Ser Pell’s voice rang with pride: “My lord, I can command a hundred men as smoothly as directing my own limbs.” Just a company commander, look how proud he is, Green thought with mild disdain.
In his past life playing video games, he had effortlessly commanded hundreds of thousands of troops in bloody warfare.
Heh, but now this was a real-life Age of Empires—quite a different story.
The perpetually chaotic Crackclaw Point was vast but sparsely populated.
In terms of war scale, Crackclaw Point truly belonged to country bumpkins; battles here were little more than glorified brawl fights.
They were all a bunch of hicks who had never seen real military scale, which was a problem.
Someone like Pere, who had spent half his life fighting and actually possessed command ability, was in some sense an unmatched figure in these parts.
His pride was understandable.
Green gave a satisfied smile and continued walking alongside Ser Pell.
Inside Whispers Keep, after a period of strict management, things had cleaned up, and the various foul odors had dissipated.
These subtle improvements made Green’s footsteps feel much lighter.
He would have the kitchens add an extra dish for them tonight—a little encouragement now and then went a long way.
…
A training yard within Whispers Castle.
Over twenty men were gathered here, each towering and powerfully built, standing like towers of iron.
These were House Crabb’s elite warriors, capable of fighting in full plate armor.
The mountain Wildlings called them the Ironclad Men.
Noticing Green and Pere approaching, the men stopped their activities and bowed one after another.
Green picked up a wooden training sword from a rack, gave it a test swing, and asked, “Who wants to spar with me?” Silence fell.
The men exchanged looks.
Green pointed randomly at one of them.
“Mm, right, you.” The man, initially stiff, loosened up as he stepped forward and said earnestly, “My lord, my name is Foly…
You might get hurt.” Green let out a soft laugh.
“If you hurt me, I’ll add a roasted lamb leg to your lunch.” “A fat, juicy one.” The burly man swallowed hard and nodded.
News that the young lord was sparring in the training yard spread through the castle at an unbelievable speed, drawing crowd after crowd.
By the time Green shed his outer robe, handed it to an attendant, and took his stance, a massive crowd had already gathered—assembling at a speed that defied all logic and reason.
“Ooh!
Ooh!” “Roar!
Roar!” Tempted by the roasted lamb leg and fired up by the crowd’s atmosphere, Foly’s morale soared.
Foly was surprisingly quick, but he didn’t put his full strength into it.
Foly had his own modest cleverness: if he truly injured the lord, even a roasted lamb leg wouldn’t taste good.
Better to make the young, headstrong lord realize his limits gently and save him face.
Facing Foly’s downward slash, Green casually raised his wooden sword with one hand, parried it effortlessly, and shoved forward.
Hit by the unexpected force, Foly instinctively tried to resist, yet was still knocked back three steps in a hurry.
“My warrior, take this seriously.
Show me your true strength.” “Ooh-roar!!” “Foly!
Did Old Ken’s tavern mistress keep you all night?
You’ve got the will but no power!” “What nonsense are you blabbering?!
Go to hell!” “Haha, all will and no power!” Foly’s dark face flushed red.
Damn it, what garbage were these bastards spouting?
The lord’s strength was genuinely monstrous—what did any of them know?!
Foly regained his footing.
He eased his grip on the hilt briefly before tightening it once more, locking into the combat mindset forged through mountain warfare and bloodshed.
Thwack!
Thud!
Dust swirled into the air and settled, leaving Foly lying flat on his back, looking utterly resigned to his fate.
I really gave it my all…
Silence fell over the field.
Then cheers erupted!
Green maintained a reserved smile, waving gently to the crowd to acknowledge his people’s enthusiasm.
The somber atmosphere that had hung over Whispers Castle since the death of Green’s mother seemed to vanish in an instant.
The gloom was gone.
Ser Pell was shocked by the strength Gryn displayed.
With his veteran swordsmanship, Pere could tell Gryn hadn’t even exerted his full effort to defeat Foly so effortlessly.
Although Foly’s skill was inferior to his own, the man was exceptionally strong.
