No one wanted to associate with the "crows."
They were either fools abandoned by their families or criminals, having completely lost their ancient honor.
Nowadays, the Night's Watch frequently traveled south to beg nobles or the King for recruits and supplies, earning the mockery of southerners who called them scavengers who "lived on carrion."
Watching the crows cross the tall grass and approach the sandy ground was like watching fleas crawl from hair onto a bald scalp—disgusting and alarming.
Davos immediately stood up, his hand gripping his sword hilt tightly.
The others did the same.
Matthew stood behind the human wall, leveling his crossbow.
The atmosphere instantly became heavy, too thick for the evening breeze to scatter.
The approaching Night's Watchman stopped twenty paces away, raised both hands, and said awkwardly:
"Brothers, we are Night's Watch. Just looking to beg for a bite to eat."
Ser Imry scoffed and said:
"We're looking for a bite to eat too."
"Alright then, my mistake."
The Night's Watchman immediately retreated out of crossbow range, spat on the ground with a vicious glare, and rejoined his group.
Davos didn't relax. He kept his eyes on the Night's Watch group until they made camp by the stream at the crossroads.
That was at least three hundred feet away—safe enough.
But as soon as Davos turned around, he said:
"We need to keep moving."
Matthew glanced at the swarming Night's Watch group and took Little Fish's hand.
But Ser Imry led the complaints:
"We've been walking for a day and a night. I really can't move anymore. Let's just rest. They're just a bunch of crows."
The others nodded repeatedly, unwilling to move.
Even Dale didn't want to leave.
Seeing everyone looking miserable, Davos slowly sat down and ordered helplessly:
"Light a fire then. Otherwise, the night will be dangerous."
Hearing this, Dale immediately went to find dry grass, with Little Fish following happily behind him.
A few others followed suit.
Only Imry couldn't be bothered. He stared unblinkingly at the Night's Watchmen.
Matthew could tell from his expression that he hated them, but he didn't know why he kept watching.
Maybe he guesses he'll be wearing the black cloak someday too?
Matthew mocked him internally.
Southerners and Northerners had vastly different attitudes toward crows.
He was sure Ser Imry, like the farmer's son, had been frightened by ghost stories about the Night's Watch by his family.
But a farmer's son who committed a crime to survive would be willing to join the Watch.
If Ser Imry found himself in a hopeless situation thanks to Matthew, would he beg for that choice too?
But the probability was very low.
Matthew would never be foolish enough to show mercy at a time like that.
Ser Imry scratched his head, seemingly sensing something, and looked back alertly.
Matthew immediately shifted his murderous gaze, looking naturally at Davos instead.
He didn't know what this man was thinking, staring at a rock like a wooden statue for so long.
Just as he was about to go ask, shouting came from the grass.
He tensed instantly, raised his crossbow toward the sound, and slowly approached.
Davos had already stood up. Glancing at the Night's Watchmen rushing over, he strode ahead into the grass.
Ser Imry followed behind.
Seeing them rush in so recklessly, Matthew decided to hang back and use them as human shields.
Stepping on the grass flattened by those ahead, his steps were much easier.
Approaching the source of the noise, Matthew saw Little Fish and a jagged-toothed boy shouting insults at each other, separated by a patch of dry grass.
Several guards stood nearby.
About a dozen steps further, ten or so Night's Watchmen—looking like beggars, thieves, or bandits—were grinning and watching.
Their weapons were a motley collection: swords, axes, daggers, sickles, or just wooden clubs.
The two sides were in a standoff, neither intending to intervene, seemingly treating it as a show.
Before Matthew's group arrived, the jagged-toothed brat saw the adults weren't interfering and lost his patience. He shoved Little Fish down.
Little Fish was much younger and a head shorter.
Before he could get up, the brat stepped on his butt, pinning him face-down into the grass. His face scraped painfully against the ground.
Like a salted fish, he felt suffocated.
"Ooh, keep cursing!"
