After leaving White Willow Crossing, Nero did not push the column through the night.
He ordered camp in an abandoned village five miles down the road.
The ground was open, the only cover a stretch of ruined stone wall at their backs.
It would be hard for scouts to slip close, and harder still for Harys to try anything desperate under cover of dark.
Night settled.
Campfires bloomed among the broken cottages.
Nero sat alone on the highest fragment of wall, methodically wiping the dagger Bronn had left him.
At the edge of his vision a pale blue system prompt floated, cold and unblinking.
[Judgment: The host has used leverage to blackmail and extort a Lannister noble for personal gain.
This conduct violates the chivalric code.] [Honor –3.
Current Honor: 7/100.] Nero’s hand paused for half a heartbeat.
He glanced at the two draft horses still being unloaded, then at the crate of medical supplies.
Fine.
Saving his own neck, shifting the blame off the column, and taking supplies the outpost was obligated to provide in the first place—apparently that counted as extortion.
The system did not care about results.
It nitpicked methods.
He felt no regret.
If he had not done it, the man tied to a stake tonight would have been him.
The camp grew louder once the rations came out.
Lannister veterans and mountain clansmen crowded the same fires.
Trouble followed at once.
A stubble-cheeked veteran stared at the sacks being handed to the hill folk and could not keep his mouth shut.
“Those are Lannister army rations.
Why are we feeding mountain savages?” Kaan’s head came up.
“Because the hill folk were the ones who killed the false wolves.” The veteran sneered.
“You killed them?
You jumped out of the wagons to finish the scrap.
Without us pushing those carts you’d still be lost in the trees looking for White Willow.” Kaan was on his feet, hand already on the short sword at his hip.
“Say that again.” Several Black Ears rose with him.
On the other side seven or eight veterans closed fists around spear shafts.
Roland stepped in fast, trying to kill it before steel came out.
“Weapons down!
Supplies are distributed by the commander.
No private fights—” No one listened.
One of the veterans muttered just loud enough, “The little Leyton should go back to his tent and drink his milk.” Roland’s face went red.
Gawen clutched the ledger and edged behind Nero, voice thin.
“My lord… this is about to turn.” Nero did not speak at once.
He looked at the men in front of him.
The Lannister veterans feared the hill folk and still looked down on them.
The hill folk hated the Lannister soldiers and still had to march beside them.
Roland knew the regulations, but a young noble from a distant house meant nothing to men holding steel.
Gawen had the books and the wits, but parchment tore easily in the hands of men who lived by the blade.
Winning an ambush and forcing an outpost signature did not make these people a company.
They would obey in a fight.
Mealtimes were when the real fractures showed.
“Kaan.” Kaan did not turn.
His eyes stayed locked on the veteran.
“Take your hand off the sword.” Kaan’s jaw worked.
“He stole from me.” Nero’s gaze sharpened.
“Stole what?” Kaan pulled a short length of broken leather cord from inside his shirt.
“Gonso’s bone pendant.
I took it off his body.
It was in my bag an hour ago.
Now it’s gone.” The veteran who had started it all shifted his weight.
Nero looked at him.
“Name.” The man stiffened.
“Martin.” “Boots off.” Martin blinked.
“What?” “I don’t like repeating myself.” Martin stayed planted.
Nero drew the dagger and tossed it casually so it stuck in the dirt at Kaan’s feet.
Kaan grinned without humor.
Martin bent and pulled off his boots.
A small sheep-bone pendant rolled out of the left shaft, dark with sweat and mud.
Kaan’s eyes went blood-red.
“I want his hand.” “No.” Kaan’s head snapped up.
“He stole my brother’s things!” “That’s why he will be punished.” Nero picked up the pendant, wiped the worst of the mud away on his sleeve, and handed it back to Kaan.
Then he looked at Martin again.
“Stealing a comrade’s loot costs triple.
The short sword, the boots, and the silver you drew today—hand them over.” Martin’s face drained.
“Then what am I supposed to fight with?” “Did you ask yourself that while you were stealing?” Martin shut his mouth.
Nero continued, voice even.
“And twenty lashes.
Administered by the Lannister men themselves.” The veterans’ faces changed.
