The dastard's way I

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-dastard Pov tenth moon 288 AC

The tension in the air was palpable as I spoke, "Looks like they're gone… let's move," I said, gripping my sword and advancing toward the village the Prussians had just "sacked." My men followed closely, moving cautiously through the shadows cast by half-collapsed houses. Though the place was relatively intact—intact enough not to ruin the land—we knew there were still things to scavenge. I had learned through multiple raids like this that the Prussians had a meticulous way of waging war. They didn't take everything; instead, they took only what they needed to feed their military machine: iron, steel, and just enough food to sustain the villagers without leaving them to starve. This strategy left opportunities for smaller marauders like us to benefit from the leftovers.

As we moved closer, the lingering scent of smoke filled the air, and small flames still flickered in the corners of the barns. Following the Prussians' path had been our lord's idea. He knew their methods: first, they'd break resistance with brutal efficiency, leaving villages open as if inviting lesser scavengers to strip what they deemed nonessential. It was a "respectful" pillage, if such a thing could exist in wartime. But what they left behind, we could take without hesitation—coins, jewelry, anything that would fetch a price on the black market in King's Landing. Following the Prussians' path was the smartest move we could make.

So we took the risk; our lord rented three merchant ships in Lannisport, and we set sail as soon as news broke that the Iron Fleet had been defeated. Here we were, indulging in a kind of free reign we hadn't seen in years.

"Those bastards leave it all laid out for us," one of my men muttered as he kicked down a door and entered an abandoned house. "There's no one left to fight—not a single man, only women, the old, and children," he added, a cruel grin on his face. The village was nearly empty, with a few trembling figures watching us from shattered windows. The Prussians hadn't decimated the people, but they'd robbed them of all hope. We, however, were the next plague—a smaller but no less destructive force.

"Search through the rubble; there might be something they missed," I ordered, staying on guard. Though the Prussians rarely returned to villages they'd "pacified," I didn't entirely trust that they wouldn't suddenly reappear. There was something almost supernatural about their discipline. An uneasy feeling crawled down my spine.

As we moved deeper into the village, a high-pitched scream shattered the quiet. One of our men had found someone hiding. When I reached the spot, I saw a young girl, her face streaked with tears and her clothes in tatters. One of my men held her by the arm, a lecherous smile on his face.

"Don't take too long with her. We need to keep close to the Prussian trail if we're going to score any real coin," I told the subordinate, who was already dragging the girl to a more secluded spot, ignoring her sobs and pleas.

This repeated itself in every village the Prussians left behind. While the Prussian forces took iron, steel, and anything necessary to dismantle resistance, leaving only what they needed, we were the vultures, the wolves that followed the larger wolf, ensuring nothing remained for the villagers trying to rebuild.

My men spread out across the village—some looting houses, others assaulting the women they deemed "worthy of the time." It was easy to give in to the chaos, with no justice or law to hold us back. Only the sword ruled here, and the strong took what they wanted. For now, that was us.

I focused on filling my bag with anything I could later sell: copper coins, silver utensils that might fetch a price in King's Landing. I knew the brothels for the wealthy would be my next stop; the money I earned here would go toward nights in luxurious beds with women who, unlike these peasants, were professionals who wouldn't scream or bleed from a slap to keep quiet.

The work was so easy that sometimes I wondered if this was the best life we could ever hope for. Part of me started wishing for more wars to break out. With the Prussians as our implicit allies, we were thriving more than ever. We moved from village to village, treasure to treasure, and the best part was that the Prussians barely seemed to care about our actions. At most, they gave us a look of contempt, clenched their fists, but they carried on with their own work. They had their own brand of violence, cold and calculated, different from our open brutality. The villagers preferred the Prussians, and I could understand why, but that didn't mean we'd change our ways.

"What's next?" one of my men asked, hoisting a sack filled with his loot. I watched him, taking in the empty houses, the blood splattered on the walls, the hollow stares of the few survivors.

"We follow them. Wherever the Prussians go, we go too," I replied.

The wind started to blow colder. Winter was approaching, but I wasn't worried. There were rumors of famine and death in the southern lands, of burned granaries and villagers dying of hunger. But we had a tacit pact with the Prussians. They left us the scraps, and those scraps were worth more than most people would see in a lifetime.

