Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 124: The Black Mud of the Training Ground and the Arrogance of the Second Sons

The early winter wind, carrying ice shards, swept across the bluestone training ground of Blue Fork Riverine Fortress.

Garrett Page wrapped his thick cloak tighter around himself and stared at the old soldier holding a white ash stick in front of him, his face ashen.

As the second son of the Peggy family, he learned from a young age in the castle how to engage in one-on-one duels with a longsword and how to fight in front of the ladies while wearing bright armor.

He had assumed that his father's decision to send him to the Blue Fork River as a "squire" would mean being placed in a warm stone tower, serving wine to Baron Hohenzollern, or leading horses on hunts.

But he was wrong.

For ten whole days, he and six companions, including Lins Piper of the Piper family and the youngest son of the Nalan family, were driven into this muddy field that smelled of horse manure before dawn every day, to practice the most tedious exercise of holding a wooden stick horizontally with those thirty stinking vagrant boys.

"Level your spears! Look straight ahead!"

Veteran Torren's hoarse roar echoed across the drill ground.

Garrett's arm ached terribly, and the wooden stick sank slightly in his hand.

"Snapped!"

A crisp crack of a whip rang out. A rough leather whip lashed hard across Garrett's hand, drawing a bloody welt.

Garrett gasped, dropping his wooden stick into the mud. He whirled around and saw the man with the whip.

He was a young squad leader who had just been promoted from among the refugees.

This refugee had no shoes; he walked barefoot on the ice, his face blackened by coal smoke. Only his eyes revealed a ruthless determination to keep his livelihood.

"You dare hit me?!"

Garrett Page's aristocratic blood rushed to his head. He drew the ruby-encrusted dagger from his waist and pointed it at the vagrant boy's nose.

"You nameless, filthy wretch! I am the son of Sir Harmon Page! My father was a partner at Blue Fork!"

The head of the refugee squad did not back down; he gripped the leather whip tightly in his hand.

"If you don't hold the spear level, you'll get whipped. That's the instructor's rule."

The refugee squad leader gritted his teeth, staring at Garrett's short sword like a wolf cub guarding its food.

"Die, you bastard!"

Garrett roared and swung his sword to strike. Lince Piper and his other sons also drew their short swords for self-defense.

"Thump!"

A deep, resounding beat of a cowhide war drum echoed from the high ground of the training ground.

The thirty heavily armored halberdiers of the Iron Oath Legion around him did not hear any commands, but as the drumbeats sounded, they stepped forward in perfect unison, like a precise iron battle formation.

"Click".

Thirty heavy iron-clad shields slammed onto the muddy ground, forming an impenetrable iron wall that tightly surrounded Garrett and his seven second sons in the center.

Thirty spears, like venomous snakes spitting their tongues, emerged from the gaps in the shield, their cold tips resting steadily less than half an inch from the throats of the younger sons.

Garrett stood frozen in place, his short sword raised in mid-air, a bead of cold sweat sliding down his forehead.

William Charlton stood on a wooden platform high in the training ground, slowly lowering his right drumstick.

He wore a black leather armor without any emblems, and walked through the mud down the wooden platform to his second sons, who were surrounded by spears.

"Lord Charlton!"

When Lince Piper saw William, it was as if he had grasped a lifeline.

"You are also an heir to a noble family, and look at these lowly pigs and dogs! How dare they crack whips at the offspring of the Peggy family!"

William looked at Lins, then at Garrett, who was holding a sword.

Clang.

William did not draw his sword; he simply raised his iron-tipped boot and kicked Garrett's wrist hard.

Garrett screamed as his short sword fell into the muddy water.

The next second, William's iron boots slammed directly onto the ruby-inlaid short sword, crushing it deep into the black mud.

"There is no Peggy or Piper at Blue Fork."

William's voice was as cold as ice, devoid of any sympathy befitting the old aristocracy.

"There's only one rule here: obey the drumbeats and the instructor's whip. Anyone who breaks formation, no matter what animal your family crest is, is just a piece of rotten flesh."

William glanced around at the seven pale-faced young masters, his eyes filled with cold mockery.

"Take them to the stone tower. Let the adults teach them what a true servant is."

William coldly issued the order.

An hour later.

The seven second sons, smeared with mud and rubbed against iron shields, were led into the mahogany study on the second floor of the stone tower. They trembled, expecting to be met with a dungeon or a noose.

But a warm charcoal fire burned in the study.

Otto Hohenzollern sat in the main seat, neither wearing armor nor showing any anger. He leaned back in his chair, quietly watching the seven noblemen who looked like drowned rats.

The head butler, Pollifer, stood to one side, holding a silver tray with seven glasses of fine Green Pavilion red wine on it.

"Have a sip of wine to warm yourself up."

Otto's tone was as calm as if he were entertaining a guest.

Garrett and Lins exchanged glances, neither daring to take the glass of wine. The fear of almost having their throats pierced by spears on the training ground had not yet subsided.

"You feel wronged."

Otto didn't force them; he simply crossed his fingers and placed them on the mahogany table.

"You were taught from childhood that nobles should wear silk to compete in jousting and should fawn over the duke's daughter at banquets. Peasants are only fit to lead your horses."

Otto's grey-blue eyes looked at them.

"But the reality is, you are the second sons. Your elder brothers will inherit the family castle and the finest armor. When your father dies of old age, what will you get?"

"A rusty sword, an old horse, and then you become a wandering hired knight, only to die in some unknown ditch?"

Garrett and Lins gritted their teeth.

Otto's words were like a knife, precisely cutting through the deepest insecurities and fears beneath their proud exteriors. This was the tragic fate that all the second sons of Westeros could not escape.

"Your fathers sent you to me to keep an eye on their meager profits from pig iron. But what I'm giving you isn't how to fight gracefully."

Otto picked up a crudely made but sharp cast iron dagger from the table and threw it onto the carpet in front of them.

"What I give you is the skill of surviving in this cannibalistic world, using spears and discipline, and fighting your way through."

Otto stood up, his tall figure casting a huge shadow in the firelight, completely enveloping the seven boys.

"Cast away that family pride that can't even buy a loaf of bread. In this fortress, you are the lowest-ranking soldiers. As long as you can endure three years in this muddy land and become qualified commanders who can understand the drumbeats and lead troops to kill, you will succeed."

Otto offered a temptation that was enough to make all his younger sons sell their souls.

"I, Otto Hohenzollern, swear that three years from now I will grant you true land and the status of vassals, just as I did for Lord John Mudd of Willowwood."

"You will no longer be a burden on your family; you will become the founders of your own family."

The study was deathly silent. The only sound was the crackling of charcoal.

Garrett Page stepped forward, but instead of picking up the dagger that symbolized a noble duel, he picked up a glass of red wine, tilted his head back, and drank it all in one gulp.

Lince Piper and his other sons also stepped forward and raised their glasses.