The territory ruled by the Lord of the Wolf Pack Company stretched across two of the Stepstones, a long peninsula of the Disputed Lands, and several scattered estates beyond the mainland. It was a sprawling domain—rich, productive, and full of opportunity—yet dangerously fragile.
Most regions along western Essos were known for fertile soil and abundant harvests, and the Wolf Pack's lands were no exception. But compared to places fortified by mountains, deep rivers, or vast forests, this region lacked natural defenses. There were no high ridges to slow an enemy's march, no deep valleys to funnel opponents, and no strategic depth to fall back to in case of retreat. Every battle fought here had to be won outright; even a single defeat could shatter the entire line.
And beyond these borders, the world was changing.
A single slogan—"Freedom! Liberate the slaves!"—had spread across the Disputed Lands like wildfire. The Free Army's rallying cry, "Break the Chains," was repeated from village to village, whispered in slave quarters, shouted by rebels, and scrawled on walls in the towns of the Three Daughters and even Volantis.
Escaped slaves arrived every day—some from the Disputed Lands, others from the banks of the mighty Rhoyne, and others who fled faraway plantations and workshops. These desperate masses saw Gendry as "the liberator," the one man bold enough to confront centuries of cruelty.
Their numbers were swelling. Their momentum was undeniable. Their hope was becoming a force of its own.
But not everyone saw this rise with admiration.
The Magisters of Myr, Tyrosh, Lys, and even the ruling Triarchs of Volantis were deeply alarmed. Their political systems—often ruled by councils or democratic assemblies—were slow and indecisive. Endless debates, divided power, and political maneuvering clogged every decision.
In contrast, the Wolf Pack Company possessed one rare advantage: clear orders and absolute unity under Gendry's command.
---
Inside Gendry's War Tent
The interior of the Commander-in-Chief's tent was buzzing with heated debate. Maps were spread across the table, ink bottles stood uncapped, and carved wooden markers indicated enemy positions.
Brightly colored Myrish tapestries hung on the walls, and the aroma of fresh Dornish blood oranges filled the tent. Some oranges had been sliced open, their thick red juice staining the plates like drops of fresh blood—a fitting symbol for the war looming ahead.
Gendry, Maester Qyburn, the Handsome Man, Longspear, the Arrow Maker, and several high-ranking captains gathered around the table.
The first words came from the Handsome Man as he read a new report aloud.
"Myr has begun preparing for a second campaign. Their first defeat was painful but not fatal. This time, more Magisters have united to launch a full assault."
The others nodded grimly. Myrish slavers had long dominated the region with brutality and arrogance. They had whipped countless slaves, ripped families apart, and treated human lives as expendable property. Now, having the tables turned terrified them.
"They won't allow their world to crumble without a fight," the Handsome Man added.
On a nearby table rested a letter hidden inside a hollowed-out blood orange—an unexpected gift from the Red Viper of Dorne.
Gendry unrolled the parchment again.
"'Beware of the Myrish's gifts,'" he read. "It appears the Myrish have contacted Dorne and several other city-states. This message is a warning—and a gesture of goodwill."
Qyburn nodded. "Our informants had already uncovered some of this, but Prince Oberyn's warning means he is willing to cooperate. That is worth noting."
---
Mercenaries in Motion
The tent fell into a tense silence when the Handsome Man continued reading the intelligence report.
"Myr is trying to recruit every Mercenary company in the Disputed Lands—big or small, reputable or infamous. They have approached the Golden Company, the Cat's Company, the Windblown, the Spear Company, the Stormcrows, and even the nearly defunct Second Sons."
The Arrow Maker let out a cynical laugh.
"They must be desperate if they're trying to hire Bloodbeard's animals or the Second Sons. Those groups would sell their own mothers for a gold coin."
Longspear leaned forward, speaking with the calm seriousness of a cavalry commander.
"Even the worst Mercenary company can still fight. The Cat's Company has over three thousand men. The Windblown are dangerous cavalry. And the Second Sons, though few, are veteran killers."
