Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 123: The Dividends at the Mahogany Table and the Attendants of Blue Fork River

The cold rain of early winter turned into snow mixed with ice shards, hitting the ground of the Blue Fork Riverine Fortress bluestone drill ground with a soft rustling sound.

Five carriages, without any ornate curtains, slowly drove into the inner fortress under the silent "escort" of thirty heavily armored halberdiers of the Iron Oath Legion.

The wheels rolled over the frozen mud, blackened by coal ash, leaving deep ruts.

Five Riverlands lords and knights, each with a weary face and a different expression, stepped down from the carriage.

Leading the way was Viscount Legg of Willowwood. The old man had just lost his hot-tempered heir, Ronald, a few months earlier, and the ancestral iron mine had been taken over by Baron Hohenzollern with armed force.

His velvet cloak was worn and his aged face was etched with humiliation.

If it weren't for the invitation letter stamped with double-headed eagle wax and the statement that "refusal to attend will be considered a waiver of the mining area's claims," ​​he would rather die than set foot in this muddy land.

Following closely behind were the Papper family knights of Pink Maidenburg, Ser Nalan of the Green Fork Witch's Marsh, and Ser Peggy, who barely maintained a respectable reputation by smuggling.

The last to walk was the current head of the Charlton family.

His gaze didn't fall on the blast furnaces billowing black smoke, but instead instinctively searched for the black-armored boy standing on the stone tower steps.

That was his eldest son, William, whom he had given to Blue Fork River as a hostage.

"My lords, this way please."

William Charlton stood on the steps, his voice as cold and hard as a hammer just pulled from ice water.

Chief Charlton approached his son, intending to offer a slightly reassuring smile and exchange a knowing glance with William.

But William's gaze didn't linger on his face for even half a second. He simply turned aside businesslike, looking past his father as if he were looking at five walking abacuses.

Chief Charlton's smile froze on his face.

In the study on the second floor of the stone pagoda, a charcoal fire was lit early in the morning.

Otto Hohenzollern sat in the main seat, not wearing a lord's formal attire, but only a thick gray-black woolen coat.

The head butler, Pollifer, stood beside him, with five heavy sheepskin bags and a stack of densely packed account books on the mahogany table in front of them.

The five minor lords sat awkwardly across the long table. Apart from the crackling of the charcoal fire, the room was deathly silent, almost suffocating.

Otto didn't say anything pointless about friendship; he leaned back in his chair like a craftsman examining a newly purchased whetstone.

"Your territories have not fared well during these past year or so of border skirmishes, have they?"

Otto's voice echoed in the study.

"Abandoned farmland, hordes of refugees, and the second son who has no right to the inheritance and causes trouble in the castle all day long."

Viscount Legge bit his dry lips, while the Paiber knight shifted uncomfortably.

These were the declines they desperately tried to conceal, but Otto peeled them away like skin.

"Blue Fork River is a furnace; it needs a constant supply of firewood."

Otto got straight to the point.

"The iron veins in the Liulin mining area are very deep. I invited you all here today not to borrow grain, nor to form an alliance. This is a business deal."

Otto tapped his finger on the mahogany table. Pollifer immediately opened the thick parchment book.

"Send over any refugees from your lands who are starving and have nowhere to go. Blue Fork River will take them in, as long as they can lift a pickaxe."

Otto looked at the five people opposite him.

"You provide the manpower, and I'll provide the mines and blast furnaces. For every ten cartloads of pig iron ore they dig out of the mine, you'll take half the profit."

"Not only that."

Pollifer pushed up his brass-rimmed glasses and threw out the second bait.

"For any family participating in the cooperation, if they need to purchase spears, crossbow parts, or farm implements from Bluefork River, Bluefork River will supply them at a price 20% lower than the market price. However, the transportation of livestock and guards will be the responsibility of each family."

The knights of the Piper family were absolutely ecstatic. A 20% discount meant they could make a fortune on the Riverlands' black market.

But what was most shocking was what happened next.

