Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 104: Frozen Mud in Late Autumn and an Unsealed Ledger

Late autumn in the Blue Fork Valley begins with a freezing rain.

The rain that fell on me was no longer damp and cold, but felt like shards of glass mixed with ice, chilling me to the bone.

Along the newly expanded No. 2 outer flood control canal, more than 400 refugees who had just poured into the territory were mired in knee-deep yellowish-brown mud.

They wore tattered clothes and looked like a swarm of frozen ants, mechanically wielding rusty picks and wooden shovels.

Each time the heavy silt was flung ashore, it was accompanied by sickening gasps and coughs.

"Clang—"

A muffled thud. A gray-haired refugee could no longer hold on and plunged headfirst into the icy, muddy ditch, shovel and all.

The murky mud poured into his mouth and nose, and his body twitched only twice before becoming still.

"Drag it up! The rest of you fill in!"

William Charlton, who was in charge of supervising the work, didn't even flinch.

The thirteen-year-old boy, wearing a black leather jacket to block the wind, stood on the dry, hard embankment, his voice as cold as a piece of iron without warmth.

In his eyes, this was only the fifth consumable item consumed today.

Two laborers numbly stepped forward, grabbed the corpse by the ankle, and prepared to drag him towards the lime burial pit in the distance like a dead dog.

"stop!"

An angry shout pierced the rain.

Gareth strode over.

The tall white knight was covered in mud. He had been instructing the new militiamen in swordsmanship when he heard the commotion and rushed over.

He shoved the two laborers aside, knelt down in the mud, and checked the old man's carotid artery.

After confirming his death, a fury that almost burned away the icy rain ignited in Gareth's clear blue eyes.

He suddenly stood up, grabbed William by the collar of his leather armor, and lifted the thirteen-year-old boy off the ground.

"He has a fever! He couldn't even stand up yesterday! Why did you force him to go into the water?!"

Gareth roared like an enraged lion.

William was being strangled and could hardly breathe, but there was not a trace of fear in his eyes. Instead, his eyes revealed a coldness and mockery that was very much like Otto's.

"Sir Knight..." William said, his face flushed, struggling to speak, "His rations were only enough to buy his life yesterday."

"If he doesn't dig this patch of mud today, he won't get any oats tonight. That's the ironclad rule set by Steward Polliff."

"In Blue Fork River, even breathing is considered stealing money from adults, and those who do no work are considered useless."

"We have hundreds of sacks of grain from Brecken! We have the golden dragon we traded with Seagull Town!"

Gareth angrily threw William onto the muddy ground and turned to point at the vagrants shivering in the cold wind.

"They are human beings! Not firewood that can be used up and thrown into a pit!"

Gareth ignored William.

He strode toward the towering gray stone tower in the rain.

That pure, selfless chivalrous spirit burned fiercely in his chest, driving him to demand justice from the supreme ruler of this miniature empire for what was not rightfully his.

Inside the study on the second floor of the stone tower, the charcoal fire in the fireplace was burning brightly.

Pollifer is reporting to Otto on a dark silver deal he just finalized with the White Gloves of Seagull Town.

"...As long as production can keep up, Loso promised that the delivery price next month could be raised by another 50%."

A rare look of excitement appeared on Pollifer's face.

"Sir, as long as we can get those two flood control channels through before winter, we can build five more pickling tanks after spring."

"Bang!"

The heavy wooden door to the study was flung open. Gareth burst in, covered in cold air and mud.

"grown ups!"

Gareth's voice was hoarse with extreme grief and anger.

"Five more people froze to death in the flood control canal today! Just now, an elderly man with a high fever was forced into the water by William!"

Pollifer frowned in displeasure: "Sir Gareth, the death of a few refugees won't affect the project's progress. I've already arranged for new..."

"Shut up, accountant!" Gareth glared at Polliver. "I swear in the name of the Seven, that wasn't progress, that was a massacre without swords!"

Gareth turned his head and stared intently at Otto, who was sitting behind the desk.

"My lord! I swore an oath to Duke Horst in the great hall of Riverrun that you are a benevolent lord who protects the people and safeguards the land!"

"But now, is what you've built—the land of Hohenzollern, or a living dead tomb filled with the corpses of refugees?"

