Ironborn (2)

Lord Ronald, have you ever heard the saying: "We do not sow"?

Ronald nodded, indicating he was, of course, familiar with it.

That phrase is the infamous house motto of the Greyjoy family, the very house currently leading the rebellion in the Iron Islands against the kingdom.

Suleiman spoke slowly, his gaze sweeping across the tent ceiling as if he could see the scene at Seaguard that day.

On a stretch of coastline near Seaguard.

"The longships of the Ironborn rode the crests of the waves onto the shallows. Over a hundred Ironborn roared as they leaped into the waist-deep water, their blades and axes flashing under the interplay of sea and sunlight. They didn't form ranks; they didn't even form any discernible formation. They simply scattered, screaming at the top of their lungs, charging headlong toward our disciplined line of five hundred men."

"In their eyes, it was as if they weren't facing a battle line of dense spears and tight shield walls, but a group of beauties who had stripped naked and spread their legs, waiting for them."

"They hunted for gaps in our lines, screaming insults and threats to terrify our soldiers, then dove directly into our formation the moment they found an opening. One after another, they swung their weapons with blood-curdling roars, biting through our throats with their teeth, quenching their thirst with our blood, and using our severed limbs and entrails as decorations."

"Screams and agonizing wails were everywhere, and in their wake, our formations began to collapse and flee, one after another."

"No matter how hoarsely the leaders in the rear shouted or cursed, the rout became like a tide—unstoppable."

Lord Raymun Darry and Ser Ronald listened to Suleiman's account in silence, neither of them speaking a word.

Suleiman watched them quietly before continuing slowly, "They do not fear death; they crave it."

"Their god is the Drowned God. They believe that those who die in battle enter the halls of the Drowned God. The fallen enjoy endless feasts in the Drowned God's Hall, where every desire is satisfied by mermaids."

"The people of the Iron Islands carry no coin, for they only pay the Iron Price. They do not buy with money or goods; they take from the fallen enemy."

"They slaughter those on the green lands, plunder their wealth, and rape their wives and daughters. To them, this is the life of the Ironborn."

"They need no orders, no encouragement. They are born for battle and plunder."

His voice was not loud, but it sounded exceptionally clear in the hushed tent.

Lord Raymun and Ser Ronald had to admit that Suleiman was a remarkably gifted storyteller.

"And the soldiers of Darry," Suleiman said, smiling as he looked at Lord Raymun Darry and Ser Ronald.

His tone held no mockery, merely a statement of fact: "They look like fine lads—neat uniforms, polished weapons. They know how to drill, how to form ranks, and how to obey commands."

"But they are farmers, craftsmen, and townsfolk."

"Most of them have never experienced war. They were merely conscripted by their lord to fulfill an obligation, and they even had to provide their own equipment."

"They have homes, land, wives, and children."

"They fear injury, fear losing a limb and being unable to work or provide for their families."

"They fear death, for their land would be stripped away and their families would starve."

"They know how to fight enemies just like themselves."

"But they have absolutely no idea how to fight a group of warriors born to plunder, born to fight, and born to kill."

Suleiman paused, his gaze shifting to Ser Ronald: "Now, do you still think your soldiers are as ready to fight and die as they are?"

Ser Ronald desperately wanted to retort, but the scene Suleiman described was entirely different from the traditional warfare he envisioned in Westeros.

For a moment, he did not know how to respond.

The soldiers he had trained were meant to deal with the armies of other lords—the kind of head-on combat involving infantry lines, archer suppression, and knightly charges.

He could certainly guarantee that the knights and the soldiers of House Darry would fight and die, but he could not guarantee the same for the conscripted levies.

Raymun Darry listened to Suleiman's description, a look of contemplation on his young face.

He had never participated in a battle; his understanding of war came mostly from books and the tales of his elders.

Suleiman's words, though cruel, carried a sense of reality he had never heard before.

He thought of his brothers who had died at the Trident—that had been a massive, conventional battle.

Raymun Darry asked, "Then what should be done?"

His question showed that he had become interested in Suleiman's military strategy.

