Arthur continued to roar and command.
"All household heads stand in front of your respective teams!"
"The Military Affairs Officer of each fort stands at the very front of your respective household heads' teams!"
Under everyone's gaze, eight hundred liege men, organized by 'household', formed eight neat and orderly phalanxes.
In front of each phalanx stood their household head, and in front of the household head stood the Military Affairs Officer of their fort.
Everyone uniformly faced the high platform, awaiting their liege lord's next command.
The noise vanished, replaced by a deathly silence and an oppressive sense of discipline.
With their neighbors and family heads nearby, no one dared to speak again. The crowd was solemn and silent, looking up at their liege lord, Lord Arthur.
Evelyn, at the edge of the crowd below the high platform, watched this scene, watching Arthur roaring commands from the high platform, her heart pounding violently in her chest.
An army formed in a single day.
Just one day prior, they were scattered farmers, blacksmiths, lumberjacks, and hunters from various mountain strongholds.
Now, although they wore cloth clothes and carried pitchforks, sickles, and hoes, they were already an army showing a visible Prototype.
A rapidly organized and disciplined army, one that followed orders without question.
Arthur's gaze swept over the seven silent phalanxes below the platform; he knew the time was right.
His voice rang out again, this time filled with icy fury, roaring loudly:
"Our enemies! The Legge Family of Willow Wood City!"
"Are letting their army! Occupy my land!"
He paused, letting the words sink in for everyone.
"Your land!"
Arthur's voice suddenly rose, like a clap of thunder on flat ground, making the soldiers raise their heads and puff out their chests, though at this moment, the soldiers felt nothing in particular about this statement.
He pointed in the direction of Willow Wood City, clenching his fist and placing it before his chest, each word seemingly squeezed through his teeth.
"Why do I say it's your land! Because I! Arthur! Hereby swear!"
Everyone held their breath.
"In this battle! For every enemy head my soldiers cut off! Capturing knights and nobles will be counted separately!
After the war! Each will receive a piece of Arthur's Land!"
Below the platform, a suppressed commotion rippled through the crowd. Men gripped their weapons tightly, their knuckles white from the effort. Arthur raised a hand, signaling for quiet.
He knew the flame of greed had been ignited, but this flame alone was not enough. He needed to pour the fiercest oil onto this flame, allowing it to become a raging inferno that would burn everything.
Arthur emphasized his words, explaining to the liege men who were unaware of all this.
"This land! Is your private land!"
"Protected by me! It will forever belong to you and your descendants! Passed down through generations!"
"If you can't cultivate your own land! You can even rent it to others for farming! And collect rent!
"
"From now on, you won't have to toil in the fields anymore!"
"Eat whatever you want! Play whatever you want! Buy whatever you want!"
A collective gasp swept through the crowd.
Private land!
Can be passed down to descendants!
Can collect rent!
No more farming!
These three concepts, like bolts of lightning, struck the minds of every farmer below the platform.
In this Westeros World, land belonged only to noble liege lords.
They were tenants, serfs, toiling for a year, with most of their harvest handed over.
They had never imagined, nor dared to dream, that they could one day own a piece of land entirely their own.
After a brief, suffocating silence, the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar!
Immediately following, thousands of voices merged into an unstoppable torrent, reverberating throughout the valley.
"Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!"
"Black Lion! Black Lion! Black Lion!"
Arthur did not stop their energy-wasting shouts; instead, he watched everything with satisfaction. He never used lofty ideals to motivate his soldiers; that was useless behavior.
He only promised them the possibility of possession and then made it a reality, letting everyone know that by following him, they would gain everything they dared not even dream of. And in this world, only he would do this, would protect their interests. Nothing was more moving than self-interest, and ambition spurred people onward.
A farmer from the Crack Fort threw away his pitchfork, drew the short knife from his waist, raised it high, and waved it continuously,
shouting Arthur's name, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the direction of Willow Wood City, as if he could already see the land that belonged to him.
A lumberjack raised his heavy axe, roaring Arthur's name with all his might. His roar was no longer to vent fear, but filled with a yearning for the future.
The veterans who had previously fought with Arthur proudly and arrogantly puffed out their chests, looking at Arthur on the high platform with reverence.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Someone shouted this word first, and then the entire valley was drowned out by it.
In the eyes of the eight hundred men, there was no longer fear of war, no longer panic of death.
Instead, there was the most primal, most ardent desire!
All the fatigue from the continuous marching and the suppressed anger vanished. Their breathing became heavy, excited, and fanatical, as if endless power surged from within their bodies.
Every Legge soldier's head, in their eyes, was no longer a terrifying enemy, but a walking, fertile piece of land that could be passed down to their descendants!
It was spoils of war, where the more heads they cut off, the less their descendants would have to farm.
Arthur, on the high platform, felt the vibrations coming from below his feet, watching the faces below, contorted with fanaticism,
and smiled with satisfaction.
This was the effect he wanted; only such an army could fight, could be called a tiger-wolf army.
Arthur slowly drew the Myr longsword from his waist, its blade glinting with a cold light in the firelight.
He pointed the longsword directly at the night sky, issuing his final mobilization order.
"Now! Pick up your weapons!"
"For your land!"
"For yourselves!"
"For me!"
"Advance! Go cut off their heads!"
The valley's response was a roar louder than any before, echoing endlessly.
"Roar!"
The eight phalanxes, led by their respective household heads, began to turn, taking neat and heavy steps in the commanded direction.
An army, armed in just one day and thoroughly ignited by the desire for land, thus stepped into the vast darkness of the night.
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