One night passed.
The dim light of the morning light pierced the smoke, and the originally green plain was dyed with blood.
Countless human and horse corpses were scattered on the ground, along with broken flags and broken weapons.
Crows circled low in the sky, making hoarse cries.
Suleiman stood among the mountains of corpses. The soil under his feet had long been soaked with blood, making it muddy and sticky.
The night wind blew away most of the smoke, but the smell of blood still persisted in the nose.
Rosso Brune walked up to him, covered in blood.
He stayed up all night, his eyes were bloodshot and his voice was hoarse.
"Sir, why don't we give chase?"
The people of "The Westerlands" have been dispersed. They saw with their own eyes that the body of "Tywin. Lannister" was divided...
Suleiman didn't look back, still looking into the distance, and interrupted him.
"If Tywin. Lannister is dead, I will let you pursue them."
His voice was so calm that there was no wave.
"But he's not dead."
"Then you can't chase."
Suleiman has no explanation.
Rosso Brune was stunned. He wanted to say something, but in the end he said nothing.
Your Excellency's judgment never seems to be wrong.
Suleiman turned around, no longer paying attention to Rosso Brune's confusion, and looked at the excited Kole. Hewen.
"You go to Highgarden."
Kole. Hewen nodded, he understood the weight of this task.
Suleiman looked towards the south.
He estimated that House Tyrell would not bet easily.
The unexpected result of War of the Usurper made these the Reach roses extremely cautious when placing bets.
Rhaegar. Targaryen, that idiot created a miracle with his own hands.
In that war, Usurper originally had a slim chance of winning.
His Royal Highness turned a counter-insurgency war that was supposed to lay the foundation for himself and crown him king into an epic failure that ruined the entire dynasty.
"I am willing to convince you House Tyrell."
Kole. Hewen spoke, interrupting Suleiman's thoughts.
He turned around and walked towards his horse, where several knights were already waiting.
"Wait."
Suleiman stopped him.
"Give me that."
Kole. Hewen After a pause, he took out a roll of parchment wrapped in oilcloth from the lining of the armor on his chest.
Suleiman took the roll of parchment with a voice as cold as iron.
"I will have Viserys. Targaryen sign this sale agreement."
"Use it in exchange for Iron Bank's support."
A clear smile appeared on Kole. Hewen's face. There was appreciation and tacit understanding between similar people in that smile.
"Master Suleiman, welcome to join."
After he finished speaking, he got on his horse without stopping for a moment.
The sound of horse hooves galloped away and soon disappeared into the skyline.
Suleiman's eyes returned to the two people beside him.
Bryn is like a sculpture, silent, but his burly body exudes a terrifying murderous aura, and the long sword in his hand is still dripping with blood.
Rosso Brune frowned, he didn't like this illegitimate child.
"I don't trust this person."
Suleiman spoke slowly, referring to Kole. Hewen who had just left.
"I don't trust East Riverlands's Lords either."
"I don't trust the church even more."
Rosso Brune couldn't help but speak.
"My lord, the church is almost trying its best to help you and God...
Suleiman looked at him with deep eyes.
"Religious movements are uncontrollable."
"Among them, there will be those who want to seek political rights for themselves and the church."
"There will be those who pray for the common people, and there will be those who hope to establish the kingdom of heaven on earth."
"There will be those who are radical against the nobles, and there will be those who are even more radical and want to kill all the nobles."
"If someone supports me, there will inevitably be someone who opposes me."
"The crowd is in chaos, and they are all people trying to fish in troubled waters for profit."
"Especially King's Landing, the forces from all sides are surging and have long been out of control."
Suleiman fell into deep thought.
Westeros's church was different from the medieval history he knew.
The clergy class here has been reduced to a deprived class since Targaryen Conquest, and cannot be compared with the aristocracy.
Precisely because they are out of power, they can cooperate with civilians, and those in power who are blood aristocrats become natural enemies.
The desire for power is stronger than anyone else.
Rosso Brune frowned.
"Then what should we do, my lord?"
"We've come this far."
Suleiman looked at him and suddenly smiled.
But there was no warmth in that smile. Instead, Rosso Brune, who had experienced many battles, felt a sense of fear from the bone marrow.
