Solomon looked at the sturdy man in front of him, two meters tall with a tiger's back and a bear's waist. It would be a pity if he died. He didn't speak, constantly pondering.
Bolin refused the recruitment. The surrounding soldiers looked at Solomon; their adrenaline had started to rise again, and the desire for slaughter was soaring.
Solomon sighed and was about to order him to commit suicide, but at this moment, a burst of untimely shouting broke this solemn confrontation.
The captured bandit leaders Thornhead and Broken-Tooth, tortured by soldiers until their bodies were covered with bleeding wounds, were kneeling not far away.
They were shocked to see Solomon revealing an intention to recruit Bolin, who had resisted to the end, and immediately smelled a chance to survive from it.
"Lord Solomon!!! Lord Solomon!!!" Thornhead crawled forward on his knees, sliding out two paths of bloody water on the ground. "We are willing to pledge allegiance!!! We wanted to surrender long ago!!! We are willing to fight for you!!!"
Broken-Tooth followed behind, crying with snivel and tears flowing down his face; he was simply terrified by these lunatics: "It was Bolin! It was all Bolin!!! It was all Bolin, this bastard!"
"We advised him long ago that we are not opponents of the Black Lion! Surrendering to you early could still save our lives!"
"He forced us to resist, my Lord! We hate him to the bone! My Lord!"
Solomon turned to look at them. This really is sending a ladder when one wants to sleep. A mocking faint smile hooked the corner of his mouth. He didn't speak, just raised his chin to Lushen beside him.
Lushen immediately understood. With a wave of his hand, two blood-soaked soldiers stepped forward, dragging the two up from the mud like goods and dragging them in front of Solomon.
Solomon then spoke, asking word by word slowly: "Fighting but not fighting, surrendering but not surrendering, occupying the camp to resist—wasn't it you?"
Being held up, the two hurriedly opened their mouths to explain with confused tones and speeds.
"My Lord! By the Seven! We had the heart to surrender long ago!" Thornhead shouted urgently. "It was really Bolin, this stubborn lunatic! He is the one who hates you and makes an enemy of you! The one who didn't let us surrender to you, my Lord, was exactly him!"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Broken-Tooth echoed, tears mixed with blood sliding down his cheeks. "The Seven as witness! We wanted to send someone to negotiate long ago! But were stopped by Bolin time and again! He hates sacred nobles! We were really forced and helpless!!"
The smile on Solomon's face deepened. He seemed to have heard some interesting joke and shook his head: "Is he your master? Are you his dogs?"
The two were stunned, lowering their heads somewhat ashamedly, knowing the young lord was right. It was clearly they themselves who didn't have a firm stance.
"No, saying that actually overestimates you." The smile on Solomon's face vanished instantly, replaced by a patch of icy indifference.
Solomon calmly pronounced his judgment: "Behead them."
Two such cold words, light and fluttering, yet like two heavy hammers smashing onto Thornhead and Broken-Tooth's hearts. The two looked up, eyes widening.
"Pass the heads to all Military Forts, let the people view them."
The soldiers' arms tightened, dragging the two outward.
Thornhead and Broken-Tooth's brains went blank, then erupted with frantic struggles and roaring.
"Why?!" Broken-Tooth's voice became sharp and ear-piercing, full of incomprehensible despair. "My Lord! Lord Solomon! Why?! That Bolin who resisted to the end can live! We kneel and submit! Yet we must die?!"
"This is unfair! Unfair!" Thornhead's crying turned into screaming. "My Lord! Lord Solomon! Bolin is the one who deserves to die!"
Their questioning echoed over the camp.
Solomon looked at the two people being dragged toward death. His voice wasn't loud, tone calm and gentle, yet allowed everyone around to hear clearly: "Because."
"Whom I let live, lives."
"Whom I let die, dies."
"Power lies with me."
Without dignity, the two struggled desperately on the ground with all their might. Even four soldiers couldn't control them. They kept cursing and begging for mercy, but cursing not Solomon, but Blacksmith Bolin. In their view, their being killed might be reasonable, but the one cutting off their path of life was not Solomon, but Bolin.
Until seeing the four soldiers almost rolling in the bloody mud with the two, unable to stop the chaos, Lushen frowned greatly and went up, kicking the two rolling on the ground fiercely. The two gradually lost vitality and were finally held up by soldiers.
Two sword lights flashed. Two muffled sounds. The crying stopped abruptly. The world instantly quieted down. The camp became solemn and silent again, leaving only the crackling sound of burning torches.
Everyone was stunned by Solomon's simple and crude logic of power, unable to refute. This was indeed his right. The air seemed to freeze. The captives buried their heads deeper, swallowing saliva softly, breathing carefully.
Solomon's gaze returned to Bolin. He was silent for a moment. Then, he made a decision that everyone, especially Bolin, couldn't understand.
He said to Bolin and the nine people behind him: "You can go."
What? Everyone stopped their movements. Whether Solomon's soldiers or the kneeling captives, all cast their gazes at Solomon, brains crashing.
