Since their encounter in the crypts, Lady Dustin hadn't sought Arthur out again. Instead, she turned her full attention to securing a betrothal between Sansa and Domeric.
If Winterfell was a stage, she and Lady Catelyn were undoubtedly the leading ladies in this drama.
Arthur, as a mere spectator, watched the show with amusement. Apart from his daily sword practice, now that his departure from Winterfell was set in stone, he poured most of his energy into smithing.
Unlike the basic cards [Wine] and [Peach], the Equipment Cards in the System couldn't be materialized out of thin air.
To use an Equipment Card, he needed a physical vessel—a corresponding piece of equipment. If the vessel was of poor quality or had low compatibility with the card, not only would the card's effects fail to manifest, but the vessel itself might be destroyed.
Take his pony, Shadow, for example. He had used the black foal Lord Eddard gave him as the vessel. Only after successfully applying the [Shadow] Equipment Card did the pony gain the card's attributes.
[Shadow]: Excellent +1 Mount. Gentle temperament. Possesses exceptional endurance and load-bearing capacity. Increased speed when fleeing.
The same logic applied to the other Equipment Cards Arthur had unlocked while smithing, such as [Ice Sword], [Shieldbreaker], [Twin-Viper Swords], and [Dragonbone Bow]. All required swords or bows as vessels.
The better the quality of the vessel and the higher its compatibility, the greater the success rate of applying the card's bonuses.
This was one of the reasons Arthur was so obsessed with refining his smithing skills, beyond just unlocking new cards.
The other reason was the synergy between his Warlord Skills—[The Berserker] and [The Reaver]—and the act of forging.
While these skills were somewhat impractical on a real battlefield (one required fighting shirtless, the other required dual-wielding), they were god-tier abilities for a blacksmith.
[The Reaver]: Dual-wielding forging hammers doubles attack speed = 4x forging speed compared to a normal person.
[The Berserker]: Shirtless = Double Strength + All Attributes Enhanced.
[Peach]: Provides infinite stamina and recovery.
This combination made Mikken, the master armorer who taught Arthur, ecstatic. It was as if a medieval blacksmith had suddenly been gifted a modern hydraulic press.
When the armory had a large order, Mikken only needed to have the apprentices heat the billets in the forge. He would hold the tongs and position the red-hot steel.
The hammering was left to Arthur, the human power hammer, the "Born to Forge" prodigy. It was practically an assembly line, incredibly efficient.
"I never expected to forge so many tools. Is Vayon Poole trying to build a second castle with them?" Mikken complained, wiping sweat from his brow. He stood shirtless before the anvil, gripping the tongs firmly.
"At this rate, we're going to burn through our entire stockpile of iron ore."
Clang-clang-clang… clang-clang…
Arthur answered him with the rapid-fire rhythm of his hammers.
Sweat poured off Arthur like rain, but his hands never stopped moving. The hammers fell like a storm upon the steel, his arms swollen visibly larger than usual.
His bare torso, whether from the heat of the forge or the intensity of the exercise, was taut with muscle, looking like a living, sweating statue.
Because they were forging simple tools, the red-hot billets didn't even need reheating. Under the combined efforts of Arthur and Mikken, they were shaped in a single heat.
"Not a castle," Arthur panted, relaxing his aching muscles while Mikken ground the edges of the newly formed tool and fitted the handle. "We're planning to repair some roads."
"You're going to repair the Kingsroad???" Mikken was astounded, though his hands kept working. He quenched a piece of steel and began tapping it into shape—a hammer head formed quickly under his skill.
His jaw dropped. "Then I might need five… no, ten more smiths like you."
"Just the road from the Hunter's Gate to the Peach Garden," Arthur said, grabbing a cup of water from an apprentice and downing it in one gulp.
"Repairing the Kingsroad? I'm afraid we'll have to wait for the King to get drunk and fix it with his warhammer."
