nownovels Chapter 25: The Legal Noose and the Snow-White Rebirth
Chapter 25: The Legal Noose and the Snow-White Rebirth
In the study of the main castle of Raventree City, an ancient fortress, the air is perpetually filled with the smell of old parchment mixed with dried weirwood.
Outside the window, the massive, ancient weirwood tree, resembling the skeleton of a strange beast, casts its gnarled shadows onto the rough stone floor. Earl Tetos Blackwood sits in a large, high-backed chair carved from black ancient oak, with three secret reports delivered by different ravens spread out on the table before him.
As the patriarch of an ancient family that has stood in the Riverlands for thousands of years, Tethos's weathered face showed no contempt at this moment, only a coldness and solemnity as deep as a still pool.
"Timber, patrol boats, and 150 pounds of provisions every day." Tytus's voice was hoarse as his fingers slowly tapped on the secret reports.
The Knight Brynden, standing before the desk, lowered his head and reported, "My lord, Raymond Frey is spreading rumors in the taverns along the Green Fork that the lands of Hohenzollern are buying hardwoods over thirty years old at any cost. Our garrison is very nervous, believing that the lad is preparing to build battering rams and ladders to storm our palisades. Small-scale mutinies have already emerged among the lower ranks due to the long summer heat and the ongoing standoff."
"Siege engines?" Tethos let out a hoarse, cold laugh. "Brynden, you've been fooled by a greenhorn—no, now I should say, by a wolf cub that's already grown its fangs."
Tethos stood up and walked to the window. Sixteen months had passed since Otto Hohenzollern arrived at the Blue Fork with that absurd decree for clearing the land. In Tethos's memory, the seventeen-year-old orphan struggling to survive among the feudal lords was now nineteen. To have survived a year and a half in this chaotic, besieged land, and to have successfully won over the Frey family, was no mere brute who would use a few dozen militiamen to storm a wooden palisade.
"He's using intelligence to create a false sense of oppression." Tetos turned around, his gaze piercing. "He formed a square formation on the docks, intimidating Raymond with a ten-second rhythm, turning the Frey family's patrol boats into his free waterborne Great Wall. He spread rumors on land about buying long timber to force me to continue sending more soldiers and supplies into that dilapidated fence. He's buying timber not to build siege towers, but to build winter shelters for his two hundred-odd mouths!"
Sir Brynden suddenly realized, then broke out in a cold sweat: "My lord, what about our daily ration consumption of 150 pounds at the outpost...?"
"He's bleeding me dry! He's using an unfinished stone tower that can't even move to drain Raventree City's treasury!"
Tethos decisively waved his hand and issued the order: "Immediately order the dismantling of the wooden palisades and the withdrawal of everyone to the regular defensive line at the border of Raventree City. Don't waste any more time with him in this muddy mess."
Just as Brynden was about to turn away, Tethos called him back. A venomous glint flashed in the old lord's eyes.
"Since he's become an impenetrable hedgehog in terms of physical defenses, let's skin him up in a different way. In Westeros, some high walls can't be pierced with spears, but with parchment and the Duke's seal."
Tethos returned to his desk and spread out an expensive sheet of thick parchment bearing the emblem of the Raven Clan. His quill, laden with ink, screeched across the paper.
"I am submitting a formal impeachment petition to Lord Horst Tully of Riverrun. I accuse Otto Hohenzollern, as acting lord, of constructing a fortress with military functions without the permission of his lord and the duke—a grave offense of 'building a false fortress.' I also accuse him of bribing the Frey family with illegally mined minerals, violating the geopolitical laws of the Riverlands, and overstepping his authority by recruiting a displaced force far exceeding his baronial rank."
Tethos dripped hot red sealing wax onto the envelope and stamped it with the raven seal.
In the feudal laws of the Seven Kingdoms, "false fortification" was a capital offense punishable by death for any lord. Once the Duke of Tully's envoy arrived with the demolition order, Otto had only two choices: either watch helplessly as his painstakingly built defenses were torn down, turning him into a lamb to the slaughter, or openly defy the order, thus legally becoming a "rebel" who could be legally exterminated throughout the Riverlands.
