Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Alpheo's proposal, to integrate merchants into the production of key goods by granting them land, was nothing short of revolutionary in the current state of production .

It was also dangerously sacrilegious to the societal order they all lived by.

In a world where land was the domain of the nobility, where bloodlines determined a man's worth, the idea of granting estates to foreign-born merchants, men who bought with silver rather than inherited by title, was, by all traditional measure, heretical.

He knew this.

Which was precisely why he was so patient, so measured in his response to the skepticism radiating from both Jasmine and Shahab. Their silence was not from a lack of thought, it was the weight of the thought itself that did not allow them to keep quiet. And Alpheo understood that deeply.

They were not fools. Their concern was not over gold or policy,but over shame.

Over the humiliation they feared would fester in the eyes of the nobility and rival houses if they accepted such a proposal. And perhaps, more quietly, over the erosion of their own place in the order of things.

Alpheo clasped his hands calmly before speaking, his voice firm but tempered, as though he were addressing not just the two seated before him, but a hall full of whispering nobles.

"I understand your concerns," he began, eyes flicking between them, "and I say that without mockery. They are legitimate fears. You worry that offering land to merchants, foreign merchants, no less, would shame the crown, reduce its legacy to mockery, and embolden our enemies, both within and beyond our borders."

He allowed that thought to settle before continuing.

"But I believe the fears you hold are disproportionate to the truth." His tone now edged with steel, his presence filling the chamber with growing weight. "Look past our army for a moment. Look past our coffers. Look past our victories and our strength. What do you see?"

He let his gaze linger on Jasmine, whose hands unconsciously rested upon the round swell of her belly.

"The Princess of this realm is married to a lowborn man," he said, voice softening not in shame, but in quiet certainty as if the matter did not bother him, "and already bears his second child."

A flicker of discomfort crossed both Jasmine's and Shahab's faces, faint, but unmistakable. Alpheo saw it, did not flinch, as at the end of the day it was just the truth.

He continued.

"To the nobility, to foreign courts, our crown has already become a subject of whispers and smirks. Make no mistake, I forced those whispers to go silent.

They bowed because they had to. They fell in line because I made it so. But their contempt remains, hidden in their hearts like knives tucked into silk sleeves."

He straightened, stepping slowly between the long beams of light that fell across the floor from the open windows.

"And as for the foreign princes?" A sharp, derisive snort left him. "At best they keep us at arm's length. At worst, they eye us as wolves do with a wounded deer. This diplomatic stalemate will not be broken with smiles or marriages. It will be broken with strength and with results.

Whatever shame we suffer from giving land to merchants, we already suffer. We are already stained. But that stain has freed us. There are no longer sacred rules we must fear breaking.

No reputation to maintain among jackals. That is the advantage others envy but cannot claim. And we must wield it."

He paused, letting the weight of his words press down.

"Might makes right," he said finally. "It did so yesterday. It does today. And it will tomorrow. If our enemies will not respect us, they will learn to fear what we build.

I can assure you that what I am proposing will be the future of our state that will allow our son to inherit a state much stronger than it was when I first took it.Stronger than it is now"

For a long moment, silence returned. Jasmine's hand unconsciously shifted away from her belly, as though shielding her unborn child from the invisible judgment. Her expression had tightened, composed, yes, but not without bitterness.

Shahab, too, sat stiffer now, his jaw clenched.

The mention of mixed blood, even coming from Alpheo himself, struck at something old and buried, a generational pride trained into his bones. It was not personal,it never had been.

As a matter of fact he liked and respected Alpheo, his results, after all were nothing short of extraordinary

But it was legacy. That which outlives sons and daughters. And Alpheo, no matter how sharp his mind or strong his will, was a scar across the name their house carried. One that would not fade in a generation or two.

And yet… the clarity of Alpheo's words could not be denied.

They were already drowning in the mire. The idea of staying clean no longer mattered.

A silent look passed between Jasmine and Shahab. Something had shifted.

They didn't nod. They didn't smile. But they understood.

They were already in shit.

