Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 89: The Shadow of the Hooked Nose and the Bloodstained Spring Ridge

The melting of the Blue Fork Valley originated from the deepest parts of the earth.

The withered grass roots and unidentified broken bones, frozen for an entire winter, churned in the warm, damp spring mud, emitting a nauseating, rusty, heavy stench.

Otto Hohenzollern stands beside the newly moved southern boundary marker.

The thick fir stake was driven three feet deep into the mud, and the double-headed eagle emblem painted on its top looked particularly sinister in the drizzle.

He heard the sound of horses' hooves.

Light and rhythmic.

On the edge of the dense forest on the south side of the official road, a group of Blackwood riders wearing black robes with red patterns slowly emerged.

The leader wasn't wearing a helmet, and his short, gray hair stood out starkly against the dark clouds.

Tytus Blackwood reined in his horse.

His tall, thin body was slumped in the saddle, his back ramrod straight like a heavy spear ready to be thrust out at any moment.

He had a short gray beard, and his hooked nose traced a sharp arc in the crisp air.

Those grey eyes, as cold as an autumn lake, were fixed on Otto's excessively young face, across the muddy furrows.

Baron Hohenzollern.

The voice of Tetos was not loud, but it pierced through the continuous rain and clearly struck everyone's eardrums.

"I've heard that you buried fifteen corpses, carcasses that even the gods wouldn't accept, in this woodland that originally belonged to Blackwood. Not only did you move my boundary markers, but you also want to plant your wheat on my land?"

"My lord, the wheat in this field is to be sent to Riverrun to offset the winter tax."

Otto's voice was perfectly steady, without any inflection.

"If you think the boundary marker was moved incorrectly, you can ask the Duke for a new measurement order. But until then, anyone who dares to set fire to this furrow will have to settle my last bad debt here."

Tethos's hooked nose twitched in the cold wind.

He saw the sixteen Iron Oath Guards behind Oto, dressed in black fish-scale armor.

Those men remained silent, their shields slightly tilted, their spear tips lowered, like a row of gears tightly meshed together.

"interesting."

Tethos sneered and turned his horse around.

"I don't need the Duke's orders. Since you prefer to defend the land using such underhanded methods, let's see if your few barbed spears can stop the spring floods of the Trident River."

The black-clad riders disappeared into the dense forest like a flock of crows.

Inside the arsenal in the inner fortress, the furnaces were burning brightly.

John Mudd was naked from the waist up, his upper body covered in wounds.

He had an old scar across his spine, a medal he earned while serving in the Gold Regiment.

He held a freshly quenched hook-and-sickle spearhead in his hand, his eyes revealing a precision and indifference that only a professional butcher possesses.

"Sir, those black crows won't be waiting long."

Mude turned around and said to Otto, who had just walked in.

"That old soldier named Blackwood is watching our formation. He knows we've dug trenches on the south side, so next time he comes, he definitely won't charge straight at us."

Otto walked to the anvil and looked at the batch of newly forged steel arrowheads.

"How do you think he'll fight?"

"bloodletting."

John Mudd slammed the gun barrel heavily on the wooden table.

"He will cut off the path leading to the salt depot in the south and block the sluice gates on the upstream river. He wants to starve us to death in this gray stone wall, or force us out to fight him in the open field. That's his forte."

A smile crept across John Mudd's lips.

"But what he doesn't know is that my men learned more than just formations in the Golden Company. We're going to give him a 'return gift' he's never seen before."

As night fell, the rain intensified.

In the birch forest to the south, which had just been forcibly reclaimed, three scouts from the Blackwood family were silently moving through the bushes.

They were acting on Tethos's secret orders to scatter enough salt to rot the seeds in the furrows of Hohenzollern under cover of night.

William Charlton huddled in the shadow of the mud pit.

His palms were covered in cold sweat, but he gripped the long, black dagger tightly, suppressing his breathing to a minimum.

A dark figure stood beside him—one of the five veterans John Mudd had brought back.

The old soldier was like a piece of dead wood growing in the soil.

If it weren't for the occasional whiff of murderous intent emanating from the other person, William would have thought he was all alone.

"Beep—"

A very short whistle, so short it sounded like the faint whistle of a startled waterbird, flashed by in the rain.

William saw the dark figure move.

There was no sound of armor clashing, and even the sound of footsteps was perfectly masked by the rain.

The veteran, like a black lightning bolt, crashed directly into the back of a Blackwood sentry.

Following John Mudd's instructions, William lowered his body and, with the dagger reflecting the light from the mud, precisely stabbed the back of another scout's leg.

"Sizzle—"

That was the sound of a sharp blade slicing through flesh.

Just as Blawood was about to scream, John Mudd's large hand had already firmly covered his chin.

With his other hand, he deftly thrust the short sword into the other person's ear.

Rotate, stir.

"Too slow."

John Mudd commented in the darkness, his voice cold and devoid of any warmth.

"If your knife had been just half an inch off, he would have had the strength to rip your intestines out."

William stood up and wiped the cold rain and warm blood from his face.

He stared at the corpse on the ground.

"Again."

William's voice was hoarse.

early morning.

Otto sat atop the stone tower, looking at the new line of text that Polyver had added:

"Nighttime losses: three crossbow bolts, half a bushel of quicklime, three Blackwood family neck guards, and two inferior short swords."

Gareth stepped onto the terrace, his eyes filled with deep worry.

"My lord, those three scouts... we can send them to Haijiang City for judgment as evidence of their transgression, instead of cutting their bodies up and throwing them into the river."

Otto looked at this upright knight, who resembled Duncan, and at his still clear eyes.

But he quickly snapped out of his thoughts.

"Garres, evidence is just an excuse in Tetos Blackwood's eyes."

Otto stood up and pointed to the still-standing boundary marker in the distance.

"In this spring, the only things that can protect the territory from being swallowed up are this muddy ground and the poisoned hooks that John Mudd has sharpened."

"Go and put those three heads in a wooden box. Don't pickle them; let them carry the rotten smell of this spring rain and send them back to Tethos. Tell him—"

Otto turned his head, his grey-blue eyes reflecting the first cold light after the spring thunder.

"Since he wants this land, then let him use a steady stream of private soldiers to fill in these two miles of furrows for me."

The spring waters roared.

The bloodstains in the Blue Fork River are covering the snow-white salt grains at an unprecedented speed.