Chapitre 195: The worthy few
This is a test, normally I like to study about the topics of this story, but now I will avoid doing that to try to reduce the writing time, so the story could have spelling mistakes or wrong information.
If it's okay with you I could do this, because it took me 56 minutes to make the chapter, but if you think the quality is too low I'd rather keep the hiatus.
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-Pov of Friedrich von Roon tenth moon 288 AC
These pathetic barbarians, the Ironborn, can barely mount a decent defense anymore. Ever since their cursed fleet of rapists and pillagers was almost entirely destroyed at sea, they seem to have forgotten how to fight. All they have left now is to hide in their castles or attempt, unsuccessfully, to prevent our landings. But it's already too late. We have over eighty thousand men deployed on two of their islands, and we are taking their fortresses one by one.
We burn their temples, those sanctuaries that glorify the damned Drowned God, and we destroy their ships, the only source of pride they had left. Now that they are the ones suffering the punishment they once inflicted on others, they crumble. They attempt to surrender without a fight when they see the overwhelming difference in forces, but this is a war without quarter. We do not accept surrenders. Every damn pirate will be nailed to a cross and left to die slowly, suffocating on the very wood that will witness their last breath. It doesn't matter if they are nobles or commoners; they will all die. We will purge every last one of these barbarians from their islands and see if anything is left that can enlighten the rest.
So far, what I've seen makes my blood boil. The slaves we have liberated, those who were torn from their homes, ripped from their families, seem to have accepted their fate with a disgusting ease. When we freed them from the Ironborn's oppression, the last thing I expected to hear were their pitiful whines:
"I have family here... these islands are my new home... my life is much better here..."
Pathetic words from people who have accepted living without freedom, content to be mere cogs in a system that has stripped them of their humanity. It disgusted me to look at them. I restrained myself as never before, resisting the urge to behead them immediately for their submissive attitude, for accepting a life in chains. But what else could one expect from the Westerosi? They have proven to be a culture of pagans who glorify slavery through prostitution and other forms of degradation. They are nothing but degenerates.
I can't fathom how they justify what they have done, what they have allowed others to do to them. If not for the orders from my king, I would ensure they all paid for their cowardice.
But I couldn't leave these islands completely depopulated, as much as I wished to eradicate all the Westerosi scum that inhabited them. Despite their brutality and degeneracy, I knew the Ironborn could be civilized. They could be transformed into worthy people if given the right education and if they embraced the one true faith. We had already proven this with the people of The Reach.
They were the first to be touched by our civilizing mission. The first to learn to read en masse, the first to convert, and the first to begin, slowly but steadily, to replace their native tongue with one of science and knowledge—German. We know it will take several generations to complete this process, but sooner or later, they will all become part of a people truly deserving of serving under our king. The transformation of The Reach had shown that even the most resistant could be civilized under our guidance.
Even among the Dornish, a culture known for its decadence and degeneracy, we had begun to see the fruits of our civilizing efforts. Although progress there had been slower, the seed of civilization had already begun to germinate. If we could transform the Dornish—those who embraced chaos and hedonism—then I knew the Ironborn could also be civilized.
Their brutality, their attachment to piracy and plunder, their disdain for life itself—all of that could be eradicated with time, just as we had done before. If they could be educated and embrace the true faith, there would be no reason why they couldn't become a worthy people. The same hope that existed in The Reach, and that was slowly materializing among the Dornish, could also be applied here.
Despite my desire to purge these lands of all their filth, I knew that, with time and the iron discipline of Prussia, these islands, like The Reach and the Dornish, could be transformed. We could turn them into a reflection of Prussian greatness, and perhaps one day, their inhabitants could cease being pirates and raiders to become civilized citizens under the greatness of our king.
"Generalfeldmarschall, we've captured several minor noble families on this island. Would you like to witness their trial?" asked one of my knights, his voice firm but respectful.
I lifted my gaze, my expression severe as I considered what was coming. "Yes, I am ready to witness the trial of this false nobility," I replied with determination.
I rose from my seat and followed the knight to where the trial would be held. A large crowd of Prussian soldiers, all clad in their imposing Gothic armor, had gathered around the improvised tribunal. They watched with coldness, not a trace of mercy in their eyes. In the center of the tribunal, the minor noble families of the Ironborn, chained and pale-faced, were pinned to the ground with massive spikes, held immobile as they awaited their fate.
The air was thick with tension as everyone awaited the arrival of the judge. It didn't take long for him to appear, carrying several ancient, heavy books. Before the trial officially began, the judge meticulously combed through his texts, searching for the relevant laws, each page examined with calm precision. Finally, when he found what he was looking for, a Teutonic knight began to recite the necessary formalities to make the procedure valid. His voice echoed in the air like a death sentence, each word carefully chosen.
Silence reigned as the trial commenced.
"Guilty. Sentence: death. Method of execution: crucifixion. Time of execution: 18:00 today, to be carried out publicly. Bring the next," the judge declared without hesitation, his voice cold and authoritative.
No appeals, no mercy. This was the justice for these false nobles who had upheld a regime of pillage and cruelty. The soldiers moved swiftly, removing the condemned as they brought in the next families. It was a mechanical process, as if the executions were just another task in our ongoing campaign to civilize these lands.
