Roger Legge almost shouted a truth to the assembled courtiers:
"Do you hear that! This is the answer!"
He scanned the crowd, his gaze sweeping over their faces, which were either awed or fawning.
"Why isn't he mobilizing? Because he doesn't dare! He absolutely doesn't dare!"
"He just wants to use the nobles' discussions to pressure me into returning the land."
Roger extended a plump finger, as if counting invisible enemies.
"His meager liegemen! Plus those bandits he later incorporated! Those under him who can take up arms and fight! Their total number will absolutely not exceed six hundred!"
He then extended a second finger.
"And what kind of people are they? A rabble that has never seen battle! A bunch of scoundrels who can't even form a proper line!"
"Even Daedings Family! Excluding soldiers on the front line, the soldiers they can mobilize now will definitely not exceed one thousand!"
Roger suddenly stood up, spreading his arms as if to embrace the entire hall.
"And me? As long as I give the order, Willow Wood City, my territories, and my vassals can immediately mobilize two thousand soldiers! Two thousand farmers accustomed to obeying orders!"
He clapped his hands together heavily.
"Six hundred against two thousand! Where does he get the nerve to draw a blade?!"
The conclusion, like a thunderclap, resonated in everyone's ears, and the courtiers immediately erupted in resounding agreement.
"Hahahahaha!"
"That boy is just bluffing!"
"He must be trembling with fear in his cave now, terrified of Lord's thunderous retaliation!"
His son, Jero Legge, a young man with brown hair and black eyes, eager to achieve glory, could no longer hold back. He stepped forward.
"Father! We should attack immediately! Before the enemy mobilizes his army! Crush them! Let everyone see the consequences of challenging the Legge Family!"
Roger waved his hand, signaling his young son to step back. He initially wanted to refuse, as the other party had not yet acted, but after a moment of thought, he slowly said, "Of course! My son! I will give you fifty men to occupy that idiot's keep."
"What was it called? Dreadfort? Hahaha!"
Jero Legge was overjoyed. He stood up, his excited gaze constantly sweeping over everyone, as if meritorious service was right before his eyes.
Roger, meanwhile, sat back on his throne, a cunning, cat-and-mouse smile appearing on his face, as he chuckled continuously.
He wanted to display his 'benevolence' and 'composure' throughout this affair, which would demonstrate his status and prestige more effectively than mere slaughter.
Roger turned to Scholar Tyr, who stood beside him, much older than him, dressed in a gray robe, with several links of different metals hanging around his neck: "Scholar Tyr."
"Lord," Scholar Tyr bowed.
"You write a reply for me." Roger's tone was full of condescension. "Tell that Arthur in the mountains that I have received his challenging letter."
He deliberately emphasized the pronunciation of the word 'challenging,' eliciting a round of low laughter.
"As a reward for his courage, I, Roger Legge, Lord of Willow Wood City, mercifully grant him five days."
"Within five days," his voice turned cold, "if he can personally come to Willow Wood City, present his sword, kneel before me, and beg for my forgiveness, I will consider pardoning him."
This humiliating order brought the atmosphere in the hall to its peak.
Only his brother, Ser Giles, had a face that grew increasingly worried.
"My brother, perhaps we should not underestimate him so much. What the scouts saw may not be everything. We should at least mobilize our liegemen first, just in case."
"Enough, Giles." Roger's patience seemed to have run out.
Roger stared at his brother, his eyes full of disappointment.
"Giles, you are becoming more and more timid."
He turned his head, no longer looking at him, but his tone softened a little, as if he were teaching a slow student.
"Have you ever thought about how much waste there is in mobilizing soldiers? The gold dragons in the treasury and the grain in the granary are not for feeding a bunch of idle farmers."
"We only need to send people to keep an eye on him and Daedings Family. Once they start mobilizing, it won't be too late for us to mobilize. There's enough time. Mobilizing six hundred soldiers takes a week, and organizing them into an army that won't disperse just from marching takes another week. And while it takes us a month to complete a full mobilization, mobilizing six hundred people from nearby villages only takes us a week."
"Gold dragons must be spent wisely. Since the enemy doesn't even have the courage to mobilize, why should I waste my grain and gold dragons, make the farmers stop cultivating the land, and cause this year's harvest to fail, just to participate in a play that he himself doesn't even dare to open?"
The courtiers began discussing in disarray; as long as Daedings Family was not involved, there would be no surprises in this war.
He waved his hand, signaling everyone to withdraw.
The courtiers bowed and left, and the hall quickly returned to its spacious emptiness and silence. Only Roger Legge remained, sitting steadily on his lord's throne.
He picked up a glass of wine from the table, gently swirling the deep red liquid.
Five days.
He wanted that ignorant young man to suffer in fear and despair for five whole days. He could even imagine the wonderful expression on the other's face when his reply reached that mountain cave.
Then, he would crawl to Willow Wood City like a dog with a broken spine, begging for his forgiveness.
This was the true victory, a bloodless victory, yet one that was enough to demonstrate his absolute authority.
The wind still howling outside the window also seemed to become docile.
In the Lord's Hall of Daiding City.
Lady Roslyn was arguing with the steward about the moldy wheat in the granary, her voice betraying a hint of undisguised weariness.
The opening of the door by a guard interrupted her words; his armor made a dull clanking sound as he moved.
Roslyn frowned, stopping her reprimand of the steward.
She waved the steward away, her gaze falling on the messenger who entered the hall.
The man was travel-worn. Upon seeing her, he knelt on one knee, holding up a scroll of parchment tied with a black ribbon.
Lady Roslyn said nothing, only motioned for her maid to take the presented document.
She untied the ribbon, and the parchment unfolded in her hand.
Her gaze swept over the opening salutations, initially with a hint of casual scrutiny.
But as her eyes moved down and she saw the harshly worded paragraphs, her breath hitched.
…The Legge Family, betraying their trust, encroached upon my land, murdered my people…
Her fingers unconsciously tightened, creasing the edge of the parchment.
…Arthur, Liege of Vicon Gorge, Vassal of Daedings Family, will have no choice but to raise an army…
The hall was silent, save for the whistling of the wind through the windows.
Lady Roslyn's cheeks lost their color. She held the document, her hands trembling continuously, as if it were not a flimsy piece of parchment, but a red-hot branding iron.
She hadn't expected Arthur to truly dare to do this. She also hadn't expected him to announce this matter to the entire Riverlands.
Lady Roslyn looked at the guard and commanded, her voice dry and trembling: "Go and invite Maester Walder to the council chamber, immediately."
In the council chamber of Daiding City, the air was as heavy as the frozen tundra of the North. On the massive oak table, only that document from Lion's Den lay.
Lady Roslyn paced back and forth in the room with her hands behind her back, the hem of her skirt rustling against the rough stone floor.
Maester Walder sat at the table, his greying hair meticulously combed.
He had already finished reading the document, and now he sat with his eyes closed, his fingers gently tapping the tabletop, as if deep in thought.
Lady Roslyn finally stopped, slamming her palm on the table, making the parchment jump: "By the Seven Gods!!!"
"What kind of person did I help back then!!!!"
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