Sir Pell's voice carried a note of pride: "My lord, I command a hundred men as easily as moving my own arm."
Just a centurion, and already so smug—Green scoffed inwardly.
In his previous life playing strategy games, he had commanded armies of hundreds of thousands with ease.
Heh, but this is the real-life version of Age of Empires now—things are different.
The perpetually war-torn but sparsely populated Crackclaw Point was, in terms of military scale, truly "rural." Most battles here were little more than glorified brawls.
These people had never seen true war. And that was a problem.
Still, for someone like Pell—who had fought all his life and had command experience—he really was something of an unstoppable force in this region.
That pride of his? Understandable.
Green smiled in satisfaction and continued walking with Sir Pell.
Inside Whispering Keep, thanks to a period of strict management, the halls had been cleaned and the usual odors had dissipated.
These little changes made Green walk with a lighter step.
Tonight, the kitchen would get an extra dish—gotta give the troops a treat now and then.
…
At a training yard in Whispering Keep.
Over twenty men stood there—each one tall, broad, and solid, like iron towers.
These were the most elite warriors of House Crabb, men who could fight in full plate armor.
The mountain clans called them "Tin Men."
As soon as they saw Green and Sir Pell approaching, they all stopped what they were doing and saluted.
Green grabbed a wooden training sword from a rack, gave it a few swings, and said, "Who's up for a spar?"
The men fell silent. They glanced at each other, uncertain.
Green pointed at one of them at random. "You. Yeah, you."
The chosen man, who had looked nervous at first, walked forward with a bit more confidence. "My lord, my name is Froy… There's a chance you might get hurt."
Green chuckled. "If you land a hit, I'll throw in a roast leg of lamb for your lunch."
"Juicy. Fat. Dripping."
Froy swallowed hard and nodded.
Word that the young lord was sparring in the yard spread through the castle like wildfire. People began to gather in droves, their speed and enthusiasm downright irrational.
By the time Green had taken off his cloak and handed it to a servant, the crowd had swelled.
"Ohhh!"
"Raaah!"
Tempted by the promise of roast lamb and riled up by the crowd, Froy's morale was high.
He moved quickly, but held back his full strength.
Froy wasn't stupid. If he seriously injured the young lord, not even the finest lamb would taste right afterward. Better to give the lord a challenge, but also let him walk away with dignity.
As Froy swung down from above, Green casually raised his sword one-handed to block, then lunged forward with unexpected force. Froy instinctively resisted, but was forced to stumble back three steps.
"My warrior," Green said, "get serious. Show me your true strength."
"Oooh!!"
"Froy, did the landlady of Old Ken Tavern keep you overnight last night? Now you're all spent."
"What nonsense! Shut up!"
"Haha, all spent!"
Froy's face, dark as it was, turned a bit red.
Damn it, what are these bastards babbling about? The lord's strength is truly impressive. What do they know?!
Froy stood up, his hand on the sword hilt loosening slightly before tightening again, entering the battle-ready stance he'd forged through years of hard training.
Bang! Thud!
Dust rose, then settled, and Froy lay on his back with a look of defeat.
I really tried my best...
Silence.
Then, cheers erupted!
Green maintained his composed smile, lightly waving to the crowd to acknowledge their enthusiasm.
After the death of Green's mother, the atmosphere in Whispering Keep had been downcast, but now, it seemed to lift in an instant.
No more gloom.
Sir Pell was astonished at Green's displayed strength.
Pell, a skilled swordsman, could tell that Green hadn't even used his full power—he easily defeated Froy.
Froy may not have been as skilled in swordsmanship, but his body was strong enough that Pell would have needed to be cautious against him. Pell himself could only hope to avoid defeat in such a match.
The lord has grown up, stronger and stronger. The Crabb family has great potential.
...
On a wooden platform beside the training ground, Sularna and her eldest daughter, Kalleya, stood together watching Green's retreating figure.
"My daughter, Lord Green is strong. His child will grow up as strong as a young bull."
Kalleya's hair was a common dark color for people from the Crackclaw Peninsula, and as the daughter of the steward, her wavy long hair was well-maintained.
Kalleya stood at nearly 1.6 meters tall.
Kalleya turned her deep green eyes to Sularna. "Mother, but... he's a bastard... I want to marry a noble knight, not be a mistress who bears a bastard child."
"Every girl on Westeros dreams of marrying a noble knight. But my poor daughter, your status isn't high enough. Wealthy knights won't look at you; only poor knights or widowers will. Can you handle a life of poverty? Would you really want to serve an old man?"
Kalleya stubbornly said nothing.
"Your mother won't harm you. Living for love alone is impossible; it will change."
Kalleya angrily turned away. "My opinion doesn't matter, so just strip me and throw me into the lord's bedroom!"
"You..."
Sularna had always been seen as a woman of few words, a living ice sculpture.
All the warmth Sularna had, she gave to her beloved daughter—Kalleya.
Sularna blinked at her sulking daughter, took a step forward, and gently rested her chin on Kalleya's head.
"If only it were that simple, your mother would be relieved."
"Yesterday, I tried to test him, but it seemed like I was rejected. I feel like Lord Green isn't interested in you."
Kalleya pulled away from Sularna's embrace, looking into her mother's eyes to see if she was joking.
I'm the most beautiful in our village! Kalleya thought, disbelief written on her face.
Are you serious?
Sularna gazed at her daughter's beauty with satisfaction, reaching out to gently touch her cheek.
Her skin was milk-white, soft and delicate.
"Your mother is just a steward. In Crabb's territory, I have a place, but my status is not noble. If you had an ordinary appearance, I wouldn't have to worry about this and that."
"As you've grown, you've blossomed like a flower. You'll be watched by all kinds of people, for all kinds of reasons. Sooner or later, your beauty will become your disaster."
"My age has taught me how cruel this world is. Among the people I know, only Lord Green will not treat you harshly and will protect you."
Kalleya's eyes filled with tears, and she hugged Sularna tightly, feeling the familiar scent. "Mother..."
Sularna gently patted Kalleya's head. "Maybe someone better will come along, but I don't want you to leave. I can't bear to leave you alone. Will you leave me?"
No, never... Kalleya shook her head vigorously in her mother's embrace.
"Yesterday, I mentioned you to Lord Green, but... he gave no response. I spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to sleep."
Kalleya let out a frustrated hum in Sularna's arms.
...
...
Green had spent the whole afternoon busy at the blacksmith's, the carpenter's shop, and other places. After dinner, he had a long discussion with Sir Pell about the mountain clans.
Finally, after a full day of work, Green relaxed in a wooden bathtub filled with hot water.
He sighed comfortably, thinking about the spearwoman of the territory he was scheduled to meet tomorrow—Empa Ruo, who was rumored to be a very skilled hunter with impressive archery skills.
Creak.
The sound of the wooden door opening cut through the quiet night like a sharp noise.
The footsteps were light, unfamiliar.
Green's instincts flared, and one hand moved to the short sword leaning against the side of the bathtub.
Closer.
Green's brown eyes widened.
The girl, wearing an olive-green dress of thin linen, had a low neckline: "Please forgive my intrusion, Lord Green."
She curtsied lightly and said, "I am Kalleya, the daughter of Sularna, the steward."
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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