Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The icy darkness wrapped around Darron like a shroud, pressing in from all sides. Beneath the surface of the sea, there was no sound but the muffled roar of distant chaos and the rush of blood in his ears. His chest burned, the cold water biting at his skin, and everything around him was a void—a deep, consuming blackness that seemed infinite.

He kicked hard, his limbs heavy from the cold, clawing his way toward where he hoped the surface lay, for a small second, he even wondered if he was going up or down, the complete darkness playing with his mind.

Suddenly, however the darkness above him exploded into brilliance. A burst of light so intense it pierced the murky depths, flooding the water with an unnatural glow.

It was as though a thousand torches had ignited all at once, becoming even more dashing as it contrasted with the complete pitch black.

For half a second, he froze. The immense radiance illuminated the water around him, as if the sea itself had caught fire. The suddenness of it, the sheer force of the brightness, stunned him.

But the searing ache in his chest yanked him from his daze. His lungs screamed for air, the crushing need to breathe overwhelming every other thought.

He kicked harder, pushing his arms through the illuminated water with desperate strength, his mind focused on the single goal of breaking through to the surface before the dark depths claimed him for good.

Darron burst through the surface of the water, gasping as if he had been reborn. The cold night air rushed into his lungs, burning like fire but filling him with the life he so desperately needed. He coughed and sputtered, saltwater pouring from his mouth as his arms flailed instinctively, trying to keep him afloat.

”Over here!” he shouted hoarsely, his voice raw and weak against the chaos around him. He raised his arms, thrashing them above his head in a frantic attempt to draw attention.

Suddendly much to his relief, a small boat emerged from the gloom, rowing toward him. One of the crew aboard spotted him, their silhouette illuminated by the glow.

”There! Grab him!” a voice called out, barely audible over the roar of the burning ships.

The small vessel maneuvered closer, and rough hands reached out toward Darron. With the last of his strength, he swam toward them, his legs weak and trembling.

”Got you Captain!” One of the crew grunted as they grabbed his arm and heaved him up. Darron half-climbed, half-collapsed over the side, landing heavily on the wooden boards of the small boat.

He lay there for a moment, gasping, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. The crew leaned over him, relief etched into their faces.

”Thought we lost you in his embrace Captain,” one of them said

Darron sat up slowly, his body aching and drenched to the bone. He turned back toward the inferno, its fiery light still casting shadows across the waves. The first part of their mission was complete, but he knew the true test was yet to come.

One of the crew members crouched beside Darron, his face pale and eyes wide, the flickering light of the flames playing across his features. ”Did you see it? The flames—they were... unreal.”

Darron blinked, still trying to catch his breath, his mind foggy from the cold and the chaos. ”See it?” he rasped, his voice hoarse. ”No... I was underwater. What are you talking about?”

He turned his head, squinting toward the inferno. The ship—what had been at least —was unmistakably lodged against one of the enemy vessels. The impact had been clean, the hulls jammed together as though they were locked in a final, destructive embrace. But what truly struck him was the fire spreading across the enemy’s anchored fleet.

Flames licked hungrily at the decks, climbing masts like living creatures. Those that were on those ships were quick to abandon it, not even bothering to lower the smaller vessel as the flames were burning up unnaturally fast , as they directly threw themselves onto the water, trying to reach the relatively close shore.

Darron frowned, his confusion mounting. He’d never seen a fire move like this before. The blaze was unnaturally quick. True, their ships were soaked in oil, but the others? Was this normal? Surely, a wooden vessel doused in fish oil and hay would burn, but the wood itself did not take up fire so fast...

He turned back to the crew member. ”Why did you ask if I saw it?”

The man hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line as though struggling to find the right words. Finally, he gestured toward the burning ships. ”It wasn’t like a normal fire, Captain. It didn’t just spread—a lot ” He mimicked an explosion with his hands, his fingers splaying outward. ”One second it was dark, and then the flames were everywhere, all at once. Like a wave of light rolling over the deck.”

Darron stared at him, his brow furrowing. ”Spread?” he repeated, disbelief creeping into his voice. ” Ships are made of wood, and wood doesn’t do that. It doesn’t make sense.”

”I know what I saw; the others do too,” the crewman insisted, his voice trembling. ”It was like—like something inside the ship just... went up all at once.” He glanced uneasily at Darron, then back at the flames

Darron’s mind reeled. Could it have been the witch’s doing? No, that was ridiculous—wasn’t it? He shook his head, his wet hair clinging to his skin. ”It doesn’t add up,” he muttered to himself, half to the crewman and half to no one at all.

Another crew member, perched on the edge of the small vessel with his oar resting across his lap, nodded vigorously. ”He’s right, Captain,” the man chimed in, his voice barely audible over the distant roar of the flames. ”It wasn’t natural. One moment there was barely a glow, and the next, the whole deck lit up like the sun had come down to sit on it.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew, their voices tense with a mixture of awe and unease. The man who had first spoken looked back at Darron with a grim expression.

Darron raised a hand, cutting them off before the conversation spiraled further into speculation. ”It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate. He straightened as best he could in the cramped boat, the cold saltwater still clinging to his skin. ”What matters is that the mission is done. We did what we came to do.”

He gestured toward the blazing enemy ships, the fire reflecting off the water in shifting, golden streaks. ”Those ships won’t be fighting anytime soon. That’s one less threat for our fleet to worry about.”

The crew exchanged hesitant glances but seemed reassured by Darron’s confidence. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and glanced back toward the dark horizon where their other ships had disappeared into the night.

”Now, enough of this,” he said, his voice firm with finality. ”Pick up your oars and row us out of here. I’ve had enough of this place for a lifetime.Right now I just want to change clothes and sleep on a proper bed”

The men hesitated only a moment before following his order, their hands gripping the oars and pulling the boat away from the inferno.

As the small vessel pulled away from the chaos, Darron glanced back over his shoulder. The light from the blazing ships painted the night sky in hues of orange and gold, the dark waters reflecting the fiery dance. The enemy camp on the distant shore, once silent and still, was now stirring with urgency as those at the watch clearly saw the light coming from where their ships were anchored

Shouts began to rise over the crackling of the flames, distant but distinct. ”Fire! Fire!” The cries grew louder as more men roused from their sleep, their voices a mixture of alarm and confusion. The sound of running feet and clattering equipment carried faintly across the water as the camp burst into life.

But it was already too late. The ships burned with a ferocity that defied any hope of suppression, if that was not enough they had no way to stop the fire, as the last thing an army would bring to war would be buckets, which even if they had would have been quite useless, as the inferno had already spread, consuming ropes, sails, and timbers with terrifying speed.

Even if the enemy somehow managed to organize a response, it would do little good. The ships that had been rammed stood no chance of recovery. Their hulls had been breached by the force of impact, the flaming vessels lodged deep against their sides. Water poured through the shattered woodwork, sending the damaged ships listing dangerously.

The combined destruction of fire and water was unstoppable. As the flames devoured the upper decks, the lower portions of the ships groaned and creaked, succumbing to the pull of the sea. One by one those ships that were at least hit, as not all of the burning ships hit home as their crew pulled off too soon, began to either sink a bit or burn in the darkness.

With no hope of salvaging the ships that had been hit, those who were on the ships that were not burning acted quickly. As without order they dropped the anchor and got into defensive formations to make sure that a follow-up attack would make no way, an attack that however would never come.