Gasi

By the time my forces had neared Duskendale, my army had swelled to some 16,000 Troops, mostly levies from my defeated foes who I had retrained to be pikemen and crossbowmen. My force was light on the Heavy Cavalry, but it didn't need them as much as it needed the Hussar style cavalry I had been fielding. I briefly toyed with the Idea of adding wings to 250 of my best Hussar style cavalry and training them up in my basic three to form Winged Hussars, my Polish roots from back on Earth showing through. However I decided that such was impractical on the march and that I had already spent too much time retraining troops I had inherited from defeated enemies.

When the army was about half a day's march from Duskendale, I received a raven from Lord Stannis, he had, it seemed taken Storm's End the day I had obtained the surrender of Rook's Rest and Lord Staunton by nighttime assault. Two days after that he fought a pitched battle outside the gates of Storm's End and had captured Renly. It seemed that even with all the might of the Stormlands and Reach behind him, Renly was still an utter fool when it came to fighting or tactics. When he heard Stannis had taken Storm's End, he rushed ahead of his main force with All 20,000 of his Cavalry, right into fieldworks Stannis had prepared and right into the jaws of several scorpions Stannis had with him, the repeating kind that Pylos had been working on when I left Dragonstone. Most of the Flower of Reach chivalry lay dead, including the much vaunted Loras Tyrell who foolhardily charged a scorpion position and took a steel bolt through his sternum for his trouble. Pylos had made some fairly nasty weapons it seemed. Renly was captured, along with most of the other knights who made it to the field works. Currently Stannis was in talks with Mace Tyrell to bend the knee and all of the Stormlords had defected to his side. However Mace Tyrell was being stubborn and refusing to let go of his 80,000 remaining troops under Randyll Tarly that were concentrated on the border of the Stormlands. Further complicating the issue was that Mace refused to negotiate face to face and only would speak via raven. Stannis feared he would need to leave around half his troops, around 20,000 to garrison the castles along the Reach Border.

I sent my reply to him, stating that I had around 16,000 with the potential to recruit more after taking Duskendale, and telling him the news about the army that had been mustered there under Lord Renfryd Rykker and Ser Boros Blount. I told him my suspicions about the Spider having absconded from the Capitol in advance of our armies linking up and besieging it, and told him I could only speculate about where he was, though I stated that Pentos was probably a good bet since I had heard he had contacts there. After that I looked at my stats. From all the battles I had been waging I had gained five levels and had about 25 points to spend in Stats.

"Status" I said

I saw that my INT was 1 point away from Superhuman levels and immediately boosted it., leaving me with 24 stat points and a notice for the Superhuman Intelligence perk which gave me an additional +250 MP. I then put 2 points into STR, 1 into DEX, and 5 into VIT, since I needed to maintain my edge now that that fucking comet was going to start juicing up all my opponents and that would bring them all up to 70. The rest I split between INT, WIS, and LUK, with INT getting a further 4, WIS getting 5, and LUK getting 7. That bit of management done, I went to oversee our camp for the night. I always took a page out of the Roman Legion's books and had my army build a fortified night camp, with ditches, earthworks, and stakes. I also posted sentries on regular patrols, with a regular rotation. No sense getting ambushed in the middle of the night if you could help it, after all. It hadn't happened yet, but that was likely because the defenses made it a dicey prospect. . .I hoped.

That finished, I ate my evening meal, pored over the battle plan with my captains, and prepared for the battle we would be marching into tomorrow. The plan was simple enough, I was going for the Old Cannae trick that Hannibal had used back on old Earth, and unlike poor old Lord Eustace, my troops were disciplined and trained enough to pull it off. Just in case, though I had made sure to leave a ready reserve of troops that could shore up the line if a hole was punched through it. As I explained the plan to my captains, some of them voiced concerns.

"But won't weakening the center allow them to more easily break through like we did at Dyre Den?" asked Jayce of Brown Moor, the captain for my militia archers.

"You'd think that, but for two things. One, our troops are not green, barely trained, and poorly equipped levies. We made sure of that when we stopped our march for those few weeks to train our new recruits up to snuff and make sure nobody was getting rusty. And two, as you'll note from the map, I've denoted a ready reserve to be committed in case of a potential enemy breakthrough. If it looks like a part of the center is about to fail, the reserve will be committed to ensure that doesn't happen and our plan remains viable." I replied.

"But what of the enemy commanders? Lord Rykker and Ser Boros both fought in the Rebellion, surely they won't fall for this tactic?" Asked Ser Damion Waters, commander of one of my pike columns.

"Their army is filled with not only every young noble in the Crownlands just itching to get their first taste of glory, but also some of the worst scum of the slums of Duskendale and Flea Bottom. I doubt their force has the restraint to avoid attacking a perceived weak point, even if their commanders have more sense. Besides, rumor is after my thrashing him in the Hand's Tourney, Ser Boros has taken to training quite seriously. It seems he did not appreciate being bested by someone who was barely a man grown in front of the entire court and has something of a fixation on defeating me. If I'm in the center with the troops, that's where he will lead, mark my words," I grinned.