Faced with this insubordinate questioning, Pollifer's face turned ashen. He instinctively reached for the dagger at his waist, preparing to face the master's wrath.

But Otto did not get angry.

He sat quietly in that large, hardwood chair.

He looked at Gareth in front of him.

Those were the purest eyes he had ever seen in Westeros. There was no greed, no scheming, no cold-bloodedness like William's, corrupted by power.

Gareth is like the "tall Duncan" described in the book, a true knight who dares to raise his sword against the prince to protect the weak.

For the past six months, Otto has been using the logic his father instilled in his mind to relentlessly exploit, calculate, and even sacrifice.

He molded William into a cold, ruthless boning knife and turned Pollive into an emotionless abacus.

But he did not try to erase Gareth from his life.

Because deep within his heart, in that void that even he himself dared not easily touch, he secretly kept this mirror.

Whenever he was enveloped by the emptiness of the question "And then? Is this what I wanted?" in the dead of night, Gareth's presence was like a weak straw.

Otto even harbored a ridiculous desire—he hoped Gareth was right.

He hoped that this territory could survive without following his father's approach of treating everyone as resources.

He wanted to see in this mirror a possibility of not being completely parasitized by his father's will.

"Polliver, you can go out now."

Otto's voice was soft, yet powerful.

Pollifer was taken aback, but he dared not disobey. He could only glare at Gareth with hostility and leave the study.

Only the two of them remained in the stone chamber.

Otto stood up and walked to the brazier. The flickering red light illuminated his slightly pale, yet extremely lucid face.

"Gareth".

Otto looked at the flickering flames, his voice unusually tinged with weariness.

"What do you think I should do?"

Gareth expected to be met with a cold rebuttal about the "big picture" and "interests," and he was even prepared to be relieved of his duties as a sword guard.

But Otto's calm questioning left him with nowhere to vent his pent-up anger.

"Remove the wood."

Gareth took a deep breath, his tone still firm.

"Build shelters for the refugees on the south-facing, sheltered slopes to keep them warm. Evacuate the elderly, weak, sick, and disabled from the irrigation ditches."

"A handful of dried vegetables must be added to the oatmeal porridge every day, increasing the quantity by half."

In Pollifer's calculations, this was a huge and "unprofitable" dead end.

But Otto turned around and looked at Gareth.

"Okay. I promise you."

Gareth suddenly looked up, staring at Otto in disbelief.

He never expected that this baron, known for his cold-bloodedness and precision, would so easily agree to such a demand that violated the laws of the territory.

"I not only agree to that."

Otto walked to the desk and picked up the gold seal that represented the baron's power.

"I will also take out one hundred sheets of windproof coarse linen from the Iron Oath Regiment's winter supplies."

"From today onwards, you are in full control of the refugee camp on the south slope. Pollifer will not be checking your accounts."

Otto pressed the gold seal onto a blank supplies allocation form and pushed it in front of Gareth.

This is a genuine concession.

Otto wasn't plotting anything behind the scenes; he was simply gambling with a portion of the efficiency and resources of his own territory.

He wanted to see if Gareth's pure, selfless kindness could truly carve out a path different from his father's, one filled with bloodshed and exploitation, in this cannibalistic and chaotic world.

"grown ups……"

Gareth clutched the transfer order, his eyes slightly red. He knelt on one knee and performed the most solemn knightly salute.

"I swear, your mercy will make these refugees the most loyal bulwark of the Blue Fork River!"

Watching Gareth's excited departure, Otto sat back down in the shadows.

He stroked the iron ring, feeling a rare sense of tranquility rising from the depths of his heart.

That was the first time he felt the weight of a choice he had made himself, without following his father's instructions.

However, at the corner of the corridor outside the study door.

William Charlton was pressed tightly against the cold wall.

The thirteen-year-old boy heard everything that happened inside.

His once clear gray eyes were now filled with extreme confusion, astonishment, and even a hint of hidden anger.

He doesn't understand.

Just now, the adult actually bowed down to that kind of boring, weak kindness?

The lord actually abandoned the ironclad rules of the territory for the sake of a few refugees who were destined to die?

William's fingers dug so hard into the cracks in the wall that blood seeped from his nails.