Lushen's face didn't flush with rage; it went cold as iron.
He tightened his grip on his sword hilt. He wasn't angry at the insult to himself—he had been a peasant all his life; insults were as common as rain. He was angry because Solomon had given an order, and this man was treating it like a joke.
Disobedience spreads like rot, Lushen thought. Cut it out before it infects the whole limb.
"What is your name?" Lushen asked, his voice flat.
The veteran puffed out his chest, grinning at his cronies. "I am Rolf! Rolf of Deddings Town! A veteran of Lord Baron's guard!"
He spat on the ground. "Do you understand that, you mire-rat?"
Rolf's friends laughed, a jeering sound that rippled through the column. The unease was spreading. The levy was watching, sensing weakness.
On his horse, Solomon sighed internally. Disappointing. Lushen is hesitating. I'll have to do it myself before we lose control.
He prepared to spur his horse forward.
But he was wrong.
There was no shout. No theatrical wind-up. No warning.
Lushen stepped forward.
Shing.
Steel flashed in the grey light. It was a single, clean motion—draw and strike in one breath.
Rolf's grin was still plastered on his face as his head separated from his shoulders.
The veteran's body stood for a horrific second, the brain no longer sending signals to the muscles. Then, a fountain of bright arterial blood sprayed into the air, painting the faces of his laughing friends crimson.
Thud.
The head landed in the mud, rolling to a stop at the feet of a terrified conscript. Rolf's eyes stared up at the sky, frozen in eternal surprise. The body crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
Silence slammed into the clearing. It was absolute. Three hundred men stopped breathing. The only sound was the wind and the wet drip of blood from Lushen's blade.
Lushen flicked the sword, sending a spray of red droplets across the dirt. He didn't look at the corpse. He rested the tip of the blade in the mud, leaning on the hilt like a grim statue.
The sun caught the wet steel, flashing red into the eyes of the nearest men. Some fell backward, scrambling away on their hands and knees in pure terror.
Lushen raised his head. His eyes swept over the crowd—cold, dead eyes that promised violence.
"Rolf of Deddings Town," Lushen announced, his voice carrying like a funeral bell. "Disobeyed a direct order during wartime. Penalty: Death."
He sheathed the sword with a sharp clack.
"This is the price of insolence."
He turned his gaze to the stunned levy.
"Now!" Lushen roared, the sound making men jump out of their skins. "Form ranks! One hundred and fifty men to a company! Twenty wide! Move!"
Panic exploded.
But it wasn't the chaotic panic of before. It was the motivated panic of men who realized their lives depended on obedience. Men scrambled into lines. Shoulders bumped, feet shuffled, but within moments, the mob had become a formation.
No one spoke. No one laughed. They stood rigid, eyes locked forward, terrified to even blink.
Solomon watched from his horse, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He did it, Solomon thought, a fierce pride swelling in his chest. He didn't ask permission. He didn't hesitate. He just took the head.
A farmer had died. A soldier had been born.
Lushen and Lauchlan rode back to Solomon, dismounting and dropping to one knee in the mud. Lushen's face was pale, his hands trembling slightly now that the adrenaline was fading.
"My lord," Lushen whispered, keeping his head bowed. "I... I executed a man of House Deddings without trial. punish me."
Lauchlan knelt beside him, silent but supportive.
Solomon looked down at them. He saw the fear in Lushen's eyes—not fear of death, but fear that he had overstepped, that he had caused trouble for his lord.
"Punish you?" Solomon asked softly. "Why?"
"I killed a sworn shield," Lushen said, his voice thick. "He insulted me, yes. But I killed him because he defied you. He defied the order. I wanted them to know... I wanted them to fear your command more than the enemy."
"But I acted without your word. If Lady Roslin demands a head..."
Solomon slid off his horse. He walked over and gripped Lushen's shoulder, pulling him to his feet.
"Look at me," Solomon commanded.
Lushen met his gaze.
"You did not break the law," Solomon said, loud enough for Lauchlan to hear. "You were the law."
"I gave an order: 'Disobedience brings death.' Rolf disobeyed. You were merely the sword in my hand."
Solomon smiled, a genuine, warm expression that transformed his rugged face.
"You acted decisively. You protected my authority when it was fragile. That is not a crime, Lushen. That is merit."
"You and Lauchlan... you are not just guards anymore. You are my officers. You are the pillars of House Bligh. Never apologize for being strong."
Lushen stared at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, my lord. I... I live to serve."
"Good," Solomon said, clapping him on the back. "Because we have a long march ahead. And I have a feeling Rolf won't be the last man we have to kill before this is over."