Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The night was dark, with only the faint glimmer of stars overhead to light the open field. In the distance, 200 horses stood silently, their riders waiting in a tense stillness. The horses snorted softly now and then, their hooves occasionally scuffing the ground, but the scene was otherwise eerily quiet.

At the center of this gathering lay Lord Egil, the commander of the light riders of the White Army. He lounged on his horse, sprawled across the saddle as if he had no care in the world. His posture, almost languid, was a sharp contrast to the watchful readiness of his men.

Egil’s eyes were fixed on the night sky, tracing the constellations with a lazy interest. Between his teeth, he chewed on the stem of a wildflower he’d picked earlier in the evening. The sharp, acidic tang of the stem made his mouth water, and every so often, he bit off a piece, rolling it around on his tongue before spitting it out, letting the acidic taste linger on his tongue .

The spit landed with a faint, wet pat on the dry earth below. Egil smirked to himself, finding an odd satisfaction in the bitter taste and the rhythm of his chewing.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional creak of leather saddles and the low shuffle of restless horses. Egil took one last bite of the flower stem, spit out the piece, and let out a quiet sigh, still staring at the stars as if the night were his to command.

”How long is this going to take? Patience is for priests, not soldiers.” He shifted slightly on his saddle, craning his neck to glance around the assembly of riders, his second in command Rykio unfortunately was not there to appreciate his joke

The silhouettes of his men were barely visible in the dim starlight, their figures blending with the shapes of their horses. His eyes lingered on the group for a moment, and a faint grimace tugged at his lips. Since the last war, his once-proud force had temporarily dwindled down , from 150 hardened riders, to only a hundred. They had faced a force of heavy cavalry that outnumbered them nearly three to one, and the toll had been devastating.

Still, the outcome had been nothing short of remarkable. They had inflicted heavy losses on the enemy, breaking their lines and sowing chaos in a force that had seemed unstoppable, before turning around and winning the battle for Alpheo, by all means it was a success. Yet the cost was as great as the victory —nearly a third of his men gone—. He’d buried too many good riders that day..

Their numbers had since been replenished, and not just restored but increased, a small gift of appreciation by Alpheo . Now, 200 riders waited under his command. Yet Egil knew what that meant. Half of them were green as fresh spring grass, untested recruits who’d never heard the whistle of a javelin ,except in training, and that surely never felt the sticky warmth of blood of their enemies on their hands.

He let out a slow breath, his smirk returning. ”Perfect time for the lads to pop their cherry,” he muttered to himself, the words carrying a dark humor. A battle like this was exactly what they needed—a skirmish, small enough to control but fierce enough to bloody his men, though he was certain it would not be a skirmish as much as a slaughterhouse.

He leaned back slightly, watching the night as if it held all the answers. The veterans will carry the greens through this, he thought. They always did.

By the end of the night, the green ones wouldn’t be green anymore. They’d either be blooded riders—or corpses.

And if they were really to die against such rabble, then it was better for them to stay dead. He spat the last piece of flower onto the ground, there is no place for them here.

Egil straightened himself in the saddle with a groan, shaking off the stiffness from lying flat for so long. His gaze swept lazily over the assembled riders until his eyes landed on a particularly nervous-looking figure near the edge of the group. Having nothing goo to do, with a glint of mischief, he raised a hand and pointed.

”You!” he barked, his voice cutting through the quiet night.

The rider flinched, glancing around to see if someone else might be the target of Egil’s attention. When no one else reacted, he awkwardly raised a hand to his chest. ”M-me, my lord?”

”Yes, you dumb fool,” Egil shot back, rolling his eyes. ”What, you think I’m pointing at the bloody stars? Get up here.”

The man urged his horse forward hesitantly, bowing as he approached. ”My lord, I—”

”Wait,” Egil interrupted, holding up a hand. ”Let me guess. You’re one of the newbies, aren’t you?”

The young rider nodded quickly, his posture stiff. ”Yes, my lord. I joined only a month ago.”, then as if remembering something he bowed.

The veterans around them erupted in laughter, their voices echoing in the darkness. The young man glanced around, his face flushing with confusion.

”Relax, lad,” Egil said, waving a hand dismissively. ”You’ll learn. And when you do, you’ll look back on this moment and laugh like they are, as you will understand what you did wrong.”

