Walter. Hean glanced at everything in front of him coldly.
He forced himself to calm down and tightened his grip on the reins.
"If you are here to suppress us, Lord Suleiman, then I can only blow the horn."
His voice sounded a little hoarse amid the din.
"We fight to the death, but this will make our friends bleed and our enemies happy."
"I hope you don't do this."
Suleiman responded to him, his voice as calm as a pool of ice water.
"If I want to suppress you."
"When you, an old beast, walk up to my team like a pig and show off your power."
"I've already asked someone to shoot you."
Suleiman raised his hand and waved it back slightly.
Among the ragged crowd behind him, dozens of people suddenly stood up.
They lifted up their tattered cloaks, revealing the tight bowstrings underneath.
The black arrows glowed coldly in the sunlight, all aimed at Walter. Hean and several lords behind him.
Walter. Hean's face instantly turned pale.
Several lords behind him let out suppressed exclamations, and the war horses took half a step back uneasily.
Cold sweat seeped from their foreheads and soaked the linings of their helmets.
Only then did they discover that such a deadly killer was hiding in the seemingly ragtag group of Poor Fellows.
What shocked them even more was Suleiman's unabashed murderous intent.
He did not talk about the tacit understanding and rules between nobles at all.
He planned to sneak attack and kill these commanders during the speaking period before the formation.
Then take advantage of the chaos and destroy their army in one fell swoop.
Shameless, despicable, but damn effective.
Walter. Hean's heart beat wildly.
He has no doubt that what Suleiman said is true.
This young man can really do this kind of thing.
But he didn't.
Walter. Hean looked back behind him.
The soldiers who once belonged to them were looking at them with complicated eyes.
The commotion in the team still continued. Although it had subsided a little, the undercurrent of fanaticism did not disappear. Instead, it became more intense in the dark.
Suleiman is right.
Once a war breaks out, some troops on your side will definitely defect.
Regardless of the final outcome, the nobles of House Whent and East Riverlands will suffer heavy losses.
If you lose your troops before taking action, great disaster will happen in front of you.
Walter. Hean's tense shoulders slumped.
The last trace of struggle in his eyes was extinguished.
The old man sighed heavily, as if all the strength in his body had been taken away from him.
He turned over and dismounted, took off his helmet, and held it in his arms. His gray hair was scattered in the wind, and the heavy armor kept making loud clanging sounds.
"Suleiman-sama."
When he spoke, the arrogance from before was no longer in his voice.
"Let's talk."
"I only hope that you can lead this army and march into King's Landing."
Suleiman looked at him with no expression on his face.
He drove the horse forward, and the horse's hoofs stepped on the withered grass, making a rustling sound.
Until it stopped in front of Walter. Hean, and then turned over and dismounted.
Suleiman did not speak, but slowly, finger by finger, took off the leather gloves on his hands.
He threw his gloves to the guard behind him and walked slowly towards Walter. Hean.
Walter. Hean looked at him approaching and felt an unprecedented pressure.
Suleiman stood still in front of him.
"Kneel down."
Suleiman spoke, the voice was not loud, but it was so heavy that it echoed in the ears of Walter. Hean.
"Walter. Hean."
Walter. Hean's body froze.
He raised his head and looked at Suleiman in disbelief.
Let him kneel down in front of the soldiers of both armies.
In front of all Riverlands vassals.
This hurt him even more than killing him.
He was silent, his lips trembling with humiliation.
There was deathly silence all around, and everyone's eyes were focused here.
Time seems to have frozen.
Finally, Walter. Hean's knees went weak.
He knelt down on one knee.
His knees hit the hard ground, making a dull sound.
This is already his limit.
As the lord of a Riverlands noble family and the prince of Harrenhal, he tried to retain the last dignity for himself.
Suleiman lowered his eyes and looked at him.
"Lower."
Walter. Hean raised his head sharply, anger bursting out of his eyes.
But what he saw was Suleiman's emotionless eyes.
There was no mockery or pride in those eyes, only a cold killing intent.
It was as if he was not ordering a noble noble, but scolding a hound.
Walter. Hean's anger was extinguished.
He felt chilled to the bone.
