Chapter 650: Problem with the troops

“Do you reckon why we’ve been summoned?” Asag asked, his tone light as a feather

Jarza, trudging beside him with heavy, armored steps that clanked like a blacksmith’s rhythm, grunted. “Not a clue. That bald Romelian informed me first—face redder than a spanked child and looking like he’d just swallowed a bee. If I had to guess, I’d say he did something bone-headed and now he’s dragging us into the aftermath.”

Asag raised an eyebrow. “Something that implicates us?”

Jarza shrugged, the metal plates of his shoulders clinking like mismatched cutlery. “Could be. He was wearing that special kind of shameful smile.Now it is not my dislike of him talking, but I know that he brought us trouble.”

“Maybe we didn’t do anything wrong,” Asag ventured, his voice cautiously optimistic. “Could be he just called us to inform us of something.”

“I’d like to lean that way too,” Jarza replied, his tone dry, “but the look on the Romelian’s face tells a different tale. Like a man who just stepped in horse shit and realized he tracked it across the commander’s tent.”

Rows of soldiers stiffened as they passed, offering crisp salutes—faces blank, yet eyes curious, as if trying to guess why two of the senior officers were walking together without gurds.

The silence between the two stretched for a beat.

Then, at the same time, the same thought crossed both their minds.

Did Egil do something?

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“Good morning, Alph,” Asag greeted as he stepped into the command tent, the thick flap falling closed behind him. Jarza followed in his wake, the metal plates of his armor clinking like impatient clockwork. “You summoned us?”

“I did,” Alpheo replied, his voice clipped and sharp, each syllable landing like the tap of a blade being tested for sharpness. He was seated at the side table, his gloved index finger rhythmically tapping its wooden surface—a tempo that matched neither ease nor peace. “I’ve just concluded a meeting with Pontus. He’s delivered news that, to put it mildly, I would rather not have heard today.”

Asag and Jarza exchanged a glance. That was never a good preamble.

“We’re behind schedule,” Alpheo continued, tone cool, almost clinical. “The two concentric walls I ordered? Only the outer one will be completed by the end of the month. The inner wall will be—at best—half-done. Foundations set, ditches dug, palisades planted. But the full defenses? Incomplete.”

“Well,” Jarza muttered with a wince, “that’s less than ideal. Do we know what degree of compromise we’re looking at?”

Alpheo nodded once. “The exterior wall will be finished on time. The inner will have its trench and embankment, a palisade planted, but the platforms and reinforcements will have to wait until the first wall is sealed, not to talk about the catapult’s platform…”

“Still… it could be worse,” Asag offered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “That buys us some defense on one front, at least.”

Alpheo leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps, but unfortunately it isn’t just that, I did not summon you here just to give you disappointing construction updates.”

Asag and Jarza straightened, expressions sharpening. Alpheo’s voice grew quieter, heavier. “Pontus also brought me another report. One far more… offensive.”

A slow pause.

“I have received word,” Alpheo said, eyes narrowing, “that certain soldiers have been harassing—no, assaulting—the female laborers among our workforce. Entering their camps at night, dragging women off while they work, even fighting with their husbands or kin when confronted. I’ve been told this has happened more than once.”

Asag’s brow furrowed. Jarza’s jaw tightened. The mood in the tent shifted like a storm gathering behind closed shutters.

“I need to know,” Alpheo continued, voice low and simmering, “were any of our men involved?”

“Absolutely not,” Jarza said, immediately shooting it down. “None of our men were part of that, I swear it. Our officers would never allow it.Our troops are not as undisciplined as that.

This was the doing of some of the noble’s levied troops.”

The tension in Alpheo’s expression didn’t ease. If anything, the thin vein on his temple pulsed slightly more.

“I see. That is… a small comfort.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “What was done to the guilty?”

“Those we caught,” Asag answered. “Gave them lashes, threw them in the stocks for the night. Figured—”

“Hang them,” Alpheo interrupted, ice in his voice.

The words landed like iron dropped onto stone.

“What?” Jarza blinked, half-thinking he’d misheard.

“You heard me,” Alpheo said flatly. “Hang them. Every last one. And leave their bodies strung up in front of each encampment for six hours before they’re buried. Oh yeah, parade the corpse around all encampments.”

