Forgiveness

"Those two beasts who brought the news! Yes, it is my fault for failing to look after the Lady, it is all my fault! All my fault!"

"Where are they?" Suleiman asked.

Old Nicken looked at Suleiman with tear-filled eyes and said:

"They are still kneeling outside. Ever since they heard you had returned alive, they have been kneeling before the castle in terror, not daring to rise."

Suleiman felt a complex mix of emotions.

Those two farmers certainly hadn't lied on purpose, and besides, they hadn't been wrong—his predecessor had indeed died.

Moreover, they were living subjects, the few remaining able-bodied laborers in his territory.

"Bring them in," Suleiman said.

Old Nicken hesitated for a moment, but then rose and backed out with a bow.

A moment later, he returned with the two farmers, who were dressed in tattered cloth, their faces covered in dust and tear tracks, walking in with trembling steps.

The moment they saw Suleiman sitting awake on the bed, they immediately threw themselves to their knees, their heads nearly touching the floor, their bodies shaking uncontrollably.

"Master Suleiman! Master Suleiman! We deserve to die! We deserve to die! It was our mistake in delivering the message that caused the Lady's death!"

One of them cried out, his body shivering with extreme terror.

The other followed, shouting, "Spare us, Master Suleiman! At the time, we truly thought—we thought you were, so we—we never intended to deceive you! Please forgive us! Please forgive us!"

Suleiman watched their humble, fearful, and trembling forms.

They were the only young, able-bodied male subjects he had left, his only remaining capital.

Killing them would not undo anything; it would only make this barren territory more desolate and decayed, adding insult to injury.

He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound powerful. "Get up."

The two farmers dared not lift their heads, only knocking them against the floor like garlic, their bodies still shaking.

In the modern world, Li Qing had been nothing more than an ordinary person.

The only leadership position he had ever held in his life was as a primary school group leader responsible for collecting homework from three students for his teacher—that was the only "official title" on his resume.

Now, images of the high-ranking figures he had seen in films and television dramas surfaced in Li Qing's mind.

"Get up!" Suleiman raised his voice, attempting to imbue it with authority.

"Your foolish delivery of the news led to an irreparable tragedy for my family." Suleiman's voice calmed. The two men trembled even more violently.

Suleiman watched them as they humbled themselves into the dust; their fear was so palpable he could almost smell it in the air.

"You deserve to be executed!" His voice was devoid of emotion, like a judge passing sentence.

Suleiman watched their faces turn bloodless, as pale as the dead.

"But you also survived that meat grinder for the sake of my family." His voice remained emotionless, stating only the facts.

"You saw the cruelty of the battlefield with your own eyes—how my father, my two brothers, and your thirteen companions fell."

He paused, seemingly organizing his words in his mind.

He continued, "What happened to my mother has already happened. What good would holding you responsible do? Can it bring the dead back to life?"

"It would only mean more old men losing their sons, two women losing their husbands, and children losing their fathers."

Upon hearing this, the two farmers looked up with expressions of disbelief; they had been certain they were doomed.

"However, from this day on, you are no longer my farmers," Suleiman said, looking at them.

Hearing this, the two farmers' eyes filled with fear once again, and they threw themselves back onto their knees, heads nearly touching the floor.

Trembling and sobbing, they cried, "We are the souls of your land, please do not cast us out, please do not cast us out! If we leave here, our families and we will have no way to survive."

Suleiman stood up and looked down at them.

"Listen!" Suleiman's voice rose, carrying an unquestionable sense of resolve.

"The fact that you were able to return alive perhaps wasn't just so you could continue scratching a living from this mud." He looked around the crude tower, his voice echoing through the hall.

"My family has withered, the castle is empty, and jackals circle outside. I need men."

His voice was loud and resonant, echoing through the hall.

"You witnessed how my father and brothers sacrificed themselves for the honor of the family!"

"That you were able to return alive may well be the guidance of the Seven!"

"Therefore, I pass judgment upon you now!"

He took a few steps forward, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor.

"Your duties have changed." He surveyed the slightly dilapidated castle.

He said in a low, slow voice, "You shall be responsible for protecting me and protecting this castle until I no longer require you, or until your lives reach their end!"