Even Pere himself would have had to proceed cautiously, aiming merely to avoid defeat.
The lord had grown up and was becoming stronger by the day.
House Crabb had a bright future ahead.
…
On a wooden platform beside the training yard, Surana stood with her eldest daughter, Callaia, watching Green’s receding figure.
“My daughter, Lord Green is strong.
His children will be as sturdy as young calves.” Callaia possessed the dark hair common to Crackclaw Point, and as a steward’s daughter, her slightly wavy locks were well cared for.
Callaia stood nearly 1.6 meters tall.
Callaia turned her deep green eyes toward Surana.
“Mother, but…
bastards…
I want to marry a brave knight, not become a mistress who bears bastards.” “Every maiden in Westeros dreams of marrying a brave knight.
But, my poor girl, your standing isn’t high enough.
Wealthy knights won’t look twice at you; the only ones who would take an interest are destitute knights or old widowers.
Could you adapt to a life of poverty?
Would you truly be willing to serve an old man?” Callaia stubbornly remained silent.
“Your mother would never harm you.
You cannot live on love alone; love fades.” Callaia turned around huffily.
“My opinion doesn’t matter anyway!
Why don’t you just strip me naked and throw me into Lord Green’s bedchambers?!” “You…” In everyone’s eyes, Surana had always been stern and unsmiling—a walking statue of ice.
Yet all of Surana’s tenderness was reserved for her most beloved daughter, Callaia.
Surana blinked as she looked at her pouting daughter, took a step forward, and rested her soft chin gently on top of Callaia’s head.
“If only it were that simple.
Your mother’s work would be so much easier.” “Yesterday I sounded him out, but I was turned down.
I don’t think Lord Green has taken a liking to you.” Callaia broke free from Surana’s embrace and met her mother’s eyes to see if she was joking.
I’m the prettiest girl in our village!
Callaia thought, her face filled with utter disbelief.
Are you serious?
Surana admired her daughter’s beauty with satisfaction, reaching out to stroke her cheek.
Her skin was milk-white, soft and delicate.
“Your mother is only a steward.
I have a place in House Crabb’s domain, but my birth is not noble.
If you had an ordinary face, I wouldn’t have to worry about this and that.” “As the years pass, you are blooming like a flower.
People will eye you for all sorts of reasons and motives.
Sooner or later, your beauty will become your undoing.” “All my years of living have taught me how cruel this world is.
Among all the people I know, Lord Green is the only one who would treat you well while protecting you.” Callaia’s eyes grew red, and she hugged Surana tightly, inhaling her familiar scent.
“Mother…” Surana stroked Callaia’s hair softly.
“Perhaps there are better men out there, but I don’t want you to leave, nor could I rest easy letting you go alone.
Would you truly want to leave your mother?” No, never…
Callaia shook her head vigorously in Surana’s arms.
“I mentioned you to Lord Green yesterday, but…
he showed no reaction at all.
I tossed and turned all last night, unable to sleep.” Callaia let out a muffled hum against her mother’s ample bosom.
…
…
Green spent a busy afternoon moving between the blacksmith forge, the woodcraft shop, and other places.
After dinner, he had a long conversation with Ser Pell regarding the mountain Wildlings.
With his work finally finished for the day, Green soaked in a wooden bathtub of hot water, relaxing his mind.
He exhaled comfortably, thinking about the spearwife he planned to meet tomorrow—Emparo, the most famous spearwife in the domain, reputedly a skilled hunter with exceptional archery skills.
Creeeak.
The sound of the wooden door opening sounded unusually sharp in the quiet night.
The footsteps were very light—not a familiar sound.
Gryn’s heart gave a slight thud, his hand already reaching for the shortsword resting against the side of the bathtub.
The steps drew nearer.
Green’s brown eyes flickered.
The linen fabric of the maiden’s olive-green dress was remarkably thin, with a low-cut plunging neckline.
“Please forgive my intrusion, Lord Green.” She curtsied softly and said, “I am Callaia, Steward Surana’s daughter.”