Solomon's hand still rested on Lushen's shoulder.
He watched the tears welling up in the man's eyes, felt the tremors running through his massive frame.
Suddenly, Solomon felt awkward. He didn't know what to say. The room was filled with a strange silence and an even stranger emotional current.
Just as the embarrassment was peaking, the door burst open.
Solomon quickly retracted his hand.
Lauchlan rushed in, covered in dust and looking frantic. He froze when he saw the scene inside—the lord and the bandaged giant staring at each other.
But the urgency of his news quickly overrode his confusion. He bowed hastily.
"My Lord!"
Solomon's expression instantly reverted to his usual calm command.
"Why the panic? Speak."
Lauchlan gasped for breath, his face twisting with indignation.
"My Lord, I took men to the nearby town to sell our loot! Those... those cunning leeches! They suppressed the prices on everything! Even the gold!"
"Parasites! They should all rot in the Seven Hells!"
Lauchlan cursed the merchants of Westeros with colorful invective as he handed the ledger to Solomon. In this world, the smallfolk hated merchants almost as much as they feared bandits; greed was a sin, after all.
But when Solomon looked at the numbers, his eyebrows shot up.
He was shocked. And then, relieved.
No wonder everyone wants to be a raider, he thought.
The sum was staggering. This was faster than farming. Faster than collecting rent. Faster than honest trade. It was the most savage, most direct way to accumulate wealth: taking it from someone else.
It was time to fulfill his oath.
"Lushen! Lauchlan!"
"Assemble the men!"
"Yes, my Lord!" Lauchlan shouted.
"Yes, my Lord!" Lushen croaked, his voice hoarse from crying.
They turned and marched out.
Soon, the village echoed with the sound of running feet and shouting officers.
The soldiers, scattered around the ruins, heard the call. They forgot their exhaustion. Their faces lit up with excitement. They knew Lauchlan had returned from the market.
Hundreds of men lined up in the small village square. They were still covered in the dust and dried blood of battle. They wore it like a badge of honor.
At the front, Lushen and Lauchlan stood rigid before their respective squads, waiting.
Solomon made them wait.
He stayed inside, watching through the crack in the door. He waited until the whispering started. Until the excitement turned to anxiety. Until the anxiety turned into a burning, desperate heat.
Let them simmer, he thought. Anticipation makes the reward sweeter.
Finally, he walked out.
He stood before them, silent. His gaze swept over the ranks.
Another trick from the psychology books, Solomon mused. Eye contact builds authority.
The soldiers stared at him with dog-like devotion. But Solomon said nothing. The silence stretched. The tension became suffocating.
They couldn't wait any longer. A fierce hunger—for wealth, for a change in destiny—filled the air.
Solomon raised his right hand, clenched into a fist.
He knew he couldn't push it further. Any more tension and they might snap.
A soldier in the back, unable to contain himself, threw his hand up.
"Long live Lord Solomon!"
The dam broke.
"Long live Lord Solomon!"
"Long live Lord Solomon!"
The roar was deafening. It shook the ground.
Lushen and Lauchlan looked at their lord with pride. This was their commander.
Solomon stood in the eye of the storm. He finally understood the old saying: A real man should be like this.
Slowly, he unclenched his fist and placed his open palm over his heart.
The shouting gradually died down.
Solomon spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but in the hush, it carried to every ear.
"Soldiers! I made you an oath!"
"Half the spoils to me! Half the spoils to you!"
He looked at Lauchlan.
Lauchlan signaled his men. They dragged several heavy wooden chests from the nearby house.
The chests were small, but the way the men strained to carry them told the story.
They were full.
Solomon pointed at the chests.
"Now!"
"The oath is fulfilled!"
Lauchlan kicked the lids open.
Silver.
Piles of silver stags, mixed with copper stars and pennies, glittered in the sunlight.
The soldiers went mad.
Seeing the physical reality of the wealth—wealth they could touch, wealth they had bled for—snapped their last restraint.
Their eyes turned red. Their breathing became ragged.
"Long live Lord Solomon!"
"Kill the savages!"
"We follow Solomon to hell and back!"
The square erupted in a frenzy of greed and loyalty. Their lives had been changed by violence. They had come here to die; they were leaving rich.
Solomon's voice cut through the noise again.
"Your commanders saw your blood! They saw your bravery!"
"Step forward one by one! Lushen and Lauchlan will distribute your share according to your merit!"
This was deliberate. He was building the authority of his lieutenants.
One by one, the soldiers stepped up.
When Lushen grabbed a handful of silver stags—so many he needed a small sack to hold them—men started crying.
Gatt, a young hunter, stared blankly at the bag Lauchlan placed in his hands. He had shot a Burned Man in the eye.
He felt the weight. He looked at Lauchlan's serious face. His lips trembled. This was more money than he could save in twenty years of hunting.
Dell, a veteran from Datings City, accepted his share from Lushen. He was a cynic, a survivor who had been sent here to die. He expected the lord to cheat them.
But the bag was heavy. He had stabbed the giant warrior.
Dell choked back a sob. This money could buy a big house. A wife. A future.
Finally, Tommen stepped up. Lauchlan had told him to wait until the end.
But the chests were empty.
Tommen looked up in panic. Had they run out?
Then he saw Solomon smiling at him.
"You are Tommen?"
"Yes! My Lord!"
Solomon walked towards him, holding a small, separate chest.
"Lushen and Lauchlan saw their bravery."
He handed the chest to the trembling peasant.
"But your bravery... I saw it."
Tommen fell to his knees and wailed.
I will never forget this moment, Tommen thought as he wept into the dirt. Never.
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