Jonny had once been a smallfolk man of Karhold, scraping together a living for his family as a tenant farmer under House Karstark.
But a few years ago, he had the misfortune of offending a knight. Not only was he beaten senseless—he was stripped of his right to hold land as a tenant.
From that day on, he became a homeless vagrant, wandering from place to place. His only younger brother starved to death on the road.
It wasn't until he reached the Lonely Mountain lands that Jonny finally found a way to keep his family alive—working the docks, unloading cargo.
May the gods be praised: the dock overseers there never dared skim wages.
By sheer hard work, Jonny not only fed his household—he even managed to get a mud-brick house of his own, no longer terrified of snowstorms that could fall for days on end.
But Jonny had always had big ambitions. He refused to believe he'd die a dockhand. So the moment he heard that the lord was recruiting soldiers, he came running.
Of course, what tempted him to drop his dock work and enlist immediately wasn't just the soldier's high pay and generous death benefits—rumor said the lord even assigned wives.
Jonny wasn't young anymore. If nothing changed, he'd planned to wait a few more years and marry that tavern maid—fat as she was.
But now a better option had appeared.
As for what a soldier actually did, he hadn't thought deeply about it. Guarding gates, watching walls, or fighting alongside nobles when they got into feuds—something like that.
Surely they weren't going to send him beyond the Wall to fight those vicious wildlings… right?
The screening process was stricter than he expected. The bald chief knight's sharp gaze made Jonny's skin crawl.
Luckily, his fairly sturdy build passed. Many who were nothing but skin and bone were yanked out of the line by the knight.
In the end, out of five thousand men who came to enlist, fewer than a thousand remained.
…
It was the first day of recruit training. Every recruit was curious what would happen next—Jonny included.
The instructors ordered everyone to line up and hold a rigid attention stance.
It had rained a few days earlier. The ground was still wet mud, and standing water seeped through the seams of his boots into his soles, making his whole body feel miserable.
Worse, their "attention" stance wasn't casual: hands had to hang straight and tight against the sides of the thighs, and the back had to be perfectly upright.
After only a quarter of an hour, Jonny was exhausted. This felt harder than hauling hundred-pound loads back and forth on the docks.
But he grit his teeth and held on.
Because the lord had said it plainly: anyone who endured recruit training would be given a beautiful wife—guaranteed.
Gods, he hadn't tasted a woman in far too long.
Clearly the others were thinking the same thing. Even though they swayed and trembled, most of them held on.
When the instructor finally announced a rest, Jonny realized his back was drenched in sweat—and the standing time hadn't even been that long, at most half an hour.
Still, he didn't understand. What was the point of this?
Could standing still make you a qualified soldier?
…
"Lord Domeric—does this way of training troops actually work?" Sir Wendel asked, clearly skeptical.
He'd always felt this training method looked unreliable.
If anyone in the Lonely Mountain lands knew how to train soldiers, Wendel believed it was him. White Harbor had a complete system—one that could take an ordinary man and turn him into a warrior proficient with all weapons in just three years.
Domeric dug a finger in his ear. "I never said individual skill doesn't matter. But right now we focus on unit discipline."
In an age of steel and shield, training a batch of competent fighters in a few months? Domeric had no such illusions. And he didn't need Spartan monsters who could tear beasts apart barehanded.
A soldier's individual combat power didn't have to be exceptional.
But the army had to be disciplined—orders obeyed instantly, formations held, no questions asked.
In the age of cold steel, collective force usually outweighed individual prowess. That wasn't theory—it was human nature.
This time, the "attention" drill lasted longer than the first two combined—until some men's legs went weak and they started swaying, unable to endure any more.
Right then, the instructor called a rest—and ordered lunch to be distributed.
Lunch was cooked in massive iron cauldrons and hauled to camp by several wagons.
The wagons carried not only food, but also stacks of plates and spoons.
Jonny licked his lips and was ready to surge forward—only for fully armored guards to block the entire crowd.
The instructor ordered everyone into single-file lines, collecting utensils one by one. Anyone disrupting order would be unceremoniously thrown out of camp.
The crowd, noisy and pushing, was forced into two lines. Jonny was lucky—he ended up near the front of the outer line.
Some men protested loudly, and a scuffle broke out.
Within moments, several guards charged into the crowd, dragged the troublemakers out, and threw them beyond the camp boundary.
One of them squatted outside with a pitiful look on his face.
Jonny felt he'd finally understood what it meant to be a "qualified soldier" here:
Order. Uniform order.
…
When the cauldron lids came off, Jonny caught a thick, rich scent of flour.
The smell spread like a spell, almost intoxicating. The crowd stirred, and the instructor's roaring voice echoed again from the front.
Probably another queue, Jonny thought.
