Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 599: Old acquaintances

It was a beautiful day — the kind of day that poets fumble to capture and painters curse themselves for never doing justice to .

The sun reigned high and proud in a sky so clear it seemed as if the heavens themselves had been polished for the occasion.

It poured its golden light onto the earth below with a king’s magnanimity, shining not just as a celestial body, but as a star wanting to show that it was actually in fact a star.

By all accounts, today was a good day — not merely for the weather, but for the spirit of the people as well. For today marked the fulfillment of a promise, one that had been whispered through camps and taverns, across marketplaces and barracks for months: the day many in the Black Stripes would finally lay down their swords and shields and step into a new life under the sun.

The old core of the White Army who had spent their fist years of freedom in service to the crown, braving storms, steel, and starvation — were to be honored not with hollow words but with the weight of true gratitude.

Their reward was not some vague plaque or a shallow salute. No, the prince had vowed they would be given the tools to live, to thrive. If they were treated exceptionally well in active service, they were nearly pampered in their civilian life.

Each retiring soldier was to be granted fifteen acres of prime, fertile land within the crown’s own holdings — land so rich it seemed the soil itself longed to bloom under their hands.

Positioned close enough to the capital, the location would make it easy for them to carry their produce to the bustling markets or, if need be, to carry their grievances directly to the prince’s own doorstep, which would certainly land an ear to his veterans.

If that was not enough every man who hung up his sword in an honorable discharge , would be exempt from all taxes for the rest of his life, an unheard-of boon that had made many a soldier weep in disbelief.

No tax collector would ever darken their door, no levies would bleed their hard-won harvests away.

To ease their transition into civilian life even further in the time they needed for a good harvest, they were to receive full military pay for five months after their discharge, as if they still marched beneath the banners of war.

So for them today was not just the ending of service,it was the birth of a new Chapter, rich with opportunity and rare dignity. Under the clear skies and the proud gaze of their prince, the Black Stripes marched not into battle — but into the sun-drenched promise of peace.

Of course, retiring from their service was not as simple as slinging a sack over their shoulder and strolling off into the sunset. No, the transition from soldier to citizen required order — for the crown did not hand out privileges lightly, nor would it allow confusion to stain what was meant to be an honor.

To that end, a proper system had been put in place. Each veteran was to receive official documents attesting to their years of active service — papers that would serve as a shield against any who might question their rights to land, tax exemption, or the other rewards so hard-earned. Without such proof, their privileges could be challenged, their dignity undermined.

And of course such sloppiness would never have been tolerated, by someone the neat freak that Alpheo was.

And so, beyond the city walls, the fields had been transformed into a scene almost as disciplined as a battlefield. Long rows of men queued before sturdy wooden desks, forming lines as orderly as any parade, their gear packed and slung over their shoulders as they waited for their turn to step forward.

Of course it bustled with more than just rows of soldiers standing stiffly in queues. In truth, the majority of the gathered crowd wasn’t there for paperwork at all. No, they were the ones who waited for those waiting — comrades-in-arms, brothers forged in three years of campaign and hardship, friends who could not simply let the end come with a handshake and a nod.

These men weren’t lined up for documents; they were lined up for goodbyes.

Scattered across the field, in little clusters and long lazy rows, they waited, leaned on spears or sat perched atop boxes and barrels, talking in low tones or simply staring across the gathering with unreadable eyes.

For three years they had bled and sweated side by side, sharing trench mud and campfire bread, insults and victories alike. To let such bonds fray and snap without a word? Impossible. So they waited — to offer one last clasp of the arm, one last jest, one last grin before their roads finally parted for who knew how long. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Among them, perched atop a battered wooden crate half-sinking into the earth, sat Lucius and Marcus.

Their clothes were rather finely made,like that of merchants, revealing to the onlookers that they had made progress in their careers and were in fact well-off.

They turned their heads this way and that, scanning the tides of bodies, searching.

"Where the hell is he?" muttered Marcus, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun.

Lucius gave a half-shrug, half-laugh. "Knowing him? Probably charming some poor clerk into giving him an extra acre of land.He was always that greedy"

They shared a chuckle, though neither’s heart was really in it. Their eyes kept wandering, scanning the crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of their friend — one more familiar face in a field that suddenly seemed far too large.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity under the blazing sun, Lucius caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye — a familiar gait, a familiar crookedness to the way the man carried himself. Before he could even speak, Marcus nudged him sharply with an elbow that almost sent him tumbling off the crate.

"There! There he is, to the right!" Marcus barked, jabbing a finger through the throng.

Lucius squinted through the shimmer of heat and dust. Sure enough, pushing his way forward, a paper held triumphantly in one hand, was him — Aelius. His cloak hung loose over one shoulder, and a wide, shit-eating grin was plastered across his face, as he limped ahead.

Without thinking, Marcus sprang up from the crate, nearly tripping over it in his excitement. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed so loud half the field turned to look.

"OI, YOU BLOODY BASTARD! OVER HERE !"

Heads snapped around. Some laughed, others shook their heads, and the friend — halfway through stuffing his paper into his tunic — lifted his gaze, spotted them, and broke into an even wider grin.

Lucius was already on his feet, chuckling under his breath as Marcus waved his arms like a man trying to flag down a ship from a rocky shore.

"If it isn’t the lost and the damned! How long has it been—three months?" Aelius called out, a broad grin splitting his face as he approached, the retirement paper in his left hand fluttering in the wind like a banner of freedom. "How’s life been treating you?"

