Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 103  Getting the hell out(1)

The battle finally ended,the air was still thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and death . Men moved like through the camp, gathering the defeated, that was still alive, and binding them in rough ropes. Alpheo watched as twenty-five of Arkawatt's men, some still trembling from the clash, were disarmed and stripped of their weapons. Their swords, shields, and gleaming armor were tossed aside, quickly claimed by Alpheo's own soldiers. Horses, once the pride of Arkawatt's cavalry, were taken, their reins handed to mercenaries who now stood taller, outfitted in the spoils of war.

The prisoners, their faces etched with defeat and exhaustion, stood in a silent line as their hands were bound tightly behind their backs. Some stared at the ground, others gazed out in disbelief at the sight of the man they were meant to protect, as if the body of their prince was still in front of them . The rest of the men wounded , at least those belonging to Arkawatt were killed on the spot. Alpheo stood to the side, watching the scene with a cold gaze. His eyes wandered across the field before finally resting on the body of Prince Arkawatt. The once-mighty figure, so full of life and fire, now lay still. The javelin was still embedded in his chest, his fine armor soaked through with dark, congealed blood.

Alpheo seethed with anger as he stood over the lifeless body of Prince Arkawatt.

"This was not how it was supposed to go," he thought, his jaw clenched in frustration, 'You ruined everything'. He placed his boot on the prince's chest,

'you and your fucking pride...' ,he yanked

'your greed' he yanked again 'and your fucking shit you call brain'....

pushing down hard as he could he finally took out the javelin from the wound. The weapon slid free with a sickening sound, and Alpheo tossed it aside, its metallic clatter against the ground only deepening his sense of failure.

Originally, the plan had been clear after they captured the prince's heir: Using him for leverage for a lordship, before offering their services around as common mercenaries to raise coins. It was supposed to be simple, a clean exchange of prisoner, for titles and land. But Alpheo had underestimated the prince's greed and arrogance. Instead of negotiating, Arkawatt had forced his hand, the choice that had now led them to this disastrous result.

He stared at the prince's body, rage burning hot in his chest. The temptation to draw his sword and butcher the man's body in a fit of fury emerged within him. But Alpheo knew it would solve nothing. It wouldn't bring back the deal that was now lost, and it certainly wouldn't undo the chaos that had unfolded.

So instead, he swallowed the rage and turned away, his expression hard, his thoughts cold. There was no time for reckless emotion.

Egil and Jarza approached Alpheo cautiously, their eyes flicking between each other, both sensing the storm brewing inside their commander. The battlefield around them had begun to quiet, but the tension in the air lingered thick, like a cloud that refused to clear.

Alpheo stood over the prince's body, his face set in a grim mask, the fire in his eyes barely concealed. Egil's usual easy demeanor had slipped; his smile was gone, replaced with a silent wariness. Jarza, more perceptive, exchanged a quick glance with Egil, the two men silently acknowledging that Alpheo needed some time alone.Yet now was not the time for inactivity.

 Jarza finally stepped forward, his voice low, almost cautious as if to test the temperature of the moment.

"What should we do next?"

Alpheo didn't respond right away. His gaze lingered on Arkawatt's , sprawled in the dirt, the prince's eyes still open in a final, silent question. Finally, Alpheo exhaled, turning his eyes toward Egil and Jarza. His voice was calm, but underneath, his mind was in chaos.

"Getting the hell out of here is our first step," he said, his tone clipped, each word precise. He paused, then began speaking again, this time with more detail. "You have ten minutes—no more. Take what food and supplies we need for the march back. Don't overburden yourselves. Just enough for the journey. Send riders to the men who haven't arrived yet. Tell them to bypass this camp and take a detour through the forest. We're heading to the capital, but we're not sticking around here. No one's to burn anything; we can't afford to draw attention. Take only what we need, and make sure everything is done quickly. Every second counts."

Egil, normally steady in battle, cast a quick glance at the battlefield, his brow furrowing at the sight of their men giving the mercy stroke to the wounded. The pitiful groans of dying men were hard to ignore, not that he felt sorry for them, just annoyed by the sounds.

