Mother and Daughter's Heart-to-Heart

Sir Pell's voice carried pride, "My lord, I command a hundred men as if they were my own limbs."

Just a centurion, and he's so smug, Green inwardly scoffed.

In his past life, in games, he'd easily commanded hundreds of thousands in battle.

Heh, this is the real-life Age of Empires now, it's different.

The Crackclaw Point, perpetually chaotic, was sparsely populated. By the scale of warfare, it was indeed "countryside" here. Battles here were akin to mere brawls.

They were all people who hadn't seen a real large-scale engagement, and that was a problem.

Someone like Pell, who had fought for half his life and possessed command ability, was, to a certain extent, an invincible existence in this region.

Deserves to be proud, I understand.

Green showed a satisfied smile and continued walking with Sir Pell.

Inside The Whispers, after a period of strict management, it had become clean, and all sorts of foul odors had dissipated.

These subtle changes made Green's steps lighter.

Arrange for the kitchen to add an extra dish tonight, a little encouragement now and then.

A training ground in Whispers.

Over twenty individuals were gathered here, each tall and strong, standing like iron towers.

These were the most elite warriors of House Crabb, capable of fighting in full plate armor.

The Mountain Wildlings called them the Iron-Skins.

Upon seeing Green and Pell approach, everyone stopped their movements and bowed in unison.

Green picked up a wooden training sword from the rack, swung it, and said, "Who wants to spar with me?"

Silence fell upon the crowd as they exchanged glances.

Green casually pointed at one person, "Hmm, yes, you."

A man who had been reserved initially, as he walked over, relaxed and said earnestly, "My Lord, my name is Foley... I might get injured."

Green chuckled lightly, "If you injure me, I'll add a roasted lamb leg to your lunch."

"A fatty one, dripping with oil."

The burly man swallowed, then nodded.

News of the young lord's sparring match in the training ground spread through the castle with incredible speed. Everyone gathered.

By the time Green took off his outer robe, handed it to an attendant, and stood ready again, a large crowd had already assembled, gathering with unbelievable, unreasonable speed.

"Ooh ooh ooh!"

"Roar roar roar!"

The burly Foley, fueled by the temptation of the roasted lamb leg and the atmosphere of the crowd, was in high spirits.

Foley's movements were swift, but he wasn't using his full strength.

Foley had his own little wisdom; if he truly injured the lord, he feared the roasted lamb leg wouldn't taste good. He wanted to make the young and impetuous lord retreat, saving the lord's face.

Facing Foley's overhead sword strike, Green easily blocked it with one hand, pushing forward. Foley, instinctively resisting the sudden force, still retreated three steps.

"My warrior, be serious, let me see your true strength."

"Ooh ho ho!!"

"Foley, did the owner of Old Ken Tavern keep you overnight? You've got the desire but not the strength now."

"What nonsense are you spouting, die, you hag!"

"Haha, desire but not the strength!"

Foley's dark face flushed.

Damn it, you bastards are talking nonsense. The lord's strength is truly immense, what do you people know??!!

Foley stood firm, his sword-gripping hand initially loosening slightly before tightening again, entering a combat state honed in hellish training.

Bang! Dong!

Dust kicked up, then dispersed. Foley lay on his back, a look of utter despair on his face.

I really tried my best...

Silence.

Then, cheers erupted!

Green maintained a reserved smile, waving gently to the crowd, responding to his people's enthusiasm.

In Whispers, the somber atmosphere that had lingered since Green's mother's passing seemed to have vanished in an instant.

No longer gloomy.

Sir Pell was shocked by the strength Gryn displayed.

Pell's swordsmanship was seasoned, and he could naturally tell that Gryn wasn't going all out, easily defeating Foley.

Although Foley's swordsmanship wasn't as good as his own, his body was strong enough that Pell himself would have to be careful, and could only manage to remain undefeated.

The lord had grown up, becoming stronger and stronger; House Crabb had a promising future.

On the wooden platform beside the training grounds, Surana stood with her second daughter, Kalaia, watching Gryn's receding figure.

"My daughter, Lord Gryn is very strong. His children will be as robust as little calves."

Kalaia's hair was the common raven black of Crackclaw Point. As the steward's daughter, her slightly curly long hair was well-maintained.

Kalaia was nearly 1.6 meters tall.

Kalaia's deep green eyes turned to Surana: "Mother, but... an illegitimate child... I want to marry a valiant knight, not be a mistress who bears his illegitimate child."

"Every maiden on the continent of Westeros dreams of marrying a valiant knight. But, my poor daughter, your status is not enough. Wealthy knights won't fancy you; only down-on-their-luck knights or widowers will. Can you adapt to a life of poverty? Do you really want to serve an old man?"

Kalena stubbornly remained silent.

"Mother won't harm you. You can't live on love; it changes."

Kalaia turned away angrily: "My opinion doesn't matter at all, does it? Then just strip me and throw me into the lord's bedroom!"

"You..."

Surana was always seen as someone who didn't smile, a walking ice sculpture.

All of Surana's tenderness was given to her most beloved daughter, Kalaia.

Surana watched her daughter sulk, blink, and then step forward, resting her soft chin on Kalena's head.

"If only it were that simple; then Mother would be at ease."

"Yesterday, I tested the waters, but it seems I was rejected. I feel Lord Gryn isn't interested in you."

Kalena broke free from Surana's embrace and met her mother's eyes, checking if she was joking.

I'm the prettiest in our village! Kalaia's face showed disbelief. Are you serious?

Surana looked her daughter's beauty up and down with satisfaction, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

Her skin was as fair as milk, soft and delicate.

"Your mother is just a steward. While she has a place in the Crabb domain, her status isn't noble. If you were plain-looking, Mother wouldn't have to worry about this and that."

"As you've grown older, you've blossomed like a flower. You'll be coveted by all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons. Sooner or later, your beauty will become your downfall."

"My many years of age tell me how cruel this world is. Among the people I know, only Lord Gryn can protect you without mistreating you."

Kalaia's eyes reddened, and she hugged Surana tightly, breathing in the familiar scent: "Mother..."

Surana stroked Kalaia's hair and said, "Perhaps there are better people out there, but Mother doesn't want you to leave, nor can she rest easy with you alone. Are you willing to leave Mother?"

No, never... Kalaia shook her head vigorously in Surana's embrace.

"I mentioned you to Lord Gryn yesterday, but... Lord Gryn didn't show any reaction at all. I tossed and turned all night."

Kalaia let out a muffled hum in Surana's enveloping embrace.

Gryn busied himself in the blacksmith's shop, the carpentry workshop, and other places for the entire afternoon. After dinner, he had a long talk with Sir Pell about the issue of the Mountain Wildlings.

Finally done for the day, Gryn soaked in the hot water of the wooden bathtub to relax.

He let out a comfortable sigh, thinking about the most famous Spearwife in the territory he was scheduled to meet tomorrow – Amparo. She was said to be a formidable huntress with excellent archery skills.

Creak.

The sound of the wooden door opening was unusually jarring in the quiet night.

The footsteps were light; it wasn't a familiar sound.

Gryn's heart stirred, and one hand already reached for the short sword leaning against the bathtub.

Closer.

Gryn's deep brown eyes flickered.

The linen material of the olive-green dress was thin, and the low-cut neckline was revealing.

"Forgive my intrusion, Lord Gryn."

"I am Kalaia, daughter of Steward Surana."