nownovels Chapter 10: The Home in the Mud and the Cornerstone of Iron Law
Chapter 10: The Home in the Mud and the Cornerstone of Iron Law
Fair City, located in the southern part of Haijiang City, is the lifeblood and vital organ for the flow of goods in the western part of the Hejian region.
As long as your gold coins can make a crisp echo, there's plenty to offer here: from Rhys silk to Northern furs, from bundles of aged rye to enough pig iron to arm a small squad.
In recent days, Fair Market has been shrouded in a less-than-pleasant rumor.
"That down-on-his-luck knight who returned from Braavos found silver upstream on the Blue Fork River?"
Bernard, the largest ironware dealer in Fair City, sneered at his drinking buddies while wiping his cheap dagger with a greasy rag.
"Don't be ridiculous. Look at that steward named Pollifer, he argues with people for ages over buying two bundles of quicklime. With that stingy, penniless look, you can tell his master is about to starve. He himself admitted that the so-called vein was only dug three feet deep before it started seeping water, and now he's selling everything he owns to try and fence off the muddy beach before the downpour to avoid disaster."
"Hey, I heard about that too."
A grain merchant leaned closer in a low voice.
"They bought the worst quality old wheat, even mixed with husks. I think that little knight didn't strike it rich; he's just got the muddy waters of the Blue Fork River in his head. He thinks he can hold off the southern bandits with those worthless stones. He's just waiting to die."
The rumor quickly took hold amidst the smells of tobacco and alcohol in the pub.
This is the result of Pollive perfectly executing Otto's instructions during the procurement process.
As a seasoned accountant, he knew that "concealment" was more likely to save his life than "showing off." He used his naturally unlucky appearance to discreetly distribute the thirty gold dragons that Otto had withdrawn from the secret vault among the poorly managed trade accounts.
In Westeros, a young knight with no connections who suddenly becomes rich is usually swallowed up by the surrounding powerful lords on charges of "illegal mining" or "treason." Only poverty, hardship, and a death throes can protect the lands of Hohenzollern from being targeted by the giants.
Five days later, Blue Fork Valley.
The long summer rains had washed the riverbanks into a muddy mess, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of grass and burnt wood. Accompanied by the dull creak of wooden wheels, a caravan of ten oxcarts swayed and rattled into the still-unclosed stone gate of Hohenzollern territory.
As Pollifer dismounted, his footing lurched violently, nearly plunging into the mud. Ignoring the mud on his face, he hurried to Otto and handed him a bill.
Those hands were still trembling slightly.
That wasn't acting; it was genuine fear. All the way there, he felt like countless eyes were watching the grain from the shadows, no matter how poor he pretended to be.
"My lord... they're all here."
Polliver lowered his voice, a hint of relief at surviving a close call.
"Eighteen hundred pounds of rye, five hundred pounds of salted beans, three barrels of rust-preventing grease, and the quicklime you requested. Every copper star is used wisely."
Otto took the bill, his gaze sweeping over the weary refugees before turning to the caravan that followed behind, the true future of the territory.
A total of one hundred newly recruited refugees.
This new blood was sifted out by Pollive from the dirtiest and most desperate corners of Fair City's lower district. Among them were bankrupt farmers who had lost their homes in the war, three bricklayers forced to flee, and dozens of bachelors willing to risk their lives for a meager meal.
With the addition of the 45 people who had already been trained, the total population of the Hohenzollern territory officially reached 150.
Otto stood on the unfinished, waist-high stone retaining wall, coldly looking down at the trembling newlyweds.
In his mind, a cold-blooded auditing process was in operation.
One hundred and fifty men, seventy-two of whom were able-bodied men. Given Westeros's extremely low productivity, this still-developing land simply couldn't support such a large army. Silver could buy food, but supplies could be cut off at any time by waterways, land routes, noble greed, and merchant betrayal.
Therefore, he cannot turn all able-bodied men into soldiers.
Ultimately, Otto drew a harsh line on the ironclad rule.
Ten full-time members of the Iron Oath Regiment Training Team.
This is the core of the territory's elite force. It consists of five hunters who initially fought alongside him, and five of the strongest, most steadfast, and even somewhat fanatical veterans. They are completely stripped of all productive labor; they do not go down into the well, mix mortar, or move stones. Their sole task is to wear their only old leather armor and follow Otto in all-weather formation drills.
They are future sergeants, the cogs in this war machine, and the only professional force Otto can currently afford to support.
