Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king Chapter 412: Among the tribes(5)

Varaku narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp and searching as he repeated Aron's words with disbelief. "You say you have so much land that you cannot cultivate it yourselves?" His voice was edged with suspicion. "That you need my people, not as slaves, but as farrs?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "You feed lies, outsider."

Aron simply nodded as soon as it was translated , unsurprised. He had expected this reaction. To Varaku, and to any man who had spent his life in these mountains, where cultivable land was scarce and survival was a constant struggle, the very idea of a place where land was so abundant that there weren't enough hands to work it must have sounded like nonsense.

"I understand your mistrust," Aron said evenly, his tone calm and asured. "And I understand why you hesitate. You are not a fool. If you were to believe my words without question, you would be an unfit leader." He gestured slightly. "If you agree to what I offer, and my words turn out to be false, then you would have condemned your people to death. I do not take that lightly,as I should ."

He let those words linger for a mont before offering a small, confident smile. "But such a thing is easy to prove, isn't it?" He leaned forward slightly. "You don't have to take at my word. We have ships, Varaku. The sa ones that brought us here can take you, or your people, to see it for yourselves. It takes less than a month to make the journey there and back. You can see the land with your own eyes, walk on its soil, and judge whether my words are true ifyor not.Or just send soone that you trust, he will look at the land that we are offering ,and in case I am telling the truth he will testify"

Aron gestured toward the firelight, letting his words settle. "Would that not be better than rejecting an opportunity outright? If I am lying, then nothing is lost, and you will have your answer. But if I speak the truth… then your people will have a future far greater than what these mountains can offer."

Then, he leaned back once more, watching Varaku closely, waiting to see if the seed of doubt had begun to take root.

Varaku sat in silence, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee as he mulled over Aron's words. His dark eyes flickered with thought, narrowing slightly, then widening, then narrowing again. Aron could see the battle waging in his mind, the pull of temptation clashing against the weight of tradition, pride, and the fear of betrayal.

Co on. Aron willed him forward in his mind. You know the truth. You know you have nothing else to bargain with. You know you need this.

He could see it in the way Varaku's jaw tightened, the way his lips pressed together in indecision. He was close—so close—but still unwilling to take that final step. Aron knew he had to give him one last push.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady as the translator conveyed his words. "This is only for the first transaction," he said. "In the future, the people do not have to be yours." He let the words sink in before continuing. "This expedition was costly. Very costly. And if I return empty-handed, it will also be my last. My prince will not waste resources on a fruitless endeavor."

Varaku's fingers stilled.

Aron pressed on, his tone low, persuasive. "Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers, Varaku. This is a one-ti exchange. After this, you will have enough steel to take back your hills." His eyes locked onto the tribal leader's, letting the promise settle. "And after that? You will get even more—steel, salt, wine, cider, silk—all for a price so small. All you need to do is sell your prisoners to us, you will be the strongest among the tribes."

Silence followed.

Aron watched Varaku closely, seeing the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He had placed everything before him, stripped away every excuse. Now, all that was left was for Varaku to decide.

Varaku exhaled a long, heavy sigh, the kind that carried the weight of a man who had fought a battle within himself and co to a reluctant conclusion. He glanced toward the translator, his lips pressing together before he finally spoke. His voice was low, asured, as if speaking the words made them real in a way he wasn't quite ready for.

The translator turned to Aron and relayed, "For now, we will see if what you say is the truth."

Aron gave a slow nod, hiding the satisfaction that stirred within him. He knew what those words truly ant. Varaku had already made his decision—he just wasn't ready to say it outright. He still needed the illusion of caution, the reassurance that he had so level of control. That was fine. Aron could play along.

Maintaining a respectful tone, he asked, "And who will you send to see it for themselves?"

Varaku didn't hesitate this ti. "One of my sons," the translator relayed, "along with so of my guards."

Aron smiled, dipping his head slightly.

If Aron thought that it was over, however he was wrong, as the tribal leader spoke again in his guttural-like words.

The translator quickly conveyed the ssage, "For such a commitnt, we wish for sothing in return."

Aron raised a brow, feigning mild surprise, though he had expected this. Of course, they would ask for sothing. That was only natural. He let a small, amused smile tug at his lips before responding, his tone light, almost playful.

"Fifteen sacks of salt," he said smoothly. "Surely that is fair? After all, we are rely borrowing your son for a few weeks, and he will return unhard. If anything, he will co back with gifts from our prince himself, I imagine."

Varaku considered it for a mont before giving a slow nod. The decision was made.

"Wonderful," Aron said, his voice laced with satisfaction. He clasped his hands together before spreading them slightly. "And is there anything else?"

Varaku's expression remained unreadable as he spoke again, his deep voice carrying an air of finality. The translator quickly relayed his words, "There will be a communal al tonight.It is a tradition of his tribe. You and your n are invited."

Aron did not react imdiately, though in his mind, alarms rang. It was an obvious risk. Having all the soldiers in the camp leave their walls, sitting exposed and vulnerable in the very heart of the tribe's domain—it was practically delivering themselves on a platter. A poor commander would have scoffed at such a careless invitation. A fool would have blindly accepted it. But Aron? He knew he could not refuse. To do so would be an insult, an offense he could not afford while the negotiations still hung in a delicate balance.

He exhaled lightly, tilting his head with an easy smile. "It is an honor," he said, his voice warm and gracious. "I will gladly participate and share in your customs."

He let the words settle for a mont before shaking his head slightly, as if regretful. "Unfortunately, my comrades will not be able to attend." He gave an apologetic chuckle. "As per our laws, they are under service and may not partake in feasts or drink while in the duty of our prince. It is a sacred rule, one that every warrior in Yarzat must follow when they serve His Grace.As soon as their service is over however they would gladly partecipate"

Aron observed Varaku's face carefully, gauging his reaction. By shifting the responsibility onto the laws of his holand, he avoided offending their hosts while ensuring that his n remained secure.

Aron knew full well that his excuse was a flimsy one—an easily discoverable lie. A single conversation with any of his soldiers would be enough to unravel it, to expose his claim as nothing more than a convenient fabrication.

There was no such law in Yarzat forbidding warriors from feasting while on duty well except for the military codebook for the soldiers of the White Army, who could however participate if allowed by the highest in command, which was Valen.

But this deception was not about weaving an impenetrable web of lies—it was about buying ti. He did not need Varaku to believe him completely; he only needed him to accept the answer for now, to let the matter slide in the na of hospitality.

By the ti the two sides knew any words in the other language, Varaku would either be too invested in business with them to question the excuse or would simply choose to turn a blind eye. Because that was how these things worked—once hands had clasped in trade, once gifts had been exchanged and a fragile bridge of trust had ford, people had a way of ignoring inconvenient truths.

So Aron kept his expression steady, his tone even, and his lie carefully wrapped in the cloth of tradition. He hoped, as he always did, that it would be enough.