Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

After a day of revelry and productive discussions made under river of wine and cider, Alpheo turned his attention back to matters of state. The day afterward, with the hangover still plaguing his head, he signed the final documents to formalize the details of his new military reform.

Once the papers were sealed, Alpheo wasted no time ensuring the news reached the White Company’s soldiers —though not everyone called them that. To his thinly veiled annoyance, some preferred the moniker ”Black Stripes,” a nickname that had gained traction among the common folk.

The name probably stemmed from their striking heraldry: two bold black diagonal stripes crossing in an ”X” over a pristine white field.When Alpheo designed such herald, he didn’t have any profound and deep reason . Honestly he had chosen it because it was easy to make as black paint, could easily be made from some roots or coals, and also because it left a striking image, and was easy to see in the open field. After all when hundreds, all bearing such heralds and colours, marched in silence and as a single unit, it was conceivable to think that some peasant soldiers would shit themselves even before the fight started, as discipline had such bearing.

Still, Alpheo couldn’t quite shake his irritation at the informal title, though he had to admit it carried a certain rugged charm.

Anyway, he wasn’t so petulant and such a control freak to try and curb the informal name.After all as long as the army did what he was supposed to do , it wouldn’t matter what they were called.And it wasn’t that bad that they had more than one name, as it meant that in one way or another they left an image in the mind of the populace.

After unveiling the reform, Alpheo’s curiosity about its reception led him to order a census, dispatching his courtiers to gauge the sentiment among soldiers and officers as he sought the hard numbers and genuine opinions from the ranks themselves.

The results, when they came were encouraging. A staggering 95% of the sub-centurii—those with command over 50 soldiers—expressed their willingness to continue serving until completing the full ten years of duty. Among the decurii, the more senior officers, 60% pledged to remain loyal to their posts.

As for the rank-and-file soldiers, the response was less overwhelming but still heartening. About 26% agreed to extend their service for an additional three years, lured by the promise of double the land at the end of their tenure.

The census results painted a picture of optimism, much to Alpheo’s relief. The lingering fear of commanding a private army cobbled together from green, untested recruits was finally put to rest.After all, everybody knew that it was a bad idea to glue together veteran and green mens in the same unit, as even the efficacy of the veterans would be watered down by the greens.

Of course, such enthusiasm from the ranks wasn’t entirely unexpected—especially among the officers and captains. The allure of knighthood and the promise of a fief, a reward not for a lifetime but one that could endure for generations, was too tantalizing to pass up, after all what chances did a common born have to become a noble? A fief wasn’t just land; it was a stake in the future, a foothold in the noble class. All they had to do was serve loyally, avoid betraying their liege, and steer clear of the wrong side in a civil war and they could be noble forever, perhaps their sons or grandsons would be able even to get a castle if they were lucky, maybe after some long years of servitude in the royal army just as their ancestors did.

As for the decurii, their logic followed a similar path. Ten years in service was seen as a gateway to greater things. With one in every five of them having a shot at rising to sub-centurio, the odds weren’t dismal, and the promise of a steady ascent in rank kept them motivated. Moreover, the whispers among them suggested a quiet certainty that the Black Stripes,would expand in the near future. After all, they knew their prince. Alpheo wasn’t one to rest on his laurels; if the ink wasn’t drying on one campaign, he was likely sketching the next, and the more he conquered the more resources he had to expand the army , and as a domino, the more chances they would have to rise as a sub-centurii and get that glimpse of the ladder they so much desire.

For the men, ambition was as much a part of the uniform as the stripes on their surcoats, it pushed them forward and was good as long as their ambitions did not clash with the interest of their liege, at that point it would become a problem.

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, savoring a rare moment of peace, his princedom was at peace; he had no issue to deal with and currently he was just receiving reports from his side projects, with the most requested of him being to sign or to give a directory.

