Then, a group of soldiers' crude curses rang out.
Sir Gales Legge was brought in. After the city gate was breached, he was surrounded by the army. To protect his family, he chose to surrender.
However, he had killed many of Arthur's soldiers in battle, so the soldiers did not give him a good look.
At this moment, his face was ashen, and he said nothing, only using his body to tightly shield his equally terrified wife and three children behind him.
The two older daughters hid behind their mother, while the youngest son was held in her arms, looking at this unfamiliar world with bewildered eyes.
Arthur looked at the man who had fought bravely at the city gate, saying neither mocking nor comforting words.
He turned to the guards and ordered, "Take Sir Gales and his family away as well. Arrange a separate room, assign guards, and ensure their food and safety."
Gales looked up at Arthur, his gaze complex. Finally, he silently followed the guards away.
The hall became empty, with only the crackling sound of burning torches. Arthur walked back up the steps and sat back in the chair that belonged to Roger Legge.
He intertwined his fingers and placed them in front of him.
Could Roger Legge's wife and brother make trouble from this?
A gust of wind swept in, and Arthur looked up to see Lucien striding into the temporarily requisitioned hall.
The strap of his helmet was loose, and his armor was stained with mud, but his face held a near-excited elation.
"Lord Arthur!" His voice echoed through the hall, drowning out the sporadic noises of soldiers cleaning the battlefield outside.
Arthur looked at him and smiled, knowing good news must be coming: "Finished counting?"
Lucien strode to the foot of the steps, his body trembling slightly with excitement: "Finished, Lord Arthur, you simply cannot imagine!"
"I have never seen so much grain! My Lord!"
"Granaries! We found three main granaries! The grain inside is piled like small mountains! And there's cured meat and salted fish! Hanging throughout an entire storeroom!"
He caught his breath, too excited to speak. For farmers, seeing countless amounts of grain was undoubtedly the most exhilarating thing.
"Enough for all of us! To eat our fill for half a year! Maybe even more!"
Arthur stood up and walked down the steps, lost in thought. After a moment, Lucien felt strange and was about to speak when he finally issued an order:
"Very good."
"Pass down the order: except for no alcohol, have the soldiers drag out the captured cured meat and roast it outside the inner castle's moat. Enjoy yourselves tonight, eat until you're full."
"Also, how are the armaments?"
When Lucien heard about the armaments, his excitement surged again: "Yes! Armaments!"
"The Legge Family's armory! It's simply a treasure! Besides their own four hundred-plus standardized armaments with their family crest! There are countless miscellaneous weapons!"
Arthur stood up and let Lucien lead him towards the armory. In wartime, nothing was more important than armaments.
The armory's large doors were wide open, and a mixed scent of rust, leather, and decay assailed them.
Soldiers were busy sorting and moving weapons and armor out, piling them in the courtyard.
Under the sunlight, the cold black iron reflected dazzling light.
Arthur's gaze swept over the piled-up spoils of war, and his eyes lit up.
Even gold dragons couldn't excite him this much, but armaments could.
He saw rows of uniform kite shields, emblazoned with the Legge Family's green weeping willow flag, countless exquisitely crafted chainmails, at least several hundred sets, and even a few full-plate armors.
Arthur walked to a pile of jumbled weapons, casually picked up a longsword, and swung it. He then picked up a piece of chainmail. This armor had reinforced shoulders and chest with tanned hard leather, roughly made but practical.
His army, until yesterday, most of them were still wearing worn-out cloth clothes and holding rusty farm tools.
But now, everything before them was enough to transform them completely.
Arthur didn't look at Lucien. He tossed the sword in his hand, his voice clear and decisive: "Lucien."
"Pick out the best armor and weapons, prioritize equipping my veterans."
"Those that are still usable, distribute them to the strong soldiers, let them replace their old rags."
He paused, pointing to a pile of blood-stained, possibly damaged and old equipment that had just been stripped from Legge Family soldiers.
"Those that can be repaired and still used, give them to the weaker soldiers."
"At least, they must each have a decent spear and a shield."
"Yes, Lord Arthur!" Lucien responded.
"It seems our people no longer have to face the enemy's blades with their flesh and blood."
Arthur's gaze swept over the soldiers who were gleefully choosing weapons, and he smiled. It still had to be taking from others, that's the feeling.
In just one afternoon, Arthur's army completed its re-equipping.
Those once ragged soldiers were now clad in armor, holding weapons at least suitable for military combat.
When they stood together, at least from their attire, they no longer faintly resembled peasant soldiers.
As night fell, dozens of bonfires were lit in the open space outside the inner castle. Large pieces of roasted meat sizzled over the fires, fat dripping, igniting bursts of flames and rich aroma.
The soldiers gathered around the bonfires, eating meat heartily and laughing loudly, celebrating this miraculous victory.
Meanwhile, the defenders in the inner castle watched them, swallowing mouthfuls of saliva. There had been chaos at the time, and they hadn't brought much food. Now, with everything collected and distributed, each person could only eat a small bite.
The sounds of celebration and the tempting aroma of meat, like invisible siege weapons, repeatedly pounded on the inner castle defenders' fragile nerves.
Arthur did not participate in the revelry outside. He sat in the brightly lit hall, with the final inventory of assets laid out before him. It was a thick roll of parchment, produced by a captured, literate castle steward.
When Lucien presented the parchment, his hands even trembled slightly from excitement. Arthur said nothing, took the heavy roll of parchment, and slowly unrolled it.
His gaze swept across the beginning. The parchment recorded wealth item by item in crooked common script.
Over a thousand spears, over five hundred swords and knives, over four hundred sets of chainmail, sixteen sets of plate armor...
His fingers continued to slide down, seeing more astonishing entries: glassware, tapestries, jewelry, and various valuables scavenged from all over the outer castle.
These numbers made Arthur's breathing quicken slightly. He took a deep breath, wondering how much more was in the inner castle's treasury.
It still has to be war...
There's no faster way than plundering others' possessions.
Cultivate and fight, fight and cultivate, become Ironborn, become barbarians.
At the end of the list was a separate notebook. The steward had used red ink to specially mark a line at the very top.
"Kings Road Tolls and Merchant Caravan Contributions Account."
Arthur's pupils slightly contracted as he looked at the content.
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