"I've heard about what happened yesterday. You handled it well—you didn't disgrace House Tyrell." Garlan slightly lifted his chin, allowing the servants to straighten his clothes, while speaking to Lind at his side. "Bitterbridge lies along the middle stretch of the Rose Road, guarding one of the most important bridges. It is a vital strategic point of the Reach. For generations, the Dukes of Highgarden have placed great importance on the Baron of Bitterbridge." As he spoke, he turned to look at Lind, his expression turning extremely solemn. "I need you to go see Baron Caswell later and offer a sincere apology for what happened yesterday. Bear Hunter—did you understand me?"
"I will obey your command, Lord Garlan." Lind showed no sign of dissatisfaction. His expression remained calm, as if apologizing were of no concern to him at all.
"Mm. You may go." Garlan nodded, then seemed to recall something and added, "Remember to change your clothes before you go."
Lind nodded and left Garlan's chamber. However, instead of immediately returning to his room to change and then heading to Bitterbridge Castle to apologize, he followed his usual routine. He went to the stables, led out Fotimo's warhorse, brushed it down, fitted the reins, secured the saddle, and then went to Fotimo's room to help him prepare his armor.
"The leather strap on the vambrace needs replacing," Fotimo said as he tightened it, noticing how badly worn it was. "After we make camp tonight, take it to the leatherworker and have it replaced with a new one."
"Yes, my lord." Lind nodded, tightening the straps on Fotimo's back so the plate armor fit snugly against his body.
"That's enough—leave the rest to the others. What you need to do now is go to the castle and apologize." Fotimo gestured that it was tight enough, then turned to Lind with a serious expression. "You shouldn't have laid a hand on Lorent Caswell yesterday. He is certain to become the future Baron of Bitterbridge, while you are merely a knight's squire. You're fortunate you belong to House Tyrell. Otherwise, given that old Caswell's temperament and how much he values his only heir, he would have already sent troops to hunt you down."
Lind did not respond. He simply set the cleaning tools for the armor on the table, gave a salute, and withdrew.
After Lind left the room, the servant attending Fotimo spoke up. "That boy did come from a hunter's background, after all. He doesn't understand the gravity of things. It's a good thing Lord Garlan intervened, otherwise—"
The servant stopped mid-sentence, because Fotimo had turned his head and was staring at him coldly.
"He is my knight's squire and may become a knight in the future," Fotimo said icily. "You should address him as 'my lord,' or Lord Lind—not 'that boy.'"
"Understood, Lord Fotimo." The servant quickly lowered his head and replied in fear.
While Fotimo was admonishing the servant, Lind had already returned to his own room. He changed into the formal attire House Tyrell had prepared for him and then headed straight for Bitterbridge Castle.
Bitterbridge Castle was built beside the river, its walls connected to the bridgehead fortification, merging seamlessly with the stone arch bridge spanning the river.
The night before, when Maester Hawley had been teaching Viserys about the history of Westeros, he had specifically spoken about the history of Bitterbridge—especially the origin of its name.
Although the massacre that gave rise to the name had occurred more than two hundred years ago, its impact remained profound. It was said that people living here often heard the screams of that slaughter, and some even claimed to see the ghosts of the dead endlessly reenacting the massacre.
Because of these ghostly legends, Bitterbridge Castle felt exceptionally cold and ominous. The frightened local smallfolk chose not to build homes near the castle, instead settling far away.
As a result, a vast open area surrounded the castle, leaving no obstructions to one's view from atop the walls.
In Lind's opinion, those ghost stories were likely deliberately spread by successive Barons of Bitterbridge, all to ensure there were no obstructions around the castle and to prevent surprise attacks.
A military stronghold like Bitterbridge Castle was not only highly valued by the local House Caswell—who frequently repaired and reinforced it—but also by the Dukes of Highgarden, the Wardens of the South, House Tyrell. Whenever House Caswell needed it, House Tyrell would provide materials to strengthen the castle. After years of such reinforcements, Bitterbridge Castle was less a residence and more a pure military fortress. Capturing it from the outside would be extremely difficult; only internal means might succeed.
All of these thoughts surfaced in Lind's mind as he entered Bitterbridge Castle and observed his surroundings.
When he reflected on it himself, he found it somewhat laughable. He currently had not a single soldier under his command and no foundation whatsoever, yet he was already thinking about how to capture a castle. This was partly due to his habit of letting his thoughts wander, but also influenced by the memories of the Peacemaker.
Through this period of constant training with the Tyrell guards, the Peacemaker's energy bar had already filled nearly three-quarters of the way. Lind felt that it would be completely filled before they reached King's Landing. At that point, he might be able to activate another character from For Honor.
The progression of the energy bar did not merely represent the accumulation of experience—it also reflected the degree to which the acquired character memories had fused with him. As this fusion deepened, even though Lind had noticed the changes and taken some countermeasures, he was still inevitably influenced. Just like now—seeing a castle made him think about how to take it, seeing someone with a weapon made him think about how to deal with them as quickly as possible.
Fortunately, this influence remained within a range Lind could accept and control. Otherwise, under long-term exposure, even he could not be certain whether his personality would become completely distorted.
Still, this made Lind somewhat worried—if he were to activate another For Honor character, would this influence deepen even further?
Lost in such thoughts, Lind arrived at the castle hall. At this moment, Armond Caswell sat upright on the central chair in the hall, with several of Bitterbridge's smallfolk below him. It appeared he was handling matters of the domain.
Baron Caswell, his hair completely white, looked somewhat frail, but his solid build made it clear that in his youth, he must have been a formidable warrior.