The trials continued, and as each sentence was delivered with the same cold efficiency, I couldn't help but feel a deep satisfaction with the justice being meted out. One by one, the condemned were led to their fate, and when the appointed time came, the agonizing screams of men, women, and even some youths filled the air, blending with the rhythmic pounding of hammers securing nails to crosses.
Each hammer strike was a statement, a revenge for centuries of plunder and cruelty. No one among our soldiers looked away. We all watched with satisfaction at what we considered justice. Those who had long oppressed and stolen from the innocent were now suffering for their crimes.
Smiles spread across the faces of my comrades. We had brought order and justice to a land that had been mired in chaos. Finally, these subhuman beasts, these soulless barbarians, were paying the price for their transgressions. Every scream, every hammer blow, was another step toward purifying these islands.
"Herr Roon, there are soldiers asking about the reward you promised for the assault on the walls," one of my soldiers said, his tone formal but with a hint of nervousness.
"Tell them to gather at the center of the camp," I replied, my tone firm but calm. "They will receive what they were promised. Let them prepare to receive their citizenship and the rewards they have earned with their blood."
My soldier quickly nodded and hurried off to fulfill the order.
Everything was prepared for this ceremony. The king himself had requested we do this, and I knew it would undoubtedly increase the ferocity of our men. The promise of tangible rewards, of recognition and honor, would serve as even more motivation for our soldiers to show no mercy toward the Ironborn. Although, to be honest, I doubted they needed any incentives for that. Even though I hadn't lived in these lands as long as they had, my hatred for these pirates had taken deep root. This hatred deserved to be channeled into something useful—motivation to reward those who displayed unparalleled bravery.
I had carefully prepared the medals and awards, each one meticulously selected. The medal symbolizing Prussian citizenship was the highest honor for those who earned their place within our civilization. But there was something more, something that would stand above the rest: a golden corona muralis, in the style of the great Romans, for the first man to scale the walls. This prize, authorized by the king himself, was a symbol of supreme bravery and loyalty, something reserved only for heroes.
There was no doubt about who would receive the crown. We had already determined clearly who was the first to reach the top of the walls during the assault. His name resonated among the soldiers, and there would be no discontent, for it was obvious who deserved this honor. This ceremony would not only solidify unity within our ranks but serve as an example to all. Glory and honor were tangible, achievable for those willing to risk everything.
An even larger crowd had gathered at the center of the camp. The ten worthy soldiers, those who had earned their place in the annals of this campaign, stood in line before the assembly. They still bore the marks of battle on their bodies and armor; many of them were still covered in dried blood, their armor dented and torn, but each held their head high, proud of having been chosen.
"Meine Herren, we are here to celebrate a great day," I began, my voice ringing out as the soldiers and officers watched me closely. "Not only have we secured another victory in the endless series of battles before us, but today we are here to reward those who have shown themselves to be truly brave, skilled, and loyal. These men standing before you faced the enemy head-on, climbed those walls under fire, and defeated those who for so long ravaged our lands."
I paused, allowing my words to sink into the hearts of the gathered soldiers. Then, raising my voice with pride, I continued.
"That is why I am so pleased to present this... the real proof that you, my brothers-in-arms, are now part of something greater. With you, brave men, I will gladly spill my blood to the last man, to protect with our lives our king, our homeland."
As I spoke these words, the soldiers around me nodded, their war-hardened faces softening at the solemnity of the moment. I walked slowly in front of the ten soldiers, naming them one by one, in a ceremony that heightened the tension with each name. I placed the medals on the bands I had given them, symbols of their honor, so they could wear their achievement with pride in every future battle.
One by one, the soldiers received their medals, their faces—though exhausted from combat—shone with deep pride. They knew that this moment not only marked personal recognition but made them Prussian citizens, with all that it entailed. And everyone, from the officers to the lowly soldiers, knew that this was an honor few attained.
"But I also wish to present one more award... to the bravest, the boldest of all, the most determined... the first to conquer the wall," I said firmly, gesturing toward Hauptmann Mervyn, who stood out among the row of soldiers. "The first to shed Ironborn blood in close combat during the assault."
The crowd was attentive, each word carrying weight. I raised the corona muralis, shining brightly under the daylight, and held it before everyone. "I present this corona muralis as proof of his act... with any luck, the first of many. But let it be clear, anyone who sacrifices for the king of Prussia will be rewarded for their bravery, skill, and loyalty. A common soldier can, and must, rise to be a general."
With solemnity, I placed the crown upon Hauptmann Mervyn's head, sealing the honor of his feat. Applause erupted around us, a roar of approval that echoed through the camp. I let the congratulations flow, allowing the moment to be his, as Mervyn received the praises of his comrades. He had fulfilled his duty with distinction, and now he had the recognition he deserved.
As the applause began to fade, I turned once more to Mervyn, my sword already drawn.
"Kneel," I commanded, my voice echoing in the silence that followed the cheers. Without hesitation, Mervyn dropped to his knees before me. He knew what was coming.
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L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
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