Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Alpheo was well aware, as his friends often reminded him, that he had a tendency to overthink—though some went as far as to call it paranoia. He dismissed the label of paranoia outright; after all, when one sits at the top of the hierarchy, many fears aren’t as unfounded as they might seem. The real challenge wasn’t whether to worry, but rather determining which instincts were worth acting on and which were mere distractions, like pebbles sinking into water.

As for overthinking? That charge, he couldn’t deny. Alpheo approached every decision with meticulous care, dissecting every potential outcome and crafting contingency plans for each. It wasn’t that he sought to control everything—he knew better than that—but he believed firmly in preparing for as much as possible.

Success wasn’t about luck; it was about foresight.

So, when he found himself holding the key to potentially revolutionizing agriculture in his lands, he knew better than to act impulsively. The prospect of turning his fields into some of the most productive in the region was tantalizing, but it demanded caution. The first hurdle wasn’t simply implementing the newfound knowledge—it was deciding how to use it responsibly.

And so under the shining of the high sun Baren led Alpheo down the path, his voice hesitant but dutiful as he began to explain. ”Your Grace,the first field I must confess was a failure. ’’

They approached a stretch of land where the air carried a faintly sour tang. The field itself was sparse. A few scraggly stalks poked up here and there, their feeble attempts at growth overshadowed by patches of rotten, discolored remnants of grain scattered across the soil. Much of the plot was barren, or at least grain failed to grow there.

Baren stopped at the edge of the field, gesturing nervously. ”As instructed, I spread the... material... directly on top of the land after I put the seed in, just as your men advised. But...” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Alpheo’s gaze. ”Well, as your grace can see, it didn’t work as we’d hoped. Out of every sixteen seeds, maybe four sprouted. The rest... they rotted in the ground and those that came out came sick.”

Alpheo stepped closer, his ornate boots sinking slightly into the loose soil. He crouched down, plucking one of the withered stalks from the soil and examining its frail roots. The corners of his mouth turned downward, but his expression remained thoughtful rather than displeased.

”This,” Alpheo murmured, almost to himself, ”was to be expected.” He tossed the stalk aside and straightened, brushing the dirt from his hands. ”Using raw waste directly on the seeds was bound to result in this.It was just a harmless experiment this one.” His tone was calm, even instructional, as though the failure was part of a greater lesson rather than a setback.

With this at least I know that all the precautions I took were not wrong.

He glanced at Baren, who looked increasingly anxious, and offered a small, reassuring smile. ”You’ve done exactly as I asked, Baren. No need to look so down.”

Baren exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he feared he would be found fault in the failure. Alpheo, satisfied, turned his attention toward the next field in the distance.

Alpheo was acutely aware of the stakes involved in his experiment. Improperly implemented, his plan could result not in a bumper harvest but a catastrophic famine. For this reason, he was adamant about proceeding methodically. Before introducing the fertilizer across his lands, he needed conclusive proof of its effectiveness. More than that, he needed precise instructions—a written manual—to ensure its proper creation and application.

This was not the sort of change one could afford to leave to guesswork or interpretation.

Baren, meanwhile, led the way toward the second field, his steps slowing as they approached. He gestured toward the patch of land, where Alpheo noted a slight improvement over the barren failure they had just left behind. A scattering of green shoots broke the soil, their sparse presence marking progress, though still far from satisfactory.

Baren hesitated, adjusting his straw hat nervously, before beginning to explain. ”Your Grace, here the results are... better. In this plot, about half of the seeds didn’t die. That’s a marked improvement over the first, where most rotted before they could sprout. Still, the output is below what we see with normal methods of cultivation.”

He glanced at Alpheo for any sign of approval before continuing. ”In this field, we applied animal feces directly to the soil, much like the first one with the only difference that those were people’s. While the results here are less disastrous, they’re still worse than the simple tending of a properly worked field. But... Your Grace—” His voice picked up, and an excited gleam appeared in his eyes. ”The real results, the ones worth seeing, are in the other fields. There, we witnessed a remarkable rise in output.”

