During the entire crop growing cycle, Roman had focused his absolute attention on maximizing agricultural production, delegating the massive task of dealing with the fractured Riverlands' bandit problem to Master Jessy.
"My lord," Master Jessy reported, marching alongside Roman toward the inner courtyards. "The sheer volume of bandits and roaming sellswords within the Riverlands has spiked massively in recent moons. The vast majority of them crossed into our borders because they heard rumors of our miraculous, overflowing harvest."
Because Harrenhal had recently become so wealthy and geographically prominent, it wasn't just starving serfs flocking to the Whent domain for refuge. The hardened, bloodthirsty criminal element of the Riverlands had naturally followed the scent of food and silver, hoping to loot the outer settlements.
However, because Roman had proactively established the mandatory off-season peasant militia, even the smallest Whent farming village possessed a basic, spear-wielding defense force. The bandits found it incredibly difficult to simply walk in and pillage.
As for the larger agricultural hubs that had already been fortified with Roman's sloped-earth star forts? The bandits stood absolutely no chance. Without specialized, heavy siege equipment, it was physically impossible for a band of disorganized thieves to breach the Whent defenses.
Furthermore, the foundational network of paved macadam roads connecting the Harrenhal territories was now fully operational. This allowed Whent military intelligence and rapid-response troops to move across the region at terrifying speeds regardless of the weather.
If a bandit raid was small, the local peasant militia could easily repel it. If a massive bandit coalition foolishly attempted to siege a star fort, Roman's rapid-response cavalry would charge down the paved highways and slaughter them against the sloped walls.
"Master Jessy, passive defense behind walls is not a permanent solution," Roman said, his voice cold. "To truly eradicate the bandit cancer from our lands, we must transition from relying on the peasant militia to deploying our professional, standing army. I plan to use this surge in criminal activity as a live-fire training exercise. We will violently sweep the entire territory, annihilate every last bandit camp, and completely secure our borders for the impending industrial expansion."
Master Jessy strongly supported the aggressive doctrine. The two men immediately headed toward Harrenhal's legendary stables to inspect their warhorse reserves.
Everything about Harrenhal was built on an impossibly gargantuan scale, and the stables were no exception. Roman remembered reading in the original lore that the primary Harrenhal stables were large enough to comfortably house one thousand massive destriers.
He had previously assumed George R.R. Martin was just exaggerating for dramatic effect. But standing before the cavernous, stone-pillared structure today, Roman realized the books had actually undersold the sheer architectural madness of the fortress.
The primary one-thousand-stall building was explicitly reserved solely for heavy warhorses. Deeper into the complex, Harrenhal possessed entirely separate, equally massive facilities dedicated strictly to draft horses, mules, and foaling mares.
However, due to the agonizing, multi-generational financial decline of House Whent, the legendary stables were mostly empty. Currently, Harrenhal possessed roughly three hundred true, battle-trained warhorses. In the fractured, impoverished Riverlands, owning three hundred warhorses still made House Whent one of the most terrifying military powers in the region.
Roman's lips twitched slightly. He knew high-grade Westerosi warhorses were obscenely expensive, but he was still slightly disappointed he couldn't instantly field a massive cavalry host.
"Very well. Three hundred it is," Roman sighed, crossing his arms. "We will utilize these three hundred mounts to form a highly mobile, elite light cavalry vanguard. That will be more than enough to crush these disorganized thieves."
Master Jessy nodded sharply and immediately went to assemble the men.
An hour later, three hundred handpicked cavalrymen stood at strict attention in the courtyard. Every single rider was fully outfitted in Master Ben's newly forged, highly flexible steel lamellar armor. They wore curved, Riverlands-style cavalry sabers at their waists and carried powerful, composite horse-bows across their backs.
Master Jessy's brutal training regimen had clearly paid off. The soldiers were all visibly robust, possessing the hardened, scarred physiques of true veterans. Their assembly, strict geometric formation, and synchronized mounting drills were flawlessly coordinated.
The soldiers stared at Roman with wide, almost fanatical eyes. They considered it an absolute, divine honor to ride into battle behind the legendary young warlord who had physically shattered the Kingslayer. Their faces flushed with a mixture of raw anticipation and nervous adrenaline as they held their breath, waiting for Roman to speak.
Roman easily swung himself onto his massive black destrier, surveyed the gleaming ranks of steel, and smiled with deep satisfaction.
