Entering the city(2)

A chorus of steel-on-steel rang out as the gates groaned open, the eerie clang of iron blending with the sound of men.

The sober music reverberated through the city, bouncing off stone walls and filling the streets.

At the head of the procession, Robert stood tall, his chest puffed out like a victorious Roman general marching through the streets of a conquered land. Pride radiated from him—no doubt he relished the success of his recruitment, having doubled the current numbers in the prince's army in a single day.

As the gates yawned fully open, sixty riders emerged, their horses moving with the same grace of a peacock. Behind them, four hundred and sixty footmen followed in perfect formation, their synchronized steps pounding the earth like a war drum. Then came the trumpets—blaring with such force that they mimicked the roar of some great beast, an announcement to all who watched that Yarzat's forces had returned, bolstered and ready for war.

Alpheo observed the spectacle with a quiet smirk. This is no mere parade. This is theater—an illusion of strength meant to keep the people hopeful. The Yarzat banners fluttered high above, their fabric rippling in the wind, as if desperately clinging to the pretense that victory was still within reach.

With a nudge of his iron heel, Alpheo spurred his horse forward. The beast obeyed effortlessly, its hooves striking the stony road in a measured rhythm as he rode ahead, taking in his surroundings with a watchful eye.

The city was a mess.

The further they advanced, the clearer it became—this war was not going well. Market stalls stood half-empty, their goods either hoarded or stolen. People shuffled through the streets with gaunt faces, their shoulders hunched as if bracing for bad news. A mother hurried her child indoors at the sight of the armed procession, her grip tight, her expression wary.

Alpheo had seen this before. It was the same look cities bore when they were on the verge of collapse. The same air of quiet despair that lingered before a sack.

Looks like our esteemed leader conveniently left out some crucial details about the state of this war, he thought darkly.

Then, something caught his eye.

A boy.

Small, thin, his clothes tattered with dirt and wear, but his posture—still. Unmoving.

The boy was staring directly at him.

Alpheo's mane of dark hair billowed slightly in the breeze as he rode, his frame strong, his armor gleaming in the light. He was the image of confidence, of command, and yet, something about the child's unwavering gaze made him pause.

He expected fear. Deference. But there was none.

Only awe.

And something else—a quiet curiosity, like a question left unspoken.

Alpheo smirked, amused by the boy's boldness.

He's probably never seen anything like this before.

For a brief moment, he was no longer Alpheo, the commander of an army. He was a child again, standing in the shadows of warriors, dreaming of battle, of glory, of leading charges so fierce that the blood of his enemies would stain his face.

Now, he had that. And yet, his hunger had only grown.

Once, he had dreamt of leading armies. Now, he dreamt of sitting on a golden throne.

And when he had that, he wondered—what would he desire next?The world, perhaps?

Alpheo's army was a sight unlike anything the city had seen before. Their gleaming armor, their disciplined march—it was probably completely different to the ragtag peasant levies the people were used to. These were not desperate men forced to fight for their lords. They were warriors, free men who had chosen this life, lured by the promise of gold and land. And Alpheo would see that they got it.

As they rode through the streets, he caught more than a few lingering glances from the city's maidens. Some watched in quiet admiration, their eyes flitting to his face before darting away the moment he returned their smiles. Others giggled behind their hands, while pointing at him.

Alpheo chuckled softly, amused by their bashfulness.

"Seems like the girls here have taken a liking to you," Jarza remarked, his Arlanian accent thick with amusement.

Alpheo shrugged, feigning indifference. "Girls do not interest me," he replied. "Princesses do. I crave to see one with my own eyes." His smirk turned mischievous, his tone almost wistful.

Jarza's expression shifted, his amusement fading. "You shall find yourself with your eyes plucked out, then," he said dryly.

Alpheo only grinned wider. "That is only if I get caught" he quipped. "But don't tell me you aren't even a little curious about seeing someone with blue blood?"

Jarza exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "I have no such interest," he said firmly.

Alpheo raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Come on, when will you have the chance again?" he pressed, his voice laced with teasing.

"I shall weep about it on my deathbed, which I hope will come when my hair is silver," Jarza deadpanned. "Yours, however, shall still be as luscious as it is now—except with pieces of your body falling off." He eyed Alpheo's mane of thick hair that fell to his neck , as full and flowing as a woman's. His own was cut short, black as coal.

Alpheo laughed, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. "And what, pray tell, would cause me such a queer fate?"

"Your tongue will be the death of you one day," Jarza said without hesitation.

Alpheo grinned, opening his mouth wide and waggling his tongue playfully. "And yet, it's still here, isn't it?"

"Incredibly so," Jarza muttered, shaking his head. "Though I wonder for how long if you keep behaving like this."

"Until the gods see fit to punish my arrogance," Alpheo declared grandly, pointing skyward before spurring his horse forward.

As they neared the prince's palace, the once-thick crowd began to thin, citizens slipping away into alleyways and doorsteps as the procession advanced. The structure before them was no grand palace of marble and gold—it was a keep, built for war and later redecorated in a vain attempt to resemble a royal residence.

Alpheo did not dislike that. He had little patience for pointless opulence. A fortress that could withstand a siege was of far greater value than a palace draped in silk. His eyes traced the structure's details—the fortified walls, the narrow windows reinforced with colorful stained glass. He wondered if it had ever been tested in battle. It certainly looked built for it.

At the main entrance, the lack of excessive embellishments was notable. No statues or intricate carvings, just solid stone, heavy gates, and watchful guards gripping their weapons. It was a fortress first and a home second. Practical. Alpheo could respect that, though he doubted it would be a particularly comfortable place to live.

As his horse slowed to a stop, he turned in the saddle, watching his men.Most of the soldiers of course, after being paraded through the city, were made to leave the city, as only a fool would allow hundreds of mercenaries inside. 

So those that followed Alpheo was just a small maniple of men that would serve as his guards.

They had been riding and marching for an hour since entering the city, and now, with a momentary pause, they seized the opportunity to stretch their aching muscles.

Some dismounted, boots crunching on the gravel as they arched their backs and stretched their arms toward the sky. Others remained in their saddles, rolling stiff shoulders or flexing their fingers around the reins. A few men cracked their necks, the sharp pops echoing faintly in the quiet courtyard. One let out a long, exaggerated yawn, jaw stretching wide before shaking himself awake.

Sir Robert caught the sight of the yawning soldier and shot Alpheo a look.

Alpheo only shrugged. "Would you rather they be looting?They just finished a long march cut them some slack" he muttered under his breath.

He couldn't blame his men for their exhaustion. But beyond that, something else gnawed at him—the startling lack of defense. He had seen cities on the brink of disaster before, and this had the same feeling. The only thing keeping their army from ransacking the place was a few hundred lightly armed men standing watch from the walls.

Quite the sight for the capital of a princedom.