"What about our wounded?" Egil asked, his voice quieter than usual. He turned his gaze back to Alpheo. "Those who cannot march?"

Alpheo didn't hesitate. His answer was firm, as he would not desert his comrades. "Have Agalasios look at them. Anyone who can still march will march. Those who can't..., throw them in the carriages and have horses draw them forward. We're not leaving anyone behind, but we can't waste time anymore."

His eyes shifted toward Jarza, then back to Egil. "Move fast, and be silent. Every second matters'' @@novelbin@@

Both men nodded and turned to leave, their faces serious as the gravity of their predictment settled over them. Alpheo watched them go for a brief moment, then turned back to the dead prince at his feet, bile rising in his throat. Everything had gone to shit—and the worst part was, it wasn't over yet.

"What about the camp followers?" Egil then asked turning around , his voice quiet but firm. His eyes darted toward the tents scattered around the edges of the camp. Alpheo paused, for a moment, his thoughts darkened. A small part of him considered simply ordering the men to kill them all. His hand even hovered near the hilt of his sword for a brief moment as the thought crossed his mind.

But then, reality hit him like a cold splash of water. They didn't have the time for such a thing. It would take far longer than ten minutes to hunt down and slaughter everyone hiding in those tents, and in the chaos that followed, they would lose precious moments. Every second they spent here increased the risk of another army bearing down on them or reinforcements loyal to Arkawatt discovering the scene.

Alpheo exhaled sharply, his decision made. He turned back to Egil.

"No," he said, his voice low but decisive. "Leave them. We don't have the time to waste on that. We can't possibly kill all of them quickly , and we're not risking more delays. They'll be too scared to follow us, and even if they talk, we'll be long gone by then."

Egil nodded, though a flicker of uncertainty passed across his face. Ten minutes passed in a blur of frantic movement, as the men gathered what they could and prepared to march, with more and more of his men coming back . The once-bustling camp was now eerily quiet, save for the clinking of armor, the hurried footsteps of soldiers, and the low murmurs of conversation. Alpheo stood near the camp's edge, watching as his men slowly trickled back from their grim work.

The tally in his head wasn't a comforting one. A total of 520 men had returned, a far cry from the force he had marched in with, which included 650 men. Among them were 80 wounded, their bodies bearing the scars of the two brutal battles they had just endured. The dead, however, were far more numerous—130 men had fallen , nearly 20% of the force that had once been under Alpheo's command. The losses weighed heavily on him, but he couldn't let it show. Not now. Not with so many eyes looking at him for direction.

He watched as his men gathered in loose formation, some with grim expressions, others with exhaustion etched deep into their faces. They had fought hard and bled for this battle, and now they were leaving it behind not being given even the opportunity to loot —victorious, but at a cost. Many of them still clutched the weapons and armor of the fallen, taken from the dead and prisoners captured during the battle at the camp.Many of them even starting looking at Alpheo with a bad eye, something that he immediately took notice of. ''I will have to raise morale before I get stabbed, by one of them. Probably giving them their due coins and allowing them to drink and fuck a bit will solve the matter....''He muttered, making the choice with light heart , as the ransom from the nephew of the man, that he had now captured the son , was still unspent and ready to be used. Alpheo's gaze drifted across the camp one final time, taking in the scene. The camp followers remained in their tents, no doubt watching from the shadows, but they were of no concern now. The time for decisions had passed.

As the last of the men assembled, Asag rode up beside Alpheo, his face pale and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The man had fought well, but the toll of the day was clearly wearing on him. He looked out at the army with a grimace before turning his attention back to Alpheo.

"Where are we going now?" Asag asked, his voice thick with fatigue.

Alpheo's expression didn't change. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the road stretched ahead of them like a long, winding escape route from the chaos they were leaving behind.

"Yarzat," Alpheo replied simply, the name of their employer's capital falling from his lips with no room for debate, as after all he still had one trick up his sleeve.