Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Inor moved briskly through the sprawling chaos that was his camp, his eyes scanning the disarray around him. It was not a sight that inspired confidence. Tents and crude shelters fashioned from scavenged fabric and wood dotted the area without any sense of order. Families huddled together around meager fires, clutching what little they had left. Children played aimlessly, their laughter rare and subdued, while others simply sat, staring hollow-eyed at the dirt. There were no barricades, no sentries posted, and no discernible structure to the camp.

A sigh escaped him as his boots kicked up dust on the uneven ground. It wasn’t just disorganized—it was indefensible. Anyone with even the faintest military experience could see that this was an easy target for a raid or ambush. Inor’s mind wandered briefly to the camps of the Herculeian army, where he’d served during the war.

But those camps had been manned by trained soldiers. This rabble was different. Farmers, laborers, and broken families—none of them had the discipline or knowledge to recreate the efficiency of a real military force. Inor knew it was a futile effort to even try. He’d barely managed to keep them alive, let alone whip them into any semblance of an army.

His pace quickened as a scout, which was more as a watchman as he had no horse approached him, breathless and wide-eyed.

”Inor! A group of men with carts appeared ahead of the camp. They surrendered to our scouts and said they wanted to speak with you.”

”Carts?” Inor stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing. He didn’t trust easily, especially not strangers with supplies in tow

”Yes,” the scout confirmed. ”They’re unarmed—or at least they appear to be. They’ve made it clear they only want to meet our leader.”

What the hell is going on? He lampooned as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

After quite a bit , realizing that he had no answer to give himself , and with curiosity pushing him quite a bit , he decided to give in to their request.

’’Show the way then’’ He said as he resumed his walk.

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Inor moved steadily toward the southern edge of the camp, his brow furrowed in suspicion. The scouts ahead of him were already at work, poking through the carts with rough hands, tossing aside the coverings to reveal what lay beneath.

Beneath the blankets, sacks of grain, and dried meats, filled one cart There were also bundles of iron-tipped spears, neatly stacked together.

At least two weeks of supply here, with two meal at day..and enough to equip half the men I have

Inor’s gaze shifted to the three men on the ground. Two were clad in fine armor, polished steel catching the light, their helmets taken from them now adorned the head of two of his scouts. The third man stood out, wearing nothing more than a simple cloak and tunic, his clothing modest to the point of being out of place among the finery and steel.

He crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning the three men before stepping closer, his boots crunching on the dry, uneven ground. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting, as he addressed them. ”Word is you surrendered your weapons to one of my scouts and asked to speak to me. Well, here I am. Speak your piece—who are you?”

The first man, with light blonde hair that fell untamed as curls across his forehead, smiled faintly, his tone calm and measured. ”We’re just people who want to help,” he said, his voice steady, betraying no fear.

Inor raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting toward the carts nearby. He took a slow step, letting his eyes linger on the polished armor, the neatly stacked weapons, and the bulging sacks of food. ”Good steel, fine gear, and enough food to feed a lot of mouths for two weeks. Not to mention those weapons. That’s a mighty generous. Almost feels like my prayers’ve been answered.Never been quite pious, but it seems the gods work in mysterious way...”

Before the blonde man could reply, the second figure—dark-haired, cut in, his tone brisk. ”Don’t forget the armor. Plenty of that, too.’’

Inor’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smirk. ”Aye, you’ve brought a lot, no denying that. But three carts packed to bursting, and just three of you to guard it all? You’ve either got guts or rocks for brains to haul all this through these parts alone.”

He paused, his gaze shifting to the edges of the camp, the treeline, and the distant hills. He scanned for signs of movement, his senses prickling. ”Then again,” he continued, turning his attention back to them, ”you didn’t get here by luck alone. I’d wager you’ve got others out there, hidin’ in the brush, keepin’ watch.It is a long way for a couple of men after all. And judging by the fact they haven’t already come charging in, I’m guessing you mean to talk first, not fight.”

The blonde man’s faint smile returned, but there was a glint of something sharper in his eyes now. ”A fair guess,” he said smoothly. ”But I’m not inclined to share their whereabouts just yet. Let’s just say they’re here to make sure things go... smoothly.”

