Quelling the Army (2)

Lushen's face darkened, and he tightened his grip on his weapon.

He was furious now, though not because of the insult directed at him.

It was because this was a direct military order from Master Suleiman, and this man had dared to defy it.

Yet, Lushen did not explode in anger; he simply looked at the burly man calmly:

"What is your name?"

"The name's Rolf! Rolf of Deddings Town!" The burly man puffed out his chest, seemingly proud of his origin. "Got it—you Foulkeep peasant!"

The few men around Rolf joined in, jeering and mocking.

Commotion began to ripple through other parts of the ranks as well.

Suleiman felt quite disappointed in Lushen and sighed inwardly; the time had been too short, and he had perhaps pushed too hard. He would have to step in.

If he could not establish absolute authority immediately, this troop would soon devolve into a scattered mess again.

But then, Suleiman saw it.

Without a single wasted word, without a roar of warning.

Lushen drew the longsword from his waist in a flash of cold light, and a head, still wearing a smile, flew high into the air.

The crowd gathered around saw:

Rolf had still been holding his head high in triumph, a mocking smirk on his lips, waiting to see how Lushen would retreat in shame.

The men around him were also waiting to see a good show. They were all dissatisfied that Suleiman had appointed two peasants as leaders instead of them.

But, at the very moment his smile was at its widest, Lushen moved.

He stepped forward, his body coiled, and the longsword at his waist was drawn with such speed that no detail could be described—only a sense of raw power as the blade swept across Rolf's neck in an instant.

Rolf's laughter stopped abruptly.

His head flew into the air before his body could even react; his eyes widened in shock, reflecting the cold, inverted face of Lushen.

He felt the world spinning, trying to make a sound, but nothing could be squeezed out.

His burly body swayed, and as his head was severed, blood gushed out like a fountain, staining the crowd, armor, and earth around him.

The longsword in his hand clattered to the ground.

After swaying a few times, his body collapsed with a thud, while his head rolled a meter away, eyes still wide as copper bells, staring in death.

The sudden turn of events instantly froze the noise of the entire troop.

The jeers, the mockery, the chatter—all sound vanished, and everything fell into silence.

Hundreds of eyes, filled with terror and disbelief, stared fixedly at Rolf lying in a pool of blood and at Lushen, who stood beside him with his longsword dripping red.

A thick, metallic scent of blood permeated the air, stimulating everyone's nostrils like a physical manifestation of fear.

Lushen sheathed his sword with a smooth, calm motion, as if he had only performed a trivial task.

He rested the tip of the blade on the ground, hands placed on the hilt, the blood on the steel reflecting a harsh, crimson glare under the sunlight.

A soldier caught in that red flash even fell backward in terror, landing hard on his backside.

He lifted his head, his cold gaze sweeping slowly over everyone present, his tone calm yet carrying a chill that made the souls of those witnessing it tremble, an unquestionable dread:

"Rolf has been executed for defying Master Suleiman's military order."

His voice was not loud, yet it reached the ears of everyone present with perfect clarity.

The voice was so calm, yet so terrifying.

Now, they understood why he had asked for the man's name.

Those who had been jeering or causing a stir were now silent as cicadas in winter, swallowing hard, faces pale, their bodies beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

Lushen stood beside Rolf's corpse like an executioner announcing a death sentence.

Surrounding him were three hundred temporary soldiers, stunned into submission by the bloodshed.

"This is the fate of those who defy Master Suleiman's orders!" Lushen's voice was icy, making Rolf's companions shudder.

"Now!" Lushen's voice rang out again, heavy with an unquestionable, terrifying authority.

"All men, hear the order! Form squads of one hundred and fifty! Twenty men across, six deep! Form a phalanx! Fall in immediately!"

His gaze swept over the face of every soldier, their eyes filled with fear and awe.

The arrogance and slackness from moments ago had vanished, replaced by a silence so heavy it was suffocating.

Within the ranks, no one dared to make a sound, no one dared to stop moving; fear had overridden everything else.

Suleiman stood not far away, witnessing it all.

From Lushen's calm questioning to Rolf's arrogant provocation, to the drawing of the sword, and finally, the flying head and the spray of blood upon the ground.

In that single instant, Suleiman went from disappointment to exhilaration; his heart hammered in his chest—it was a sense of accomplishment.

A peasant had truly become a warrior!

He needed a helper, not merely a guard, but someone capable of standing alone and executing his will—someone who could hold the line even in his absence.

Watching the soldiers form ranks quickly and solemnly under Lushen's command, he felt a profound sense of relief for the first time.

His gaze swept over the now-organized troops with satisfaction; although they were still somewhat loose, the chaos from moments ago had vanished entirely.

Just then, two horses galloped toward them: it was Lushen and Roslyn.

They reined in their horses a short distance in front of Suleiman and dismounted with swift, respectful movements.

Lushen knelt, his face pale and solemn: "Please execute me, Master Suleiman!"

Roslyn knelt immediately after, casting a complex look at Lushen before turning toward him: "Master Suleiman!"

Suleiman did not respond at once, watching Lushen quietly, waiting to hear the reason from his own lips and how he would define his actions.

After a pause, Suleiman's gentle voice rang out, though beneath that gentleness lay an unquestionable authority: "Execute you? Why would I execute you?"

Lushen remained kneeling; though his face was pale, he offered no excuses, admitting to his actions directly with a firm tone: "I killed Rolf."

"I saw it," Suleiman nodded slightly. "Now, tell me, why did you kill him?"

Lushen's expression turned icy:

"This is Master Suleiman's army; he dared to ignore Master Suleiman's authority and defy Master Suleiman's decrees!"

He paused, bowing his head once more:

"I executed him in front of everyone so that they would all know the price of disobeying Master Suleiman's orders while under his command!"

"But because I dealt with him without authorization, I may have brought trouble upon Master Suleiman, so I am willing to accept Master Suleiman's execution."

A look of undisguised relief and admiration appeared on Suleiman's face.

He stepped forward and helped Lushen to his feet: "You did well!"

"I have already issued the order: those who dare not follow it shall be executed without mercy!"

"Rolf defied military law and deserved to die! You did not hesitate, you had no misgivings, and you executed military law at the first opportunity. This is a great merit, not a crime!"

"You two and Old Nicken are the people I trust most!"

"Roslyn! Lushen! Listen to me! You are both soldiers of my House Foulkeep! One day, you will stand alone for me!"

"You may even have to take on the most difficult and necessary tasks for me at critical moments!"

Lushen and Roslyn listened from the side, their hearts shaken, their eyes reddening at Master Suleiman's sudden confession.