Westeros’s winter, after all, lacked a bit of the biting edge found in Kislev’s frigid gales.
The wind swept across the plains carrying fine snow—not carrying blades of ice like over the northern frozen wastes, but rather bearing a quiet, almost gentle chill.
Snowflakes fell lightly onto low hills, melting into the crevices between withered grass and frozen soil, leaving only damp shadows behind.
Seth Moore’s pavilion was hidden within this mild winter air.
Inside, charcoal fires burned brightly, warmth spreading like spring water into every corner and bathing the tent in a lazy, golden hue.
In the center of the pavilion, a grand bed capable of holding five people was now a tangled heap of blankets, still retaining the lingering heat of the previous night.
A few wisps of thin silk garments lay discarded on the rugs.
Beneath the bulge of the covers, the contours of three bodies were faintly discernible—Seth was sandwiched between two soft, warm beauties, wrapped in gentle curves on both left and right.
On his left was the eldest daughter of Nippon’s Shiranui clan, sleeping deeply with breath as light as fluttering butterfly wings.
On his right was a former tavern owner from Reikland in the Empire, her sleeping face serene, her fingertips still subconsciously curled against Seth’s arm.
The warmth of the charcoal fire blended with their faint body scents, creating a suffocating yet oddly comforting sense of peace.
“My lord, are you awake?” A handmaiden’s voice carried through the heavy curtain, like a breeze brushing against the flap.
There was no static or sharpness in her tone, only a hushed, respectful murmur reserved for her master.
“Mm…
I’m up.
If there’s nothing urgent, you may leave.” Seth’s voice was raspy with sleep.
He raised a hand to wipe his face, his fingertips touching a faint sheen of cool sweat.
Reaching into the covers, his palm met a soft curve, eliciting a soft whimper—light as a dream, yet bringing a faint smile to his lips.
He shifted back, revealing his athletic upper torso in the warm light, his muscles gleaming with a healthy sheen.
As the charcoal fire burned, the warm air circulated while exhaust was drawn out through carefully installed piping.
Seth did not disturb the two sleeping women.
Pulling on his trousers, he pushed open the tent flap bare-chested, without even putting on a tunic.
The chill rushed in instantly, but Seth only felt his spirits lift.
Unlike him, the camp of nearly ten thousand was already wide awake.
In the center of the camp, eight hundred Peasant Spearmen from Grand Cathay were hard at work—though they formed only a small portion of Seth’s army cards, they were steadfast and reliable.
These farmers, capable of both tilling fields and forging iron, swung stone picks to cut nearby boulders into uniform blocks, setting them into new walls with glutinous rice mortar.
The mortar hardened into an exceptionally resilient matrix in the low temperature, sealing every stone brick without a gap.
In another corner of the camp, soldiers of the Garrison Regiment were pulling up wooden stakes and replacing them with stone walls.
Border troops from the Great Bastion cleared roads, as the clatter of iron, the pounding of hooves, and low rhythmic chants intertwined into a vibrant symphony of life.
Seth paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the camp.
The stone walls were taking shape, and though sweat glistened on the workers’ foreheads, they paid no mind to the freezing wind.
He nodded in satisfaction—this land was unexpectedly rich.
Not only was the soil deep and fertile, but beneath the snow lay veins of iron and copper deposits.
Though he lacked a complete map of the realm, the resources excavated nearby were enough to sustain the fort’s operation.
He turned back into the tent, grabbed a two-handed long blade, and shouldered it, its steel catching the warm light inside with a cold, sharp gleam.
Will was awakened by the commotion of the camp.
Curled in a pile of dry straw inside the woodcutter’s shed, he opened his eyes, amazed that he had slept so soundly.
His “bed” at Castle Black was nothing more than a drafty shack with blankets as hard as stone, yet the straw beneath him now was impossibly soft, bearing the fresh scent of dry grass baked in the sun.
He rubbed his eyes instinctively, wondering if he was dreaming—until his fingers touched the delicate weave of the sheets, confirming he was indeed lying in such luxurious bedding.