Before him sat a slice of honey tart, its golden glaze catching the afternoon light. He cut a small piece, letting the sweet richness melt on his tongue, a faint smile playing on his lips. Moments like these were few and far between, and he intended to make the most of it. After dealing with the politcal issue, Alpheo of course decided to deal with his private one, mostly the culinary as he planned to give some details for the cook to follow for some food of his past life, that he could make here, such as for example pasta or sausages.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his reprieve. Alpheo sighed, setting down his fork, and straightened in his chair.

”Come in,” he called.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Ratto. After the last issue that Alpheo had with his communication line with Lucius and Marcus, he had decided for a different man to temporarily occupy himself with such things, making sure that these letters immediately came to him, and for this job, Alpheo chose his squire.

The job was light, so he had more than enough time to train with Rykio about riding and how to fight on horse while also furthering his education.As a matter of fact Alpheo planned in a few years, to give him some soldiers to lead and too see how he fared leading him, after all if what his tutors were saying was right , than he was a bright boy.

Ratto held up a sealed envelope. ”A letter came”

Alpheo raised an eyebrow. ”Does it have the bubble of ink?”

Ratto nodded briskly, stepping forward to extend the letter. ”Yes , It’s marked.”

Alpheo took the letter, his fingers tracing the edge of the parchment. He held it up to the light, noting the ink bubble pressed neatly into the left side of the letter

”Well,” he muttered, setting his plate aside and extending it toward Ratto. ”Go ahead and finish this.”

The boy’s eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight as he accepted the offering. ”Thank you, ” Ratto said, his voice brightening as he turned and exited the room with the tart, leaving Alpheo alone once more, it wasn’t everyday that he ate cake after all so his excitement was expected

Even without breaking the seal, Alpheo could guess the contents of the letter. The reports from his scouts had already painted the general picture: the Herculeian heir was on the march, moving west to crush the last embers of rebellion. The band of men led by Lucius and Marcus—the very rebellion Alpheo had been secretly supporting—would now face the might of a proper army.

A pity Egil or Mereth didn’t capture him,Alpheo mused, his fingers idly tracing the edges of the letter. He tilted it in the lamplight, as if the paper itself could somehow answer for the squandered opportunity. He could’ve been the perfect lever to topple Herculia even further into chaos.

Demand a ransom,he continued, half-speaking to himself, Force Lechlian’s hand. And no matter what he chose, I’d win. Pay up? Fine. I take the gold—or better yet, a few castles in exchange. Refuse? Even better. He chuckled low, leaning back in his chair. The perfect crack between father and son, that I could thrive on

A little rumor here, a whisper there... say, about Lechlian favoring the middle child for succession. Oh, that would send the eldest into a frothing rage, wouldn’t it? With a little nudge, I might even convince him to take up arms. Lead an army, claim the throne. And when he does...” Alpheo’s smile grew sharper.The lords will see their chance to switch sides, to pledge allegiance to a winner.

But my terms would be clear to him . He would have to bend the knee. Then I carve out a nice slice of Herculia for myself. Some lands here, a few lords there—and the rest to him.

”What a pity,” he muttered, shaking his head with a rueful grin. ”A golden opportunity, wasted.”

He finally turned the envelope over in his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it had any right to be. It didn’t take a brilliant tactician to discern what lay within. This letter would hold the outcome of that battle and with it the fate of the rebellion, not that Alpheo cared much about that , after all their use was done for his objective , for now he just kept it going just to see if he could further weaken that dog of Herculia.

Alpheo sighed, his expression hardening. ”Time to see how the dice have fallen,” he said under his breath, breaking the letter.

As he opened it , he then turned the letter over, noticing the bulk was thicker than a normal one. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he carefully peeled apart the layers, revealing two additional pages—decoys.

He set them aside, unbothered by their meaningless contents, and focused on the third page, nestled between them like the heart of a riddle.

His eyes scanned the words, taking in the terse, formal script. His expression hardened, though he felt no surprise.

”I was right,” he murmured to himself, the confirmation settling in his chest like a weight.

They had lost.