Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

With Lynd's cavalry speed, they encountered the bandit alliance gathered by the Scorpion Brotherhood just over three hours after leaving Tumbleton.

However, Lynd did not engage the bandits directly. From a distant hill, he observed their equipment and personnel before bypassing the several-hundred-strong group to focus on a well-equipped force in the rear.

An hour later, scouts reported that the well-equipped team of 300 was separated from Lynd's group by a valley. Avoiding a frontal confrontation, Lynd led his men on a long detour to flank the rear of the enemy team.

The opposing commander, though experienced, focused his attention entirely on the front. He neglected the safety of his rear, failing to deploy scouts or monitor the logistical convoy trailing behind. To maintain speed through the mountainous terrain, the commander disregarded the logistical convoy's difficulties, allowing it to fall completely behind. This left the convoy, guarded by only a few dozen soldiers, vulnerable.

Lynd's sudden attack obliterated the logistics team before they could respond. The cavalry patrols' archery was highly effective, and Lynd, remaining on horseback, entrusted Raul and Bryn to lead the follow-up. The two executed their circling and shooting tactics with precision, guiding the cavalry patrols to encircle the convoy. While some riders struggled with simultaneous riding and shooting, their dense volley of arrows ensured significant damage to the enemy.

After the brief skirmish, the battlefield was cleared, and the arrows were retrieved. Lynd's men transported the captured supplies to a nearby forest, camouflaging them with leaves for later retrieval. The riders, adhering to Lynd's prior strictures, refrained from looting. Instead, all valuables were handed over and meticulously recorded by Jon for inclusion in battle credits.

Following a short rest, Lynd and his patrols resumed their pursuit, eventually catching up to the secret army of a certain lord. Rather than attack immediately, they shadowed the group, whose vanguard remained oblivious to the danger behind them.

Upon reaching a flatter region, the army halted to rest.

The commander sent a messenger to summon the delayed logistics team. The moment the messenger rounded a grove of trees, three arrows shot from hiding pierced his throat, silencing him.

Even then, Lynd held back, biding his time for the army to fully relax. The recent rapid march had exhausted the soldiers, and the absence of obstacles along their route had bred complacency. At the rest stop, most soldiers sat down and quickly succumbed to sleep.

While the enemy commander had prudently dispatched soldiers to nearby highlands for surveillance, Lynd had anticipated this move. His men reached the highlands first, ambushing the scouts and donning their uniforms to pose as allies. From this vantage, they fed Lynd updates on the unsuspecting army below.

"Remember what I told you?" Lynd reminded Raul and Bryn when the time was right.

"Surround the enemy and shoot arrows, don't charge head-on," Raul and Bryn repeated in unison.

Lynd nodded approvingly before turning to Jon. "Are you sure you want to charge with me? It will be safer with Raul and the others."

Jon adjusted his helmet, the steel catching a brief glint of sunlight, and drew his longsword from his waist. "My Lord, I am your officer and should be by your side," he replied firmly. "Please don't worry. I've participated in several battles with Lord Roger. This little scene will not affect me."

Seeing Jon's determination, Lynd said nothing further. He picked up his helmet, secured it in place, and issued a sharp command to the ten shock cavalrymen he had carefully selected. "Let's go."

Lynd led the ten riders, all experts in mounted combat, charging forward along the mountain path. Raul and Bryn, without hesitation, split the remaining mounted archery team into two groups and followed closely behind, flanking the primary charge.

The sound of the hooves was subdued due to their small number, allowing them to move stealthily. As Lynd and his group passed through a dense forest at the base of a small hill, they approached the resting army. The soldiers, lulled by exhaustion and complacency, failed to notice the approaching danger. Even the sentries, who briefly caught sight of the riders, assumed it was the logistics team bringing supplies.

It wasn't until the riders drew closer that one sentry spotted the difference in clothing and the glint of weapons. Panic flashed across his face. "Enemy—" he began to shout, but an arrow from Lynd's short bow struck him mid-word. The arrow pierced his mouth, skewering his skull and pinning him to the tree behind him.

Lynd smoothly returned the short bow to the saddle bow case, drawing his greatsword for knights in one fluid motion. With a battle-hardened grip, he spurred his horse forward, charging into the midst of the unsuspecting soldiers.

The resting army, still groggy and disorganized, stood no chance. Lynd's greatsword moved with blinding speed, the blade distorting in the air from its velocity. The sheer force of his strikes, combined with the momentum of his galloping horse, cleaved through everything in his path.

The cavalrymen following Lynd in a sweeping fan-shaped formation swiftly dispatched those untouched by Lynd's blade, carving a bloody path through their enemies and eliminating anyone who dared to stand in their way.

"Enemy attack!" The commander of the besieged team shouted a warning as chaos erupted around him. His eyes locked onto Lynd and the small group of twelve riders. Calculating their numbers, he seemed to believe he could deal with the attackers and swiftly drew his longsword, rallying the guards and Knights around him for a charge toward Lynd.

The clash was immediate. Yet before the commander could swing his blade, a flash of steel streaked past him. A moment later, half his body crumpled to the ground, severed cleanly. The knights and retainers who had charged with him followed shortly after, either falling lifelessly from their mounts or collapsing unconscious to the ground.

Lynd's group of twelve knights moved with surgical precision. Their speed and skill turned the battlefield into a blur of blood and steel, cutting through the 300-strong army as though slicing a cake. Within minutes, nearly a hundred soldiers lay dead, including every knight and officer capable of giving orders. Eliminating the enemy's command structure had been Lynd's primary goal in the charge, and it had been executed flawlessly.

