Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city of Red Rose as Mavius returned as a victorious Imperator. The air buzzed with the energy of celebration, the streets packed with cheering citizens waving theirs arms around. Flower petals rained from the balconies, and children darted through the crowd, laughing as they mimicked the soldiers marching proudly behind their leader.

The victorious Imperator’s sharp eyes scanned the jubilant faces lining the streets, his expression one of stoic satisfaction, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

The soldiers following him held their heads high, their polished shields and spears catching the light as they passed under the great archway leading into the heart of the city. The chants of the people echoed in the narrow streets for the men who had successfully repelled the barbarian raid threatening their eastern borders.

Once the parade concluded and the army veered off to establish their camp just outside the city walls, Mavius dismounted his warhorse and began ascending the marble steps of the palace. Though he knew this palace was merely a replacement for the grand residence of his youth, he couldn’t help but compare the two in his mind. This one was smaller in size, less of towering in height, and undeniably less opulent—lacking of close the familiarity of his home.

Mavius paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the intricate carvings adorning the palace facade, then pressed onward, his boots clicking against the stone with resolute purpose.

His thoughts drifted as he crossed the threshold. The palace he had grown up in lay hundreds of kilometers away, separated by swathes of contested land and scores of castles.

It seemed almost a lifetime ago when Mavius had launched his ambitious campaign, aiming to crush resistance in the Fingers. His strategy had been clear: take the castles, defeat the army, and force the southern provincial lords to kneel. Victory there would have secured not only their allegiance but also the swift conclusion of the civil war.

But instead of the decisive triumph he had envisioned, he had tasted bitter defeat. His youngest brother’s grandfather took the field and defeated him, leaving him no choice but to retreat and raise his banners once again for the future. The cost of his initial failure had been high—time, resources, and blood, or so he thought, however as winter had passed, he realized that his situation was actually much more favorable than he thought.

Any invasion from the south had to pass first against the fingers, to his west was his older brother Maesinius , who after conquering the province of Messania apparently entered in hybarnation, not doing anything worth noticing. Mavius had honestly though about mounting an expedition to subjagate the land of his elder, however he had no interest about the snow of the north, nor of their people, poor, smelly, and rude to the core.

He can keep them, Mavius thought as he continued his walk up the stairs toward the palace, as a matter of fact he did not mind leaving them to him , as long as he did not bother him in his invasion to take the throne, it was clear that Maesinius had no interest in it and Mavius was more than happy to leave things as they were. Perhapse I could even send an envoy to make a treaty of friendship...I would prefer marching south with the head clear of any worries about having my home invaded while I am south.

Strange ...I did not remember the stairs to be so steep, he thought,

He quickly glanced around, hoping no one had noticed his momentary struggle for breath. Embarrassed by his own lack of stamina, he straightened his posture and adjusted his cloak with a to simulate an air of authority.

Waiting for him at the top was his wife, Silena, with one of her practiced smile, lacking of any mirth that Mavius has so searched for everywhere when he was younger. In her arms was their firstborn child, Vrivius. Mavius’s sharp gaze darted from Silena’s elegant form to the child she held, landing squarely on his son.

Vrivius. His pride. His legacy. His heir

Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he studied the boy.

The baby’s face was a curious mix of chubby cheeks and overly serious expressions, as though he had spent all six months of his life silently judging the world—and found it inadequate for his worth. A wild tuft of dark hair jutted out at impossible angles, giving him the look of someone who had just woken up from a nap

By the gods, my father come again... the same perpetually unsatisfied eyes, Mavius mused as he reached out, scooping the boy into his arms.

Vrivius stared at him for a moment, as if deliberating on his father’s worthiness. Then, much to Mavius’s satisfaction, the child’s stern little face gave way to a wide, toothless grin that lit up his features.

”Ah, there you are,” Mavius murmured, a smile tugging at his own lips as the baby’s clumsy hands found his face, patting it with all the precision of a drunk trying to play the harp.

Behind the tender scene of father and son stood another figure, an older man . Lord Landoff, Mavius’s father-in-law and the first minister of the one third of the empire , observed the reunion with a faint smile. His bearing was that of a seasoned statesman—eyes sharp, back straight, and an air of quiet authority that demanded respect.

During Mavius’s absence to fend off the barbarian invasion, Landoff had been left as regent, tasked with overseeing the administration of the kingdom.

We’ve come a long way, haven’t we, old friend? Mavius thought, glancing at the man who had shaped so much of his life. Their bond went back nearly a decade, to the time when Mavius was just a boy of twelve, sent by his father to Landoff as a ward. Ostensibly, it was an honor—a way to pay respect to the powerful lord by entrusting him with the care and education of a prince, probably a second-rate reward for his father refusal to make Landoff High Marshal of the entire province of Mevinia, whom he preferred not to give out .

Only, it didn’t quite go as Father planned, Mavius mused, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The arrangement had backfired spectacularly. By the time his father passed, Landoff’s influence had already secured Mavius a strong foothold in the east.

The network of lords who had sworn fealty to Landoff and his allies became a ready-made base of power for Mavius. When the time came, they rallied to his banner without hesitation, forcing the smaller, weaker houses to fall in line or face absorption under the pretext of treachery.

It was almost too easy, Mavius thought . The eastern provinces arguable the second richest place in the empire , had effectively become his personal fiefdom before he’d even ascended to the throne. And it was thanks in no small part to the man standing behind him now—a man who had been his mentor, father-in-law, and most steadfast supporter.

Lord Landoff stepped forward, his face composed yet warm with pride as he inclined his head slightly. ”Congratulations on your victory, Majesty,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a subtle undertone of genuine admiration. ”The men fought well, but their commander led them better still.”

Mavius gave a small, satisfied nod. ”Thank you, my kord . Though I suspect they’ll remember the feasts and cheers of the city more fondly than the battle itself.” His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp as they met Landoff’s. ”What of matters here? Did anything demand attention in my absence?”

Landoff shook his head reassuringly, a faint smile playing at his lips. ”Nothing of consequence, Majesty. All has remained calm. Your instructions have been followed to the letter. Preparations for the army’s next campaign are well underway.”

He paused, his hands clasped behind his back as he continued. ”The grain from the recent harvest has been safely stored in the royal warehouses, as you commanded. It will be sufficient to sustain your forces, even if the campaign extends longer than anticipated. The suppliers and quartermasters have ensured that every detail is accounted for.”

Mavius’s eyes flickered with approval, though his expression remained guarded. ”Good. I had no doubts, but it’s still a relief to h-’’

-Cough-Cough-

Mavius coughed, a brief but sharp sound that echoed faintly in the hall. He brought a fist to his mouth as the fit subsided, his expression remaining composed despite the interruption.

”Majesty, are you unwell?Should I call for the physiscist?” Lord Landoff asked immediately, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer.

Mavius waved a hand dismissively, offering a faint smile. ”I’m fine, my lord. Just a bit of a cough, nothing to concern yourself with.”

Landoff’s expression remained unconvinced, but he inclined his head respectfully. ”Even so, Majesty, perhaps it would be wise to consult the royal physicists. The campaign is on all of us, and it wouldn’t hurt to ensure you’ve recovered fully.”

Mavius sighed lightly, his shoulders sagging just a touch as he nodded. ”Yes, yes. I’ll see to it.” He raised a hand again, as if to cut off further concern. ”But not tonight. For now, I’m tired, Landoff. It’s been a long day, and I’ll rest before indulging any more of your fatherly worrying.”

Landoff allowed himself a small smile, bowing his head slightly. ”Of course, Majesty. Rest is well-earned after your efforts.”