Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Winter passed gently through the lands of Yarzat, its presence felt more in the crispness of the air than in any true harshness. There was no snow to blanket the fields, no ice to seal the rivers, only the subtle shift in the wind and the shorter days that reminded the people of the season’s passing. The mornings carried a bite, and the nights were cooler, but the midday sun still warmed the earth, ensuring that life never truly paused, only slowed.

Now, as February crept forward, winter’s grip loosened further. The days stretched longer, and the first hints of spring stirred in the land. The trees, which had shed only a few leaves in the mild chill, now seemed to swell with anticipation, their branches heavy with budding life. Green shoots poked through the soil, eager to claim the sunlight. The scent of damp earth filled the air as the first rains of the season softened the roads and fields.

The people of Yarzat were already preparing. Farmers inspected their lands, readying their tools and livestock for the labor ahead. Traders grew busier, their routes soon to open further as warmer days encouraged travel. In the villages, children ran barefoot through the fields, no longer shivering in the morning air, while the elderly sat outside their homes, feeling the change in the wind and speaking of how spring was nearly upon them.

For the common folk of Yarzat, especially those within the Crownlands, winter had nearly passed without much to remark upon. No wars had come to darken their fields, no campaigns had called their sons to battle, and no blight had struck their crops.

It was, by all accounts, a season of peace and quiet—a rare thing in these lands, and one that many took as a blessing. The granaries remained full, the roads were safe with no bandits that could be found, much thanks to the regular patrol of the White Army residing on the land.

Life went on as it always did, with the people tending to their work, their families, and their simple joys.

But for those who looked beyond the ordinary, it had been a winter filled with surprises.

The most celebrated of these was the birth of Basil, the firstborn child of Jasmine and Alpheo. The news had spread swiftly through the capital and beyond, carrying with it a mixture of joy, relief, and curiosity.

A royal heir was always cause for celebration, but this birth held a deeper significance, at least for Alpheo.As of right now, his position in the state was firmly planted onto stones, as with a child born between them, any annulment of the marriage was impossible, something that could have instead happened during the first months of his rule if the nobles had actually banded together to put a stop to the union.

At the same time, great change had been set into motion in the western Crownlands. The long-discussed settlement plans had finally begun, and more than two thousand tribesmen had made their homes there. They had come from the rugged highlands , men and women who had once lived by the rule of their own chiefs, now swearing loyalty to the crown.

But for now, they worked the land, built their homes, and adapted to their new lives by the sea, learning the ways of farming and fishing .

So, while the fields lay undisturbed and the people rested through an uneventful winter, the princedom itself was quietly reshaping.

During these months of peace, the kingdom’s treasury had quietly swelled, rising from the modest 7,000 silverii of August to a far more comfortable 25,000 silverii by February.

On the expenditure side, the military remained the largest drain on the treasury. The recent expansion of the fleet had been particularly costly, with its maintenance alone demanding a staggering 3,000 silverii per month. This, combined with the standing army’s wages, equipment upkeep, and logistical costs, had pushed the military budget up to 9,535 silverii per month.

Yet, for all the spending, the kingdom’s economy was flourishing. The production of key trade goods—soap, cider, and paper—had surged. Soap and cider, ever in high demand across the region, had seen an impressive 50% increase in output, while paper, though a more specialized commodity, had still managed to grow by 22% thanks mostly to their sale to the Romelians. These industries, combined with various other economic activities, brought in a steady flow of wealth, leading to an estimated monthly income of 3,800 silverii.

With the practical aspects of resettlement complete, what remained were the far trickier political and administrative matters. A slew of edicts had to be carefully reviewed and issued, ensuring that the integration of the new settlers proceeded smoothly—at least on paper.

One of the most pressing concerns was the legal groundwork defining land ownership within the new settlement. After much deliberation, it was decided that the tribesmen would own the land they worked, granting them personal stake and stability. However, their chief, Torghan, would hold only administrative and executive authority—meaning he could oversee governance but had no right to levy taxes or draft his own laws. Powers which were held firmly in the hands of the nobility, as they did across the rest of the realm.

