Suleiman looked toward the cheering, excited crowd.
He released the rider's hand and raised his right hand for silence. The crowd quieted and turned their eyes toward him.
With a metallic rasp, Suleiman drew the longsword at his waist and raised it high overhead.
The men in the crowd followed suit, drawing their weapons.
Suleiman spoke calmly. "Then we'll take the land!" There was no need for more words. If they would not give it, then they would have to give it!
Four hundred soldiers—men who longed for land, who longed for a place to settle down and make a life—finally found an outlet for the hopes they carried for the future.
They raised their swords, battleaxes, and spears high. The cold gleam of their weapons joined beneath the morning light, like a white sea.
"Take the land!!!" No one knew who shouted first. Then, a roar like mountains collapsing and seas surging rang out beneath the heavens. "Take the land!!!"
Even the women and children forgot their fear at that moment. They clenched their fists, excitement shining in their eyes as they cheered for their men.
The song praising Suleiman and the three hundred soldiers rose once more, fierce and impassioned.
Suleiman looked at the scene before him with satisfaction. A man lived on spirit, and an army even more so. Strike while the iron was hot—this momentum was exactly what he wanted.
His opponent had committed countless grave offenses: refusing to swear fealty, seizing a lord's land, openly refusing to return it, and insulting a lord's honor.
Suleiman turned to look over the fields. Now let me see whether he dares draw his sword against his lord.
He looked at Lushen and Roslyn and spoke again, his voice calm. "Roslyn, Lushen, take the men and mark out land