The jagged-toothed brat ground his foot into the struggling Little Fish, revealing more black teeth as he mocked:
"Weren't you so good at cursing? Get up and curse if you can!"
Everyone around was laughing. Dale wanted to intervene but was held back by others who gestured toward the Night's Watchmen opposite.
Although the dozen crows were laughing, their eyes were constantly scanning Dale's group.
Neither side dared to make a move.
The jagged-toothed brat looked around, realized the other side really wouldn't act, and pressed down harder.
He even raised his foot, preparing to stomp on Little Fish's head.
Thwip...
Just then, a cold arrow shot between his legs and stuck into the grass nearby, quivering with a twang.
The sound drew everyone's attention.
The jagged-toothed brat looked at the slanted fletching, swallowed hard, and his legs began to shake uncontrollably.
That thing just passed right under his crotch.
"Move your stinking foot, or the next bolt shoots your balls off."
Matthew, his eye level with the crossbow sight, offered a "friendly" greeting.
The brat obeyed immediately, raising his hands high and moving toward his own people.
The Night's Watchmen looked at Matthew. They stopped laughing and froze, their faces tense.
Matthew had already reloaded the crossbow.
This was no joke. Even with armor, that thing could shoot right through you.
At this moment, a few more Night's Watchmen arrived.
Leading them was a hunchback with a face full of black beard. You couldn't see his face, but he was the only one in the group wearing a black cloak.
Assessing the situation, he kicked the jagged-toothed brat down and said directly to Matthew:
"Kid, this is a misunderstanding. We are Night's Watchmen heading north. So is this brat. He should die at the Wall, not here."
"Back off."
Matthew knew this was a real brother of the Night's Watch, but he still snorted coldly, enduring the stench as he pressed forward step by step.
The man in black backed away step by step, forcing those behind him to retreat as well.
Once there was distance, Matthew pulled the bolt from the ground and hauled Little Fish up.
As they turned to leave, he saw the jagged-toothed brat getting up to run. Matthew swept his leg sideways, slamming it into the side of the boy's thin, fragile knee.
With a loud crack, the brat fell to the ground, clutching his leg and wailing:
"My leg..."
Seeing one of their own crippled, the Night's Watchmen exploded in anger. They drew clubs and knives, shouting at the man in black:
"Yoren! They started it! Stop talking nonsense and let's get them!"
But Matthew was faster. He spun around, raised the crossbow, and said coldly:
"Who wants to be the first to taste a crossbow bolt?"
Short words, maximum deterrence.
Yoren glared at Matthew coldly but was forced to roar:
"Shove those damn things back up your asses, all of you!"
Simultaneously, Davos stepped forward, patted Matthew's shoulder, and advised:
"Don't escalate this. It's not good for us."
Hearing this, Matthew slowly backed away.
Reaching a safe distance, he lowered the crossbow, took Little Fish, and turned to leave.
Suddenly, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Only Little Fish was like a frost-bitten eggplant, keeping his head down the whole way.
Matthew patted his head but offered no comfort.
To become a real man, he needed to face this shame and pain.
Back at camp, Matthew sat against a rock, setting the bolt aside and leaning the crossbow nearby for easy access.
Moments later, Davos returned with the others.
Seeing the withdrawn Little Fish, he looked away, walked up to Matthew, and said in a low voice:
"That was just a farce, but you turned it into a conflict. That kid will be a cripple for life. The Night's Watch is furious. I think you should stand guard for everyone tonight."
Matthew looked up, offered no argument, lowered his head again, and replied simply:
"Fine."
Davos said no more and walked away.
Dale and Imry were busy setting up the campfire.
The others were snickering on the side.
Frowning, Davos walked over, kicked his son aside, and silently began arranging it himself.
Once the dry grass was piled like a bird's nest, he circled it with sticks.
Then, he drew his own sword, took his son's sword, brought them close to the grass pile, and struck them together hard.
Sparks flew.
After several scraping sounds, wisps of blue smoke began to rise.
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