Gendry galloped across the grassland on a black steed, its hooves trampling the turf, sending dirt flying. This Dornish horse, gifted by The Red Viper, was indeed exceptionally spirited.
Only when Maester Qyburn's aged figure appeared in the hunting grounds did Gendry rein in his horse and tie it up.
"My lord, many thieving The Hounds have appeared near the Wolf's Den recently," Maester Qyburn said. "In the market, in the city hall, and in the new armory."
Maester Qyburn controlled a portion of the intelligence agencies, and his intelligence network had now expanded. Orphans, war orphans, and loyal freed slaves were Maester Qyburn's claws. Especially in the Disputed Lands, Lys, and Myr, Maester Qyburn's spies were ubiquitous, and intelligence flowed in continuously.
Gendry now lacked neither gold nor loyal people, and the intelligence network was established quite smoothly.
"Someone needs to keep an eye on their The Hounds, so they don't always come to our territory to snatch food," Gendry knew what those petty thieves were after. Some were probing Gendry and the legion's movements, some were inquiring about the output of the new armory, and some were trying to understand the Targaryen siblings.
Wolf's Den City had newly established a large armory, concentrating top craftsmen from Myr and Tyrosh to manufacture armor and weapons.
The rumbling war machine was starting, and even the slow-witted Free Cities sensed this deterrence. Everyone was curious where the Wolf Pack would strike next: Westeros Across the Narrow Sea, or the neighboring Lys.
"Whose The Hounds are they?" Gendry asked.
"Volantis', Lys', Pentos', and also from Across the Narrow Sea."
"Do we need to cast the net?" Maester Qyburn wanted an answer.
"Let's play the long game and see if we can catch what we want," Gendry said.
"As you command."
"Oh, Regent," Maester Qyburn said. "I also saw an interesting group of people, from the North."
"Who are they?"
"They seem to be from House Bolton."
"Tell me about them," Gendry asked.
House Bolton was one of the oldest, most powerful, and most infamous noble houses in the North. In the past, they had even been kings, and the power and strength of Bolton were second only to House Stark, the Wardens of the North.
"A Pentos merchant came to purchase grain, but his entourage didn't resemble the ostentatious Pentos Mercenaries at all. They looked more like a group of well-trained taxi soldiers. Those with strength who also conceal their tracks are very likely from The Dreadfort. This isn't even the most interesting part; what's more interesting is that there's a young, ugly attendant in the group who is overly enthusiastic and too interested in the new armory, trying to pry out the secrets of the new crossbow."
"The Leathers, that's quite interesting," Gendry smiled. "I'd like to meet them."
...At an inn on the west side of Wolf's Den City. This inn was small and quiet, its only advantage being a view of the nearby military factory.
Black walls towered high, with taxi soldiers guarding all around, and the grey-white banners of the Wolf Pack flew at the highest point.
The skilled craftsmen from Myr and Tyrosh were now gathered here, the place bustling with activity, and the fire from the iron furnaces shot straight into the sky, like fire dragons.
"I hate the Wolf Pack," Ramsay said bitterly, looking at the galloping Wolf Pack banner. To become a true Bolton, he had to act more Bolton than a legitimate Bolton. The Red King had fought the King of the North for a thousand years, and legend had it that the Red King even collected the skins of several Starks.
"What are they doing?" Ramsay was very curious.
Ramsay saw the master craftsmen and apprentices going in and out, but rarely communicating with outsiders. The military factory had Supporting housing and a park. These people were currently considered vassals of the Mercenary King, and it was said that the military factory offered very generous treatment.
"My lord, Lord Roose only sent us to observe the grain market in the Free Cities. What we are doing has already gone against Lord Roose's original intention," Reek pleaded.
The long summer had lasted too long, but seasoned northern lords like Bolton would never forget the shadow of the Long Winter. Roose sent his bastard to see the world, but forbade him from doing anything, which greatly displeased Ramsay.
"Shut up," Ramsay Snow looked at Reek, who then dared not speak again. "These people my father sent me are truly difficult to use. I should have brought my own boys."
