Rodney managed two regular trade routes: one south to White Harbor, the other north to Winterfell.
The northern caravan had departed two months earlier and was still en route; it would be at least another month before it returned.
The southern caravan was currently resting in Redstone Village—giving Rodney the chance to temporarily reassign its guards to fight the pirates.
However, those guards were not Rodney's personal retainers and had no feudal obligation to defend his lands. To persuade them to join the battle he had promised substantial extra pay.
Now that several had been wounded, he could not force injured men to march. They would only slow the column.
Yet waiting for the wounded to recover would delay the caravan's original schedule.
Losing some profit was minor; breaking contracts with merchants and lords large and small—and damaging his reputation—was far more serious.
The southern caravan's leader was Craig Cobb—Rodney's older brother and most trusted lieutenant.
After discussion the brothers decided: once the caravan set out they would recruit replacements in the villages and towns along the route.
As long as they found enough able-bodied men before reaching White Harbor, the column's safety would not be compromised even if Ethan chose not to stay.
This was the main reason Rodney had urged Ethan to travel to White Harbor first.
Because the guards were hired by Rodney they supplied their own weapons and mounts.
Beyond wages the caravan provided only basic rations—barely enough to avoid starvation. Anyone wanting extra dried meat or better food paid out of pocket.
Therefore, even though Ethan was replacing wounded guards, he could not inherit their horses or gear. He would have to purchase his own.
Since returning to civilization from the wilderness two weeks earlier one thing after another had kept Ethan and Kevin constantly occupied. Only in the last couple of days had they finally found time to breathe.
Under Rodney's management Redstone Village enjoyed brisk trade. Ethan decided to take Kevin around the settlement to buy supplies for the coming journey.
First they sold the pirate weapons at the blacksmith's shop. Then—paying extra—they had the pirate leader's chainmail and helmet resized to fit Kevin. Pickup was scheduled in three days.
Next came horses.
Two riders generally needed at least three animals: one riding mount each, plus a packhorse for baggage.
After searching the village thoroughly they found no dedicated horse trader.
Reluctantly they returned to the manor and asked the Corbray family steward where suitable mounts might be purchased.
"Sir—what good horses could the poor folk in the village possibly own? The best animals are in my lord's stable. But whether they can be sold I must ask first."
After excusing himself from Ethan the steward hurried inside—only to nearly collide with Harry coming out.
Seeing the steward's haste Harry worried something was wrong and asked a few questions. When he learned Ethan wanted horses he immediately took charge.
"No need to disturb Father over something so small. He and Uncle Craig are busy tallying this run's cargo. I'll take our guests to the stable myself."
The steward thought for a moment, then agreed. After all—the young master was still the young master.
Following Harry to the rear of the manor Ethan saw five horses grazing peacefully in the fenced paddock.
Harry scooped a handful of beans from a burlap sack hanging on a post and fed the white gelding.
"Sir Ethan—that chestnut mare is Father's mount. This white one is mine. You may choose any of the other three."
Ethan had no real experience judging horseflesh. Though he held a grandmaster riding skill in Azeroth—as a Tauren he had ridden kodos, phoenixes, ice drakes, chocobos and the like.
A proper horse was entirely new to him.
After a moment's hesitation he folded his arms and stood beside the feeding trough.
"Kevin—let me test you. Which horse suits you? Which one suits me?"
"Yes, Teacher!"
Kevin—unsuspecting—approached the animals eagerly. He examined heads, chests, legs, hooves, and teeth—touching, prodding, murmuring to himself.
After careful consideration he chose a sturdy tan stallion and a white-faced black mare.
"Teacher—I think these two are very good. What do you think?"
Ethan nodded approvingly.
"They are indeed fine animals."
*Unfortunately neither compares to my level-60 Holy Light Kodo.*
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Sir—I must remind you: 'Old Man' is already fourteen. He's an elderly horse."
