Sir Pell's voice carried a proud note. "My lord, I command a hundred men as if they were my own limbs."
Just a centurion, and already so full of himself. Green inwardly scoffed.
In his previous life, he'd commanded armies of hundreds of thousands with ease in strategy games.
But this? This was real-life Age of Empires. A different world entirely.
Crackclaw Point, perpetually torn by minor conflicts, was vast but sparsely populated. By any standard of war, this was the backcountry. The battles here were little more than organized brawls.
None of them had ever seen a real battlefield. That was the problem.
And yet, a man like Pell—who had spent half his life in battle and had actual command skill—was, by local standards, an unmatched force.
His pride? Understandable.
Green smiled, satisfied, and continued walking beside Sir Pell.
Whispering Keep had grown cleaner in recent days under strict oversight. The old stench had faded, the corridors no longer foul.
These small changes lightened Green's step.
He'd have the kitchen prepare something special for supper tonight. A little reward now and then didn't hurt.
…
In the training yard of Whispering Keep.
Over twenty men stood gathered—each one tall, broad-shouldered, and solid as a tower.
These were House Crabb's elite warriors—men who could fight in full plate armor.
The mountain clans called them the Tin Men.
When they saw Green and Sir Pell approach, they ceased their drills and offered respectful salutes.
Green pulled a wooden training sword from the rack, gave it a few test swings, and said, "Who'll spar with me?"
Silence. The warriors exchanged glances.
Green pointed at random. "You. Yes, you."
The man he chose had looked hesitant, but straightened up and stepped forward. "My lord, my name is Froy… There's a chance you might be injured."
Green chuckled. "If you wound me, I'll have the cooks add a roast leg of lamb to your lunch."
"Fatty. Juicy. Dripping with grease."
Froy swallowed hard and nodded.
Word that the young lord was dueling in the yard spread like wildfire. People gathered so quickly it defied all logic.
By the time Green removed his cloak and handed it to a squire, a large crowd had already formed.
"Ohhh!"
"Rahhh!"
Tempted by the promise of lamb and fueled by the crowd, Froy's morale surged.
He moved quickly, but held back. Froy was no fool—if he truly hurt the young lord, the meat might stick in his throat. Better to give Green a fight and let him save face.
Froy brought his blade down from above.
Green raised his wooden sword with one hand and blocked easily. Then he pressed forward. The sudden force made Froy stumble back three steps despite his instinctive resistance.
"My warrior," Green said, "stop holding back. Show me your real strength."
"Ooooh!"
"Froy! Did Old Ken's widow keep you overnight? No wonder you've got nothing left in you!"
"Shut it, you swine!"
"Hah! No strength left!"
Froy's dark face flushed red.
Fools! You've no idea how strong the young lord is!
Froy adjusted his grip, loosened and re-tightened it, then sank into a battle stance forged from years of blood and toil.
Thud! Crack!
A cloud of dust rose, then drifted away. Froy lay flat on his back, dazed and defeated.
I really gave it my all...
Silence.
Then—cheers erupted!
Green maintained a modest smile and waved at the crowd, acknowledging their enthusiasm.
Since Lady Sularna's death, a gloom had hung over Whispering Keep. Now, that haze seemed to lift.
The air no longer felt heavy.
Sir Pell was shaken by Green's display of strength.
His own bladecraft was seasoned enough to tell—Green hadn't even used his full power. And still, Froy had been bested with ease.
Froy's swordsmanship was not on Pell's level, but his raw strength meant Pell would have had to fight cautiously to avoid losing.
The young lord had grown—and was still growing stronger.
House Crabb had a future.
…
On a wooden platform overlooking the yard, Sularna stood with her eldest daughter, Kalleya, watching Green's retreating figure.
"My daughter," said Sularna, "Lord Green is strong. His children would be sturdy as calves."
Kalleya's hair was the dark shade common on the Crackclaw Peninsula. As the steward's daughter, her softly curled locks were well cared for.
She stood nearly five foot three.
Kalleya turned her deep green eyes to her mother. "But Mother… he's a bastard. I want to marry a noble knight, not become a mistress bearing a bastard."
"Every maiden in Westeros dreams of marrying a noble knight. But my poor child—your birth is too low. The rich knights won't give you a second glance. The ones who might are fallen knights, or widowers. Can you endure that poverty? Do you truly want to serve some old man?"
Kalleya said nothing, her jaw set with stubborn defiance.
"I would never harm you. But love alone won't sustain you—it fades, and changes."
Kalleya spun around, angry. "Then why not just strip me naked and throw me into the lord's bedchamber?!"
"You—!"
Sularna, who to the world was a cold and silent woman, a walking sculpture of ice, reserved all her warmth for Kalleya—her most beloved child.
She blinked at her fuming daughter, stepped forward, and gently rested her chin atop Kalleya's head.
"If it were really that simple, your mother's life would be far easier."
"Yesterday, I tested the waters. I think I was refused. I don't believe Lord Green is interested in you."
Kalleya pulled free from her mother's arms and searched her eyes, hoping it was a jest.
I'm the most beautiful girl in the village, her expression said in disbelief.
Are you serious?
Sularna studied her daughter's lovely face with pride, brushing a hand across her cheek.
Her skin was like milk—soft and flawless.
"Your mother is only a steward. I have standing in House Crabb, but no noble blood. If you were plain, I wouldn't need to worry about any of this."
"But as you've grown, you've bloomed like a flower. All sorts of people, with all sorts of intentions, will come to covet you. One day, your beauty will be your curse."
"My years have taught me how cruel this world can be. Among all the men I know, only Lord Green would never mistreat you—and only he could protect you."
Tears welled in Kalleya's eyes as she clung to her mother. "Mother…"
Sularna stroked her hair. "Perhaps there are better men out there. But I don't want you to leave me. I couldn't rest easy if you went alone. Could you leave your mother behind?"
No. Never.
Kalleya shook her head fiercely against Sularna's chest.
"I brought you up to Lord Green yesterday. But… he gave no reply. I tossed and turned all night."
Kalleya gave a muffled groan, pressing her face into her mother's generous bosom.
…
…
After a long afternoon spent at the smithy, the carpenter's shop, and other sites, Green had finally wrapped up his day. After dinner, he held a long discussion with Sir Pell about the mountain clans.
At last, the day's work was done.
Green now lay soaking in hot water inside a wooden bathtub, letting the warmth relax his body and spirit.
He let out a contented sigh, thinking about tomorrow's meeting with the territory's most renowned spearwoman—Emparo, a famed huntress and expert archer.
Creak.
The wooden door opened—a sharp sound in the stillness of the night.
The footsteps were soft… unfamiliar.
Green's instincts flared. One hand slid toward the short blade propped beside the tub.
Closer.
His brown eyes narrowed.
The girl wore an olive-green linen dress—thin fabric, a plunging neckline.
"Forgive my intrusion, Lord Green," she said softly, curtseying.
"I am Kalleya, daughter of Sularna, the steward."
.
.
.
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