"Honorable Lord Caesar, Todd Flowers, at Lady Olenna's command, reporting for duty!"
Samwell looked at the knight bowing before him and the hundred Tyrell soldiers behind him, unable to hide his surprise.
He had assumed Lady Olenna's promised hundred soldiers would be conscripted men—farmers barely familiar with a sword, freshly pulled from their fields.
But the men before him, with their synchronized movements and fierce, battle-hardened demeanor, were clearly House Tyrell's trained soldiers. They were outfitted with full gear: leather armor, swords, shields, spears, and bows—everything they'd need.
A unit like this, fully armed and ready for battle, could easily take down a small lord's lands, and Lady Olenna had entrusted them all to him?
Samwell realized he had likely underestimated the determination and resources of the "Queen of Thorns."
Of course, she had also underestimated him.
He wasn't about to be anyone's pawn so easily.
Looking over the Tyrell soldiers, a glint of excitement shone in Samwell's eyes.
He would show these Tyrell women what it meant to throw… no, why was he criticizing himself?
Collecting his thoughts, Samwell took a closer look at the soldiers' leader—Sir Todd Flowers.
This man looked to be in his thirties, tall and weathered, with a striking scar running from his left ear to the corner of his mouth.
But what intrigued Samwell most was his last name—Flowers.
Each of the Seven Kingdoms in Westeros had a traditional surname for highborn bastards—Snow in the North, Rivers in the Riverlands, Sand in Dorne… and Flowers in the Reach.
In Westeros, being born illegitimate didn't necessarily mean a life of insignificance. With a royal decree, they could be legitimized and gain inheritance rights only slightly behind trueborn heirs.
In fact, several bastards had influenced the course of Westeros's history, such as the "Bloodraven" Brynden Rivers and Jon Snow, soon to be a major character in the story.
So, Samwell was quite curious about which noble in the Reach had sired this Todd Flowers.
When Samwell remained silent, Todd looked up and asked,
"Lord Caesar, we're all ready. Should we depart right away?"
Samwell smiled.
"Not yet. I need to recruit a few more men."
Todd frowned.
"You're recruiting more?"
"Yes," Samwell replied, feigning anxiety. "The Red Mountains are full of wild beasts and hostile mountain clans. I'll need more men to feel safe."
Todd mentally cursed House Tarly's infamous "worthless" eldest son but could only follow Samwell as he led the way into town.
After a while, Todd grew suspicious and asked,
"Lord Caesar, aren't we going to the mercenaries' camp?"
"No."
Without further explanation, Samwell continued walking.
Before long, they arrived at the docks along the Mander River.
It was midday, and with the sweltering heat, most of the dockworkers were taking shelter in the shade.
Samwell turned to Todd.
"Send a few men to tell these workers that I, Samwell Caesar, under Duke Mace's command, am heading to the Red Mountains to claim new lands. Anyone willing to join will be provided with food and drink, including one meal with meat each day. In addition, I'll pay a wage of seventy copper pennies a month, and should any die in service, their families will receive a compensation of five silver stags."
Todd hesitated.
"My lord, isn't that a bit… generous for these people?"
Samwell waved dismissively, a confident expression on his face.
"A generous lord gathers loyal men. Go on, do as I say."
"Yes, my lord."
Soon, word spread across the docks that Samwell Caesar was recruiting for an expedition to the Red Mountains.
"One meal with meat every day? Seventy copper pennies per month, and five silver stags if you die? Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. The whole dock is talking about it."
"Could it be a scam?" Gavin frowned. "Caesar? I've never heard of that family name."
"Do you know every noble in the Reach?" a friend scoffed. "And it can't be a scam; look at those soldiers standing over there. Go see for yourself if you don't believe it."
Gavin hesitated no longer and hurried over with the others.
In no time, nearly every dockworker had gathered.
Clearly, such generous terms were enough to make these poor commoners eager for the chance. They'd have been willing to brave fire and sword for less.
Standing on a raised platform, Samwell looked over the sea of people and raised his voice:
"I am Samwell Caesar, the recently appointed Pioneer Knight by Duke Mace himself! Today, I'm recruiting men to join me in claiming new lands in the Red Mountains. But I won't take everyone; there are requirements. First, you must be between 18 and 35 years old."
With that, a number of men left disappointed.
The crowd thinned somewhat, but hundreds still remained.
Samwell then pointed to a distant lighthouse and said,
"Now, run to that lighthouse as fast as you can and back here!"
Some stood confused, but those quick to understand the purpose of the exercise took off running immediately.
Samwell observed them, and as the first runners returned, he had Todd send men to halt those still lagging behind, telling them they'd been disqualified.
Counting the remaining men, Samwell realized he still had more than he could afford.
He couldn't sustain too many soldiers, and technically, as Tyrell vassals, he should have sought Duke Mace's permission before recruiting them.
But he had no desire to approach "The Fat Lord," who clearly didn't like him, and risk being refused.
So he planned to recruit around a hundred men without official approval. This number was small enough that Duke Mace would likely overlook it.
Moving to a higher spot before the crowd, Samwell raised his sword horizontally before him and ordered the remaining men to walk under it, one by one.
For those who could pass beneath it without touching the blade, he declared,
"You are recruited."
For those too short to reach the sword, he simply shook his head.
"Sorry, you didn't make it."
Gavin, observing from the sidelines, quickly realized this noble was using height as the final selection criterion. He grew nervous.
When it was finally his turn, Gavin bit his lip and stepped forward.
As he approached the sword, he felt a surge of hopelessness—it was just as he feared; he wasn't tall enough.
But as he walked beneath it, he rose onto his tiptoes, closing his eyes.
He knew this small trick could easily be spotted, but he didn't care.
He wouldn't give up.
Born in the slums, he had long dreamed of becoming a knight's squire. But what noble would choose a commoner with no name?
This time, hearing that a knight was setting out to claim new lands, Gavin's hope had reignited.
He knew the dangers of frontier life, but success would bring new noble houses.
He didn't expect to become a noble himself, but he hoped to prove himself worthy of becoming a knight's squire.
Now, that dream seemed to be slipping away again.
Holding his breath, Gavin waited for his fate to be decided.
Strangely, the knight's voice didn't come.
Gavin dared not look back but refused to step down, standing stubbornly on tiptoe.
Seconds ticked by, and his legs began trembling, his face flushed red, and beads of sweat trickled down his face, but he held his ground.
Samwell, watching this young man's attempted trick, didn't disqualify him, wanting to see how long he'd last on his tiptoes.
The midday sun was relentless, evaporating the droplets of sweat before they hit the ground.
Samwell, standing normally, already felt his legs growing tired, yet the young man before him kept going.
His whole body shook, on the verge of collapse, but he wouldn't yield.
Finally, as Gavin's vision began to blur, he heard a voice like a miracle:
"Very well. You're recruited."
With a thud, Gavin dropped to his knees, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
Then, he saw the knight kneeling beside him, a warm smile on his round face:
"Boy, what's your name?"
"I… I, my lord, I'm Gavin!"
"Alright, Gavin. From today on, you'll be in charge of leading my horse."
Gavin's eyes filled with tears.
"Yes, my lord!"
(End of Chapter)