The remaining force consisted of thirty semi-full-time militiamen.
These thirty men were chosen from the fresh blood. Their fate was extremely tough. Every day they had to spend eight hours swinging pickaxes in the cold, damp shallow mines, or carrying heavy foundation stones on stone wall construction sites. Only an hour after sunset, when every fiber of their bodies was protesting, were they allowed to put down their tools, pick up oak round shields and spears, and undergo the training of the instructors in a grueling, maddeningly monotonous thrusting drill.
"We must transform the displaced people into leaders."
Otto coldly gave Poliver his orders.
"The Family Law will be promulgated tomorrow. All those who voluntarily marry will be allocated their own wooden partitions and independent hearths by the estate. Next spring, when the stone walls are joined together, all registered families will receive perpetual tenancy rights to a plot of land."
He looked back.
"If we don't give them a roof over their heads, they're just wild beasts ready to flee at any moment. Only when they feel that this patch of mud is their own will they hold onto my spear tightly when facing a cavalry charge."
Two weeks after the decree was announced, the atmosphere at the camp changed.
The men, who had previously been numb, burst forth with unprecedented energy while moving stones. In just three days, more than a dozen new couples joined the list in Pollifer.
But beneath this prosperity lies an almost perverse process of coordinating military power.
Every evening, in the open space of the nascent stone fortress, forty Iron Oath soldiers would assemble at the sound of a whistle. Otto himself would act as the instructor, mercilessly whipping the soldiers whose movements were distorted with a white ash stick.
"Raise shield! Tuck shoulders! Lower body!"
The ten veteran soldiers in the front row knelt on one knee, slamming their heavy shields into the mud and bracing the back of the shields with their shoulders. The thirty semi-retired strong men in the back row slightly bent their knees, placing their shields on their comrades' backs.
The forty shields instantly meshed together to form a seamless, gray-black wall.
"Ten seconds! Push!"
"drink!"
"Gap! Thrust!"
There was no individual martial prowess, no flashy sword dances. There were only forty long spears thrusting horizontally along the gaps in the shield wall, like mechanical pistons.
Otto didn't want warriors; he wanted a wall of steel that could breathe.
Outside the training ground, the real battlefield had already been quietly prepared by him.
The seemingly natural muddy ground in front of the camp gate had been soaked for three days by Matt and his men. The surface appeared merely damp, but underneath lay soft mud strong enough to swallow a horse's hooves.
In front of the soft mud, there were two shallow trenches, about knee-deep, with gravel and sharpened short wooden stakes at the bottom. The trenches were covered with cut weeds and a thin layer of mud, making them invisible from a distance. Ten paces behind the trenches were the pre-arranged positions of the square formation. Further back were the stone walls and longhouses that had not yet been completed.
Otto did not place his hopes on the soldiers' courage.
Courage may shatter, bones may break, but mud and stakes will not betray.
However, this increasingly stringent defense of the territory eventually attracted real malice.
The sweltering heat of late summer intensifies on the eve of a downpour, and the muggy winds of the Blue Fork Valley begin to carry the damp, heavy smell of earth.
One evening, as the setting sun shone like melting scrap metal, a hunter on guard duty, covered in blood, smashed open the entrance to the stone fortress.
"Sir! The Blackwoods... have crossed the boundary marker! Fifteen rangers, fully armed! They're charging towards us!"
The news was like boiling oil poured into water, instantly igniting the unfinished camp.
"What? The cavalry is here?"
A bricklayer who was laying bricks dropped his shovel on the ground with a clatter, his face turning ashen.
"Gods help us...it's a black crow! They'll burn our houses down!"
The women began to scream, clutching their children and running into the inner fortress longhouse. Cries, curses, and the sounds of things being overturned mingled together, and the once orderly construction site was instantly plunged into the panic typical of civilians.
Pollifer stood behind Oto, cold sweat trickling down his temples and into his collar.
Facing the real Westeros cavalry, the deep-seated class fear still made him breathless.
"Sir... fifteen professional cavalrymen..."
Pollyver stared at the black dot on the distant horizon, his legs trembling uncontrollably.
"They could crush everything if they charged. Should we close the gates and avoid the battle?"
"Avoiding war will only invite more greedy extortion."
Otto's cold gaze made Pollifer feel like a stranger.
"Go, drive the people into the cellars. Don't let them wail and affect morale."
"Shovel, blow the whistle!"