The remaining soldiers were paralyzed with shock. Jolted awake by the alarm, they barely comprehended what was happening. Before they could gather their thoughts, Lynd's knights had already stormed through their ranks, leaving a trail of carnage. Desperately looking for their captains or commanders, the soldiers found no one.

As the confused troops tried to rally, arrows rained down from every direction. The leather-armored soldiers struggled to defend themselves, some managing to raise shields just in time to block an initial volley. But the arrows came relentlessly from all angles, leaving them vulnerable. A single misstep meant injury or death.

With their commanders gone, the soldiers couldn't form a cohesive defense. Each man fought for himself, resulting in a chaotic and ineffective response. Their scattered attempts at defense were riddled with gaps, unable to withstand the steady barrage of arrows.

Raul and Bryn, adhering to Lynd's instructions, demonstrated the results of their rigorous archery training. Like wolves encircling their prey, they led the cavalry archers in swift, relentless movement around the clustered enemy. They barely needed to aim, as the dense grouping of soldiers made each shot almost guaranteed to hit its mark.

It wasn't long before the once formidable 300-man force lay defeated. The cavalry archers expended little more than a single quiver of arrows each to finish the job.

"Stop, stop!" Raul and Bryn shouted in unison. Obediently, the cavalrymen lowered their shortbows, storing them in their saddle quivers. Reaching for the horn-shaped hammers at their waists, they slowed their horses to a steady pace, their faces flushed with the thrill of victory. Excitement filled the air as they awaited further orders.

The scale of their triumph was extraordinary. Not a single injury marred their ranks, and they had annihilated an entire army of 300 heavily armed soldiers. The riders, many of whom had doubted the value of Lynd's relentless archery training, now fully recognized its power. Admiration for Lynd's exceptional skill as a warrior had transformed into unquestioning respect for his abilities as a commander. The skepticism about his hunter's background and his capacity to lead troops had evaporated completely.

Lynd, having finished the charge, calmly rode to the edge of the battlefield. His gaze swept over the fallen soldiers with measured indifference. In a composed tone, he issued a simple command: "Clean up the battlefield."

The riders paused, momentarily taken aback. They had expected Lynd to deliver a speech celebrating their victory, as most lords would after such an achievement. Instead, his demeanor suggested that this triumph was as routine as drinking water or eating a meal.

"Did you not hear me say to clear the battlefield?" Lynd frowned, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. His tone was firm as he repeated the order.

The soldiers, startled into action, dismounted from their horses and began the grim work of clearing the battlefield. They retrieved arrows, stripped leather armor from the corpses, and ensured any wounded enemies were swiftly and mercilessly finished off. Lynd had trained them specifically for this task, instructing them to work in pairs while others stood guard. This ensured that even if someone feigned death to launch a surprise attack, they would be quickly discovered and eliminated.

"No, don't kill me! I'm Bert Falwell! My father is Lys Falwell, the great merchant from the Westerlands! He'll pay a ransom for me!" A voice suddenly broke through the air. Bert Falwell, who had been pretending to be dead, rolled aside to avoid the descending mace and began pleading desperately for his life.

Lynd's orders were clear: no survivors. The soldiers surrounding Bert showed no hesitation. Two of them pinned him down, while a third raised the mace to deliver the fatal blow.

"Wait." Jon's voice cut through the tension, halting the execution. He stepped closer, his expression shifting to one of astonishment as he studied Bert. "Fat Bert? Why are you here?"

"Jon?" Bert's panic gave way to relief. "By the Seven Gods, hurry and tell them to let me go!"

Jon turned to the soldiers. "Release him."

The riders hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. One of the older men, his voice steady, spoke up. "Lord Lynd's orders are to clear everyone, including your friend. Lord Jon, you're an officer, but you don't have the authority to countermand his commands."

Jon froze, suddenly remembering the rules Lynd had set. Realizing his mistake, he quickly amended his words. "I'm not giving you an order. I only ask that you hold off for now. I'll speak to Ser Lynd and get his decision."

After another brief exchange of glances, the soldiers nodded and stepped back. Jon signaled reassurance to the frightened Bert before hurrying to Lynd. Upon reaching him, Jon saluted and quickly explained, "My lord, there's someone among the captured you might find useful."

Lynd's expression remained impassive. "That person is your friend."

"No," Jon corrected. "He's closer than that—he's family. Bert Falwell is the second son of Lys Falwell, who was once the eldest son of Lord Ralith, the former Lord Falwell in the Westerlands. After offending Lord Tywin, the house lost their title, and Ser Lys was exiled."

"Exiled? To the south?" Lynd asked.

Jon nodded. "Yes, Ser Lys lived in the Reach for years, marrying and starting a family there. Bert is my cousin through his mother, who was my aunt."

Lynd's brows furrowed. "And now your cousin is part of a secret Westerlands army. You understand, Jon, that if I release him, there's a chance word of our actions will reach Lord Tywin. What do you think Lord Tywin would do then?"

Jon's voice grew urgent. "No, my lord, I swear it was an accident that Bert ended up in this army. His family harbors no love for Lord Tywin. Even after receiving a pardon four years ago, Ser Lys has avoided staying long in the Westerlands or with House Falwell. He spends most of his time at sea to avoid drawing Tywin's attention."

At that moment, Bryn approached, adding his perspective. "I've heard of Lys Falwell. He's a well-known sea merchant in the Westerlands. Land merchants are common there, but sea merchants of his caliber are rare." Leaning closer to Lynd, Bryn added, "Didn't Mus mention he's been having trouble sourcing certain goods? Maybe this could help."

Lynd considered Bryn's words before giving a measured nod. "Bring Bert here. If he proves useful, perhaps this will work in our favor."