Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

One of Arkawatt's guards, a tall man with a battle-worn face, swung his sword at one of Alpheo's mercenaries. The mercenary, a younger soldier with a dented helmet, parried just in time with his shield, but the impact forced him backward. Before the guard could strike again, the mercenary sidestepped and drove his hammer into the man's side, causing the men to bend in pain . Blood spurted out down as the mercenary than drove his mace to the head's casuing him to collapse to the ground.

Nearby, two of Arkawatt's soldiers had cornered one of Alpheo's men against a supply cart. They swung with deadly intent, trying to cut him down, which in the end they managed to do.

Blood and dirt splattered the ground as more bodies fell. The sounds of battle—the ringing of steel, the grunts of effort, and the screams of the wounded—filled the air, mixing with the smell of sweat and iron.

One of Alpheo's men, a burly fighter with a thick beard, grabbed one of Arkawatt's soldiers by the neck and headbutted him savagely, cracking the man's nose. Blood poured from the guard's face as he stumbled, dazed, only to be met by the bearded mercenary's fist, which knocked him unconscious.

Alpheo glanced around, seeing his men holding their own, but barely. The fight was brutal, and no quarter was given on either side.

"Hold the line!" Alpheo shouted, his voice barely cutting through the din. His mercenaries regrouped, fighting with ferocity, knowing that any sign of weakness could mean death.

The fight was everywhere, whenever Alpheo turned someone was fighting .The smell of blood entered his nose as he took deep breath from the hot air let out by the men.Suddendly the hair on Alpheo's neck stood erect, and he turned around just to see a man with a sword raised high ready to let it down on him .

Alpheo barely had time to react. The sword gleamed in the sunlight, already descending toward him with lethal intent. Instinctively, he raised his own blade to parry, but he knew it wouldn't be fast enough.

Just as the sword was about to come down on him, a shield slammed into the attacker's side with bone-crunching force. Vroth , ever vigilant, had come to his aid once again. The attacker stumbled sideways, thrown off balance , fell to the ground , and Alpheo took his chance. With a fierce shout, he thrust his sword forward, catching the man in the side where his armor was weakest.Still only few centimeters managed to get in,as the chainmail stopped it from getting deeper

Without wasting a second Alpheo put his leg over the man's chest before thrusting his sword into the guard'eye causing him to die , with the blade piercing what Alpheo felt was the brain

"Stay focused!" Vroth barked, pulling Alpheo back toward the center of his close guards leaving the man to die alone on the ground

Just as the tide seemed to turn in favor of Arkawatt's guards, Alpheo's forces, though bloodied and battered, were being steadily pushed back. The prince's men fought with renewed fury, their swords and axes cutting through the mercenaries' defenses. Alpheo's line was breaking under the weight of their relentless assault, certainly made easier by the fact that most of Alpheo's men had been fighting for hours.

His men, now outnumbered, struggled to hold their ground. The sharp ring of steel filled the air as shields were splintered and swords clanged against armor. Alpheo could feel the pressure mounting—his guards, though fierce, were tiring. Vroth, still at his side, grunted as he blocked another powerful swing from one of the prince's elite.

Suddenly, just when it seemed the prince's forces would prevail, a loud crack echoed through the camp. The heavy wooden gates burst open with a resounding thud. Heads snapped around to see a fresh wave of men—dozens of them—pouring into the camp. Mounted on horses and armed with swords, spears, and axes, they surged forward like a roaring tide. The sound of hooves pounding against the ground filled the air, the riders charging straight at Arkawatt's men.

"Reinforcements!" one of Alpheo's mercenaries cried as he had witnessed salvation.

Egil's remaining men had finally arrived—more cavalry, and a contingent of foot soldiers following close behind , with a tall black men riding on the front .

''SMASH THEM'' Jarza shouted as he charged forth leading his axe through the neck of a man.Under Alpheo's eyes in that moment Jarza looked like an angel who had come to save the day, which, by the way he did.....

The sight was overwhelming. Horsemen, clad in leather and chainmail, bore down on Arkawatt's guards like a hammer against an anvil. The first impact was devastating. Riders crashed into the prince's men with the full force of their speed, lances shattering on shields and bodies alike. One knight was knocked clean off his feet, his armor crumpling under the weight of the charging horse. Another was impaled by a spear, his body lifted off the ground before being tossed aside like a rag doll.

The prince's men, stunned by the sudden assault, wavered. Those on foot were thrown into disarray, trying to fend off the incoming cavalry while maintaining their defense. But it was too late—the formation had been broken.

Alpheo, seizing the opportunity, raised his sword high. "Press them! Now!" he shouted.

The camp was a whirlwind of chaos, with dust kicked up by the galloping horses, the clash of steel, and the screams of dying men. Javelins flew across the battlefield, whistling through the air before finding their mark in both horse and man. Every few seconds, the thud of a projectile hitting flesh or armor could be heard, followed by cries of pain. Alpheo pushed forward with his men, his sword cleaving through the enemy as they desperately tried to hold their ground.

