Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Preparation
...
Richard POV

The hilltop was warm under the sun, the air alive with the earthy scent of fields stretching below.

The breeze stirred the tall grass around me, rustling softly as though whispering of the coming storm.

I sat tall in the saddle, Lancelot shifting beneath me, his muscles rippling with barely restrained energy.

My eyes remained fixed on the plains where the steady thud of boots echoed upward like the beat of a war drum.

Below in the distance, four formations of eighty men moved with mechanical precision.

Each man had rectangular shields strapped securely at their sides, with their spears angled upward, their polished tips glinting in the sunlight.

In front of each formation, a commander known as a centurion barked commands with sharp authority, while standard-bearers held high the black and gold banners of House Neméos, the roaring lion vivid against the sky.

These infantrymen, trained in the style of Roman legions gleaned from John Falcon's memories, would be the backbone of my army.

Behind me, my twenty knights waited in tense silence, destriers stamping against the ground.

Their tabards and shields bore the black and gold of House Neméos, the lion emblem seeming to roar defiantly in the summer breeze.

A distant rumble of hooves broke my focus. I turned to see a column of riders approaching, their formation tight even at a gallop.

At their head rode Ser Reynard, his posture straight and commanding.

The man who was in his early thirties had a story as scarred as his face—a knight of a fallen house who had survived the destruction of the Reynes by Tywin Lannister.

Under my banner, he had found purpose anew.

Eight moons ago, I had entrusted him with the garrison at Nemosport, a cornerstone of my vision for a professional army.

Under his stewardship, it had grown into a formidable military base, offering programs that laid the foundation for my ambitions: the knights' program for chivalric excellence, the infantry program for disciplined foot soldiers, the cavalry program to hone mastery on horseback, and the navy program for skilled seamen.

The riders slowed as they neared, dismounting in unison. Armor clinked and leather creaked as fifty men knelt, heads bowed in reverence.

Ser Reynard stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal sharp green eyes framed by shoulder-length brown hair.

His voice was steady and clear as he addressed me. "My lord, the men of Nemosport greet you."

I inclined my head, my tone firm but even. "Rise, Ser Reynard. You and your men have done well arriving ahead of schedule."

Reynard straightened, a flicker of pride crossing his scarred face. "Thank you, my lord," he said, his voice steady before shifting back to business. "The men are trained, they stand ready for your orders."

"Good," I said, letting a faint smile touch my lips.

My gaze shifted briefly to the distant village, its rooftops just visible beyond the treeline.

"Make camp near the village," I said, pointing toward the distant settlement.

I turned back to Reynard. "Once everything is in order, gather the centurions at the village. I'll be waiting there."

He bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord." Without another word, he turned, and with his men they mounted their steed with practiced ease, riding down toward the infantry below.