Forgiveness

"Those two beasts who carried the message! Yes, yes, this old servant failed to look after Lady Suleiman. It was all my fault! All my fault!"

"Where are they?" Suleiman asked.

Old Nicken looked at Suleiman through tearful eyes and said:

"They're still kneeling outside. Ever since they heard you'd returned alive, they've been kneeling in front of the castle in terror. They haven't dared get up."

Suleiman felt a jumble of emotions.

The two farmers hadn't deliberately lied. Besides, they hadn't been wrong: the previous owner really had died.

And, after all, they were living subjects of his, among the few able-bodied men left in his domain.

"Let them in," Suleiman said.

Old Nicken hesitated, but then got up and backed out with a bow.

A moment later, he returned with two farmers dressed in tattered clothes, their faces streaked with dust and tears. They entered trembling with fear.

As soon as they saw Suleiman sitting awake on the bed, they fell to their knees with a thud, their heads nearly touching the floor, their whole bodies shaking.

"Lord Suleiman! Lord Suleiman! We deserve to die! We deserve to die! We passed on the wrong message and caused Lady Suleiman's death!"

One of them cried out, trembling all over, his voice filled with terror.

The other joined in: "Lord Suleiman, spare us! We truly thought at the time that you—that Lord Suleiman had... That's why we... We never meant to deceive you! Please forgive us! Please forgive us!"

Suleiman looked at them, groveling in terror, their whole bodies trembling.

They were among the few able-bodied young men he had left. They were also the capital he had to work with.

Killing them wouldn't bring anything back. It would only leave this impoverished domain even more desolate and ruined, compounding its misery.

He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound firm. "Get up."

The two farmers didn't dare raise their heads. They only kept kowtowing, their bodies trembling.

In modern times, Li Qing had been an ordinary person.

The only leadership role he'd ever held in this life was being the group leader in elementary school, responsible for collecting homework from three groups for the teacher every day. That was the only "official position" on his résumé.

Now, the figures that came to Li Qing's mind were those powerful rulers from movies and television, seated high above everyone else.

"Get up!" Suleiman raised his voice, trying to make it sound authoritative.

"You foolishly passed on the wrong message, causing an irreversible tragedy for my family." Suleiman's voice grew calm. The two men trembled even harder.

Suleiman looked at them, humbled to the point of groveling in the dirt. Their fear was so real he could almost smell it in the air.

"You deserve to be executed!" His voice held no emotion, as if he were passing sentence.

Suleiman watched as their faces instantly drained of color, turning as pale as the dead.

"But you also survived that slaughterhouse for my family's sake." His voice held no emotion, only a matter-of-fact tone.

"You saw with your own eyes the cruelty of the battlefield, and how my father, my two brothers, and your thirteen companions fell.

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.

Then he continued, "What happened to my mother has already happened. What would holding you responsible accomplish? Would it bring the dead back to life?"

"It would only leave an old man without his son, two women without their husbands, and children without their fathers."

At those words, disbelief appeared in the farmers' eyes. They had thought they were as good as dead.

"But from today onward, you are no longer my farmers," Suleiman said, looking at them.

At those words, fear once again appeared in their eyes. They dropped to their knees with another thud, their heads nearly touching the floor.

Trembling and sobbing, they cried, "We are souls on your land. Please don't drive us away! Please don't drive us away! We can't survive with our families if we leave here."

Suleiman stood up and looked down at them.

"Listen!" Suleiman's voice rose, carrying an unquestionable resolve.

"Perhaps you survived for a reason beyond scraping a living from this muddy land." He looked around the humble tower, his voice echoing through the hall.

"My family has withered away, the castle stands empty, and wolves circle outside. I need men."

His voice rang out, deep and powerful, through the hall.

"You witnessed how my father and brothers gave their lives for the honor of our family!"

"Perhaps the Seven guided you to survive!"

"Therefore, I pronounce my judgment!"

He took a few steps forward, his footsteps sharp against the stone.

"Your duties have changed," he said, looking around the somewhat dilapidated castle.

Then he said slowly and in a low voice, "You will be responsible for protecting me and this castle until I no longer need you, or until your lives come to an end!"

