"Exactly, Father," Stevron added quickly, leaning over the table to refill Walder's cup with a trembling hand. "We were worried about their numbers, but you've won the battle before it even started. The Starks are nothing but children playing with wooden swords compared to you."
Walder let out a wet, rattling cackle, enjoying the taste of the wine and the bootlicking. "Children? They're less than children. They're beggars. And beggars shouldn't come to my door with twenty thousand mouths to feed if they aren't ready to pay."
He leaned back, his eyes narrowing into slits as he looked at the map on his table. "The North is desperate. That boy, Alaric... he needs to get across before ned stark loses his neck. If he doesn't cross here, he has to march hundreds of miles back and around. He doesn't have the time."
"So, what is the price, Father?" Lothar asked, his voice oily with greed. "Gold? Land?"
"Gold is for merchants," Walder snapped. "I want respect. I want the Freys to be so high up that the Great Houses choke on our dust."
He tapped a bony finger on the table.
"First, a marriage. Robb Stark is the heir to Winterfell. He will marry one of my daughters. Second, this Alaric Thorne. He might be a ward, but he's leading the army and he has those... those red-armored freaks you two described. He'll marry one of my girls too. We'll tie his strength to our blood."
"And the squires," Walder continued, his voice growing faster as he listed his demands. "I want my grandsons fostered at Winterfell. I want Frey banners flying alongside the Direwolf. I want them to treat us like equals, or they can stay in the mud until they rot."
Lothar nodded quickly. "It's a masterstroke. They'll have no choice but to say yes."
"And one more thing," Walder said, his grin turning malicious. "Lothar, get a raven ready for the South. Send it to Lord Tywin. Tell him the Northern army is sitting right outside my gates, begging for a way across. Tell him I'm 'negotiating' with them."
Stevron blinked, looking confused. "But Father, if we make a deal with the North, won't Tywin be angry?"
"You've always been slow, Stevron," Walder sneered. "I'm not picking a side yet. I'm showing Tywin that I have the Northmen by the throat. If the lions offer me a better deal, I'll keep my gates shut and let Tywin slaughter them in the fields. I'll wait to see who is winning before I open the door."
He looked back toward the window, his eyes gleaming.
"Go. Tell the ward to come to the feast tonight. Tell him I'm a reasonable man who just wants to see his family taken care of." Walder chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rubbing together. "We'll see how much he's willing to give to keep from drowning."
...
In the Tent of alaric in the army camp
Alaric sat in his chair, staring at the blue screen. The Freys were busy plotting in their stone towers, but he was looking at his own assets.
"System," Alaric thought. "Filter the shop again. I need an upgrade for the Blood Knights. Is there an extension available?"
The screen flickered. A new notification popped up. Because he had rejected Catelyn Stark's interference and maintained absolute control over the army, a specific "Path of the Commander" reward had unlocked.
[Extension Unlocked: Relentless Pursuit] Cost: 1,000 MP Effect: Removes the 'Weight Penalty' of heavy armor on movement speed.
Practical Use: Currently, Blood Knights move with the slow, heavy gait of infantry. This extension allows them to run at the speed of a galloping horse while in full plate armor.
Alaric stared at the description. He felt a surge of heat in his chest.
If his Blood Knights had this, they weren't just heavy infantry anymore. They were tanks with the speed of cavalry. Imagine fourteen giant, seven-foot-tall monsters in thick steel, sprinting at full speed into a line of terrified Lannister soldiers. No shield wall could hold that. No horse could outrun it.
"This is a gold mine," Alaric muttered.
He didn't hesitate. "System, buy it."
[Purchase Confirmed: Relentless Pursuit]
[Note: This upgrade applies to 5 Blood Knights per purchase.]
[Current Balance: 7,120 MP]
Alaric made a face. "Five? Only five?"
He looked at the message and then at his balance. It was a typical System move—giving him something broken but making him pay for it in chunks. If he wanted all fourteen of his current knights to have this speed, he'd have to buy it two more times.
He leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table. It was expensive, but it was worth it. A fast tank was a thousand times more dangerous than a slow one. He decided to hold off on the rest for now until he saw how the Frey situation played out.
The tent flap opened. Ser Rodrik stepped inside, looking grim.
"The Frey boys are back," Rodrik said. "They brought a message from the old man."
"Let them in," Alaric said, closing the System screen.
Lothar Frey walked in alone this time. He didn't have his brother Stevron with him. He looked around the tent, his eyes lingering on the Blood Knights in the corners. He seemed a bit more confident now, probably emboldened by his father's walls and the river at their back.
"Commander Alaric," Lothar said, bowing slightly. "Lord Walder has considered your request. He is a man of peace and hospitality. He invites you to the Twins tonight for a feast. He says that over bread and salt, you can discuss the price of the bridge and the terms of our alliance."
Alaric looked at the man's oily face. He knew exactly what "terms" Walder wanted. He wanted marriages, power, and to keep his foot in both camps.
"A feast," Alaric repeated. He thought of the Blood-Oath Chalice sitting in his inventory. "Tell Lord Walder I accept. I will come tonight."
Lothar's smile widened, looking greasy in the dim light. "Excellent. He also asks that you bring your high-ranking officers. He wants to meet the men leading the North."
"I'll bring who I choose," Alaric said. "Tell him to have the wine ready."
Lothar bowed again and hurried out. Once the tent flap closed, Ser Rodrik stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on the pommel of his sword.
"You aren't seriously going in there alone, are you?" Rodrik asked, his voice low and worried. "Walder Frey is a man who breaks his word as easily as he breaks wind."
Alaric stood up and stretched his shoulders. "I'm not going alone, Rodrik. I'm taking five of my knights with me."
Rodrik looked at the giant, red-armored figures. "Only five? Against hundreds of Freys?"
"Five is enough," Alaric said. "You stay here. Keep the army ready. If you hear the horns or see fire, bring the walls down."
Rodrik didn't like it, but he knew better than to argue when Alaric had that look in his eyes. He nodded stiffly and walked out to give the orders.
...
The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the camp in a thick, chilly darkness. Torches flickered outside the tent, casting long, dancing shadows against the canvas walls.
Alaric finished fastening his heavy leather belt. He wore his finest clothes—black wool and dark furs that made him look more like a lord than a ward.
///
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