Both Asag and Jarza were left blinking at him, the order washing over them like a splash of cold water. Brutality wasn’t unfamiliar to them, but they figured it excessive; after all it was a given that if there were women in a camp, they were going to get harassed, unless of course they were old..

“Isn’t that a bit… excessive?” Jarza asked cautiously. “I mean, yes, punish them, but they didn’t—well—they didn’t rape Yarzat’s women or—”

Alpheo’s hand slammed against the table.

“I don’t care whose women they are,” he snapped. “These laborers are here under my protection. Working under my name for the military effort. Every stone they lift, every ditch they dig, they do it in my name. Those soldiers didn’t just assault workers. They defiled my authority. They threatened the success of this siege by compromising the construction effort. And worst of all, they’ve sown fear among the workforce.”

His voice dropped, each word now laced with iron.

“How many men do you think will stay if their daughters aren’t safe in the night? If their wives can be dragged off without consequence? We’re already behind schedule. Can we afford to lose more laborers to panic?”

Neither Asag nor Jarza could answer. Alpheo continued.

“These men shamed the crown, disgraced our cause, and showed that there is rot. I have not spent months crushing a rebellion, breaking nobles’ backs, and silencing dissent to let some undisciplined cretins drag my name through the dirt.”

His eyes flared with cold fire.

“Hang them. And let every man in this camp know what happens when orders are ignored. Let the nobles complain if they wish—I’ll hear them, and I’ll shut them up just the same. If I must be feared to be obeyed, so be it. Better feared than ignored.”

Silence settled thick in the tent like a blanket of ash.

Then finally, Asag gave a slow, stiff nod. “It will be done.”

With the order given, Alpheo leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, weary sigh.”These… incidents,” he said, the word tasting like ash, “are symptoms, not the cause. Sieges are dull affairs. It’s barely been two weeks since we set camp, and already discipline among the nobles’ troops has gone to whore.”

He drummed his fingers against the wooden armrest as the flicker of an idea began to kindle. “I suppose I’d start unraveling too if I sat around idle day after day. I’m sure our men in the White Army are feeling it just as much—they’re simply better at keeping it buried. Not that I expected anything different from them, considering just how much their wages costs us “He looked at Asag and Jarza, his brow furrowed. “Still, the soldiers need something—some way to burn off that fire without torching the entire camp. Do you have anything?”

A brief silence fell between them as they each considered it.

Then Asag shrugged. “What about games?”

Alpheo raised an eyebrow.

“You know,” Asag continued, “things that get them sweating—moving. Keep their minds off boredom and their hands off trouble. Maybe toss in some prizes to stir competition.”

That… is actually a good idea, Alpheo mused.

“Hm. Not bad,” he said aloud. “What kind of games, though?”

Jarza perked up at that. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to organize a few activities. Especially if it keeps morale from rotting. What about races? A few kilometers around the camp. Winners get half their weekly wage early.”

“That could work,” Alpheo nodded. “Physical, simple, and gives them something to look forward to.”

“And maybe,” Jarza added, a rare grin growing beneath his beard, “we bring back those training duels you used to organize for new recruits. Let the men knock the spit out of each other for sport. Nothing relieves stress quite like smashing someone to the ground.”

Alpheo chuckled. “And then we’ll spend the next week patching up bruises and broken noses. Not to mention we’ll have half the army developing grudges against the other half, I would prefer not to have our soldiers on each other throat before battle….”

Jarza scratched his chin. “Alright, alright. What if we take out the punching? Make it a pushing game instead. Full armor, round circle—they try to shove each other out.

Alpheo’s brow twitched. That’s… basically sumo wrestling.

It might work…..” he continued. ”We’ll rotate quarters of the army, have each group take part every few days. Keeps them busy and keeps the rest amused watching.”

“I like it,” Asag said with a grin.

“And if we’re really feeling generous,” Alpheo added, “maybe the champions get a small badge along with the money . Something useless but shiny. Gods know soldiers love bragging.”

And so they stood there, trading ideas in the fading light of a dull siege day—pitching races, wrestling, contests of skill and balance. They didn’t know it then, but in that idle, dusty hour beneath the prince’s tent, they were laying the first stones of what would one day become the Yarzat national games.