Difficulty

Over the next few days, Suleiman spent all his time in the so-called castle courtyard—a patch of mud without even a wall—familiarizing himself with and exploring the miraculous changes in his body.

Martial prowess was the primary necessity for survival in the world of Westeros; after all, this world was rife with monsters and horrors, and relying solely on the strength of others would not see one past the first stage of the game of thrones.

Every sword swing, every dodge, and every step made him feel an incredible sense of lightness and coordination.

Suleiman filled cloth bags with dirt and strapped them to his legs and arms.

Yet, he could still move, turn, and leap rapidly through the mud; the lightness, reaction time, and speed of his body were so fluid that they far exceeded his understanding.

He felt like an elite brother with maxed-out light armor and agility from "Battle Brothers," a game he used to play on Blue Star.

A light-armored fencer weaving and thrusting through the ranks of the enemy.

This sword style, as fluid and beautiful as a dance, was Suleiman's most unique ability.

The sharpness of his five senses allowed him to catch Old Nicken approaching on tiptoe the moment he arrived.

"Old Steward, has the situation in the territory been sorted out?" Suleiman turned and sheathed his sword at his waist.

Old Nicken hunched his back, trembling as he handed over a sheet of paper covered in writing, his face wearing a complex expression that was hard to put into words.

"Young Master Suleiman, everything has been tallied. Please, take a look."

Suleiman took the parchment, scanned it roughly, and his eyes widened abruptly. The paper contained some numbers, but the core content made him feel a wave of dizziness.

Looking at the lines "Granary: Only enough for four people for seven days" and "Treasury: Empty," Suleiman felt a cold chill rush from the soles of his feet to his forehead.

He had assumed that, no matter how little, there would at least be some reserves left—enough to hold out for a while, at least, so he wouldn't be plunged into a desperate situation immediately.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Suleiman's voice trembled with disbelief, his cheeks twitching wildly.

Old Nicken lowered his head further, his voice carrying deep helplessness and a faint, hidden sigh: "Young Master, have you forgotten?"

After a moment of silence, he continued:

"That day, you ordered this old servant to divide the grain in the granary into portions and distribute them to the families of the farmers who died in battle while following the Old Lord to Seaguard. And all the coins in the treasury were also distributed as pensions to those households."

Suleiman froze. He remembered.

The grief of that day and his sympathy for the farmer Hark's family had led him to make that decision.

He had used the family's last remaining resources to provide for the families who had lost their breadwinners after being conscripted by the house to fight in the war.

He wanted to help them survive at least the next few months, until the next harvest.

"Although this old servant did not understand, it was your command, and I have executed it entirely. Everything was distributed according to your instructions," Old Nicken said in a low voice.

He was the steward of this house, having dedicated his entire life to serving House Foulkeep, though he completely failed to grasp why one would distribute money to the smallfolk.

Most lords in Westeros were considered benevolent if they didn't seize their subjects' rations during years of war and famine.

Yet his Young Master Suleiman had generously given the grain away to the people.

But his loyalty to House Foulkeep was carved into his bones. No matter how confused or difficult to accept, as long as it was his young master's order, he would execute it without hesitation. Young Master Suleiman was all that remained of House Foulkeep; he was the head of the family.

He had served House Foulkeep for generations; serving the house and being loyal to it was the entire meaning of his life.

Suleiman closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hadn't expected that his act of "kindness" would leave the family in a state of total bankruptcy.

His decision at the time had been an attempt to win over the hearts of the people.

Now, he had become the "fool" who had given away the very foundation of his own survival.

"There isn't even a mouse left in the granary now." Suleiman gave a bitter smile; the sentence written on the paper was truly desolate.

The only consolation was that those families at least had a temporary hope of survival.

His kindness might have planted a seed in the hearts of the smallfolk and the families of the surviving farmers and the fallen. But at this moment, it was useless.

He had to solve his own problems now. Foulkeep would soon run out of food; staying home was just waiting for death.

Now he could only hope that his liege lord would be just as generous to him.

"Steward Nicken," Suleiman's voice regained its composure, "I must head to Deddings Town immediately."

"Go now? But Lord Balon Dating is still at Seaguard defending against the Ironborn," Old Nicken raised his head in surprise.

"Yes, to seek an audience with the Lady of the House," Suleiman continued to explain, "I must set off before the castle runs out of food."

"Furthermore, I need to explain the family's plight to the Lady and request her assistance."

More importantly, he needed to "mooch" off Deddings Town; at the very least, he wouldn't starve to death in his own tower.

"Then, what about Foulkeep?" Old Nicken asked worriedly.

