Chapter 4- Are you Worthy of Being Called Authur?

Everything unfolded as planned.

After arriving at the riverside village, Jules and Amber each took their men to scout the eastern and northern directions, respectively. Meanwhile, village chief Jace gathered all the able-bodied young men among the villagers, leaving it to Lord Arthur to handpick those fit for combat.

…

[Fifteen Riverland peasant soldiers have joined your party.]

A shimmering blue panel hovered briefly in front of Arthur's eyes, reminding him of the recent additions to his troop.

After organizing a basic chain of command and correcting some of the villagers' sloppier behaviors, Arthur formulated a preliminary battle strategy based on his knowledge of warfare and his in-game experience. The sun now hung high—just past noon. If they delayed, they might not find the bandits until deep into the night or even the next day.

By then, the wife of village chief Jace might truly become an "overnight wife," and the abducted peasant girl might already be defiled beyond saving. Time was of the essence.

Arthur arranged his men for battle: twenty Riverlander foot soldiers clad in chainmail and armed with round shields would form the vanguard. Behind them followed twenty-one peasant soldiers—less disciplined but numerous. Of the entire force, ten soldiers carried crossbows and eight peasant soldiers had hunting bows. Both ranged groups would provide suppressive fire during their charge. Seven mounted men, including Arthur, Jules, and Amber, would flank wide, aiming to encircle and cut off any route of escape.

After a hasty lunch arranged by village chief Jace, Jules returned from the east empty-handed. "Didn't see so much as a rabbit on the riverbank," he muttered in frustration.

Soon after, Amber galloped back from the north, his face flushed with urgency. He had located the bandits—still nearby—and left one scout watching them from a distance.

Though Arthur found it suspicious that the bandits had not traveled far, he chose not to hesitate. With a clear destination and little time to waste, he immediately gave the order to move. The company broke into a steady trot, heading toward the bandits' last known position along the north bank of the Red Fork.

Jules and Amber had already eaten on the way back, allowing the unit to mobilize without delay.

…

"Do you think Arthur Bracken will take the bait?"

The question came from a young man riding alongside a group disguised as common bandits. Though dressed in coarse woolen tunics and their faces smeared with mud, his smooth, uncalloused hands and healthy skin betrayed his identity.

The man he addressed—older, darker, and broader in the shoulders—rode with the bearing of a trained soldier, his movements deliberate. From the way their armor peeked out beneath their collars and cuffs, it was obvious these were no mere outlaws.

"Arthur's got a clean name and a naive heart," the older man answered with a sneer. "He'll come charging in for the sake of the villagers and those two women."

"We've been dawdling just for that," the younger rider added, his voice tinged with unease. "If we hadn't slowed down, we could've reached Sweetwater Springs by now."

"There's no mistake in the plan. Arthur Bracken must die, and when he does, I'll claim the Moulin Rouge villages as my own."

The older man's name was Ser Roger Blackwood, a lesser noble sworn to House Blackwood of Raventree Hall—a house steeped in history and fiercely loyal to House Tully, though long entangled in a bitter blood-feud with House Bracken.

The young man was Brynden Blackwood, eldest son of Lord Tytos Blackwood, and distant cousin to Ser Roger. Though he shared a name with the famed Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, this Brynden was far less composed.

Their vendetta stretched back to the Age of Heroes. During the Dance of the Dragons, the Brackens had sided with the Greens while the Blackwoods stood with the Blacks. During the Blackfyre Rebellion, the two houses fought on opposite sides yet again. Even during peacetime, they found excuses to quarrel—land disputes, marriages, old claims.

Geographically, House Bracken ruled from Stone Hedge on the south bank of the Red Fork, while House Blackwood held Raventree Hall on the north bank. However, history had muddied the borders. A cadet branch of House Bracken had long held territory across the river, around the Red Mill village cluster—right on Blackwood's doorstep. It was a thorn in the Blackwoods' side.

The Blackwoods had launched raids and skirmishes many times over the past century, but the Brackens of Red Mill were always reinforced by their main family. Despite the shared blood of the Riverlands and oaths to House Tully, this particular feud never cooled.

Now, Roger Blackwood saw an opportunity. With Westeros still stabilizing under King Robert Baratheon, and House Tully distracted managing regional unrest, local lords acted with greater autonomy. Roger believed he could eliminate Arthur quietly and absorb Red Mill without drawing the ire of Riverrun.

