Whoosh whoosh whoosh!
Swish swish swish (chua)!
All 120 members of the Thorn Legion fired in unison, their arrows slicing through the air in a continuous storm.
Thud!
Thud! Thud!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
A black rain of arrows fell from the sky, piercing the charging wildlings who collapsed one after another, cries of pain echoing everywhere.
The wildling chieftains, unfamiliar with the devastation of long-range arrow volleys, shouted louder in fear, pushing their warriors to charge faster.
Ser Mason watched the area roughly 100 meters ahead of the formation—now a death zone from the Thorn Legion's volley—and was inwardly shocked.
After a rapid sequence of volleys, Green clearly noticed the Thorn Legion's rate of fire slowing down.
Over 200 wildlings had already fallen. Chaos spread among them, and some began fleeing despite the chieftains' furious howls.
After a few dozen more were struck down, a mass rout began. Green immediately ordered the archers to cease fire.
Ser Mason then directed 200 Clabour infantry (armed primarily with shields, longswords, and spears) to advance on the fleeing wildlings.
With coordinated chants, the Clabour soldiers marched forward with unstoppable momentum.
These troops averaged over ten years of service, each a battle-hardened veteran.
They were the elite survivors of countless battles against mountain wildlings since Green's mother began leading the fight. They were the foundation of House Clabour's strength.
As the soldiers advanced in perfect formation, the already terrified wildlings fell into even deeper panic and disarray.
Occasionally, a chieftain rallied a group for a desperate charge, only to be instantly overwhelmed by the disciplined Clabour troops.
To Green, these wildlings—soon to be captives or vassals—were merely reserve citizens. Judging by today's performance, they had truly earned the name "wildlings."
To govern them in the future, Green believed the only viable method would be through strict laws.
He sighed inwardly, thinking he might even have to legislate which foot to step out with first when leaving the house.
The game of thrones was about to begin, and real power came from military strength. To achieve results quickly, the Clabour territory would have to become a vast training camp encompassing every subject.
Green had confirmed the path forward for his domain and no longer hesitated.
The Thorn Legion had only been recently formed, yet they had already pulled off successive volleys. Their performance today was stunning, and Empalo had clearly shown a talent for command.
As the unit rested, some of the spearwomen… well… started a chain reaction that Green wasn't quite sure how to describe. Maybe it was just too hot—some had stripped down bare-chested?
A sea of pale skin greeted him, and Green suddenly got a very direct impression of the physical traits of Clabour's female warriors: strong, very strong.
Noticing Green's gaze, Empalo—standing beside him with a serious face—also saw what was happening. Her cheeks turned faintly red, though it wasn't clear what she was thinking.
Some of the spearwomen, catching Green's look, shamelessly returned it. One of them even puffed her chest out in defiance—or pride.
If this had been his previous life, Green might've whistled and flashed a thumbs-up.
But a lord had to maintain his image—something Green's mother had instilled in him. Now, Green wholeheartedly agreed.
Besides, a thumbs-up on Westeros didn't mean approval.
Unknown actions are easily misunderstood. In Clabour territory, men need to learn how to protect themselves when going out!
Green merely smiled faintly and casually shifted his gaze elsewhere.
Explaining to the soldiers why image matters was pointless now—and this wasn't the right time to bring it up anyway.
Green made a mental note to add image and conduct to future military training; over time, they'd get used to it.
After a short rest, under Green's command, the Thorn Legion joined the Clabour troops in pursuing the retreating wildlings.
Elsewhere, Ser Pell's recon unit had already taken down a wildling tribe in their first strike—an extremely successful raid. The surprise attack resulted in only a few lightly wounded and no deaths.
Nearly 300 people were captured in that first conquered tribe.
The mountain wildlings lived by hunting and gathering wild fruits. Their main spoils were furs and dried meat. The recon unit only found a small pouch of gold dragons—barely 10 to 20 coins—in the tribal chief's hut.
The captives were made to carry the loot on their backs, and Ser Pell ordered the rest of the village burned to the ground.
A few rebellious prisoners, enraged by the destruction of their homes, were executed on the spot. Twenty soldiers were assigned to escort the captives back to the territory.
Ser Pell told the squad leader: "Someone will receive the captives once you reach the outskirts of the territory. Eat some dried meat if you're hungry, but don't stop. Hand them over, then return to me immediately. I'll be waiting at the second tribe."
"If the prisoners show any sign of revolt on the road, kill them on the spot—no hesitation."
With that, Ser Pell gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Go."
By nightfall, Ser Pell had taken down three major wildling tribes.
The recon unit rested in the third village, and at dawn, escorted the captives and spoils back to the territory.
On the way, they encountered several groups of scattered wildlings and captured a few dozen more.
In its first deployment, the recon unit lost 23 soldiers.
After two days of simple recovery, Clabour troops were dispatched in teams of 30 to 50 to wipe out the remaining small tribes.
All prisoners were sent back to Clabour territory, and the wildling homes were completely burned.
Ser Mason personally escorted the last group of prisoners back to Whispering City. There, he spotted Steward Hershel standing in front of the warehouse, beaming and rubbing his swollen belly.
Ser Mason, in good spirits himself, joked, "Old friend, you seem to be in a fine mood."
Still smiling, Hershel replied, "Good day, Ser Mason. The warehouse is so full of furs we can barely store them. It's been a long time since we had such abundance."
Ser Mason nodded, impressed. "Indeed. My lord was born for war. The wildlings never even reached us. The Thorn Legion's volley crushed them before they got close. We've never had such light casualties."
"Hershel, I no longer have a shred of doubt about our lord's decision to reclaim the Clabour lands. I'm filled with confidence."
"Yes, ser. I feel the same. House Clabour will reclaim its ancestral land!"
"Come now, ser," Hershel added. "You should go prepare. Sullana and I have been planning tonight's victory feast for days. It'll be lavish. Let's drink well tonight."
In Whispering City, inside the lord's study:
Green, Maester Arl, and Callea had just about finished tallying the spoils of war.
There were over 2,500 captives in total, nearly 700 of them elderly or children.
Of the remaining 1,800, about 1,200 were women—a clear imbalance in gender.
To prevent prisoners from conspiring, the first step was to fully break up existing groups—ensuring that each person would be surrounded by strangers from different tribes.
To integrate them peacefully, the process had to be slow and carefully managed. Rushing would only lead to instability.
After the breakup, the prisoners would be gradually assigned to various parts of the territory for labor.
At first, each legion would need to cooperate with the bailiffs to supervise and intimidate as needed.
Green leaned back in his chair, visibly exhausted.
He was truly tired—but also in a good mood. With captives handling labor, most of the territory's able-bodied could be freed up.
Clabour territory could immediately begin a second wave of recruitment. For now, Green's greatest source of joy was simple:
Mass recruitment makes me happy!
.
.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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