The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Hally the Scholar was forced back a step by Gregor's imposing presence, then surreptitiously took another step back: "My lord, rest assured, Polliver's hand can still wield a sword."

"Polliver, who injured you?" Gregor asked Polliver, his gaze shifting from Sweetmouth Ralph to glare at Dunsen.

Dunsen also had a faint purple-red ring around his neck, like a necklace, the mark of a sword wound after Hally the Scholar had treated him with medicine these past two days.

Dunsen retreated a step, his eyes, usually those of a ruthless killer, filled with panic, his voice lacking confidence and all traces of violence, like a cowardly mouse: "My lord, Polliver tried to take my life first. I had no choice but to stab his hand."

The current Gregor was no longer the Gregor of old; he possessed high intelligence and a clear understanding of his three men's personalities. He had to change their habit of resorting to life-or-death duels at the slightest provocation.

Polliver was a staunch loyalist; his desire to kill Dunsen could only stem from one reason: Dunsen's disobedience. And Dunsen's defiance must have been prompted and encouraged by someone, the instigator inevitably being Sweetmouth Ralph.

A fence needs three posts, and a thug needs three accomplices. Gregor thought that since he was the thug of all thugs, he needed loyal, desperate men around him. In truth, whether one was a thug or not depended on who they committed evil against. Committing evil against the wicked made one a hero, committing evil against heroes made one a villain, and committing evil against the common people and the good made one a thug.

Actually, being a thug had many advantages, especially being a well-known one, as Gregor deeply understood. Before his transmigration, his girlfriend had dumped him for not being ruthless or brave enough to fight for her in the cinema. Just a day later, his girlfriend had found a rogue who knew Sanda to be her boyfriend, which had greatly stimulated the transmigrated engineering dog.

Truthfully, the engineering man, now merged with all of Gregor's memories, stared at the four before him while eating grilled meat, drinking bacon soup, munching on bread, and guzzling red wine. All four were trembling with fear, as if walking on thin ice. This feeling of exhilaration was something he had never experienced in his previous life. If he had to compare this feeling, it would be like eating an ice cream when thirsty in summer or sitting by a warm stove when it snowed in winter.

His three desperate men were overly loyal but lacked brotherly affection for each other; they needed to be trained.

A lone desperate man was not frightening because his combat strength was limited, but a united group of desperate men could command attention.

Unity was not strength for sheep, but Gregor knew that his few men were not sheep, but hunting dogs who dared to fight lions. Once these dogs were united into one dog, that dog could bite a lion to death.

"Sweetmouth Ralph, you have the best eloquence; tell me what happened," Gregor said calmly, already guessing eight or nine parts of the truth. It must have been Sweetmouth Ralph who gave the idea, and Dunsen, in a fit of passion, wanted to enter the room, while the loyalist Polliver would definitely not agree.

The three dogs' way of resolving conflicts was always simple: a duel!

Previous duels could be stopped with a glance from Gregor. This time, he was tightly bound to the stone bed, and hallucinations from his poppy addiction naturally prevented him from interfering in their duel.

Gregor's complexion improved significantly from the bacon soup's warmth in his stomach, and with the food settling, his pale green face began to regain color.

He had overcome his poppy addiction; although he looked as if he had struggled back from the brink of death, haggard and exhausted, his spirit felt stronger, freer, and lighter.

Poppy addiction became easier with each subsequent attempt after surviving the most crucial first time.

Sweetmouth Ralph stammered, "My lord, I heard your… voice… sounded a little off…"

"So you let Dunsen come in to check," Gregor said, still chewing on rabbit meat, the golden juice of the honey-glazed rabbit dripping from the corner of his mouth onto his hairy chest.

Extremely hungry, Gregor abandoned the fastidiousness he had cultivated in his previous life.

"Yes, my lord!" Sweetmouth Ralph dared not lie.

Normally, Gregor rarely intervened in these brotherly desperate brawls.

"Hally the Scholar, may I ask you to go upstairs first? I would like to have a few words with my three officers."

"As you wish, my lord," Hally the Scholar said, relieved, bowing respectfully before quickly retreating. He stepped onto the stairs and let out a long, heavy sigh.

*

"Ralph, draw your sword," Gregor mumbled, his mouth and throat stuffed with food.

Fragrant food, warm bacon soup, it really felt so comfortable, so tempting!

Sweetmouth Ralph was confused; he slowly drew his sword, unsure of what his idol, Lord Gregor, wanted to do.

"Dunsen, draw your sword," Gregor mumbled again.

