Seeing the people leave, Little Fish trotted over happily, hugged Matthew's leg, looked up, and laughed:
"We won! We won! Matthew, you're amazing!"
Matthew patted his head, grinning along with him.
The feeling of victory was truly exhilarating, the best tonic for a man's spirit.
Morty walked over too, giving Matthew a shove and saying:
"Kid, you really are something. Going head-to-head with that big ox and coming out on top."
"Just beating a big oaf, what's there to be happy about?"
Ser Harwin was dismissive, snorting:
"Don't forget, this kid is King Robert's seed."
With the unique arrogance of a superior, he rested his hand on his sword hilt and walked toward the tavern.
Morty pursed his lips behind Harwin's back, a flash of dissatisfaction crossing his face.
But a second later, he pouted and said:
"Let's go. We'll go inside and eat our fill, then swap out that black-faced kid. Otherwise, he'll have complaints again."
Matthew turned his head and saw Dale with a face like thunder, as if someone owed him tens of thousands of Gold Dragons.
This was the root cause of why he needed to gather more of his own people.
Otherwise, anyone unhappy with him could pose a significant threat.
For over two years, Matthew had never felt safe, much like Little Fish hugging his leg now.
The only person he trusted was himself.
Patting Little Fish, who was clinging like a puppy, Matthew turned back and said:
"Let's go."
Little Fish cheered, holding Matthew's hand, skipping and hopping, still celebrating the victory.
Morty followed behind, rubbing his nose, wanting to say something but swallowing it back when he looked at Little Fish.
Dale watched them, his eyes full of displeasure, his scoffing incessant.
On the cart next to him, the Night's Watch boy clutched his stomach, glancing at Dale occasionally, the corners of his mouth turning down.
"What's with the act? You were sent out here to watch the cart too..."
Dale turned his head immediately, looking back.
The Night's Watch boy instantly ducked back into the cart, shut his mouth, and peeked at the tavern through a crack.
Gurgle, gurgle...
Bubbling sounds came from his stomach.
Dale sneered and turned back disdainfully.
The Night's Watch boy was mortified, burying his head and praying Matthew would finish eating quickly.
But upon entering the tavern, Matthew didn't return to his own table.
He looked at Bernarr and strode directly toward him.
The farmers had cleared out, leaving only the mercenaries.
Seeing Matthew approach, the drinking men nudged each other and started jeering.
Surrounded by his men, Bernarr stood up holding his cup, looked at Matthew, stroked his beard, and laughed:
"Want me to swear the oath now?"
Matthew walked step by step into the crowd, and the mercenaries stepped back one by one.
Although he wasn't particularly tall, just sturdily built, looking at his cold face made them panic slightly.
They hadn't felt this way before.
The mercenaries clenched their hands, looking left and right.
Finding most of their companions doing the same, they exchanged glances and smiled bitterly.
At this moment, Matthew stopped at the south corner of the table, lifted his chin slightly, and retorted:
"What? Planning to break your word?"
Bernarr immediately knelt on one knee, spread his hands, and said helplessly:
"I never break my word."
Matthew drew his longsword, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the old man, a cryptic smile playing on his lips.
"No matter why you came, as long as you swear allegiance, do not violate my will, and harbor no thoughts of betrayal, my treasure is your treasure, my glory is your glory."
The longsword pressed gently on the rough beast skin, sliding past the thick red neck.
"Now, answer me with your oath."
Matthew didn't seek his subordinates' eternal loyalty, nor did he believe in it.
But he had to display the promise of rewards and his will.
Bernarr looked up, gazing into the sparkling light in Matthew's eyes.
It was always there, unchanging, like starlight.
Soon, he lowered his head, thumped his chest with one hand, and proclaimed loudly:
"I am willing to follow the agreement and pledge allegiance to you in the future, proceeding entirely according to your will, my Lord."
With that, the old man drew his own longsword, held it horizontally, and presented it with both hands.
Matthew smiled and sheathed his own sword.
With a shing, the bright blade returned to its scabbard under the envious gazes of the mercenaries.
Matthew was very satisfied with their looks. He took the steel sword from Bernarr's hands and raised it high.
Looking at the reflection of his smiling face on the blade, he said in a deep voice:
"Rise."
Bernarr nodded in acknowledgment and slowly stood up.
Matthew turned the hilt toward him and asked:
"Have you eaten enough?"
Taking back his sword, Bernarr laughed:
"Full long ago."
Matthew nodded, sat down, looked around, and said:
"You follow me. What about this lot?"
The mercenaries laughed and answered eagerly:
"We follow the Boss, naturally. Where he goes, we go."
Bernarr glared at his men but nodded to Matthew, not refusing.
He knew Matthew wouldn't refuse either; otherwise, he wouldn't have sought him out.
Matthew said nothing. Instead, he picked up a potato from a leftover plate on the table, peeled it, and put it in Little Fish's mouth.
Then, he picked up another and fed himself. Everything was natural and calm, as if this food were his own.
But in this moment, the mercenaries were all very happy.
They believed this was proof Matthew accepted them; otherwise, how could he eat their leftovers?
After finishing the potato, Matthew dusted off his hands, ignored the grinning fools, looked at Bernarr, and said:
"Now, introduce your men to me."
Bernarr placed a hand on his chest, stepped forward, and replied excitedly:
"We are all Northerners. We fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion. The young ones are the children of my brothers who died on the battlefield. All trustworthy."
Matthew glanced back, then smiled:
"I believe you. I hope you can lead them well. I will need their help."
Standing up, he patted the old man on the chest and walked straight away.
Returning to sit beside Ser Harwin, as soon as Matthew sat down, Little Fish whispered in his ear:
"They're still watching over here."
Matthew smiled, reached out, grabbed a piece of meat, and handed it to him.
Then, not eating anything himself, he looked at Ser Harwin and asked:
"Why aren't you eating?"
Morty laughed:
"Waiting for you, naturally. You're the boss now. If you don't eat, how dare we? If you don't pay, we'll be the ones suffering."
Ser Harwin looked a bit embarrassed and rubbed his nose.
Matthew instantly understood why they hadn't touched the food.
Rolling his eyes, he shouted to the tavern owner:
"Bring more meat and bread!"
The tavern owner ran over, bowing, carrying a small keg in his hand.
However, it was truly too small, barely bigger than a large mug.
Placing it in front of Matthew, the tavern owner licked his face and smiled:
"My Lord, this is your prize. I'll go prepare the meat and bread now. Would you like chicken, fish, duck, or salt pork?"
Matthew withdrew his gaze from the tiny keg, a look of disbelief on his lips.
He hadn't expected this tavern owner to be so stingy and bold.
This bastard was playing him!
Ser Harwin sensed something wrong and quickly kicked Matthew's foot, signaling toward the kitchen and counter.
Matthew looked over coldly and saw twenty or so men of varying heights standing there, staring intently at them.
Crucially, they wore leather and chainmail armor—clearly not people to be messed with easily.
Matthew turned back instantly and smiled at Ser Harwin:
"Do you want anything else?"
Morty couldn't hold back his laughter, burying his head, his shoulders shaking.
Ser Harwin was much more open about it, throwing his head back and laughing loudly, slapping the oak table thunderously.