Since crossing over into Galon half a year ago—
In order to face the looming crisis that could wipe out his entire house, Galon had not dared to relax for a single moment.
Aside from proposing a marriage alliance to Ned, he had also gathered the young men of House Glover between the ages of fifteen and twenty, along with the sons of the four major clans.
Together, they formed a hundred-man unit known as the Steel Fist.
Drawing on military knowledge from his previous life, Galon personally led and trained them, hoping to forge this group into the future officer core of his army.
But after six months, even Galon had to admit that he had disgraced the title of "transmigrator."
Others crossed over and instantly turned the military theories in their minds into lived experience, applying strategy with ease.
Raising a powerful army was like child's play for them.
They won battles against stronger foes and crushed their enemies with ease.
Yet since Galon's arrival, not only had he failed to build a formidable army, he had struggled endlessly just to manage this group of a hundred men.
For half a year, he had experimented, schemed, and trained them with every trick he knew.
The result— Was merely discipline and obedience.
And even that was fragile.
He had been gone for less than half a month, and they had already begun to slack off, dragging their feet even for morning training.
'With men like this, how could I ever sweep across the Seven Kingdoms?'
Galon sighed inwardly as he descended the slope, passed through the square wooden tower, and walked toward the crooked formation.
Lawrence had already slipped back into the ranks.
Jon, still unclear about what was happening, dared not speak. He simply followed silently behind Galon with Ghost.
The appearance of the unfamiliar Jon and the imposing direwolf immediately stirred unrest among the 'Steel Fist' (name of this unit).
Galon's gaze grew colder.
His eyes swept over the slack shoulders beneath the leather armor bearing the Steel Fist insignia, and a frigid fury surged in his chest.
"Split into two lines."
His voice was not loud, but it struck like an invisible whip, instantly shattering the laziness on the field.
The training ground erupted into chaos, like a pond disturbed by a thrown stone.
They jostled and shoved, scrambling for position, complaints and blame flying back and forth.
In the end, they barely formed two crooked, uneven lines.
"I am disappointed."
Galon stood between the two lines and spoke calmly.
"I provide you with the best food, the best training grounds, and free you from all other duties."
"More than that—"
His cold gaze swept across them. "I have shared my honor with you, all so you could devote yourselves fully to training."
"And how have you repaid me?"
Silence fell.
Every head was bowed. No one dared meet Galon's eyes.
Galon walked to the front of the formation and stopped before the black-haired young man at the head of the left line.
"Ron Glover," he said, his voice low and clear. "Tell me, what is the emblem on your chest?"
"It's… it's the emblem of House Glover," Ron replied, his face flushed, voice trembling.
"The emblem of House Glover?"
Galon suddenly raised his voice, his eyes sharp as a hawk as they swept across every young face marked by laziness.
"Look at yourselves!"
"Your formation is scattered like sand. Your eyes are empty, filled with nothing but half-awake sloth!"
Disappointment rang through his voice, sharper and more painful than anger.
"I regarded you as the future. I poured everything into training you, hoping you would become the true blade and shield of the North!
I even shared House Glover's glory with you, allowing you to wear its emblem!
And this is how you repay me?"
Galon's furious voice roared across the northern bailey.
"I have been gone less than half a month, and you have already sunk into this state!
Tell me—what right do you have to wear my emblem now?
Answer me. Are you worthy?"
Ron's entire body trembled. Heavy breathing replaced his earlier laziness.
Sweat ran down his face, but he dared not argue.
With great effort, he forced out the words, "N-no… not worthy…"
"Since you are not worthy," Galon said, his voice dropping to freezing cold, "then remove it with your own hands. Now. Immediately."
The order struck like thunder.
Everyone in the ranks stared at Galon in shock.
Half a year ago, being selected for the Steel Fist and wearing House Glover's emblem had filled them with pride.
And now, to tear it off themselves?
That was no different from stripping away their honor entirely. They looked at Galon with pleading eyes, hoping he would change his mind.
But his gaze was icy as he scanned the ranks.
"I said—now. Take it off."
Ron's eyes reddened. His fingers trembled as they touched the emblem on his chest.
At last, he shut his eyes tight and ripped it free.
Rip—
With Ron's action, a chilling sound of tearing echoed across the training ground.
"Remember this," Galon said without emotion, pointing at the torn fabric on Ron's chest.
"You tore this apart yourselves. This is the mark you have branded upon yourselves!"
"This shame does not come from my punishment. You earned it with your own negligence and indulgence!
It will be etched into your flesh and carved into your souls!
Remember this tear. Remember this burning pain."
He turned sharply and pointed toward the outer perimeter of the fortress, where deep ditches surrounded the walls.
That place was normally reserved for punishing the lowest servants.
"Now, all of you!"
"Twenty laps!"
"Use your feet, use your mud-covered bodies, to measure the cost of your laziness!
Remember, this is not training. This is atonement!
Anyone who stops halfway will forever lose the right to wear the Glover emblem, and will return to your father wearing torn clothes to explain the reason in your own words!"
The men surged forward at once, breaking into a frantic run.
"Jon, since you are my squire, you run with them! Life shared, honor and disgrace borne together!"
Galon's icy gaze fell on Jon as he issued the order, catching him completely off guard.
But after a brief moment of shock, a strange tremor rose in Jon's heart. Without hesitation, he turned and joined them.
The group ran wildly around the ditch outside Deepwood Motte.
They clenched their teeth and charged toward the barren ground that symbolized humiliation.
When someone fell, they struggled back to their feet and kept running.
Lap after lap.
Until the pain of torn honor cut deeper into their bones, intertwining with the agony of their bodies.
When the last figure, Ron, nearly crawled back to the field, the hundred-man unit looked like soldiers returning from hell.
They forced their exhausted bodies into formation, standing before Galon, Jon included.
Galon stood straight, inspecting the punished ranks. Their formation was now a hundred times more orderly than before.
Across the training ground, heavy breathing was the only sound.
Galon looked at them, suddenly bringing his feet together, his left fist clenched behind his back, his right fist slamming against his chest over his heart.
"Blood cast into deep roots!"
In an instant, every man mirrored the motion and shouted in unison—
"Blood cast into deep roots!"
__________
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