Game of Thrones: From a deserter to a high-ranking official

Chapter 67 Tiberius: But they have!

The stench of blood was so strong it was almost tangible, mixed with the smell of dirt and death, lingering in the air above the arena.

The soldiers of the Lightning Squad began to silently clean up the battlefield, as if the massacre was just another task that had to be completed.

After a deathly silence in the stands, a suppressed commotion arose. Several noblewomen, dressed in luxurious silk and adorned with precious jewels, their faces ashen, tightly covered their mouths and noses with exquisitely embroidered handkerchiefs, their gazes toward the twelve-year-old boy in the center of the field filled with undisguised disgust and fear.

A slightly bolder noblewoman finally couldn't hold back any longer and rebuked in a trembling but still sharp voice: "You...you little monster! You have no mercy or justice at all! The gods will curse you!" Her voice sounded particularly jarring in the silence of the audience after the battle.

Tiberius had just pulled the javelin from the ground and was wiping the blood off the tip with a rag.

Hearing the rebuke, he paused, then shrugged indifferently. He looked up at the lady, his face showing no anger at being offended, only an almost bored calm.

He raised his javelin, not pointing it at the noblewoman, but casually at Mario Ferrero and his friends, who had just fled in a sorry state and were now being wiped of blood with silk and scarves by Lord Gasto Ferrero and being fussed over by his servants.

"Yes, madam." Tiberius's voice was clear and calm, even carrying a touch of youthful naiveté. "You are right, I may indeed lack some... what you define as kindness and justice."

He abruptly changed the subject, his tone turning coldly sarcastic: "But they do."

He shrugged again, the boy talking about the massacre as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

"How 'merciful' they are, mercifully letting their 'highly skilled' soldiers charge at our spears without any strategy, generously sacrificing themselves."

"They were also incredibly 'righteous,' righteously gathering more than 700 'warriors' to 'fairly' confront us, more than 300 former slaves who were not long ago toiling for food in the mines and farming in the sugarcane fields."

"In the end, they were exceptionally 'generous' and let me go, 'allowing' me, a lowly mercenary, to live and stand here to listen to your teachings."

Every word he uttered was like a silent slap in the face to those spectators who had just been cheering for Mario and the others. The noblewoman was speechless, her face turning pale and then red.

"And one more thing," Tiberius said rather coldly, pointing his javelin towards the sky. "If you may, during tonight's prayers, I beg you to speak to the gods about something..."

"Tell them to mind their own business!"

The moment those words were spoken, the stands fell silent.

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The soldiers of the Lightning Legion followed Tiberius's instructions: to cut off heads as proof of their merits. However, they later discovered that there were too many heads, so they had to use ears instead.

Lisanro wiped the ornately decorated sword in his hand clean with his cloak: he had killed two people on the battlefield and even charged to the front of the Lightning Legion.

However, Lisanro, who had just been considered brave, finally couldn't bear it when he looked around at the twisted and mutilated corpses, the indifferent soldiers of the Lightning Legion, and the Dothraki hanging enemy heads from their waists; he knelt down and vomited.

"Young Master Lisangluo." A hand supported him.

It was Tiberius who handed Lisanlo a bottle of water.

"Rinse your mouth," Tippi said in a low voice.

But to Tiberius’s surprise, Lisanro suddenly jumped up, a mixture of fear, excitement and a great sense of accomplishment surging into his heart.

He rinsed his mouth, then straightened up, looked at Tiberius, his eyes bloodshot with excitement, his voice hoarse but filled with uncontrollable ecstasy:

"Tiberius, we won! We won! We're alive! Holy crap! Hahahaha! Look at Mario, that idiot!"

Tiberius looked at his spoiled friend with a sense of helplessness, but secretly he was pleased.

[Now I can say I'm not going to the front lines in Valantis!] Tiberius suddenly thought to himself.

In the stands, Jules Maud stood with his arms crossed, silently watching the brutal cleanup work being carried out by the Lightning Team. His face remained expressionless, but deep in his eyes, a barely perceptible hint of appreciation and pride flickered.

He turned to his closest old comrades: Vito, old Tom, Calvin, Leon… and said in a low, firm voice:

"Now I can speak." He paused, his gaze once again falling on Tiberius's thin yet remarkably upright figure.