"Let Jason Mellist worry about it." Tethos coldly handed the letter to his attendant. "Once the Riverrun delegation arrives, I'll see if Seafront City will continue to protect this monster."
Fifty miles away, in the Blue Fork Valley, in the territory of Hohenzollern.
The scorching summer sun, like a vicious furnace, baked the valley until it was almost distorted. And near the lime kilns on the north slope, the temperature was even more suffocating.
Nineteen-year-old Otto Hohenzollern stood in the shadows a dozen paces from the kiln entrance. A year of high-pressure border control, the threat of famine, and the near-fatal assassination attempt had completely worn away any trace of youthful innocence from his face. His physique, honed by a long-term diet of coarse grains and intense physical exertion, resembled a taut, rigid bow; an old scar on his left shoulder bulged beneath his linen clothing, making his left hand movements slightly stiff, but this stiffness only added to his indescribable somber and oppressive aura.
At this moment, his grey-blue eyes were fixed intently on the row of specially made, enormous earthenware urns in front of him. The air was filled with the pungent smell of quicklime and a strange, salty odor.
"Sir, the fourth filtration is complete."
Cole, the one-eyed blacksmith, wiped his face, which was covered in black ash and white dust; his single eye now shone eerily. He used a thick piece of cowhide to cushion his hand as he lifted a flat pottery plate from the pottery bed, which was being baked using the residual heat of the lime kiln.
The ceramic plate contained a layer of fine, sand-like, crystal-clear material. Reflected by sunlight, these crystals emitted a dazzling, snow-white hue, pure and without a trace of impurity.
This is the second path to survival that Otto painstakingly carved out in this deadly game of chess—refined salt.
"The Blue Fork River is low-lying in this section, and the river water slightly meets the underground salt layer. The coarse salt that I had Raymond bring back was just a 'catalyst' to deceive people." Otto picked up a small pinch of white crystals with his slender fingers and put it in his mouth.
The purest saltiness explodes on the tongue instantly, without bitter magnesium ions or a pungent, gritty feeling.
"Master Cole, report on the process losses." Otto turned to look at the blacksmith.
"Sir," Cole said, his voice tinged with the fervor of a craftsman, "we use the waste heat from the lime kiln to boil the brine, requiring almost no extra firewood. We mix coarse salt with river water and pour in a measured amount of quicklime. The lime settles the toxins and bitter impurities in the water into sediment. Then we filter it three times with linen and crushed charcoal, and finally boil it over a low flame to crystallize it. Ten pounds of dirty, coarse black salt can be purified into about six pounds of fine white salt!"
The clerk, Pollifer, who had been standing behind Oto with a recorder in hand, was now breathing heavily.
“My lord,” Pollifer said, opening the parchment, “I can do the math right away if you allow me.” “The coarse salt Raymond bought, with his kickback, cost about two copper coins per pound. But in the spice shops of Fairmarket, this fine white salt sells for a silver deer a pound! That’s dozens of times the profit! The profits here… are even more appalling than our thirty percent share of silver!”
Silver mines are fixed, and most of the profits are handed over to the lords and the Frey family. If the silver supply were cut off, this camp of over 280 people would immediately collapse due to lack of food. But refined salt is different; as long as the Blue Fork River flows and the lime kilns continue to burn, it is a continuous source of wealth.
However, Otto showed no sign of elation. His nineteen-year-old face bore only a calculated indifference.
"Not for sale, but for 'buying lives'." Otto's eyes were terrifyingly deep. "Set aside one hundred pounds of refined salt and have Damon Rivers use his smuggling speedboat to deliver it to Seafront City overnight. Tell Earl Jason Mellist that this was an 'accidental' byproduct discovered in the Hohenzollern territory. Half of the net profit from this salt deal will be distributed in his personal name to several powerful barons around Seafront City."
Pollifer was stunned: "My lord, you're going to distribute such a huge fortune... directly to those completely unrelated barons?"
