Gendry, Qyburn, the Arrow Maker, and others watched the archery training from a temporarily erected platform.
The Wolf Pack banner flew high here, with a grey-white Wolf Pack roaring on the flag. The soldiers marched forward with vigor, like a surging Wolf Pack.
Targets were set up on the jousting field, and archers were currently training.
"Draw! Release."
"Draw! Release," Black Billy shouted. Ten Longbowmen in the front row drew their bows and released their arrows, which cut through the air as smoothly as silk, piercing the targets.
These Longbowmen from the Summer Isles were extraordinary; their skin was as black as coal, they wore magnificent cloaks woven from green and orange feathers, and in their hands were goldenheart wood longbows.
The Summer Isles were renowned for producing excellent archers and warships. Goldenheart wood bows were the best, second only to dragonglass bows. Gendry had considered dragonglass bows, but they were too difficult to acquire; he himself only possessed one dragonglass longbow, which was priceless.
Black Billy, the archer officer of the Golden Company, commanded fifty Summer Islanders who used goldenheart wood greatbows, making Gendry quite envious. Goldenheart wood greatbows were hard to find, but Gendry had used every means possible in the Disputed Lands and between the Two Cities to recruit one hundred Summer Isles Mercenaries with goldenheart wood bows, incorporating them into his army as his elite archers.
"Wham!" "Wham!" As the Longbowmen hit the bullseye, the soldiers couldn't help but cheer, and then the sound of trumpets rang out, signaling the next squad of soldiers to step forward.
"Customs, land—if you want to shoot accurately, you must always consider these factors. But no matter what, you must be both fast and good, Children, only then can you survive in war," Black Billy shouted.
Currently, Black Billy was still the archer officer of the Wolf Pack Company, but his subordinates had greatly increased. Elite goldenheart wood archers, yew wood archers, and a large number of elites were under his command, making him even more aware of the weight of his responsibilities.
After the Summer Isles Longbowmen withdrew, it was the turn of archers wielding yew wood longbows. The Longbowmen put on their gloves; bowstrings were dangerous things. Although the range of yew wood was not as far as goldenheart wood longbows, these archers were quite skilled, with many hitting the bullseye.
Gendry was very satisfied; his Longbowmen would also bring a small bit of firepower shock to Westeros. Longbows brought death and wails; the most famous was "Bloodraven's" Raven's Teeth, who shot and killed Daemon Blackfyre, the "Warrior," on the Redgrass Field back then.
In Westeros, Knights often focused too much on swordsmanship and not on archery. While the Knights of Westeros acted this way, the standing armies Across the Narrow Sea emphasized archery.
When used properly, bows and arrows had considerable lethality. More importantly, the training cost for swordsmanship and horsemanship could not be achieved overnight, while Longbowmen were relatively easier to train.
"Littlefinger has received our gift," Maester Qyburn said softly.
"I hope he will be pleased," Gendry smiled. Littlefinger always liked to scheme against others; he should also taste this feeling.
Gendry's plan also struck at Littlefinger's weakness. Littlefinger's power came from money and from Lord Jon's trust in him. But Littlefinger had little military might; most respectable noble Knights disdained serving Littlefinger, so he could only poach from Mercenaries who loved money.
"But..." Qyburn hesitated. "Rosso is, after all, a mercenary who has wandered for many years. If he truly defects to Littlefinger, Mercenaries loving gold is a common thing."
"When a man walks in the world, there are always some things more precious than gold, aren't there?" Gendry said. "Littlefinger trusts gold; I trust camaraderie." A hero who conquers the world always needs a heroic spirit, and this was his confidence.
Seeing Gendry's reply, Maester Qyburn said no more.
Suddenly, a thunderous cheer erupted from the training taxi soldiers; it was the Magistrate of the Triarchy, the Commander-in-Chief of all legions, who was going to shoot an arrow himself. The soldiers couldn't help but look up at the platform, at the black-haired young man on it.
"Your longbow, Magistrate," Grey Wolf walked over, handing Gendry his longbow. The double-curved dragonglass longbow was jet black, and even the Dothraki considered it priceless.
Gendry took the dragonglass bow. Wind speed, land, sense of direction—this was the best feel at this very moment. If he missed this moment, there would be no more perfect arrow.
Gendry exhaled softly, then directly drew his bow and released the arrow, which shot from the platform towards the bullseye. A dragonglass bow's range far exceeded wooden bows, but shooting from the platform also counted as the furthest and most difficult distance.
"Swoosh!" "Swoosh!" "Swoosh!" The specially made long arrows, as if they had eyes, accurately pierced the bullseye.
After a brief silence, the soldiers' cheers erupted violently, like a mountain tsunami.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live Wolf's Den!"
Gendry listened to the soldiers' cheers and lowered the black dragonglass bow in his hand.
Those faces, those young faces, they fought for him, and he would surely live up to their expectations.
Power is power, power that crushes all conspiracies and schemes... Winterfell, the crypts of House Stark.
"I hear the sound of war horns," Lord Eddard wandered alone in the deep, cold crypts, his shadow moving with the light, as if all the dead had come alive.
Eddard's father, Duke Rickard; Brandon and Lyanna. Rickard's father, Duke Eddard, Duke Willem, and his brother "Restless" Athos, Duke Dono, Duke Boron, Duke Rodwell, Duke Jonnel the One-Eyed, Duke Barth, Duke Brandon, and Duke Cregan, who once dueled a Dragonrider.
Eddard looked at the statues, from Duke Cregan downwards; these were the closest generations of Stark Dukes to him. The She-wolf of Winterfell engaged in bloody struggles for succession, and Eddard's line was the descendant of the victors.
"This may be the last time I see you all," Eddard's eyes were filled with sadness. The South was a place of sorrow for him, but now, going South was the only option. He had to leave here, leave Winterfell, where his ancestors' tombs lay.
"Brandon understood everything. Brandon would not be like me, forced to heed the advice of his lady wife and the Maester. But this bitter cup, I must ultimately drink it myself." Eddard looked at Brandon's face, but his elder brother would not come alive from the long river of time.
"South, South."
Eddard pondered repeatedly, the chill piercing his bones like the fingers of an Other.
Rickard's journey South was a tragedy; King Torrhen's journey South was surrender.
And my journey South, what does my journey South mean?
Suddenly, Eddard saw the statue of Duke Cregan on the other side, a Direwolf still at his feet. The famous sword that once conquered a nation had long since decayed.
Duke Cregan was handsome and fierce in his youth, the Wolf of Winterfell, but many years later, he earned a new nickname, the Old Man of the North.
"Cregan, Cregan." Eddard's heart lit up. What was Duke Cregan's journey South like? He suddenly yearned to know the story of this ancestor. He needed to go see the Maester.
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