"There's no war right now, no dragons, and no Targaryens," Roger said. "Just us and them."

Brynden shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "But if the king or Lord Tully finds out—"

"They won't," Roger snapped. "Besides, Arthur Bracken is just a bastard noble from a lesser branch. No one will weep for him."

Their deception was almost complete. Arthur and his troops were already closing in, ready to fall into the trap set by enemies who bore both ancient hatred and personal ambition.

But Arthur was not just a game piece. And this game had only just begun.

Because he was only a landless knight without claim to inheritance, Roger had to make long-term plans for securing territory of his own. According to the customs of feudal Westeros, if House Blackwood seized the disputed land and granted it to him, Roger would become a landed knight—an essential step toward becoming a minor noble, such as a landed knight or banneret. With sufficient merit in battle or politics, advancement to lordship wasn't out of reach.

Recently, Roger had grown closer to young Brynden Blackwood, eldest son of Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall. Thanks to his swordsmanship and political ambition, Roger gained Brynden's trust. Unlike his elder brother Benjicot, who remained loyal to tradition, Brynden was eager to prove himself and win further favor from his ailing father. The young heir supported Roger's idea of quietly absorbing Arthur Bracken's outlying territory, nestled too close to the Blackwood heartlands for comfort.

To that end, Brynden assembled a group of ten sworn swords—his personal guard—and disguised them as bandits to stage a raid on the riverside village. The goal was not mere theft, but provocation. Once Arthur Bracken responded to the incursion, 150 fully armed Blackwood troops lay in wait near Sweetwater Spring, ready to ambush and kill the Bracken knight under the pretense of a border skirmish. Arthur's death would be blamed on his unlawful trespass into Blackwood land while pursuing outlaws—an easy tale to sell to the Riverlords, especially with fabricated "bandit" corpses to support the lie.

Afterward, House Blackwood would swiftly annex the nine contested villages. House Bracken's main line at Stone Hedge, powerful but distant on the south bank of the Red Fork, would be hard-pressed to mobilize in time. They would likely take the matter to Riverrun, hoping for Lord Hoster Tully to arbitrate. But Hoster was weakened by illness, and his son Edmure—earnest but indecisive—held the reins of power. Given Edmure's reluctance to escalate tensions, it was likely the complaint would stall, buried beneath diplomacy and half-measures.

Thus, the true lynchpin of the plan was simple: kill Arthur Bracken in the ensuing confusion and consolidate power before anyone could react.

"Are the two scouts still shadowing us?" Roger asked one of the disguised "bandits."

"They were there a short while ago—likely off to report back," replied a soldier in chainmail concealed by a patched cloak.

"Good," Roger said. "We're near Sweetwater Spring. Slow down so they can catch up. Time to spring the trap."

Brynden gave no objection. He simply glanced at the road ahead, his nerves masked behind a stoic face. The disguised soldiers, dressed in mismatched leathers and mud-streaked cloaks, eased their pace to allow Arthur's forces to close the distance.

But things didn't unfold as expected. The distant clatter of hooves rang out from the trees ahead. Before Roger could react, Arthur Bracken and seven horsemen emerged from the treeline, forming a crescent across the trail.

"So that those guys can catch up," Arthur said, echoing Roger's own words as he drew his ancestral two-handed sword—a relic not as famous as Ice or Oathkeeper, but forged of strong Valyrian steel. "Who are you, really?"

Brynden's face paled. He hadn't anticipated Arthur riding ahead with a vanguard, especially not before their main force arrived. Roger's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings and quickly deduced the rest of Arthur's troops were still en route.

But this was his moment. Roger was nearing forty and had waited decades for a chance like this—to win honor and land in front of the next Blackwood lord.

They outnumbered Arthur's party twelve to seven. Even among mounted men, they held the advantage in training and gear. And according to local rumor, Arthur was no Ser Barristan in a duel.

"It doesn't matter who we are," Roger said, unsheathing his longsword and spurring his horse forward. "What matters is that you're already dead."

He pointed his blade at Arthur and shouted with grim satisfaction:

"Are you even worthy of the name Arthur? Are you worthy of sharing a name with the Sword of the Morning?"