Vultures circled in the sky as soldiers began the initial cleanup of the battlefield.
Bodies were piled up, forming gruesome mounds.
The foot soldiers didn't understand why Lord Arthur had ordered these wildlings to be buried together.
In their eyes, the best fate for these wildlings was to be left exposed in the wilderness, torn apart by vultures and wild dogs, their souls never finding peace.
But Lord Arthur's command could not be defied.
Fear, trust, reverence—a myriad of emotions intertwined, making it hard to tell if fear or reverence held more sway over their feelings for the Lord.
But one thing they knew for sure was that the Lord's commands were absolutely not to be disobeyed.
The soldiers began laboriously digging pits, occasionally kicking the dead wildlings, as if even in death, these wildlings could not atone for their sins while alive.
Just then, a hurried sound of hooves, approaching from afar, broke the oppressive silence of the temporary camp.
A messenger, riding a wildling pony frothing at the mouth, charged into the camp like a madman.
The wildling pony let out a mournful cry, its four legs giving way, and it collapsed directly to the ground.
The messenger tumbled off the horse's back, ignoring the dust covering him, and scrambled towards Arthur's tent.
"My Lord!"
He hoarsely cried out, holding up a letter sealed with wax, then his eyes rolled back, and his body limply fell.
The long journey had completely exhausted him, causing him to faint.
Arthur took the letter, crushed the wax seal, and found only a few words on the paper.
"Three Rivers in turmoil, return quickly."
Arthur's pupils constricted slightly, not even noticing his fingers unconsciously clenching the letter.
The course of history had been altered, and he could no longer follow its original path, forced to cross the river by feeling for stones himself.
He looked up at the soldiers watching him, his voice cold and decisive: "Pass down the order to pack our belongings; we will make a forced march down the mountain tomorrow morning."
"No need to bury them; let the wolves of High Mountain feast."
Brin, who was attending nearby, loudly responded, "Yes, My Lord."
The order was quickly relayed, and the entire camp stirred into action.
Arthur turned to the side, where Kopi, son of Gern, stood respectfully, awaiting his command.
This wildling chief, who had just personally buried several wildling tribes, showed no signs of joy or sorrow on his face, only complete submission.
Arthur's voice was devoid of emotion: "From today on, you are no longer High Mountain Clan wildlings, but warriors of my Sauron Tribe."
"How many people are in your tribe now?"
Kopi, son of Gern, immediately bowed and replied: "Reporting to Great Chieftain Black Lion, our tribe now has two hundred thirty-seven men and six hundred twelve women, many of whom were just bestowed upon us by My Lord."
Arthur nodded: "Very good."
"You will continue to live in the Brightmoon Mountains, living your former lives.
I will provide you with food regularly to ensure you do not go hungry."
"And your duty is that, in times of war, you must provide me with warriors.
I call this the blood tax."
Kopi's head bowed even lower.
If before, the Burning Men Tribe had been a symbol of terror in his eyes, now that terror had been completely replaced by the man before him: "As you command, Great War Chieftain."
He paused for a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts, considering the speech and behavior of the Flatlanders, then suddenly looked up, a hint of determination in his eyes.
"Chieftain Black Lion, to show my loyalty, I am willing to send my eldest and second sons to your army to fight alongside you."
"My youngest son will remain in the tribe, and in the future, my sons will take turns serving you until they fall in battle."
Arthur's gaze fell on Kopi, scrutinizing this wildling, somewhat surprised.
He had to admit, Kopi was a clever man.
They had been driven to a dead end by Arthur.
And this wildling chief quickly took decisive measures, completely cutting off any possibility of his own rebellion, and tightly binding the future of his entire tribe to Arthur's war chariot.
In fact, whether he proposed this or not, Arthur had already intended to do so.
Arthur slowly uttered a few words: "I agree."
As night fell, the High Mountain night was so cold.
Arthur, Brin, Rosso, and Kopi sat together, a wildling chief in the middle.
The atmosphere among them was subtle, and no one spoke.
The bonfire crackled in the night wind, making their shadows stretch and shrink.
Arthur looked at Kopi, finding that he seemed to have more to say.
He opened his mouth several times, then swallowed his words, his rough hands constantly rubbing his knees, appearing extremely nervous.
Finally, as if he had made some kind of decision, he suddenly stood up, his voice loud and solemn: "Chieftain Black Lion!"
"Kopi, son of Gern, immediately wishes to offer my daughter to you as a wife!"
The air instantly solidified.
Arthur's hand, holding hot water, suddenly stiffened, and the scalding hot water almost spilled out.
A face uncontrollably appeared in Arthur's mind—that was Kopi's weather-beaten face, with rough skin and coarse features.
It was just forcibly given long hair.
A female version of wildling Kopi was looking at him with tender affection, and a chill ran up Arthur's spine.
Rosso and Brin, next to him, could no longer hold back.
They turned their heads, their shoulders shaking violently, letting out muffled sounds of suppressed laughter.
Arthur shot a cold glance at them, and the two immediately suppressed their smiles, forcing themselves to return to a serious demeanor, though their faces were somewhat red from holding back.
Arthur's voice was dry, and he tried to keep his expression from showing too much emotion: "I don't need it."
Kopi's face turned liver-colored.
He hadn't expected his bravely offered proposal to be met with such a direct refusal.
He scratched the back of his head, somewhat embarrassed and somewhat unwilling, explaining: "Chieftain, listen to me."
"Our High Mountain Clan tribes used to rely on exchanging women for marriage alliances, because tribes internally are actually all blood relatives."
"Now... now our Shuren Tribe, no, the Sauron Tribe, has become a traitor to all tribes, and no one is willing to intermarry with us anymore."
At this point, he changed his tone, a strange hint of self-satisfaction appearing on his face.
"Of course, we no longer lack women from other tribes now."
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