Sure enough, they were ordered to line up again—same order as before—to receive food.
Though everyone swallowed hard and stomachs growled, the earlier example had done its job. They lined up obediently.
Inside the cauldrons were soft bread, potatoes, and steaming meat stew…
And Jonny discovered—shocked—that each man also received a piece of braised meat, fat and lean together.
The portion was nearly half a palm across. He took a bite—hot, oily juices flooded his mouth.
Jonny practically devoured the meal, licking his fingers three times. Then he patted his belly and belched.
He hadn't eaten this well in a very long time. The full warmth in his gut felt like something he'd forgotten existed.
He even found himself thinking: if he could eat like this every day… then what if they really did send him beyond the Wall to fight wildlings?
The Lonely Mountain lands, Administrative Hall
"Everyone, sit," Domeric said, taking his seat first at the round table and motioning for the others to sit as well.
But the group hesitated. They still weren't used to sitting at the same table as their lord.
For this pre-war mobilization meeting, Domeric had summoned the stewards and tax officers from each village and town, along with his castellan Ser Jorah, his chief knight Ser Wendel, the master smith Noye, and more—over twenty men in total.
It was essentially the entire administrative leadership of the Lonely Mountain lands.
Old Karstark also attended.
"For the past three years, you've helped me govern this land without sparing yourselves," Domeric began. "The growth of the Lonely Mountain lands isn't only my achievement—it's yours as well.
So, in order to govern more effectively, I've decided to formally grant you knighthoods, along with the lands that come with them."
At that, the stewards and tax officers all sprang to their feet.
Some bowed deeply, some swore loyalty aloud, and some were so thrilled they didn't even know what to do—just standing there grinning foolishly.
Most of them had been born commoners. It was their competence that earned Domeric's trust.
A knight was only the threshold of the nobility—but that didn't stop them from feeling proud.
Because once they became knights, their class status changed at the root.
"No need for ceremony," Domeric said, waving them down and cutting off the outpouring of vows.
"I'm sure you've all heard the news. To assist Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch in clearing out the wildlings, I've decided to lead an expedition beyond the Wall…"
He turned to his castellan. "Ser Jorah. You'll brief everyone on the plan."
"Yes, my lord."
Jorah Mormont rose, gave a knight's salute to Domeric, then said, "At present, the lands maintain four thousand soldiers—three thousand veterans and one thousand newly recruited men.
We also have three thousand warhorses, two thousand draft horses, five hundred ox-carts, ten thousand spears, fifteen hundred shields, two thousand longbows, and thirty thousand arrows…"
Domeric listened, silently calculating.
It sounded like a lot, but battlefield losses were brutal—especially for consumables like arrows.
"For this expedition, we will field three thousand from our own forces, plus one thousand from House Karstark, for a total of four thousand troops. In addition, we will levy ten thousand laborers to transport supplies…"
"Our prepared provisions include: two hundred thousand pounds of flour, seventy thousand pounds of oats, fifty thousand pounds of legumes. We've also stockpiled ten thousand pounds of dried meat and over three hundred pounds of salt…"
The soldiers were one thing—full bellies, meat every day. But the laborers hauling supplies were doing hard physical work too, and they ate like it.
Domeric never docked rations. He wanted combat power—and he wanted loyalty.
So the consumption rate of the expedition was staggering.
If the war didn't end quickly, the supplies would become a bottomless pit.
Fortunately, the iron trade's massive profits could bankroll it.
Domeric had already signed supply contracts with the Reach and Riverlands—grain-rich regions—and with Braavosi merchants across the Narrow Sea, so he wasn't worried about famine.
War really was burning money.
No wonder House Lannister, fat with gold mines, still ended up owing the Iron Bank enormous sums during the War of the Five Kings…
"We must give everything in this campaign—strike once, finish it in one blow, and capture the King-beyond-the-Wall alive!"
"Capture the King-beyond-the-Wall!"
"Fight for our lord!"
"Fight for our lord!"
-
-
-
🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
📢 Dark Secrets Rise in the North! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort now has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🩸🐺
Uncover what lies beneath the Dreadfort before anyone else does.
🛑 Also available on Patreon (many with massive early access):
Star Wars: The Rise of Mandalore
Cyberpunk: The Relentless (500+ ahead)
Dragon King of Ice and Fire (200+ ahead)
Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System (100+ ahead)
My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator (100+ ahead)
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew? (100+ ahead)
The Rebirth of Harry Potter (100+ ahead)
Star Wars: Relics of the Past (100+ ahead)
R18: Reincarnated in Her World
🔗 www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon name: SrMagnus🐦 https://x.com/SrMagnusBook
⚠️ The novel with the most Power Stones always gets more chapters first!