Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The pirate stood at the prow of the ship, wrapped in a cloak of salt-stiffened wool. The sharp sea wind bit at his face, carrying with it the tang of brine and the distant tolling of bells—a frantic warning from the village ahead. His ship, sleek and black as a predator, cut through the waves with deadly precision, the oars moving in a synchronized rhythm that sent sprays of foam cascading into the air. Behind him, his brothers sharpened blades and adjusted belts heavy with weapons, anticipation etched into every scarred face.

The ship finally reached the shore with a low groan of wood against sand. As soon as the prow kissed land, the pirate raised his sword, his voice cutting through the roar of the waves. ”Brothers! To the raid! Take what you can, and leave no man standing!”

A cheer erupted, and the pirates surged forward, leaping over the gunwales and splashing into the shallows. Feet pounding the wet sand, they charged into the village.

Doors were smashed in with heavy boots and the butts of axes. The few houses that remained unboarded were quickly gutted, their meager valuables stuffed into sacks and packs. A handful of villagers mostly elder man, cowered in corners, pleading for mercy that did not come.

Most of the village, however, already had deserted, having sound the horn of alarm a dozen of minutes before . The pirates found signs of hasty flight: footprints stamped into the mud, abandoned carts, and broken fences. Here and there, signs of animals being led away—the bleating of lambs and sheep fading into the distance as the villagers fled inland, desperate to escape the raiders.

The pirate scowled, his sword dangling loosely in his hand as he kicked over a table

”Cowards that desert their own homes,” he muttered, before calling out to his brothers. ”Search everywhere! If they’ve left anything worth taking, we’ll find it!”

They scoured the homes, storerooms, and even the temple, pulling apart walls and smashing open barrels. A handful of coins, a fine set of candlesticks,and some sack of grains.

That was all.

The pirates cursed loudly as they tore through the empty houses and barren storerooms. ”Nothing! These rats left us scraps!” growled one, kicking over a broken chair in frustration. Another pirate spat on the ground, his face twisted in rage. ”Not even a chest worth breaking into. What kind of miserable place is this?”

One of the younger raiders, a wiry man with a jagged scar across his jaw, chuckled darkly and pointed to the few sheep and lambs that had been left behind in the hurried escape. ”At least we’ll have meat tonight,” he said, his grin flashing in the sunlight. ”Better than nothing, eh?”

The others muttered begrudging agreement, but another pirate, older and broader with a thick beard matted with salt, scowled at the idea of such a meager prize. He hefted his axe onto his shoulder and gestured toward the small temple that stood at the edge of the village. Its wooden doors hung ajar, the interior dim and uninviting.

”Check the temple again,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. ”You think these cowards left us nothing? No! They’re hiding something in there, mark my words!”

Moved by greed a group of them marched toward the temple, muttering prayer of finding coins as they went

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Rykio sat in his tent. Opposite him was Joanne, a woman with long brown hair that fell in gentle waves past her shoulders, the strands catching the flickering light. She adjusted her seat on the cushion, her expression calm but thoughtful as she poured a cup of wine for the knight who had changed the course of her life.

Joanne was no stranger to hardship. Her village had been raided, its peaceful routines shattered by pirates who tore through homes and slaughtered families. She had been among the terrified survivors. Then came Rykio and his horsemen, thundering into the fray with steel and righteous fury, killing the pirates and rescuing the prisoners

Some of his brothers-in-arms had taken the women as wives. For some of the women, it was a good deal since they had no families and no means of substainance, except selling their bodies, so being taken as wife was a good thing . Among those women had been Joanne.

But Rykio had not claimed her as a wife. He was a knight, and taking a commoner was beneath him now. Instead, she became his mistress, a role she accepted without complaint. As at least she now went to sleep with a full belly and a roof over her head.

The house had been a gift, arranged through channels of gifts on the ladder. Rykio had approached his commander, Egil, with the matter, and Egil had relayed the request to Prince Alpheo himself during one of their many nights of drunken revelry. The prince, in high spirits and flushed with wine, had granted the favor without hesitation.