His other leg also bent down.
Kneel down on the ground.
He lowered his head deeply, and his gray hair fell down, covering his humiliated face.
Suleiman looked past him, towards the stunned East Riverlands lords behind him, and towards the commotion of the army.
When he spoke, his voice seemed to spread across the entire plain.
"I am the owner of Riverlands."
"With or without Iron Throne."
"With or without Robert. Baratheon."
"With or without a title."
The moment he finished speaking, he raised the riding crop in his hand.
"Pah!"
The riding crop made a sound as it struck Walter. Hean hard.
Even the sophisticated armor could not completely offset the force. Walter. Hean let out a muffled groan and his body shook violently.
"Pah!"
The second whip followed, hitting the side of his face.
Walter. Hean could no longer hold on, and his whole body fell to the ground, covered in dust.
The whole plain was dead silent.
Everyone was stunned by this scene.
East Riverlands's lords' faces were pale and their hands and feet were cold.
Suleiman declared his rule to everyone in the most direct and brutal way.
He doesn't need negotiations, he doesn't need allies, he just needs to obey.
Dead silence lasted for several seconds.
Then, a burst of fanatical cheers broke out from Poor Fellows behind Suleiman.
"Seven is on top!"
"Suleiman!"
"Sword of the Seven!"
The cheers spread quickly like a prairie fire Wildfire.
In the army of Walter. Hean, those soldiers who originally had their hearts set on Suleiman also started shouting.
They threw down their weapons and raised their arms.
"Suleiman!"
"Suleiman!"
"Suleiman!"
A roar like a tsunami echoed through the sky.
The boundaries between the two military formations completely collapsed.
People knew that the battle was not going to happen.
The soldiers, the farmers, the Smiths, they were laughing and shouting, rushing towards each other like a flood that broke a bank.
They are no longer enemies, no longer opposing armies, but Riverlands people born in this land.
Like long-lost brothers, they hugged each other and slapped each other on the back.
Flags were thrown to the ground, spears were leaned together, and shields were used as makeshift drinking tables.
People shared the ale in the water bladders, shared the dry bread, and shared the joy of surviving the disaster.
Tears of joy flowed down their weathered faces.
Kole. Hewen walked into the military tent of Suleiman.
His gnarled legs made no dragging sound on the felt floor.
The tent was filled with parchment, ink and a faint murderous aura.
Several Suwei officers were discussing in low voices around a huge map table.
When I saw him coming in, I immediately closed my mouth, bowed to Suleiman, and then walked out.
Kole. Hewen looked at the owner of the tent and bowed.
Suleiman is sitting behind a marching table, wiping the Valyria sword in his hand, his movements focused and slow.
The voice of Kole. Hewen broke the silence in the tent.
"My lord, it turns out that you have seen through their conspiracy a long time ago."
He walked to the map table and looked at the army posture marked on it with the chess pieces represented by different families.
"They originally planned to wait for you to enter the camp, then detain you and turn you into a puppet at the mercy of others."
"Get the governor's recognition and the church's support."
Kole. Hewen's face showed sincere admiration.
"It turns out that you have already sent people to find those Poor Fellows nearby."
"In the matchup, build up momentum and put pressure on Lords of East Riverlands."
"Then use your reputation in West Riverlands's army to dismantle them without any bloodshed."
He looked at Suleiman.
"But now, you have taken control of this army."
"What are you waiting for?"
"With every passing minute, the situation becomes more unfavorable to you."
Suleiman did not raise his head, but still wiped the Valyria sword in his hand with a soft cloth.
There was no blood on it, and it was as bright as new.
Kole. Hewen did not wait for an answer, he continued speaking on his own.
"When I was young, I spent some time at Gulltown."
"The tax officer there is a very interesting person. He told me a theory."
Kole. Hewen's eyes became a little distant, as if he was recalling a past event.
"He said that in a life-and-death game about power, once you choose to surrender, you are acquiescing to your own death."
"You can't place your hopes on the other person's kindness, your feelings, or your loyalty."
"Because when you hand the sword to the other person, whether he will stab you in the heart only depends on his thoughts, not yours."
"If you need to make a choice, there are really only three options."
