Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king Chapter 101: The day is won!

Chapter 101: The day is won!

Yarkawatt, Prince of Yarzat, stood atop his steed overlooking the battlefield, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of triumph and disbelief. For the first time in years, the bitter taste of defeat was absent from his lips, replaced by the sweet sensation of victory. The enemy was in full retreat, their soldiers scattering like leaves before the wind. And now, the sight of the fleeing Oizen forces was almost too much to contain.

He threw his head back and laughed—a deep, booming sound that reverberated through the ranks of his men standing nearby. It was a rare, joyous sound, one that echoed the sheer relief and exhilaration he felt. The long years of near-defeats, political setbacks, and skirmishes that had brought nothing but shame were finally washed away by this glorious moment.Many of his lords after this victory may even decided to reapproach the prince.

“By the gods! Look at them run!” Yarkawatt cried, a wide grin splitting his face as he turned to Rober who shared the same smile. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if he could barely restrain himself from joining the chase. “They’re nothing but cowards!”

His eyes sparkled with delight as he looked down at his commanders. There was a fire in his gaze, a youthful energy that hadn’t been there in years. The years of waiting, of watching as other lords ignored his authority while he sat idle, had all been wiped clean by this moment.

“Tell the men to pursue them!” he barked at his commanders, his voice full of glee. “Chase them down and give no quarter!”

The couriers rushed off to relay the orders, and the army sprang into action. Yarkawatt watched them eagerly as his forces surged forward, hunting down the fleeing remnants of the enemy.

His hands trembled with excitement, and he could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.For too long, he had been the one retreating, licking his wounds while others gained glory. But not today. Today, the enemy fled before him, and the land would sing of his victory.

“We’ll break them here,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, his grin widening. “And once we do, the rest of their lands will be ripe for the taking.”

Yarkawatt savored the moment, nearly oblivious to the heavy toll the battle had taken on his own forces. The stench of blood, sweat, and death lingered in the air, but he was far more focused on the sweetness of victory that now coated his thoughts. Yet, his triumph was cut short when a rider galloped toward him, kicking up a cloud of dust, who had came to explain what had happened

“Your Grace, it seems the plan has worked,” the rider said, breathless but eager to deliver the good news. “The enemy cavalry was routed by the mercenaries’ charge. They pushed through the left flank and later reinforced the infantry, which caused the entire left wing of the Oizen forces to collapse. The prince of Oizen had no choice but to call for a retreat.”

Yarkawatt’s grin widened as he listened. He turned to Robert, his trusted advisor, with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “I knew those mercenaries were worth every coin,” he said with a smirk. Robert offered a measured bow in response, his face betraying little emotion, but the prince could sense the unspoken approval beneath the man’s stoic exterior. Everything had gone according to plan.

But the rider wasn’t finished. “Your Grace,” the man continued, his tone shifting slightly, “I have further news. Captain Alpheo has been spotted returning to camp with some of his men. It seems they are escorting prisoners… potentially important ones.”

Yarkawatt’s victorious swagger faltered for the briefest of moments. The mention of prisoners immediately transported him back to the disaster at Aracina—a debacle that still haunted him. It had been a stark lesson in how fragile control could be when taken for granted.

He could not afford to let those prisoners remain under the mercenaries’ control for too long. Alpheo was a good paid sword, but Yarkawatt knew better than to trust anyone with things above them . He needed to seize control of the situation before it slipped through his fingers like before.

“I understand,” Yarkawatt said, his voice tightening with resolve. “You’re dismissed.”

The rider gave a swift bow and retreated. Yarkawatt’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to his men, his earlier elation now tempered by the need for action. The victory was not complete until the prisoners were securely in his grasp.

‘There are about 100 men with me,’ he thought, scanning his small detachment. It wasn’t a large force, but it would be enough to assert his authority over whatever captives Alpheo had brought back. He couldn’t delay any longer—every moment was an opportunity for something to go wrong.

Without hesitation, he gave the order. “Mount up! We return to camp at once.”

His men moved quickly, their horses stirring in the dust as they prepared to ride. Yarkawatt spurred his horse forward, his eyes now fixed on the horizon where the camp lay. Victory had been sweet, but the real work was just beginning. He would not allow anyone—mercenary or enemy prince—to steal the fruits of his triumph.

———–

The day is ours,” Alpheo mused, a rare smile creeping onto his face as he rode forward with his personal guard flanking him. Victory was sweet, but as much as he wanted to claim it had been expected, he couldn’t lie to himself. The truth was far less certain. Despite all his preparations, despite the tricks and strategies he’d employed, they had been outnumbered—both in cavalry and infantry. The odds had been stacked against them. Had his infantry not been as well-equipped, or if Asag had failed to steel his men’s courage during the crucial cavalry charge, the entire battle would have ended in disaster.

But luck, it seemed, had not abandoned him. The disciplined ranks of his infantry had held firm, and Asag’s men had weathered the relentless cavalry onslaught. They had turned the tide when all seemed lost, and the man who had spearheaded the ambush that ultimately won the day was riding toward him.

He watched as Egil drew closer, both men locking eyes in silent recognition of their shared triumph. Without a word, they spurred their horses forward, gripping each other’s arms in the way only comrades who had faced death more than once could.

“It seems the gods favored us once again,” Egil said with a grin, his voice warm with the exhilaration of battle.