Two sharp, short bone whistles rang out.
The Iron Oath Group, in a state of panic, displayed two completely different attitudes.
Ten veteran soldiers from the training unit were the first to move. Without a word, they silently removed their armor from the weapon rack and helped each other fasten their belts. There was no fear in their eyes, only a cold killing intent.
The thirty part-time militiamen were in a much worse state.
They had just finished working in the mines and on construction sites, their hands still covered in mud and grime. Upon hearing the word "cavalry," some of them felt their legs go weak, and some even couldn't manage to slip their shields onto their wrists.
"Stay calm! Think about your beds! Think about your wives!"
Captain Bob—the strongest man who had previously worked the hardest in the mine—wielded a leather whip and lashed the backside of a militiaman who was trying to back away.
"Grab your spears! Follow the command! Anyone who moves, I'll stab their ass first!"
Under the threat of whips and rations, the thirty farmers stood trembling behind the veteran. Their teeth chattered, and the tips of their spears quivered slightly, but the two weeks of mechanical training had finally paid off.
They could have found their place.
"Iron Oath Regiment, form ranks! Open the gates!"
Otto drew his longsword and led the ragtag group toward the designated mud pit.
"Boom!"
The sound of horses' hooves grew louder as they approached, causing the sticky mud to tremble slightly.
Fifteen Blackwood Rangers, clad in black robes and bearing the raven emblem on their chests, arrogantly trampled Matt's freshly turned oat field before reining in their horses fifty paces from the camp gate.
They were not heavily armored knights in full plate armor, but rather border cavalry. They wore chainmail, carried longswords and short spears, and were skilled at hunting and raiding, but lacked the heavy armor and long spears required for a full charge of heavy cavalry.
Leading the group was a burly Blackwood knight named Seri. His bloodshot eyes first swept over the stone wall under construction, finally settling on Otto's face in front of the shield wall.
When he saw the defensive formation on the other side, he was stunned for a moment, then burst into wild laughter.
"Hahaha! I thought there was some kind of sturdy castle built here, but it's just a pile of stones!"
Seri, mounted on his horse, looked down at Otto, his whip flashing in the air.
"I heard a lucky knight came here and dug up some silver. I didn't believe it at first, but seeing that you've hired such a bunch of mud-covered bastards as guards, it seems there really is a lot of silver in that puddle."
The rangers joined in the laughter.
In their eyes, these fifteen riders only needed one charge to smash through the shield wall in front of them, which was so poorly equipped that it could not even be properly armored.
Otto gripped the scabbard in his left hand, his gaze calm as still water. He completely ignored the provocation, calculating only the wind direction, the softness of the ground, and the horses' positions in his mind.
"According to the decree of the Earl of Haijiang City, this area is under the administration of the Hohenzollern territory."
Otto's voice was icy.
"You have trampled my long summer oats. Knight, is this the etiquette of the Blackwood family?"
"Etiquette? To hell with etiquette!"
Seri's tone suddenly turned fierce, and he abruptly drew his longsword, the tip pointing at Otto.
"I'll give you a chance to set the rules. Pay five pounds of crude silver every day as a border tax. In exchange, Black Crow Banner will guarantee that you poor refugees won't have your throats slit by bandits. Otherwise, I'll tear down your crumbling walls and trample you and your mud-covered comrades into the silt of the Blue Fork River to fill the pits!"
This is Westeros-style geopolitical bullying.
There was no disguise, only naked extortion using force.
Otto did not fly into a rage; he merely tilted his head slightly.
Standing at the back of the square formation, Poliver still felt his bladder contracting, but he read a terrible signal in Otto's expressionless profile.
He knew that if he lost this battle, everything here would turn to ashes.
But if they win, the opposing horse becomes the most scarce strategic resource in the territory.
“Since the Black Crows think our stone wall is blocking their way,” Otto said in a cold voice, “then we’ll teach them what the rules are in this valley.”
He raised his longsword high, then brought it down with a mighty slash, shattering the last rays of the setting sun.
"Shield Wall! Stand up!"
"drink!"
Forty soldiers roared in unison.
The ten veteran soldiers of the training team had vicious eyes, and their heavy shields slammed shut; the thirty militiamen, though their faces were ashen, were held in place by the veterans' backs, and their spears thrust out from the gaps.
The long summer sun sinks below the horizon.
The first real battle in the Hohenzollern territory began with a thunderous crash, amidst the clash of mud and steel.