Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Alpheo placed the letter down on the desk, its edges curling slightly from the tension of his grip moments before. He leaned back, his chair creaking faintly under his weight, and scratched his chin thoughtfully, his fingertips brushing against the faint stubble growing there, he liked to have his face cleans as such he always shaved at least once a week, not that much grew there anyway, perhapse in the future he would grow a beard, he still did not know.

The room was silent except for the soft tap of his fingers against his jawline. His gaze lingered on the letter. After a moment, he leaned forward again, the chair creaking once more as he reached for the paper.

Sliding it back into his hands, he unfolded it carefully, smoothing out the creases. His eyes traced over the words once more

I trust this letter reaches you in good health, though it pains me deeply to deliver such disheartening news. The battle between the rebel forces led by Inor and the Herculeian army commanded by the prince’s son, Arnold, has concluded in a resounding defeat for the rebellion.

The rebels,had chosen to entrench themselves upon a fortified hilltop, constructing rudimentary defenses of stakes and ditches designed to neutralize the Herculeian cavalry’s feared mobility. It was a strong position, and their strategy was sound. The Herculeian forces arrived late in the afternoon and, wisely, opted to encamp for the night, intending to engage in full battle the following day.

That night, under the cover of darkness, the rebels attempted a bold night assault, likely hoping to catch the Herculeians unprepared. Tragically, the enemy had anticipated such a move. From the reports of those that survivered, I am of the belief that Arnold, had ordered his troops to rest in their armor, ready for just such an eventuality. The surprise attack turned into a slaughter, as the Herculeian forces rallied swiftly and counterattacked with brutal efficiency. Those rebels who fled were mercilessly pursued by the enemy cavalry, their flight illuminated by the pale glow of the moonlight. Few returned to tell the tale.

The following morning, with the rebels’ morale already shaken, the Herculeians launched an assault. Arnold ordered his infantry forward in waves, testing the rebel defenses, the engagement lasted an hour . The first attack was repelled , as the rebels held their ground. However, the second wave lasted at least three hours, and when the Herculeian footmen retreated, against Inor’s explicit orders, the rebel lines broke cohesion, giving in to the impulse to pursue what appeared to be a fleeing enemy.

It was then that the trap was sprung. The foot soldiers at the base of the hill , that rested all the way during the second wave’s attack, charged forward and met the pursuing rebels head-on, while their cavalry executed a devastating flanking maneuver, striking at the now-exposed rebel lines. The cohesion of the rebels dissolved entirely, and what had begun as a pursue turned into a chaotic rout.

Following that , Inor ordered what remained of his forces to abandon their camp and retreat into the nearby forest. While this allowed some to escape the slaughter, their condition has since grown dire. The rebel remnants now wander through the dense woods with dwindling supplies, their numbers and resolve steadily eroding , with deserters escaping in the night.

Now comes the crux of this letter. Apparently Inor himself, wishes to discuss terms of sanctuary for himself and his surviving men and women. It is a desperate plea, borne of the realization that further resistance is no longer viable.

As of this writing, they are making their way toward the city of Arduronaven, weary and bloodied but determined to seek your protection. I await your instructions on how to proceed with this matter of diplomacy . Time is of the essence, as the Herculeian forces may yet close the distance and finish what they began.

Your loyal servant

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Alpheo had anticipated this outcome from the start.

In truth, he doubted even his own abilities would have salvaged victory in Inor’s position. The strategy itself was not at fault; after all, it was he who had advised Lucius and Marcus to seek high ground to confront the Herculeians. The plan had merit, and by the contents of the letter, it seemed to have worked admirably—at least until the rebels’ lack of discipline and leadership unraveled it.

It wasn’t the strategy that failed, but the men leading it. Peasants-turned-commanders were hardly fit to counter an experienced foe, there weren’t even officers to make sure that orders were obeyed between lines, they were just a long line of men put together with only one man leading the.