Alpheo nearly scoffed, biting back the retort that sat on the tip of his tongue. ‘The gods had nothing to do with it,’ he thought, though he let the comment slide. “It was the ambush that won us the day,” he said instead, his tone matter-of-fact. “How does it feel to be back in the saddle after all this time?”

Egil’s face softened, his grin widening as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if savoring the moment. “Liberating, to say the least,” he replied, his voice carrying an unexpected weight of emotion. He tilted his head back, letting the wind brush against his face. “Feeling the wind crashing into me as I cut through the enemy’s lines—there’s nothing like it. I never realized how much I missed it until I was back in the thick of it, sword in hand. It’s strange, isn’t it? The things you crave when you’ve been away from it for so long and expected to never have ever again .”

Alpheo nodded, understanding more than he let on. He studied Egil for a moment, noticing the change in his friend since their last encounter. The weariness that had clung to him after his injury had been replaced with something brighter, a vitality that only battle seemed to rekindle in men like them.

“You fought well,” Alpheo said after a moment, glancing over the battlefield once again. “It was your charge that broke the cavalry’s spine. They never recovered after that.”

Egil chuckled, a glint of pride in his eyes. “It was good to finally ride again, to have the wind at my back and enemies at my front. That moment when the lance shatters against their armor, when their line buckles—that’s the kind of feeling that makes the pain worth it.”

Alpheo couldn’t help but smile at that. “And how’s the leg?” he asked, motioning toward Egil’s wounded foot.

Egil’s face darkened slightly, but the smile never left his lips. “Still sore. Hurts like hell whenever it hits the stirrup, but I can manage. Nothing’s going to keep me from the fight now that I’m back on my feet.”

Alpheo nodded again, casting a quick glance at the horizon where the enemy had once stood strong. Now, their lines were broken, their forces scattered. The day was indeed theirs. But there was still work to be done.

Alpheo’s gaze finally shifted toward the long line of prisoners being led on foot, their hands bound in front of them . Their heads hung low in shame and defeat as they trudged across the field, a stark contrast to the proud knights they had been just hours before. Behind them, a cluster of riderless horses followed, the leather reins held by Egil’s men. The animals, once fierce in battle, now appeared docile, plodding along with a calmness that belied the chaos they had just endured.

Alpheo’s eyes narrowed as he counted. There were dozens of them—horses without riders, captured by his men. He threw a sidelong glance at Egil, his expression full of silent questions.

Egil, catching the look, grinned knowingly. “A good haul, eh?” he said, his voice light but proud. “These,” he gestured to the line of horses, “are the spoils of today’s work. We’ve captured 28 knights, 43 horses, and—” he paused, turning his attention toward the only mounted prisoner in the group, a man bound to his saddle.

Egil added, his voice quiet with triumph, “the heir of Oizen. He was fighting in the frontline whe suddendly he was dismounted to the ground by some footmen, before they could kill them, however, he yelded, and apparently the men took him prisoner after observing how decorated the armor was. Gotta give it to the youngster though he never once retreated….”

Alpheo said nothing for a long moment, his eyes fixed on Sorza. The weight of what this meant slowly settled in his mind. He had expected a hard-fought battle and perhaps a minor victory if luck favored them—but this? This was beyond even his wildest hopes.

Then, without warning, he burst into laughter, a deep, genuine sound. He reached out and slapped Egil’s back with a hearty thud. “By the gods, Egil, you’ve outdone yourself! The day couldn’t have gone better if we’d written it ourselves.”

Egil grinned back, clearly pleased with his friend’s reaction. “Luck was with us, Alpheo. That’s for sure.”

Alpheo’s laughter faded, but the smile remained on his face. “Luck, yes,” he said, his eyes flicking once more to Sorza. “But skill too”

Alpheo’s smile faltered for a moment, darkening as a shadow of concern crossed his face. His tone shifted, becoming more serious almost as if he remembered somethign as he asked, “How many men do you have with you, Egil?”

Egil frowned slightly at the abrupt question, sensing the tension behind it. “Fifty,” he answered, his voice cautious. “The rest are on their way back as you ordered. They didn’t pursue beyond the battlefield.”

Alpheo nodded thoughtfully, his mind racing. ‘Fifty… with mine, that makes about sixty,’ he calculated. After a pause, he said, “Send one of your men to hurry them up. Tell them to make haste, and make sure the infantry knows as well. If there are wounded, leave some behind to tend to them, but the bulk of our forces needs to be marching toward the camp. Now.”

Egil’s brows furrowed, his unspoken question clear in his eyes: ‘Why?’

Alpheo met his gaze and sighed softly, though his voice remained steady. “If my suspicions are correct—and I pray they aren’t—we might be walking into more trouble. We may need all the strength we can gather.”

Egil’s expression shifted from curiosity to understanding, though it was clear he still didn’t have the full picture. But he didn’t ask further; instead, he gave a curt nod and turned to issue the orders. Alpheo watched him go before casting a glance at Sorza, the captured heir of Oizen, bound on horseback who since came here said nothing and just observed the ground.

“We’ll return to camp and secure our… guest,” Alpheo added, his eyes lingering on the prince, whose defeat now felt heavier even to the victors with each passing moment. “Whatever happens next, we need to be ready.”

As he said so he turned towards the prisoner as he bowed ”Your grace I hope you will find our accommodations to your liking, I apologise for the simplicity of it through.After all we are no rich men”