He recalled the confusion inside the tent last night: Seth’s hushed murmurs with the two women, the crackle of the hearth, and his own awkwardness squeezed into a corner.
He had not even had a proper bed to lie on, yet he had slept more soundly than on the dirt floors of Castle Black.
Now, he was awakened by morning light and human voices rather than a Crow’s prodding stick.
The stark contrast left him briefly dazed.
He scratched his messy hair, trying to adapt to the unfamiliar sensation of being gently woken.
He felt he had to do something to repay this kindness.
The Night’s Watch drew its ranks from criminals and bastards, and while its discipline was as loose as shifting sand, its rangers were not lacking in skilled craftsmen.
Pushing the door open, he froze in his tracks at the sight before him.
On an open field in the camp, at least three hundred bare-chested men were swinging weapons.
Their muscles tensed in the freezing wind, sweat condensing into white mist in the cold air, every strike sending up a plume of steam.
Their chants surged like a tide: “Hoo—Hoo—Ha!”—perfectly synchronized, as if the entire camp were breathing as one.
The crisp clanging of steel, the muffled thud of chiseling stone, and the shouts of soldiers combined into a heart-pounding swell of sound.
Will’s feet involuntarily moved forward a step, wanting to join the blood-stirring ranks, but the chill quickly dragged him back to reality.
He was just a newcomer ranger; if he actually joined them bare-chested, he would be nursing a fever by tomorrow.
In the center of the drill ground, Seth was wielding a two-handed long blade, the blade light dancing like a silver serpent.
Sensing Will’s gaze, Seth brought the blade to a stop, turned, and signaled an officer nearby to take over the training.
Shouldering his long sword, he strode over to Will.
“I thought you’d sleep until my men came looking for you,” Seth said softly, though his voice made Will instantly straighten his spine.
“My apologies, my lord,” Will shrank his neck, his voice raspy.
“I’ve never slept on such good bedding…
so I woke up late.” He remembered last night, after that somewhat mouth-numbing dinner, this lord had sent someone to bring him a late-night snack—crispy, fragrant roasted boar, warm porridge, and a cup of sweet hot wine that he was still savoring.
Seth stared at Will’s face, his gaze seeming to peer straight through the ranger’s anxiety.
“Is there anything I can do for you?
I can chop wood or fetch water.
Before I joined the Night’s Watch, I worked as a stonemason for a spell,” Will said, his tone carrying a humble earnestness.
“I didn’t expect you to have practical talents,” Seth’s lips curled slightly.
“I imagine you’ll have the chance to build houses here in the future.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the camp.
“Regrettably, you have a new task today.
I need you to lead my people on a patrol of this region, figure out where we are, and draft a simple map.
If you happen to catch a few locals along the way, so much the better.” Will’s throat bobbed, his facial muscles twitching slightly.
“My lord…
I actually have a map.” As he spoke, his hand quickly pulled a rolled sheet of parchment from the inside of his black coat, his fingertips white with tension.
Unrolling the parchment revealed a somewhat crude topographical map, its charcoal lines sketching mountain ranges, rivers, and faint village markers—the exact patrol route map used by the Night’s Watch north of the Wall.
“My lord?” Will’s voice held a trace of anxiety.
Seth’s brow smoothed, and he let out a soft laugh.
“Well then, the first task is modified: refine this map.
I have professional cartographers here who can help you calibrate it.
As for the second task: bring me a few locals—the ones you call ‘Wildlings’.” He patted Will’s shoulder with a firm, unyielding pressure, pointing toward an open space on the eastern side of the camp.
“See over there?
That’s where we eat.
Go get something to eat, then come to my tent to find me.
Understood?” Will’s eyes lit up instantly.
Yesterday’s dinner had left him wanting more, and now hunger surged like a wave.
The aroma wafting from the camp—a blend of savory roasted meat and sweet porridge—made his stomach churn.
He nodded vigorously.
“Understood, my lord!”