CHAPTER 236

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CHAPTER 236

295 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

A sense of panic swept through the Vale ranks as soldiers realized the severity of the situation. If they stayed here, they would freeze to death. They dropped their ice-cold weapons and started running; they were routed and broken. It didn't matter how much Yohn Royce screamed for the Vale and the Seven; no one was listening to him.

He, on the other hand, was still able to hold onto his sword, and his bronze armor was not ice cold; it was cold, but it was bearable. As he was shouting orders, an eagle swooped down and caused him to fall off his horse. Then, the eagle turned into a human. 

"It is fascinating. Your armor is at least 6000 years old, but it still has enough magic in it to make it at least bearable for you."

Aermir grabbed Yohn Royce's neck and picked him up like he was raising a child. Thanks to his buffs, he had 18 str; right now, he was equal to the Mountain's strength. 

He inspected the armor and said,

"You sly dog, the armor you gave me was almost trash compared to this one. If I had this one, it would have taken me half the time it took to learn how to enchant."

Upon hearing this, Yohn was a bit confused, but then realization dawned on him. He turned his sight to the giant shadowcat that was chasing his soldiers and the man on top of it.

"How? You can't be him."

Aermir nonsalantly said, 

"You don't need to know."

He looked at his armor again and said,

"It looks like I have to pay a visit to Runestone sometime later."

Yohn Royce tried hard to get rid of Aermir's iron grip, but when Aermir squeezed his neck a little tighter, Yohn lost all his strength. With great hardship, he managed to say,

"FOR THE LOVE OF SEVEN Stay away... from my house!!" since he couldn't breathe as he spoke, his voice was turning into a whisper.

"You are such a hypocrite; you scream allegiance to the Seven but still wear armor dedicated to the Old Gods and brimming with their magic."

Aermir smirked at him and snapped his neck.

...

Aermir was sitting in his tent and looking through papers. He raised his head and asked Eddard Snow,

"What is the tally?"

"My lord, From the thousand you healed, 600 of them managed to recover, but we still lost 50 knights and 300 soldiers."

"50 knights is not a good number; we lost too many of them. Make sure their families are compensated fully and, as always, exempt them from taxes for five years."

Eddard continued,

"Northern Lords lost half of their armies, and we decimated Vale army; from the 9000 men, they have only left with 2-3 thousand."

Aermir raised his hand and talked with Poe,

-Poe, go and scout the Vale army and see how many of them can still fight.-

-Right away, Father.-

"Poe is going to scout out what is left of them. Continue..."

"From the 7 thousand, 4 thousand died in the battle, thousands of them were critically wounded, and two thousands of them were taken prisoner."

Aermir tapped his fingers on the table and said,

"Let's heal those Vale men and release the smallfolk and give the same offer to the knights and nobles, black or the iron."

Most of those who got caught were levies, so by releasing them, he could have some goodwill with the smallfolk, and his men wouldn't have a problem with the workforce when he took control of the island and its castles. Aermir thought about it for a bit and continued,

"I want to conquer Paps and Pebble, too, before we sit down at the negotiation table. Can we stretch ourselves that thin?"

Eddard looked at his notes and shook his head,

"I do not recommend that, my lord. Maybe Pebble, but Paps is too away even with your powers, my lord; it would take too long for us to provide support in time of need."

After some contemplation, Aermir realized that too, then said,

"Okay, then. We will conquer Pebble and act like we intend to attack Paps too before we have a sit down with them."

...

Aermir did some healing rituals and healed all 1000 of the critically wounded Valemen, and 700 of them healed while the rest died. After many experiments, Aermir's comprehension of healing spells had increased. He realized that if you cast a healing spell multiple times on a person, they die because of organ failure. If the body is not strong enough, mana overworks the body while trying to heal it. It was similar to overdosing on medicine. As he finished what he was doing, Poe made contact with him,

-Father, 700 of them look too wounded to get up, and the rest look like they will run if they just saw you. None of them wants any more fights.-

...

The island's lords, both Sistermen and Vale, found themselves trapped in the suffocating grip of defeat. Lord Cedric Hallowbane was now the most senior lord on the island. Before this war, he was just a middle-class lord with a small castle, but after the war. Almost all of the Sistermen Lords had died or got captured. At the grand table, all you could see were terrified faces that looked at each other. The carnage around them left no room for delusions; surrender was the only recourse left.

Cedric's voice quivered as he whispered to Alaric, "We cannot withstand this onslaught any longer. Look at the devastation around us. We must surrender to the Northern forces."

Alaric, his pride still smoldering in defiance, reluctantly nodded. "You're right. There's no hope left for us. Let's approach them and seek terms of surrender. Perhaps they'll spare our people."

...

As the host of lords cautiously approached, the air crackled with tension. Aermir, in his Druid persona, stood amidst his familiars and Juggernauts. Cedric and Alaric, flanked by their advisors, faced the inevitable. 

"Surrender peacefully, and your house name will be spared; all the males in your lineages need to take the black, and your daughters will be married to good Northern nobles. The time for conflict is over," Aermir declared, his voice carrying an air of finality. Cedric, trembling, spoke, "We surrender, Druid. We beg you to show mercy to our people."

Aermir, a stoic figure, nodded in acknowledgment. "Mercy will be granted. Lay down your arms."

...

Lord Reynard Blackthorn, filled with resentment, whispered to his advisor, Ser Jonas Redwater, "I won't surrender like a craven! When the Druid comes close, I'll end this madness with a swift strike!"

Ser Jonas, desperate to prevent disaster, pleaded, "My lord, reconsider. This is madness. We should accept the surrender and negotiate for our people's safety."

Reynard, resolute in his defiance, retorted, "Negotiate with invaders? I'd rather die than bow to the whims of this Druid and his pagan gods."

Reynard kneeled before Aermir but pulled a dagger from his bracer as he charged at him, declaring, "I won't bow to you, Druid! Vale only serves the Arryn. Die! You godless heathen."

Ser Jonas, realizing the futility of reason, attempted to intervene, but it was too late. 

"Foolish!" Aermir's voice cut through the chaos as he deftly dodged the attack. Then he grabbed Reynard's dagger with his bare hand; seeing this, Reynard sinister smiled and pulled his dagger, hoping to cut the Druid's fingers, but his sword didn't move even an inch. Aermir, unfazed, reasserted his position. Turned toward the other lords and said,

 "Your surrender is accepted."

Then turned toward Reynard and said in an ice-cold voice,

"Let me send you on your way so you can meet your Seven."

Aermir's other hand crackled with lightning, but then the lightning disappeared,

"On the other hand, I have better use for you. I want to teach you there are worse fates than death. Let me show you there is nothing your gods can do to help you."

He threw him towards his men like he was a sack,

"Take him."