Everyone then turned to the question that mattered most:
"What of the Golden Company?"
The Golden Company—the most feared and disciplined Mercenary force in all of Essos—could shift the balance of the entire war.
Qyburn tapped the map with a long ink-stained finger.
"They are observing for now. Their demanded payment is enormous—even the Myrish Magisters struggle to afford it. Also, the Golden Company is unwilling to attack the Wolf Pack directly. At most, they might agree to defend the city-states for a limited period."
"So they haven't taken a side," Gendry said thoughtfully. "If they join us, they gain a future ally for a Westeros campaign. If they join Myr, they secure a fortune."
The Handsome Man asked, "Should we send envoys to negotiate with them?"
Gendry shook his head.
"No. The leaders of the Golden Company aren't fools—they understand the stakes."
---
The Policy of Liberation
Gendry took a deep breath before speaking again. His voice carried the weight of leadership, seriousness, and grim foresight.
"What I'm about to say may not be pleasant, but it is crucial for the survival of our cause."
Everyone straightened.
"Our foundation in the Disputed Lands is built upon liberation—not endless slaughter. Yes, slavers must fall. But reckless killing will only unite our enemies faster. We must not alienate skilled workers or peaceful slaver families who can be persuaded or integrated."
He pointed to the map.
"If we conduct ourselves with discipline and restraint, we divide the enemy. If we slaughter indiscriminately, we unite them against us."
War is politics. And politics requires both decisive blows and careful compromise.
The officers saluted.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief!"
"At your command!"
Gendry continued:
"We must also strengthen the Free Army. Numbers alone do not win wars—training, discipline, and loyalty do."
He outlined the new training reforms:
Wolf Pack warriors would train elite northern-style knights and longbowmen.
A new infantry corps would adopt Unsullied-style phalanx discipline.
Bandits or violent slave-gangs attempting to exploit the chaos would be punished severely.
All recruits, whether escaped slaves or wandering mercenaries, would undergo strict evaluation.
"A disciplined army will outmatch a chaotic horde every time," Gendry concluded.
---
A Crown Offered
Then came a moment that changed the atmosphere inside the tent.
The Handsome Man cleared his throat.
"There is another matter, Commander-in-Chief. Many Free Folk and Wolf Pack soldiers have petitioned for you to be crowned King of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands."
The words dropped like a stone into deep water.
Several officers exchanged worried glances. Some looked hopeful, others afraid. Their military victories had forged a legend around Gendry, and with legend came ambition—both from him and from the people.
Gendry raised a hand and spoke firmly.
"Not now. To claim a crown prematurely is to make ourselves a target for every city-state in Essos."
He touched one of the blood oranges, its red flesh gleaming like a warning.
"I would love a crown one day. But that day is not today. For now, we build walls, we store grain, and we expand quietly. If I put on a crown now, every Magister, every slaver, every Triarch, and every Mercenary company would unite to destroy us."
The Handsome Man exhaled in relief.
"We all support your decision, Commander-in-Chief."
Qyburn nodded.
"Wisely said. We have not yet taken enough territory. Not the Stepstones in full, nor a single major city. A crown now would be a mistake."
---
The Calm Before the Storm
The meeting continued for another hour, filled with logistical discussions, scouting reports, supply chain planning, and reinforcement routes across the Stepstones. Outside the tent, soldiers trained with renewed intensity, while new recruits lined up for weapon distribution. Blacksmiths hammered out fresh blades, and Dornish merchants unloaded crates of blood oranges on the docks—half fruit, half hidden messages.
War was coming.
Myr was preparing.
The Wolf Pack Company was preparing.
And the Disputed Lands—long known for chaos—were about to witness a conflict that would reshape their fate forever.
Yet within Gendry burned the spark of something greater.
He turned once more to the blood-red crown sketched on the map.
Not yet.
But soon.
The storm had already begun.
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