During this Eastward Expansion, nearly every soldier in Crabb Territory had been sent out: 100 Crabb Clan Soldiers, 400 from the Thorn Legion, 100 from the Crabb Longbow Legion, and 200 from the Crabb Spearman Legion—a total of 800 combat troops. Including 300 support troops responsible for supplies, the total came to 1,100.
It had been a long time since Crabb Territory had mounted an expedition on such a scale. Everyone was clearly stirred with excitement, but Gryn remained perfectly calm.
They've never seen the world, Gryn thought with disdain for a brief moment.
To Gryn, this was no more than a village brawl.
The fourth day of the march brought their first skirmish since setting out on the Eastward Expansion.
After a month of continuous training, Crabb's longbowmen had become much more seasoned.
A few volleys were enough to rout the attack of some 500 Mountain Wildlings.
Near dusk that day, however, several veteran clan soldiers finally snapped.
The long march had already left them exhausted. They had won a battle that day, yet there was no wine, no camp women, and they were forbidden to touch the prisoners.
It wasn't that they were disloyal to their lord. They had simply had too many habits changed all at once. Resentment, discontent, and pent-up frustration—all these negative feelings, coupled with their naturally short tempers, had finally boiled over.
The noisy men had no idea that their actions might plunge the camp into chaos.
Orders were absolute.
Gryn understood that mercy was no way to command an army. To change the bad habits that hindered combat as quickly as possible, he would only enforce stricter discipline among the soldiers.
Alerted by the commotion outside, Gryn strode from his tent with a riding crop in hand and quickly mounted his horse. On the way, he snatched a spear from a soldier and hurled it without hesitation at the loudest of the clan soldiers.
With a whoosh, the spear pierced the clan soldier's chest and burst out through his back. Its force sent the man flying several meters. The spear, still bearing its victim, plunged deep into the ground, its shaft quivering.
The soldiers gathered nearby felt their breath catch. All at once, the camp fell silent.
Clip-clop, clip-clop~~ The only sound in their ears was the slow, rhythmic beat of hooves.
Gryn gave the reins a slight tug. His horse tossed its head, snorted, and slowly picked its way through the crowd.
Gryn's impassive gaze swept over them. A weight like a great mountain pressed down upon the soldiers, and one by one, trembling, they dropped to their knees before him.
Gryn's voice rang out much louder than usual. "I told you not to gather and make a racket in camp!"
"Look at me. Look at your lord. The laws I decree must not be defied. To defy them is to offend your lord, and there is only one consequence for offending your lord: death!"
The people of Crabb Territory lived in the relatively isolated Crackclaw Point, and their level of civilization was indeed backward. If Gryn explained why he wanted to change what he considered bad habits, they wouldn't understand. The more he said, the more likely they were to be confused.
If they couldn't understand, there was no need to patiently explain. The soldiers would simply have to learn with their bodies that the lord's laws must not be disobeyed.
"I'll say it again. Crabb soldiers, as long as you're at war, there will be no wine and no women!"
"In wartime, you obey the laws!"
"Win the war, and I'll reward you handsomely. I'll reward your bravery, and I'll reward you for obeying the laws! Farmland, houses, good food, fine wine."
Gryn pointed his riding crop at several soldiers closest to him. "You there. Get up and answer me."
The men he pointed at rose, trembling.
"Answer me. Do you understand? Can you obey the laws?"
They answered one after another. "We can." "We'll do it." "I promise."
Gryn pointed somewhere else and asked the same question.
"Louder! Have I not fed you well? Shout it out: obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
The soldiers' shouts grew more and more unified, each wave louder than the last!
Gryn's face, which had been impassive and utterly expressionless, finally softened into the faintest smile.
Gryn then ordered the soldiers' supper to include extra meat.
The soldiers, who had just shouted themselves hoarse to pledge their loyalty to their lord, cheered again, heedless of their sore throats.
As Crabb's soldiers advanced, the Mountain Wildling tribes finally realized that no single tribe could stand against them. In their haste, several large tribes formed an alliance.
An allied force of more than 3,000 Mountain Wildlings gathered across the hillsides before them.
To a chorus of crisp commands, the Crabb Spearman Legion formed three orderly defensive lines.
The Crabb Clan Soldiers split into two groups of 50, each positioned beside one flank of the spearmen's formation.
Behind the defensive lines stood the 500 soldiers of the Thorn Legion and the Crabb Longbow Legion.
The Wildlings sounded their horns and charged.
Each Crabb longbowman carried 40 arrows. From the moment the more than 3,000 Mountain Wildlings charging toward them entered the longbows' effective range—200 yards away—they had to endure a storm of 20,000 arrows.
In Whispers, the two Seven Septons who had volunteered to accompany the army watched the battlefield, utterly shaken.
"This is no longer a war on the same level."
"Indeed. If Crabb had ten thousand archers, they would be unstoppable."
"After more than a decade of silence, this family is about to rise under its young lord. Without outside interference, the entire Crackclaw Point will sooner or later fall into his hands."
"Have you decided to intervene? If so, I'll contact the High Septon in King's Landing as soon as possible. Perhaps we could approach Lord Jon, the Hand of the King, directly. He may be more concerned about this place."
"But allow me to speak frankly: Crackclaw Point is the land of the First Men. Its people have never trusted outsiders. The Old Gods have deep roots here, and the young lord would be more inclined to support us. He needs stable rule after the war, and he would also welcome the Seven's light."
"..."
"He has conditions!"
"Oh? Beyond bringing the light of the gods to those who suffer, what else can septons do? Could he be after the few pitiful Copper Stars in a poor septon's pocket?"
"You misunderstand. It's not Copper Stars, much less Gold Dragons. He wants the right to appoint and dismiss the Territory Bishop! Ha, that is a power belonging to the king!"
"The prize is truly tempting. With the young lord's support, the entire Crackclaw Point would enter the embrace of the Seven. This would be a great achievement—a new chapter in the history of our faith."
"That is truly a proposal hard to refuse."
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