"I plan to evacuate King's Landing."
Rosso Brune was stunned for a moment, not understanding the meaning of this sentence.
"Fifty million people, only 200,000 are left."
"And Poor Fellows."
"All the monks who followed them chose to interpret their own doctrinal scriptures."
Suleiman's voice was very soft, but it made Rosso Brune feel chilled.
"Let them go to all nations to preach their doctrine."
Rosso Brune's mind was shaken, and a cold air rushed from the soles of his feet to the sky.
He instantly understood what a terrifying scene was hidden behind this order.
Three hundred thousand displaced and hungry people, this is a plague sweeping Westeros.
They will kill each other like locusts over a piece of black bread.
In order to survive, he would not hesitate to attack any noble castle.
Drag the entire Westeros into the abyss of chaos and war.
Nobles, commoners, monks, everyone, can't escape.
Rosso Brune looked at Suleiman's calm profile and felt it for the first time.
The person he is following may not be a lord, but a devil who is willing to burn the world to the ground.
"Now."
Suleiman's voice pulled Rosso Brune out of extreme shock.
"We need to put on the Westerlands's equipment and war horses immediately."
"While the news hasn't spread yet."
"Return West Riverlands.
"Buy time for us to clean up King's Landing and prepare for war."
Rosso Brune looked a little embarrassed. He broke away from the terrifying fantasy and returned to reality.
"My lord, the knights have fought hard all night and are exhausted."
"I'm afraid... they won't be willing."
Suleiman's order cannot be questioned.
"Summon the knights and cavalry officers here."
Soon, hundreds of knights and cavalry officers covered in blood and looking exhausted gathered in the mountain of corpses and sea of blood.
Some of them were leaning on swords, and some were leaning on their companions. Their armors were full of dents and cracks.
They looked at Suleiman, with awe and pride in their eyes, but more importantly, they could not hide their exhaustion and confusion.
Suleiman looked around them, waiting for the last whispers to disappear.
He took a step forward and looked around at his knights.
"You are very tired."
His voice was not loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.
"You deserve to be tired, because you just sat on a war horse and spit in the lion's face."
With a tip of his toe, a Lannister helmet that had fallen to the side was kicked off and rolled over, landing at the feet of a knight.
"You have routed invincible armies, you have shed the blood of lions."
He paused for a moment, letting the aftertaste of victory ferment in everyone's hearts.
"But the lion didn't die. He just fled back to his cave and licked his wounds."
"And it will come back soon, a hundred times more angry."
Suleiman's eyes swept over everyone, as if he could see through their inner tension.
"We have won a moment of respite, a gap to breathe."
"If we use it to rest, we will die."
His voice suddenly rose in pitch and became sharp.
"You and I! Overcome the danger!"
"Deep into enemy territory! Destroy the Westerlands!"
"Now the situation has improved!"
"The momentum is unstoppable! The disaster is difficult to measure!"
"If we can work together! Defeat West Riverlands again! Great achievements will be made!"
"Otherwise! Still in trouble!"
He emphasized each word, as if to drive the words into their heads.
"The chance of success or failure! In one fell swoop!"
He took another step forward and stepped on the hill where several the Westerlands bodies were piled up.
"Success is Master Wang!"
"Failure is a traitor!"
"Death and death!"
The last four words were like a cold hammer, hitting everyone's heart hard.
The tired knights and officers suddenly woke up.
They thought of their families, their property, their surnames, and the extermination edict of Jon. Arryn.
They have no way out.
This gamble has begun and must be carried out to the end, otherwise what awaits them is endless revenge from Tywin. Lannister.
An older knight was the first to react. He slammed his right fist on the armor on his left chest and made a loud, dull sound.
"We are all dispatched by Lord Suleiman!"
His voice was hoarse, but extremely firm.
It was as if a fuse was lit.
All the knights made the same move, pressing their hands on their left chests.
Exhaustion was replaced by enthusiasm.
Fear is overpowered by greater fear.
"They are all dispatched from Master Suleiman!"
"They are all dispatched from Master Suleiman!"
"They are all dispatched from Master Suleiman!"
The echo sounded like a wave, sweeping across the entire mountain of corpses and sea of blood.