"He, Tiberius Mode, is no longer just a clever, lucky kid. He stands here today, having commanded a real battle and won it. He is truly a commander now."

He admitted it somewhat cautiously, but his tone left no room for argument.

"Although still quite inexperienced and using rather ruthless methods... and ultimately, this is nothing more than a 'bloody battle' limited by rules, on a small scale, and primarily for entertainment..."

Jules's gaze swept over the corpses scattered on the ground, his voice carrying the caution characteristic of a veteran.

"But regardless, it was a real battle. It was a test of iron and blood, of life and death. He made it through, and he did it... beautifully. Fantastic!"

Then, he straightened his back and said to the veterans of the White Legion, "The future of the White Legion is in his hands; there won't be any problems!"

Vito and his men realized that Jules really wanted to pass the reins of the White Army to him.

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That night, the "bloody battle" between Lisanro and Mario swept through Ries's upper class and mercenary circles like wildfire.

The Rogal family's prestige naturally reached an unprecedented peak due to the glorious victories of Lisanro and the "Lightning Brigade." Now everyone was talking about the great Lisanro and his outstanding son, Lisanro.

However, in the taverns and camps where professional mercenary leaders and veteran soldiers gathered in private, the focus of discussion was almost entirely on one name—Tiberius Maud, Jules Maud's nephew.

"That Tiberius Mode... Jules the Keeper of the Faith's nephew!" A scarred old mercenary named Habroy took a big gulp of ale and shook his head incredulously.

"Damn! This is unbelievable! Jules himself is a tough guy, but his nephew is even tougher than his uncle! And even more bizarre! Although Lisandro Rogar claims it was his son's 'strategy,' we all know what really happened! It's all that kid Morde's doing! First, he solved the cannibalism case at Bloodwave Point, and then he killed Jon Starr of the Second Sons with javelins and oars!"

"I was there at the time!" another mercenary captain said, gesturing wildly with spittle flying.

"How did his 'Lightning Squad' fight? It wasn't fighting, it was fucking crushing! They shredded Mario's seven hundred-plus men like they were grinding wheat with a millstone! At first, those idiots thought he was cowardly... Pshaw! Backing himself against the stone wall to prevent the enemy from attacking from behind, with wagons and spearmen in front, it seemed cowardly, but it worked! This kid was being mocked by everyone, but he calmly continued to execute his plan! Such patience. Truly terrifying!"

"Moreover, his Lightning Legion: the crossbowmen were steady, the spearmen were ruthless and tough, and the Dothraki charge was a stroke of genius! Most importantly, the Lightning Legion's formation never faltered from beginning to end!"

"A diagonal attack! The most crucial one is the diagonal attack on the left flank!" A commander who looked more composed dipped his finger in alcohol and drew a diagram on the wooden table.

"See that? Like this, concentrate the main force on one side, then charge in from a 45-degree angle! After securing the flank, immediately launch a devastating attack on the center and right flank... Beautiful! Incredibly clean and efficient! The timing was fucking perfect! It was like a vicious left hook, hitting the opponent right where it hurts!" His eyes gleamed with excitement and admiration. "I really don't know what Jules fed him!"

"What's most impressive is that he dared to fight like that! When the left flank launched a full-scale attack, the center and right flanks were relatively weak, yet he didn't collapse! What does that show? It shows that he has absolute control over his troops and his judgment of the battlefield situation is frighteningly sophisticated!"

"I heard that his soldiers were slaves in the mines and manor of the Luo Jiaer family just three months ago?" someone asked in a low voice, with an incredulous tone.

"To train slaves like that in such a short time... this kid isn't just ruthless, he's a fucking devil! Did he learn the Unsullied training methods? Did Jules teach him?"

"Regardless of who he used, slaves or free men," Habroy, who spoke first, slammed down his glass and concluded, "his battle today was impeccable. Absolutely brilliant! I dare say it here and now, just what he displayed in today's 'bloody battle'—the discipline, the formation changes, the timing, and the perfectly timed diagonal attack… many old guys who've spent over a decade in this hellhole of a disputed land, risking their lives for a living, couldn't even pull off something like that!"

"Jules Moder... Humph!" He slammed his wine glass down on the table with a hint of jealousy.

"What a wonderful nephew!"