That seemed to assuage their concerns and soon the meeting broke up as the individual captains went to go see to their troops, leaving me with my thoughts and a small goblet of wine. Back home, on Earth, I was never much of a wine drinker, preferring Scotch or dark beer if I was feeling like not drinking whiskey. However the standards of brewing in Westeros were almost non-existent outside the bigger cities, who all had different standards for how things should be brewed. In fact the only consistently standardized brewing process seemed to be the wine industry, potentially because a lot of the production was in the Free Cities who seemed to generally have a more renaissance level of technological and societal sophistication, as opposed to the more medieval Westeros. I knew that was something that Pylos was trying to fix in Dragonstone, and that I had started working on in the Point before the war, but with the war now going on, and the likely invasion of the White Walkers soon to happen, it seemed a distant concern. Alas for my poor whiskey, it seemed like I may not get the chance to standardize brewing enough that it would be safe to drink whatever spirits come out of the still.

As I was pondering over the implications of brewing quality in Westeros, a man entered my tent. He was dressed as one of the squires that accompanied the hedge knights we had picked up on our march here, but was clearly too old to be a mere squire. Alarm bells were ringing.

"Can I help you?" I asked, casually placing my hand on the pommel of my sword so as to appear non-threatening but ready to draw at a moment's notice.

"I'm sorry." said the man, right before producing a hidden stiletto from the sleeve of his doublet and charging me.

Battle Precognition warned be about the incoming strike as it unfolded, allowing me to dodge the thrust with alacrity the assassin clearly wasn't expecting, bumping into the table my goblet was on and spilling wine all over the floor. As he turned to face me I unleashed a Meisterhau at him, not caring about the MP cost or about taking him alive for questioning. If his declaration was any indication, this was a Sorrowful Man, and would have been trained not to break in the face of interrogation. The Meisterhau caught the assassin as he attempted to slice my throat open with the stiletto, taking the assassin's knife arm off at the shoulder. Unlike in dungeons, this foe was a real person, and the blood was copious. The floor of my tent now had two puddles, one of wine and one of blood. The assassin immediately started going into shock and died soon after. I looked down at the floor, there was a field mouse drinking the spilled wine. It turned to scamper off as it noticed me looking at it, but it's movements were sluggish. Somehow the bastard of an assassin had drugged my wine. That's why he was expecting a slow reaction to his attack. Only my thoughts on brewing standards had prevented me from drinking it and potentially dying a horrible death.

It was at that moment that the camp guards burst in after hearing a noise. "Someone has sent me a Sorrowful Man and I think I know who it was. Prepare an assembly for the first thing in the morning and post two sentries outside my tent. Also find out which jug this wine came from and dispose of it, it was drugged and I will not risk it being drunk by accident," I said, voice cold as ice. The guards hurried off to do as I had ordered and I sat on my camp bed clenching and unclenching my fists. I was furious, but Gamer's Mind soon calmed me down. Tomorrow morning, I would speak to my troops, and then we would enter battle with the last force between us and King's Landing.

XXXX

Early the next morning I stood on a raised platform in the middle of the camp, as thousands of troops stood in ranks at parade rest. I grabbed a bloodied cloth sack lying on a platform and pulled out the severed head of the Sorrowful Man before tossing it to the ground before the podium.

"The Lannister dogs sent a Sorrowful Man to kill me last night." I began. I could hear the murmurs from the crowd. "That is his head, the head of the man who drugged my wine and tried to slip a dagger into my gullet. As you can see, he failed and now I know why the Lannisters sent him. Would you all like to know why?" I shouted the last bit. Shouts of assent came from the crowd as I waited for the troops to quiet before responding. "Because the Lannisters are afraid! Afraid of me, afraid of you, afraid that our army is going to knock down their force of tin soldiers and green boys like the curs they are and then kick in their door! Afraid that we will win! Afraid for their very LIVES!" I shouted.

A spontaneous bout of cheering erupted before swiftly quieting down. "However, these Lannisters don't know what fear really is, so, I say to you, my mighty army, that we shall remind them of what it feels like to live in fear! We will remind them of the sound our jackboots make against their throats! We will become the embodiment of the fury of the very gods to them! We will do exactly what they fear! We will smash their army! We will take Duskendale for our own! We will absolutely kick in their door! And we will round up all of the Lannisters present within that viper's pit known as King's Landing, and we will present them to Lord Stannis! And do you know what Lord Stannis will do?" Cheers and shouts of "What will he do!" erupted from the crowd. "Lord Stannis will put them on trial, he will list their crimes, numerous as they are, he will find them guilty, and he will execute them, not with a sword, as is custom for nobles, but hanging them by the neck until dead! Hung, like some common thief! And we will be the catalyst for all of it! Troops! Soldiers! Friends! Let us clear the way!" I shouted.

Loud cheers erupted from from the massed troops. Shouts of "IRONS!" and chants of "STANNIS STANNIS STANNIS!" interspersed equally with each other. I stepped down from the podium and fell in amongst my pikemen, the troops broke into column and prepared to march, spirits high from the speech and ready to kick some ass. We marched to Duskendale, and to vengeance.