"You stay," Suleiman looked at the old steward, "I trust you, Old Steward! You are responsible for guarding the castle and looking after the remaining smallfolk. I will handle matters in Deddings Town as quickly as possible and bring back grain."

Old Nicken's eyes filled with tears at the young lord's sudden expression of trust, and he nodded heavily. Although he was worried about Suleiman going out alone, he knew this was the only way for now.

If he stayed here, he could at least try to maintain this territory that was on the verge of collapse.

"Small nobles like us don't have maesters," Suleiman sighed. In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, maesters held high status, and only the great houses had the qualifications to support them.

Small nobles like them were so poor they were practically eating grass; it wasn't even worth thinking about. Fortunately, the old steward had a lifetime of management experience and could govern in his stead.

"I will take Lushen and Roslyn with me," Suleiman said.

"Yes, Young Master Suleiman," Old Nicken replied.

Although as a lord, Suleiman had absolutely no need to seek the opinions of his two guards, he could have simply issued them a direct order.

However, he felt it was better to notify them, to let them have some mental preparation and build-up. He summoned Lushen and Roslyn, asking them to come into that crude "study."

When Lushen and Roslyn entered, they appeared somewhat constrained and uneasy. They stood respectfully before Suleiman.

Suleiman looked at them; these days they had guarded the tower with duty and diligence, and that loyalty and earnestness were self-evident.

"I have decided to head to Deddings Town to seek an audience with the Lady of the House," Suleiman said directly. "I am taking both of you with me."

The two did not hesitate in the slightest, nodding immediately: "Yes, Lord Suleiman!"

Suleiman paused, then continued: "There is a more practical reason for this trip to Deddings Town: the granary of House Foulkeep is empty, and it can no longer afford to feed the three of us."

He spoke candidly, not feeling that it was shameful for a lord to admit his poverty to his own guards.

Lushen and Roslyn exchanged a glance; although they had been mentally prepared, hearing the lord say it himself still left them somewhat shocked.

"Furthermore," Suleiman's tone turned serious, "the rebellion in the Iron Islands is still ongoing. Although everyone says the King's army will arrive soon, if we go to Deddings Town, we will likely be conscripted by Lord Deddings again to head to Seaguard and join the front lines of the bloody battlefield against the Ironborn."

When Suleiman mentioned the "front lines of the bloody battlefield," Lushen and Roslyn's bodies shuddered violently.

The tragic scene of that day, when they blocked the Ironborn from landing, was still clearly branded in their minds.

They had witnessed death and the brutality of the Ironborn with their own eyes, experiencing that terror firsthand; for men like them, who were mere farmers, it was far too cruel.

Now, the very concept of going to the battlefield was synonymous with going to their deaths.

However, they did not shrink back.

They recalled that on that muddy beach, it was this lord who had been found amidst the piles of corpses.

It was this lord who, upon waking, did not punish them for the crime of falsely reporting his death.

It was this lord who used everything the family had left to comfort those families who had lost their loved ones.

And it was this lord who gave them, these lowly farmers, a sense of purpose as guards to follow.

Lushen and Roslyn fell to their knees with a thud, their faces streaked with tears, their voices choked with emotion yet firm.

"Lord Suleiman! We swear to follow you to the death! It is our honor to die alongside Lord Suleiman."

Lushen also said with a trembling voice, "Our swords fight for you! To be able to follow Lord Suleiman to the battlefield and die there once more is our privilege!"

What was going on? Why were they talking about dying? Suleiman's cheek twitched. What were they saying!

"We, we failed the trust of the Old Lord last time."

Roslyn also said while weeping, "This time, this time we will definitely protect you with our lives, my lord! We will die on the battlefield and never retreat! To die for Lord Suleiman, we, we are willing to die!"

Lushen echoed, "That's right, die on the battlefield, never retreat, to die for Lord Suleiman, we are willing!"

They knew that this lord was different. He had forgiven their crimes, given them new identities, and even exhausted his wealth for the families of his subjects.

They firmly believed that this lord would never treat anyone who bled for him and for House Foulkeep unfairly.

They had already prepared themselves for death, solely to repay this kindness.

Suleiman looked at these two men kneeling on the ground, faces covered in tears yet eyes filled with resolve. Although the words they spoke were unpleasant and so jarring, a warm current still surged through his heart.

These were the commoners of Westeros; perhaps they were lowly and could not recognize a single character, but once they acknowledged someone, their loyalty could be this pure and profound.

He stepped forward and helped them up.

He looked at their tear-stained faces and said with a smile, "Since when is it so easy to die in battle? Rest assured, follow me, and it won't be that easy to die."