Whether in his previous or current life, Gregor felt he had never eaten such delicious food. He had a huge appetite at every meal, he was really hungry for two days and two nights, and his whole body's strength was exhausted.

Dunsen drew his sword.

"Kill Sweetmouth Ralph."

Dunsen glanced at Lord Gregor and saw that his eyes were serious.

Dunsen's sword went straight for Sweetmouth Ralph's throat.

Sweetmouth Ralph was shocked; he slashed his longsword diagonally, the two swords clashing with a clang, sparks flying. The two retreated after the strike, moving their feet, slowly circling, like two hungry wolves filled with murderous intent. Sweetmouth Ralph suddenly struck first, fiercely chopping at Dunsen's face, but Dunsen spun his feet, deftly sidestepping. Sweetmouth Ralph's attack was just a feint, retreating as he advanced, making a break for the door.

"Polliver, stop Sweetmouth," Gregor gulped down a large glass of Arbor Gold wine, then let out a satisfied burp.

He knew that he shouldn't eat too much after being starved for so long, but the food was too delicious, the bacon soup too heartwarming, and the wine too tempting; he had eaten his fill.

Polliver had been waiting by the door for a long time. As a fanatical follower of Gregor, he had read the meaning in Lord Gregor's eyes when he called Sweetmouth to draw his sword, so he retreated to the door and placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword.

Gregor most admired Polliver's perfect understanding of his words and actions.

With a glance, a gesture, a nod, Polliver knew what Lord Gregor wanted to do. His unparalleled comprehension was only useful to Gregor alone; otherwise, his reaction and comprehension were the worst of the three desperate men.

Clang!

Polliver drew his longsword, his left-handed sword blocking the door.

Sweetmouth Ralph, who was rushing towards the door, suddenly stopped. In his urgency, he couldn't kill Polliver and rush out. Dunsen's swordsmanship was superior to his; as long as he hesitated even a little, Dunsen would seize the opportunity, and he would die.

Lord Gregor had personally ordered him to be killed; Dunsen would show no mercy, on the contrary, he would unleash his full strength.

Clang!

Sweetmouth Ralph threw away the sword in his hand, turned around, and with a thud, he knelt straight down before Lord Gregor.

Swoosh!

Dunsen's longsword pressed against Sweetmouth Ralph's throat.

"Ralph, if Dunsen and Polliver were your enemies right now, would you be dead this time?"

"Yes, my lord!"

"How many swords can you defeat with one sword?"

"I cannot defeat even one with good swordsmanship like Dunsen."

"What about Polliver, how many can you defeat?"

"One!"

"If two swordsmen like Polliver were to deal with you at the same time?"

"I cannot win, my lord."

Gregor slowly got off the bed, still feeling a little lightheaded. He paused to steady himself: "A person's strength is limited no matter how powerful they are, and a person's swordsmanship cannot stop multiple attacks no matter how skilled they are. Shadowcats are powerful, but why do they avoid packs of wild dogs when competing for food every time? Why?"

"Shadowcats are solitary, while wild dogs are numerous, my lord."

"The large number is not the most important reason. What truly makes shadowcats afraid is that wild dogs are very united. If wild dogs are not united, fighting separately and internally, no matter how many wild dogs there are, they are no match for a shadowcat. From today onwards, Sweetmouth Ralph, you, Executioner Dunsen, and Loyal Polliver, must unite like wild dogs, the three of you must be as united as one person. You must remember that three swords are much stronger than one sword. Sweetmouth Ralph, when two swords are against you, do you need Dunsen's sword or Polliver's sword to help you?"

"Yes, my lord. I need it very much."

Gregor deliberately knocked on the head of the most agile Sweetmouth.

"Dunsen, have you understood my words?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You fought each other this time while I was detoxing from poppy addiction, Dunsen was almost slashed in the throat, and Polliver almost lost the use of his right hand. The root of everything lies in Sweetmouth's mouth. All three of you have made a big mistake," Gregor's expression suddenly changed, and he shouted sharply.

Sweetmouth Ralph's face was pale, and he lowered his head in silence; Dunsen shrank back in fright, hurriedly sheathing his sword and kneeling on one knee; Polliver, without waiting for Gregor's gaze to fall on him, sheathed his longsword, hurried over, and knelt down with a thud.

"I want your swords, from now on, to always be aimed only at the enemy, not at your comrades. Thrust the sharp swords into the enemy's heart, and pour the fine wine into the bellies of your brothers. The three of you are my best subordinates and my best warriors. Now, I want you to swear to me together in the name of family honor and the Seven Gods that in the future, no matter what conflicts arise between you, the swords in your hands will be united against outsiders."