In the village on the plains, flames soared to the sky, and thick smoke billowed upwards.
The wild laughter of the Ironborn mingled with the screams of the villagers. Roderick Greyjoy held a wineskin, letting the wine spill over his beard and trickle down his chest. The raiders, like a pack of greedy wolves, ran rampant through the village, taking everything they could carry and destroying everything they could break.
A scout galloped back from outside the village, his face alight with bloodthirsty excitement: "Leader!"
"Another army has arrived! From the river! Looks like a lot of people!"
Several of the leaders around Roderick immediately scoffed.
"Someone still dares to come?"
"Another flock of sheep coming to their deaths!"
"Let them see the wrath of the drowned god!"
Roderick wiped his mouth and laughed along. He grabbed a long axe and, with his men, climbed a nearby high slope, ready to enjoy the coming slaughter.
However, when the distant army appeared on the horizon and gradually became clear, the mocking laughter on the high slope abruptly stopped. Their wild laughter froze, their expressions became serious. Observing carefully, what they saw was not the disorganized farmers carrying pitchforks they had imagined, but a moving, orderly army, with numerous banners. The most conspicuous among them was a Black Lion banner, not looking like a simple affair.
Except for the flanks and rear, which appeared chaotic and no different from what they had seen before, the army in the middle advanced across the plain in five massive, silent, and orderly square formations. Countless long spears pointed neatly towards the sky. On each side of the formation, more than thirty cavalrymen patrolled. They did not scatter but maintained a tight formation, coldly monitoring everything around them.
They even saw a large number of soldiers carrying extremely dangerous war crossbows. The entire army was silent, with only the dull sound of thousands of feet treading on the grass, converging into a chilling sound. A strangely cold, battle-hardened aura, spanning a great distance, washed over them.
Roderick quickly made a judgment. Although the flowery armies of the Green Grass People were numerous, they were no different from farmers when it came to actual fighting. But judging solely from appearances, this was indeed an army that looked capable of fighting.
He waved his hand at everyone: "From now on! Send people to continuously provoke and scare that army!"
A group of Ironborn immediately gathered, forming a false charge, howling and roaring as they rushed down the high slope. Roderick silently observed: if the opponent remained orderly, then the charge was a feint; if the opponent's formation became chaotic, then the charge was a real one. This was a tactic they commonly used, and it worked very well.
It had no effect. The cavalry on the flanks fixed them with cold gazes. The Ironborn retreated. That army showed not the slightest hint of confusion. It was like a bedrock sliding across the plain, ignoring these disturbances, continuing silently and at an unchanging speed towards its designated direction.
The atmosphere on the high slope became oppressive. A small captain with a scarred face couldn't help but ask to fight: "Leader! Let me lead men to charge once!"
"Their rear is chaotic! We'll break through their rear! Tear apart these softies from the Green Grass Lands!"
Roderick did not speak, frowning tightly as he stared at the Black Lion banner. Although he was a heavy drinker, he was not a fool. He clearly understood that actively attacking such an outwardly impregnable hedgehog, even if they won, would result in heavy casualties for his men, which would completely expose his limited troop strength.
He suppressed the irritation in his heart and turned to a new favorite beside him, who wore leather armor and always had a calm expression: "Hadwin, you are well-traveled and knowledgeable. Do you recognize that banner?"
Bronn narrowed his eyes, looking at the Black Lion banner fluttering in the wind. "It's you," he thought to himself, a silent, "Finally here."
His expression, however, remained unchanged. He replied in a flat tone: "I recognize it, Leader. That is the Black Lion banner, of Arthur, who has been making quite a name for himself in the Riverlands recently."
Roderick silently noted the name, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes, but ultimately suppressed the impulsive thought.
He turned and roared at his men: "Give the order!"
"Get everyone to gather! Stop looting those damn scraps! This army looks tough to deal with!"
The harassment by the Ironborn continued for a long time, but finding it a waste of energy, they soon stopped. Arthur's army ignored the enemies gathered on the distant high slope. After marching several more miles, they began to choose a suitable location to set up camp.
Just as the command tent was being erected, Rosso Brun, with a troop of riders and the Knights of Daedings Family, galloped in from the rear.
They were escorting a group of people, led by a Knight wearing the insignia of House Pyle. At this moment, his helmet was askew, his armor disheveled, and his face was full of embarrassment.
Behind him followed eight peasant soldiers, each dejected and full of fear, their weapons confiscated and tied together with ropes.
Rosso dismounted, saluted Arthur respectfully, and said loudly: "My Lord! When we encountered the Ironborn's charge and provocation just now! This commander of House Pyle, Ser Kutt! Unauthorizedly fled with his peasant soldiers! We pursued and caught them in time!"
Rosso's loud, mocking voice spread throughout the entire camp that was being set up. Everyone stopped what they were doing. The Knights of Daedings Family who had not participated in the pursuit, as well as the leaders of a dozen other families, all gathered around. Their faces showed various complex expressions: curiosity, tension, and mostly schadenfreude.
Ser Kutt and his peasant soldiers were roughly forced to kneel before Arthur's horse by the squire riders. The atmosphere instantly solidified.
Arthur looked down at him, his gaze calm. He could, of course, understand the thoughts of these people. Under the feudal system, preserving one's family's strength was the top priority, a practical matter. He had even told Lucien, if it was dangerous, run.
Although somewhat hypocritical, in his army, deserting in the face of the enemy was another matter entirely.
His voice was calm, devoid of any emotion: "Do you have anything to explain, Ser Kute?"
Ser Kutt trembled, cold sweat instantly breaking out on his forehead. He quickly began to explain: "A misunderstanding! My Lord Arthur! This is a huge misunderstanding! It's these damned peasants! They were terrified when they saw the Ironborn, they ran first!"
"I... I went to chase them back! I swear by the Seven Gods! My Lord can execute all of them! To uphold military law!"
As he spoke, he glared venomously at the peasant soldiers behind him. All the noble Knights present breathed a sigh of relief. This was a decent way out, one that could preserve Ser Kutt's dignity and enforce military discipline. They all assumed Arthur would go along with it and execute these eight peasant soldiers to put an end to the matter.
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