Upon arriving at the Magister's mansion, Griffith couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern. He wasn't sure if there would be enough space to accommodate 3,300 men in the Magister's mansion, along with horses and supplies. But upon arrival, he realized he was worrying too much. The Magister's mansion was extravagant.
The main mansion, imposing and vast, was not only a palace of enormous proportions, but it was also surrounded by extensive lands that could easily accommodate an entire army. 3,300 soldiers were but a fraction of what the place could support.
While the fat merchant walked away to argue with his brother, I, along with Alaric and other commanders, stayed behind to supervise the setting up of the camp. Time passed and the camp was set up without a hitch.
Before we knew it, the camp was set up. The sun was beginning to set, the day was coming to an end, and the men were already looking somewhat exhausted, their energy reaching its limit. Noticing this, I didn't waste a second, and we began to distribute supplies to prepare food.
With a simple gesture, Griffith activated the option in the system. "Summon military rations." In the blink of an eye, a large quantity of rations appeared in one of the tents: bread, barley, dried meat, dried fruit, etc., etc. In short, a wide variety of food appeared, ready to be consumed.
Without wasting any time, we began to organize the soldiers, distributing the rations efficiently. In a few minutes, the smell of hot food and the bustle of the men serving took over the camp. The soldiers, already regaining some energy, sat around the campfires, eagerly devouring their food while chatting.
At that moment, Gulio Sieris, the fat merchant, approached with a broad smile that revealed a row of white teeth.
"Can you come with me?" he asked in a warm, friendly voice. "I've prepared a room with a hot bath. Later, my brother wants to meet you."
Griffith looked at him for a moment, his mind still on the camp that had already taken shape. At that moment, the hubbub of the soldiers could be heard, chatting, laughing, and singing.
After thinking about it for a few moments, he accepted without hesitation. A hot bath would do him good, and as for the private room, he didn't accept it after all; he didn't want his men to think badly of him.
Although the soldiers' loyalty to the system was guaranteed, being the only one to benefit from it made him somewhat uncomfortable, but a bath would be great.
Griffith finally nodded, his gaze fixed on the camp as he replied calmly.
"Since you mention it, then I will gladly accept."
Gulio Sieris took Griffith and Alaric, the deputy master, to the mansion and led them both to their respective rooms.
Upon entering the room, Griffith was greeted by a warm feeling, the candlelight softly reflecting off the stone walls, illuminating the space.
The polished marble floor creaked slightly under the boots of his armor. In the center of the room, a large bed dominated the space, covered with fine linen sheets so white that they seemed almost dazzling compared to the dark tones of the rest of the room. The decorative cushions were a deep red, with gold embroidery that reflected the ostentatious luxury of the place.
In one corner, a stone fireplace burned with a gentle fire, the crackling of the flames filling the air with a woody aroma that helped mitigate the slight chill of the night. The warm light of the flame danced on the walls, highlighting a pair of tapestries hanging nearby.
To the right, a round table made of dark oak covered almost the entire surface.
What was most striking, however, was the private bathroom. At the back of the room, a fine wooden door opened onto a small luxury retreat: a carved marble tub filled with hot water, with small jets of steam rising toward the ceiling.
The water moved slowly, like an invitation to leave behind the sweat of the days in the field. Next to it, soft towels were carefully arranged on a wooden table, along with aromatic oils and salts.
Griffith approached the bed and, with slow movements, began to remove his armor. After a while, when he had completely dismantled his equipment, he opened the system storage, a personal function that only he could use, and carefully stored each part of his armor. There, everything would be safe and out of sight, and he could use it whenever he wanted.
Finally, he was left with only the linen underwear he wore underneath. And at that moment, the stench of sweat accumulated from days of marching hit him head-on.
Just as he frowned at the smell, he noticed a figure moving near the bathroom. Looking up, he saw five maidens in semi-translucent white tunics, the fabric barely concealing the skin beneath. Two of them approached as soon as they saw him, their steps timid but determined, while the other three busied themselves filling the bathtub with steaming, fragrant water.
The first two bowed in unison, their faces slightly tense, as if they feared they had committed a serious offense.
"My lord, we are deeply sorry," they said in unison. "We did not notice your arrival. We were preparing your bath. Please allow us to help you remove your clothes."
Griffith blinked. He didn't know what to say at first. In his previous world, no one had ever served him like this. Much less so closely. He took a deep breath and let it out with a soft sigh.
"There's no need to apologize," he replied at last, forcing a warm smile.
The maids looked at each other with relief. The panic faded from their faces, replaced by a mixture of shyness and visible fascination in their eyes as they saw Griffith's handsome face adorned with a smile. They approached him again carefully, ready to help him remove the rest of his clothes.
But before their hands could touch him, Griffith raised a hand.
"Before we begin... could you bring me a towel, please?"
They both looked at him, puzzled by the request. They said nothing, but obeyed without question. One quickly returned with a thick, white towel, leaving it to one side. Then, they both resumed their work.
When his clothes fell to the floor, exposing his body, the two young women blushed intensely but did not look away. Griffith, noticing this, looked away, uncomfortable. He immediately wrapped himself in the towel, covering himself, and headed for the bathroom.
The warm steam enveloped him even before he entered. He stepped into the tub and submerged himself up to his shoulders. The sensation was immediate, almost heavenly.
"Ahhhhh!" he let out a moan of satisfaction without bothering to hold it back.
At that moment, he felt like he was in paradise. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy it.