Furthermore, the position of chief would not be hereditary—at least not officially. Torghan’s son would have no automatic claim to his father’s title, ensuring that leadership remained subject to royal discretion. Of course, Alpheo was not blind to the realities of power. He had no qualms about adjusting the arrangement in the future if it suited his interests. But for now, the rules were set, and the foundations of the settlement’s governance were laid.

Torghan’s people had settled in well. Their homes were already completed, sturdy wooden structures that offered far more comfort than the tents and huts they had known before. The land had been tilled and prepared, lying in wait for spring when the first crops of grain, oats, and barley would be sown. Everything had gone according to plan—so far.

To ensure the integration went smoothly, Alpheo had dispatched men to educate the settlers, teaching them the language of their new home while also making it clear which laws they were expected to follow. There would be no misunderstandings, no excuses.

And, of course, Alpheo did not leave things to chance. He had demanded constant reports on the situation, delivered in careful detail by the very men he had sent to oversee the settlement. One such letter was now in his hands, the parchment crisp and the ink fresh. He leaned back in his chair, scanning the words that painted a picture of the fledgling settlement—one that, for now, seemed to be thriving.

Among the many matters demanding Alpheo’s attention, one particularly satisfying success stood out—the ransom of 900 Romelian sailors captured after the disastrous battle for Harmway. The Romelians had lost, their fleet sent to the depths, and their men taken as spoils of war.

Normally, such captives would have been sold off like cattle, mostly as either rowing slaves for the new ships they had captured or as slaves for the mines, where they would be put to work until death claimed them.

But Alpheo had intervened.

At least for 900 of those lucky few.

Yarzat’s navy, though growing in size, still lacked one crucial thing: experience. No matter how many ships he built, a fleet was only as strong as the men who sailed it, and raw recruits could not be expected to match seasoned Romelian mariners.

So the moment the sailors were ransomed, they were put straight to work.

As for the sailords in particular , knowing that things went well for them especially considering the alternative, they mostly obeyed the new status quo.

If they wanted to live, they would row, sail, and fight under Yarzat’s banner.

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he placed the letter aside.

One problem solved, at least, he reasoned .

The fleet had the sailors it needed, and with time, Yarzat’s navy would no longer be filled with green recruits barely able to tie a proper knot. But as always, when one issue was dealt with, another took its place.

His mind drifted to the broker—the man who had arranged the ransom, whose name he barely cared to remember. By all rights, the wretch should have been in chains by now, rotting in the depths of a galley, oar in hand, rowing until his body gave out. As for his family? The law was clear. Those who consorted with pirates forfeited their freedom. Slavery was the only fate that awaited them.

Pirates, slavers, and men who deal in flesh. That’s all he is. I should have no hesitation who knows how many of the things he dealt with came from my land?

Yet, as Alpheo weighed the man’s fate, another thought crept in. The very reason he deserved death might also be the very reason he was worth keeping alive. A man with ties to pirate merchants, one who could walk onto islands crawling with Confederation-aligned cutthroats without raising suspicion, was not something to discard so easily.

How many spies could claim to walk freely among the enemy? To enter their dens and leave without so much as a second glance?

Having an agent who could move through those waters mostly unharmed was an advantage few could claim.

I would be a fool to waste that.Plus, I still hold his family , so I am sure that he will do whatever it is asked of him....

And so, in a twist of fate, the very crime that should have sealed the broker’s doom became the key to his survival, with Alpheo gaining another piece in his growing web of intelligence.

An organization that in the meantime, was already at work, gathering fragments of information that, when pieced together, painted a grim and unsettling picture of the future Alpheo would soon have to navigate in .

As soon Yarzat would be on his way to fight for the right to exist in the greatest crisis that they would have ever faced, and it what would be known in history as the First Coalition War...