Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 607: What is a man worth?(1)

Elyos leaned back against the cold stone wall, his gaze wandering across the barren, dimly lit chamber that had been his world since the tribunal.

There was nothing within it save for a single threadbare blanket thrown over a thin pile of straw — a mockery of a bed, and now, the cradle of his final night’s rest.

His hand stood on the stony ground, taking more heed that he would have liked that it was awfully cold considering it was summer.

He smiled wryly, a dry, brittle chuckle escaping his lips, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence.So this is where I shall sleep for the last time, he mused, the thought more amusing than tragic.

A fitting end, in its own way, for a man like him.

In the quiet corners of his mind, he had always known — some part of him had half-expected that his journey would end not in triumph, but in ruin. Ambition was a blade that cut two ways, and dreams like his — vast, burning, defiant — were not meant to reach their zenith. They were meant to consume their dreamers, leaving behind only ash and memory.

And yet, he thought, as he shifted and clasped his fingers around the small star-shaped charm that hung from his neck, this is how we were made.

This is how the gods had shaped mankind: fragile, reckless creatures, small yet wild enough to believe they could catch hold of heaven with blood-stained hands.

We are things of dust and yearning, Elyos thought at his own people as broken vessels filled with ambition, capable of the vilest betrayals and the most sublime acts of grace.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the stale air of his prison. In his mind’s eye, he could still see them — the people of Elioth, faces illuminated by the glow of campfires and hope; the soldiers who had marched under battered banners, not for gold, not for conquest, but for the dream of a better world.And he saw how he had doomed them all — the brothers who had not returned from the fields of war, the innocents buried beneath the weight of the cause he had helped kindle.

Wretched and beautiful, he thought, his fingers tightening around the charm until it bit into his skin. That is what we are.

In the distant corridors of the fortress, a bell tolled — low and sonorous, a slow heartbeat marking the passing of another hour.His last night had begun. ƒreewebɳovel.com

Yet Elyos did not fear. There was a strange peace that filled him now, like a man who has finally finished a long, bitter journey and looks ahead to the final, inevitable crossing.

And when he rose from the floor, brushing the dust from his tattered robes, there was a faint smile upon his lips — not of defiance, nor of regret, but of simple understanding.

The gods made us small, he thought, but they also gave us fire.

And tomorrow, that fire would consume him — body and soul — and carry whatever remained to a place beyond mortal judgment.

Elyos had expected to feel more fear — no, not fear exactly. Regret. That was the word.After all, he was about to be marched to the pyre, and there were few fates more wretched than to be kissed to death by fire.

He snorted, half-amused by the absurdity of it all.

His body might soon betray him — his stomach already coiled and twisted ready to shit himself and soil the last pants he would ever wear— but in his heart, there was a strange, steady calm.

He had played his hand, laid his pieces on the board for all to see. It would have been the height of foolishness to cry foul now, to weep and rage that fate had given him a losing hand from the start.

No. He had made his wager, and now he would pay the price without shame.

In truth, he was almost...satisfied with how the tribunal had ended.

Of course, he would have preferred to walk out alive and free. But that had never been an honest possibility, and he had known it long before the first accusation was spoken.

What mattered was that he had spoken his truth — had bared himself before the gods and men alike without flinching.

And he was grateful, in a way, to that young soldier who had stood before him, trembling with anger and pain. Grateful that he had been reminded of the blood he carried on his hands — of the lives he had once led into ruin with nothing but sermons and dreams.

Grateful that someone had spat the truth into his face, forcing him to remember that death was a debt he had earned long ago.

It was only right, Elyos thought, that he should now pay it in full.

How could he stand before those fallen brothers — those faithful, broken souls — in whatever world awaited him beyond the veil, if he had clung to life like a coward?

He had led them into the fire.Now, he would walk into it himself.

If Elyos believed that his only companion that night would be the silence , he would have been wrong however , as even that one deserted him in the midst of his thought as the sound of step falling on the stones reached his ears.

Thud-Thud-Thud

Are they really going to burn me now? He wondered with a bit of fear now that death was approaching

However, what awaited Elyos beyond the iron door was neither the priest come to deliver the last rites, nor the guards come to drag him to the pyre. Not that the sight was any more comforting — for standing before him was the one man he had least wished to see.

