Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

For the last several days, the rebel army had marched relentlessly, pushing their bodies to the brink in their desperate bid to escape. From the first light of dawn until the shroud of night fell, they pressed forward without respite. Only when darkness rendered further progress impossible did Inor allow his men to stop, collapsing onto the cold earth in exhaustion. The few hours of rest they could snatch felt fleeting, a cruel tease before the next day’s grueling march resumed.

Through dense forests they trudged, their feet breaking through layers of fallen leaves and tangled roots, it was an hard road to walk on, yet it was to their advantage, as it was chosen to confound any pursuers on horse, as the twisting paths and uneven terrain offered no path for their steeds.

Following the defeat, Inor’s heart was dominated by fear. If the enemy had pursued them immediately after the disastrous battle, there would have been no hope of escape. Their head start had been tenuous at best, and the shattered morale of his men would have rendered them easy prey.

But that fear, as overwhelming as it had been, had yet to manifest. The expected pursuit never came. Instead of the relentless thunder of cavalry, there was only the rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional crack of a branch beneath a soldier’s boot. It was a reprieve, one that seemed almost too good to be true.

He in fact had no knowledge that the reason for which they were still alive, was because the greed of the common soldiers got on the way of Arnold’s total victory

Yet even as the fear of immediate annihilation began to fade, a new unease crept in. Inor knew they were not truly safe, not yet. Their path was perilous, and their strength was waning. Every step forward brought them closer to survival but also closer to collapse.

At present, the rebel force was staring down another grim reality: their food supplies were rapidly dwindling. What little provisions they carried were all that remained after they had been forced to abandon their supply carts during the chaotic retreat, as they had no way to move fast enough by carrying those carts with them, apart from the fact that they could not push them forward with horses considering the forest they were in.

Stripped of wagons and beasts of burden, the men had grabbed only what they could bear on their backs—meager rations that were now running perilously low. Each passing day brought thinner portions and hungrier stares.

Worse Inor could no longer rely from the resources that were weekly brought to him . The fugitives could not afford to stay in one place for long, lest the prince’s forces catch up. This constant need to move, to remain elusive, rendered resupply impossible.

The battle had been their best and final opportunity to turn the tide, to strike a blow that would secure their cause a real chance of victory. They had failed. What had begun as rebellion now teetered on the brink of annihilation, as now Inor only thought on how to save as many as his followers as possible.

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Lucius and Marcus trudged along the defeated rebels. Despite still wearing the chainmail and armor they had donned when first arriving in the rebel camp weeks ago, the presence of ten watchful guards trailing behind them made it abundantly clear they were prisoners, not comrades.

Lucius glanced down at his armor, clean and polished as if it never saw a day of service, in all fact, this was his only property as soldiers , and it was instilled in them the habit of always making sure that their armors was white-clean , as every week the officers would walk to their tents for inspection.

Apparently their prince, as good and caring he was to the man that served him , had an obsession with order, and as a consequence, he made sure that each of his soldiers kept his belongings in his tent in order, citing also what was permitted and what was not.

Returning to the subject in hand , Lucius knew why it hadn’t been stripped from him—it marked him as a distinct figure, one not easily mistaken or lost among the masses. Inor had anticipated their treachery from the very beginning, ensuring there would be no easy escape for the two.

I underestimated the bastard, Lucius thought grimly. His eyes flicked to a ragged rebel a few paces ahead, the man staggering with his broken shoulder before collapsing into the dirt with a dull thud. No one moved to help him. A few weary gazes lingered briefly on the fallen man before shifting forward, devoid of sympathy.

He wasn’t the first to fall, nor would he be the last. The grueling march had taken its toll. Behind them, the forest path was littered with the weak, the wounded, and the defeated—men who could no longer stand, women clutching their children, and those too disheartened to continue. Many had deserted during the cover of night, slipping into the darkness without resistance. There was no one left with the strength—or will—to stop them.