"That's still no small project. And Lady Catelyn agreed to it?" Mikken asked, puzzled.
"She usually doesn't block things for the Garden, but she never supports them either. You used to have to forge all your own tools."
"Maybe she just really likes the peach wine," Arthur said, not revealing the truth. "Who knows?"
"I heard Alebelly talking about it. Said the peach wine is amazing, better than the Dornish Summerwine he's had." At the mention of alcohol, Mikken's interest peaked, and he even paused his work. Booze was every smith's true love.
"How does it compare to Arbor Gold?"
"I've never had Arbor Gold," Arthur rolled his eyes.
Arthur continued this high-intensity forging regime for some time. Just as he was about to deplete Mikken's iron reserves, a raven arrived from the South. The war in the Iron Islands was over.
Just as in the history Arthur knew, Balon Greyjoy, the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands, had taken off his driftwood crown. He gave up his son as a hostage and bent the knee to Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.
Lord Eddard Stark was returning north, bringing another son to Lady Catelyn—Theon Greyjoy.
This foster son from the Iron Islands was quite the handful.
When news of the victory and the army's return reached Winterfell, Lady Catelyn went to the sept to give thanks. She also generously opened the Wolfswood to hunting and logging. Until the northern host returned, the smallfolk could legally hunt and chop wood in the forest, and Winterfell would purchase game at fair prices.
Additionally, Winterfell organized a grand hunt to gather meat for the victory feast that would welcome the returning warriors.
The dirt road to the Wolfswood, usually deserted, was now teeming with people, livestock, and supplies.
Besides the road-mending crews and porters, crowds of smallfolk streamed from the winter town through the Hunter's Gate.
A large party of over a hundred formed up, consisting of free riders from Winterfell and Barrowton, along with household guards. They escorted Robb, Domeric, and Lady Dustin into the Wolfswood.
Arthur was, of course, part of the group. But he had been assigned a special task.
He walked at the rear of the column, looking helpless as he led Shadow by the bridle. Sansa Stark sat upon his pony.
Beside him, Jon led his own pony, carrying Jeyne Poole, the Steward's daughter and Sansa's best friend.
Riding alongside them was Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik's daughter. She had some riding skill and managed her own small pony.
In Westeros, noble ladies were expected to learn horsemanship alongside their needlework and singing. Like boys, they started on ponies.
"Why are Sansa and these girls in the hunting party?" Arthur whispered to Jon, who was trudging along beside him. "Did Septa Mordane go to meet the Seven?"
"Sansa begged Lady Catelyn. Said she wanted to use the opportunity to practice her riding," Jon replied, his long face scrunched up in frustration.
"Since you're always galloping around Winterfell, the job of teaching them fell to us."
Words are wind. Sansa, sitting atop Shadow, heard them. She corrected them imperiously.
"Cousin, and half-brother, I actually asked Mother to let Domeric teach me. But she refused and assigned you two instead."
Shadow was gentle by nature, perfect for a novice, and with someone leading him, Sansa felt confident. She urged them on.
"We're falling behind! Domeric and Robb are way ahead. Can't we go faster?"
"Fine then, we'll speed up. Let's catch Domeric," Arthur exchanged a glance with Jon. They understood each other perfectly.
"Sansa, Jeyne, don't get distracted. Hold the reins tight, grip with your knees, keep your waist loose and move with the saddle," Arthur instructed as he broke into a jog, pulling Shadow along.
"Treat the horse as your own legs. Or imagine you're a centaur."
"Just don't fall off," Jon summarized, jogging alongside.
"Slow down! Slow down!"
When Shadow actually started to run, Sansa shrieked. Her composure vanished; her knuckles turned white on the reins, and her body went as stiff as a board.
Jeyne Poole fared even worse, abandoning all ladylike decorum to scream louder than Sansa. Thankfully, Beth Cassel rode nearby to keep an eye on them, and Jon held the bridle tight, preventing a fall.