The night finally ended, and white light illuminated the land. Leicester Castle stood solitary.
Arthur reined in his warhorse, and the knights and soldiers behind him were silent.
He turned his head, his voice calm: "Lord Lymond."
"Please, your home awaits you."
Lord Lymond's aged face was full of doubt. He glanced at Arthur, then at the silent castle, and waved his hand. His knights and soldiers tightened their grip on their sword hilts, cautiously surrounding him as they slowly approached the city gate.
Hendry Bracken's face was as gloomy as the sky before a storm. He didn't understand, he couldn't fathom what this young man had said to the Ironborn, or how he had managed it. Could he have used magic to bewitch the Ironborn?
The heavy drawbridge had long been lowered, and the massive oak city gate was ajar. A Leicester knight, mustering his courage, hurried forward and, trembling, pushed the gate open.
The sight behind the gate froze everyone in their tracks, all of them highly vigilant and prepared for a bloody battle. It was empty, silent—a ghost town.
The courtyard was deserted, the weapon racks bare. The stables only held some dry hay. Aside from dozens of women, terrified and in tattered clothes, locked in a storeroom, not a single Ironborn could be seen.
Lord Lymond's voice was dry, as if in a dream: "They…they really left?"
A knight beside him quickly rushed up the arrow tower, then into the castle, finally returning distraught, shouting to Lord Lymond: "My Lord! They really left! All of them!"
Hendry Bracken looked as if he had seen a ghost. He stared intently at Arthur's profile. There was no expression on that young face, as if everything before him was perfectly natural.
How was this possible? Without a single drop of blood, with just a few words, to make three or four hundred brutal Ironborn abandon a strong castle and flee overnight? This wasn't war; it was a miracle. No, it was dark magic.
All the soldiers, regardless of their family, now watched Arthur with a mixture of awe and fear. How had he done it?
Arthur dismounted, walked to Lord Lymond, extended his hand, and made a gesture to invite him in: "My Lord, your castle is returned."
"Don't forget to fulfill your promise."
Lord Lymond trembled, as if waking from a dream. His lips quivered with emotion, tears welled in his eyes, and he grabbed Arthur's arm: "Thank you…thank you, my boy!"
The knights of the House Leicester erupted in a thunderous cheer. Amidst the cheers, two names were shouted equally loudly, echoing through the sky.
"Leicester!"
"Lord Lymond!"
"Arthur!"
They rushed onto the city walls, tore down the tattered black banner with a silver-handled scythe, and re-hoisted the House Leicester banner, emblazoned with black eagle claws, into the morning wind.
Sir Hendry Bracken clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, his face twitching. He felt like a clown, having brought great shame upon his family… Arthur did not follow Lord Lymond into the castle but returned to the camp outside to await another message. Not long after, a rapid hoofbeat approached from afar.
Rosso Brun, riding a swift black horse, galloped up. He sharply pulled the reins about a dozen paces from Arthur, and the warhorse reared, whinnying. Rosso then smoothly dismounted with a leap, landing steadily on his feet, his movements fluid and graceful, drawing low murmurs of admiration from the surrounding soldiers.
He quickly walked to Arthur, a hint of annoyance on his face, and reported in a low voice: "My Lord, those Ironborn were very cunning."
"They dispersed and blended into the refugee groups they had previously plundered, fleeing in different directions."
"I led men to pursue the four largest groups, but only managed to pull out thirteen Ironborn from them."
"Later, we caught up with several other groups. The refugees said that the Ironborn had left earlier on the way and had no idea where they went."
Arthur nodded, his expression unchanged.
Back at the camp, Hendry Bracken followed Arthur like an annoying fly, never leaving his side.
"What exactly did you say to that leader?"
"Why did those Ironborn run? They're not fools!"
"Did you use some underhanded method? Dark magic?"
Arthur stopped, turned to look at him, and gave an inexplicably eerie smile that sent a sudden shiver through Hendry, leaving him frozen in place, afraid to move.
Hendry Bracken stood outside the tent, his face pale with fear. It was terrifying. Arthur hadn't answered, just kept staring at him with that eerie smile, then backed into his own tent, still facing him.
That night, Hendry Bracken was shocked that he had been intimidated during the day. He had the protection of the Seven Gods, impervious to evil. He once again entered Arthur's tent uninvited, vowing to get an answer today.
But before he could speak, a voice announced from outside the tent.
"Lord Arthur, a knight from the House Leicester requests an audience."
Two Leicester knights entered, followed by a dozen soldiers laboriously carrying several heavy, large chests.
The leading knight bowed respectfully: "Lord Arthur."
"This is Lord Lymond's gratitude."
