As she spoke, she pushed a piece of golden-brown roasted meat into her son's mouth.
"From now on, you must be a good farmer, and cultivate the land well for Lord Arthur, do you understand? Lord is a true noble, and merciful."
The bandit son lowered his head, now like a child, chewing the meat, shedding tears, and nodding incessantly.
He had truly thought he would be killed. The scene on Offshore Cliff had been too terrifying; these soldiers were merciless. If not for Brin's protection, he would surely have been tortured and killed by them.
The atmosphere grew even more fervent as the wine flowed.
Hakon stood up, his left arm tightly bandaged with cloth, red blood still seeping through. Yet, he held a large horn filled with ale in his right hand, its mouthpiece stoppered.
He walked through the noisy crowd, straight to Brin.
Everyone's gaze curiously followed him; they knew Hakon's left arm had been shot through by Brin, and now they wanted to know what he would do.
Brin looked up at the man whose arm he had pierced with an arrow, falling silent. He also didn't know what Hakon intended.
He could only watch the man before him, but saw no resentment on Hakon's face, only a sincere smile born from the heart, with a touch of reckless admiration.
Hakon raised the horn cup, the liquid sloshing and spilling a little with his movement. Finally, he spoke, his voice booming like a bell:
"Brin!"
"You are truly strong! I've never seen a man as strong as you! And your aim is true!"
"You are stronger than us! You will be a good helper to Lord Arthur!"
This was Hakon's inner thought; he had never seen anyone so strong. He and Lucien had also been very thin before.
After following Lord Arthur, they were required by Lord Arthur to eat three meals a day, with fatty meat at each meal.
Brin looked at Hakon, then at the joyful and drunken faces around him. He also raised his drinking vessel, a crude earthenware bowl.
The horn and the clay bowl, two peculiar drinking vessels, clanked heavily together, making a dull sound.
"What's past," Hakon grinned, "let it rot on Offshore Cliff!"
The two exchanged a look, saying no more. They simultaneously tilted their heads back and drained their cups, the ale sliding down their throats like a fire.
"Ha!"
Hakon inverted his empty horn cup, signaling that he had drunk it all.
"Hahahaha!"
Brin also put down his cup and burst into hearty laughter, his laughter deep and full of power.
This laugh seemed to laugh away the previous enmity and battle of that arrow into the night wind.
The surrounding soldiers and bandits, witnessing Hakon and Lucien's magnanimity and bravery, erupted into even louder cheers, and the atmosphere reached its peak at this moment.
After three rounds of drinks, the clamor continued, the noise deafening.
Arthur looked at everything before him, knowing that there was nothing that drinking couldn't solve. Although he didn't particularly like drinking, alcohol could numb the body and mind of those who had endured the ravages of war, so he didn't stop everyone from drinking heartily.
Arthur held his cup and gestured for Brin to follow him.
He recruited Brin not only because Brin was a strong man, but also because he had spent many years in the Brightmoon Mountains and might know the terrain like the back of his hand.
The Riverlands were good in every way, except that they were surrounded by enemies. Most crucially, his own lands, whether Dreadfort or the New Lands, were on essential routes. Dreadfort was in the middle of Three Rivers, and the New Lands were on the main thoroughfare of the Kings Road, both being necessary paths for army movements.
Brin understood, put down his roasted meat, drank a toast from one of Arthur's soldiers, and followed Arthur away from the noisy bonfire.
They walked to the edge of the camp, away from the crowd, where the sounds faded, and beneath their feet were soft earth and pine needles.
The night wind blew from the valley, carrying a hint of coolness that cleared their slightly muddled minds.
In the distance, the Brightmoon Mountains lay like a crouching giant beast in the night, its dark, towering silhouette and swirling white mist silent and majestic. Arthur turned to him, his voice light in the wind: "Brin."
"You've been in these mountains for so many years, do you know of any special places or unique productions in these Brightmoon Mountains?"
Brin fell silent.
He looked at the familiar mountains; every gully, every forest in the mountains was etched into his mind.
He was a smart man, otherwise he wouldn't have survived the pursuit of nobles and the High Mountain full of wildlings. He immediately understood the deeper meaning behind Arthur's words.
Lord Arthur wants to control this mountain range.
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