“This isn’t distribution, this is ‘bundling’,” Otto sneered. “Tethos Blackwood withdrew the palisade troops on the land. He’s not admitting defeat; he’s gone to Riverrun to badmouth me. The charge of ‘building a false fortress’ will soon be pinned on me. When Riverrun’s envoy arrives, if the barons around Seafront discover they support me, they can reap huge profits from refined salt; once I’m hanged, that source of income will be cut off. Do you think they’ll desperately pressure Earl Jason to legitimize my stone tower as a ‘border outpost against the Ironborn’ in the name of Seafront before Duke Tully?”
By weaving an unbreakable web of legal principles with shared interests, Otto's defensive strategy against the overwhelming power of higher dimensions was truly effective.
To complement this soft net, the territory's hard defenses are undergoing a brutal reconstruction.
When Otto arrived at the training ground, the air was filled with the sickening crack of whips.
"First team! Veterans, advance! Stack your shields!"
Amidst the roar of the Northern Instructor Toren, the thirty-seven-man formation was conducting an unconventional tactical exercise.
The square formation was no longer the traditional straight line. At Otto's instruction, twelve veterans of the Iron Oath, clad in chainmail and battle-hardened, were piled up on the far left flank of the square, their shields reaching an astonishing four layers in thickness; while the remaining twenty-five militiamen were sparsely arranged on the right flank, deliberately dragging back in formation to form a sloping, stepped line.
This is a "suppression-oriented formation" that Otto forced out of the muddy ground due to the scarcity of military assets in his territory.
In Otto's calculations, he only had twelve battle-hardened hammers. If he laid out his less than forty men in a straight line, the defensive line would be torn apart like paper in an instant when faced with an enemy charge.
"Given our overall numerical disadvantage, do not pursue a full-scale defense." Otto stepped to the front lines, his icy voice piercing the noise of the drill ground. "Pile all twelve veterans on the left flank. The moment we make contact with the enemy, the left flank will be a heavy iron hammer. I want you to smash through their weakest right flank within three breaths! As for the remaining militia—"
Otto looked at the new recruits who were trembling and lined up at the back of the ranks.
"Right-wing militia, you don't need to kill the enemy, just follow the rhythm of the water clock. While your brothers fight ahead, you must hold your ground. As long as you don't panic and maintain the pressure of your shields, buy us five more breaths, and the veterans on the left wing will be able to complete their infiltration."
To support this inhumane formation, Otto officially implemented the "decimal system".
The twelve veterans were no longer just killing machines; they had been officially promoted to sergeants in this miniature army. Each of them was responsible for keeping a close watch on the two militiamen next to them.
"If any recruits on the right flank dare to break the rhythm and charge or retreat," Otto drew his longsword and tapped the helmet of a veteran with the back of the blade, "I won't kill that deserter. I'll just cut off the head of the squadron leader."
The system of collective punishment, coupled with tedious rhythmic training, is completely transforming these thirty-seven people into a deformed but deadly killing machine.
"My lord." Pollifer strode over from a distance, carrying the latest camp briefing.
"The first batch of boundary markers for the thatched huts behind the drainage ditch have been driven in, and six labor groups have completed their mud-walled shacks. The displaced people are in a very stable mood. In order to keep those 'houses' that belong to them, they now even take the initiative to go to the lime kiln every morning to line up for disinfectant to paint the walls."
Otto looked at the few rough shacks with smoke rising from their chimneys in the distance, and then glanced at the diagonal square formation on the drill ground that was slowly advancing to the beat.
Silver flows underground, refined salt solidifies in the kiln fire, refugees take root on the land, and veterans raise their spears in formation.
As this long summer draws to a close, this muddy camp, which should have been reduced to ashes in the infighting among the feudal lords, has quietly completed a deep internal cycle.
"Have Cole speed things up and move those two 'Scorpion' heavy crossbows to the top of the stone tower." Otto looked up, gazing southwest towards Riverrun, his eyes deep. "Prepare to welcome our guests. Duke Horst Tully's envoy will soon be here to teach us the customs of the Riverlands."