The young rider nodded again, though he still seemed uncertain, had he done something strange?

Egil leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on the saddle horn. ”Listen up, boys!” he called, his voice loud and clear. ”Today is a great day for all of you fresh-faced pups. You’re about to become proper men.”

The veterans cheered and clapped, while the green riders exchanged nervous glances.

”You’ll have the chance to draw blood for your prince,” Egil continued, his tone taking on a sharp edge. ”The first kill is always the sweetest. It’s the moment you stop being just a boy on a horse and become a real rider, a real warrior.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

”And,” he added with a sly grin, ”if among the prisoners there happens to be a woman that catches your eye—well, you can have your fun. That’s your right as a victor. But,” he raised a finger, ”you either kill her when you’re done or take her as your wife at the end of the campaign.”

The veterans roared with laughter and approval, banging fists against their saddles and whooping in the moonlight. Even the green riders couldn’t help but cheer, swept up in the energy of the moment.

Egil smirked, watching the group come alive. ”Every damn one of your comrades who’s married started the same way,” he said, raising his voice over the noise. ”Ask any of them. So make tonight count, lads!”

The cheers grew louder, a wave of excitement and adrenaline coursing through the riders. Egil leaned back, satisfied, and let the moment carry them forward.And just as he turned his head, his second-in-command, Rykio, emerged from the shadows of the hill.

”Well, well,” Egil greeted with a wolfish grin, sitting up straighter. ”Is it time?”

Rykio nodded curtly, his voice steady and low. ”The two agents have been rescued. Our hands are untied now. We have free ground to proceed.”

Egil’s grin widened, his teeth flashing in the dim starlight. ”Ah, finally! Music to my ears, Rykio.” He let out a sharp, barking laugh and raised a hand to his riders. ”Boys, you hear that? It’s time to have some fun!”

A roar of approval erupted from the riders, their cheers reverberating through the night air.

Egil didn’t wait for further ceremony. He turned his horse toward the slope of the hill, signaling the charge with a sharp whistle. ”Let’s show them what real riders look like!”

Without bothering to hide their tracks or even a hint of subtlety, Egil and his men surged down the hill, the thunder of hooves pounding against the earth. The riders spread out in a loose formation, the sight of their charging force like a black tide descending upon the valley below.

The cool night air stung Egil’s face as he urged his horse faster, his blood thrumming with excitement. His men followed, their shouts and laughter cutting through the night, ready to claim the chaos and glory that awaited them.

During the war against Herculia, Egil had learned much to his surprise the value of cunning. He remembered vividly how they had approached the enemy camp under the cover of darkness, their front rows carrying blankets of wool to cover up the light of the torches . Those makeshift shields were propped up by sticks, carefully angled to keep the light from giving away their position while still allowing the rear lines enough visibility to advance.

He had thought about it the night before that attack and was surprised by the fact that it worked

But tonight, Egil saw no need for such sophistication. They weren’t facing the army of Herculia. No, this time they were up against a ragtag group of peasants—hungry, tired, and utterly untrained. These rebels might have held swords and spears in their hands, but they lacked the discipline and gut to wield them properly.

For hours, Egil’s riders had observed the enemy camp from the hilltop, noting its vulnerabilities. The lack of watchmen patrolling the perimeter was glaring, as was the absence of torches to illuminate the camp’s edges. It was almost as if the rebels had given up on the idea of defending themselves altogether.

Emil couldn’t help but feel a mixture of amusement and disdain as he took it all in. He had seen better security from drunk farmers guarding their livestock, in the past he was the one after all that raided their herd of sheep when he worked with his tribesmen as mercenaries.

The contract would usually be from a side between the feud that two lords had with each other,and the job usually was to kill the other’s side soldiers , which was then followed by raiding their villages. These peasants weren’t soldiers though—they were desperate men trying to hold onto a cause already slipping through their fingers.

Not that their negligence surprised him. What else could one expect from undisciplined commoners thrust into the chaos of war? They had no training, no proper leadership, and no understanding of what it truly meant to fight.

Even their leader was soundly sleeping , smiling while thinking that he had managed to at least save their skin,not knowing that in the eyes of those he thought he would treat with, he was just a nuisance that was ordered to be taken care of.