On the training grounds of Firegrass Manor, under the fluttering banners of the Wolf Pack and the Free Army, a dozen men cheered as one man sparred against a group. Gendry, wearing a simple black-studded vest embroidered with a direwolf, faced Longspear, Steel-Fist, and several of his Unsullied guards.
"Come on, then!" he yelled, urging them to unleash a wilder, more brutal assault. The song of steel rang out, a melody of blunted swords and spears against Gendry's oak shield. He had to remain calm, firm, dodging and parrying every attack. Longspear's weapon was a striking viper, and the Unsullied moved with a perfect, disciplined unison.
He blocked the most lethal blows aimed at his vital points, absorbing the lesser strikes on his plate armor as he pressed his attack. There were flaws in his opponents' coordination, small gaps in their rhythm, and he exploited every one. He caught Longspear's spearhead, broke his opponent's momentum, and knocked him off balance. He parried a whistling blow from Steel-Fist, then brought his warhammer crashing down on the man's shield until it shattered.
Finally, only the Unsullied remained. They were formidable opponents, their bodies hardened by brutal training and the courage-inducing "wine of courage," their nerves dead to pain. Gendry fought fiercely, his agility, strength, and seemingly endless stamina eventually allowing him to gain the upper hand, defeating them one by one.
He stood victorious in the center of the disheveled training ground. He could feel the Storm's Blood in his veins, a slow, steady burn. He was growing stronger, but he knew he was approaching a bottleneck. To break through, he would need to face more formidable opponents. For now, the benefits were clear: his strength and speed were increasing, and in the heat of battle, a rage would descend upon him, fueling his attacks with a ferocious power.
"Excellent work, Commander!" his men cheered. "Long live the Liberator!"
Gendry smiled, helping the Unsullied to their feet. "The Commander is a born warrior," Handsome commented. "In all the stories I have heard, perhaps only Cregan Stark was your equal."
"The Wolf of Winterfell?" Gendry asked, his interest piqued.
"Aye," Handsome confirmed. "Besides being a shrewd commander, he was the greatest swordsman of his age. A pity his heir died in Dorne, leading to chaos in the North for generations. We all thought the 'Wild Wolf,' Brandon Stark, would restore his glory, but he was burned alive by the Mad King."
"The Wild Wolf was much stronger than Lord Eddard," Longspear interjected. "Handsome and fierce, with the blood of the direwolf in his veins."
"Do you still miss the North?" Gendry asked, his question cutting to the heart of the matter.
"The North is our homeland," one of the older men replied, "but the Disputed Lands are our home now. We no longer serve House Stark."
As they were talking, Qyburn appeared. Their guest had arrived. Gendry's feigned negotiations with the other sellsword companies had borne fruit. By pointedly avoiding the Golden Company, he had forced their hand.
Their envoy was a peculiar Volantene named Gorlys Edoryn, the company's treasurer and de facto second-in-command. He was gaunt, with oily, blood-red hair, and a leopard skin draped over one shoulder. The golden armbands he wore were priceless, each one representing a year of service in the company.
"Welcome, friend of the Golden Company," Qyburn greeted him warmly, but the envoy sensed a strange, cool atmosphere in the tent. The Wolf Pack's commanders did not seem enthusiastic.
"I come with an offer of friendship," Gorlys said. "Our captain wishes to cooperate with the Lord of the Wolf Pack."
"How so?" Gendry asked, his face hidden behind his iron mask.
"You want the Disputed Lands," Gorlys stated. "We want to return to Westeros. It is a win-win."
Laughter erupted in the tent. "Dear envoy," Handsome said, "we have no ships, and not enough men. An assault on Westeros is madness."
"We have ten thousand men," Gorlys declared, "the largest and best-equipped mercenary company in the world. Five hundred knights, and war elephants. And you, Commander, can gather another five thousand."
"We would need an entire pirate fleet to transport such an army," Gendry pointed out. "And the lords of the Seven Kingdoms are not so easily defeated."
"The sea is not so wide," the treasurer insisted. "If Maelys the Monstrous could do it, so can we. We are not short on money."
"This plan is too risky," Gendry said, shaking his head. "The Reach and the Westerlands are rich and powerful." The envoy's face began to sour. This was not going as he had planned.
"However," Gendry said suddenly, offering a sliver of hope, "there is a simpler option. Myr has hired the Company of the Cat and the Second Sons to attack us. You could attack their rear. If you win, you will have your gold, and the Three Daughters will be even more reliant on your protection."