CHAPTER 71: THEY WILL SING NO SONGS ABOUT YOU

The tension between them was heavy, the heat of the nearby fire doing little to warm the cold that clung to the air. Aszer’s face shifted, his proud smirk faltering as he caught the weight in Yrsa’s gaze.

"Could there be a problem?" Aszer asked, his voice laced with unease, though he tried to mask it with arrogance.

Yrsa’s eyes didn’t leave him, the firelight flickering in their cold depths. "I received word from the north," she began, her tone sharp. "Your soldiers, the soldiers of Byzeth, have harassed and robbed my people. Our trade with you has become an avenue for your scandalous exploits—a mockery of the agreements we made."

Aszer blinked, his mouth opening in protest. "I know nothing of this," he said, a touch too quickly. "Surely if we sit down and talk—"

Yrsa cut him off mid-sentence, her voice sharp, unwavering. "You are king of Byzeth. It was your job to know. Such disrespect, such an attack on my people, is a sin that can not be forgiven."

For a moment, Aszer stiffened. His lips pressed tight, his bravado cracking.

"What... what are you saying?" His voice faltered, though he fought to remain composed.

A sigh escaped Aric, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of the soldiers gathered around them.

He stepped forward, slowly, with the quiet authority of one who understood the weight of the moment.

The soldiers—around four hundred men—turned their eyes to him, watching with unease as the prince approached the center of the gathering. Aric stopped, his hand rising to his face as he slowly removed his bloodied mask.

The wind was cold on his skin, the chill biting at wounds that had yet to heal. His gaze swept over the soldiers—men who had fought, bled, and could very soon die under the banner of their kingdom.

"Soldiers of Byzeth," he began, his voice steady yet laced with sorrow. "Some of you may know me, and some perhaps not... but now I speak to you not as your general, but as the prince of the empire you were raised to rebel against."

The men shifted uneasily, their eyes locked on Aric as he continued.

"You’ve been dwindled to less than half the number you were when we first marched out of Byzeth. Most of you have lost someone—comrades, friends, brothers, sons." Aric’s voice tightened. "And for what? To take settlements outside kingdoms? But such is war. Victory is never certain, but death... that is assured."

A bitter scoff escaped him, his eyes hardening as he looked at the faces before him.

"I understand why you picked up the sword you grip so tightly, why you donned that armor to fight under the banner of your king. For glory, no? For the chance to be remembered as warriors, men of honor."

He paused, letting the silence stretch, his next words dripping with scorn.

"You’re all fools. The lot of you. They will sing no songs about you. No stories told of your bravery. You’ll be just another corpse among thousands, left on the battlefield and forgotten, because that... that is war."

Aric turned, his eyes landing on a corpse lying in the dirt, mangled and lifeless. He kicked it once, the dull thud echoing through the silence.

"Where is his glory, huh?" He kicked again, harder this time, his voice rising in anger.

"Where is his glory?"

He kicked the body a third time, frustration pouring out of him. "What use is his honor now? ANSWER ME!" Aric’s voice cracked as he screamed, the rawness of his own grief flooding the space between them. The soldiers stood frozen, wide-eyed, not daring to move.

After a moment, Aric stopped, his chest heaving. He stood still, staring at the corpse, his voice softening as he steadied himself.

"There is no glory in death. And no honor in loss. Such privilege is not for foot soldiers like you. In war, there are only winners and losers, and everything else is bullshit."

His words hung in the air as he turned back to the soldiers, their faces pale in the firelight.

"Yes, when the people of your village hear the news that you are another corpse on the battlefield, they will feel pity. ’Oh, what a great boy he was.’ ’He was a strong man.’ ’We will miss him.’ They’ll say these things, perhaps for a day, maybe a week, if they liked you."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Aric’s lips. "But soon enough, they’ll return to their lives. They will sing no songs about you. They will tell no story of your name."

He turned to the soldiers once more, his voice colder now.

"And your wives... they’ll break when they hear the news. They’ll cry, they’ll mourn. But after weeks, maybe months, even they will move on. And the nice lad from down the street, the one who always helped her at the market, he’ll start keeping her company, because she’s just a lonely widow now."

Aric’s eyes burned with a fire that matched the torches around them. "And soon enough, he’ll have her bent over by your reading desk, gripping her tightly as she screams his name—not yours. And in that moment, she won’t speak of your honor. She won’t care. And where will you be?"

He pointed to the ground, his voice harsh.

"A fucking corpse, rotting in the snow."

The soldiers were silent, their faces pale, the weight of Aric’s words sinking in like a dagger.

"The Imperial Squad arrives soon," Aric continued, his voice steady now, cold resolve taking over. "And I am certain they need no introduction. The moment they come, we all die. And there is no glory or honor in that. So instead, I offer you the chance to fight for victory another day."

Aric’s gaze swept across the men, his voice firm.

"Denounce this rebellion. Denounce your foolish king who has led you to it. Accept me as your ruler, and I will lead you back to your families, so you may fight another day—a day when you actually stand a chance of victory. For that is the only way to honor and glory."

Suddenly, Aszer rushed forward, fury blazing in his eyes.

"You dare betray me?"

Before he could reach Aric, Yrsa stepped between them, her movements swift as a shadow. She blocked Aszer’s path, her hand resting calmly on her axe.

Aric didn’t flinch, his eyes never leaving the soldiers.

"Byzeth army, what say you? Would you rather die today, or live to fight again?"

There was a moment of stillness, the weight of the decision pressing down. Aszer’s eyes darted around, panic creeping in as he realized the gravity of the moment.

Aric raised his voice, the intensity in his tone demanding an answer.

"What say you?!"

One by one, the soldiers dropped to a knee, their armor clinking softly as they bowed their heads.

"We shall follow the prince," one voice called, breaking the silence.

Then another echoed it. "We shall follow the prince."

And soon, all four hundred men had knelt, their loyalty shifting in that moment—from a broken king to the one man who spoke the truth.