Chapter 849: Intervation from friends(2)

“At the very least,” Alpheo continued , each syllable spat out as if it were hot poison, “the Emperor of Romelia did not desert me when I needed him most. He stood by me, kept the South from tearing us apart, and bought us the time to breathe.

But that you don’t recall, do you?You were not there, you were alone drinking yourself to death.

In your mind, the world’s painted in crude strokes,black or white. If you don’t like it, it doesn’t exist. If it doesn’t serve you, it’s wrong. Well—” he leaned forward, eyes flashing, “—you’re thirty years too fucking late. Welcome late to the club.”

Egil’s laughed in response.

“You’re a cunt with a short memory. Did you forget Herculeia? Who saved your ass when the whole line bent and nearly broke? You don’t recall the great Fox nearly choking on his own myth, eh? Without me, you’d have been carved up and left for the crows.

Those nobles you so graciously invited into our army would have turned on you the moment you stumbled. And your pretty little wife? She would’ve taken the divorce before the blood on your tabard dried, barred the gates, and let you rot outside the city.” He spat on the ground, venom pooling in his voice. “Everything you’ve built since, every whisper of your legend, was born from me holding the line, defeating a force twice my size, then running back to drag your sorry carcass from the fire. And what’s my reward? Watching you embrace the son of the man who butchered my tribe.” He sneered, the disgust almost trembling in his lip. “Some great fucking friend I have.”

Alpheo stared at him, nostrils flaring, then inhaled deeply as though steadying himself before plunging the knife in.

“I’ve spent more than a decade with you, Egil,” he said, slow and deliberate, “and in that time, I’ve learned nearly everything worth knowing about you.” His eyes narrowed. “You. Are. A. Hypocrite.”

Egil’s mouth curled, ready to spit more bile, but Alpheo cut him off with a raised hand and a hard glare.

“You strut around like some rooster, telling me I owe you my life. That all I have was because you swooped in, that day, and saved me. Guess what, fucker? The road runs both ways.

I could have left you in the mud where I found you, left you chained and starving, and it would’ve been easier. But I didn’t.” His voice sharpened, hard with memory. “I shared the scraps I stole, knowing full well that if I was caught, I would be the one flayed. I planned our escape piece by piece, carrying the weight, knowing that if it failed, I would be the one nailed to the walls.Not you, I! That wasn’t duty. That wasn’t convenience. That was choice. That was a sacrifice I took because we were friends.”

His fist clenched on the table, knuckles whitening. “And did I ever throw it in your face? Did I ever spit it into your mouth like you’re doing now? Did I hold it over Jarza, or Asag? No. Because I’m not a shitty person.”

His eyes darkened, hard as hammered steel. “The day we raised steel against Romelia, Asag saved my life. A blade was already at my ribs, and he tore it away before it struck true. Do you hear him crowing about it every time he breathes? Do you hear him piss and moan about debts owed? Fuck no.”

He leaned forward then, close enough for Egil to smell the wine on his breath, voice dropping low, dangerous. “So don’t sit there, wallowing in your bitterness, and pretend your spit-polished martyrdom makes you better than the rest of us.That day you did your duty; I did not.

You have been well rewarded, soldier. Rich lands carved for you from blood and sweat, the right to fly your own banner, to dine like a lord each night, to drink till your belly bursts. You wanted wealth, you wanted power, I gave you both and more.

All that you are, you are because of me. And all that I am, I built with my own hands, not without your help I admit, but mostly on my own. It was me who spent night and day scheming, making sure the nobles did not rise, plotting every path so this crown would not shatter. And what did you do in those days? You drank yourself blind, hunted like a spoiled princeling, and whored like the degenerate you’ve always been.Making enough bastards to fit an army”

Egil’s face darkened, but Alpheo did not relent. He leaned forward, spitting venom.

“Time has diluted you. Once you were a warrior, fierce and sharp. Now you fight only for the sake of violence, no ideal, no aim. I fight for a future. You fight for yourself.”

Egil slammed his palm on the table, voice breaking into a roar. “And now you ask me to fight side by side with Romelians? Have you lost your fucking mind? Have you forgotten whose banner those bastards bled us under? Whose lash cut our backs, whose chains dragged us like beasts? I haven’t. You may have buried the memories, but I haven’t! You may have forgotten the friends left unburied in ditches, rotting under the sun, but I have not!”

His chest heaved, his hand trembling as he reached for the cup of wine on the table, knuckles white with rage. “They killed my tribe!” he howled, his voice raw, breaking with pain he could not bury. “They killed my family, my while yours left you to rot”

Before the cup could touch his lips, Alpheo’s hand shot out like a viper, striking it away. The vessel shattered against the stone wall, crimson wine streaking like blood.

“You fucking hypocrite!” Alpheo roared, eyes blazing. “You cry for the family you lost, but you spit on the family you have now! You ignore them, neglect them, shame them! You’ve a wife at home who withers while you rut with maids and ladies who spread their legs not out of love, but because of the power I gave you. You dare speak of blood, of memory, of tribe, when you piss on the one that still calls you husband, father, kin?”

His fist pounded the table, rattling the cups. “You want vengeance for the ghosts of the past, but you betray the living every fucking day!You could have made a tribe on your own with all the bastards of yours I am taking care of.But you do not care about them, as long as you get your cock wet , all is good.”

Egil’s laugh rang out, a bark that reeked of wine and spite.

“How dare you speak to me of family?” His lips curled into a snarl. “That bitch of yours with a crown, opened her legs to you not out of love but because you shoved a blade to her throat.

Don’t act the saint, Alpheo. You bled her cunt and called it conquest. Tell me, was she even a maiden when you took her?”

For a moment Alpheo said nothing, his chest heaving as the venom seeped through him. Then he drew a deep, measured breath, forcing his rage into stillness.He stepped forward until he stood over Egil, his shadow spilling across the table. His arms braced on either side, boxing the man in, his gaze heavy as iron.

“For the last seven years,” he began, “I have spent my nights with her, my wife. With my son. With my daughter. I love each one of them, dearly, beyond measure. I know their birthdays, their smallest likes and dislikes. I know the songs that soothe my boy when his mind is restless. I know the sound of my daughter’s whimpers when she dreams and wakes in fear. And I know the silent trust my wife holds for me, trust earned, not taken, trust that sustains me when your back turned cold to me.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing on Egil, as if staring into something hollow.”What do you have to show of your family?”

The question landed like a hammer. Alpheo’s words rolled on, relentless.”Strip away the gold I placed in your hands. Strip away the lands, the banners, the power I gave you. Strip away the whores who warm your bed only so long as your silver keeps their skirts high. What remains? Nothing but a drunkard, staggering in circles.”

Egil’s mouth twitched

“Your son,” Alpheo pressed, his tone tightening, “does he even know he has a father? Your wife,does she not despise each second she must share a roof with you? Tell me, Egil, do you know even the slightest detail of either of them? Their dreams? Their fears? Their joys?Their eyes?”

Egil stared at the table, his jaw tight, but Alpheo did not relent. His face dipped closer, so close Egil could feel the heat of his breath.

“Do you even know their names?” Alpheo whispered, each word a blade. “Or have you been too busy with your bottle to remember?”

The response he received at the truth, was a punch to the face.