Dear Miss Margaery Tyrell,
I truly shouldn't trouble you with such trivial matters, but since you are, after all, the sponsor of this pioneering venture, I feel it is my duty to write and keep you informed of the latest developments.
After we parted that day, I met Ser Todd Flowers and a hundred Tyrell soldiers. They are all outstanding fighters—please convey my gratitude to Lady Olenna for me. In addition, I personally recruited one hundred and eight dock laborers, and I believe they too will become an important source of support for this development.
After staying in Highgarden for a day to prepare food and equipment, we set out. Traveling south along the Rose Road, we reached the vicinity of Hive City in about a month. We plan to rest here briefly before leaving the Rose Road and continuing southward.
However, we have encountered some difficulties.
It's hard to say, but this was indeed my mistake. I truly did not expect that moving a group of more than two hundred people would consume so many supplies—especially the newly recruited soldiers. I promised them a serving of meat every day… As a result, I have realized that I may go bankrupt before even reaching the Red Mountains.
After much inner struggle, I have decided to confess to you and humbly ask for your assistance.
Of course, I also understand that this request is excessive. Even if you refuse, I will not harbor any complaints. I am merely worried that this pioneering effort may come to an end before it truly begins.
Your most loyal knight,Samwell Caesar
In the rose-filled garden, Margaery sat on a hanging chair, gently swinging back and forth. Her chestnut curls fluttered in the breeze, and her delicate brows were slightly furrowed as she read the letter in her hand, making her look rather pitiful.
"What's wrong? Whose letter is it that has our little princess so worried?"
The speaker was a young man in a wheelchair. He had a beard, a thin face, and a calm, gentle demeanor.
He was the eldest son of House Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden—Willas Tyrell.
"It's not what you think, brother."Margaery hopped off the swing, handed him the letter, and said with a pout, "It's Samwell from House Tully. That fellow actually wrote to ask me for money! And it took him so long just to reach Hive City—was he sightseeing along the way?"
"Samwell?"Willas glanced at the letter, an irrepressible smile appearing on his face. "Oh, I remember that boy. That pioneering knight who loves golden tail shrimp, right? You actually funded him?"
"Not alone. Grandma's cooperating as well."
Willas frowned slightly. "I never asked before—what exactly is Grandmother's plan in sending Ser Todd and a hundred household guards to help that boy open new territory?"
Margaery shrugged. "I don't really know the details. I only know it has something to do with Dorne."
"Dorne…"Willas unconsciously lowered his head, his gaze falling on his crippled leg.
Dorne lay at the southernmost edge of Westeros, separated from the Reach by the Red Mountains.
Since ancient times, the two regions had been neighbors—and enemies. Warfare between Dorne and the Reach had lasted for thousands of years. It was said that the Red Mountains had once been green, but were stained crimson by the blood of soldiers over countless generations of war.
Willas's leg had been broken by Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne during a tourney—a fact that had only deepened the animosity between House Tyrell and House Martell.
Seeing her brother's mood sink, Margaery hurried over, held his hand, and comforted him.
"Don't worry, brother. We'll definitely make House Martell pay the price!"
Willas smiled faintly, shook his head, and said, "Actually, I don't hate him. Truly. He defeated me fair and square in the tourney—there's nothing to resent. You may not believe it, but we've kept in contact. That fellow Oberyn even told me a good way to cook horse meat a few days ago. Mm, yes—I should inform the kitchens. We can try a new horse-meat dish tonight. Haha."
He handed the letter back to his sister and said, "As for that pioneering knight's request, you can decide for yourself whether to continue funding him. If you're short on money, just tell me."
Margaery wasn't sure whether her brother's ease was genuine or merely an act, but she didn't pursue the topic. Taking the letter, she sighed helplessly.
"Sigh… we have to keep supporting him. We can't really let him come back so soon."
"Alright. How much?"
"Five hundred—no, three hundred gold dragons. Hmph! I'll write to that fatty this time and make him tighten his purse!"
