Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 70: Boundary Stake

The barge's bottom rubbed hard against the silt on the riverbank, making a dull, creaking sound as if the wood was about to fall apart.

That's not a normal docking.

The boatman had originally planned to circle halfway downstream to find a deeper wooden pier to moor, but Otto ordered him to ram directly into this shallow area. The boat plowed a deep trench in the mud and sand, finally coming to a stop. A little muddy water seeped up along the sides of the boat, carrying the distinctive stench of late autumn waters—rotten grass roots and dead fish and shrimp that had been soaking for a long time.

Otto jumped off the bow of the ship.

His boots sank into the mud, reaching above his ankles. The biting cold seeped into his toes through the leather boots. He didn't look down, nor did he pay attention to the rising chill; instead, he stared straight ahead at a point fifty paces away.

It was originally a gentle slope covered with birch trees, a natural barrier at the southernmost tip of the Hohenzollern territory.

Now, a gap has been cut into that grove of birch trees.

Several soldiers dressed in black robes with red trim were using large wooden mallets to pound a thick log, the top of which was painted with a black crow in red paint, into the ground.

"Bang! Bang!"

The sound of a mallet striking a log echoed across the open riverbank. With each strike, the boundary marker sank an inch deeper, like a nail being driven into the edge of the territory.

Gareth jumped off the boat. He was carrying the old sword and frowned at the sight.

He didn't know who those people were, but he knew that the log was stuck in the wrong place.

Beside the boundary marker stood a man in a gray robe, a small copper chain around his neck symbolizing the knowledge of the academy, and a sheepskin scroll in his hand. He was a boundary official.

The boundary officer heard the sound of the boat docking, turned around, and saw Otto walking out of the mud and water, and behind him were seven blood-stained, numb-eyed wounded soldiers.

The boundary official's eyes twitched slightly, but he did not back down; instead, he straightened his back a bit.

Otto stopped five steps away from the boundary marker.

"Lord Hohenzollern," the boundary officer said without bowing, "You've returned at just the right time. I've been sent by Lord Horst Tully of Riverrun to re-demarcate the boundary between the Blue Fork River and the Blackwood family's territory."

Otto remained silent. His gaze was fixed on the black raven boundary marker.

The concession stated "ten li to the north and ten li to the south," but the location of this boundary marker cut off more than two li to the north of the territory, directly allocating the best birch forest to Crowtree City.

"You measured it wrong," Gareth suddenly said, his voice loud and somewhat shrill. "This forest belongs to Hohenzollern. I rested here when I came here."

The boundary officer glanced at Gareth as if he were some ignorant country bumpkin, then looked back at Otto.

"Your Excellency, Earl Tethos Blackwood has filed a formal appeal with His Excellency the Duke." The boundary official unfurled the parchment, his voice rising two decibels. "Regarding your judgment in Fair City, His Excellency the Duke has ruled that this disputed ford and birch forest, as a consolation to the Blackwood family, be placed under the jurisdiction of Raventree City. This boundary marker is the Duke's verdict."

Otto stood there, motionless.

He neither drew his sword nor touched the warrant bearing the golden seal of the crowned stag in his bosom.

"Pull it out," Gareth's voice rang out again.

The fence knight had already gripped the hilt of his sword. His thinking was simple: this land belonged to Otto, and this log shouldn't be planted here. That's not right.

"Don't move," Otto said softly.

Gareth froze. He turned and looked at Otto, puzzled.

Otto ignored Gareth. He looked at the boundary official whose face already wore a triumphant smile.

"I accept the Duke's verdict."

Otto spoke as calmly as if he were discussing how many pounds of oats he had consumed that day. He made no attempt to defend himself, nor did he utter any harsh words.

"This shallow beach, the city of returning crows."

The boundary official opened his mouth, but swallowed back the warnings he had prepared.

"But scholar, please record my words in your file."

Otto shifted his gaze from the boundary officer's face to the black raven boundary marker.

"The debt to Fair City ends with this wooden stake; it's all settled."

He turned his head, his grey-blue eyes showing no anger, only a deathly coldness.

"If this stake grows legs and moves even half an inch to the north," Otto said, looking at the boundary official, "then someone is trying to seize Hohenzollern's territory. In that case, I will settle accounts with iron."

