By the Green Fork River's ford, thirty to forty banners of various colors fluttered in the wind. These were the reinforcements who had answered Lady Roslin's call. Under each banner were only a few dozen men, like a pack of guard dogs casually thrown out by their owner.
The soldiers sat in groups of three or five, their clothes disheveled, their eyes hollow and filled with confusion. Their spears resembled pitchforks, and the camp was a chaotic mess, permeated by the smell of mud mixed with horse dung.
Until, a dull, rhythmic sound of footsteps approached from the distance, growing louder and closer. Everyone on the riverbank stopped what they were doing, startled, and looked towards the source of the sound.
On the horizon, a black tide slowly surged forward. A banner with a black lion fluttered at the very front of the procession. Beneath the banner were soldiers in neat, well-ordered ranks, their steps synchronized, moving in silence. The scale and discipline of this army formed a stark contrast with the scattered, disorganized rabble around them.
The murderous aura emanating from the nearly one thousand strong army instantly silenced the noisy and chaotic riverbank.
"It's Arthur's army!" someone recognized the banner, their voice trembling.
"My heavens, how many men did he bring? By the looks of it, it's nearly a thousand!"
"How can there be such... foolish people?"
The few dozens of farmers they brought seemed like child's play in front of this large army. Envy, ridicule, awe, fear—a mix of complex emotions intertwined on the faces of the knights and officers. They simply couldn't understand why anyone would truly commit their entire territory to fight a war with no returns.
Arthur, on horseback, coldly scanned the camp without pausing. All who met his gaze lowered their heads, shrinking and trembling. What a truly unlucky bunch.
He dismounted and walked directly to an open space. His squire riders quickly erected a command tent for him, much larger and neater than anyone else's, without giving anyone time to discuss or speculate, taking charge without question.
Arthur looked at Rosso Brun and spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching his ears: "Rosso."
"Go, bring all the commanders of the troops to my tent."
Rosso Brun hesitated, then lowered his voice and asked: "Lord Arthur, what if... someone doesn't come?"
Arthur's gaze fell on the longsword at his waist. He turned and walked away, leaving only one sentence: "Is that a wooden stick hanging from your waist?"
Rosso's heart tightened. He instantly understood the meaning behind the word "bring." He immediately bowed and accepted the order, then, with a dozen fully armed squires, galloped on horseback towards the scattered camps.
Before the meeting even began, a young man excitedly ran to Arthur's tent. His armor was new and gleaming, and his face showed undisguised fervor and admiration.
The young man knelt on one knee in excitement and saluted: "Lord Arthur!"
"My name is Patrick. Morrison! I am the second son of Lord Yorks. Morrison! I have always looked up to you as my role model! Like you, I am also a second son of my family! And our fathers are also good friends!"
He was the only commander among this rabble whose family had truly chosen to exert "some" effort for their liege, with a troop exceeding a hundred men.
Arthur looked at the enthusiastic young man before him, his eyes devoid of any emotion. Remembering the kind old man under Willow Wood City back then, he eventually gave him a faint nod, expressing his welcome, too lazy to even utter a polite word.
Soon, under Rosso's "enthusiastic" invitation, more than thirty banners, representing various families and knights, gathered in Arthur's tent. The tent was not large and was crowded with people. Everyone knew the young man was not to be trifled with, and the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive.
Before Arthur could even speak, a scene that surprised him occurred: all the landed and unlanded knights loyal to Daedings Family, over twenty of them, stood up in unison.
Led by an elder knight, they gave Arthur a solemn knight's salute, their voices unified, echoing in the tent:
"We pledge to obey Lord Arthur's command!"
This sudden "defection" stunned the representatives of the other families.
The elder knight then declared loudly: "My Lord defeated the wildlings for Daedings Family, saving the Riverlands! He also defeated the House Ryger, defending Lord Balon's family honor and rights, and avenging Daedings Family!"
Another young knight added: "You won the Trial by combat in the Vale! You reclaimed your land in an honorable manner! No one here is more capable than you! It is most fitting for you to command us!"
The other vassal representatives present looked at each other. The bond between knight vassals and their liege was often stronger than that between lord vassals and their liege.
