The wedge-shaped column led by Gendry drove straight through the enemy ranks like the tip of a spear. Gendry himself cut down Bloodbeard. Knights from the Second Sons, the Long Lances, and the Golden Company joined the slaughter—iron armor and Steel Fist surging forward in a storm of steel.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Free Company!"
"Shatter the chains! Kill these Myr slave masters!"
The knights smashed through to the far side. Gendry swiftly reformed his ranks and launched a second charge, cutting from the front of the manor all the way to the rear. When the dust finally settled, the outcome was clear. The commanders of "Steel Fist," "Longspear," and "Greywolf" led the Wolf Pack and Free Company infantry in hunting down the fleeing enemy, claiming every last scrap of victory.
Gendry and the Golden Company officers rode across the battlefield. With Bloodbeard dead, the Company of the Cat's collapse only accelerated. This great mercenary band, second only to the Golden Company, disintegrated completely.
After this battle, the Myr men were shaken to the core. Across the Disputed Lands, few dared stand against them. The Wolf Pack and the Free Company would sweep through the region without restraint.
"A well-trained army, even in exile," Gendry remarked, his gaze sweeping over the Golden Company's senior officers and common soldiers alike. They were wealthy, and their formations were tight and disciplined.
The Golden Company sellswords wore their wealth openly, with the unmistakable air of nouveau riche—no different from other companies in that regard. Jewel-studded swords hung at their hips, their armor was finely engraved, and they dressed in fine silks with heavy gold-threaded collars. Most eye-catching of all were the golden armbands on each man's arm, each worth a Lord's ransom. One armband marked a single year of service in the Company.
"Congratulations on your great victory, Lord Commander!" Homeless Harry offered with a smile. Pressured by the officers around him, he had little choice but to go along.
"I should be thanking you as well," Gendry replied coolly. "If you had arrived any later, the Golden Company could have come straight to my Wolf's Den to join the victory feast."
Longspear, Greywolf, and the others stood behind him, bodies streaked with blood, still carrying the savage presence of men fresh from battle.
Gendry understood the Golden Company's method well enough. They had waited and watched, only moving once the outcome was beyond doubt—once the Company of the Cat and the Myr alliance were completely crushed. They had chosen to add polish to a finished victory, not to offer help when it was needed most.
"You must be jesting," Homeless Harry said, forcing himself to speak. He had been trained as a treasurer, not as some fearless warrior. Standing before Gendry, he felt like a blunt blade beside a gleaming sword.
"Please understand," said the Volantene treasurer, Gorys Edoryen, with an apologetic nod. "The Golden Company commands ten thousand men. We cannot involve ourselves in conflicts lightly."
"We only wish to present the Commander with a token of goodwill and friendship," said the Lysene Spymaster, Lysono Maar. "The Golden Company has no intention of hindering the Commander's cause."
"And what does the Golden Company want?" Gendry asked.
"Warriors recognize warriors," Lysono Maar replied. "The Golden Company admires a hero like the Lord Commander. We support the Lord Commander as King, and we hope to receive his support in return. Westeros is our true home."
"Have you truly thought this through?" Gendry chuckled. "You are far too optimistic. The King has Lord Jon, Barristan, and the Kingslayer at his side. The Vale, the North, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands all stand behind him. The wealth of Highgarden and Casterly Rock backs his cause."
Laswell Peake raised his fist. "Though we have been exiled for a hundred years, we still have friends in The Reach. Highgarden is not as strong as Lord Mace Tyrell believes. And in Dorne, we have allies as well."
"We have waited this long. We can wait a little longer," Lysono Maar continued. "The Queen grows more arrogant by the year. How much longer can Old Arryn live? And Lord Renly harbors ambitions of his own. Our chance will come, Lord Commander."
Though active in the Disputed Lands, the Golden Company kept a close watch on news from their homeland across the Narrow Sea.
"In my view, your plan to return home is nothing but a bubble," Gendry said bluntly. "A hundred years ago, neither 'Warrior' Daemon Blackfyre nor 'Bittersteel' Aegor Rivers won victory. What makes you think it will be any different now?"
