Ironborn

When he entered the tent, Suleiman saw Lord Raymun Darry seated in the place of honor, with Ser Ronald standing nearby.

Their gazes met.

Raymun Darry had long brown hair and a handsome face. Though he was not tall, he looked powerful.

His eyes were no different from anyone else's, and at that moment they stared straight at Suleiman.

Yet Suleiman seemed to feel an invisible pressure. Under that penetrating gaze, it was as if Raymun meant to see right through him.

Just as Suleiman was about to buckle under the relentless scrutiny and offer his most "sincere apology" for fleecing the lord—

Ser Ronald saw how nervously he was acting and hurriedly said,

"Lord Suleiman, there's no need to be nervous. Lord Raymun only wants to ask you about the Ironborn, so he can be prepared."

So he only wanted to ask about the Ironborn?! Damn! He could've said so earlier! I knew a great lord like him wouldn't care about being fleeced!

Raymun Darry's gaze remained fixed on Suleiman, now tinged with curiosity.

"Your father and brothers all died in battle?"

Suleiman didn't understand why he was asking.

What did Lord Raymun want to know that for?

He had never met this lord before and couldn't guess what he was getting at.

Still, he answered respectfully. "Yes, Lord Raymun."

Raymun Darry didn't press him further. He merely lowered his head slightly, lost in thought, as if recalling something.

The atmosphere in the tent grew awkward.

Seeing the way things stood, Ser Ronald of Fruitwood hurried to interject, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

He sounded puzzled and surprised as he said, "I heard you went to battle too—and nearly died? But you're only sixteen!"

Ronald had never heard of a noble family sending every male member to war without leaving a single one behind. It was downright foolish!

He understood Ser Ronald's thinking. It certainly wasn't how the nobles of Westeros Continent usually ensured their bloodlines would continue.

But his father had stood by his own principles.

"Even a ten-year-old boy can pick up a weapon and hurt someone."

"When my father swore fealty to Lord Deddings, he took an oath."

"By the Seven, whenever our lord calls, every member of our family able to wield a sword will answer—even if it means our bloodline is extinguished."

Suleiman pressed his lips together slightly.

"My family has no great cultural heritage. This oath of fealty has been passed down from my ancestors. Its words may be plain, but to us, it weighs as heavily as a mountain."

"What kind of men were your father and brothers?" Raymun Darry suddenly cut in again, interrupting Suleiman's explanation of the oath.

His gaze seemed to peer through Suleiman's eyes, searching for those who had already passed away.

"Ah, they were good men, my lord," Suleiman replied briefly.

He didn't want to discuss it any further. He barely knew House Darry, and the subject had nothing to do with what they were discussing.

All he wanted was to get the conversation back to the real topic: the Ironborn, the war, and the information he could provide.

Ser Ronald seemed to notice that Suleiman didn't want to talk about it.

He cleared his throat twice, then took over at the right moment. "Lord Suleiman, you've been traveling with us for some time now. I'm sure you've had a chance to observe the soldiers of Darry. In your opinion, how do our soldiers compare with the Ironborn?"

Ronald's meaning was clear.

Suleiman fell silent for a moment, then looked at Raymun Darry.

"Does Lord Raymun want to hear the truth?"

A hint of interest appeared on Raymun Darry's face.

He asked with amusement, "Oh?"

Suleiman's mouth twitched as he forced out a sunny smile. "Every one of your men could take on ten Ironborn. They see them as little more than pigs, dogs, cattle, and sheep. They're just waiting for your order to slaughter them to the last man."

The claim was absurdly exaggerated, full of the kind of boasting that came before a battle.

Ser Ronald's expression had already begun to darken.

Raymun Darry watched Suleiman in silence, his eyes seeming to say, I know that's a lie.

The smile faded from Suleiman's face, and his tone turned calm and cold.

"The truth is, the soldiers of Darry are outnumbered ten to one by the Ironborn—and treated like pigs, dogs, cattle, and sheep!"

He said no more, simply watching the two nobles before him.

"Nonsense!" Ser Ronald slammed his hand on the table and shouted.

His face was flushed with anger, his mustache trembling slightly.

He suddenly felt that asking his lord to consult a sixteen-year-old boy was the stupidest thing he'd ever done!

What could a sixteen-year-old boy know about real war?

Suleiman only pursed his lips a little and didn't argue, as if to say, See? I knew you'd say that.

Raymun Darry ignored Ser Ronald's anger, keeping his gaze fixed on Suleiman.

Surprised, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

He wanted to know what the young man's judgment was based on.

"My lord!" Ser Ronald tried to stop him again.

"Let him speak!" Raymun Darry raised a hand to silence Ronald.

Then he looked back at Suleiman, gesturing for him to continue.

Suleiman knew he had to explain himself now.

Rather than answer directly, he decided to start with the most fundamental question.

A question about the nature of armies: why fight? What did they fight for?

"How many men are in your army, my lord?" he asked.

Raymun Darry didn't answer directly. Instead, he looked toward Ser Ronald.

Though Ronald was angry, he had to respond to his lord's look.

He glared at Suleiman as if he wanted to kill the boy for his reckless words!

Then he looked at Suleiman with pride and said slowly, "We have more than four hundred light infantrymen, over a hundred heavy infantrymen, and more than thirty knights!"

To muster so many soldiers when summoned by their liege was proof of considerable loyalty.

He was furious, and planned to wait for Suleiman to spout some more nonsense so he could refute it at once.

Suleiman heard the numbers without the slightest change in expression.

He didn't comment on their size. Instead, he looked Ser Ronald in the eye and asked a very simple question.

"How many of them know why they're fighting—and what they're fighting for?"

Ser Ronald was taken aback. He clearly hadn't expected the boy to ask such a baffling question. Then he straightened up and turned toward Raymun Darry.

He lifted his head and declared proudly, "My lord! The soldiers of Darry are all men willing to fight and die for House Darry!"

Suleiman looked at Ser Ronald of Fruitwood, who spoke with such certainty and seemed so pleased with himself, and felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment.

What a shameless old bastard! he grumbled to himself.

But he knew the worst thing at a moment like this was to be shameless. He had to say something more convincing.

He took a deep breath, grumbling inwardly, but his tone had settled. His smile returned, and he looked at Ser Ronald with a hint of amusement.

"Really, Lord Ronald?"