary, he was a formidable leader, a man of proven strength and sharp tactical prowess. Even the lords that would spat at his name would not deny his effectiveness with martial matters.

His military background ensured that any individual lord thinking of crossing him would pause, aware of the personal risk of defying a seasoned commander who could call upon a loyal corps of elite soldiers at any time. Alpheo’s forces and reputation as a skilled warrior were enough to keep most potential challengers in line, at least individually.

Yet, he understood the fragile nature of this respect. Were the lords of Yarzat to set aside their own rivalries and grievances and band together in opposition, then that would be a true problem, meaning that the last thing Alpheo wanted to do was to give them reason to band together in an army against him, which as a consequence meant turning a blind eye at hidden insults and insubordination.

The court had sent out letters to the lords and knights of Yarzat nearly a month before Alpheo’s rousing speech, each message bearing the royal seal and the strict order to rally at Bracum. Strategically positioned and easily defensible, Bracum had been selected as the staging ground for the army. During the long winter months, it had served as a vital warehouse and logistics hub in preparation for the campaign that would soon be upon them, with carriages filled with grain already rolling inside the city deep into winter.

By now, Bracum’s vast storerooms were filled to the rafters with barrels of grain and dried provisions. Alpheo had spent the winter meticulously filling Bracum’s wharehouse and spent quite a good deal of coin amassing enough food for an army of 3,000 to go forth for two months.

Everything was ready

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Alpheo stood in the dim hall, clad head-to-toe in armor that gleamed with polished edges and the wear of battle past. His left hand gripped his helmet by its crested top, fingers strong and sure, his stance the image of readiness. Jasmine observed him from a few steps away, her gaze steady yet with a touch of something softer in her eyes.

”Are you nervous?” she asked, her voice low but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

Alpheo turned, studying her briefly before a half-shrug lifted his shoulders. ”I’ve prepared everything I could,” he said. ”Can’t do more than that. No use fretting over what’s set in motion.”

A faint smile touched Jasmine’s lips, though it didn’t quite hide her own hint of worry. ”When you first rode off to fight Ormund,” she admitted, ”I was half convinced you’d lose.”

Alpheo’s eyebrow arched, the faintest glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. ”And what brought you to that conclusion?” he asked, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

She only shrugged, folding her hands as though the answer were obvious.

With a chuckle, Alpheo leaned in, his tone dry. ”Well, I guess I’m lucky I didn’t know that, or I might’ve made it true.I don’t perform well under pressure”

Jasmine’s brow furrowed as she looked at Alpheo, her voice low but edged with concern as Alpheo’s jest fell flat ”I still don’t understand why you’d clamor for war now that we finally have the throne, Alpheo. We have stability—our position is no longer so uncertain. Why risk everything for a war that isn’t even urgent?”

Alpheo’s expression softened, though he met her gaze with quiet resolve. ”Jasmine, the fastest way for a new regime to be accepted is through victory on the battlefield. A new ruler sits uneasy in the minds of many, but a victor commands respect.” He lifted his chin, his eyes catching a glint of steel. ”The Herculian prince handed us this opportunity on a silver platter. To show strength, to bring unity—this is exactly what we need.”

She shook her head, her lips pressed tight. ”Strength, yes—but our strength can be shown in time. War brings losses, Alpheo and most importantly, is unpredictable. You’re a soldier, yes, but it’s different now. Now you’re leading a state, not just an army.”

Alpheo stepped closer, his tone firm but gentle. ”A kingdom needs to trust its leader, Jasmine, but trust isn’t built on words alone. I’ve spent enough time on the battlefield to know how it changes perceptions—people rally behind a conqueror. The Herculians insulted us, spat on our throne at our own wedding. They think we’re weak. If we don’t answer that insult with strength, others will start thinking the same.”

She hesitated, still not entirely convinced. ”But what if it goes wrong? What if we meet defeat?”

Alpheo chuckled softly. ”What if I die at a feast, or in my sleep, or from some illness? There are a thousand ways for fate to turn, Jasmine, each worse than the last. Worrying about all the ’ifs’ would only paralyze us and force us into stagnation .”