Reek understood that Ramsay's "good boys" were as cruel and violent as he was, and their presence would only cause trouble.
"That stench on you is really strong, even though you washed many times before getting on the ship," Ramsay looked at Reek.
"Reek, because I am Reek, master," Reek repeated, a smile on Ramsay's face.
"Good The Hound."
"Father always hid me in The Dreadfort. This is my first time out. I want to prove to him that I am the true The Leathers!" Ramsay shouted.
Reek then stopped speaking. Misfortune comes from the mouth, and no one understood Ramsay's cruelty better than him.
Ramsay shifted his gaze out the window and saw the guards in black armor, wearing beautiful black cloaks with the Wolf Pack's emblem. The soldiers' plate armor vests on their upper bodies gleamed beautifully in the sunlight, dazzling to the eye.
"The Free Cities are truly so wealthy," Ramsay said enviously. Even The Dreadfort, which was quite powerful, mostly had guards around his father wearing only grey chainmail and iron half-helms.
Yet, in Wolf's Den City, the armor of these ordinary guards already surpassed that of The Leathers' elites.
Could the equipment and armor of the northern lord House Stark also be this excellent? Ramsay wondered, but the conclusion was most likely negative. The North was harsh, sparsely populated, and its weaponry and equipment were generally at the bottom among the Seven Kingdoms.
"Plate armor, crossbows that can fire three times consecutively," Ramsay mused. If he could get his hands on some, such an army would probably even frighten Stark.
Unfortunately, Ramsay had no money, and Ramsay never paid for anything. Moreover, the crafting and export of excellent weapons from Myr and Tyrosh were now monopolized by the new government, with the city hall issuing licenses to merchants one by one.
Ramsay gave a few gold dragons to a blacksmith's apprentice at the military factory, hoping to get some useful blueprints.
Ramsay ultimately could not suppress his inner ambition. This was his first time leaving The Dreadfort; previously, Roose had hidden his tracks like a hidden Bastard. Ramsay desperately wanted to prove himself.
"Damn it, these iron factory apprentices are completely unreliable. I should flay him," Ramsay thought fiercely.
Just then, Reek suddenly cried out, "This is bad, Lord Ramsay!"
Some tall Dothraki Unsullied, wearing bronze spiked helmets, who had arrived at some unknown time, had appeared below the inn and began to rush up into it.
"Dothraki Unsullied, that Bastard King's personal guard!" Cold sweat streamed down Ramsay's face. This was a wrong decision; his adventure had ultimately yielded a humiliating result.
Ramsay somewhat regretted not heeding Roose's teachings: peaceful lands, peaceful people—this was Roose's way of governance. But Ramsay did not understand these things; he only knew that violence and cunning would make others fear him.
"Change clothes with me, quickly!" Ramsay's eyes darted around, then he roared. Reek dared not defy his shouting and obediently took off his clothes.
Ramsay then ran into the latrine, smearing himself all over with urine and filth. He had to make himself smell like a privy so he could truly resemble Reek.
The battle ended swiftly. Although the House Bolton guards were well-trained, they had no armor and hadn't brought their preferred weapons. Even if they had weapons, nothing could compare to the triple-shot crossbow at close range.
"I don't know them, I don't know them!" The wailing Pentos merchant was dragged out of his room. The Pentos man shouted, "These Northmen only asked me to show them the grain market—wheat, corn, even tobacco. Whatever they wanted to do, it has nothing to do with me!"
The controlled House Bolton guards silently accepted their fate of arrest, unable to resist, yet all remained silent. Two quick-handed Northmen tried to draw their longswords to defend themselves but were shot directly through the body by Myr crossbows. The rest of the Northmen became much more compliant.
The door to The Bastard of Bolton's room was pushed open. Six tall Dothraki Unsullied, wearing light armor and bronze spiked helmets, stepped inside. They carried shields, shortswords, and small Myr crossbows. The Unsullied roughly surveyed everything in the bedroom. Indeed, there was a stench that stung the nostrils.
"Lord Bolton's guest?" The Commander-in-Chief of the Alliance of the Twin Cities looked coldly at everything in the room. Gendry only felt a pervasive foul odor.
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