Quelling the Army (1)

On the marching road, three hundred conscripted soldiers gathered together, loose and scattered, like a group of tourists out for a stroll.

Some even used the longswords they had been issued as walking sticks. There were no formations, no marching orders.

The column was stretched out incredibly long; those in the front were still lazily taking steps, while those in the back had already stopped to rest, organize their packs, or even wandered off the road entirely to relieve themselves or gawk around in curiosity.

They were noisy and whispering, like a gathering at a vegetable market, their eyes filled with confusion and fear regarding this forced conscription.

It was less like a march and more like a group of refugees who had been forcibly tied together and sent toward some unwanted destination.

Or perhaps, that was exactly what they were?

Suleiman sat atop the steed gifted to him by Raymun Darry, positioned at the very front of the column.

Looking at the chaotic scene before him, he now regretted taking on this mission.

The future was long and arduous, but he feared he would be meeting the Seven before he reached his destination.

Was this really an army sent to support Deepvalley Town? Suleiman felt like a kindergarten teacher taking a group of toddlers on a field trip.

And yet, even now, their situation was better than it had been yesterday.

His thoughts drifted back to one day ago.

Suleiman stood in the barracks of Deddings Town, watching the three hundred conscripted soldiers gather.

They were in rags, holding rusted sickles, dulled axes, and some even carried crude wooden sticks!

By the gods... what kind of people are these! He took a deep breath; it had taken only a day and a night for his blood to go from boiling with excitement to running cold.

Or rather, it had taken only a few short minutes of seeing this sight!

Lady Roslin stood by his side with a weary expression, while Maester Walder stood beside her, looking calm.

Suleiman stood next to them, head bowed, his shoulders trembling slightly.

It's over! He thought rapidly, searching for a solution.

When Suleiman raised his head again, his eyes were brimming with tears, his expression one of utter grief.

"My Lady, right now, House Deddings is in the midst of fire and water! Though I am young, I am willing, just like my father and brothers, to offer everything for House Deddings!"

"Even if it means death, I will die on the road serving you, serving House Deddings!"

He knelt down, gripping the hem of Lady Roslin's dress, his voice choked with sobs:

"This is the only thing I, the last of House Foulkeep, can do, my Lady!"

He paused, as if too choked up to speak further, his voice resolute:

"Even if this is a certain death, I will die for House Deddings."

"It is only... only that I fear, with a force like this, my death is of no consequence, but... but there is no way to complete your mission, my Lady!"

Lady Roslin looked at him, a flicker of pity and sorrow crossing her eyes.

Life is a play, and it all depends on one's acting.

"Didn't I tell you to equip them with weapons and leather armor?!" Lady Roslin said with a cold face, turning to look at Maester Walder.

"Maester, have you forgotten what this child has been through? We saved him from the brink of death, are we now to push him toward it with our own hands?"

Seeing the Lady of the house question him so, Maester Walder finally lost his composure and sighed:

"I will have them prepared and distributed when they depart."

The memory ended, and Suleiman pulled back his thoughts.

The reality before him remained cold and harsh. The biting wind whipped against his face.

He had to mold them into a force that, even if they couldn't fight, could at least march without disintegrating halfway there.

I can't watch this! I can't watch this! It's garbage! It's absolute garbage!

"Lushen! Roslyn! Get over here!"

Lushen and Roslyn immediately spurred their horses to Suleiman's side, dismounting to salute.

Now, they wore light soldier armor, swords at their waists, and rode fine horses; heads held high, they at least possessed some semblance of presence.

Suleiman ordered the two to mount up and face the rabble.

He shouted at the crowd, using the height of his horse and the authority of his noble status to ensure his voice reached every ear clearly.

"I am Ser Suleiman of Foulkeep! The commander of this force!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd; some were curious, others numb, unaware of what was happening.

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

"All of you, listen! Form squads of one hundred and fifty! Twenty across, six deep! Form a square! Fall into formation immediately!"

He pointed to Lushen and Roslyn behind him:

"Lushen! Roslyn! Get them into formation! Anyone who dares to disobey! Execute them without mercy!"

Lushen and Roslyn reacted quickly, spurring their horses into the crowd while shouting stern commands.

"Everyone, listen up! Form squads of one hundred and fifty! Twenty men across, six rows deep! Form a phalanx! Fall into line immediately!"

Suleiman sat atop a white horse; though only sixteen, his posture was upright, his features sharp and resolute. With his steed, black robes, and the sharp sword at his waist, he radiated an air of solemn authority.

Lushen and Roslyn, mounted on their horses with swords at their hips, no longer bore the timid air of their former lives as farmers; the experiences of the past few days had imbued them with a newfound edge.

Seeing the noble lord issue his command, the crowd began to shove and jostle, each man scrambling to find his place. It remained chaotic, but at least the rudimentary shape of a formation began to emerge.

Suleiman watched the busy Lushen and Roslyn, along with the soldiers who were barely beginning to form up, and finally felt a glimmer of relief.

Or rather, for the first time in many days, he felt a sense of comfort.

However, his relief did not last even a few minutes before a commotion broke out in the crowd.

He heard someone shouting loudly:

"Bah! Who do you think you are? You think you're fit to command me?"

Suleiman cast his gaze toward the noise, and the crowd quickly cleared an open space in the center.

In the middle of the clearing stood Lushen and a burly soldier wearing a complete set of leather armor, clutching a longsword in his hand.

The soldier's face wore a look of blatant mockery, surrounded by a few others dressed similarly—clearly, they were a pack.

Suleiman recognized them; they were soldiers from House Deddings, a few of the rotten apples Maester Walder had dumped into his ranks.

Suleiman cursed the old geezer in his heart. It was one thing to give him shoddy equipment, but to saddle him with these unwanted, stinking dregs—these black sheep—was inexcusable!

Back at the camp in Darry, these men had already shown great arrogance, considering themselves superior to the conscripted farmers.

They were now deeply dissatisfied with the fact that they were being commanded by Lushen and his men.

The burly man continued to bluster at Lushen:

"I am a soldier of Deddings Town! Do you even know what a soldier is? I've fought in battles alongside Lord Balon Dating!" As he spoke, the brute kept waving his longsword about.

"Who are you? Just a peasant!" the brute continued to jeer, drawing whispers from those nearby.

The eyes of the crowd darted between Lushen and Suleiman, everyone waiting to see how this noble lord would handle the situation.

After all, he had just declared that anyone who disobeyed orders would be executed without mercy!

But the crowd did not see Suleiman move, and they began to whisper and speculate among themselves.

They wondered if this lord was afraid to punish the soldiers of Deddings Town for fear of offending the lordly House Deddings, and was only capable of bullying the conscripted farmers.

However, the reason Suleiman did not step in to help was that he wanted to see how Lushen would handle it himself.

Seeing that Suleiman did not approach, the brute assumed Suleiman was intimidated by his status, and his attitude became even more arrogant as he laughed and loudly humiliated Lushen:

"You can't even hold a weapon steady, can you? When I was killing enemies on the battlefield, you were still digging in the dirt!"

"And you want to command me? Get lost!"