The two farmers were utterly stunned. Then disbelief flooded their faces.

To receive their lord's forgiveness after committing such a grave offense—and even to rise from being farmers to become his guards—was an enormous blessing.

They immediately knelt again, this time not out of fear, but gratitude.

"Seven above, we will protect kind and generous Lord Suleiman with our lives!" Tears streamed down their faces.

Suleiman looked at them. At this difficult time, he needed strength and loyalty. He didn't know whether he'd made the right decision. Everything had only just begun.

Suleiman turned to Old Nicken nearby. "Take them away. Find them two decent sets of armor and two weapons. It doesn't matter if they're a little worn. Anything is better than nothing."

"Yes, young Lord Suleiman!" Old Nicken replied excitedly, his gaze brimming with pride.

His young Lord Suleiman had endured tremendous grief and had never received the family's heir's education, yet after waking, he had shouldered the family's responsibilities.

He had shown the decisiveness of a lord, though Old Nicken didn't know whether young Lord Suleiman's mercy was right or wrong.

After Old Nicken took the two farmers away, Suleiman was alone in the room once more.

His body was still weak, but his mind was much clearer.

He looked outside the window. Beneath the gloomy sky, frogs croaked and night birds called. The reeds swayed in the wind with a rustling sound. Somehow, the scene truly brought a sense of calm.

Suddenly, he remembered that the Greyjoy Rebellion was happening now, and that a greater storm would sweep across Westeros Continent ten years later.

The Riverlands lay at the very heart of that storm, a place that no scheme or war could avoid.

Suleiman felt bitter. Although he didn't know the detailed history of this world, he knew that in about ten years, all of Westeros would be plunged into chaos.

And the Riverlands lay right at the heart of the storm, destined to become a battlefield repeatedly fought over and ravaged by every faction.

House Tully, the Lannister family, House Stark, and armies from all sides would sweep back and forth across the Riverlands, burning, looting, and killing. The people of the Riverlands would be driven from their homes, and the land would be littered with corpses.

Their castle, Foulkeep, lay downstream on the Green Fork, near its confluence. It wouldn't escape disaster either.

No matter which side they supported, they would become a thorn in the other factions' sides and be destroyed without mercy.

Ten years from now, this land will become a hellscape. War will destroy everything. The people will be slaughtered to the last, and this tower will be razed to the ground, Suleiman thought.

He knew that with his meager strength, he had no way to protect himself from the coming catastrophe of war.

Flee Westeros? That was even less possible. He had nothing: no ship, no money, no people.

Across the Narrow Sea, a worse fate would await him—he might be sold as a slave.

Throw in his lot with Daenerys? Her rise was too far in the future, her prospects uncertain, and the timing wouldn't work.

Back House Stark and House Tully? They were far from good liege lords, and they would ultimately be defeated.

A minor vassal like him might be no more than an afterthought, casually cut down by The Mountain's forces from the Westerlands as they carried out their plan to ravage the Riverlands.

Throw in his lot with the Westerlands? The Lannister family acted ruthlessly, stopping at nothing to pursue its own interests.

They would use a low-ranking Riverlands noble like him as cannon fodder, sending him to die on the most dangerous front lines, just as they had in the original story.

He looked up at the night sky through the window. His confusion and anxiety were overwhelming. He didn't have much time.

He was just an ordinary person with a formal education, yet he couldn't think of a single thing he'd learned that could be useful here.

He'd often seen protagonists in novels develop and prosper by bringing inventions from another era into their worlds, but he didn't have that kind of ability.

He couldn't invent anything ahead of its time. All he had was a rough memory of Westeros's future history.

"What should I do?" Suleiman murmured.

Outside the window, the night was deep. Frogs croaked, night birds called, and river grass rustled in the wind, as if whispering into Suleiman's ear.

He was alive, with his memories intact and knowledge of the future.

That alone was a miracle. He wasn't empty-handed. With complete memories and knowledge of the future, surely he could find a way forward.

At that moment, the confusion had vanished from Suleiman's eyes. Only a fierce will to survive burned there, along with a trace of ambition he himself didn't even notice.