"Haha… Hahahaha!"
The laughter ceased, and Roger's voice came again, every word steeped in madness and coldness:
"Do you think I care?! Just a woman!"
"If you want to have her, then have her! Let your filthy, lowly soldiers line up to have her! I will listen from above! Listen to her screams! I!!! Roger. Legge! Will never surrender my family's thousand-year-old castle for a woman! I will never surrender!"
These words froze the surrounding air.
Even the battle-hardened veterans under Arthur showed expressions of shock on their faces.
Lady Weierhe's body trembled violently, the last bit of color draining completely from her face.
But she did not cry, did not break down, did not even utter a whimper. She merely slowly closed her eyes, as if shutting out the entire world.
When she opened her eyes again, there was only dead sorrow, deep mockery, and a certain determination in them. The lines of her lips tightened, forming a desolate smile.
Arthur looked at the city wall, then at the ashen-faced Lady Weierhe, and cursed softly: "Damn it!"
Afterward, he fell completely silent, waved his hand, signaling the soldiers to take Lady Weierhe back.
He then looked at Brin, who was hidden in the darkness with his bowstring drawn, and signaled him to lower his bow. He truly didn't even show his face.
Then, he turned and left the high walls of the inner keep, not saying another word. The negotiations had broken down; there was no need to waste any more time.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Arthur's temporary command hall in Willow Wood City, dispelling the shadows in the corners of the hall.
A steaming breakfast was laid out on the long table: toasted bread, fried steaks, and a pot of warm ale.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, slowly cutting the steak on his plate with a small silver knife, considering whether he could take the cook here back with him.
Lady Weierhe was invited in. She had changed into a clean, elegant dress, her hair meticulously combed. She did not look like a prisoner, but rather a distinguished guest attending a banquet.
She walked to the table but did not sit down, merely looking directly at Arthur with a scrutinizing, fearless gaze.
Arthur looked up and made an inviting gesture: "Please sit, Lady."
"Try your own ale, it tastes good."
Lady Weierhe pulled out a chair and sat down with graceful movements, but did not touch any food.
Arthur stood up, poured her a glass of wine, pushed it in front of her, and slowly began:
"Lady, your husband is mad."
His tone was as calm as stating a fact.
"But I don't want your son, Jarell, to die in vain either."
"I hope you can write a letter for my army to take to him, persuading him to surrender."
Lady Weierhe finally spoke. Her voice was clear and cold, like ice, carrying a bone-chilling frost: "Persuade him to surrender?"
She picked up the wine glass, gently swirling the amber liquid inside, her gaze shifting from the wine to Arthur's face, as if looking at someone ridiculously naive.
"Why should I persuade him to surrender?"
"Lord Arthur?"
"You started a war, yet you naively hope the war will stop when you want it to, just as you expect."
She took a small sip of wine, her posture elegant.
"Once a war begins, it gains a life of its own."
"It will not obey anyone's command, neither victor nor vanquished. Its only end is that one side must bleed dry."
She set down the wine glass with a crisp sound.
"These are our rules of the game. It seems you haven't learned them yet."
Arthur's brows furrowed, but he calmly continued: "Your son Jarell now has fewer than a hundred men left, occupying my family castle, Dreadfort."
"All of your husband's ravens have been shot down by my men. He doesn't know that Willow Wood City has fallen. When my army arrives, he will be surrounded."
"And you may not have seen Dreadfort; it's a small tower, completely indefensible."
He leaned forward, trying to persuade the woman in front of him with logical reality.
"Dreadfort is indefensible, he's on a dead end. Keeping him alive is the best choice for you, for the Legge Family's bloodline, isn't it?"
Lady Weierhe listened, then let out a clear, undisguised scoff: "The best choice?"
She retorted, as if she had heard the most absurd statement in the world.
"My son, Jarell. Legge, dying on the battlefield for his father's castle, for his family's honor, what's wrong with that?"
Her gaze sharpened, piercing directly into Arthur's eyes.
"Isn't that the most glorious end for a noble heir?"
Arthur pressed his hand to his chin, silent, not knowing what he was thinking.
Lady Weierhe slowly stood up, her skirt brushing the ground without a sound, and looking at Arthur, continued: "A son, dying in battle for his father, for his family."
She repeated it, her voice carrying a noble pride and coldness,
"What's wrong with that?"
Arthur finally moved. He picked up his wine glass, stood up, and looked at Lady Weierhe, drinking the ale in the glass in one gulp, a smile appearing on his face as he slowly spoke:
"Lady."
"Then let the blood flow."
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