Chapter 665: The road forward(1)

“The scouts have returned.”Egil’s voice cut through the flap of the command tent like the first cold wind of autumn. “The Herculean host has kept their pace—still retreating east. Seems your little gamble paid off after all.”

There was no triumph in his tone. No celebration, no hint of the thunderous satisfaction that should have come with such news. He delivered it like one might read a weather report: dry, measured, almost resentful.

Alpheo looked up from his maps, eyes narrowing as he studied his companion. Egil stood there, arms folded loosely, one hip cocked to the side with his usual lazy slouch. But behind the casual stance was something far less idle. Boredom. Frustration. A restless predator denied its kill.

He wanted that battle.That was the first thought that crossed Alpheo’s mind as he observed the man’s furrowed brow and languid posture. He wanted the blood. The break. The chaos.

And who could blame him? Egil was not a man made for stillness.

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, running a hand down the length of his jaw in idle thought. He had long since stopped questioning the strange stroke of luck—or curse—that had brought Egil into his life. The man was a brute, to be sure, but a cunning one. Loyal, in his way, and endlessly useful. Especially during campaigns.

In fact, Egil was less of a commander and more of a sharpened blade—one that Alpheo drew whenever he needed something unseemly done with efficiency and plausible deniability. Raids, kidnappings, food seizures, terrorizing enemy supply chains—these were Egil’s domains. He was the smoke that filled enemy valleys before the fire. The whisper of famine after the reapers had been cut down. The reason why Herculeian lords had bled coin to feed refugees, or turned peasants into thieves out of sheer neglect.

Egil’s work sowed chaos, and chaos was the slow poison that Alpheo had administered across the entire western neighbor of his.

But now? Now there was no one left to burn. Not yet. Not here.And Egil was, unmistakably, chafing at the stillness.

“Say, Alph…” Egil began, and Alpheo already knew where this was going. “Seems to me there ain’t much work left here for my kind. The Herculeians have tucked their tails, and the lads and I are just sitting on our arses collecting dust.”

He said it with a crooked grin, but his eyes didn’t match. They were dull, lifeless in that unsettling way they became whenever his hands hadn’t been red for too long.

“Now, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but there’s plenty of lesser lords who sent men to the prince. Wouldn’t it be just… poetic to extend the war to their doorstep? Let them share in the cost of their allegiance?”

Alpheo raised a brow but said nothing, letting Egil continue.

“A few villages, a few manors… Nothing big. Just enough to remind ’em the war ain’t over for them. Let the flames kiss the edge of their maps. You know what that does to morale.” Egil rolled a shoulder and let his hand fall lazily to the hilt of his curved shortsword,his new favorite weapon. “You know I’m right. Better we make work for ourselves than rot here waiting.”

Alpheo exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a smile creeping into the corners of his lips. He admired the man’s restraint—after all, Egil could’ve gone without asking as he had done before . And yet he had….he was improving.

He leaned forward, folding his hands atop the table. The candlelight danced across the silver filigree of his royal ring.

“Let me guess—your men are already half-saddled.”

Egil didn’t even bother lying.”Quarter-saddled. I’m not presumptuous.”

Alpheo chuckled under his breath.

“You’re a vulture, Egil,” Alpheo said with a half-smile “But at least you’re my vulture.”

“Still,” he continued, preparing the bucket of cold water “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.The city is about to fall. It’s only a matter of time. I’ll be needing every man, every sword. You know better than most how much I rely on your… corps.”

Egil scowled.

“Not thrilled with that answer, are you?” Alpheo asked, watching him closely.

Egil made no move to speak.

Alpheo leaned back against the side table, sighing as if to push away the tension between them.

“All right then, let’s do this,” he said, softening. “Tonight, come by my tent. Bring your thirst. I’ll uncork some wine —you can drink with me as much as your liver can take.”

That finally earned a change. Egil’s features relaxed, and a wide, wolfish grin spread across his face.

“Well now, that’s a promise.” He cracked his knuckles with a loud pop, then smacked his fist into his open palm. “Ah, that reminds me—almost forgot.”

Alpheo raised an eyebrow as Egil’s tone took a turn toward something oddly domestic.

“Say, when can I bring the brat to the palace?” Egil asked. “He’s three months now. Yours should be what—just over a year?”

Alpheo blinked at the shift in topic. “That’s quite the leap—from wine to babies. Why the sudden rush?”

Egil shrugged with an exaggerated lack of grace.

“The less time the boy spends alone with his mother, the better. Gods know what she’ll turn him into. You’ve seen what most of your precious nobles raise—pampered, soft-willed little flowers that piss themselves when they smell blood. I’ve seen thicker backbones on old dogs.”

He paused, then added: “Though I do like that Xanthios fellow. Man’s got grit. Not many like him anymore.”

Alpheo chuckled under his breath ,but Egil pressed on, serious now in that strange, earnest way he rarely showed.

“If my boy’s going to serve yours, I want him raised right. I’ve given you my sword, Alpheo—but one day I’ll be gone. And I’ll be damned if my son ends up some courtly fop who can’t hold a blade or take a punch.

If you knew anything about my tribe, you’d know we bred warriors like others breed cattle. Unfortunately, the methods we used would earn me a hanging here. So I’ll have to do what I can within the limits of your… civilization.”

There was a bitter edge to the word.

Alpheo sighed heavily and waved a hand dismissively.

“Let the poor boy grow teeth first, Egil. Bring him to court when he’s two. Until then, keep your wife calm, your household quieter, and for the love of the gods, no more scandals. I’ve already had to find homes for two of your bastards this month—one in a monastery, the other I had to give to a knight with a fief over it ”

Egil grinned again. “You’re welcome. The monastery one can probably read already.”

“Keep pushing and I’ll cut the source of the problem, ” Alpheo muttered.

He crossed his arms and looked toward the canvas of the tent, where the light from the setting sun burned like orange fire.

“Still… it wouldn’t hurt to have a second you in the next generation. If my son is to inherit the reins of power, he’ll need good men at his side. Men like you.”

Egil straightened, unusually proud. There was no boasting, no laugh this time—just a brief nod, the kind of nod men gave before going to war or saying goodbye.

“Then I’ll raise him right.”

“Just make sure you raise him as a father should,” Alpheo said, his tone lighter now but underpinned with a flicker of sincerity. “And gods’ sake, show him some affection. I don’t care what you do with your bastards—but if your boy is to grow up alongside mine, I’ll not have him warped and mad in the head.”

He paused, a faint, crooked smile playing on his lips.

“There’s no faster way to break a boy than to deny him love. I should know…” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Look what it did to me.”

The smile lingered for a moment before fading.

But before Egil could respond, the tent’s heavy flap was pulled back with a rustle, and in stepped Vrost.

He said nothing of greeting, only bowed his head respectfully before speaking in his usual low voice.

“Hey Alph , a messenger has been dispatched from the city and is asking for a meeting with you.”

Alpheo’s eyes narrowed slightly in interest. Then, slowly, a grin began to grow on his face, as though the gods had finally decided to stir the coals of his long-simmering ambition.

He turned his gaze toward Egil, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

“Well, look at that,” he said, with a note of amusement. “You might get that battle you’ve been aching for after all.”

Egil grinned, already reaching for the blade on his hip.

“About damn time.”