"Soldiers of Harrenhal," Roman's booming voice echoed across the courtyard. "Why did you join my army?"
The seemingly random, blunt question left the men entirely baffled. They all desperately wanted to answer honestly—that they joined to secure guaranteed meals—but they were terrified that admitting they fought for food rather than 'noble honor' would deeply offend their lord.
Before the tense silence could stretch too long, Roman answered his own question.
"Do not bother inventing poetic lies. I already know exactly why you joined. You joined because you were starving. You joined because you wanted a warm bed, guaranteed rations, and silver to send home to your impoverished families."
Roman's brutal honesty shocked the men.
"I am a lord of logic, not empty chivalry. So, I will not waste your time with flowery speeches about honor. Master Jessy, read the new military charter."
Bowing deeply, Master Jessy unrolled a massive parchment scroll and began projecting his voice to read the official, codified bylaws of the Harrenhal Standing Army.
The charter meticulously outlined their strict daily training quotas and combat obligations. But more importantly, it detailed their unprecedented compensation package: astronomically high monthly wages, massive tax exemptions for their immediate families, guaranteed combat-disability pensions, and generous retirement land-grants.
House Whent had suffered such a massive decline over the decades that almost all of their sworn, aristocratic vassal knights had died off or abandoned them. In a standard Westerosi feudal economy, lacking a middle-class layer of sworn knights was a crippling military weakness.
But for Roman, this aristocratic void was actually a massive tactical advantage. Without a bloated, arrogant middle class of knights demanding political favors and hoarding the wealth, Roman could inject his massive industrial treasury directly into the pockets of the peasant soldiers.
When Master Jessy finally finished reading the staggering list of benefits, the three hundred cavalrymen stood absolutely dumbfounded. They could not mentally process that a high lord was willingly offering them this level of wealth and security.
Historically, they were nothing but conscripted peasant meat-shields. They had only survived the brutal selection process because the Seven Gods had blessed them with naturally large frames.
But the utopian, modern military benefits Roman was formally guaranteeing them could no longer be attributed simply to the grace of the Seven.
In their eyes, Roman Rivers was the physical embodiment of the Gods walking the earth.
"LONG LIVE LORD ROMAN!!!"
"LONG LIVE HOUSE WHENT!!!"
The soldiers violently drew their sabers, roaring their absolute, fanatical devotion to the sky. The deafening, synchronized battle cry echoed all the way up to the five melted towers of Harrenhal, startling the maids who thought a siege had begun.
Roman raised a gauntleted hand, and the roaring instantly ceased, replaced by absolute, disciplined silence. Roman looked at them, his blue eyes cold and utterly serious.
"Are you willing to swear your lives to this Vanguard?"
"WE SWEAR IT!!!"
"Excellent," Roman nodded. "Since you have sworn your loyalty, I will now dictate exactly how my army behaves in the field."
Roman leaned forward in his saddle, his voice dropping into a lethal, carrying register. "I am providing you with this unprecedented, luxurious wealth for two reasons. First, to ensure your absolute, unbreakable loyalty to House Whent. Second, to ensure that you never, ever feel the need to prey upon the innocent people of my territory."
"Who are you beneath that steel?!" Roman barked, pointing at the front ranks. "Before you wore my armor, you were starving farmers, desperate laborers, and homeless vagrants! Your food, your steel, and your very lives are currently funded entirely by the sweat and blood of the Whent smallfolk! Therefore, you will never forget where you came from. If a single man in this Vanguard dares to steal from, abuse, or extort the common people, I will personally execute you under military law!"
Roman ruthlessly outlined his modern military doctrine: Absolute zero tolerance for looting. Every single supply taken from a village must be paid for in silver. No soldier will ever lay a hand on a civilian man or woman. The army exists strictly to protect and serve the Whent populace.
In the brutal, rape-and-pillage reality of Westerosi warfare, Roman's strict moral requirements were considered insanely harsh and completely unrealistic. But Roman refused to yield a single inch.
"I have made my terms absolutely clear. If any man here finds my discipline too restrictive, you may drop your weapons and leave this courtyard right now. I will not punish you for walking away. But if you stay, and you break my laws... you will face the dragon."
There was no hesitation. No muttering. Not a single soldier broke ranks. Instead, in perfect synchronization, three hundred men violently slammed their mailed fists against their steel breastplates, the concussive crash ringing like thunder.
