Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king Chapter 89: Northern’s war (2)

Chapter 89: Northern’s war (2)

The prince’s footsteps reverberated through the silent hallways of the keep. Like the city before it, the keep had fallen to their relentless advance. The guards, loyal to the lord of the city, had been swiftly dispatched, their resistance futile against the overwhelming might of the invading forces.

As the prince made his way deeper into the heart of the keep, his thoughts turned to the lord who had stubbornly refused peace even as his grip on the city slipped away. Now that the keep had fallen, what fate awaited its ruler? Unlike the rest of the city, the keep had remained relatively untouched until now. The disciplined huscarls had followed the prince’s orders to spare the servants as they just kept them locked in a room , at least for the time being they were unharmed however they needed someone to gather information if the search went badly.

With caution guiding his every step, the prince ensured that his troops remained closely knit, their unity a shield against any potential threats lurking in the shadows. Despite the temptation to indulge in the spoils of victory, the prince knew that their conquest was not yet complete. There would be time for celebration later, once the lord of the keep had been dealt with and their hold on the city secured.

Maesinius cast a glance over his shoulder at Uther, the giant whose ferocity in battle was unmatched. Throughout the fight for the keep, Uther had carved a path of destruction with his axe, his relentless assault leaving a trail of blood splattered across his face and armor which he had not even bothered to clean himself . He appeared more akin to a fearsome demon from folklore than a mortal warrior.

“It seems we’ve reached the end,” Uther remarked, his powerful frame straining against the locked door before him. ” locked from the inside…”

“Well, there’s nothing an axe can’t solve,” Mjorn quipped, tightening his grip on his weapon before delivering a resounding blow to the door, with the same strenght that he gained his nickname from ‘The shieldbreaker’. Uther joined in, each strike resonating with the force of their combined strength. The huscarls followed suit, their axes descending upon the door with relentless fury, sending wood splintering in all directions.

With each strike, the door groaned under the onslaught until finally, a section of the plank gave way. One of the soldiers seized the opportunity, reaching through the gap to manipulate the mechanism holding the door shut, which meant to throw the piece of wood holding the door away. With a collective effort, they pushed against the weakened barrier until it yielded, granting them entry into the hall.

The men advanced cautiously, their axes at the ready, prepared to face any defenders who might still be lurking within the empty halls of the keep. However, as they entered, their aggressive stance softened as they disaptched some armored guards inside the room , when suddendly the target they were searching for appeared before them.

In the center of the hall stood a lone figure, cradling the sleeping forms of two children in his arms, while a woman layng motionless in his lap. The man’s gaze was fixed upon his family, his eyes betraying a mix of sorrow and resignation.

Maesinius observed the scene with a stoic expression, his hearth did not move in the slightest as the sight of the man and his family stirred no pity within him; after all, he had seen the bodies of countless children strewn across the streets, their innocent lives snuffed out by the brutality of war.What was he to care if the family responsible for it suffered the same fate?

Taking a few measured steps forward, Maesinius approached the man, who showed no sign of acknowledging the conquerors in his midst. Instead, he remained lost in his own world, his attention focused solely on his loved ones.

Maesinius’s voice carried a mixture of disappointment and condemnation as he addressed Caxio, the lord of the city, who had resorted to a desperate act of kinslaying rather than face surrender. With a grim expression, the prince knelt beside an empty vial , he brought it close to his nose and gave it a sniff, allowing its acrid scent to assault his nostril

“It seems you preferred poison over mercy,” Maesinius remarked, his tone heavy with disapproval. He eyed the vial with a mixture of revulsion and curiosity, before letting it fall down

Finally, Caxio raised his head, revealing hollow eyes devoid of life and spirit. The prince’s words seemed to pierce the silence of the hall as he addressed the fallen lord.

“I offered you ample opportunities to surrender,” Maesinius continued “Yet you chose to cling to your pride, even when your fate was sealed and all that remained was this keep. Did you truly believe that ending the lives of your own blood, your own family, was a preferable alternative to submitting to me? I can think of no greater crime than kinslaying, especially a useless one such as this .”

The man’s voice, hoarse with despair and defiance, broke the heavy silence that hung in the air. “I see it more as a mercy that I gave them,” he uttered, his words dripping with bitter resignation. “Better to die on your feet than to grovel at your knees.”

Maesinius’s gaze hardened at the man’s retort, his brow furrowing with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Grovel at my knees?” he responded, his voice laced with incredulity. “You think I would have made them slaves? They were of noble blood; you would have been allowed to retain your position, albeit with certain concessions.The children…I would have treated them as my guests.”

The fallen lord’s lips curled into a scornful sneer. “Hostages, not guests,” he interjected, his tone dripping with disdain.

Maesinius’s eyes narrowed as he countered, his voice tinged with reproach. “They would have been treated well and fairly,” he insisted. “Yet you chose to spill their blood. Look at them—barely ten winters old, innocent and unaware of that their fathers extinguished their lives.” His eyes moved to the lord face, where sign of scrapping could be seen. ”And it seems that their mother fought for their lives”

“Their blood is on your hands, not mine, you traitor,” he spat, his voice quivering a bit . “My family has served this empire for generations, and may the gods curse me if I surrender to a band of savages and traitors. Pro imperio vita et sanguis, id est officium nobile,” he declared, clinging to the ideals of duty and loyalty that had defined his lineage for centuries.

The prince’s voice, cold and resolute, cut through the tense air of the chamber. “You have already cursed yourself, ” he pronounced, his words heavy with condemnation. “I will grant you the mercy to meet your family in the afterlife, even though I think you will be going in different places…..Uther, would you do the honors?”

Uther’s response was swift and unequivocal. “It would be my pleasure,” he declared, as he advanced toward the fallen lord, his massive form casting a looming shadow over the scene.

”Not even bothering to unsheath your sword?” Caxio asked as he spared a look to the young prince , who however gave no asnwer as he simply turned around and walked away , leaving his order unchanged .

The lord, for his part, met Uther’s approach with a steely gaze, his expression a mix of defiance and resignation. He cast one last sorrowful glance toward his family, cradling their lifeless forms in his arms, before turning his attention back to the giant

As Uther raised his axe high, the weight of impending doom hung heavy in the air. The lord closed his eyes, steeling himself for the inevitable, as the blade bore down toward his exposed neck.

The prince whispered something heard only by himself as in that final, fateful moment, the legacy of a family that had ruled over Thegolontia for over a century came to a brutal and decisive end with the swift stroke of an axe. Proclaiming the start instead of a new owner in its place.N/nêw n0vel chap/ers are published o/n n0v/e/(lb)i(n.)co/m