Her brow furrowed, her words laced with concern. ”But one of them will happen, Alpheo. That’s the nature of life. Fate’s hand will fall on us eventually. You act as though you’re untouchable.” Her gaze softened, but there was a quiet frustration in her tone. ”But sometimes... I wonder if you truly understand you aren’t.”

Alpheo looked at Jasmine, his gaze softening as he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He understood now, perhaps more clearly than ever, that she could never truly grasp the hunger that had driven him, the drive to claw and rise for something that had always seemed just out of reach. For her, ambition had always been shaped by what she saw in her father’s steady, unyielding rule—an ambition built from luxury, from privilege, from a throne that she had always thought to be hers to inherit.

She could never understand the battles he fought for every breath, every inch of progress. Every moment of his existence had been a struggle, a desperate fight for more. He had never been born with the certainty that she had, never had the comfort of knowing his place in the world. Every decision had been a risk, every move a step toward a future that could just as easily slip from his grasp.

But as he watched her, he wondered if she might be right about something. He had never allowed himself to truly entertain the thought of failure. He had always assumed that victory was the only possible outcome because it had to be. Failure wasn’t just a loss for him—it was the end of everything and so he moved forward knowing that there would be no turning back . The thought of it never even crossed his mind, and perhaps, as Jasmine suggested, that was his greatest flaw. Maybe he wasn’t as invincible as he believed.

Still this is something that I have to do, he thought as he stirred his eyes forward.

He would go all the way, because there was no turning back now. The war, with all its risks, was the thing that would define them, for better or for worse. And in that moment, Alpheo knew one thing for certain: it was exactly what they both needed, even if Jasmine couldn’t see it yet.

As Alpheo stood there, watching Jasmine, a flicker of something deeper stirred within him. These last few months had been unlike any he had ever known. Peaceful. Calmer than he had ever imagined his life could be. For once, he hadn’t been waking up to the sound of his own restless thoughts, or the fear that next month it would be the time where he would be whipped to death. In these months, he had found some semblance of normalcy, a rhythm to their shared life—something almost... pleasant.

He hadn’t anticipated it, but a kind of common liking had passed between them. It was subtle, yet undeniable. They had begun to understand each other’s moods, share quiet moments, talk about things that didn’t involve war, power, or survival. She would smile at him in the mornings, and he would feel a warmth he hadn’t known in the years of struggle that came before her

He sighed inwardly. Maybe she would never truly understand me, he thought.

Jasmine’s gaze lingered in Alpheo’s eyes.

”We both knew this would come; we had talked about it during winter” Alpheo murmured, his voice steady, almost resigned.

Jasmine exhaled, the weight of his words settling in her chest. ”I know,” she said, rising from her seat. As she moved past him, her eyes caught on something at his waist—a small flower. Her brow furrowed, and she took a few steps closer, realizing with a jolt that it was the same rose he had given him months ago, the one she had kept close.Yet the petals were still there, red.She raised an eyebrow, surprised to see it still there. She touched the petals and immediately felt the rough touch of wood.

”Is that...?” Her voice trailed off as she took a step back, studying the flower.

Alpheo blinked in confusion, following her gaze. It took him a moment before he understood. He looked down at the small flower, and a shadow of realization passed across his face. He chuckled softly, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his tone. ”I had the petals woodworked alongside the stem and then painted . It’s the first thing anyone ever gave me,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. ”I didn’t want to throw it away, so I searched for someone for a small wood-carving job.The stem is inside it you know?”

Jasmine studied him for a moment longer, her expression softening. ”You keep it still?” she asked, her voice a touch gentler than before.

Alpheo shrugged, a bit uncertain now, as if the question had never occurred to him. ”Should I throw it away?”

For a heartbeat, Jasmine stood still, considering his question. Then, without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a soft kiss.

She smiled, a small, knowing smile, and her hand gently swept the flower from his waist, keeping it in her hand

”No,” she said, her voice low but clear. ”But I’ll give you another one anyway”