Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 340 The Battle of Windbreak Fortress (5)

From Storm's End, you can see meteors falling into the sea. Gilbert Farin walked to the top of the city wall and, in a secluded corner, gazed at the moonlit sea. When he was a child, he always thought the moon was made of pearl powder from the seabed, which was sprinkled on the sea surface and reflected silvery ripples that drifted with the waves, looking like pearl powder sprinkled on it from a distance.

He touched the battlements; the lime in his palm tickled.

In the pitch-black sky, a meteor streaked across the night, like a great knight, like a god, thrusting his sword into the long night.

The Golden Company’s victories reached his ears one after another. It was said, and only said, that the Golden Company had severed the connection between the main force from King’s Landing and the Frontier Army in the Hills. The main force of King’s Landing, stationed in the thickets, was caught off guard by the Golden Company’s small cavalry regiments and fled in panic.

Gilbert wasn't unwilling to question this record, but the Golden Company's reputation for keeping its promises was well-known even in Westeros, and an army that maintained such quality wouldn't lie about military intelligence, even if it were mercenaries.

He had removed his armor and was only wearing a white shirt. He seemed relaxed, but his face revealed that he was in a heavy mood.

Gilbert could not forget the look in the eyes of the Storm's End garrison. He understood that his soldiers were questioning him, questioning why he had sworn never to surrender to the false king Joffrey, yet instead knelt before a Targaryen false king who had rebelled against Baratheon? Putting aside Joffrey's background, at least he was still a Baratheon!
The great war between the kings of Westeros continues to this day, and most still retain the Baratheon's legitimate status. People's impression of the Targaryens still comes from the Mad King, especially the soldiers of the garrison who followed Stannis to defend Storm's End, who firmly believe in this impression.

These thoughts flashed through his mind like the bullseye of an arrow he saw while riding a horse in the military camp.

Gilbert took a sip of his drink, pondered for a moment, then turned and staggered down the steps.

A commotion arose in the distance. Gilbert frowned. It was midnight, and the commotion was coming from the direction of the city gate. He touched his waist, but his sword sheath was not on him.

Gilbert pursed his lips, casually took the short sword hanging on the wall from the steps, and walked towards the city gate.

Torches filed in, and a jumble of exotic accents from the Eastern Continent were thrown into his ear.

"What's going on?" Gilbert grabbed a patrolling soldier he recognized—an archer from Storm's End garrison. "At the city gate, is it the Golden Company returning?"

The soldier's eyes darted away, as if avoiding Gilbert's gaze. "I don't know, sir."

Gilbert's breath, reeking of alcohol, hit the soldier's face. He released the soldier's hand and let him go.

The soldier hurriedly left, glancing back at him as he reached the corner. Seeing that the soldier's gaze remained fixed on him, he quickly disappeared around the corner.

Gilbert kept his lips tightly shut, said nothing, and headed toward the city gate with his short sword in hand.

The riders of the Golden Company sang and danced, humming tunes they didn't understand. A harpist was also mixed in with the procession, strumming and singing. The flickering torches made him a little dizzy.

"What happened?" he grabbed a knight from the Golden Company.

The latter simply uttered a common "hello" before walking away with an angry expression.

It seems this person only knows this one common phrase, Gilbert thought.

When he turned around again, he squinted and discovered the wheel hidden behind the Golden Company's spear banner, with Selmi and Erin's banners dangling on it.

“Grain? They stole the grain?” Gilbert shouted.

No one answered.

The soldiers of the Golden Company marched along, singing and dancing, as tall horses passed by them, and the mercenaries on horseback watched them leave.

Grain carts passed by, heading straight into the city. Grain sacks and many other supplies followed the carts, which were overflowing.

Gilbert frowned, a fleeting hesitation crossing his face. Compared to ordinary supply wagons, these seemed rather large, even towering over armored vehicles with standing men inside. He casually reached for a bag of rations, clearly equipment carried by soldiers close to their bodies.

Such meticulous attention to detail confirms that the grain transport was indeed genuine.

Gilbert stood there, watching the grain carts enter the castle grounds one by one.

It looks like tonight will be another sleepless night; Commander Harry Strickland will surely host a banquet to entertain these victorious mercenaries.

"A golden dragon is the best reward," Gilbert thought to himself, adding silently to these mercenaries, though he had his doubts about the latter statement.

As he entered the main hall, he straightened his clothes slightly, showing respect to the victor.

Just then, the mercenaries' boasting came over: "Cutting off their communication isn't enough. What's even more advantageous for us is that they've lost all their supplies, and their food is practically all here. I believe Barristan Selmy will soon retreat without a fight, which will be just when Griffin arrives. Haha, let him see our victory!"

“The situation is very favorable!” Harry Strickland exclaimed.

Fortunately, the two were speaking Common Tongue, Gilbert Farin thought.

His concerns remained undiminished. With a hint of doubt, he rose, raised his glass, and said, "A salute to you, a salute to the Golden Group."

“A salute to His Majesty King Aegon Targaryen,” Harry Strickland added, and everyone in the main hall politely raised their glasses in a salute.

“But,” Gilbert tapped his glass, knowing that dissent would be out of place at this moment, “I would also like to ask you, sir, is the enemy truly unprepared for the supply wagons?”

The mercenary, eager to claim credit, glared at him. "Of course not. It was the tactics devised by the cavalry commander who has already sacrificed himself that worked. We lured the enemy into splitting their forces, leaving their rear vulnerable. We bypassed their flanks and struck them down immediately!"

“Oh,” Gilbert Farin took a sip of his drink, “Barristan fell for it so easily.”

Harry Strickland put down his wine glass and ledger, his hands hovering over the table. "There's no need to discuss the specific tactics anymore; we can discuss them tomorrow. Now is the time to celebrate. This means that the first step of the great undertaking of King Aegon's cooperation with our Golden Company is about to be accomplished in your hands!"

Gilbert sat down, swirling the wine in his glass, which was empty and the liquid was swirling at the bottom.

This is a glass brought from the Eastern Continent by a mercenary from the Golden Company. He had seen it with King Stannis before, except that it had the Baratheon stag pattern on its surface.

The banquet was more than halfway over, and the wine barrels were almost empty. Gilbert, feeling bored, left the main hall.

In the bedroom, he remained silent for a long time, staring at the black ash on the candle that was only a third of its length. He wondered why his servant hadn't appeared yet, assuming he was fast asleep somewhere in the banquet hall. He would definitely give him a good scolding when he returned.

"Damn it!" He took off his white shirt, reeking of alcohol, and crawled into bed. Turning his head, he saw the wine glass again, with a little wine left in it.

“This is…” He looked at the bottom of the glass; there was clearly a layer of air separating it from the liquid, suspended at the very bottom.

Grain carts, cavalry, wine cups
Unrelated words popped into his mind, and Gilbert then thought of Barristan Selmy.

In the Duskwood Rebellion of Aegon's 277, Barristan Selmy, the "Fearless," performed a glorious act that would later be sung throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He refused Tywin Lannister's plan to forcibly attack the city, choosing instead to disguise himself as a beggar, bypassing the city's defenses, scaling the walls of Duskwood alone, finding the dungeons, and carrying the Mad King to safety.
That's the "Fearless" Barristan.
Gilbert Faring swallowed hard, the massive image of the grain trucks flashing before his eyes once more.

A strange, absurd but possible thought popped into his head, sending a chill down his spine.

"Impossible, it shouldn't be possible," Gilbert Farin said, throwing down his glass, his eyes blazing.

(End of this chapter)