Arthur remained silent, and the air in the Great Hall solidified with his silence.
Lady Roslin gripped the armrest tightly, her knuckles white. She couldn't discern any emotion from his overly youthful face, which made her even more flustered.
She had to speak again, a barely perceptible plea in her voice: "Little Suleiman, you must have other ways, don't you?"
Arthur's gaze swept over everyone present, finally returning to Lady Roslin's face: "There is only this one way, my lady. Gold for swords; under heavy rewards, there will always be brave warriors."
"The head of an Ironborn for ten silver deer, or even one gold dragon. I believe the soldiers and farmers in the city will immediately transform from sheep into the fiercest lions."
Everyone in the hall fell silent. They all had to admit that this method was absolutely the most effective, but also the most impossible.
Lady Roslin's face instantly turned pale, and she practically sprang from her chair, crying out sharply: "No!"
Her voice was distorted with emotion, losing the composure expected of a noble lady.
"Absolutely not! The property of Daedings Family! It's the accumulation of generations of Daedings Family! It's for unforeseen needs in the future!
How can it! How can it be so easily squandered on those farmers?"
Arthur looked at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He didn't speak, knowing this would be the outcome. This was the fundamental difference between old nobility and new nobility. Old nobility viewed everything they possessed as natural, sacred, and inviolable property, making them reluctant to part with even a penny, especially these ancient bloodline nobles.
New nobility, before they became old nobility, understood wealth as starting capital and leverage, willing to use it to acquire greater interests and industries. Wealth was merely a tool, a lever to pry open greater profits. Gold dragons only became power when spent.
Lady Roslin saw that Arthur was silent again and, thinking that she could only rely on the young man before her, her unease grew stronger.
She forced herself to calm down, softening her tone: "Little Suleiman, besides this, is there any better way?"
"None, my lady," Arthur shrugged, spreading his hands, a perfectly timed expression of helplessness on his face, answering curtly.
"If my lady is unwilling to sacrifice anything, then we can only hold the castle and wait for reinforcements from Riverrun to arrive, then join forces,
and fight the enemy together."
This answer utterly disappointed Lady Roslin, but it brought a sigh of relief to most of the vassal lords and knights present. Holding the city meant not having to lead their farmers to fight those Ironborn, who were as brutal as madmen.
Lady Roslin was still unwilling. She recalled the rumors about this young man, the miraculous victories where he defeated many with few, as if grasping at a last straw: "With your military talent, my lord, can you not take the initiative to attack, like you did against the wildlings before, and utterly defeat the enemy outside the city?"
Everyone in the hall's gaze refocused on Arthur.
Arthur gazed at her, his eyes sharp, and slowly retorted: "My lady, I can attack."
"But if I am defeated, and my most elite unit suffers heavy losses, do you think Daintings City can still be held?"
He spoke almost word by word, each striking Lady Roslin's heart. A deadly silence followed; no one could answer this question.
Suddenly, Patrick Morrison stood up abruptly, his young face filled with agreement, breaking the silence with a booming voice:
"Lord Arthur is right! We cannot take risks! His army is the main force of the entire allied army! There must be no mishaps!"
His words were like a signal. The other family leaders and knights, as if finding their backbone, stood up one after another, chattering their support for Arthur's decision.
"Exactly! Play it safe!"
"The Ironborn are fierce! We cannot fight them head-on!"
"Hold out and wait for reinforcements! It's the best decision!"
They had no desire to confront the Ironborn directly, and Arthur's cautious plan perfectly resonated with them.
Lady Roslin stared blankly at the scene before her, her face turning from white to green, then to a deathly gray. She felt crushed by an invisible force, unable to breathe.
She realized with horror that in her own Great Hall, before her vassals and allies, her authority was even less than that of an outsider. These vassals, who were nominally there to assist her, now subtly deferred to the young man's opinion.
A terrifying question arose in her heart for the first time: Who, after all, was the true master here?
The war council thus ended without resolution.
Arthur walked out of the suffocating hall and headed straight for the battlements of Daintings Castle. Lucien, at his wave, followed closely behind him.
Outside the city, it was pitch black. The night wind howled coldly, carrying the scent of damp earth, dispelling the stuffiness of the meeting room.
Arthur gazed at the darkness for a long time before suddenly speaking: "Lucien."
Lucien immediately responded: "My lord!"
"You have fought the Ironborn directly. In your judgment, how many Ironborn are outside the city?"
Arthur turned to look at him, and Lucien's heart skipped a beat. This was not a simple question; it was a test from his lord. His answer would influence all of Lord Arthur's subsequent deployments.
Lucien opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, not daring to give a number easily.
Arthur didn't turn back or urge him, only saying earnestly: "As a general, the most important thing is to dare to make judgments. When to attack, when to stand firm, all requires your own judgment."
He smiled, a strange gentleness in his voice.
"You have this potential. Hakon does not, so I am training him to be an officer. As for you, you must learn to become a good sword for me."
Arthur suddenly turned around, placing his hands on Lucien's shoulders, his eyes incredibly bright in the night, looking directly into his.
His voice was not loud, but it carried an irresistible power: "So, tell me, what is your judgment?!"
"Lucien, how many Ironborn are truly outside the city?!"
Lucien was compelled by Arthur's aura and even more encouraged by the trust in his words. A surge of hot blood rushed from his chest to his head.
He no longer hesitated, gritting his teeth and shouting out his previous judgment and the conclusions he had drawn from repeated observations over several days: "My lord! Their numbers look large! But the true Ironborn warriors! Do not exceed a thousand men!"
Arthur released his hands and nodded: "Very good."
He once again cast his gaze outside the city, towards the land thrown into chaos by the Ironborn, muttering to himself: "A thousand men, huh…."
The torchlight flickered on Arthur's face, making it alternately dark and bright. The howling wind rustled his black noble robe, and a bold, insane idea ignited in his heart.
He suddenly thought that the Ironborn invasion might not be a bad thing, but perhaps a great boon for him. He recalled that famous phrase: chaos is a ladder.
Even if he annihilated this group of Ironborn, what then? Neither Daedings Family nor House Tully, nor even the King, had anything left to bestow, nothing left to reward. The lands of Westeros, the Riverlands, had no more territory to divide; every inch had long been completely parceled out by these ancient, named families, leaving absolutely no room for intervention.
And these raiders from the Iron Islands, like fierce black fish, had swarmed into this seemingly calm pond. They would stir up the waters, they would bite, they would devour.
They would maul and even drag under the surface those ancient, bloodline-proud people who had carved up the Riverlands.
Yet, these Ironborn were ultimately rootless drifters on land. As soon as the royal army, and reinforcements from the Vale, the North, and the Westerlands arrived, their only fate would be to be driven back into the sea.
And by then!
The entire Riverlands! Would experience a huge power vacuum due to this catastrophe! Countless lands would lose their masters! Countless castles would become empty! Countless families would perish! Countless riches would be scattered across the Riverlands!
Arthur's eyes grew brighter, ambition and desire intertwined. And he, as long as he could rely on the Brightmoon Mountains, withstand the first wave of the Ironborn's invasion into the Riverlands, preserve his strength, and hold out until reinforcements arrived, could, through his performance in this great chaos, find an excuse to calmly acquire those forces, lands, and properties that the black fish had thrashed into semi-lifelessness.
The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. He spread his hands, as if to grasp both the darkness before him and the distant flames in his palms.
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