When Lind entered the hall, a man dressed like a maester standing beside Armond leaned over and whispered a few words into his lord's ear, apparently introducing Lind's identity.
"I need to rest for a moment. You may return later to report the remaining matters," Armond said, raising his hand to interrupt the reports. He then gestured for the irrelevant people in the hall to leave, and beckoned Lind to approach.
Lind stepped forward, bowed to Armond, and then—following the etiquette Fotimo had taught him over this period—solemnly and sincerely apologized for his actions the previous day, expressing his hope to receive Baron Caswell's forgiveness.
"Bear Hunter Lind—I've heard songs about you. It's easy to see that you're a fortunate fellow, blessed with a healthy body, while my child can barely even lift a sword," Armond said as he sized Lind up. Years of accumulated lordly authority pressed down on him. "You are my guest. As the host, I provided you with food and safe lodging, yet you injured my child. By my own inclination, I would have you seized and chopped into mince. However, you are Lord Fotimo's squire, and I have a good relationship with Lord Fotimo. Harming you would damage that relationship. But I also cannot let you off so easily—doing so would undermine my authority and cause others to lose their fear of me."
As he spoke, Armond stood up and walked toward a side door of the hall, signaling for Lind to follow.
They soon left the hall, passed through a corridor, and arrived at an open space on one side of the castle.
There, two people were bound by their hands to a hitching post, their backs facing upward. Because the post was low, they could only kneel on the ground.
Seeing the two of them, Lind's brow furrowed slightly. He recognized one as Rolly, the young man who had asked him for guidance in swordsmanship the previous night. The other, a white-haired old man whom Lind was seeing for the first time, was clearly Rolly's father—Armond's weaponsmith.
Armond Caswell stopped a short distance behind them, raised his hand to signal an executioner, took the whip from him, and handed it to Lind. "I've already investigated the cause of the incident. If this fellow hadn't gone looking for you to spar, none of this would have happened, so he must be punished. His father, for failing to teach his child the proper sense of hierarchy, must also be punished. And as for the executioner—I think Bear Hunter, you are most suitable."
Lind calmly looked at the whip held out before him and took it.
"Begin. Continue until I am satisfied," Armond said as he moved aside, signaling for a servant to kneel and lie prone. He then sat on the servant's back.
Without saying a word, Lind walked behind Rolly and his father and swung the whip down onto their backs.
Though this was Lind's first time using a whip, the Peacemaker's memories included techniques for wielding one—and now he put them to use.
Because of unfamiliarity, the first dozen or so lashes varied in strength, causing relatively severe pain to the father and son. But as he gradually mastered the whip, the situation changed.
The lashes looked brutal. Each strike left deep marks, even tearing the skin open, but it only appeared severe. In reality, these were superficial wounds that would heal easily. Once he had full control of the whip, Lind struck in a way that knocked both father and son unconscious—sparing them from feeling the remaining punishment while also making them appear utterly miserable.
"That's enough!" Not long after Rolly and his father passed out, Armond called a halt. "If you keep whipping them like this, I'll have to find another weaponsmith."
With that, he stood up and returned to the council hall.
Lind returned the whip to the executioner, glanced once more at Rolly and his father, and did not step forward to untie them. Instead, he turned and left. He knew very well that if he showed even the slightest concern, life for the father and son in Bitterbridge Castle would become even harder.
Although the matter had been resolved smoothly, Lind's mood was extremely poor. More than ever, he yearned for a noble status—otherwise, situations like today would continue to occur. No matter how superb his swordsmanship, in the eyes of the nobles he would still be nothing more than a powerful hired blade.
"Is it settled?" Fotimo asked after calling Lind over upon his return to the camp.
Lind nodded and recounted what had happened.
"Do you feel stifled?" Fotimo asked.
"A little," Lind replied honestly.
Fotimo nodded and said earnestly, "You have ambition and ability, and you will accomplish much in the future. But before your wings are fully grown, you'd better restrain those ambitions and thoughts. Don't let others see them. I don't want today's situation to happen again—understand?"
"I understand, my lord," Lind replied.
"Take today as a lesson. You must always remember your current status. Forget it, and you'll do things that don't match who you are. Some things might not matter—but some can be fatal," Fotimo continued. "If Baron Caswell had decided to make this a bigger issue, he could have accused us of violating guest right—injuring the host's heir after eating the food provided by the host. In that case, even Lord Garlan would be implicated, and you would be handed over by House Tyrell without hesitation to appease Baron Caswell's anger."
Lind said nothing, but his expression had grown solemn from Fotimo's words.
"You may possess exceptional swordsmanship and a bright future, but that is only the future. For a long time yet, you will remain my squire. In the eyes of powerful figures, you are no different from any other soldier. You became my knight's squire from the start, and your own abilities gave rise to certain illusions. Now, I need to correct those illusions." Fotimo pointed to the uniform of a Tyrell guard laid on the table. "For the time being, you don't need to serve me or carry out the tasks I assign. Stay with the scout unit as an ordinary soldier. When you earn military merit, then you may return to being my squire."
"Yes, my lord." Lind neither argued nor begged, responding calmly to Fotimo's command.
Lind's calm reaction instead surprised Fotimo. He examined Lind, as if trying to determine whether Lind truly understood his meaning or was merely sulking. But Lind's expression never changed, revealing nothing. In the end, Fotimo could only wave him away and secretly observe him over the next few days to see whether Lind had truly recognized his problem.
As for Lind joining the scout unit, some of the Tyrell guards took schadenfreude in it, others felt regret. Regardless of their differing thoughts, all were surprised. The scout unit, however, was overjoyed—having a strong fighter like Lind join them would make the journey ahead far safer.
...
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(End Chapter)