Being beaten by hill folk would have been cleaner.
This forced them to admit in front of everyone that the thief was one of their own.
Kaan spat toward the Lannister line, axe still in hand, and started back toward the fire.
“Did I say you could move?” The cold in Nero’s voice stopped him cold.
Kaan turned.
“Commander, he stole from me.
You already punished him.” “I punished him because he is a thief.
Now I am punishing you.” Nero stepped in close.
“What did I tell you this afternoon?
I want hands that hold blades.
Without my order, no one draws steel.” “I didn’t even cut him!” Kaan snarled.
“That’s the only reason you still get to eat tonight.” Nero reached out, yanked the iron sword Kaan had taken earlier from his belt, and tossed it to Roland.
“Confiscated.
Drawing without order.” “I earned that with my life!” “Your life right now is something I kept for you.” Nero’s voice dropped lower still.
Kaan stared at him.
Behind him the mountain clansmen’s hands tightened on their weapons.
The air tightened again.
Nero did not give an inch.
Whatever violence lived in Kaan’s eyes finally folded under something uglier—pure unwillingness.
He snorted hard through his nose and walked back to the fire.
Neither side was happy.
Neither side had anything left to say.
Roland’s shoulders loosened a fraction.
He realized his wariness of this commander had just climbed another full step.
Nero had not favored anyone.
That made it worse.
A crisp system chime sounded deep behind Nero’s eyes.
[Judgment: The host has enforced the law without favor and restored basic military order under pressure.
Conduct aligns with the knightly virtue of Justice.] [Honor +3.
Current Honor: 10/100.
Ding!
Threshold crossed.
Low-tier white card (10-day) selection unlocked.] Three white cards turned over in sequence: [A: Skill Card – Knot-Tying Hands (White)] Actions involving knots, bindings, and rope-work become noticeably more proficient.
[B: Perception Card – Ash-Fire Reading (White)] Determine the source and approximate timing of a fire from remaining ash and charcoal.
[C: Social Trait – Voice of First Impressions (White)] When addressing an unfamiliar male target, the first sentence spoken gains a temporary +30 Charisma social modifier, markedly increasing initial favorability and willingness to listen.
Effect occurs once only.
Activation requirement: Charisma ≥ 15.
(Current Charisma: 10) Nero stared at the last card.
His mouth twitched once.
Voice of First Impressions.
Unfamiliar male.
First sentence.
Brief +30 Charisma.
The thing was strong.
In a world where names, faces, and first impressions decided whether a man lived or died, the ability to buy a lord or knight-commander one extra heartbeat of patience—or one less heartbeat of killing intent—could mean a life.
Or a city.
But the restriction sat there like a bad joke.
Males only.
Shae would never feel it.
Chella would never feel it.
The pretty widows and highborn daughters waiting in King’s Landing would never feel it either.
Eddard Stark might.
Stannis might.
Varys and Littlefinger almost certainly would.
“System,” Nero thought, dry as dust, “what the hell is wrong with you?” Fifteen points of Charisma and a strange man might listen a little longer.
Thirty points and some great lord might take his hand and sigh about kindred spirits the moment they met.
The mental image alone made the back of his neck crawl.
Still.
Jokes aside, the card’s value was real.
In the game of power the first sentence sometimes mattered more than the first sword.
“Select C.
Replace Tongue of the Abandoned Pawn.” [Temporary trait Tongue of the Abandoned Pawn (White) uninstalled.] [Temporary trait Voice of First Impressions (White) equipped.
Current trait slots: 4/4.
Duration: 10 days.] [Reminder: Current Charisma below threshold.
Trait remains dormant.] He had the trait.
He did not immediately go hunting for ways to raise Charisma.
Honor had only just crawled back to ten.
It was not enough to spend freely.
Nero pushed the thought aside and looked out over the camp.
Martin’s lashes were still falling.
Kaan sat by the fire, head down, carefully retying Gonso’s bone pendant around his neck.
Gawen slid the ledger into a moisture-proof box and hunched over it, body angled to keep drifting sparks away.
In a darker corner Roland spoke quietly with a scout.
In his hand was the sealed letter Nero intended to send to the Boar Knight before morning.