Their ineptitude had sealed their fate.

Alpheo set the letter down with a sigh, his thoughts straying to the young Herculeian general.

Arnold’s skill is sharper than I gave him credit for, Alpheo lampooned to himself, begrudgingly impressed.He had never had much of an opinion of the young man, still this last campaign proved him wrong. The feigned retreat had been a masterstroke—a tactic that bore an eerie resemblance to William the Bastard’s maneuver at Hastings, which had secured his famous title of William the Conqueror.

A flicker of unease crossed Alpheo’s mind. Perhaps Herculia wasn’t as feeble as he had once assumed. Yet the thought was fleeting, replaced by his customary confidence. His own forces were a different breed entirely.

If it were my army on that hill, this debacle would never have occurred, Alpheo mused, fingers tracing the edges of the letter. His troops were bound by discipline as much as by steel, trained rigorously to resist the folly of reckless pursuit. His officers would never allow the lines to dissolve into chaos, even in the heat of battle.

They were drilled to stay attuned to their surroundings, to heed orders without hesitation.Of course, this did not mean that his men would not pursue the enemy in that situation as the rebels did, they were men too after all; it just meant that if an order came from them to stop, one could easily bet his house that they would follow it to the letter.

Arnold had won this round, but only because he was playing against children. Against Alpheo, it would have been a different game.

As he thought of that young nobleman , he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the edge of the desk. It wasn’t the defeat that bothered him—he had expected that much. No, what truly set his nerves was the fact that his spies had been captured.

The letter didn’t say it outright of course . It seemed like a simple report, but Alpheo had planned for situations like this. He had instructed his men to include hidden messages in their letters, just in case. A system of reading the first letter of each line—a secret code.

A secret message in a secret letter , quite ironic.

He grabbed the letter again, his eyes narrowing as he read the first letters down the page. Slowly, the words came together: ”Prisoners, need help.”.

Apparently, Lucius and Marcus had managed to get themselves detained by the remnants of the defeated rebels. Alpheo couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment—being captured so easily was amateurish at best. Still, he reminded himself, they weren’t born spies, just ordinary people he’d molded for the role. Expecting perfection from them would be as foolish as trying to build a castle on sand.

”Well,” he muttered with a wry smile, leaning back in his chair, ”a little adversity builds character, that’s for sure; perhaps this isn’t all bad.’’

Despite their misstep, Alpheo knew the larger picture was still firmly in his favor. The plan had worked. The twin fortresses were now under his control, and their strategic significance couldn’t be overstated. With those fortresses in hand, the enemy capital was ripe for a siege, as his supply line were now easily sorrounded by friendly castles, which meant that there was no worry about having his supply lines ambushed and raided, which in itself made the plan of starving the capital city of Herculia more than a feasible and doable job.

As for the issue at hand, Alpheo wasn’t particularly concerned.

It was an inconvenience, yes, but hardly a crisis. He had anticipated the possibility of such complications and had laid the groundwork to deal with them well in advance.

One after all doesn’t play with fire in a house made of hay.

Opening this jar of pickles, as he liked to phrase it, would take effort, but it wasn’t beyond his reach.

He wasn’t naive enough to believe everything would always unfold perfectly in his favor.

Life, after all, was a series of moving pieces, and the unexpected was inevitable. Still, the newfound bravado among the rebels now made more sense. Their audacity to propose a deal came from holding this card, however flimsy it was. They thought they could threaten him by exposing his role in supporting their cause, a move that could indeed create a diplomatic mess if it ever reached the wrong ears, in their positions he would probably do the same.

Still he wasn’t worried. Everything was under control, neatly moving on the track he had set. By the end of the month, this irritation would resolve itself without him so much as lifting a finger. He wasn’t one to respond kindly to threats, after all and the rebels would learn that at their own price.

After all , he had a contigency plan for everything, as one of the many boons of being prince was that the bigger your imagination was the better the plan would be.