The poisoned meat soup was served in a wooden bowl, emanating a tempting aroma.
Vaerik took the soup handed to him by the knight, slowly raised it to his lips, but suddenly stopped and turned to hand the bowl to Roy.
"I have no appetite. You drink it for me."
Roy's face froze, and he smiled forcedly: "My Lord, this is against the rules. You should have it first."
"I order you to drink it," Vaerik's tone suddenly became serious.
Roy's lips turned slightly pale, and cold sweat seeped from his temples.
He knew very well what was in the bowl of soup. If he drank it, he would certainly die.
Knight Captain Lambert also sensed something was wrong and gave a signal to the surrounding knights. Several immediately stood up and surrounded Roy.
"Drink it," Lambert said in a deep voice.
The hot meat soup was forcibly brought to his lips.
Seeing that he could no longer evade, Roy suddenly tried to escape, but was firmly held down.
Only then did the other knights truly realize—there was poison in this bowl of soup!
Vaerik stood up and looked down at Roy, who was pinned to the ground: "You know the consequence of attempting to murder your lord, don't you?"
Roy's eyes were full of fear; of course he knew the consequences.
"Who ordered you to poison me?" Vaerik's voice was calm.
Roy replied tremblingly: "It was... it was Lord Benjamin. He ordered me to poison you."
Benjamin was the second son of Duke Tudor, Vaerik's older brother.
The knights' gazes all turned toward Vaerik.
They were all knights of the Tudor family and knew well the overt and covert struggles between the brothers.
But for a lord to be stabbed in the back by someone from his family before even establishing himself was still chilling.
Roy continued haltingly: "He promised... as long as I poisoned you to death, he would let me return to the South and arrange a new position for me, at least as a knight captain..."
With these words, the knights surrounding him looked even more grim.
Vaerik, however, gave a low laugh.
If he guessed correctly, his brother was doing this to completely eliminate a future competitor for the title.
The Duke succession system in the Tudor family was not based on primogeniture but on the strongest succeeding.
No matter how useless Vaerik was now, as long as he was alive, he was still of Duke Tudor's bloodline and still had inheritance rights.
Moreover, if he died on the way to the North, the family would certainly send another brother to take over and complete the task of going to the North.
In other words, Benjamin could not only eliminate a competitor but also continue to consume other brothers in the family—killing two birds with one stone. What a clever calculation.
Roy still had a glimmer of hope as he looked pleadingly at Vaerik: "My Lord, I... I was forced to do it!
I'm just a knight. Lord Benjamin ordered me, and I dared not disobey... Please spare my life. I'm willing to serve you loyally!"
"Lambert," Vaerik spoke in a flat tone.
"Yes." The knight captain stepped forward and drew his sword.
Roy completely panicked and struggled desperately: "My Lord! Spare me! I'll never..."
"Swoosh!"
A flash of silver, and blood splattered on the snow.
Roy's plea was cut short as his head rolled to the ground, his eyes still open in death.
Lambert sheathed his sword and said calmly: "The traitor has been executed."
But in the camp, the atmosphere was somewhat strange.
The watching knights were silent, with a hint of complex emotions in their eyes.
Roy betrayed his lord and deserved to die—this was an indisputable fact.
But were his actions really just due to greed?
He wanted to return to the South, not wanting to die trapped in this cold wasteland.
What about them? Weren't they the same?
Everyone knew what it meant to go to the North to pioneer territory.
This was a place of exile, the territory with the highest mortality rate.
No one came voluntarily, and no one didn't want to go back.
At this moment, no one dared to look at the head rolling on the ground, afraid to see their own face on the severed head.
Confusion and helplessness rose like a tide in their hearts.
In the night, the campfire burned, clearly reflecting the emotions in their eyes.
Vaerik saw this and stepped forward: "Those who want to go back can leave now."
Everyone was startled and looked up at him.
"I will personally write to the family to exonerate you." Vaerik paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone's face. "But after today, anyone who leaves will end up like Roy."
No one spoke, and no one dared to move.
They weren't fools. Even with Vaerik's letter, the family might not forgive them for desertion, and what awaited them might be even more terrible punishment.
Staying in the North might be a dead end, but going back might not offer a way to live either.
Vaerik looked at these silent knights and suddenly laughed softly.
He put away the killing intent from earlier, and his voice became calm: "You all think coming to the North is a death sentence.
You also know why you were sent here. It's because you have no backing in the family, so you can be discarded like garbage."
Vaerik paused, then his tone suddenly became powerful: "But I don't think so! You are not garbage!
You became knight apprentices, even formal knights, because of your talent, your effort, and real battles!
And those who sent you here? They're just parasites hiding in castles, eating and enjoying themselves!"
He slowly surveyed everyone. At this moment, a hint of wavering appeared in everyone's eyes.
"Have you ever thought, what if we could survive in this frozen land? What if we could establish ourselves here?
Perhaps the darkness before dawn will be very long.
But the sun will always rise!
I don't know if we can all wait until that moment, but I swear by the Dragon Ancestor—
If that day comes, the glory brought by the sun, I will share with all of you!"
Vaerik slowly looked over everyone; there was a hint of wavering in each person's eyes.
"To the Tudor family, you are insignificant, pawns that can be sacrificed at any time.
But in this land full of opportunities, anything is possible.
Someone sitting here might one day become a baron, a viscount, or even an earl!
Of course, you can continue to wallow in the arrangements of fate, continue to lament all day, treating yourselves as half-buried people;
Or, join me on this abandoned land and take the future firmly in our own hands."
Silence.
Dead silence.
The night wind howled, the campfire flickered slightly, illuminating complex faces.
Suddenly, "Bang!" A deep, muffled sound broke the night.
Knight Captain Lambert knelt on one knee, his right fist slamming against his chest!
"I swear to follow my Lord to the death!"
Then, the second person, the third person, the fourth person...
"I swear to follow my Lord to the death!"
"I swear to follow my Lord to the death!"
...
The knights knelt one after another, their right fists striking hard against their hearts.