Gendry and his score of recruits had reached the area they were charged with blockading.
This quarter lay upon Rhaenys's Hill, north of the Street of the Silent Sisters and near the Old Gate. It was a place of sumptuous brothels and the manses of high lords and wealthy merchants, adorned with sculptures, gardens, fountains, and murals that proclaimed the wealth of those who dwelled there.
Gendry had never set foot in this part of the city before, nor did he know a soul who resided here. He was certain the other twenty were equally strangers to such grandeur.
Hot Pie and many of the others were gawking at their surroundings, faces slack with wonder, becoming more and more awkward and ill at ease with each passing moment.
Looking at them, they resembled not soldiers on a mission, but poor country lads who had wandered into the chambers of a great lord—overwhelmed by finery they had never before witnessed.
Seeing their faltering composure, Gendry barked a command with decisive authority: "Forward march!"
Hot Pie and the others stiffened at once, as though their spines had been replaced with iron rods. Their expressions regained the seriousness of their purpose, and they moved forward in perfect formation, steps measured and precise.
"One two one, one two one, one two..." The cadence carried them forward.
Gendry paid no heed to the surprised glances of passersby, focusing instead on the task that lay before them.
After the morning's exercises, all the recruits had been given their assignments, divided into a thousand small teams of roughly twenty men each.
Eight hundred teams had been tasked with blockading and securing different sections of the city. One hundred more guarded the city gates, while the final hundred would assist various royal departments in carrying out their duties throughout King's Landing.
By good fortune, the Gold Cloaks and those recruits who had received divine grace had been appointed captains of their respective teams. Gendry himself had been granted command of his own unit and assigned to his own section of the city.
"Grid 239," read the glowing screen of divine grace that he now carried. His team was accordingly "Team 239," comprising twenty-one members including himself.
Though his command extended to a mere score of men, Gendry felt a deep contentment.
Less than a fortnight past, he had been a blacksmith's apprentice, hammering steel in a sweltering forge. Now he stood captain over twenty soldiers, blessed with the divine grace of His Grace himself. No man could ask for more.
Hope ran rampant through the barracks these days.
His Grace provided not only generous provisions and thoughtful care, but had established a system of rewards as clear as a mountain stream. Regardless of birth or breeding, any man who proved his worth through ability and service would receive his just due: gold dragons, honor, protection, and advancement.
Regardless of birth? At first, none had dared believe it. Yet living examples had paraded before their eyes, one after another.
Team leaders, centurions, quartermasters, scribes—exceptional recruits from all walks of life received divine grace and became officers. Among them were merchants' sons, orphans without name or kin, impoverished smallfolk, and even those who had once begged for crusts in the gutters of Flea Bottom.
All knew how ordinary—even wretched—the lives of these fortunate few had been.
Like their fellows, they had never imagined themselves rising above their station. They had thought of nothing beyond the day's labors, doing all they could for a full belly and a blanket against the night's chill.
They had answered the crown's call simply to sell their lives. None had harbored ambitions beyond survival.
After all, common wisdom held that once Lord Renly's rebellion was crushed, the army would naturally disband. Highborn officers would return to their families and comforts, while surviving soldiers would face the remainder of their days with scars and bitter memories.
The fortunate among them—those who managed to seize some small spoil of war—might quietly savor the tale of their service in their declining years.
The unlucky would toil until death, dependent on the charity of kin and acquaintances, enduring mockery, perhaps recounting tales of their martial days in exchange for a heel of bread or a cup of sour ale.
Everyone knew this to be the way of things.
This was war, and these were its soldiers. It had always been thus.
But now, the winds seemed to be shifting.
The purpose of this army did not appear to end with Lord Renly's defeat, and the soldiers were treated as more than mere grains of sand to be scattered by the first strong gust.
Demonstrate ability and loyalty, render meritorious service, transform from a nameless speck of dust into a man of substance—with each new example of such elevation, the eyes of the recruits grew brighter, their laughter and songs in the barracks more genuine.
By now, all believed that a future of promise awaited them as well.
Who among them could resist striving for advancement?
Gendry had secretly resolved that he would execute every task flawlessly, fight however many battles came his way, help crush Lord Renly's rebellion, and live to see its end. Perhaps, he dared to think, the rank of general was not beyond his reach.
General Gendry. By then, surely, he would need a surname to complete his dignity. What name should he take?
It all began today.
"Holy Land Radiance: Act One—Washing Away the Dust." Gendry studied the name of their mission on the brilliant light screen before him, heart swelling with confidence.
Dust. No matter how much of it had gathered in the corners of King's Landing, it remained mere dust—easily swept away.
Gendry tapped the map displayed on the light screen.
King's Landing had been divided into eight hundred "grids." Most appeared as white squares, signifying that forces were already in position and could seal their sections at a moment's notice.
A few remained black, indicating that teams had yet to arrive and required additional time.
Gendry knew that once the command was given, successfully blockaded grids would turn green on the map. Those encountering difficulties would show red, requiring support from nearby teams—though such aid could not come at the expense of their own assigned sectors.
Once all grids glowed green, the teams responsible for various investigative tasks would begin their work, appearing on all screens of divine grace as blue spheres of light.
Grids that had been thoroughly investigated would revert to white. Some teams would continue to guard their assigned areas, while others would join different grids or investigation units.
Throughout the operation, all teams must monitor the blue spheres with unwavering vigilance.
A steady pulsing sphere indicated that all proceeded as planned;
A flashing sphere marked with red stripes signaled that nearby teams should render assistance;
A sphere glowing entirely red meant the team was under attack and required immediate support from all available forces.
More dire situations lay beyond the concern of the teams scattered throughout the city. Such threats would be met by more powerful figures.
Gendry thought of the face with its hideous burns—Sandor Clegane, commander of the City Watch.
Fire. What terrible power it held.
Though he had witnessed it but once, Gendry knew with certainty that no man could stand against such might. This was an even more fearsome manifestation of divine grace.
At that moment, the final grid on the light screen turned from black to white.
Gendry's spirits soared. He signaled the team to ready themselves while he stood motionless, waiting for the command with anticipation thrumming in his veins.
Bang~
A glowing scroll emerged from the light screen, unfurling to reveal text limned in gold.
"Grid network activated."
Gendry turned to the twenty soldiers under his command and raised his right arm, drawing a deep breath. "Begin operation! Complete blockade—none to enter or leave!"
Hot Pie and the others snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, captain!"
Gendry began issuing orders with the confidence of a man born to command. "You three, secure that alley. You five, block the main street. You two, position yourselves over there. You five, gather everyone within the grid and bring them to the center. Report any resistance immediately."
"Yes, captain!"
The team dispersed to their duties with practiced efficiency.
The faces of passersby shifted from confusion to panic as they observed the soldiers' actions. Some instinctively moved to flee.
Gendry drew the sword from his hip. "By order of His Grace, the entire city is under investigation! None shall move from where they stand! Take another step, and you forfeit your life for nothing!"
The cold light catching on the blade's edge proved most persuasive.
Looking at the crowd, now grown still as stone, Gendry did not allow himself to relax his vigilance.
Many powerful figures dwelled in this quarter—men and women accustomed to commanding others, who wielded considerable influence. Might some among them be the "dust" they sought?
He withdrew a white steel sphere from his belt and activated its mechanism.
Let us hope this treasure proves its worth.
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Marvel : The God Of Punishment System
I Am Raditz
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