"Back then, King Daeron had Lord Bloodraven at his side, along with his sons Baelor Breakspear and Maekar. They stood united. Now the Iron Throne is full of undercurrents. We are not without a chance," Franklyn Flowers said firmly.
"A return to Westeros will be grand and complicated. We may need to wait a year, five years, perhaps even ten. No one can say for certain. But we ask for your friendship. When the Golden Company decides to cross the Narrow Sea, we hope the Wolf Pack will lend us its strength," Homeless Harry said, letting out a quiet breath. They were not sailing anytime soon. There would still be room to bargain in the years ahead.
"As long as the Golden Company doesn't stand in the way of my swallowing the Disputed Lands, I'm willing to offer some help," Gendry replied vaguely. Both sides were sketching castles in the air. So long as the Golden Company did not hinder the Wolf Pack's campaign, there was no harm in trading promises.
"Then we couldn't ask for better!" The rising power within the Wolf Pack bore no ill will toward the Golden Company. On the contrary, they were prepared to support them. Even a sign of cooperation was good news for the Golden Company.
After the Golden Company departed, the Long Lances, led by their commander, formally submitted to Gendry. He readily accepted the eight hundred cavalrymen and folded them into his ranks.
Next came Brown Ben, bringing the remnants of the Second Sons. After Mero's death, the remaining members had elected Brown Ben as their new captain.
"The Second Sons pledge loyalty to you, Lord Commander! I am Ben Plumm, newly chosen captain of the Second Sons."
Brown Ben placed his longsword at Gendry's feet and knelt.
"You do have a rather distinctive look, Captain Ben," Gendry said, studying him.
Brown Ben's features were a curious blend: a broad face, brown skin, a broken nose, thick grey hair, and large black almond-shaped eyes inherited from his Dothraki mother, faint lines gathering at their corners.
"I carry blood from Braavos, the Summer Isles, Ibben, Qohor, the Dothraki, and Dorne. There's even a drop of House Targaryen in me," Brown Ben said proudly.
"Look at Captain Ben," Gendry said to Longspear. "Such a kindly face."
Brown Ben kept grinning, looking every bit the affable man.
"I know your story, Brown Ben. Our Captain Ben Plumm looks gentle, and when he smiles, he seems even kinder. Like the reliable uncle everyone trusts, always soft-spoken, brimming with stories and elder wisdom. But it's all a mask. The smile never reaches your eyes. Those eyes hide your greed well enough. You're hungry—and careful."
Gendry's words cut deep, and Brown Ben felt a chill run through him.
He glanced at "Longspear," "Greywolf," and the others beside Gendry. They were flexing their hands, eager for action. Longspear tightened his grip on his weapon. Their gazes were hard as iron. These were no ordinary sellswords now. They were as savage as wolves and as unyielding as steel. A few swift blows would be enough to end him here.
"Lord Commander, you can't do this. I've already surrendered!" Brown Ben's face turned pale. A defeated man could not speak of courage. Cunning meant nothing before naked force.
"You're not entirely worthless," Gendry said. "At least the Second Sons know how to run. How many do you have left?"
"More than four hundred," Brown Ben answered.
"Everyone knows the Second Sons have never been known for keeping their word. And the Myrmen are terrified now, especially of the Wolf Pack's advance."
"Your meaning?" Brown Ben asked carefully.
"To be honest, I don't trust you, Brown Ben. The Second Sons have a foul reputation and are far too slippery. I could wipe your Company out. But you might prove more useful alive. Go to Myr. You understand me."
"I understand, Lord Commander." Brown Ben nodded. Gendry had already decided their path. They would return to Myr and continue serving as Myr's sellswords—or rather, act as the Wolf Pack's inside men.
"You've already made one wrong choice. I don't intend to see the Second Sons make a second. When I take Myr, the Wolf Pack will show no mercy."
"Rest assured, Lord Commander. There are old sellswords, and there are bold sellswords. But there are no sellswords who are both old and bold," Brown Ben said after a pause. "This time, I won't choose wrong. I'll stand with the victors."