"Like a bitch waiting for a coin that never comes," Marcus answered with a laugh, stepping forward and pulling Aelius into a rough, hearty embrace.

"Still alive, still ugly," Aelius teased, casting a playful glance toward Lucius. "And congratulations on the boy, by the way. Poor thing’s already as hideous as his father."

Lucius chuckled, shaking his head as he joined the embrace. "I see you haven’t lost that filthy tongue of yours."

"Better to have a sharp tongue than to have one and let it rot unused," Aelius shot back with mock severity, though the forced smile on his lips betrayed a certain sadness lingering just beneath his humor.

Marcus, sensing the shift in mood, stepped back and asked, half-joking, half-serious, "You’re still hanging on about that?"

Aelius’s eyes gleamed with a stubbornness only old friends knew well. "As far as I see it, today might be the last time we stand together like this. If not now, when? When we’re old, deaf, and half-buried in our farms?"

Lucius sighed deeply, the weight of old decisions pressing down again as he answered quietly, saving Marcus the trouble. "There’s a reason we didn’t tell you, Aelius. And... it’s better for everyone if it stays that way. Just know that we keep fighting on the same side, but under different duties"

For a moment, Aelius stood silent, the paper in his hand rustling as the breeze picked up again. He looked between the two of them, reading something hard and unsaid in their eyes. His chest rose in a slow breath, and finally, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

"Fine," he muttered, forcing a smirk back onto his face. "I know when I’m being boxed out. I’ll let it lie. No questions, no grudges." His voice softened as he added, "Just don’t think you’ll be rid of me that easily."

Lucius and Marcus shared a brief look — one of gratitude, one of relief — before Marcus clapped Aelius on the back, hard enough to jostle the paper nearly out of his hand.

"Wouldn’t dream of it, brother."

Marcus, after a moment of simply enjoying the reunion, finally tilted his head toward the fluttering piece of parchment still clutched in Aelius’s hand."So, what’s with the fancy paper?" he asked, smirking. "You finally learned how to write your name?"

Aelius beamed as if he had been waiting the whole day for that exact question."Glad you asked! Thought I’d have to wave it under your nose first or else you’d never ask," he said with a laugh, holding it out proudly. "According to this," he went on, tapping the document with a knuckle, "we’re officially retired soldiers now. Real honorable-like. It apparently is needed to prove to anyone asking of who we are."

Lucius leaned in with interest but frowned when his eyes caught the bottom of the parchment. "What’s that black smudge at the end?" he asked, pointing.

Aelius grinned wider. "That," he said, waving the page like a prized trophy, "is the crown’s new clever trick. They made me stick my thumb into a bowl of black ink and press it onto the page. See, apparently there are tiny little lines on our fingers—never noticed ’em before—and they’re different for every person. It’s how they know the paper really belongs to me and not, say, an ugly mutt like you."

Marcus and Lucius exchanged skeptical looks. Both immediately raised their hands, staring hard at their fingers as if for the first time.Sure enough, faint whorls and ridges danced across the pads of their thumbs, barely noticeable but definitely there.

"What in the blazing hells..." Marcus muttered, rubbing his thumb against his tunic and squinting harder.

"Gods above..." Lucius echoed, turning his hand this way and that as if the light might offer more answers.

Marcus cursed again under his breath, half in amazement and half in confusion. "I thought fingers were just fingers. Who in the world looks that close?Most importantly who the fuck made that discovery?"

Aelius shrugged, flashing a crooked grin. "I don’t know how it works either, but there it is. The world scribbled on our fingers." He rubbed his ink-stained thumb against his tunic, leaving a faint smudge as if to prove the absurdity of it.

Marcus leaned back on the crate, arms crossed lazily over his chest. "So... what’s next for you, now that you’re a man of land and ink?"

Aelius stretched his arms overhead with a long, pleased sigh. "Soon enough, they’ll cart me off to some village. I’ll be given another piece of parchment—this one saying the land’s mine and mine alone. After that?" He chuckled low in his throat. "Find a wife, maybe one that won’t mind a man with calloused hands and a crooked nose. Plant crops. Raise brats. Drink myself stupid on holy days. Live slow, die slower."

He looked at them, his smile genuine, if a little bittersweet. "What about you two?"

Marcus snorted, tossing a small stone across the road. ’’ Retirement’s for us is a long road yet. We’ve still got work to do."

"Long road," Aelius mocked playfully. "Sounds like it sucks to be you."

Marcus barked out a short laugh and clapped Aelius on the shoulder. "You’re not wrong." He reined in his grin for a moment, glancing off at the distant walls of Yarzat. "Our next assignment’s a long one. Years, they say. Gods know where they’ll throw us this time."

For a brief moment, the three of them stood there, the warm sun at their backs, the smell of the fields mixing with the dust of the road, all caught between the heavy weight of the past and the great uncertainty of the future.

’’Well, I hope you good fortune, it is time I go. Make sure to visit once in a while.

I will write to both of you to tell you where I’ll live. ’’

’’Make sure it is sent to the right one.’’ Lucius chuckled, raising his hand and bringing it to his chest closed in a fist , a standard military salute.

A motion quickly copied by the other two.

After that Aelius tucked his paper tighter into his belt, gave them both a nod filled with more emotion than words could cover, and started down the road toward whatever new life awaited him.

Marcus and Lucius watched him go, their hands resting idly, feeling the familiar, restless pull of duty once again tightening around their shoulders like an old, heavy cloak.

The world was changing.

And so were they.

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