Someone once said, “Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.” Aegor agreed. Though he had no thoughts of rebellion or revolution, if one removed the words “political power” from the phrase, the blank could be filled with countless possibilities. In this chaotic and primitive world, the value of armed force was immeasurable. Aegor had always kept the idea of building his own army in mind, and he already had a plan—there was no need for improvisation.

An army is a fighting force composed of soldiers. Organizing them into structured units makes it easier to calculate strength, command troops, and deploy them effectively. Aegor first established the structure of his security force: ten men formed a squad, three squads made a platoon, three platoons made a company, and so on.

The difference between having a structure and not having one was significant, though whether it was inherently good or bad remained to be seen. Before an army reached a certain size, the specifics whether a squad consisted of nine or ten men, or how many subordinate units a larger one contained—weren’t overly important. As long as there was consistency and order, there was no need to overthink it.

Training was the key.

…

“Keep the swordsmanship lessons, but get some bows and crossbows as well. Close-combat weapons alone aren’t enough,” Aegor said, speaking rapidly. “Add physical training and formation drills. It’s not just about fighting—we need discipline and obedience as well.”

“Bows, crossbows, formations… discipline and obedience?” Jellos asked hesitantly. “Ser, are you trying to train an army?”

Aegor stared at Jellos for a few seconds but didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Nina and asked, “What’s the base salary for the men in the logistics and security department?”

“A silver stag per day, my lord.”

Aegor turned back to Jellos. “How’s that pay? Is it enough to support a family?”

The security chief wasn’t sure what his leader was getting at, so he answered honestly, “It’s enough. A month’s wages are about what a farmer would earn in half a year.”

“Then I’m relieved.”

Aegor was willing—and at times, obligated to patiently explain things to high-ranking Night’s Watch officers or nobles who might become his clients. But now, he was speaking to his subordinates, and he had no intention of exhausting his mind on them. If they understood, good. If they didn’t, they could leave—he had no need for fools.

“What gave you the impression,” he continued coldly, “that I’d offer a soldier’s wage just to hire a bunch of glorified gatekeepers?”

Jellos heard the dissatisfaction in his tone. His face reddened, much like Nina’s did whenever she was suddenly confronted by Aegor. “I understand, ser… I will follow military standards.”

“Good. Tyrion chose you because he believes you have some ability. Don’t disappoint me.”

The Night’s Watch was, after all, a military order. Training soldiers within a military order, what could anyone say about that? Aegor had no intention of hiding it. “Beyond your own military experience, I have additional things to implement.”

Then, he introduced elements of military training he remembered from modern armies: standing posture, formations, commands, marching techniques, and even barracks discipline. Everything had to be orderly—both in movement and in stillness. Orders were to be carried out swiftly and decisively. Work and rest schedules had to be regular. In the barracks, beds, clothing, and equipment had to be arranged uniformly. Upon seeing a superior, soldiers were expected to salute without hesitation.

Even though he had simplified his explanation, Aegor still managed to leave his listeners utterly baffled. It’s just a small army, why make things so complicated?

Jellos barely retained any of it and immediately voiced his doubts. “Ser, I understand military drills, but… spending time on standing in formation, marching, arranging daily necessities, and folding blankets—does any of that actually matter?”

—

Did it matter? Aegor understood the question.

Even in the modern world, people still debated whether military drills and barracks discipline were mere formalities, empty rituals with no real value. It was difficult for them to grasp that beneath the appearance of “formalism,” these practices reflected the level of military discipline itself.

Believe it or not, under the same conditions, the army that marches in perfect formation and folds its blankets with precision will always be the stronger one—without exception, in both ancient and modern times, across every land and battlefield.

If equipment and the quality of individual soldiers are the flesh and bones of an army, then discipline and obedience are its soul. The strength of the Unsullied comes precisely from their twisted yet unparalleled military discipline—a special case that is impossible to replicate. Aegor, however, was taking a more conventional approach.

There was no doubt that transforming free men, accustomed to independent thought, comfort, and laziness into a disciplined force that followed orders without question would be difficult. But fortunately, the Night’s Watch Industry was no longer short on coin.