Ethan glanced at Kevin—whose face had turned the color of hot iron. The boy clearly hadn't noticed the age.
"It's fine," Ethan said calmly. "I suspected as much from the beginning. No problem. Old horses are like old soldiers: perhaps not the strongest anymore, but experienced and reliable. Perfect for me. May we try riding them?"
"Of course."
Harry called a stableboy to bring two saddles and tack the chosen mounts.
Then he swung up onto his white gelding and led master and apprentice to a low hill behind the village for a short ride.
It had to be said—Kevin, having helped raise horses for his father for years, did have an eye.
"Old Man" might be talkative, but he understood rider cues perfectly.
Gentle rein pressure, light leg squeeze—the gelding responded smoothly and appropriately. Ethan—who had never ridden a true horse in real life—was quietly pleased.
"Kevin—how's yours?"
Kevin slid down sweating.
"Very good, Teacher. Excellent."
He had never owned a horse before; to him any mount felt miraculous.
"Very well." Ethan turned to Harry. "What price are you asking?"
"Normally a warhorse goes for one gold dragon—more or less depending on quality."
Harry—true to his family's merchant blood—quoted quickly.
"'Old Man' was a trophy Father took during the Ironborn campaign. In his prime he was magnificent. The black mare is just over two years old—unnamed yet—but she has excellent potential. If you're interested I can let both go for two gold dragons."
Ethan gave his apprentice a meaningful look: *Well?*
Kevin frowned and stayed silent: *I only know how to care for horses… I've never bought one…*
Ethan cleared his throat.
"Harry—since these are your father's spoils of war I'll wait until Lord Rodney has a moment to speak with him. If he's unwilling to part with them I won't press the matter."
Hearing that Ethan wanted to negotiate directly with his father Harry immediately softened.
"Sir—you helped us so much in this fight. We can't possibly charge full price. How about this—one gold dragon plus twenty silver moons for both mounts.
There is just one condition—I hope you'll agree…"
"Name it."
Harry hesitated, then spoke in a rush.
"While you're staying in Redstone… would you teach me swordsmanship?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"Why me? Your father is a garrison commander."
"My father earned his position through skill in logistics and trade—martial arts were never his strength.
If you hadn't joined us this time his lands would have been ruined. Even if Uncle Donil's troops arrived later we would only have reclaimed ashes—and the territory might have been stripped away anyway.
Seeing you cut down those pirates in Single Bridge Village… it shocked me. These past few days I've been thinking: if I had even half your skill perhaps the battle wouldn't have been so costly."
Ethan nodded slowly.
His performance that day *had* been spectacular. Attracting an admirer or two was only natural.
He was already training Kevin regularly; one more student made little difference. He could treat Harry as a temporary outer disciple.
"Very well. Starting tomorrow you'll train alongside Kevin. I'll guide you personally. But you must speak to your father yourself."
"Thank you, sir!"
After returning the mounts to the stable Ethan took Kevin out to purchase other necessities.
With riding horses secured a pack animal was easy. The steward connected them with a local farmer; Ethan bought a sturdy gelding for only eighteen silver moons.
Next they ordered blankets, a kettle, an iron cooking pot—basic travel gear.
In the end the single gold dragon they had barely obtained vanished in Redstone Village, costing the equivalent of more than twenty Azeroth silver coins.
But with everything prepared Ethan now truly looked the part of a mercenary knight.
After all—in the eyes of employers—a mounted knight and a knight on foot were entirely different creatures.
As the saying went: *teaching benefits the teacher as much as the student.*
Those who enjoyed instructing others knew that explaining and correcting sharpened the master's own understanding.
After discussing it with Harry Ethan decided to teach him spearwork.
The spear was called the king of weapons. A three-meter polearm kept three to five men at bay—highly practical for both foot and mounted combat.
Yet after two days of instruction Ethan noticed a problem: what if the enemy's spear was longer?
Every inch of reach was an advantage. Only the bow and crossbow—with their superior range—could reliably counter a spear.
