The bustling castle was peaceful and harmonious.
People dressed in armor, burlap, and silk moved back and forth on the hillocks and surrounding grasslands, some busy, some leisurely.
Iron forks, wooden sticks, and stone pots were set up in front of the tents, and charcoal fires burned.
People were looking forward to dinner.
Looking further out, the road connecting the castle to the outside world was originally only wide enough for two people. Now, the trees growing on both sides of the road had been cut down and turned into charcoal for burning, supports for tents, materials for building various equipment, and boards for leveling the ground.
The new road was four or five times wider than the original.
And the almost constant trampling and crushing had made this road increasingly dense and hard, with not a blade of grass growing, like an old road from years past.
At this moment.
Heavy and continuous carriages and horses were still traveling on the road, heading south, towards Renly outside Storm's End.
They still pledged allegiance to the "King."
No one knew that Renly no longer needed these supplies.
And Felwood had also been surrounded by two thousand men.
They arrived last night, so why didn't they attack earlier? Why wait until the battle at Storm's End was over?
Jon Snow had his own considerations.
Just two hours after the battle of Storm's End ended, the Security Bureau, with its available manpower, updated him with the latest intelligence on Felwood.
Felwood had no secrets or unknowns left.
With such combat conditions, it could be considered the most foolproof time to start the war.
Information first.
Jon Snow had learned a lot from the battle examples provided by the Light Screen.
Past wars were in the past; current wars were the true future. Intelligence, equipment, planning, not luck, conspiracy, or attrition.
It was time to begin.
After ordering the assembly of the cannons and calibrating their positions, Jon shared the intelligence with the vanguard, Ser Hart Fell.
After reading the information, Hart Fell understood that it was time to make a choice.
Felwood.
This castle had become the terminal of Duke Renly's army's supply line.
Once quiet, it was now overcrowded with as many as sixty thousand merchants and commoners, countless supplies and provisions, and a garrison of over four thousand six hundred soldiers.
And the one in charge of the situation in Felwood was his dear uncle, Lord Haywood Fell.
Yes, uncle.
Hart Fell's father was Haywood Fell's elder brother, who unfortunately met with an accident in his early years.
When his Grandfather was seriously ill, he, the eldest grandson, was not yet old enough to remember, just past his first birthday. It was said he also had a serious illness and was likely not long for this world.
Even so, according to ancient tradition and the legal order of succession, as long as he was still alive, even if just an infant, even if foolish and paralyzed, the new Lord should undoubtedly be him.
But in the end, the lands and title of House Fell went into his uncle's hands.
Evidently, not many people were determined to stand up for him, the infant, and argue for his rights. His father had only passed away half a year prior.
Why?
Hart Fell later vaguely realized that at that time, his father's confidantes from when he was alive had been dealt with or absorbed.
Lord Haywood Fell's methods were quite formidable.
But no matter what, within half a year, the heir and the Lord of Felwood both passed away, and his uncle improperly seized the legal rights of his nephew, who was still in his cradle.
Such a major change obviously could not keep everyone quiet.
Many rumors arose from this.
As he grew up, Hart Fell never actively sought out any information.
But he also knew.
People secretly speculated that the deaths of the old Lord and his father were both the work of Haywood Fell, for the honor and status he should not have received.
And in the days after Lord Haywood's succession, there were indeed unusually frequent personnel changes.
But this could not be considered criminal evidence at all. Many Lords had similar actions, merely to promote their confidantes. It couldn't be that everyone was a usurper plotting treason?
Rumors were, after all, just rumors.
His uncle's rule was calm and stable, Felwood developed well, and the family, like in the past thousand years, was stable and prosperous, slowly accumulating honor and reputation.
Hart Fell grew up safely and discreetly, and was personally knighted by his uncle.
Over the years, no one deliberately made things difficult for him or mocked him, and he never mentioned his so-called "inheritance rights." House Fell was harmonious and amicable.
A loving family.
Putting aside those nonsensical rumors, Hart Fell was quite content with his situation.
He would travel the Seven Kingdoms under the name of "Ser," and countless grand gatherings would welcome him with open arms. Fine wine and delicious food, soft beds, cheers and adoration, the favor of maidens – countless people yearned for such excitement, but for him, it was just his daily life.
He would also forge friendships with other Ser, receive courteous hospitality from lords across the land, and have the honor of meeting the esteemed King and Queen.
When he reached his twenties, having made a name for himself and grown a beard,
His uncle would naturally arrange a marriage for him.
He would marry a noble wife from a similarly prestigious family. She would raise their children, teaching them by example to become respected nobles.
He would also have beautiful encounters with commoner women from various places, and if he was lucky or unlucky enough, many bastards would be born. He might remember their mothers, or he might not.
When these little ones grew up, perhaps they would come knocking, crying and making a fuss, begging him to acknowledge them and provide for them.
By this time, he would also be a man in his dozens. Tired of playing, he would decide to return to the family.
His uncle would likely be full of white hair by then.
He would be granted a piece of land by his uncle, commensurate with a knight – one or two villages or towns.
He would spend his twilight years in his own domain.
His children would continue his honor, inherit the title, be knighted, or marry into various noble families.
Years later, a descendant would achieve even greater glory, earning a promotion, turning the branch descended from Ser Hart Fell into Barons, Lords, or even Dukes. He would then be content.
Everything should have unfolded this way.
But things took a completely different turn at the second step.
War broke out!
Duke Renly was crowned King, declaring war on King Joffrey on the Iron Throne and the Lannister family!
Felwood had to make a choice.
Liege Lord, or King?
His uncle chose the Liege Lord of the Stormlands and the legitimate King, His Majesty Renly.
Hart Fell had even less choice. He could only be swept into the war, regardless of whether his heart held excitement and anticipation, or anxiety and fear.
All he could do was fight bravely and strive for victory.
Perhaps he would achieve great merit?
But that night at Massey's Hook shattered his illusions.
King Joffrey, blessed by the Gods, was winning victory after victory, while King Renly and many lords were descending into the abyss.
Now.
Hart Fell finally had a chance to choose.
He could have his revenge.
Boom—
Thunder sounded in the sky over Felwood.
Cannons shattered Solid Stone, leveled fortifications, broke Roads, destroyed armories...
Divine Punishment?!
Everyone in the Castle couldn't help but tremble in fear.
"I am Hart Fell! Haywood Fell murdered his own father and brother, usurping the title! The Gods will not tolerate this! Storm's End has fallen, Renly's rebellion has completely failed! In the name of me, the Lord of Felwood, everyone lay down your weapons! Otherwise..."
Someone recognized the voice.
The terrifying explosions continued, getting closer and closer to the crowd.
"Long live King Joffrey!" The first person unbuckled his armor and knelt. He was a New Recruit.
Then the whole city
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