Raymun Darry sat on horseback, his party heading towards Seagard, his gaze sweeping over the rear edge of the formation.
There were three figures closely following them, claiming to be traveling in the same direction.
They walked on the edge of the servant's procession, mingling with other soldiers and retainers from Darry.
Whenever Raymun Darry inadvertently glanced at them, a persistent sense of strangeness welled up in his heart.
Walking in the middle was a young noble of only sixteen, who called himself Suleiman Droppings.
He had brown hair and wore an inconspicuous, washed-out black noble's robe that had been laundered countless times.
He had the typical Riverlands appearance, so typical that even if one tried to remember him first and then threw him into a crowd of Riverlands people, it would definitely take time to recognize him.
He lacked any noble aura or spirit befitting a young lord, not even a trace of the paleness from prolonged indoor living; instead, he had a rough, weather-beaten look.
Beside him were his two guards.
The two men, in their forties or fifties, from their demeanor, were clearly farmers who had only recently put down their hoes.
They walked timidly, occasionally looking around nervously, as if afraid of offending someone. Rather than guards, they seemed like strong laborers forcibly conscripted as guards.
They wore tattered armor and carried two battle swords, rusty, pockmarked, uneven, fragmented, and possibly older than he was.
If Suleiman had not produced his territorial seal and his family crest.
If Raymun Darry had not, by chance, heard his family's maester recount negative examples of Westeros nobles when he was young.
And mentioned the House Droppings from the Riverlands, who were granted nobility for providing toilet services to their liege.
And was warned that this was a negative example of ennoblement, admonishing him that as a lord, he should be fair in rewards and punishments, and never act like this, otherwise he would become the laughingstock of all Westeros!
He would truly have suspected these three people were just refugees from some ruined village in the Riverlands, looking to beg for food and drink.
What astonished him even more was Suleiman's behavior.
Ever since he was temporarily taken in due to what Suleiman called 'being on the way'.
This down-and-out minor noble never actively sought to socialize with the nobles of Darry, or at least find a place among the knights to sit.
Lord Suleiman, every day, with his two 'guards'.
Would join his soldiers in line for meals, naturally accepting the black bread and a bowl of bland meat soup handed over by the soldiers, and then sit among the soldiers and eat heartily.
He would chat and blend in with those low-status, crude ruffians.
He even packed away the unfinished black bread after eating!
Completely lacking the etiquette and refinement expected of a noble, not even a hedge knight would act this way!
As the great lord of Darry, Raymun Darry, having met countless people, had never seen such a disgraceful, shameful, utterly ignoble person, bringing shame to all the nobles of Westeros!
"Saved!"
Suleiman sat on horseback, feeling the long-lost comfort brought by the horses provided by Darry.
Although the horses were a bit thin, it was still a hundred times better than walking on two legs.
Suleiman screamed frantically in his heart!
Damn it, if he hadn't caught up with the Darry's party in time, he and Simon and Lenn, those two pathetic 'guards', would have run out of food!
I, Suleiman Droppings, almost became the first noble in the history of Westeros to starve to death on his way to inherit his title!
To die before even achieving success, to starve to death on the way to the lord's castle, who would believe that when told! It's so damn embarrassing!
As for why he and his guards ate with the Darry soldiers every day? The reason was simply despairing: because he literally had no money!
No money! He didn't even have money to buy black bread!
Old Nick had packed them full of supplies when they left, but when Suleiman asked what he would do if they took everything.
Old Nick just smiled and said he would be fine going hungry, as he was originally a refugee wandering due to war.
He endured hunger every day, and if the House Droppings hadn't taken him in, he would have starved to death long ago, so he couldn't let his Young Master Suleiman go hungry.
Suleiman remained silent, only leaving most of the supplies in the castle when he departed.
Recalling the day he bid farewell to Old Nick.
His last glance back.
Droppings, a solitary tower, without walls, lacking even the most basic defenses.
Old Nick, standing alone at the tower's entrance.
His back was hunched, his eyes teary as he looked at him, his aged face filled with worry and reluctance.
Suleiman waved at him, signaling him not to worry, then turned his head and never looked back again.
Old Nick was a traditional noble steward; everything he did was for the family, though he used unscrupulous means.
Suleiman knew that before he left, Old Nick had specifically called Simon and Lenn, those two farmers, to a secluded spot.
He could completely guess what he would have said to them—it was nothing more than that their families, their wives and children, were still within the territory.
If they dared to harm him on the road, or dared to betray him, then what fate would befall their families.
Suleiman understood Old Nick; he was protecting Suleiman in the only way he knew how.
It was just that this journey was even more difficult than he had imagined.
Droppings was dirt poor; they had no horses!
They could only walk on two legs.
The first day, fueled by a fresh excitement and a sightseeing mood, they walked swiftly.
The second day, the three of them could still chat and laugh.
The third day, none of the three spoke anymore, only heavy panting remained.
The fourth day, Suleiman felt like every step he took was on needles.
The fifth day, although Simon and Lenn had long since discovered the problem and ate as little as possible, leaving food for their Lord Suleiman, their food still ran out.
Suleiman was dizzy with hunger, feeling like he could collapse by the roadside at any moment.
"Damn it, to die before even achieving success!"
"What kind of transmigrator are you!"
Suleiman wailed in his heart then, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Just when he thought he was truly doomed, one of the Seven Gods, thankfully, gave him a green light.
They met the lord of Darry, Lord Raymun Darry, and his army heading to Seagard to participate in the war.
Suleiman still remembers, when he forced himself to maintain his composure.
And announced his title, "Suleiman, the sole heir of Lord Droppings," to the noble lord riding on the tall horse, the myriad expressions on the other's face.
His eyes changed constantly: suspicion, confusion, then sudden realization, and finally an indescribable look.
"Bring our Lord Droppings a horse," Raymun Darry said with a laugh to his attendant.
Then he spurred his horse past Suleiman.
Who cares!
Suleiman chewed hard on the black bread in his mouth, tasting like countless pieces of paper.
Being alive, having food to eat, was better than anything.
"Lord Suleiman, what are you thinking about?" a young soldier beside him asked curiously.
These soldiers were full of curiosity about Suleiman, the noble lord who was willing to eat with them.
Suleiman swallowed the last bite of bread, wiped his mouth, and smiled: "I'm thinking, will the food in Deddings Keep be better than here?"
"Definitely!" The soldiers grinned.
"Lord Deddings is a great lord just like our Lord Raymon Dayne! In his castle, there must be roasted meat and fine wine to drink every day!"
"And countless beauties!"
"Hahaha."
Suleiman smiled.
He once again felt that Raymon Dayne, the lord of Darry, was truly a good person!