"Let's move before night falls," I ordered, gesturing to the men finishing their plunder. As we left the village, I heard a woman's muffled screams behind one of the ruined houses. I glanced at one of my men, who raised an eyebrow as if waiting for instructions.

"Leave it. We can't afford to waste time waiting on any fool who wants his minutes of fun with a filthy peasant girl," I said. It wasn't worth the risk of losing the Prussians' trail.

For days, we shadowed the Prussian vanguard like a swarm of crows over a battlefield after the wolves had had their fill. The Prussians moved with eerie precision, eliminating guards in the villages and disarming them with calculated efficiency. We'd arrive soon after, like hyenas, ready to scavenge whatever remained. We took everything of value: jewelry, food, weapons the Prussians deemed useless. And when boredom crept in, we killed for sport.

There was something perversely entertaining in watching the remaining pirates and bandits beg for their lives—those who, for years, had tormented the villagers with the same brutality that we were now returning to them. They pleaded like frightened dogs, tears in their eyes and hands raised in surrender. Some offered what little they had left: food, coins, whatever they could. But we weren't looking for riches at that moment; we sought their suffering. Seeing the fear in their eyes, feeling absolute power over their fates—that was what we truly enjoyed.

My men knew that in villages like these, they had the freedom to do as they pleased. It was late, and the Prussian patrols were likely camping, preparing for the next day. They wouldn't bother us. We claimed the houses as if they were our own, killing any men who dared defend their homes as easily as one might crush an ant. And then came the part they enjoyed most: the women and their daughters.

We took them as if they were mere objects, forced companions for our beds on a night without law or mercy. The echo of their screams reverberated through the abandoned homes, but there was no one to hear, no one to help.

After nearly two weeks scouring this island, scavenging everything the Prussians left in their wake, we finally returned to our lord. The carts were loaded to the brim, and we ourselves pulled them through muddy paths covered with dry leaves. There was plenty of everything: copper coins, a few silver ones, sturdy boots, silverware abandoned by the wealthier families during their flight, and more food than we had seen in months. With snow about to fall, I knew this loot would be worth its weight in gold.

Our lord, of course, took the best portion of the spoils, as was his right. No one complained. Following the Prussians' trail had been his idea, and it had borne greater fruit than we'd imagined. All this time, we hadn't faced anyone who could mount a decent defense. All we had done was pick through the remnants of their victories, and we filled the three ships we'd brought with ease. We knew that once the snow fell, that loot would sustain us for a long time.

As my men loaded the sacks and crates onto the ships, something caught my attention on the horizon. Dark sails, torn by the wind, moved swiftly over the sea. It was the Ironborn. They sailed close to the coast, clearly avoiding direct confrontation with the larger ships of the Prussian fleet, whose presence had cleansed the waters in recent weeks. I watched as the pirate ships turned and entered a nearby estuary, probably looking for a place to shelter or perhaps launch a quick attack.

I knew better than to suggest a direct confrontation with the Ironborn. They might have good loot, yes, but their ships and ferocity in combat were legendary. My men weren't prepared for something like that, and many would die if we jumped into that madness.

But I knew precisely who would be more than willing to face those pirates.

I wasted no time. Quickly, I mounted my horse and galloped toward the nearest Prussian camp, racing along the paths, dodging branches and treacherous roots.

Prussian guards intercepted me with a speed I hadn't expected. In less than a second, they had me dismounted and, with precise movements, stripped me of my sword. "Easy, friends, we're on the same side," I tried to calm them, but it seemed to have no effect. One of them held his spear dangerously close to my neck while another searched me with a dagger aimed under my arm, looking for any concealed weapons.

They led me deeper into the camp without a word, and it was then that I saw what I had only heard about in rumors: the Prussians were constantly training, with a discipline that would put any Westerosi army to shame. Some were doing push-ups, while others practiced their swordplay with hard, precise movements. These men were like war machines, devoted body and soul to their training. There was no rest for them, no relaxation—only constant preparation for battle.

One of the guards approached a Prussian who appeared to be the leader. He was hanging from a metal bar, lifting and lowering his body with heavy iron weights tied to his waist. His hands were covered in scars and calluses, hardened like stone, yet his torso, though bare, showed no visible scars. He was young, tall, and evidently battle-hardened, yet he seemed invulnerable to wounds.

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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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