"Dear Lord Caesar, Todd Fohua is at your service, acting under the orders of Lady Olenna!"
Samwell looked at the knight bowing before him, then at the hundred Tyrell soldiers standing behind him, the surprise on his face impossible to hide.
He had originally assumed that the hundred men Olenna mentioned would be simple levies—a group of farmers who had just put down their hoes and picked up swords.
But judging from their perfectly synchronized movements and the fierce, blood-hardened aura surrounding them, these men were clearly regular troops of House Tyrell!
Leather armor, longswords, shields, spears, bows and arrows… everything was complete!
With such a well-equipped elite infantry, it wouldn't be a problem to march into the Barrens and wipe out a minor lord. And Olenna had just handed them over to him like this?
Samwell suddenly felt that he might have underestimated the resolve and methods of the so-called "Queen of Thorns."
Of course, the other side had clearly underestimated him as well.
He was not some puppet that could be manipulated at will.
As he looked at the elite Tyrell soldiers before him, the eagerness in Samwell's eyes was impossible to conceal.
He wanted to let the women of House Tyrell understand what it meant to smash meat buns—Bah bah bah! Why was he scolding himself?
Coming back to his senses, Samwell carefully examined the commander of this troop—Knight Todd Fohua.
The man appeared to be in his thirties, tall and powerfully built, with a face weathered by wind and sun. Most striking of all was the terrifying scar that ran from his left ear all the way to the corner of his mouth.
However, what concerned Samwell even more was the other party's surname—Fohua.
In the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, each region had its own customary surname for bastards. Snow in the North, Rivers in the Riverlands, Sand in Dorne… and in the Reach, illegitimate children of noble blood usually bore the surname Flowers.
On the continent of Westeros, bastards were not necessarily inferior to others. With a single royal decree, they could be legitimized, gaining inheritance rights second only to trueborn children.
There were even quite a few bastards who had influenced the fate of the entire continent—such as the former "Bloodraven," Brynden Rivers, and Jon Snow, who was destined to become one of the main figures of the story.
So Samwell was very curious—whose illegitimate son was this Todd Flowers standing before him?
Seeing that Samwell hadn't spoken for a long time, Todd raised his head and asked:
"Lord Caesar, everything is ready. Shall we depart immediately?"
Samwell smiled.
"No rush. I still need to recruit some more people."
Todd frowned. "You want to recruit again?"
"Yes." Samwell put on a fearful expression. "The Crimson Mountains are full of wild beasts, and there are also savage tribes who don't follow any discipline. Naturally, I need to bring more men."
Todd cursed inwardly. The useless eldest son of the Tully family truly lived up to his reputation. But he had no choice and could only follow Samwell into the city.
After walking for a while, Todd sensed something was wrong and asked:
"My lord, aren't we going to the mercenary camp?"
"No."
Samwell didn't bother to explain and continued walking forward.
Before long, the group arrived at the docks along the Mander River.
It was noon, the heat oppressive, and most of the dock laborers were resting in the shade.
Samwell said to Todd beside him:
"Send some men to inform these laborers that I, Samwell Caesar, have been ordered by the Duke of Metz to go to the Crimson Mountains to open up new territory. Anyone willing to follow me may come here to register. I will provide food and drink, one meal of meat every day. In addition, they will receive a monthly military wage of seventy copper coins. If someone is unfortunately killed in battle, their family will receive a pension of five silver stags."
Todd hesitated, then reminded him:
"My lord, isn't this a little too generous for these people?"
Samwell waved his hand, wearing an expression that said money is no concern.
"Only a generous lord can recruit soldiers who fight well. Do as I say."
"Yes, my lord."
Very soon, news that Samwell was recruiting men to develop the Crimson Mountains spread across the docks.
"One meal of meat every day? Seventy copper coins a month, and five silver stags as a death pension? Is there really such a good deal? Are you sure you heard right?"
"Of course! Everyone on the docks is talking about it now."
"Could it be a scam?" Gavin frowned. "Which house even uses the surname Caesar? Why haven't I heard of it?"
"You think you know every noble in the Reach?" his companion sneered. "And how could they be scammers? There are hundreds of imposing soldiers standing right there. If you don't believe it, go see for yourself."