The chests were opened, revealing neatly stacked golden dragons, glinting temptingly in the firelight. But there were even more valuables used to offset the value of the golden dragons.
"We searched the castle cellars and the lord's private treasury that the Ironborn hadn't discovered, as well as… the things the Ironborn didn't take. This is all the money we could gather."
The knight's voice held a hint of bitterness that even he himself barely noticed.
"A total of twelve hundred gold dragons."
It was two hundred more than the promised one thousand gold dragons. Arthur guessed that the valuables were hard to appraise, so they simply gave them all to him. This Lord Lymond was a man of his word.
Hendry Bracken's breathing instantly grew heavy. His eyes were fixed on the valuables, his Adam's apple bobbing. Although he was a knight, and the nephew of Lord Janos Bracken, he was a landless knight serving the Breken Family and would never in his life possess so much money.
The Leicester knights and soldiers watched Arthur's soldiers enter the tent and carry away the chests of valuables, their expressions complex. The House Leicester was bankrupt.
Another day passed. Arthur emerged from his tent. The allied forces continued to cook, but Lord Lymond remained still. In the House Leicester's camp, soldiers were repairing armor and feeding horses, showing no signs of breaking camp and moving out.
He frowned, mounted his horse, and rode towards Leicester. Seeing this, Hendry Bracken spurred his horse to follow. He also didn't know the current situation; their mission, after all, was to pursue that band of Ironborn.
However, at the drawbridge, they were stopped.
A Leicester knight extended his arm, blocking Hendry's path, but respectfully stepped aside for Arthur: "Lord Arthur, please enter."
Hendry Bracken's face darkened: "What is the meaning of this?"
The knight's gaze was cold. His voice was not loud, but it clearly reached the ears of everyone nearby: "The House Leicester's castle does not welcome you, Ser."
"Lord Lymond has commanded that from today, no one from the Breken Family shall set foot on our land again."
Hendry's face instantly turned from green to white, then from white to red. This was blatant humiliation, and in front of so many people!
He trembled with rage, gritting his teeth: "You… you dare!"
The knight sneered: "Why should we not dare?"
"As the Breken Family, represented by the Ser, treated us, so shall we treat the Breken Family."
Hendry Bracken was speechless for a moment. He opened his mouth but couldn't utter a single word. Under the scornful gazes of the surrounding soldiers, he indignantly turned his horse and left like a wolf.
In the great hall of Leicester Castle, a warm fire dispelled the chill.
Lord Lymond sat on his recovered lord's throne. Seeing Arthur enter, he immediately became emotional and enthusiastically ran down the steps.
"Arthur! My boy! Please, sit!"
He took Arthur's hand, sat him in the warmest chair by the fireplace, and had servants, who were actually soldiers, bring out the finest wine.
"You and your soldiers can stay here as long as you wish! Make this your home!"
Arthur took a sip of wine, looked at the excited old man before him, and asked with confusion: "Lord Lymond, Lord Vance's mission to us… should we not continue our journey?"
This question, like a basin of ice water, instantly extinguished all of Lord Lymond's enthusiasm. His face visibly darkened at a rapid pace, the excited flush fading, replaced by a sickly pallor.
Lord Lymond suddenly stood up, like an enraged lion, letting out a roar.
"Continue our journey? To where? To fight for whom?"
His voice echoed through the hall, full of anger.
"I answered the call of the House Tully of Riverrun! I took my army to Seaguard! I fulfilled all my obligations as a vassal!"
As he spoke, the old man, overcome with emotion, slammed his hand on the table, making the wine glasses clink.
"But!"
"When my castle was breached! When my home was burned! When my people were massacred! What did the House Tully do for me?!"
"They did nothing!!!"
"My duty is done!"
He spoke as if to a departed spirit in the air, or perhaps making a vow to himself.
"From now on, I, Lord Lymond, will only defend my castle! I will not leave it one step!"
"If Riverrun wants to punish me for this! Then let them come! Let them come with a great army to attack my castle! To cut off my head!"
Arthur fell silent. It meant he had won a battle, helped the House Leicester reclaim their castle, but in doing so, he had dispersed the allied forces…
How was he to report this to the Vance Family?
The hall fell into a dead silence, broken only by Lord Lymond's heavy breathing. The old man seemed to have fallen into a frenzy again; there was nothing more to say to him.
But just as he turned to leave, Lord Lymond suddenly grabbed his hand. Arthur looked back and saw a completely different pair of eyes. In those eyes, the frenzy and madness had faded, replaced by an unprecedented clarity.
He held his hand tightly, staring intently at him, silent for a long time, so long that Arthur thought he was about to have another outburst.
From the old man's hoarse throat, a sentence suddenly squeezed out, one that even made Arthur's expression falter.
"My boy, no, you must be my son."
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