Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 982: Matters to deal with(2)

As Alpheo posed the question, Jarza leaned back, a flicker of genuine curiosity cutting through his soldierly discipline.

Very few in the palace, as not even the Princess herself were privy to the intricate shadow-play Alpheo was conducting across the gray expanse of the sea.

"I can’t say I’m knowledgeable," Jarza admitted, his voice dropping into a rumble. "I’ve had my hands full with the First I didn’t see the point in sticking my nose into business I wasn’t invited to."

It was the response of a perfect soldier and exactly what Alpheo had expected. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"I’ll give you the rundown then," Alpheo said, leaning forward until his shadow draped over the silver plates. "Five years ago, we sent exploratory parties to the West, a blind reach into a land we barely understood. The goal was simple: establish a foothold, build a city, and see if the locals had anything worth trading. Salthold was born, and we found the Chorsi tribe, cousins to our own Voghondai. That’s the official version. You’re familiar?"

Jarza nodded, the gears of his mind visibly turning as he processed the context.

"Originally," Alpheo continued, "I just wanted trade routes and a fresh supply of mountain mercenaries. I thought it was a side-show. I was wrong. That place is a gold mine, Jarza, and its value is poised to fucking skyrocket."

Jarza’s interest sharpened instantly. "What makes it so precious? It’s just rocks and tribes, isn’t it?"

"Iron," Alpheo said, the word ringing like a hammer on an anvil. "Iron is a ghost in those mountains. Only a few tribes have it, and they pay the Azanian traders an exorbitant price in blood and silver just for a dull blade. We entered the market. We traded steel to the Chorsi in exchange for settlers. Then, the Governor of Salthold and the Chorsi chieftain crushed the DuskWindai on the field. That victory shattered them, sending their people into a spiral of civil war."

Alpheo took a slow sip of wine, watching Jarza over the rim of his cup. "I realized then that we didn’t just need a trade partner; we needed a king. The land is rich in silver, mines that are under DuskWindai control. Conflict was inevitable. But the Chorsi weren’t strong enough to hold the mines alone, so I suggested a Confederation. A union of tribes under a single, steel-backed banner."

Jarza folded his massive arms, staring at the table as he reconstructed the map in his head. "Wait... let me think. That’s a lot to take...." He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he realised Alpheo’s appetite was set on the mines and the Confederation were simply a mean to grab it. "Did the bastards actually do it? Did the Confederation happen?"

"It happened," Alpheo said, his voice dropping into a register of grim finality. "But it is a house built on sand, already listing toward the sea, waiting to fall at the slightest breeze. The Chorsi chieftain is currently desperate, literally carving up the iron bars I send him into slivers to bribe the neighboring tribes into the fold.But the Confederation remains too small, and the cost of keeping those mountain wolves from each other’s throats is becoming... unsustainable."

Alpheo paused, watching a single bead of condensation roll down his wine glass. "As for why the momentum with other tribes stalled? Circumstances. We succeeded with the Chorsi only because they were staring into the hollow eyes of a famine; we were the only alternative to starvation. But the other tribes? They are insulated by their peaks and fueled by a virulent hatred for outsiders.

They didn’t just deny passage to the Governor’s envoys, they spat on the hospitality laws, which I know they have. They threatened my envoy, telling them, word for word, that if they didn’t leave, they would ’give them wings and make them fly off a cliff’ ."

The mention of the threat hit Jarza hard. His pride, forged in a decade of Yarzat victories, bristled visibly. He leaned back, his massive chest heaving beneath his tunic as a thunderous frown darkened his features.

"After that insult," Alpheo continued, "those same tribes had the gall to declare they would only negotiate with the Chorsi. And the Chorsi? They have the diplomatic finesse of a falling rock. They were taken advantage of at every turn, played like lutes by their own cousins, and the fools were too dim-witted to realize they were being bled dry for minimal gains."

"Unacceptable," Jarza rumbled, the word vibrating in the stone room. "One insult piled upon another. So where do I fit into this mess? You didn’t bring me here just to ruin my appetite with tales of their savagery."

"New deals must be struck, Jarza. The tribesmen look at us and see a golden hen, one they believe only knows how to lay iron eggs, not wield them. The fact that they dared threaten men wearing the Crown’s seal is a rot that will spread if not cauterized.

If we are to be partners, they must respect the hand that feeds them. They must see us not as peddlers, but as superiors that they need to make happy. We have years of diplomatic failure to rectify, and the current framework of the Chorsi alliance is a broken tool that needs an overhaul.If they are to serve our interests thing will need to change."

Alpheo leaned across the table, his eyes like flint. "Beyond that, the silver and resources I promised the state for the future are staying in the ground far away from our hands, if that was not enough the Duskwindai civil war ended quite back, which means that to take them, we will need to use whatever means we have at our disposition.

I need that silver in my coffers. Our current approach has failed. We are changing the language we speak."

"Shit," Jarza muttered, rubbing his jaw. "That’s a mountain of problems to move."

"It may be," the Prince shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the lethal intent behind his words. "But luckily, every one of those problems can be solved with a single, decisive move."

Jarza raised an eyebrow, his gaze searching Alpheo’s face. "And what move is that?"

"What else?" Alpheo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Might. Raw, indisputable might."

Jarza didn’t look convinced. He was a man of war, but he knew the logistics of an overseas campaign against mountain guerrillas was a nightmare wrapped in a fever dream. If the Azanians couldn’t do it, how could they?

And he knew it could come to be a conflict. Alpheo hoped it would not.

"You look as though you have questions," Alpheo noted.

"Several, really," Jarza admitted, his voice heavy with skepticism.

"Well," Alpheo said, gesturing to the half-empty plates. "Out with them. I didn’t summon the commander of the First to sit in silence."

"Are we talking about mere posturing here?" Jarza asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate the silverware on the table. "Am I being sent across the water to wave a banner and look pretty in a polished plate? "Like a diplomat in a helmet?"

"Hopefully, yes. Here we may value words, over there power is what makes talks go forward." Alpheo replied, his tone light but his eyes remaining fixed and unblinking. He preferred the bloodless victory, as any man who understood the true cost of a soldier’s life would.

"’Hopefully’ is a word for gamblers and poets, not for men in command," Jarza countered, leaning forward until his shadow loomed over the prince "Which means there is a distinct possibility that the posturing will fail, and the steel will have to speak for itself. What we are doing is making a threat, a loud, clear one. If they don’t flinch, we are left with a choice: we either follow through and drown them in their own valleys, or we turn tail and show the world that the Fox’s teeth are made of wood. I know you, Alpheo; you don’t move a single pawn without calculating every angle of the board. Which means you already know of this."

Alpheo made no move to answer. He simply watched Jarza, his expression a mask of cool, clinical patience, waiting for the general to reach the marrow of the issue.

"So, I need the truth of it," Jarza said, his words striking the air like hammer blows. "Look at the reality we’re breathing in. We have a massive war looming on our borders like a mountain of ice. We have neighbors stalking us, watching for the slightest stumble so they can tear our throats out.

If things don’t work out over there with simple words and a stern attitude, what then? Am I to go all the way in? That is the crux of it, Alpheo.

Can we truly afford another conflict? Can we sustain a war across the sea in our current condition, one that, strictly speaking, we could survive without?If you want my opinion, we could very well delay it for a bit and make a move on it when we are in a better situation.

If you intend to go ahead, then we are to be thoroughly prepared for all events and ready to carve out pounds of meat from our own thighs. So here is the question , are you really ready to go all the way in?’’