"Tighten my purse? Do you think I'm short of money?"
Facing the heroic Samwell, Gavin frowned and said, "But, my lord, the funds you gave me earlier are almost used up…"
"So fast?"Samwell was a little surprised, but there wasn't the slightest trace of panic on his face.
Seeing this, Gavin felt somewhat reassured, but he still tried to persuade him earnestly.
"My lord, you really don't need to be so generous to us. Although you promised us a meal with meat every day, we'd actually be fine with just broth. Giving us twenty pounds of meat a day like this is truly extravagant…"
"How can you have the strength to train if you don't eat enough meat?" Samwell said righteously. "As for money, don't worry about it. Sir, I am not short of money!"
Gavin felt both helpless and warm inside. "My lord, you truly are the most generous knight I've ever met!"
Samwell, generous to others and unburdened by guilt, accepted the praise without hesitation. He handed Gavin a few gold dragons and said with a smile, "Alright, go to the market town and buy supplies. And remember—if there are any ingredients we haven't tried before, buy them. No matter how expensive, get one of each."
"Yes, my lord."
In truth, Samwell's generosity wasn't an act. Although his current development funds were indeed running low, he firmly believed that House Tyrell wouldn't just sit by and watch him return empty-handed.
After all, they had already dispatched a hundred elite soldiers—would they really begrudge a bit more money?
Of course, Samwell knew that Lady Olenna had her own designs on him. But using others and being used was always mutual.
And before his opponent achieved her goal, he was the one holding the initiative.
After sending Gavin away, Samwell went to the camp and gave the order.
"Alright! Begin today's military training!"
He immediately blew the rallying horn.
In the blink of an eye, more than a hundred newly recruited soldiers rushed out of the camp and assembled neatly in the open ground.
To be honest, Samwell had no real idea how to train troops.
The only relevant experience he had came from college military training in his previous life.
The original owner of this body had been forced by his father to undergo extensive military education, but those memories weren't truly his. Even after transmigrating, he couldn't perfectly integrate them—they were like scattered shells along a beach, which he painstakingly gathered and sorted.
Thus, ever since deciding to pioneer new lands, Samwell had begun organizing the military knowledge buried in the original owner's memories, combining it with modern military theories picked up from films, television dramas, and novels, along with his own experience managing dozens of employees in his past business life. Through constant adjustment and optimization in practice, he gradually formed a training system of his own.
As for its effectiveness…
Even Samwell didn't know yet—it hadn't been tested in real combat.
But at the very least, these recruits could now understand commands, form up, march, and perform basic combat movements in an orderly fashion.
What Samwell didn't realize was that this self-devised training method had deeply shocked Ser Todd Flowers, who was secretly observing from the sidelines.
When Todd first saw Samwell recruiting men, he had been ready to watch a farce unfold.
He had assumed that if Samwell—the notorious wastrel of the Riverlands—were allowed to train soldiers, all hundred-plus recruits would probably desert before even reaching the frontier.
Yet reality proved him completely wrong.
Not only did none of the recruits flee, they became more disciplined with each passing day. After just one month, they already looked presentable—so much so that no one would believe they weren't regular troops.
Todd's attitude shifted from initial disdain to serious attention. Now, whenever Samwell trained the recruits, Todd would secretly observe from the side.
That strange training method left him both shocked and faintly… unsettled.
Is this really still the useless eldest son of House Tully?
If even someone like this failed to earn Lord Randyll's approval, just how terrifying must the heir he truly favored be?
Todd could clearly see that Samwell had been somewhat awkward at the beginning, but as time passed, he grew more and more skilled and confident. The temperament and bearing of these recruits underwent earth-shaking changes.
Of course, Todd also knew that this unit was mostly for show, and their combat strength couldn't compare to that of true regular troops. Even so, to assemble such a display in just one month was something ordinary people simply couldn't do.
"It's only because they eat meat every day that they're so energetic."
Todd turned his head to see his attendant, Carter, muttering sourly at his side.
...
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(End Chapter)