They understood that these knights, whose interests were closely tied to Daedings Family, had already made their choice.
Arthur also understood that their interests were deeply intertwined with Daedings Family, and he was currently Daedings Family's largest and most reliable reinforcement. Their choice was understandable; in every respect, they could only support him.
The remaining knight officers representing various families, seeing that the knights had already taken a side, also prepared to stand up and express their willingness to obey commands. After all, Arthur's strength and prestige were evident; he was the only one capable of leading this allied army at the moment.
However, just as one of them cleared his throat, preparing to be the first to speak and offer flattery, Arthur raised his hand, stopping him.
Arthur's gaze slowly swept over everyone present. His eyes did not look like he was looking at allies, but rather like he was scrutinizing a group of prisoners. Everyone was puzzled and somewhat awkward; the temperature in the tent seemed to drop several degrees.
He finally spoke, his voice cold and piercing: "Before answering whether you will obey my command."
"I want to know."
"Why did your lords only send you knights to lead, and not members of their own families?"
This question was like a bucket of ice water poured over everyone's heads. The atmosphere in the tent instantly solidified.
After a brief silence, a knight officer from House Pyle bravely stood up.
"Lord Arthur, my master is currently with Lord Balon, defending Seaguard against the Ironborn. His territory's forces are depleted. He sent me to lead troops, which is already fulfilling his vassal duties and should not be criticized."
No sooner had he finished speaking than another representative of a vassal lord's family immediately chimed in.
"My Lord, our territory is adjacent to the Green Fork River and constantly faces the threat of the Ironborn. Sending this small number of men is already stretching our resources thin."
Seeing that someone had taken the lead, everyone began to offer the excuses they had been told to recite.
"My Lord is ill."
"My master is at Seaguard. He believes his son is too young to go to war."
For a time, the tent became an excuse-fest, with all sorts of bizarre reasons emerging, each sounding so reasonable, as if they were all the most innocent and dutiful vassals.
Arthur listened quietly, without a word, his face showing no emotion. He knew very well that these people were merely being perfunctory, preserving their strength. He only lamented, 'It's a good thing your liege isn't me, otherwise I wouldn't fight the Ironborn first; I would first invade your master's castle.'
'And bury their entire family, old and young, alive in the castle's foundations.'
Once everyone had finished reciting their prepared excuses, the tent fell silent again. Logically, the young man before them had no right to judge them, but they felt as if they were awaiting his judgment, as if the young man before them... was their true liege.
Everyone's gaze was fixed on Arthur, tense, awaiting his "judgment."
Rosso presented the newly tallied troop strength: "Lord Arthur, all forces combined, the total strength is one thousand four hundred and twenty-seven men." Arthur took the parchment, glanced at it, and then tossed it aside. Of those over fourteen hundred men, the old, weak, sick, and clearly token farmers accounted for nearly one-third. The truly combat-ready were probably only his own thousand-plus men.
He had originally planned that if he could gather several thousand soldiers, he would take the initiative to seek out the main force of the Ironborn for a decisive battle, to "make a name for himself throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
Now, it seemed this idea had to be abandoned. Relying on this rabble, each with their own agenda, to fight a tough battle would be like driving a flock of sheep to attack hungry wolves. In the end, only his own army would actually fight, and he would never waste the foundation he had painstakingly accumulated for future wars on this conflict.
Arthur stood up, and everyone in the tent held their breath. Some even flinched in fear.
He did not utter another wasted word, directly issuing his command: "Everyone! Break camp immediately!"
His voice was resolute.
"First, to Daintings City!"
The army began to slowly advance. Along the march, Arthur made reorganization arrangements. The twenty-odd knights of Daedings Family, and the more than one hundred peasant soldiers they brought, were integrated into his own army, under his personal command.
As for the other armies sent by the vassal lords, he threw them to the flanks and rear of the column like garbage.
Arthur neither issued them commands nor assigned them tasks. He didn't even bother to send a messenger to waste time. He simply let them loosely follow, as if they were not allies, but a dispensable cheering squad.
He intended to abandon them at any time if the Ironborn attacked from the flanks or rear, using them as cannon fodder to draw the Ironborn's fire.
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