Bolin looked up sharply, eyes full of astonishment. His brothers behind him also looked at each other in dismay. He wanted to say something, suspecting he heard wrong.
Solomon didn't explain. He raised the first Lion Sword forged in the Lion's Den with one hand, the longsword with the lion emblem inlaid on the hilt.
He held the scabbard, arm straight forward, raising the horizontal sword to his chest. This was a gesture of gifting a sword.
"What?" The corner of Solomon's mouth revealed a faint smile. "Dare not step forward to accept the sword?"
"Or is it that you don't need the goodwill I show you?"
Bolin was completely stunned. He had imagined being hacked to death by random blades, being humiliated, being tortured, but he never imagined this development.
He looked at the fine sword in Solomon's hand, then looked at Solomon's bottomless eyes. For a moment, he didn't know how to react.
His brothers behind him pulled at the corner of his clothes, signaling him with various looks not to go over. This might be a trap.
Bolin ignored them. He released the war sword leaning on the ground, letting it fall into the mud. He took steps, under everyone's gaze, step by step, walking toward Solomon.
Solomon's guards were stopped by Solomon, forced to sheath their half-drawn longswords.
Bolin walked to Solomon and stopped. His gaze landed on the Lion Sword. That magnificent hilt was incompatible with his identity.
He extended that blacksmith's hand full of calluses and scars, gently touching the cold hilt.
Then, he still withdrew his hand and shook his head.
He refused.
The surrounding soldiers were surprisingly angry. Lushen was also unusually annoyed. They were all guessing who Lord Solomon would gift this first sword to. How can this person be so unappreciative? This is the first Lion Sword of the Lion's Den.
Truly a good warrior. Solomon said nothing, just withdrew the sword and handed it back to the guard.
He turned sideways. He wasn't annoyed by Bolin's rejection of recruitment again, still making way for them on that only path.
Bolin widened his eyes in shock, looked at him deeply, turned around, and whispered something to one of his brothers, Colin, and the sheltered bandits behind him.
Colin hesitated for a moment, finally under Bolin's stern gaze, threw away his weapon along with the bandits and walked into the group of captives.
Having done all this, Bolin led the remaining eight brothers, walking past Solomon silently. They didn't say goodbye, didn't look back, steps heavy and firm.
The entire camp was deathly silent. This was Lord Solomon's order and decision. The declaration was made before; no one dared to make a sound, no one dared to block.
When their figures were about to disappear into the dark woods by the cliff, Bolin eventually couldn't hold back. He stopped and looked back gently.
No pursuing troops, no ambush, no traps. Really letting them go. He really meant what he said.
Bolin's gaze seemed to pass through the cliff wall, seeming to see that young lord called the "Black Lion."
He really let them go.
When Solomon finished handling all affairs and led the main force back to Huck's temporary camp, the night was already deep.
The bloody smell on the cliff lingered for a long time. Now leaving Offshore Cliff, he could finally breathe the air freely in big gulps.
Torches illuminated the camp like daylight. Soldiers were cleaning up spoils, lighting bonfires, and organizing equipment.
"Alert!! Alert!!!"
Suddenly, the patrolling soldiers in front caused a commotion, shouting for alert. Soldiers quickly entered combat readiness.
At the end of the torchlight, from the dark woods, several figures walked out.
Leading them was exactly Bolin. He walked out of the darkness with his remaining eight brothers.
Solomon signaled the soldiers not to attack, not to block, and to make way.
They walked through the crowd of gathered soldiers, ignoring the soldiers' strange gazes, walked to Solomon, and stood still.
Bolin's expression was very complex. It was no longer the resolve on the cliff top and the end he could finally welcome, but mixed with confusion and a trace of rekindled flame. This flame was called hope.
He had the belief in revenge again. For many years, if not for hatred persisting, he would have given up his life long ago. But assassinating a Great Lord of Westeros was such an easy thing? Except for the first time, he never got close to the other party again.
Under the influence of so many mixed emotions, he spoke: "Can I trust your promise?"
Solomon didn't speak, nodding his head. He didn't make any vows.
In Solomon's view, sometimes words spoken by humans are all lies; instead, only physical actions can express the owner's true thoughts.
Bolin glanced at the brothers beside him. Then, this blacksmith who decided not to bow to any noble, this man who would rather seek death than kneel, took a deep breath.
His tall body sank slightly, actually about to kneel on one knee.
But a pair of powerful arms steadily supported him, stopping his kneeling movement.
Bolin looked up, only to see the young lord supporting him, purpose unknown.
"You coming back is your own choice." Solomon looked into Bolin's eyes, speaking slowly.
He let go, took a step back, his gaze sweeping over Bolin and the eight silent warriors behind him. Their faces were also written with complex emotions.
"I don't need your knees, nor do I need ethereal oaths."
Solomon's voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet night.
"People don't become loyal because they kneel or make oaths."
"You trust me, I trust you."
"That is all."
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