But he also knew that some people might be good at identifying problems without being good at solving them.

Therefore, Raymun Darry did not hold out much hope, thinking he would discuss this at the next meeting of vassals and knights.

Seeing his lord asking a sixteen-year-old boy for military advice, Ser Ronald's expression turned even uglier.

Suleiman did not answer immediately.

He calculated rapidly in his mind.

He knew he could not say too much, nor could he appear too well-versed in military affairs, as it did not match his age or the station he was supposed to have.

After all, his family couldn't even afford to hire a maester, so he couldn't explain the source of such knowledge. The Ironborn matter could perhaps be explained away as something he heard while fighting in the Seaguard region.

Most of his knowledge came from history, games, and novels from before he arrived in this world.

He had to be careful with his advice—to appear useful, but not enough to expose himself.

Suleiman weighed his words.

"My lord."

"I do not have the vast experience of Ser Ronald. I only speak of what I have seen and what I have felt."

He first lowered his posture to ease the hostility of Ser Ronald.

Suleiman rubbed his head.

"If I had to put it bluntly, I believe the key lies in not giving the Ironborn any chance to leverage their advantages."

"The Ironborn are superb swimmers and fear no drowning; they can even walk as if on flat ground while wearing heavy armor at sea."

"They excel at surprise attacks, favor close-quarters brawling, profit from chaos, and practice hit-and-run tactics when raiding."

"They rely on their savagery and fanaticism. If our soldiers are dragged into that kind of chaotic melee, we will suffer heavy losses."

"However, I believe that once the Ironborn encounter a disciplined formation of elite soldiers, as long as we maintain our ranks and offer no openings, they are by no means our match."

He paused to organize his thoughts for what would come next.

But if one were to take the army of Darry as an example:

"My idea is to avoid fighting them in that manner."

"If we are forced to face them, perhaps we should choose terrain that favors us and find ways to disrupt their rhythm."

The core idea was to "avoid their edge and play to our strengths," but Suleiman's explanation was somewhat vague.

Upon hearing this, Ser Ronald, though still dissatisfied with Suleiman's opening, felt that what this young man said sounded like he actually understood a thing or two; it wasn't complete nonsense.

Yet, he still found it surprising that a child could speak such words.

Raymun Darry nodded thoughtfully. Although Suleiman's words were simple, they indeed pointed to the core of the problem.

The army of Darry was not accustomed to the Ironborn's style of warfare and must avoid falling into that kind of chaotic melee.

Raymun Darry looked at Suleiman as if he were seeing himself.

Two equally young nobles: one had lost his closest kin before experiencing war, and the other had witnessed the death of his kin at sixteen.

"Ser Ronald," Raymun Darry said suddenly.

"You have heard the views of Ser Suleiman. Incorporate his suggestions into our considerations."

"During the upcoming march, strengthen our reconnaissance, especially when near coastlines or rivers."

"When choosing campsites, be more cautious, and ensure the fortifications are built sturdily."

"As you command, my lord." Ser Ronald glanced at Suleiman, his eyes complex.

Raymun Darry looked at Suleiman with a gentle gaze: "Ser Suleiman, thank you for your advice."

This was a signal that the conversation had ended.

"Thank you, my lord." Offering some useful advice to Darry could be considered repayment for Raymun Darry's hospitality.

During his days in the camp, he had observed that everyone from the rank-and-file soldiers to the knight officers and noble vassals held the Ironborn in great contempt.

In their minds, the Ironborn seemed to be nothing more than pirate beggars wearing rags and wielding broken scrap metal or even wooden clubs.

May Lord Raymun Darry have good fortune.

Suleiman offered a silent blessing in his heart and turned to walk out of the tent.

Suddenly.

"Wait," Raymun Darry called out to him.

Suleiman did not know why.

Raymun Darry looked at him and said: "I would like you and your two guards to share your experience in fighting the Ironborn with my soldiers."

Suleiman turned back: "Is there pay?"

Raymun Darry simply smiled at him: "Of course! Ser Suleiman!"