—

Aegor didn’t bother explaining further. The superiority of modern military training methods could only be proven by results, not words. If he had to explain every command he gave, he wouldn’t have time to breathe, let alone lead.

“I forgot to mention one thing earlier,” he said. “In the army I want, subordinates do not have the right to question their superiors’ decisions, unless a strategy meeting is being held. When I give an order, your only response should be ‘Yes, ser!’ and then you carry it out to the best of your ability. This applies to everyone, including you. Do you understand?”

Jellos looked displeased. He stared at Aegor with a serious expression, then glanced toward Tyrion.

“What do you expect me to do?” Tyrion snapped, glaring at him. “I hired you, so I should be the one to defend you?” He crossed his arms and continued, “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? Lord Aegor is the true master of the entire Night’s Watch Industry. I am just another of his employees. Do you think I was joking?”

Tyrion himself had doubts about the necessity of barracks discipline training, but over time, he had developed an almost blind trust in Aegor. In Aegor’s eyes, Tyrion was a great teammate. But in Tyrion’s eyes, wasn’t Aegor the same?

The dwarf clasped his hands behind his back and stared coldly at Jellos. “If you understand your superior’s command, then carry it out. If you don’t, go find Nina, collect this month’s salary, and enjoy an early retirement. She’s standing right here, so you won’t even have to run around. You used to be an officer in the City Watch, didn’t you? The gold dragon you’re paid each month isn’t so you can stand around watching three instructors teach swordplay all day!”

—

The visit had been going smoothly, until now. Two senior leaders publicly confronting a subordinate in the security department had created an awkward tension. The other department heads wanted to ease the situation, but no one knew how.

Jellos, as a grown man, found it hard to swallow the humiliation of being reprimanded in public. A part of him wanted to throw up his hands and say, “If someone else wants to do the job, be my guest!” before walking away. But a monthly salary of one gold dragon and the hungry mouths waiting for him at home left no room for pride.

He took a deep breath, lowered his head, and said, “Yes, ser!”

After a brief pause, he hesitated before asking carefully, “But… Lord Aegor, I didn’t quite remember everything you said. Could you… write it down for me?”

“No problem. Some things can’t be explained clearly in a single conversation. I’ll put everything in order and print out the regulations—everyone will get a copy.”

Though friendship between superiors and subordinates was unnecessary in the military, Aegor still gave Jellos a way out. “Try it this way first. If, after a month or two, you still think this kind of training is useless, you’re welcome to come and tell me.”

That being said—if Jellos actually came back in a month or two with complaints, he might as well just leave.

—

“That should be everything,” Tyrion said. “There’s another warehouse area. When the Night’s Watch expands further, we can store undelivered goods and materials waiting to be sent to the Wall there. Do you want to take a look?”

“Is there anything inside?”

“It’s only half-built. What do you think?”

“Then what’s the point? We’re done here.”

“Agreed.” Tyrion smirked. “Alright, it’s getting late. Let’s go. Nina, take Arya out for a bit. Casey, stay here. I need a private word with Aegor.”

Arya scowled. “What secret can’t I hear?”

“A conversation between men,” Tyrion said with a wink before striding toward a small tower about ten feet high in the distance.

Aegor was puzzled but followed him anyway.

—

After walking about a dozen paces, leaving everyone else behind, Tyrion pulled a small note from his pocket and handed it to Aegor. “Take a look. This is why I haven’t dared return to King’s Landing recently.”

(Haven’t dared to return? Wasn’t it just because you were too busy managing the Night’s Watch Industrial Park?)

Aegor took the note and glanced at it. His doubts vanished, replaced by a cold sweat.

The note exposed Cersei and Jaime’s incestuous affair, even providing the detail that all true Baratheons had black hair—while Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella were all blonde.

“Where did this come from?”

“Where?” Tyrion sneered. “They’re everywhere in King’s Landing. There are even more of them than last time when rumors spread that Lysa poisoned Jon Arryn. You’ve only just returned, so you haven’t had time to hear about it.”

(To be continued.)

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep