Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 419: Receiving news across the sea(1)

Alpheo sat in his workroom, the dim glow of a single lantern casting flickering shadows on the stacks of parchment spread across his heavy oak desk. He took a slow sip of honeyed milk, the warmth of the drink fighting against the bitter chill that crept through the stone walls of Yarzat’s citadel. It was December, and winter had settled upon the city, its icy fingers slipping through every crack, seeping into the bones of those unprepared.

Before him lay reports—documents detailing the state of the capital’s crime under his rule. Alpheo’s sharp eyes traced the carefully inked lines, reading the accounts of arrests, and reports about how criminality crackdown was going. The situation had improved, but the city had been a festering pit of lawlessness before his arrival.

The gangs had once ruled Yarzat with clear-cut territories, each faction carving out its domain like lords of the underworld. Their control had been made all the easier by the garrison’s corruption—guards accepting bribes to look the other way, allowing thieves and murderers to operate unchecked. Few patrols wandered the streets, and those who did often ignored the cries for help, more afraid of angering the gangs than failing their sworn duty.

It had been an unspoken agreement: the city belonged to the gangs, and the soldiers merely collected their share for staying out of the way. That had been the order of things. Until now.

Alpheo placed the empty cup aside and leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. The city was no longer the same, but there was still work to be done. His arrival had shattered the comfortable balance of the underworld, and now the rats were scurrying, desperate to either survive or reclaim what they had lost.

Winter had come to Yarzat. And for some, it would be their last.

Alpheo allowed himself a rare smile as he glanced over the latest report from Laedio, the head of the capital’s garrison. The man had proven to be a relentless force against the gangs that once infested Yarzat, striking at them with a brutal efficiency that even Alpheo found impressive.

The man may have had long hands when taking bribes from merchants, but at least he was serious on the tasks that Alpheo assigned him.

Laedio had in fact personally led raids, delivered detailed break plans, and ensured that every gang—whether proven criminals or merely suspected—was crushed underfoot.

The best part of being a monarch was that the law bent to his will. There were no long debates in the council, no trials clogged with legal formalities. If Alpheo or his men deemed someone to be part of a gang, then he ceased to be. Simple as that.

It was most certainly a dangerous tool for men who only desired power for themselves; it was another if it was used for the collective well-being of the city.

And now, the effects were undeniable.

Where once the gangs had ruled like hidden lords, extorting protection tolls and controlling entire districts, now they were nothing more than ghosts. They no longer lined their pockets with the hard-earned coin of merchants and commoners. Their stranglehold on the streets had been broken, their operations dismantled with ruthless precision.

Even contraband—the lifeblood of any criminal enterprise—had become a near impossibility in the capital. Yarzat had no port, no hidden docks where illicit goods could slip in unnoticed. Every road leading into the city was guarded, every checkpoint manned by soldiers loyal not to their own greed, but to Alpheo’s vision of order. Without a reliable means of smuggling, the underworld had been choked into submission.

Of course, crime itself could never truly be eradicated. Thieves would always steal, and desperate men would always resort to desperate measures. But the days of organized criminal empires ruling from the shadows were over.

And Alpheo had made sure of it.

He had backed Laedio’s campaign at every turn, lending regular soldiers who were now out of need for the winter to patrol the streets, to make arrests, to root out dens of vice and extort confessions about other hidden strongholds from those that they captured. The garrison alone could not have done it, but with the full weight of the monarchy behind them, they had turned the tide.

In just a few months, the city had been purged. The gangs were either dead, imprisoned, or scattered like rats, too afraid to rebuild what had been lost.

Alpheo exhaled slowly, savoring the victory. Yarzat still had crime, but it no longer had rulers in the shadows. It had only one ruler.

Him.

A sudden knock echoed through the quiet of the workroom, the sharp sound breaking the tranquil moment. Alpheo glanced toward the door, his fingers still wrapped around the cup of honeyed milk, the warmth of the drink contrasting the winter chill that seeped into Yarzat.

"Enter," he said, his voice steady, composed.

The door creaked open, revealing an elder man wrapped in thick wool robes, his steps measured, his expression solemn. His wrinkled hands clasped before him as he bowed low with practiced deference.

"Your grace" the elder intoned, his voice weathered with age but firm with purpose. "A pigeon has returned. It bears a message from Sir Valen’s expedition."

Alpheo’s brow arched slightly. News at last. Setting his drink aside, he reached forward, his fingers brushing against the sealed letter as he plucked it from the old man’s hands. He studied the wax imprint briefly before nodding.

"Good," he said. "See to it that the bird is rewarded with some meat. A reliable messenger deserves its due."

The elder bowed again, a hint of a knowing smile crossing his lips. "At once, Your Majesty."

With that, he turned and departed, leaving Alpheo alone once more, the weight of Valen’s words sealed within the parchment now resting in his grasp.

Alpheo carefully unfolded the small parchment, his fingers moving with deliberate care. The letter was brief, a compact messenger of news, not one for long, flowery prose. He began to read aloud, his voice low but clear in the quiet of the room.

’’To His Majesty, prince Alpheo, and Her Grace prince Jasmine. ,

I trust this letter finds you in good health, as well as her grace and the entirety of the royal family

I am pleased to write with good tidings regarding my recent diplomatic efforts. After much negotiation and careful planning, I have successfully concluded a meeting with the leaders of the mountain tribes.

These people live high in the mountains, where the land yields little for farming. They are a proud people, their livelihoods based upon herding sheep and goats, which they tend with remarkable skill and care.

At first, there were moments of tension, as some of their more restless factions threatened hostility. However, I was able to meet with their chieftain directly and, through careful diplomacy, prevent any bloodshed. The situation has since calmed.

Through further talks, I have managed to sway the tribe’s leader toward a proposal that I believe will benefit both our realms. I have convinced him to allow a portion of his people to settle within the borders of Yarzat. In exchange, we will provide them with goods that they desperately need or simply desire, such as steel, wine, salt, and cider.

Further to these initial steps, I must confess that the tribe did not leave their homeland by choice. They were forced out of the mountains by a neighboring faction, a decision made under the threat of arms. Their lands, once their own for generations, were seized with brutal force, and they now find themselves displaced and looking for a way to take back their home, which, I believe, is a fortunate turn for us.

The situation is optimal also for any long term standing in these lands. Bad blood runs deep between certain tribes—rivalries that go back longer than anyone can recall. This, I believe, gives us a unique opportunity to influence the balance of the region as simple traders , making our gains in the loss of others.

I suggest that we begin supplying them with weapons. By stoking their internal strife, we can ensure that these tribes fight amongst themselves and, in time, will be willing to sell us any prisoners they take during their skirmishes. These prisoners will be the very settlers we need, willing to work the lands they would otherwise never dream of walking upon.

To make certain that what I said was true , it was arranged for the youngest son of the tribe’s elder to travel by sea to the capital. He will witness firsthand the fertility of the lands we are offering them, and he will return with an honest report of the ground’s capacity to sustain their people. Alongside him will travel a translator fluent in Azanian, so that there can be no misunderstanding in their discussions.

If the meeting goes as planned, then this agreement will be set in stone, and we can proceed to make it official.

I must, of course, extend my deepest gratitude to Your Grace for the opportunity to carry out such a delicate and important negotiation. It is a privilege to serve in this capacity and to contribute, however small, to the greatness of Yarzat.

Please extend my best wishes to Her Grace and the youngest addition to the royal family. May your house continue to flourish in strength and unity. I remain, as always, loyal and at your service, waiting for any other dealings you may wish for me to attend to, which I shall extend all of my efforts to see done as well as I can manage.