Before the disastrous battle, their numbers had been close to 1,500, with nearly 1,000 fighting men. Now, they were reduced to a shadow of that force. Less than 600 stragglers remained, their spirits as broken as their bodies. The line of marchers stretched thin, each step heavier than the last.

This was the closest Lucius and Marcus had ever come to tasting the bitterness of defeat, and it lingered like the acrid tang of mud on their tongues. Since their earliest days as soldiers, all they had known was the intoxicating sweetness of victory—a taste that had accompanied them on every campaign, always served by the hand of their prince to them, accompanied with the sweet allure of a full purse.

Yet now,bound to the rebel rabble, that once-familiar triumph felt like a distant memory.

Strangely, the sting of defeat didn’t cut too deeply for the two . Their indifference to the rebel was caused by the fact that these weren’t their people, nor was it their fight, in short they did not give two shits about them.

Much more stinging was the fact that their escape route had been cut off from them,much more than the loss the rebel just faced.

As they trudged along with the defeated rebels, Marcus broke the heavy silence, his tone sharp but low enough not to draw attention from their ”escorts.”

”We should’ve escaped when I first said so,” he muttered, his eyes fixed ahead but his voice heavy with frustration.

Lucius didn’t turn to look at him but sighed.

”Too soon,” Lucius replied evenly, though a flicker of regret darkened his gaze. ”Until the last hour, we didn’t know how the battle would turn. For all we knew, Inor might’ve pulled off a victory . Running too early would’ve been just as foolish.”

Marcus snorted, his mouth twisting into a bitter grin as he glanced around at the ragged rebels limping along beside them. ”A victory, huh?” He gestured vaguely to the crowd, his gesture dripping with irony. ”Well, it looks like we in fact won. I mean, look at us—alive, intact, and oh-so-graciously gifted with these charming bodyguards by Lord Inor himself, to better protect us to make sure we don’t have accidents wandering around his camp, see those hungry stares?How long before they decide that meat is on the table again?”

Lucius shrugged, his curly blonde hair falling to his forehead, he hated to admit that Marcus was right not about the meat-thing, but that it was his fault that they were prisoners

”You think I don’t know that? That I fucked up? There’s no sense in stirring the pot now that it’s boiling. For now we play along; wait for the right moment.”

Marcus shook his head, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. ”You always have a ’right moment,’ don’t you? And where has that gotten us? Chained to a dying army and watched by fools who wouldn’t know strategy if it hit them between the eyes.”

”Worse yet,” he continued , loud enough for Lucius to hear but quiet enough to avoid catching the attention of their escorts. ”That bastard thinks he can make a deal with him. As if holding us hostage actually gives him something to offer.” Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. ”We both know it’s not true. We’re not that valuable—not now that we’ve completed the mission.We were chosen because we were expendable, perhaps we were thought of as sacrifices since the start, and you graciously made sure to carry me here and fasten my descent down onto the five hells. What a great friend I got....with me all the way down.”

Lucius didn’t reply immediately, instead glancing at Marcus out of the corner of his eye. His expression was unreadable, though there was a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe. He stopped just short of rolling his eyes and finally said in a calm, measured tone, ”Stay put.”

Marcus turned his head to look at him, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. ”Stay put? That’s your answer?All of our problem, and just such a simple solution?Wonderful!”

Lucius gave him a pointed look, one that hinted at plans not yet revealed. ”Our situation isn’t as bad as you think,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. ’’Perhaps he already considered this possibility; I wouldn’t cross that option yet. Have faith in him , maybe rescue is on his way.”

There was a long silence as Marcus studied him, searching for any sign that Lucius might be bluffing. But he saw none. Whatever Lucius had planned, he wasn’t sharing it—not yet, at least.

Marcus finally exhaled, his lips tightening into a thin line as he turned his gaze back to the path ahead. ”Fine,” he said, the word clipped and reluctant as he trudged forward in silence