Yet despite the comfort and safety that house in Yarzat promised, Joanne had chosen a different path. When Rykio was stationed in the countryside with Egil’s band of riders, she insisted on following him, and Rykio, though initially hesitant, ultimately relented.

Military law explicitly forbade civilians from accompanying knights on active campaigns, a regulation meant to maintain discipline and readiness. Yet Egil’s band of riders operated under a unique brand of command that they all followed.

If the commanders isn’t there, you can do the fuck you want.

The men turned a blind eye, either out of respect for Rykio or simple indifference.After all he many time did the same with them , when they brought whores in the camp during campaigns.

”You’re quiet tonight,” Rykio said, breaking the silence. His voice was deep but softened when directed toward her.

Joanne looked up, her fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. ”Just thinking,” she said, her words measured.

Rykio leaned in close, his lips brushing against Joanne’s neck as his hand slid over the fabric of her dress. She tilted her head slightly, a soft smile playing at her lips, but just as he began to lift the dress away, the sound of the tent flap rustling made them both freeze.

The entrance opened, and a soldier stood there awkwardly, his face flushed as he realized he had interrupted something. ”Sir...” he stammered, glancing nervously at Joanne before averting his eyes. ”Apologies for the intrusion.”

Rykio’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he straightened and turned to face the intruder. ”What is it?This better be important.” he growled, his voice low and simmering with irritation.

The soldier swallowed hard before speaking. ”A rider just came in from the Booth. Pirates, sir. The village has been attacked.”

Rykio sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility settling over him like an old, familiar cloak. His hands dropped to his sides as he turned back to Joanne briefly, a flicker of regret in his eyes before his focus returned to the soldier. ”Of course,fucking sea rats...” he muttered, almost to himself. Then, louder, he said, ”Tell the men to prepare. We ride immediately.”

The soldier gave a quick nod, his relief at escaping Rykio’s temper evident as he hastily backed out of the tent.

Joanne watched Rykio as he reached for his sword and began to fasten his armor.

Rykio paused for a moment, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he turned back to Joanne.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead

’’Sorry,” he murmured as then turned away, pushing through the tent flap and stepping into the fading daylight.

Outside the tent, Rykio stepped into a scene of chaos. His men were bustling about, preparing their horses and checking their weapons. The metallic clink of bridles, the rustle of saddles, and the occasional sharp bark of an order filled the air as they readied themselves for the ride ahead.

Amid the activity, a boy approached, leading a tall, dark-coated horse toward Rykio. The boy was Svenn, the same youth who had delivered the critical message to Egil during the last campaign. His reward for that brave act had been a squirehood under Rykio, quite generous given that it meant that in due times he would be elevated to knighthood too.

”The horse is ready, my lord,” Svenn said, his voice steady as he handed Rykio the reins.

Rykio nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the horse before fixing on Svenn. ”Good. Mount up. You ride with us.”

Svenn’s eyes widened, and he gulped audibly, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he gave a quick nod, darted to fetch his own horse, and clambered into the saddle with the awkward determination of a squire still learning the ways of the riders.

Rykio straightened in his saddle, his commanding voice cutting through the clamor of the camp. ”Move up! Form the line! We ride now!”

His men, seasoned riders of Egil’s band, quickly snapped into action. They gathered their gear, mounted their horses, and arranged themselves in a disciplined column. The tension of urgency hung in the air, yet the practiced efficiency of the group was evident as they prepared for yet another skirmish.

Within minutes, the riders were ready, their horses pawing the ground and snorting with impatience. The line stretched along the edge of the camp, a mix of hardened faces and gleaming weapons catching the last light of the day.

Rykio cast a sharp glance over his men, ensuring every rider was accounted for and prepared. Satisfied, he pulled his horse to the front, raising his voice once more. ”Let’s ride! To the Booth!”

With a collective shout, the riders spurred their horses into motion, the ground thundering beneath the charge as they departed the camp, a vengeful storm aimed at the pirates who dared threaten the land of their prince.