Arthur led his troops in a rapid advance.
He was now essentially hitting and running, stealing and slipping away.
After eliminating each wildling team, he would clear the traces of battle.
The wildlings' bodies were burned and buried on the spot, trying to leave no trace.
Even if discovered, it would take some time to notice and react.
He had truly achieved a reversal of tactics with the High Mountain Clan.
Arthur never confronted enemies head-on, especially avoiding engagement with large enemy forces.
His strategic objective was clear: eliminate the scattered wildling squads plundering supplies.
Continuously weakening their strength.
The logistical pressure on the High Mountain Clan wildlings would only grow.
Or rather, there were no logistics at all; they relied entirely on plunder and on-the-spot resupply.
Arthur rode his white horse at the front of the column.
He mused that this was the advantage of a small force.
Their marching speed was astonishingly fast, truly like a swift retreat.
Without cavalry, no infantry unit could keep up with him.
Arthur's gaze occasionally fell on the rear of the column.
The sixty-plus Riverlands captives.
Originally, there were over a hundred people.
Due to the previous waves of long-range raids.
Now only sixty-plus remained.
All were young and strong men and women.
Elders and children were of no use to the wildlings.
All were killed by the wildlings.
Arthur sighed, but then thought that this was war.
He did not intend to blame himself.
If it weren't for him.
Their fate would only be more tragic.
The women would become breeding tools for the High Mountain wildlings.
Spending the rest of their lives in humiliation and constant childbirth.
The men would become slaves to the High Mountain wildlings.
Driven to do the most dangerous and arduous tasks until they died of exhaustion or were killed.
In contrast, he had saved them, sparing them from such a fate.
Thinking this.
Arthur rode closer to them.
His gaze swept over them.
These Riverlands people huddled together, like a flock of frightened sheep, trembling all over.
Their clothes were tattered, their faces covered in dust, blood, and tear stains.
Their eyes were hollow and blank, only shells, without souls.
Their homes destroyed, they now did not know what the future held.
Where their path lay, and what they should do.
Now they merely followed this group, who had rescued them from the wildlings, in a daze.
They saw a person riding a tall white horse in the group approach them.
They knew who he was, Arthur Stinky Fort, Esquire, the commander of this army.
The people looked up at him with soulless and spiritless eyes.
Unsure of what he intended to do.
"People of the Riverlands." Arthur spoke, his voice deep and steady, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
Arthur looked at their lost eyes and said:
"I am the commander of this army! Suleiman Foul Castle, Esquire!"
No matter what, the words had to be said, and he needed to understand how these people felt about him.
If possible, these people would be a valuable asset to him.
But if their attitude was hostile, then it could only be dealt with in another way.
Arthur observed the expressions of these refugees and saw that they did not show hostility.
They just wept silently.
He continued to speak bluntly and decisively: "The order to fire arrows and throw spears was given by me."
"I cannot put my soldiers in danger for your sake."
Without the slightest evasion.
Arthur paused, his gaze sweeping over the silent, tear-streaked faces:
"I saw it, I saw it, the fall of over forty Riverlands people."
Immediately after, these sixty refugees heard words that shocked them into silence.
"I apologize to you!"
They simultaneously raised their tear-streaked heads.
"For those Riverlands people who died in the chaos!" Arthur's low tone continued, "And for you!"
Arthur looked at them, the crowd silent.
Until a man from the Riverlands, about thirty years old, with traces of suffering on his face, stepped forward.
His body trembled constantly, tears gushing like a spring, but in his eyes as he looked at Arthur.
There was no anger, only gratitude.
"My Lord." He said hoarsely, "You do not need to apologize."
He glanced around at the other survivors, then looked at Arthur, a painful memory flashing in his eyes.
"My father, my three children were all killed by the wildlings, because they were useless to the wildlings."
"My wife and I personally saw my youngest child, an infant, brutally slammed to the ground by a wildling!"
"And then, silence!"
At this point, the man could no longer control himself, falling to his knees and wailing, but he did not stop narrating.
"My last kin, my wife, died under a wooden spear in the chaos, right before my eyes."
"But I absolutely cannot! And I will never blame you! My Lord!"
"You granted her release, from that tragic fate."
He raised his head, tears streaming, and even Arthur felt the sorrow and pain.
"My wife! She would have been defiled by those wildlings! Repeatedly humiliated! Living a life worse than death!"
"Even constantly giving birth to the children of her child's killers!"
"And I! I could only be forced to watch her suffer! Yet do nothing!"
"Such pain, just thinking about it, makes me wish for death!"
"My Lord! You saved us! You saved her! If not for you........"
The man choked, his body trembling with extreme sorrow, unable to speak further.
He continuously bowed his head, using his body to express his words.
Everyone in the group, men and women alike, also knelt down, tears streaming.
Most of them had lost family and children because they were deemed worthless.
And were killed by the wildlings.
They knew deeply that the moment they were captured by the wildlings.
Their fate was already doomed to be tragic.
Instead, it was Arthur's appearance.
Which precisely changed their fate.
Arthur knew the atmosphere had reached this point and slowly began to speak:
"I can send people to escort you to my territory, Stinking Keep, and grant you land to cultivate."
"There you will be safe, have shelter, have food, and you can start a new life."
"Or!" Arthur's gaze swept over the men in the group again: "Follow me! Take up arms!"
"I, Suleiman Foul Castle, Esquire! Will give you food! Give you armor! Give you weapons!"
Arthur's voice was deep and slow, like the whisper of a demon, echoing in their ears:
"Do you want to treat them the same way?"
.......
"Do you want to give them the same fate?"
Arthur knew that his words had ignited the prairie like a spark.
Because he saw the men in the group, one by one, stop crying.
And silently stepped forward.
For these people, they had already lost everything, alone in the world.
What else was there to fear?
Land, home, family, all attachments gone.
No need for monetary incentives.
They already had a belief in their hearts.
That belief.
Was called hatred.