But as a Sunwalker Ethan's weapon skills did not include bows, crossbows, or firearms.
Since arriving in Westeros the Light within him had been sealed.
Vengeance Shield, Judgment, Holy Shock—all ranged abilities were locked away. His tactical options were severely limited.
If he met agile, mobile enemies skilled at hit-and-run he would suffer badly.
Besides—being proficient in both horsemanship *and* archery had been the dream of every Eastern youth back home.
"If the system won't let me use the Light—can't I simply learn archery myself?"
So on the day he collected Kevin's resized armor Ethan—with the blacksmith's help—purchased a longbow and two dozen arrows from a retired soldier.
"Teacher—what are you buying all this for?"
"For practice. My archery is poor. I'll train on the road to White Harbor."
"But…" Kevin asked cautiously, "aren't bows and arrows weapons for commoners? No famous noble knight in history was known for archery."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Because bows are weapons for cowards. True warriors win glory in face-to-face combat."
"Is that what you were taught?"
"My father said so. My brother said the same."
Ethan pursed his lips.
"There's an old saying in my homeland: accents change every ten miles, customs every hundred. Just because the knights of the Fingers don't practice archery doesn't mean Northern or Westerlands knights don't."
"Besides—is face-to-face combat always glorious? Let me ask you: if a bandit robs a woman traveling home with her child—is that glorious just because it's face-to-face?"
"Of course not."
"Then if a warrior sees this, draws his bow, and puts an arrow through the bandit's head—is *that* glorious?"
"You can't compare them like that. I meant two equally matched warriors risking their lives in honorable combat."
"Then why don't they just exchange arrows?"
Seeing Kevin still ready to argue Ethan cut him off.
"Enough. I'm practicing on my own—I'm not forcing you to learn. If you can master even eight-tenths of what I teach you now that's plenty.
In my homeland a proper gentleman was expected to master six arts. Archery was one of them."
Kevin looked puzzled.
"Then… why don't *you* know archery?"
Ethan didn't want to explain further so he gave a half-truth.
"That's one reason I can't go home."
Kevin's imagination immediately filled in the rest.
Was his teacher's homeland such a harsh place?
With his teacher's knowledge, martial skill, cultivation, and character—to be exiled simply for failing to master archery—what kind of peerless warriors must rule there?
A seed of curiosity—and longing—for Ethan's mysterious homeland took root in Kevin's heart.
Long-spear technique was one branch of Ethan's weapon mastery—specifically two-handed polearms.
He still remembered his first polearm in Azeroth: the Ice Spike Spear, a reward from Alterac Valley. As a human warrior he had used it for a very long time.
After a few days Harry had grasped the basics: differences between mounted and foot spearwork, core stances, and fundamental combat principles.
Yet every sparring session ended the same way: he lost.
Even against Kevin he won more often than not.
Unable to sleep one night Harry stared at the ceiling, body aching, and asked himself: *What is the point of all this?*
Ethan could only answer gently:
"Child—you're still too young. Keep training for a few months and you'll begin to feel the difference between yourself and ordinary fighters."
Still Harry was deeply grateful.
Though he couldn't yet see the gap between himself and others he *could* see the vast chasm between Ethan and his own father—like the difference between himself and little Jenny.
He was profoundly thankful that such a powerful warrior had taught him wholeheartedly simply to honor a promise.
As thanks Harry used his personal allowance to buy Ethan a second-hand traveling carriage.
Ethan was delighted. Riding in a carriage was clearly more comfortable than spending all day in the saddle.
In return—two days before departure—Ethan gave Harry an especially rigorous training session.
That night Harry lay in bed unable to sleep. His body felt as though it had been taken apart and put back together wrong.
Staring at the ceiling he asked himself desperately:
*What am I even doing?*
On the tenth day after Ethan arrived in Redstone Village Craig's caravan finally completed preparations and set out at dawn
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