Purging the Army (3)

"Lord Suleiman!" "The town ahead refuses us entry, but they are willing to provide us with grain and fodder!" A scout bowed to Suleiman.

Since there were only three horses in the current troop—used by himself, Lushen, and Roslyn—they had to select ten of the fastest infantrymen from the ranks to serve as scouts, as the two men were each acting as centurions for a phalanx.

Suleiman frowned and asked, "Did you present Lady Roslin's signet?"

The scout replied respectfully, "I did, but they claimed that with the Wildlings running rampant and bandits roaming the roads, they truly could not verify our identities. They ask for your understanding, my lord!"

Suleiman knew this was merely a polite refusal, though providing the grain was indeed the extent of their obligation.

This was already the third town; towns in the world of Westeros were managed by town reeves appointed by the local lord.

How could these men possibly fail to recognize Lady Roslin's signet?

He did not believe Lady Roslin had given any secret instructions to the contrary.

It was simply that these reeves believed that as long as Valleydeep Town remained secure, the fires of war were still distant, and they could afford to play it safe.

Suleiman now had to consider his next move. Lady Roslin had authorized him to conscript soldiers from anywhere within the lands of House Deddings, be it village or town.

Yet, until now, he hadn't even managed to set foot inside a single town before being turned away.

With a soft sigh, he waved his right hand and said to Roslyn beside him, "Make camp here! Build fortifications! Deploy scouts far and wide!"

Roslyn scratched his head, "Master Suleiman, is that really necessary? We haven't even entered the war zone yet, have we?"

Suleiman glared at him, "You know nothing! Remember this! Before you do anything, you must ensure it is foolproof!"

"Yes!" Roslyn stood at attention, chest puffed out.

The expansion of his cause was not proceeding smoothly, and Suleiman felt somewhat troubled.

The only thing currently going according to plan was the troop itself.

Suleiman watched as the two phalanxes below began to execute the order to camp under the commands of Lushen and Roslyn.

He had actually noticed that both men had significant flaws in their leadership styles.

The troop led by Lushen stood straight, the formation orderly, but the atmosphere was stifling; one could barely hear a sound.

If a soldier's movements were even half a beat slow, the wooden cane in Lushen's hand would lash out.

Furthermore, due to past events, the soldiers were terrified of him, so they executed his orders to the letter, not daring to show the slightest negligence.

The troop led by Roslyn was the exact opposite.

His phalanx was much more lax; the lines were crooked, and the soldiers whispered and rustled as they talked among themselves from time to time.

Roslyn himself often joked around with them.

Consequently, the phalanx was undisciplined.

Although Suleiman saw it all, he did not criticize anyone.

Lushen was too harsh, and Roslyn was too lax.

Criticism would not teach them how to do better; they needed to practice and reflect on their own.

Besides, Suleiman himself did not know much about management.

In the temporary camp, the fire crackled, and the air was thick with the scent of food and sweat.

The soldiers sat in small groups, chatting in low voices or silently eating their rations; the atmosphere was incredibly oppressive.

Suleiman sat by his own fire, wiping the Myr Sword gifted to him by Raymun Darry. The blade shimmered with a cold light in the firelight.

Lushen and Roslyn walked over and sat down by the fire.

"Master Suleiman, there is something I must report to you." Roslyn's voice was low, his mood seemingly heavy.

Suleiman stopped what he was doing and looked at him, "What is it?"

"One of the soldiers... he might be planning to desert," Roslyn said.

Suleiman's gaze sharpened, "Who told you?"

"Another soldier in his rank. The man felt uneasy, so he came and told me," Roslyn replied in a low voice, as the incident had occurred within his phalanx.

"Where is he?" Suleiman asked in a deep voice.

Desertion was absolutely intolerable in the army; if one man fled, a second would follow, quickly forming a chain reaction.

"Still in the ranks; he hasn't acted yet." Roslyn paused, "Master, should we arrest him and hold a public execution?"

Suleiman was silent for a moment, not answering immediately, then said slowly, "Why does he want to desert?"

Roslyn sighed and recounted what he had learned: "The soldier's name is Toman. He is only twenty years old. His father was conscripted by Lord Deddings a long time ago to follow Lord Balon to Seaguard to defend against the Ironborn."

"At first there was news, but now it has been a very, very long time with no word at all... it is very likely... he has already died in battle."

"At home, he only has his mother and two young sisters. He is worried that if he dies too, his family will have no one to care for them and will starve to death."

He stood up slowly, "Roslyn, go assemble your troop. Lushen, you go assemble yours as well. Have everyone gather here," Suleiman commanded.

Roslyn and Lushen immediately carried out the order.

Soon, in the central clearing of the temporary camp, two squads of one hundred and fifty men gathered under the cover of night.

They did not stand particularly straight, especially in the dim light, and though the soldiers' whispers were not loud, they could still be heard in the quiet of the night.

They did not know why they had been assembled in the middle of the night, and many wore expressions of confusion or even unease.

Suleiman did not walk forward, but stood before them, the firelight illuminating his face.

Lushen and Roslyn stood behind him, their expressions solemn.

Suleiman stood there, watching them, and the soldiers grew increasingly anxious and restless.

Seeing that the atmosphere was ripe, Suleiman finally spoke slowly:

"I have summoned you here."

"It is because the vast majority of you were dragged here against your will."

"You do not want to be here; you want to go home."

"You fear death, and you fear that if you die, your families will have no one to care for them and will starve."

A low murmur rippled through the ranks; these words struck at the deepest fears in their hearts.

This was the reason the troop was so stifled, and some began to sob quietly.

"Bring out the chest! Lushen! Roslyn!" Suleiman shouted.

Lushen and Roslyn were seen carrying a large chest out.

"Open it!" Suleiman said in a deep voice.

The soldiers raised their heads one after another, looking at Suleiman with curiosity, not knowing what he intended to do.

Under Suleiman's command, Lushen and Roslyn carried the chest to the platform in front of the ranks and opened it.

Inside the chest was nothing but neatly stacked Silver Stag, which emitted a dazzling white light under the glow of the fire.

This was the recruitment funding Lady Roslin had given him, but now he had money with no place to recruit.

The soldiers began to whisper among themselves, wondering what this young lord intended to do.

Suleiman took a few steps forward and stood beside the chest, looking around with a blank expression:

"First, I want you to face the facts!"

"From the moment you were conscripted! You could never go back!"

"If you flee back now! Your land will be stripped away by Lady Roslin! You will be hanged by Lady Roslin! And your families will be implicated and suffer terrible punishment!"

The soldiers' faces turned pale in the firelight! Some soldiers who had harbored thoughts of desertion trembled in terror, thinking Suleiman had discovered them!

"And I!" Suleiman's voice carried a hint of self-deprecating laughter, "am just like you—with no way back!"

Suleiman needed to make the soldiers feel that he stood with them, facing the same predicament, so that he could better unite their hearts.

His voice slowed, but became more powerful:

"There is only one path before us! And only this one path!"

"Either we see this through to the end and complete the mission! To return alive! Or we die together on the road!"

He paused, seeing the soldiers' gazes converge:

"But I make you a promise here! In my name, Suleiman! In the name of House Foulkeep!"

"For all who die in battle following me! I shall provide for your families!"

"If your family's land is stripped away!"

"I will carve out the best land on my own territory for your families! And build the finest houses!"

Suleiman drew his longsword, pointing it toward the heavens! He shouted sternly:

"The Seven Gods be my witness! Should I break this oath! May dragon fire consume me! And my lineage be severed!" His vow rang out across the camp.