Elyos leaned his head back against the cold wall, chuckling grimly under his breath. "So," he rasped, voice dry as dust, "even now, you won’t let me die alone." He lifted his eyes, hollow but steady, to meet the gaze of the man who had shattered all he had built. "Are you so wretched, Your Grace," he murmured, a bitter smile curling his lips, "that you would come to torment a man in his last hours, when all he begs in the name of the gods is a little peace?"

The man the questioned was thrown at offered a slow, almost rueful smile — the kind given to a man bleeding out and still clinging to his pride.

"I would like to say it’s good to see you too," Alpheo said softly, as he stepped forward and, to Elyos’ surprise, sank down onto the filthy stone floor, heedless of the grime."But let’s not play at saints, you and I," he continued, his voice low and hard as iron hammered thin. "There are thousands lying cold in the earth, Elyos their blood is on your hands."

Elyos furrowed his brow at the unexpected gesture, watching the prince settle onto the dirty ground.

Alpheo caught the look and barked a humorless laugh.

"What?" he said, voice curling with dry amusement. "You thought just because I break bread now with pompous shits, that I’d forgotten where I came from?"

He leaned back against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling where thin cracks spread like spiderwebs.

"I crawled out of the gutter and the shit" he said, voice almost tender with memory. "I waded through filth, choked on it, let it fill my mouth and eyes and soul — and somehow, by the grace of cruelty or fortune, I surfaced."His lips twisted into a grin knowing that the throne he now sat at were made of bodies, some of whom fell from his own hands.

"You see, the taste never really leaves you. No matter how much silk you wear, no matter how much gold you pile at your feet — somewhere in the back of your throat, the gutter still lingers. A flavor you can never quite spit out."

Alpheo turned his head and looked straight at the soon to be dead man, then opening his mouth and pointing at it as if showing the rot in it.

He rested his arms loosely over his knees, his gaze thoughtful as he regarded Elyos with a strange softness

"I must say," Alpheo spoke at last, his voice carrying a rough edge of honesty, "you did well at the tribunal."

Elyos arched a skeptical brow, but the prince only chuckled under his breath.

"I mean it," Alpheo said, leaning forward slightly. "Your defense was clever. The way you accepted your fault — when the soldier reminded you of your duty — was... spectacular. Moving, even. I dare say it touched hearts that thought themselves long turned to stone."

Elyos scoffed bitterly, his mouth twisting. "Is this how you amuse yourself now, Your Grace? By mocking the condemned?That is low even for you..."

Alpheo shook his head, not appearing to take any offence."No mockery," he said, and for once, Elyos heard not a single trace of deceit in his voice. "I am serious. You held your head high. There was dignity in your fall — more than most who still strut about the courts wearing crowns and velvet.

There are many things that are revealed of a man during his fall"

The sincerity in Alpheo’s tone made Elyos falter. For a long time, he had fashioned an image of Alpheo in his mind — a wretched, ruthless creature, rotted from within by ambition and betrayal. Yet now, that image cracked, and for the first time, Elyos saw something....else.

"If you had not taken the cloth," Alpheo said, smiling faintly, "you would have made a damned fine lawyer. The gods know, you could twist the words into something beautiful and terrible."

Elyos laughed once, dry and low, the first time in weeks perhapse, but when he met Alpheo’s eyes — there was something else behind his gaze.

"You truly are a devil," Elyos said more serious . "You made a fool of all of us. And if you had been the one in the robe of a priest... perhaps you could have accomplished what I could not."

Alpheo tilted his head, his curiosity plain."And what was that, Elyos?" he asked, voice gentle, almost coaxing. "What was it that you hoped to accomplish?"

Elyos looked away, lips pressed into a hard line, silence folding around him like a cloak. But Alpheo was patient — too patient.

"Come now," Alpheo murmured, the corners of his mouth quirking into a knowing smile. "Would you deny your last secrets to the final man you will speak to in this world?What use is that?"

The words hung in the damp air between them, heavy and inescapable.

"I’ll make you a bargain," Alpheo continued, voice soft like a knife sliding into velvet. "Answer me this, and I will answer anything you wish to know in return. Any question, no matter how cruel, no matter how sharp, no matter how impudent."

Elyos lifted his eyes at last, staring deep into the prince’s — and what he saw there was not mockery, nor pity, but the strange, raw curiosity of a man who found a interesting book.

He gave a long, slow sigh, the sound of a man too tired to fight ghosts anymore, and nodded once in silent agreement.

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