Baren’s excitement was palpable as he gestured forward, eager to lead the way. Until now, he had only shown failures, and the thought of finally unveiling success filled him with haste.

As they reached the third field, the transformation was undeniable. Golden grains stood tall, swaying gently in the breeze like rows of hands reaching toward the sky. The lushness of the field was striking, contrary to the barren and struggling plots they had seen earlier.

Baren’s excitement spilled over as he gestured at the thriving crops. ”Your Grace, this is the result I am most proud of! In this field, the difference is night and day compared to the others. Normally, this land would yield about fifteen bushels per acre, but with the methods applied here, the output has increased to twenty-two bushels. ’’

That’s nearly a 68% increase! Alpheo lampooned in his mind.

He beamed with pride, the nervousness from earlier replaced by the uncontainable thrill of showing off something extraordinary

Alpheo, usually reserved in his reactions, allowed himself a brief but genuine smile. He stepped forward, crouching to run his hands through the stalks, letting the grain brush against his fingers. ”Sixty-eight percent,” he murmured once again under his breath, his voice almost drowned out by the rustling of the field.

In his mind, the implications began to crystallize, and a sense of triumph bubbled just beneath the surface. If these results could be replicated across the royal fiefdom, the agricultural output would skyrocket. Which means that his warehouses would swell with grains

The prospect was intoxicating. Alpheo could already see the ripples spreading outward—trade surpluses, political leverage, and the ability to withstand famine without fear. Inwardly, he salivated at the thought of the prosperity this could bring, not just for his people but for the realm as a whole.

Alpheo straightened, his calculating gaze sweeping across the thriving field, before fixing on Baren. ”Explain everything about what yoy did ’’ he commanded, his tone calm yet imbued with an unmistakable authority.

Baren immediately bowed, his straw hat pressed tightly to his chest. ”Of course, Your Grace,” he said, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of respect and excitement. ”As per your instructions, I began by gathering feces from cows and sheep. To that, I added fruit cores, straws of hay, burnt and smashed burnt bones, and any rotten vegetables I could find. I even introduced a lot of worms into the mix, as you requested.”

He straightened just enough to glance at Alpheo’s expression before continuing. ”I left the heap out in the open for a few months, letting it break down naturally under the sun, mixing it once a week . After that, I plowed the ground and spread the decomposed waste mixture evenly across the soil. Once that was done, I covered it with a layer of dirt and sowed the seeds. From there, it was the usual work—watering, weeding, and tending to the field as one would in any ordinary season.”

Baren’s face lit up as he gestured to the golden expanse around them. ”The results, Your Grace, are what you see now. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. The soil here seemed... alive, almost, and the grains grew stronger and taller than they ever have.”

Alpheo listened intently, nodding slowly. His mind worked swiftly, processing the details. The combination of natural composting and traditional methods had clearly borne fruit—literally. ”Good,” he finally said, his voice heavy with approval. ”You’ve done well, Baren. Very well.”

There was a reason for why the first two fields failed and the third one succeeded.

Fresh fertilizer, as Alpheo well knew, was unsuitable for agriculture in its raw state. Feces, while rich in nutrients, carried pathogens that could harm plants and pose serious risks to those consuming the harvest. The key to transforming this waste into something beneficial lay in the process of composting—a natural, but slow, method of conversion.

When left to decompose, the bacteria and microorganisms in the soil broke down the organic matter, neutralizing harmful pathogens and creating a nutrient-rich compost. This process, however, was far from immediate. It required patience, taking several months of work.

Despite the time and effort involved, the benefits of this transformation were undeniable. Properly composted fertilizer improved soil fertility, enriched crop yields, and even enhanced the land’s capacity to retain water. These advantages far outweighed the inconvenience of the waiting period, making it a worthwhile investment.

Alpheo understood this balance well, seeing the months of labor as a small price to pay for the promise of abundance.

Unfortunately not everything was good, as the biggest drawback for this invention would not be the time required to make it, but instead the great political drawbacks it would have.