Hatred

Suleiman led his troops in a rapid advance.

He was essentially operating on a hit-and-run basis now, striking and slipping away.

Every time a Wildling squad was eliminated, he made sure to scrub the battlefield clean.

The Wildlings' bodies were burned and buried on the spot, leaving as little trace as possible.

This way, even if they were discovered, it would take time for the enemy to realize what had happened and react.

He had truly mastered the art of trading tactics with the Mountain Clans.

Suleiman never engaged the enemy head-on, especially avoiding large concentrations of hostile forces.

His strategic goal was clear: eliminate the small Wildling squads scattered about to plunder supplies.

He was constantly whittling down their strength.

The logistical pressure on the Mountain Clan Wildlings would only continue to mount.

Or rather, they had no logistics at all; they relied entirely on raiding and foraging on the spot.

Suleiman rode his white horse at the head of the column.

He marveled at the advantages of having such a small force.

Their marching speed was astonishing, moving as swiftly as the wind.

Without cavalry, no infantry force could ever hope to catch them.

Suleiman's gaze drifted from time to time toward the rear of the column.

Toward the sixty-odd captives from the Riverlands.

There had originally been over a hundred of them.

Due to the previous waves of long-range raids, only sixty-some remained.

They were all young, able-bodied men and women.

The elderly and children had been of no use to the Wildlings.

They had all been slaughtered.

Suleiman sighed, but reminded himself that this was war.

He did not intend to blame himself.

If not for him, their fates would have been far worse.

The women would have become breeding tools for the Mountain Wildlings.

They would have spent the rest of their lives in humiliation and constant childbirth.

The men would have become slaves to the Mountain Wildlings.

Driven to perform the most dangerous and grueling labor until they were worked to death or killed.

By comparison, he had saved them and spared them from such a fate.

Reflecting on this, Suleiman spurred his horse closer to them.

His gaze swept over them.

These Riverlanders huddled together like a flock of frightened sheep, trembling all over.

Their clothes were tattered and filthy, their faces smeared with dust, blood, and tear tracks.

Their eyes were hollow and vacant, shells devoid of souls.

Their homes had been destroyed, and they no longer knew what the future held.

They did not know where the road led or what they were supposed to do.

For now, they simply followed this force that had rescued them from the Wildlings, marching along in a daze.

They saw the man riding the tall white horse approach them.

They knew who he was: Ser Suleiman of Foulkeep, the commander of this army.

The people looked up at him with eyes drained of soul and spirit.

They did not know what he wanted.

"People of the Riverlands," Suleiman began, his voice low and steady, devoid of emotional fluctuation.

Suleiman looked into their despondent eyes and spoke:

"I am the commander of this army! Ser Suleiman of Foulkeep!"

Regardless of the circumstances, the words had to be said, and he needed to understand how these people felt about him.

If possible, these people would become his valuable assets.

However, if their attitude was one of hostility, then there was only one other way to handle it.

Suleiman observed the expressions of these refugees, seeing that they bore no look of hatred.

They were merely weeping in silence.

He continued, speaking bluntly and decisively: "The order to loose arrows and throw spears was given by me."

"I could not place my soldiers in danger for the sake of you all."

He did not evade the issue in the slightest.

Suleiman paused, his gaze sweeping over those silent, tear-streaked faces:

"I saw it. I saw more than forty people from the Riverlands fall."

Immediately after, these sixty refugees heard words that shocked them into a world of silence.

"I offer you my apologies!"

They all raised their tear-filled heads at once.

"For those Riverlands people who died in the chaos!" Suleiman said in a low tone, "And for you as well!"

Suleiman looked at them, but the crowd remained silent.

It was not until a man of about thirty, his face etched with the marks of profound suffering, stepped forward.

His body trembled incessantly, tears gushing like a spring, yet in the eyes he turned toward Suleiman, there was no anger—only gratitude.

"My Lord," he said in a hoarse voice, "you do not need to apologize."

He looked around at the survivors, then back at Suleiman, a flash of painful memory crossing his eyes.

"My father and my three children were killed by the Wildlings because they were of no use to them."

"My wife and I watched with our own eyes as my youngest child, an infant, was smashed against the ground by the Wildlings!"

"He never made a sound again!"

Having said this, the man could no longer control himself; he collapsed to his knees and wailed, yet he did not stop his account.

"My last remaining kin, my wife, died under a wooden spear in the chaos, right before my eyes."

"But I could never! And I would never blame you, my Lord!"

"You granted her release from that miserable fate."

He raised his head, tears streaming down, and even Suleiman could feel the sorrow and agony.

"My wife! She would have been defiled by those Wildlings! Violated countless times! Living a life worse than death!"

"She might even have been forced to bear the children of the men who killed our kin!"

"And I! I would have been forced to watch her suffer every torment, unable to do a thing!"

"The mere thought of such pain makes me wish for death!"

"My Lord! You saved us! You saved her! If not for you..."

The man choked, his body shaking with extreme grief, unable to say another word.

He bowed his head repeatedly, using his physical actions to speak for him.

Everyone in the group, men and women alike, knelt down as well, their faces streaming with tears.

The vast majority of them had seen their families and children killed by the Wildlings simply because they lacked value.

They knew deep down that the moment they were captured by the Wildlings, their fates had been sealed in misery.

It was Suleiman's arrival that had changed their destiny.

Suleiman knew the atmosphere had reached the right point and spoke slowly:

"I can send men to escort you to my territory, Foulkeep, and grant you land to till."

"There, you will find safety, shelter, and food; you can begin a new life."

"Or!" Suleiman's gaze swept over the men in the group, "Follow me! Take up arms!"

"I, Suleiman, Lord of Foulkeep, will give you food! Give you armor! Give you weapons!"

Suleiman's voice was low and slow, like a devil's whisper echoing in their ears:

"Do you want to treat them the same way?"

"Do you want to inflict the same fate upon them?"

Suleiman knew his words were like a spark, setting the prairie ablaze.

Because he saw the men in the ranks stop their weeping, one by one.

They walked out in silence.

For these people, they had already lost everything, left alone in this world.

What else was there to fear?

Land, home, family—they possessed nothing left to hold onto.

There was no need for the incentive of gold.

Within their hearts, a conviction had taken root.

That conviction.

Was named hatred.