Gavin immediately stopped hesitating and ran over with the crowd.
Before long, almost every laborer on the docks had heard the news.
Such generous treatment was enough to drive these lowborn people mad.
Let alone the Crimson Mountains—even if it were mountains of blades and seas of fire, they would dare to rush in.
Standing on higher ground, Samwell looked at the dense crowd before him and spoke loudly:
"I am the pioneer knight newly canonized by the Duke of Metz—Samwell Caesar! Today, I will recruit a group of soldiers to accompany me to the Crimson Mountains to open up new territory. However, not everyone will be accepted. I have the following requirements.
"First—only those between eighteen and thirty-five years old."
As soon as he said this, many people showed disappointed expressions and left.
The crowd thinned, but there were still thousands remaining.
Samwell then pointed toward a distant lighthouse and said:
"Now, run to that lighthouse as fast as you can—and then run back!"
Many people froze in place, but more quick-witted ones immediately understood this was a selection test and took off running.
Samwell watched calmly. After the first batch of the fastest runners returned, he had Todd send men to stop everyone else behind them, informing them that they had been eliminated.
After that, Samwell roughly counted the people remaining and found that there were still too many.
At present, he couldn't afford to support too many soldiers. Moreover, these people were technically subjects of House Tyrell. Logically speaking, he should first obtain the Duke of Metz's permission before recruiting troops.
But he didn't want to face that puffed-up duke who clearly disliked him—what if the other party refused?
So he decided to directly recruit around a hundred strong young men. Even if the Duke of Metz found out about such a small number, he probably wouldn't bother with him.
Samwell stepped onto higher ground in front of the crowd, held his longsword horizontally in front of his body, and ordered the remaining laborers to line up and pass beneath the blade.
When someone walked by with their head lowered, Samwell would say:
"You've been selected."
For those who couldn't reach the sword even when standing upright, he shook his head.
"Sorry. Eliminated."
Watching from the side, Gavin quickly realized that the lord was using height as a selection criterion, and his heart began to pound nervously.
When everyone before him had passed, he gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
As the long sword drew closer, despair slowly rose in Gavin's heart—he realized he really wasn't tall enough.
But when he reached the sword, Gavin suddenly stood on his tiptoes and shut his eyes at the same time—
Even though he knew his little trick might be exposed without mercy, Gavin didn't care anymore.
He was unwilling to accept this.
Born in the slums, he had longed to become a knight's squire since childhood. But why would any noble ever take a fancy to a pariah who didn't even have a surname?
Hearing that a knight was opening up new territory this time had rekindled hope within him.
He knew that although opening up land was difficult, once successful, a group of new nobles would be born.
He never dared to dream of becoming a noble himself—he only hoped to be noticed by a new knight and become his attendant.
But now, that dream seemed about to shatter once again.
Gavin held his breath, waiting for fate's judgment.
Yet strangely, the knight's voice never came.
Gavin didn't dare to turn his head. Unwilling to give up, he continued standing on tiptoe.
As time passed, his legs began to tremble, his face flushed red, and beads of sweat rolled down continuously. Still, he stubbornly refused to lower himself.
Samwell naturally saw that this boy was trying to cheat, but he didn't eliminate him. Instead, it was as if he wanted to see just how long the boy could endure.
The scorching afternoon sun burned fiercely. The sweat that fell evaporated before it could even soak into the ground.
Even Samwell began to feel his legs ache just from standing normally, yet the youth before him was still persisting.
His whole body shook, on the verge of collapse, as if he would fall the very next second—yet he never did.
Just when Gavin was about to lose consciousness, a voice as beautiful as heavenly music finally sounded:
"Alright. You're recruited."
With a thud, Gavin collapsed to his knees, gasping for air like a fish thrown onto dry land.
Then he saw the noble knight squatting before him, a gentle smile on his round face.
"Boy, what's your name?"
"I—I, my lord… my name is Gavin!"
"Alright, Gavin. From today on, you'll lead my horse."
Tears instantly burst from Gavin's eyes.
"Yes, my lord!"
(End of this chapter)