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Prince Arkawatt stood in the heart of his formation, surrounded by his personal guards, barking orders with a commanding voice. His once jubilant expression had hardened as the chaos unfolded around him, though his presence still inspired those nearby. The clang of steel and the shouts of men were deafening, but his voice cut through the noise. He started the fight thinking he had the better number , now however they were the one outnumbered and getting encircled

"Where are the rest of our men?!" he demanded, turning sharply to Robert, his most trusted knight, as the battle grew fiercer. His brow furrowed with frustration, expecting immediate answers.

Robert, breathing heavily and streaked with blood from his own wounds, struggled to speak. He raised a hand, pointing toward the forest in the distance, words forming on his lips.

Before he could utter a sound, the air whistled—a lone javelin shot out from the chaos, flying with deadly precision.

Thwack!-

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The battlefield was a sea of chaos. Bodies clashed, weapons rang out, and the ground was slick with blood. The air was thick with dust, sweat, and the acrid smell of metal. Everywhere Alpheo looked, men were locked in desperate combat, each one fighting for their life, their side, their survival.

To his left, a young mercenary with a bloodied sword was engaged in a vicious fight with one of Arkawatt's knights. The knight, in moved his broadsword swinging in controlled arcs. But the mercenary, quicker on his feet, ducked and weaved, jabbing with his lighter sword, probing for weak spots in the knight's armor.

Javelins soared overhead, some finding their marks, others clattering uselessly against shields and armor. A mounted man charged through the chaos, lance aimed low. He skewered an enemy soldier through the stomach, lifting him off the ground before the lance splintered, the broken shaft ripping free as the man galloped on.

Then came a roar. "The prince is dead!" someone shouted. The cry echoed across the battlefield, followed by another voice, then another, spreading panic through Arkawatt's men.

Alpheo, still hacking away at the enemy, glanced around in confusion. "What?!" he thought, his brow furrowed as he thought he heard wrong.

Before he could understand what was happening ,the formation of Arkawatt's guards began to falter, men looking around in panic, unsure of what was happening. The once-disciplined line of soldiers began to fall apart as more and more guards repeated the ominous news while turning around almost as if wanting to see for themselves. Some of them hesitated, while others outright began stopping fighting

Alpheo, still in the thick of the fight, felt the shift but didn't understand "What the hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath hoping that it was a false alarm.

His men were pushing forward, pressing the advantage as the enemy's morale crumbled, but something was wrong—this wasn't how a battle should have ended.

Then, amidst the confusion, Alpheo spotted a figure that made him stop dead in his tracks. His heart froze for a moment as he recognized Robert, one of Arkawatt's trusted men, standing in the middle of the battle, holding the lifeless body of the prince. Robert's arms were wrapped around Arkawatt's chest, his face contorted in grief and shock. The prince's body slumped in Robert's embrace, a javelin protruding grotesquely from his chest, blood pouring down his once-proud armor.

Alpheo stared in disbelief. What the fuck happened?, he thought, his mind racing to comprehend the scene before him. Just moments ago, Arkawatt was leading his men—and now he lay dead, killed by a javelin.His confusion quickly turned to action. Alpheo's eyes flashed with determination as he raised his voice, his words cutting through the chaos.

"Guards! Surrender!" he shouted at Arkawatt's men, his voice commanding and fierce. "Your prince is dead! Lay down your arms!I swear you will be well treated..."

His words, coupled with the sight of their fallen leader, were enough to break the remaining will of Arkawatt's guards. Slowly, one by one, swords and shields began to drop to the ground, their owners stepping back in defeat, their faces drained of hope.

His gaze fell once again on Robert, still cradling the body of Prince Arkawatt. But then, something changed.

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Robert's eyes snapped up, locking onto Alpheo's. Hatred blazed in his expression, a raw, primal rage that needed no words. With a roar, Robert threw the lifeless body of the prince aside and grabbed a blade from a nearby fallen soldier. He charged toward Alpheo, his face twisted with fury.

Alpheo barely had time to react before Robert closed the distance. The glint of steel flashed as Robert raised his sword, ready to strike. But before the blow could fall, one of Alpheo's soldiers—a tall man with a round shield—stepped forward with a practiced motion. With a brutal shove, the soldier bashed Robert in the chest with the edge of his shield, sending him crashing to the ground.

Robert groaned, winded from the blow, struggling to rise, his hands scrambling to find his weapon. The soldier raised his sword, poised to deliver the killing strike.

"Stop!" Alpheo barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The soldier hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at his commander, unsure.

"Disarm him," Alpheo commanded, his tone calm but firm. "He may still be to use"

The soldier nodded and swiftly kicked the sword out of Robert's reach before yanking him up by the collar and wrenching his arms behind his back. With a few quick movements, the soldier stripped Robert of his remaining weapons, leaving him defenseless.

Alpheo spared him a quick sight, before turning around making sense of what just happened . His shoulders sagged slightly as he took it all in. What had started as a triumph was now spiraling into the worst possible outcome. The prince was dead, worse it was one of his men that killed him and if that was not enough they were still deep into his territory with the rest of the army soon coming back. If they were to run they were to be quick with it,as he did not want to be found there with the body of thier ruler in tow.