Chapter 264

Several hundred cavalry seized a peripheral farm whose allegiance was uncertain—whether it belonged to ShanYang City or the Wind and Snow Hall—when they were about to leave, a violent storm broke out, making him feel as if he had returned to the Stormlands.

He had not thought of looting the farm owner's food or seizing their livestock, but soon after they turned back in the rain, they discovered the rain was excessively heavy and prolonged, to the point that they could not tolerate potential food scattering feces everywhere in the muddy yard, and at night the animals would bark and grunt for no reason, waking the soldiers who had not slept well.

Thus, early the next morning, he ordered all the farm's livestock to be slaughtered, leaving only a tail-wagging puppy, a pair of lambs, and two calves for the farm owner's few-year-old daughter.

No one on the farm defied his orders, except an old wet-nurse who was somewhat deaf in the ears; she shouted incomprehensible words in the rain, trying to stop the slaughter knife from being driven into the old cow behind her.

The old wet-nurse was shoved to the ground by the soldiers carrying out the order, falling from the fence into the flooded courtyard; after they finished slaughtering the lowing old cow, they discovered she had drowned in the water tank. Only after her death did Will learn from the soldiers why she had intervened—she was trying to protect the farm's only milking cow.

To be honest, after learning this news, he did feel some regret.

Beef from the milking cow was truly unpalatable, and the cows never caused trouble; the fodder piled up for feeding them was larger than that of Winterfell City, of course, the most substantive reason being that after the old wet-nurse died, he sensed the farmhands' looks toward them had changed; he did not at all dislike the feeling of being disliked.

If the milking cow had been the farm owner's wife, his soldiers would surely not have drawn their knives. Unfortunately, that woman was gaunt, pallid, and frail, her stature at least two-thirds smaller than the burly farm owner—by that measure, her endurance was still decent. It is a pity, though, that the farm owner was shot through the eye with an arrow, and in the army he could find no youth comparable to the farm owner to send as a similar comfort to the weeping widow.

Nevertheless, women's endurance has always been good, whether physical or mental; upon seeing this petite woman, he felt moved to reflect.

Men have long ruined this world, yet even so, it is mostly women who break through the obstacles of this bastard world and emerge—strange, indeed: the Iron Islands are now ruled by women, Dorne is ruled by women, the North needs no saying, and Dragonstone Island is clearly about to be ruled by women… before the blood dragon has even gone mad, it has already left behind so many widows, with women taking the stage.

Someone might say this is because men are too brave, which is simply not true; in fact, it is that men's endurance is too poor. Look, after his mother died, his father completely collapsed, whoring nonstop and constantly complaining; fortunately he went in time to see the Seven Gods, otherwise he might have become a kinslayer.

May the gods bless!

In any case, the naked messages received all indicate that only a woman can clean up this chaotic world!

If his feelings could also become stakes, out of friendship and reason he could only wager two, at most three, on the Wolf Girl, whereas he would need to place at least five on the woman surnamed Targaryen. It is not because of the dragon, but because of the Targaryens; without the Targaryens, his family might still be fishing in the Stormlands for the Durrandon clan.

Unfortunately, his creed has never been reason; the Targaryens have true dragon blood, while he has gambler's blood. His stakes are too few; to win enough, he had better put everything on the high‑odds side. Otherwise, why would he have gone from a swindler to a gold‑robed man, then to an ordinary sailor, finally becoming a viscount and commander of several hundred cavalry? The price is merely a small scar on his face.

All his bets are on the Wolf Girl, yet folding now would be truly foolish: Pete once said that if you keep winning while gambling, you had better not change seats lightly. He has won so much that he is now indisputably a viscount and earl—though his fief is still uncertain. He admits he has no old acquaintance from King's Landing, that naval admiral Owen Waters, who has won so much, but that cannot be blamed on him: the Wolf Girl and Queen Cersei are not alike; she does not have the habit of sending men to bed.

Yet this does not prevent him from profiting from her; honestly, gaining profit is somewhat difficult, but following this woman he has indeed gathered rich experiences, enough to write a book for his descendants. If one day he can earn his own castle, he will hold his grandson and tell him the stories of his youthful adventures.

With a castle comes a family, a clan language, a house sigil; more importantly, with a castle he can find a woman willing to bear him an heir. And the larger the castle, the more he can expect a woman of a more distinguished surname.

The Wolf Girl is not a good partner; after several years he can at least conclude this, oh, and another thing: her credit is at least decent.

What did he say when he set out? "All the castles we capture can be given to you."

In the North, only three castles are well known; two of them clearly offer no chance, while the remaining one is truly attractive.

Unfortunately, the storm delayed their actions; they were practically idle on the farm, spending the whole day merely listening to thunder and rain, and only able to freely barbecue the farm owner's pigs, cattle, and sheep in the huts, cheering the soldiers who won the threshing field and bestowing the farm's stored provisions.

He had all the farm owner's cellar stores brought out—cured meat, fruit wine, dried plums and grapes, roasted hard nuts, and other supplies—enough for this small unit to feast continuously all day.

As the leader of this cavalry, he simply seized the farm owner's bedroom. Though called a bedroom, it was roughly comparable to the stables of Winterfell City, and the brick‑tile roof of the bedroom seemed intended only to guard against heavy snow, offering no preparation against the relentless downpour, which infuriated him so much that he could only erect a simple tent inside the bedroom.

