Outside the Lions Den, dust billowed as towering scaffolding, like the bones of a giant, enveloped the mountain.
Countless workers moved between cableways and cliffs; the sounds of hammering and commands merged into a cacophony.
Roderick looked at the construction of the Lions Den with a strange expression. He couldn't understand why they were digging into the mountain, extracting stones instead of minerals.
In a specially cleared open space outside the bustling construction site in the valley, a negotiation was underway.
A rough wooden table and a few simple wooden chairs were the entire setup.
Arthur sat calmly in the main seat, with Lucien standing behind him with his hand on his sword, along with a dozen other soldiers.
Roderick, dressed in a well-tailored silk outer garment, seemed out of place among the people here. The several merchant representatives behind him were also richly dressed but wore impatient expressions.
Arthur's voice was calm and direct, skipping all formalities: "Lord Roderick, welcome to my territory."
"I need horses, a large quantity of horses, especially warhorses suitable for cavalry. Name your price."
Arthur's tone was like discussing a simple bread trade: fast, simple, and direct.
No sooner had he finished speaking than a young merchant representative behind Roderick couldn't hold back, looking at the child lord before him, and let out a sharp, grating chuckle from his throat.
This laugh was like a stone thrown into a pond, instantly creating a series of ripples. The other members of the merchant caravan all showed expressions of barely suppressed laughter as they looked at Arthur. Such ignorance was simply ridiculous. They exchanged glances as if they had heard the most preposterous request in the world.
Their gazes were like those of wealthy city dwellers looking at their poor country relatives, full of superiority and pity.
Roderick didn't laugh, but his slightly upturned lips indicated that he also thought this young lord, despite his great reputation, lacked knowledge. Ultimately, he was still a country lord.
Arthur frowned slightly. What was so funny?
He didn't even need to speak, but the soldiers behind him could no longer tolerate it. In Westeros, vassals and warriors were required to defend their lord's dignity with their lives.
A crisp sound of a sword being drawn cut through the simple negotiation area and the noisy construction site.
Lucien's long sword was already half-drawn, its cold blade reflecting a chilling white light in the sunlight, pointing directly at the merchant party.
The laughter and mocking expressions abruptly ceased.
The air seemed to be sucked out at that moment, becoming solidified and heavy. The smiles on the faces of the merchant attendants froze, replaced by shock and a hint of unease.
Lucien pointed his sword tip at the merchant representative who had laughed first and ordered two nearby soldiers in a cold voice:
"Break his teeth! Cut out his tongue!"
"Let him remember to shut his mouth when he laughs in the future!"
The command was calm, devoid of any emotion, yet it made the merchant party's hair stand on end.
Roderick frowned, looking at Arthur, but saw that the young lord showed no expression or movement, still appearing as gentle and mild as a spring breeze.
Two soldiers strode forward without hesitation, passing Roderick. The merchant representative's face instantly drained of color, becoming as white as paper, and he let out a terrified scream, looking to the merchant party for help, trying to dodge backward.
"Lord Arthur! Hold your hand…." Roderick also reacted from his shock, suddenly standing up and turning, only to see a scene of blood splashing, and could only utter, "Damn it!"
Arthur's soldiers followed orders too quickly, executing them directly without any thought. Everything was too late.
One soldier grabbed the young merchant representative by the collar, while the other took the hilt of his scabbard and, using its heavy weight, brutally smashed it into his mouth.
Dull thuds, one after another, mixed with the sounds of bones shattering and teeth falling out, echoed clearly in everyone's ears, sending chills down the spines of the other merchant members.
The young merchant representative's screams and pleas turned into incoherent whimpers. Blood gushed from the corners of his mouth, instantly staining his front. He slumped to the ground like a pile of mud, twitching and passing out. Another soldier pulled out a dagger, propped open his mouth, and cut off his tongue. Blood spurted, and to prevent him from choking on his own blood, they even pulled him up to lean against a tree.
The entire process was swift and clean, without any sloppiness. They broke his teeth as they said they would, and cut out his tongue as they said they would, doing nothing more.
Roderick and the merchant representatives turned pale. They had indeed heard that the young lord before them and his soldiers had a fearsome reputation, but they hadn't expected this youth to be so ruthless. Although Arthur hadn't said a word, it was clear that the soldiers would not defy their master's will.
Arthur seemed to ignore the bloody scene before him. He gambled that the other party would accept this loss for the sake of the goods, and besides, there were plenty of people who wanted his goods; at worst, he would wait for the next large guild.
Arthur picked up the water cup on the table, took a small sip, then turned his gaze to the ashen-faced Roderick.
Arthur's expression and tone remained gentle and refined, even with a hint of inquiry, yet it sent shivers down Roderick's spine: "Now, can you tell me why?"
"Why can't I buy horses?"
Roderick's chest heaved violently. He stared intently at the blood-mouthed attendant on the ground, clenching his fists until they were white. But he was, after all, a merchant who had seen big scenes, and he forcibly suppressed the anger and fear in his heart. He slowly sat down, his voice hoarse from extreme restraint:
"Lord Arthur, he mocked a hereditary noble and deserved this punishment."
Arthur's expression remained unchanged, still as gentle as a spring breeze, just as he had expected. Indeed, this showed that the other party would concede the initiative for their own goods.
Roderick continuously expressed his apologies and stance, defining the incident as a failure to properly discipline his subordinate. Then, he took a deep breath, regaining his merchant's composure:
"But in Westeros, warhorses have never been a commodity. Many impoverished knights without land don't even have warhorses."
"No lord would sell horses capable of forming cavalry. Even the most destitute knight would not sell his own horse."
"As for ordinary pack horses or farm horses, perhaps you could buy some, but what you want are warhorses."
"They are controlled goods among controlled goods. Although there are no explicit rules, if merchants from the Reach sell warhorses to Dorne or the Westerlands, or vice versa, the merchants' fate will only be death. This applies even within a single region, between different families."
In Roderick's words, the condescending tone, though much restrained, still existed. The implication was, you, a country lord who doesn't even know such basic common sense, actually dare to dream of forming cavalry.
"So that's how it is." Arthur smiled noncommittally, seemingly accepting Roderick's explanation.
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