The two farmers were completely stunned, followed by an expression of utter disbelief.

After committing such a crime, to receive the lord's mercy—and to be promoted from farmers to the lord's guards—was an immense, heaven-sent grace.

They immediately knelt again, not out of fear this time, but out of gratitude.

"By the Seven, we shall protect the kind and generous Master Suleiman with our lives!" The two men were bathed in tears.

Suleiman watched them. In this difficult time, he needed strength and loyalty; he did not know if he had made the right decision, but everything had only just begun.

Suleiman looked toward Old Nicken at his side. "Take them away, find them two decent sets of armor, and get them two weapons. Even if they are a bit worn, it is better than having nothing at all."

"Yes, Young Master Suleiman!" Old Nicken replied with excitement, his eyes filled with pride as he looked at Suleiman.

His Young Master Suleiman, though he had endured immense pain and had never received an heir's education, had shouldered the family's responsibilities upon waking.

He had displayed the decisiveness of a lord, even if Old Nicken did not know whether the young master's kindness was right or wrong.

After Old Nicken led the two farmers away, Suleiman was once again left alone in the room.

His body remained weak, but his mind was much clearer.

He looked out the window; under the gloomy sky, frogs croaked and owls shrieked, while the reed beds swayed in the wind, rustling softly. Such an environment truly brought peace to his heart.

Suddenly, he remembered that the Greyjoy Rebellion was currently underway, and in ten years, a greater storm would sweep across the Westeros Continent.

The Riverlands were at the very center of that storm, a place from which no conspiracy or war could escape.

Suleiman felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Although he did not know the specific, detailed history of this world, he knew that in about a decade, all of Westeros would fall into chaos.

And the Riverlands, situated right in the eye of the storm, would become a battlefield fought over repeatedly and washed in blood by various factions.

The Tully family, the Lannister family, the Stark family—great armies would march back and forth across the Riverlands, burning, killing, and looting, leaving the people of the Riverlands displaced and the land littered with corpses.

Their "Foulkeep," located on the lower reaches of the Green Fork near the confluence, would be unable to escape such a grim fate.

No matter which side they pledged allegiance to, they would become a thorn in the side of the others, to be destroyed without mercy.

Ten years from now, this land will become a purgatory. War will destroy everything, the smallfolk will be slaughtered, and this tower will be razed to the ground, Suleiman thought to himself.

He knew that with his current meager strength, he had no way to protect himself in the coming catastrophe of war.

Flee Westeros? That was even more impossible. He had nothing—no ships, no money, no men.

Across the Narrow Sea, only a more miserable fate awaited him, such as being sold into slavery.

Pledge to Daenerys? Her rise was too distant, her path too fraught with peril, and the timing did not align.

Support the Starks and the Tullys? They were by no means good liege lords, and they would ultimately fall.

A minor vassal like him would be nothing more than a casual kill for the armies of The Mountain from the Westerlands when they executed their plan to purge the Riverlands.

Pledge to the Westerlands? The Lannister family acted with ruthless cruelty, stopping at nothing for their own interests.

They would use low-ranking Riverlands nobles like him as cannon fodder, consuming them on the most dangerous front lines, just as they had done in the history he remembered.

He looked up from the window at the night sky, his inner confusion and anxiety reaching an unbearable peak; he did not have much time.

He was just an ordinary person who had received a standard education, yet he could not think of any way to apply the knowledge he possessed.

Although he often read novels where protagonists brought forth products ahead of their time to grow and prosper, he lacked such abilities.

He could not forge inventions beyond this era; he only possessed a memory of the general trajectory of the future history of Westeros.

"What should I do?" Suleiman muttered to himself.

Outside the window, the night was deep, the frogs croaked, the owls shrieked, and the river grass rustled in the wind, as if whispering in Suleiman's ear.

He was still alive, living with his complete memories and his foresight of the future.

This in itself was a miracle; he was not empty-handed. With his complete memories and his knowledge of the future, how could he not find a way out?

At this moment, the confusion in Suleiman's eyes had vanished, replaced only by a burning desire to survive and a trace of ambition he had not even noticed himself.