They finished all the cellar's beer and wine in just two days; on the third day he resolved to leave even if the rain continued, but that very morning the rain ceased completely, revealing a rare blue sky.

Thanks to the gods, it turns out the North also has blue skies.

He could not wait to leave the farm.

He did not destroy anything. This is the North; he dare not act as recklessly as in the South—this small team is packed with too many of the Wolf Girl's eyes and ears, those named Brandon, Rickon, Rickard, Edd, Banyon, Sean, Aric, and Rodrick—you cannot expect them not to gossip in the Wolf Girl's ear—so when departing he merely ordered the cavalry to fill their packs, setting no fire to the mountain‑high fodder.

He was unsure whether the farm could survive the winter on their remaining supplies, but the good news is that there are fewer mouths to feed, right?

As his horse's hooves pulled away, he was certain that the orphaned widow and the remaining servants were then sneaking peeks from the corner of the wall as they left, worrying whether they would return.

He need not worry at all about them reporting to their lord, for he had taken every living horse.

But half a day after leaving the farm, regret began to set in.

The rain‑soaked plains of the North are really not the good ground horsemen expect. To reduce the chance of their beloved warhorses breaking hooves, they began to move slowly across the northern plains; he wondered whether after a day they had even left the farm owner's territory.

Besides the mire, their advance was hindered by flooded rivers.

He had always thought the rivers and streams of the North were clean and clear, at worst resembling the White Knife River, but after a downpour the waters everywhere became like the muddy streets of King's Landing.

Before he could gauge the river conditions, he kept pressing forward along the riverbank, and soon lost his bearings; at that point he began to miss the ease of marching alongside the Wolf Girl.

By midday of the second day they finally spotted a populated manor; he suspected they had raised the wrong flag.

This was the territory of the Wind and Snow Hall; the manor lord was clearly bewildered by their Wind and Snow Hall red‑wheel banner, opening the manor gates early and standing to greet them, but after they identified themselves he stared blankly at them, his hand on the sword at his waist, yet unable to draw it.

Beside him, a servant held fresh bread, not knowing where to put his feet.

"Do you have a daughter?" Will asked, shaking his facial wound as much as he could to make himself look more ferocious.

This is his trick. The Wolf Girl has gathered too many ambitious people; to keep firm control of this squad she must go to great lengths, and making herself look more imposing is one of those tactics.

"Perhaps not just one," said Bolon, a mercenary by birth, laughing as he drew a dagger.

Bolon is undoubtedly also the more dangerous sort—quick‑witted, skilled, with a King's Landing street‑ruffian air; upon first meeting him, one could tell he was ambitious, but he displayed his ambition too openly, having just joined and already offended many, so among Northerners he is rather shunned, ending up only able to serve under him.

He is happy to accept such ambitious types in his adventures.

The manor lord had not yet spoken when a commotion came from the attic; Will looked up and saw several youths aiming bows at them.

One of the boys was still too small; his bow could only be used to shoot rabbits.

"Looks like sons, and not just one," Will laughed heartily, feeling that the youths' hands upstairs were trembling.

"What do you want? Just release them and I…" he stammered, unable to finish.

"Gold, food, horses…" Will said, walking with his cavalry retinue through the front hall, then uttering each word mockingly, "These are not what I want."

"Then what do you want?" they followed him inside.

"A castle?"

"I haven't decided yet." He glanced again at the attic, where a massive elm trunk ran through the whole space, making it look as if the tree were holding up the manor lord's house. He did not know whether using such construction in the North would backfire, for in heavy snow it might collapse his sturdy wooden floor… "Who are you?"

"Rogas Swift." His eyes showed worry; Will knew he could exploit and demand from such a person.

"Your manor is not bad; I can easily imagine how lovely it must be in summer." Will paid no heed to the bows in the attic or the sword the man before him might draw at any moment, and began to casually inspect the northern manor.

"This is not a castle, just an ordinary manor."

"Even the lord of an ordinary manor can wear a precious sword," he said, easily taking Rogas's sword from his waist and drawing a blade; Rogas dared not resist in the slightest. "Does your manor produce well?"

"Enough to trade for a sword," he replied firmly, "I supply wine, pork, olive oil, and river fish to the Wendelsang family."

He would not forget that the viscount surname of the Wind and Snow Hall is Wendelsang.

"Pork and river fish? Then this place must be close to the Wind and Snow Hall, right?"

"Of course; I would not let servants haul live pigs to the Wind and Snow Hall, nor would I allow the viscount and his family to eat stale meat."

「My lord, you are truly wonderful. Viscount Wendesang wants to eat meat, and we want to eat too. 」 A brilliant idea flashed into his mind, he burst out laughing, he couldn't help wanting to thank the butcher Pet of Junlin, and thank that short stint in the golden robe, so he walked up to the servant, picked up the bread, and took a big bite.

He never expected the bread to be so sweet, it was far tastier than horse meat and cured meat, so he took some butter and salt and swallowed them together. Then he put the sword back into his master's hand.

「Brats, put down your bows! 」 He heard Luojia shout, turning his head toward the attic. The worry in his eyes suddenly vanished.