Inor let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. ”Smoothly, huh? That’s one way to put it. Another way is that they’re insurance, in case we decide to gut you and take those carts for ourselves.”

The blonde man didn’t flinch. Instead, his tone took on a confident edge. ”You could try.But then who is going to deliver them next?’’

Inor’s eyes narrowed as he planted himself in front of the blonde man, his arms crossed. ”Who sent you?” he asked, his tone firm and unyielding.

The blonde man tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. ”The order was passed down through more hands than you’ve got fingers,” he replied, his voice calm but clipped. ”It’d be no use throwing out a name you don’t know, and even less use pretending I’ve met the one pulling the strings.”

Inor grunted, his suspicion far from eased. ”Convenient,” he muttered, glancing briefly at the carts before fixing his gaze back on the man. ”Maybe we ought to head back to camp, where we’ve got more privacy, to continue this little talk of ours.”

The blonde man’s smile faded slightly as his expression hardened. ”We’re going to talk here,” he said flatly, his eyes steady as they met Inor’s.

Before Inor could respond, one of his scouts—the one with a wild beard and a temper to match—stepped forward. Without warning, the scout smacked the back of the blonde man’s head with an open palm, sending the man’s hair flying. ”You talk like you’ve got a choice!” the scout growled. ”You’re our prisoner, not some lordling barkin’ orders!”

The blonde man staggered slightly but righted himself quickly. He turned his head slowly to glare at the scout, his expression icy. Then he looked directly at Inor, his tone sharp and cutting. ”I’d suggest you keep your dogs on a leash, or this will be the last time we deliver anything to you. Like it or not, the only one deciding whether this is the first of many deliveries—or the last—is me.”

Inor held the man’s cold gaze for a moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he turned to the scout and barked, ”Stand down!”

The scout hesitated, his glare shifting between Inor and the blonde man, before reluctantly stepping back with a muttered curse.

Turning back to the blonde man, Inor’s voice was steady, though his tone carried a warning. ”You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone standing in the middle of my camp, unarmed and with no good will around. I’d tread carefully if I were you.”

The blonde man shrugged slightly, brushing a hand through his hair where the scout had struck him. ”And you’ve got a camp full of hungry mouths and no good options. Seems we both have reasons to stay civil.First of many that motherfucker right there” He said as he nodded toward the man with the beard

Inor’s lips twitched, his expression unreadable, before he gestured toward the carts. ”Let’s see just how much you’ve brought, and then we’ll decide how civil this gets.”

The sound of heavy crates thudding onto the dirt and the rustle of sacks being dragged from the carts filled the air as Inor’s scouts began unloading and counting the goods. Grain sacks hit the ground with dull thumps, and the sharp metallic clinks of weapons and armor accompanied the bustling work. The scouts moved quickly, muttering among themselves as they inventoried the supplies.

One scout, stood up and wiped sweat from his brow. ”We got 150 sacks of grain, three cases of jerky meat,” he called out, his voice tinged with excitement. ”And... let’s see... 180 spearheads, 120 chainmails—”

Another scout interrupted, raising something in his hand with a baffled expression. ”And fifty of... whatever these are.”

Inor stepped closer to get a better look. His sharp eyes caught the curve of the object in question, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. ”Those are slings,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

The scouts muttered among themselves, a mix of confusion and recognition passing through them. Inor turned to the blonde man, who had been watching the proceedings with an air of calm confidence.

”Quite the haul,” Inor admitted, gesturing to the assembled goods. ”I’ll say this—you don’t travel light.” He paused, then added, his voice softening slightly. ”Looks like we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we ought to start this over... exchange names and such.”

The brown-haired man stepped forward, his sharp eyes meeting Inor’s. ”Marcus,” he said simply, his voice carrying the faint hint of a foreign accent. He gestured toward the blonde man next to him. ”This here is Lucius.”

Marcus nodded toward the coachman, who was leaning casually against one of the carts, chewing on a piece of straw. ”And him?”

’’His name doesn’t matter’’

Inor raised an eyebrow at that, but his smile broadened slightly. He extended a hand toward Marcus. ”A pleasure to meet you, Marcus. And you, Lucius.I believe there are more things that should be said between us...as I said before we just got on the wrong foot here.’’