Otto turned his gaze to Viscount Legge, who was sitting at the very edge.

"Lord Legge."

Otto's voice remained calm.

"The Liulin mining area was originally your property. Although I am now managing it to pay off the debt, Lanchahe will only receive its share. Over the past two months, your share of the profits from the Liulin mining area has been settled."

Pollifer stepped forward and pushed the heaviest sheepskin bag on the table toward Viscount Legge.

"Splash!"

The bag opened, and dozens of bright yellow San Francisco gold dragons shimmered with a captivating luster in the dim light.

Old Viscount Legge stared at the gold coins in disbelief.

The old viscount, his hands trembling, clutched the sheepskin bag to his chest, tears streaming down his face.

Although Hohenzollern was brutal, he did actually pay!

"Of course, the accounts must be clear and transparent; they cannot be a muddled mess."

Otto saw that the time was right.

"Someone needs to keep an eye on Manager Pollifer's plans for this biannual profit-sharing."

"My lords, send your family's second sons to Blue Fork River. Nominally, they will serve as my 'attendants,' but in reality, they will be here to watch over your profits."

Otto looked at the five clan chiefs who had already taken the bait.

"Instructor Torun will teach them how to survive with spears, and Pollif will teach them how to calculate the weight of ten cartloads of ore."

"Three years. If they are still alive after three years, they will become the finest officers in the Riverlands. If they wish, the sword of the Hohenzollern family is always open for them."

No one hesitated in the study anymore.

This is not just about solving problems; it's about providing a gilded ladder to heaven for the second sons who are destined to receive no share of the inheritance.

Chief Charlton nodded emphatically.

He subconsciously glanced at William standing in the shadows again, but William remained expressionless, holding a quill pen and meticulously checking the number of refugees the Charlton family was about to send in the appendix of the contract.

The contract was quickly signed on the mahogany table. The five small families, satisfied with the promise of gold coins and cheap weapons, left Blue Fork River.

That evening, at the bottom of the stone tower.

Pollifer was quickly calculating the large influx of labor that was about to arrive.

"grown ups."

Pollifer pointed to another row of numbers on the roster that were underlined in red.

"With the refugees sent by these five families, the production pressure in the Willow Forest mining area has been greatly relieved. However, the production efficiency of the two thousand veteran settlers at headquarters, who have been working for more than two years, has recently dropped by 30%. The heavy physical exertion has caused a large number of them to fall ill and die. Not only does this waste lime for burial, but it also affects the logging quota for the winter."

Otto stood by the window, looking at the gloomy shantytown on the south slope. He listened to the cold, hard data on "losses" coming from Pollifer's mouth.

"Amend the supplementary clauses of the code."

Otto's tone was pure rationality, but a hint of secret indulgence flashed in his eyes.

"All veteran settlers who have spent more than two years in Lancha River will be exempt from nighttime labor during the winter. Each person's daily ration will be increased by half a block of coarse cheese."

Pollifer paused for a moment.

Although the efficiency of older laborers has declined, directly increasing the cost of food rations by half a block of cheese still does not conform to the adults' usual rule of squeezing out every last drop of profit.

"Go and carry it out."

Otto did not explain to Pollifer.

A few days later, a resettlement camp was set up on the wasteland downstream of the Blue Fork River.

A cold wind, carrying snowflakes, swept through the dilapidated wooden shed. Gareth was boiling moldy wheat bran in a broken iron pot.

Several disabled refugees helped each other back to the camp. Although their faces were purple from the cold, their eyes shone with a long-lost vitality.

"My lord knight."

An old refugee, blind in one eye, held half a piece of hardened cheese in his hands, his voice trembling.

"The grain carts from the inner fort just arrived. They not only delivered wheat bran, but also said... the old brothers at headquarters won't have to work night shifts this winter. This half-bar of cheese is something they saved up and secretly had someone bring it to us."

Gareth stared blankly at the half-eaten cheese.

He raised his head and looked at the gray stone tower that stood tall in the black smoke in the distance.