"Apologies for the wait, Lord Tarly, Samwell, Dickon."
Margaery lifted her skirt slightly and offered a polite bow, her radiant smile brightening the Hall of Knights.
Samwell took only one look before lowering his head again.
This beautiful woman was not someone he could desire.
At least, not yet.
But his brother Dickon openly gawked at the beautiful rose before him, oblivious to how rude he appeared.
Lord Randyll cleared his throat, snapping his love-struck son back to reality, and then asked Margaery:
"When will the duke arrive?"
With an apologetic look, Margaery replied, "My father is unwell and cannot come today. I am terribly sorry."
Lord Randyll frowned. "If that's the case, let us reschedule."
Margaery, however, shook her head and produced a scroll from behind her, saying with a smile:
"There's no need to reschedule. My father has already signed the writ of expansion and entrusted me to deliver it."
"And the knighting ceremony?"
"I will conduct the knighting in my father's place."
At this, the Hall of Knights fell silent.
Dickon still looked confused, but both Lord Randyll and Samwell realized that Duke Mace Tyrell was deliberately avoiding them.
This wasn't too surprising, in truth.
After so many years of expansion and development in the Reach, there was hardly any unclaimed land left. Any new territory would have to be taken from the barren lands along the borders, such as the Red Mountains.
That area was a true wilderness, plagued by bandits and raiders. Even if it had some potential for development, establishing a holding there would be a task too daunting for most.
The reputation of House Tarly's cowardly eldest son was no secret among the nobility of the Reach; no one would believe Samwell capable of developing new lands.
The only reason Duke Mace had even agreed to grant the writ was because Lord Randyll had personally come to ask for it.
Moreover, bestowing the writ would make Samwell a direct vassal of Duke Mace Tyrell, meaning that in theory, Duke Mace should knight Samwell Tarly personally.
However, it was clear that the duke did not want Samwell as his sworn knight.
Thus, he feigned illness, sending his daughter to perform the knighting and deliver the writ.
Lord Randyll could somewhat understand Duke Mace's reluctance. If he had sent his eldest son and heir, Willas Tyrell, in his stead, Lord Randyll might have accepted it.
But Margaery…
What qualifications did she have to knight anyone?
The insult was almost too much for Lord Randyll, who could not hide his anger, even for his disdained eldest son.
He glared at Margaery coldly, making no effort to conceal his anger.
Margaery maintained a gentle, innocent smile, as though oblivious to Lord Randyll's displeasure.
As the tension in the room grew heavier, Samwell broke the silence.
"In that case, Miss Margaery, I'll leave it to you."
Samwell felt the sting of insult but knew that a weak man's anger was meaningless.
Besides, he hadn't forgotten his true goal in coming here: securing the writ.
He would not let pride cost him something so essential.
The struggles of his past life had taught him the value of patience when necessary.
At Samwell's words, Margaery looked at him with a hint of surprise, then smiled and said:
"Very well, let us begin."
Lord Randyll shot his son a look of disdain, as if to say, "You would actually accept a knighting from a woman?" But since Samwell himself had agreed, there was little more he could say.
Margaery stepped up onto the raised platform at the front of the hall, while Samwell knelt on one knee before her.
A shaft of light streamed down through the stained-glass ceiling, casting a holy aura over them.
Samwell drew his sword and held it above his head in both hands.
Margaery was about to take it when Lord Randyll interjected:
"To knight a Tarly, one must use Heartsbane."
Clang—
Lord Randyll drew the massive greatsword from his side and extended it toward Margaery.
This Valyrian steel sword, Heartsbane, had been in House Tarly for over five hundred years, weighing over thirty pounds—a challenge for even the strongest fighters to wield in battle.
As for a sheltered noblewoman… she could barely even lift it.
Lord Randyll was clearly trying to make Margaery look foolish, venting his frustration.
Yet Margaery only smiled and extended her pale, slender hands.
Clink—
The sword tip struck the marble floor, though she managed to grip the hilt tightly.
With a deep breath, she used all her strength to lift the greatsword, resting it on Samwell's shoulder.
"Ahh… Truly, the sword of House Tarly is remarkable. No wonder Lord Randyll can dominate the battlefield with it," she said, to which Lord Randyll responded only with a curt huff, stepping back.
Margaery then looked down at the knight kneeling before her and was about to begin reciting the oath when she paused, asking:
"By the way, Ser Samwell, do you intend to keep the Tarly name or adopt a new one?"
After becoming a pioneer lord, Samwell indeed had the option of creating a new family name, formally separating from the Tarlys of Horn Hill.
Samwell hesitated.
He kept his head low, his body beginning to tremble slightly.
Seeing this, Margaery thought he was struggling under the sword's weight and applied a little more support.
In truth, Samwell was shaking not from the sword's weight, but from excitement.
For he had just glimpsed familiar square characters—
Earth language. A language not of this world.
In the lower right corner of his vision, these words appeared the moment the ceremony began, words that seemed foreign to this world. He had to focus to make them out:
Samwell Tarly
Title: Pioneer Knight
Territory: None
Vassals: None
Strength: 1.08
Agility: 0.52
Willpower: 1.12
What was this?
Could it be a status panel?
A wave of joy surged through Samwell, as powerful as a landslide, breaking through the patience he had forced upon himself since arriving in this world.
At that moment, all his bottled-up emotions—anger, fear, humiliation, worry—boiled over, forming a burning ambition.
Where before he'd planned to rely on his knowledge of the storyline to survive, perhaps attaching himself to a powerful figure and biding his time, now he felt a new desire arise within him—
An ambition for that twisted, jagged throne of iron, forged from a thousand melted blades.
"I've decided on my new family name," Samwell said, lifting his gaze to meet Margaery's fawn-like brown eyes with a bold, steady look.
"Caesar! From now on, I am Samwell Caesar!"
Margaery froze.
For an instant, she thought she saw a spark in this man's eyes.
But she quickly recovered, confirming the originality of his chosen name, then smiled warmly and spoke with solemnity:
"I, Margaery Tyrell, daughter of Mace Tyrell, in the name of the Lord of the Reach, Warden of the South, and Duke of Highgarden, hereby knight Samwell Caesar as a Pioneer Knight.
All unclaimed lands in the Reach are open to you to develop, and all unbound people are yours to protect. May the Father grant you justice, the Mother grant you mercy, the Warrior grant you courage, the Crone grant you wisdom, and the Stranger grant you victory over all foes."
"I, Samwell Caesar, under the watchful eyes of the Seven, in the spirit of my noble ancestor Garth Greenhand, pledge my loyalty to the great Duke Mace Tyrell! From this day forth, your will shall be my creed, and the direction of your sword, my path.
I vow to guard this honor with my life!"
(End of Chapter)