So why fear getting dirty?

"Let us agree, for now, to proceed with your plans," Jasmine said at last, her voice laced with reluctant concession. The words hung heavy in the air, but they were the opening Alpheo needed. A small smile played across his lips, though he kept it subdued.

"If you claim there is a great opportunity to seize a share of the wine and oil market," she continued, brow furrowed with thought, "why can we not take it for ourselves? Why must we involve foreign merchants at all?"

Alpheo folded his arms calmly and leaned slightly forward.

"I had a feeling you'd ask that," he said, voice thoughtful. "But the truth is, these aren't ventures that pay out quickly, like grain farming.

Grain yields returns every year, often in abundance. But a vineyard?" He shook his head slightly. "You won't see decent profit until the vines are at least three years old, and they don't reach peak yield until after five, maybe even seven."

Jasmine blinked, but Alpheo wasn't finished.

"And olives? Worse still. An olive tree needs forty years to truly mature. That's a lifetime. Sure, you'll get some yield between year seven and fifteen, but it's meager compared to its full potential."

He looked from one to the other, his expression candid.

"As you can imagine, these ventures require patience. Decades of it. Not to mention the upfront investment to buy land, cultivate it, train labor, and wait years without return." He paused, letting the scale of it settle in. "We simply don't have the time, nor the spare coin, to take on something so long-sighted alone. That's why we need merchants, men willing to risk their coin and time in exchange for a share of the reward."

At that, both Jasmine and Shahab turned slightly, eyebrows raised. Their expressions spoke volumes, they hadn't expected the timeline to be so long. A forty-year return? It sounded like folly to anyone short of a madman or a visionary.

Jarza, who had been standing silently behind Alpheo, let out a short laugh and crossed his arms with a grin.

"Tell me something, Alph, did your parents own any olive groves or vineyards?" he asked, amused. "You speak like you've grown up pressing grapes and oil."

Alpheo chuckled, shaking his head.

"No, nothing of the sort," he said, smile widening. "My parents were barley farmers."

He looked off toward the window for a moment, then added with a shrug, "I just like to read. A lot.I was always angry about my illiteracy, so when I got the opportunity to read, I spent a good portion of my days doing that."

Jarza let out a low whistle, half-impressed as did Egil and Asag. Jasmine arched an eyebrow, lips twitching with reluctant admiration. Even Shahab seemed mildly surprised.

As the discussion lulled, a soft and even voice broke the silence.

"Are you positive they'll take the offer?" Asag asked, his tone neither confrontational nor skeptical.

Alpheo turned toward him, brows rising in genuine confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked. "It's every merchant's dream to own land. To escape the uncertainty of whetever their next venture will fail, to grow something with roots, something that pays back without needing to barter or beg."

Asag gave a slow shake of his head, rubbing the back of his thick neck. "Maybe," he said. "But I'm not a merchant. Never been good with coin. All I know is the smell of horses and the sound of war and I imagine that's all most of us know." His eyes swept across the room, meeting Shahab's, Egils' and Jarza's for a brief moment of shared understanding. "War. The one thing we all share."

He leaned forward slightly now, his voice low and steady.

"You said yourself, it takes years for a vineyard to turn a profit. Decades for an olive tree to be worth something. But think, how many wars have we fought in the last five years?"

The room grew a little quieter. Jasmine shifted slightly in her seat. Even Shahab's features tensed.

"Three conflicts," Asag continued. "Three separate wars in three years. What about in fifteen? How many more banners will rise? How many of those will cross our lands, burn our fields, raid and plunder, like we did to the Herculeians? You remember what we left behind. Salted fields. Broken wells. No survivors. Who says one day that won't be our end?"

He paused, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

"So you tell me, Alphe, is it really worth it? Will a merchant truly gamble everything on a piece of land that might be ash in five years?To risk their investment to go to ruin? I don't believe that we, after all, have the fame of being lovers of peace.

Especially you, in your wake, you have left a river of blood and mangled corpses. People have not forgotten that, and they will not for the rest of our lives."