The boundary official's smile froze. He knew that this wooden stake was the absolute bottom line that the other side could tolerate.

"I will convey your message, Your Excellency." The border official bowed slightly, then waved his hand. "Withdraw!"

The soldiers in Blackwood immediately packed up their tools and hurriedly left with the boundary officer.

The mudflats returned to silence, with only the sound of the river lapping against the barges.

Gareth loosened his grip on the sword hilt. He looked at the boundary marker, then at Otto's retreating figure, his brow furrowed into a deep knot.

"My lord," Gareth's voice was filled with deep confusion, "that's clearly our land."

Otto did not answer him.

In the distance, hurried footsteps echoed from the direction of the inner fortress. Polliver and Toren, leading dozens of militiamen armed with spears, were rushing towards them along the log path.

Pollifer ran to the edge of the mudflats, glanced at the conspicuous black crow boundary marker, and then at Otto, who remained standing still. His thin face immediately understood what had happened.

"Sir, that piece of land..." Pollifer's voice was somewhat hoarse.

"Record it in the loss." Otto didn't stop, walking through the mud towards the log path.

"Was it Blackwood who did this?" Toren gripped the hilt of his sword, anger blazing in the veteran's eyes. "Our men just returned, and they're already trying to take advantage. Sir, shall we draw it?"

"Keep it."

Otto's voice came through the cold wind, completely flat.

"Pin it to my homepage. So I can see it every day."

---

In the room at the bottom of the stone tower, the charcoal in the brazier burned brightly, but it couldn't dispel the chill seeping from the cracks in the stones.

Otto removed his blood- and mud-stained armor and sat shirtless on the stone bench. His old wounds, ripped open in the corridors of Pike City, were now bleeding again, dark red blood seeping from their previously healed edges.

Maester Ilion entered carrying a medicine chest. He went behind Oto and used a linen cloth soaked in strong liquor to clean the blood around the wound.

"Strong liquor can be a bit stinging, my lord." Ilion's tone was as calm as if he were reading a medical book.

"Down." Otto clenched his teeth and uttered only one word.

The strong liquor sizzled as it poured onto the chapped flesh. Otto's back muscles tensed, and a fine layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead, but he made no sound.

Ilion spoke as he applied the medicine.

"It was a wise choice for you, sir, not to draw your sword on the mudflats."

Otto didn't respond, waiting for what was to come.

"I heard from Pollifer about the boundary official's excuse." Ilion applied the white herb ointment evenly to the wound with steady movements. "As compensation. The Old Gods do not recognize the Seven Gods."

The scholar paused for a moment, then threw the bloodstained burlap into the basin.

"Many people in the Riverlands know this rule. But no one would go out of their way to tell a newly appointed baron from across the Narrow Sea who has just received his charter," Elion said calmly. "The Blackwood family is the only remaining ancient bloodline in the Riverlands that still believes in the Old Gods. They swore an oath to the Heart Tree not to enter sanctuaries or worship the Seven Gods. In Fair City, with the Seven Gods' monks as witnesses, you executed their knight. To you, it was a legitimate trial by combat; but to them, it was a heretical act of blasphemy and murder against the followers of the Old Gods."

Ilion picked up a clean bandage and began to wrap it around Otto's shoulder.

"The Duke of Tully is a shrewd ruler. He did not use the pretext of 'disobeying the king' to reduce your territory. He simply reduced the religious wrath of the Blackwood family to two miles of mudflats and a birch grove. And the rules were impeccable."

Otto sat there, listening to the scholar's words, his chest rising and falling slightly with his breath.

He mentally re-aligned every word Ilion had said with the decision made in Fair City that day.

He recalled that day in Fair City, when he felt that using the Seven Gods' guild was the fastest and cheapest way to legitimize himself. He had anticipated the cavalry of Blackwood and the reaction of Seafront City, but he had not anticipated the "Old Gods."

In his mind, gods were merely a tool, a seal used to prove legitimacy. But he forgot that in the ancient land of Westeros, faith was not a tool; it was something ingrained in the very bones of certain families.

He miscalculated.

"I see."

Otto stood up, picked up the clean linen clothes next to him, and put them on.

He walked to the window and looked out at the gray sky and the double-headed black eagle flag fluttering in the distance.

The boundary marker on the mudflats cut away his land, but it also taught him the most important lesson.