"Outstanding!" Roman grinned, drawing his own blade. "In that case, ride with me! Let us purge the rats from our lands!"
The heavily armored Vanguard exploded out of the massive gates of Harrenhal, transitioning smoothly into a rapid, thundering gallop.
Roman and Master Jessy rode at the apex of the wedge, the three hundred riders following tightly behind, their hooves tearing down the pristine, paved macadam highway.
Because Roman's new roads completely bypassed the treacherous bogs and muddy forests of the Riverlands, the Whent Vanguard arrived at the targeted, disaster-stricken outer village in less than half a day.
After questioning the terrified village elders, Roman narrowed the bandits' likely location down to a heavily wooded depression on the absolute edge of the Whent border, surrounded by dense shrubs and rocky hills.
It was a perfect, natural ambush point. But the thick brush could not hide them from Roman. Channeling his Pale Flame vision, he easily spotted the massive cluster of chaotic, violent spiritual sparks hiding in the valley below.
The massive bandit coalition was currently resting around their campfires, lazily sharpening their rusted swords and excitedly planning their next raid on the Whent granaries.
Suddenly, they felt the earth beneath their boots begin to violently tremble.
Just as a terrified lookout screamed, "CAVALRY!" Roman crested the ridgeline, leading a terrifying avalanche of charging steel directly down the hill.
Like vengeful gods descending from the heavens, the Harrenhal Vanguard smashed into the disorganized camp. The sheer kinetic shock of the heavy Whent warhorses shattered the bandits' morale instantly. The criminals didn't even attempt to form a defensive spear-wall; they immediately broke and scattered, screaming in pure terror.
But Roman's Vanguard was a highly trained, elite light cavalry unit specifically designed for rapid pursuit and extermination. They easily ran down the fleeing bandits, their curved sabers cleanly severing heads and limbs in the brush. Within minutes, the entire bandit coalition was annihilated.
After confirming the kill count and ordering the Whent soldiers to pile and burn the corpses, Roman immediately led the Vanguard back out on patrol.
Over the next few weeks, Roman's soldiers proved their absolute discipline. They flawlessly adhered to his strict modern military regulations and never once harassed or stole from the civilian populace.
Roman aggressively utilized his cavalry to completely suppress the bandit threat. However, he also utilized their downtime efficiently. If the scouts couldn't locate a bandit camp for a few days, Roman would order the Vanguard to dismount in whatever village they were currently stationed in, forcing the heavily armored soldiers to perform manual labor alongside the peasants.
Roman himself frequently stripped off his armor to help the locals dig irrigation ditches, reinforce stone wells, and lay red brick for new houses.
During these labor rotations, Roman took the opportunity to personally interview the remote villagers about their current living conditions.
"May the Seven bless you endlessly, Lord Roman!" an old woman wept, offering him a bowl of stew. "Our lives are a miracle! Because your tax rate is so low, we actually have surplus grain to trade! We can afford to eat salted meat three times a week now!"
"My lord," a young farmer beamed, pointing to a sturdy new structure. "Thanks to the high wages you paid me during the road construction, I was able to buy enough Whent bricks to build a true, weatherproof home for my family!"
"Thank you, Lord Rivers!" a village elder bowed deeply. "This is the first time in the history of the Riverlands that an army has garrisoned in our village, paid us fairly for our food, and actually helped us repair our walls! You are truly the Father walking among us!"
Throughout this exhausting, bloody pacification campaign, the three hundred Whent cavalrymen were profoundly moved. For the very first time in their lives, they realized that soldiers did not have to be universally hated and feared as monsters. They could actually be universally respected as heroes.
Hearing the tearful, profound gratitude of the smallfolk they were protecting deeply satisfied the soldiers' inherent sense of personal dignity and honor.
Roman had provided them with unimaginable material wealth, but through his strict moral leadership, he had also allowed them to earn the absolute, fanatical love of their people.
To document their legendary campaign, Roman secretly funneled Whent silver to the traveling minstrels, commissioning them to compose epic, heroic ballads specifically detailing the bravery and discipline of the Harrenhal Vanguard.
When the eager bards naturally attempted to make Roman the mythical, god-like protagonist of the songs, Roman firmly refused.
"No," Roman instructed the bards sternly. "This is not a song about high lords and magic. This is their story. Do not let my name steal the glory from the common men who bleed for this land."
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