Chapter 86 — I'm Here to Make Friends
The stone-built castle was not particularly tall—just over ten meters high, roughly the equivalent of a three- or four-story building in another world. Yet those walls enclosed the modest fortress tightly and securely.
Even though the stronghold itself was small, with solid stone ramparts to rely on, thirty or forty men would still be enough to hold it.
Standing on the confidence granted by sturdy walls beneath their feet, Tumbleton believed it could withstand the three hundred–odd soldiers gathered below.
Once the defenders had finished their preparations, Pod finally advanced with his men.
At that moment, a bearded, heavyset man appeared atop the battlements. He leaned over the crenellations, peering down at Pod.
"Who are you," the man demanded, "and why have you brought troops to invade House Footly's castle?"
His tone was steady enough, but the anxiety beneath it was impossible to miss.
Pod was not yet a knight, nor a recognized representative of House Payne's main line. He had no personal banner, no sigil of his own to declare his identity.
The banner accompanying this expedition bore only the red-and-gold roaring lion of House Lannister.
And it was precisely that banner—paired with a force unmistakably equipped as the City Watch of King's Landing—that caused confusion.
Even recognizing the Gold Cloaks, the man on the wall could not help but ask again when he saw how young the commander at their head appeared to be.
"I am Podrick Payne, Commander of the City Watch," Pod replied with a smile.
"As for why I've brought soldiers here?" He shrugged lightly. "I'm traveling for leisure. I happened to pass by, so I thought I'd stop in and make a friend."
Who makes friends by bringing several hundred armed men?
And looking at the greedy, wolfish expressions on the faces behind him—did any of them look like they were here to socialize?
Didn't he know about the tensions between Highgarden, King Renly Baratheon, and King Joffrey Baratheon?
The complaints piled up endlessly in the defender's mind—but not a single word made it past his lips.
Staring at the well-equipped army behind Pod, cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
The force below had not deployed into a formal siege formation. They showed no immediate signs of attacking.
Yet their fierce presence made one thing painfully clear:
These were not people you wanted to cross.
This visitor meant trouble.
The man on the wall desperately wanted to expose Podrick Payne's obvious lie.
But he feared even more what would happen after calling it out—because with so few men under his command, he had no idea how he would survive the consequences.
Although the self-proclaimed commander of the City Watch below the walls was, in all likelihood, incapable of actually taking the castle by force—
The fat man leaned over the parapet, his eyes darting back and forth. After a moment, he clenched his teeth and shouted down at Pod.
"Our lord is not currently in residence, Lord Payne. If you've come merely to make friends, I'm afraid the timing is… inconvenient."
If Pod wanted to play dumb, then he would play dumb as well.
The lord isn't home—problem solved.
He refused to believe that this Payne brat, who had crawled out of nowhere, would really dare resort to force.
Watching the man attempt to brush him off so casually, Pod nearly laughed out loud.
He'd already come this far.
He had men to feed, brothers backing him, mouths waiting on his word.
Did they really think a single sentence would send him away?
If that were the case, how was he supposed to stand tall on this land in the future?
Pod lifted his chin slightly, the corners of his mouth curling upward as he shouted back toward the battlements.
"If the lord isn't home, then making friends with whoever's in charge will do just fine."
"My brothers and I were fortunate enough to pick up some fine goods in the Kingswood. We were hoping to trade—perhaps for some grain."
"Of course," he added lightly, "I'm really here to make friends."
Excuses were easy to find, if one cared to look.
And since they were playing games, Pod didn't mind playing a little longer.
In a few days he would be heading back anyway. This trip was meant to make a statement, dodge some pressure—not to actually start a war out here in the wilds.
The fat man's sweat thickened immediately.
He wasn't stupid. He heard the threat beneath the words.
Grain?
In times like these?
Who in their right mind would dare sell food to King's Landing now?
Whether he had any or not was irrelevant.
The moment he did so, his head would likely part ways with his neck.
He valued his life very much—hence why Lord Footly had left him in charge of Tumbleton in the first place.
Still, he forced himself to shout back.
"My lord, Tumbleton is poor and ill-supplied. This backwater cannot meet your needs. Perhaps you would fare better elsewhere."
The moment those words left his mouth, the faint smile on Pod's face vanished.
Cold.
"The Reach is known across the Seven Kingdoms as the greenest land alive—rich soil, abundant harvests," Pod said flatly.
"Are you trying to insult my intelligence?"
"I came sincerely—to trade, to make friends. And this is how you treat a guest?"
He did not wait for an answer.
Pod seized the long spear hanging beside his saddle. With a single motion, he hurled it.
Boom.
The spear tore through the air like thunder, leaving only a blur behind.
When eyes snapped back to the wall, the weapon was already embedded halfway up the stonework, buried deep into the mortar between bricks. The thick shaft quivered violently, humming like a struck bell.
Pod said nothing.
He planted one hand on the saddle, vaulted upward, kicked off once more—launching himself four or five meters forward from a seated position.
The moment his boots hit the ground, he surged ahead again.
Each step cratered the wet earth beneath him. He ran like a hunting leopard, his form fluid and ferocious, closing the distance in mere heartbeats.
Just as it seemed he would slam into the wall, Pod kicked upward.
His foot tapped the stone lightly—effortlessly—and he rebounded, running straight up the wall.
Four… five meters higher.
Exactly where the spear had struck.
He stepped on the still-trembling shaft, borrowed its momentum, and surged again—faster this time.
Like a launched arrow, he cleared the ten-meter wall and landed lightly atop the battlements.
Silence.
The fat man stood frozen before him, eyes bulging, mouth agape, utterly stunned.
Pod looked down at him and finally spoke again.
"I was quite happy to come here," he said calmly.
"But I didn't like your tone."
"And I have a rather unpleasant flaw."
"I hate being refused."
He smiled faintly.
"So," he asked,
"shall we be friends now?"