Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1016: New plans(6)

Even though he had braced himself for this moment, knowing with a bitter certainty that there is no feast in this world provided without a bill, the weight of the words from the man who had pulled him from the abyss made his pulse thrum with a frantic, rhythmic dread.

Twice defeated in the field, his treasury a hollow vault of echoing silence, and his royal authority regarded by his vassals as little more than the passing breeze of a fart, Sorza knew he was a beggar prince.

He needed this aid as a drowning man needs air. Yet, the thought of four thrones converging to rescue his single, shattered crown filled him with a secondary terror. What price could possibly be commensurate with the salvation of a state? And more importantly, was there anything left of Oizen to trade?

"Esteemed Envoy," Sorza began, forcing a dry, diplomatic chuckle that sounded like parchment tearing and being used to wipe one’s arse. He chose his words with the precision of a man walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. "No soul in the south can deny the profound benevolence your people have extended to mine. Without the shadow of the Spire, I do not know if the crown I wear would still rest upon my brow."

Internal grimaces aside, Sorza swallowed his pride; he knew his ego was a luxury he could hardly keep in tow. "Without Habadia, the line of Oizen would have been another trophy in the kennel of the Yarzat dog. One shudders to contemplate the chaos that would have unspooled across the continent had the Fox been allowed to feast upon my remains." He leveled a weary, searching look at Zayneth, a silent plea reminding the envoy that Oizen was the only wall between Habadia and the Yarzat tide.

Zayneth remained a statue of polished marble. He held back a scoff with practiced ease, allowing the Prince to exhaust his rhetoric. With a single, icy glance, he pinned the young Soria to his seat, ensuring the boy’s sharp tongue did not slice through the delicate tension of the parley. The boy did not know how important this moment truly was, none did, not even Zayneth himself who was to make use of it.

"It would, of course, be my singular pleasure to see any desire of Prince Nibadur fulfilled to the absolute zenith of my ability," Sorza continued, his voice dropping into a somber register. "Though I fear that even my best may prove meager. We are, as you are well aware, in a most dire and diminished state."

Zayneth nearly laughed. The idea that Sorza had anything left to offer that could make this titanic mobilization "profitable" in a traditional sense was a fantasy.

"Yes, indeed. I unfortuna—"

"Your Grace," Zayneth interrupted, his voice cutting through the Prince’s blabbering like a heavy blade through silk. He realized that if given the tether, Sorza would spend the rest of the moon painting a portrait of his own poverty. He met the Prince’s gaze with an expression of profound gravity.

"I believe I may have done a disservice to my liege by understating the monumental labor required to weave this alliance. For that, the fault is mine."

The words made Sorza’s heart tremble in his chest.

"When I say His Grace has spared no expense, I speak of more than gold," Zayneth said, leaning forward until his face was the only thing Sorza could see. "One can only imagine the tectonic shifts in diplomacy, the promises of marriage, the ceding of trade, the literal mountains of silver, required to convince a sovereign to join an expedition in which they have no natural interest. Now, imagine that price multiplied fourfold. Do you grasp the magnitude of the debt being incurred on your behalf, Your Grace?Can you feel the weight of it?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Sorza was the first to look away, his gaze falling to the dregs of wine in his cup. "I... I do not know how I could ever hope to repay such a staggering sum."

"Well, there is a path through the darkness; there always is one, Your Grace," Zayneth whispered, his voice suddenly shifting to a tone of terrifying sweetness. "And before you succumb to despair, be assured: it is a price you are uniquely positioned to pay. Your current... diminished circumstances will prove no obstacle at all. In fact, they make you the perfect candidate for the arrangement that will be beneficial to you as much as us."

Can there be such a thing? Sorza wondered, a cold, oily suspicion beginning to coil in his gut. A price that a pauper can pay, which would make Habadia’s monumental efforts worth it?He could not think of anything in his possession that would make such a thing true.

He of course, was ready to do anything, even to promise the hands of his newborn daughter to the bastard residing in his hall.Actually maybe that not so much....

Perhaps it was the bitter residue of his past failures, and the fact he had been made a fool twice already, but the euphoria that had warmed Sorza’s blood was cooling rapidly, like boiling water in the snow. The day had dawned with the promise of a miracle, but now, as the shadows lengthened, the Prince of Oizen felt the familiar, cold creeping of a trap.

"Your Grace," Zayneth whispered, his voice descending into a register so sweet it was cloying , more soothing than a lullaby and yet sharper than a razor. "Do not let your heart be troubled by the phantoms of debt. What the Prince of Habadia requires of you is a small thing. A trifle. It is an object so minuscule it would be overlooked by an ant scavenging in a summer garden.You give such a thing thousands of time a week and you give it no weight." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Sorza leaned in, his breath hitching. His mind so clouded that he seemed to have stopped breathing. The sound of the music in the back of the hall fluttering away as the prince focused all his attention on the man’s word.

"It is not your fertile swaths of land we desire," Zayneth continued, his hands moving in a slow, hypnotic gesture. "Habadia has its own fields. It is not your silver, for our roads are already paved with it. Nor is it the blood of your people, for we have enough to drown the world, and that would be of little value. There is nothing material in your possession, Your Grace, that could truly compensate for the mobilization of four thrones, that could even the debt you have for us. We do not ask you to move the heavens or break the crust of the earth. We ask for something far more... simple."

Confused, Sorza felt his suspicion buckle under the weight of an overwhelming curiosity. He searched Zayneth’s face for a lie, but found only a mask of terrifying serenity. If not land, nor metal, nor life, what currency remained in the treasury of a prince?

"What is it?" Sorza stammered, his voice barely a thread. "What could I possibly possess that holds such value to your master?"

"A word," Zayneth declared, "A simple word, uttered by your lips, breathed into the air of this hall. That is the entirety of our price."

Sorza recoiled as if he had been struck, his mouth hanging open in a silent, astonished stammer. "W-What? A word? You bring the wrath of the South... for a word?"

"A single word, Your Grace," Zayneth leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Sorza’s with a predatory intensity, repeating what he had just said, no matter how stupid and mythical that was.

"That is the toll required to see four princes rise in unison. It is the key that will unlock the barracks of the world and see their iron converge upon the monster of Yarzat, the vanquisher of Herculia, the dog who made sport of your father’s corpse. With this word, the Fox is returned to his kennel, battered never to rise...always provided if he makes it back alive.

With this word, Yarzat shall cease to be a shadow over your soul. You gain your lands, you secure your silver , whiten your legacy, and finally earn the eternal, unyielding brotherhood of my Prince.Forever your shield forever your protector."

Zayneth held up a single, long finger, silencing the world.

"A single word to see all your miseries melt away like mist before the sun. A word for a crown. A word to end a war before it begins and see you crowned its victors.

All we want is a word.Isn’t that more than a good bill to pay for such a meal?"

One word, that was all Sorza needed to kill the South he had ever known.

Only one that would inevitably bring the South toward a future that would kill the world as they knew it.

Was that a dream? Could something like that really exist?

It was unfortunate that in this world, there was no saying that pointed how often the road to hell is paved with good intentions.