When he sat up again, drops of water splashed out of the bathtub. The maids were still there, standing still and silent, waiting for new orders, with a hint of anticipation in their eyes.
Griffith suddenly felt observed. He looked around, and seeing them staring at him with burning eyes made him uncomfortable.
"Hmm, can you leave now?" he asked with some discomfort.
The young women looked at each other, confused. One of them, the bravest, dared to speak.
"My lord... don't you want us to serve you?" she asked cautiously, lowering her gaze.
Griffith shook his head, drying his face with his free hand. "It's not necessary. You may leave. Thank you."
There was a moment of hesitation, but finally, the five bowed silently and left the room, closing the door gently behind them.
Once alone, Griffith let out a long, deep sigh. He rested his head on the edge of the tub and let the water do its work.
"Ahhh... this is really uncomfortable. I still can't get used to these damn medieval customs," he muttered as he took some soap and began washing his long hair.
After a while, Griffith was finished. He took out some elegant clothes that came with the falcon outfit the system had given him and put them on.
A white silk outfit with black embroidery on the long-sleeved blouse and a high collar with a silver falcon-shaped brooch. On the bottom, he wore tight black pants and calf-length leather boots.
After a few moments, there was a knock at the door. It was the servant indicating that it was time for lunch. Upon arriving at the dining room, Griffith noticed that apart from the fat merchant, there was another person who was just as fat, if not fatter.
The unknown man looked him over, then smiled and approached him with a smile. "My sincerest greetings, my lord. My brother has told me everything." The man bowed slightly and thanked him deeply. "You saved my brother's life and brought him home safe and sound. Please accept my gratitude."
With a clap of their hands, two men with steel collars around their necks approached carrying two huge wooden chests. They placed them carefully on the ground and opened them. At that moment, a dazzling golden glow
appeared before his eyes. Seeing the piles of gold, Griffith felt ecstatic. As they say, money is power. Griffith smiled and, with a slight bow, said without being humble or arrogant, "There is nothing to thank you for, Your Excellency. I simply cannot bear to see those barbaric horsemen attacking innocent people."
"HAHAHAHAHA, well said, my lord." The fat magister burst out laughing, approached Griffith, and stretched out his chubby hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Maeros Sieris, one of the magisters of Myr. My brother has told me all about your glorious deeds."
Griffith smiled and shook the man's hand. "Hahaha, the pleasure is mine, Your Excellency Maeros."
After a few greetings, Alaric, who had arrived a short time ago, sat down to eat with the Sieris brothers while they chatted. The atmosphere was good, with maids coming and going, placing plates on the table and serving wine.
Finally, after a long time, Maeros Sieris asked cautiously, "My lord, I have heard that you are the leader of a group of mercenaries. Could you tell me the name of this group?"
.....
Griffith didn't think twice and replied with a smile, "The Falcon Band."
"The Falcon Band..." murmured Maeros Sieris as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he realized that he did not know this mercenary group, so he asked,
"Sir, are they a new mercenary group?"
Griffith nodded as he took a sip of wine. After finishing, he replied, "That's right, Magister. We are a somewhat new group."
...
"I see," Maeros Siris nodded, then sighed and asked, "By any chance, would you be interested in taking on a new job?"
.....
Griffith raised an eyebrow curiously and replied, "Oh, tell me about it, Your Excellency, Magister."
"Ahhhhhh!" Maeros Siris sighed bitterly. At that moment, he felt as if a huge mountain were crushing him. "Where to begin?" he muttered.
"My brother told me that you have never visited Myr, is that correct?" asked Mieros Siris.
"It is as you say, Your Excellency," Griffith replied as he stared intently at the Magister of Myr.
"I don't know if you are aware, my lord, but Myr is currently at war with Lys and Tyrosh. The reason is an important part of this area of Essos. This territory has always been disputed, hence its name, "The disputed lands"
"This conflict has been brewing for years, as it represents a confluence of interests for the three free cities. That is why there are constantly many skirmishes between the three free cities, and it has been this way for a long time."
"But all that changed recently. For some reason, Tyrosh and Lys have formed an alliance, which greatly increased the pressure on Myr. At first, we simply decided to hire more mercenaries, especially from the Golden Company.
The talks were going well at first, and they even accepted the contract, but overnight, for some strange reason, they decided to break it. You should know that this has never happened before in history. The Golden Company
has always put its reputation first, which is why once they accept a contract, they never back out of it."
....
Griffith lowered his head and sank into his thoughts.
"I don't remember such a thing happening in the original work, but if I remember correctly, I read somewhere that Rhaegar Targaryen's son, Aegon Targaryen, whom Gregor Clegane had turned into a bloody pulp, had survived, escaped, and been raised in Essos. and at some point had the Golden Company help him take the Iron Throne. If that is the case, has it already happened? If so, is that why they terminated the contract? Are they preparing and waiting for the right moment to take Westeros?"
Griffith did not know. With an internal sigh, he regretted not having finished the books. "If that's the case, if I were Aegon Targaryen, I would take advantage of the chaos that is about to unfold in Westeros to reap the benefits."
"But that leaves me with a question. What about Aegon Targaryen? Is it really him or someone else?" Griffith sighed. Apparently, this matter of Rhaegar's son is quite confusing, and it is likely that third parties are involved.
In any case, the Golden Company has something that interests him, and that is the ancestral sword of the Targaryen Dynasty, Blackfyre!