Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 2: Small men have great shadows(2)

Under the blistering sun, two soldiers sat at a small wooden table, their bodies slick with sweat as they sipped on glasses of wine. Strands of their hair clung to their foreheads, glistening in the heat.

"I swear, we'll turn as dark as coal if this heat keeps up!" His jet-black hair was bushy and unkempt, like a wild animal's mane framing his face. His lean and toned physique spoke of his years serving in the army, but his smile remained ever-present, especially when among friends.

The other soldier, older and more weathered than his companion, chuckled and quipped back, "Well, we will certainly look like them, that's for sure . Perhaps that's the secret to the savages' tanned skin! Endless roasting under the unforgiving sun." They both shared a deep laugh, finding amusement in the exotic appearance of the natives in this foreign land.

"I hope we can at least score 20 silverii this time. That would make it worth enduring this heat."

"Twenty silverii? Knowing you, they'll be gone in less than a week." The other remarked with a smirk, his gaze lingering on the wine. Typically such behavior would be heavily punished by officers, but these soldiers were not just simple footmen. They were clibanarii - the elite warriors of the empire who rode into battle on their fierce steeds and decimated entire infantry squads with their sheer force of charge alone.

This was why they drank with such nonchalance and disregard for regulations - they were borderline nobility themselves. Many were second or third sons of low-ranking nobles who had joined the ranks of the clibanarii to prove their worth and earn glory for their families. As such, officers turned a blind eye to their indulgences.

After all which low- ranking officer would want to make an enemy out of them?

Together they laughed and drank under the scorching sun, enjoying a moment of respite from their duties as the elite fighters of the empire.

The younger soldier grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in towards his older comrade. "Oh yes, and why is that?They are quite a big sum don't you think?"

"We both know why," he replied, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You could walk into any brothel back in Romelia and find a portrait of you hanging on the wall. You're practically a patron saint for them. If you were to find wife, I am sure all whores would go begging from Romelia to Salikka''

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"Well good thing I am not , then!" He laughed " But what about you?" He asked as he drained his cup down his throat.

"I'd rather bring back one of the local girls," the older man replied with a smirk and a lechearous smile "Much more enjoyable than spending a bag of coins on whores, don't you think?" He teased, playfully nudging the other soldier.

"Maybe you'd prefer to sleep with a piece of coal instead!I certainly would rather do that, than waste my semen on those ...things"

"Ah, but that's the thing," the older man continued, still grinning. "What else are they good for? Raw strength for the male and a good bedding for females "

Such talks , while unthinkable to be done so openly back on heart, were done so normally and publically that one would struggle to understand the problem.After all it was totally normal among them, who regarded their civilization are superior to any other race and culture. And the fact that the people of Arlania shared the same hue of that of the sultanate of Azania , their historical rival certainly did not help.

In their eyes they were savages, good only when death or enslaved.

As the soldier finished his cup of wine, he made his way toward the pottery on the table to refill it, only to realize it was empty. With a hint of annoyance, he turned around and called out for a nearby slave to come over.

The soldier extended his hand confidently towards him , expecting the pottery to be placed carefully. However, to his dismay, the slave fumbled, and the pottery slipped from his grasp, crashing to the ground and shattering into pieces.

Without a word, the man rose from his seat and with a swift backhand, struck the slave across the cheek. The slave, was Alpheo himself who apparently was never to catch a break. He fell to the ground with a thud.

'Seems like that pottery was worth more than me ' Alpheo thought as he received the slap.

He quickly roseas he scrambled to gather the broken pieces of pottery that had spilled from his hands.

"I apologize sir, I will clean it up immediately!" Alpheo's voice trembled as he spoke masking the rage inside , trying to make himself small and unnoticeable.

"Get it cleaned up quickly, we are thirsty," the older soldier barked as he motioned for his comrade to sit down once again. The other soldier sat without sparing a glance at Alpheo before resuming the laughing and jesting .

In their eyes he was an object, and one was not to waste time with a pen or a sword more than he had to.

Alpheo moved with meekness and submission, knowing that any sign of disobedience or hesitation would result in harsh punishment. As he worked to clean up the mess, he slyly tucked a small piece of pottery into his mouth.And luckily for him , the two were too tipsy to notice it .

'Drunk Bastards' He thought as he rose from the ground.

Once the task was complete, Alpheo hurried away towards the supply carriage. It was his duty to fetch items and carry them from one place to another in the army camp, usually he would carry sack of grains or potatoes .

Though he despised being treated like this, it was still a better fate than what could have been reserved for him.

If only he was stronger, he would have been assigned as a carrier - forced to work like a mule until his body gave out. Every time he walked through the camp on these errands, his eyes involuntarily fell upon the unfortunate souls who had met that fate. Their bodies were once strong and toned, but now they appeared emaciated and weak due to their master's cruelty and starvation .

Another difference between the two was also in the eyes . While the others had lost all hope, Alpheo's gaze burned with determination. He refused to break under the pressure of their oppressors; he would sooner shatter than bend, he would act meek and weak but deep down he just awaited his chance .

As a resident of Earth in the 21st century, the idea of submitting to slavery was unthinkable to him, much less than that of dying as a slave . Having known and experienced freedom for so long, he could never give up on his dream of reclaiming it. Even in the midst of suffering and starvation, he never stopped clinging to it .

And as things would stand he was close to reach it .

'As if I would just be satisfied with it ' he sneered as he gazed at the sky , unbound and unlimited , he knew he was destined to greater things and no man nor nation would stop him .

But he was not someone that awaited fate to lend his hand towards him. No, he was that man in a thousand that would grab the hand and yank it, disregarding if It belonged to a king or a god . He was someone that would build his fortune and the world would soon come to know his name, in one way or the other.

For as things would soon show, it seemed that fate for once in Alpheo's life would extend his hand towards him , giving him the opportunity to deliver the destiny he always thought himself worthy of, as that piece of pottery in his mouth would be his key to reaching greatness.