He held out a finger.
"First, surrender and admit defeat."
"Now go to Iron Islands alone, kneel before Robert. Baratheon, kiss his boots, explain everything to him, and ask to resign as governor for Lymond. Lychester."
"In this way, the other party wins, because your life is only between one sentence of Robert. Baratheon."
He held out a second finger.
"Second, refuse."
"Refuse to go to Iron Islands. If you refuse, you may be ordered to surrender your position as governor. In this case, you will raise an army to resist."
"You will face the wrath of the entire kingdom until your death."
He extended a third finger.
"Third, you have some ability that forces the other party to forgive you."
"For example, you hold power that he cannot lose, or you are rich in money, or you know one of his fatal weaknesses."
"Obviously, my lord, you can now only decide between the first and second options."
Kole. Hewen smiled.
"That game theory is interesting."
"That tax collector is now Lord Master of Coin, Petyr. Baelish of the current kingdom."
Suleiman stopped wiping his sword.
He finally raised his head, with no trace of emotion in his black eyes.
"So, the person behind you is Littlefinger?"
Kole. Hewen shook his head, the smile on his face remained.
"Not so."
"Walter. Hean is a fool. Those lords of East Riverlands are also a bunch of fools living in old dreams."
"They still deeply love the "true dragon" Rhaegar. Targaryen who threw away the entire dynasty for a woman."
He let out a contemptuous laugh.
"They believed the story of an unknown person, a conspirator who didn't even want to show who he was."
"The man told them that as long as they lead their troops into King's Landing, House Tyrell of Highgarden and Dornish of Sunspear, they will immediately raise troops to respond."
"There is also a powerful mercenary force of tens of thousands who will land on Westeros from the other side of the Narrow Sea to help them restore Targaryen."
Suleiman listened quietly without interrupting.
Kole. Hewen's tone became cold.
"Obviously, this is a scam."
"The other party's purpose is just to hope for these idiots East Riverlands."
"Like robbers and bandits, attack and destroy Crownlands and Stormlands, turning the rule of the Baratheon Dynasty upside down."
"Even if they are suppressed in the end and hanged on their own castle, it doesn't matter."
"As long as Baratheon Dynasty is seriously injured by this, those conspirators hiding in the dark can carry out his real plan calmly."
Suleiman's eyes fell back on Valyria's steel sword. He flicked the blade lightly with his fingertips, making a clear buzzing sound.
"In that case."
"Why are you still trying to persuade me to start an army?"
Kole. Hewen crossed his legs, took two steps forward, and approached Suleiman's table.
He looked directly into Suleiman's eyes, a strange light burning in those gray eyes.
"Because human beings are gamblers by nature."
"Sir, we have been gambling from the moment we were born."
"Bet that you can survive the long winter, bet on next season's harvest, bet that you won't be hit by rocks falling from the sky when you go out."
"If you don't bet, you are betting that you will lose."
He paused, his voice lowered, full of confusion.
"And I think that if you were my lord, you might be able to win the bet."
"That's why I will help Walter. Hean complete this stupid plan and connect with Riverlords of the Riverlands."
There was a brief silence in the tent, with only the flame of the oil lamp dancing gently.
Kole. Hewen continued to speak, breaking the silence.
"As for who the conspirator behind it is, what does it matter?"
"He wants to see the kingdom fall into chaos, stalemate, Seven Kingdoms chaos."
"And you, if you want to keep your position, must win and end the war."
"You are weak, but Baratheon is strong."
"So, as long as you raise your troops, your interests will be the same in this war."
"You are natural friends, not enemies.
Kole. Hewen's eyes are burning.
"So, my lord."
He leaned forward slightly and asked word by word.
"What on earth are you waiting for?"
Suleiman has no answer.
He stood up and put the Valyria sword back into its sheath.
He turned his back and walked towards the huge map.
There was a faint commotion outside the tent.
The cheers of the soldiers, the orders of the officers, and the neighing of the horses.
Suleiman's finger slowly moved across the map, from Harrenhal, to King's Landing, and then to Storm's End.
"Play chess."
He spoke, his voice calm and clear.
"It's just so that people can't see where your next step is going to be."