As one of the most powerful clans among the mountain tribes, the Painted Dogs naturally had their own council hall.
The tribal elders brought out rare at to entertain Jon.
In a bright, semi-cave hall, a fire pit was lit, and a bronze cauldron was set up to boil the at.
Seeing this, Jon truly felt the reality of their low productivity levels.
Roasted at tasted great, sure.
But the process wasted a lot of precious fat as it dripped away.
Scenes in TV shows where nomads roasted huge chunks of at on racks, letting the grease drip freely, were pure fantasy.
In reality, pouring every drop of oil from the bronze pot into one's mouth, like they were doing now, was the norm.
Jon sat around the fire pit, chatting with the three elders and Hakon.
The three elders drank tea and chatted with Jon, while Hakon sat silently, staring at Sora as she poured their tea.
"Thank you."
Jon took the tea from Sora and thanked her.
He had just heard Sora call the High Elder "Father," so he didn't want to be rude.
But his simple courtesy made Sora blush, her smile hard to hide.
"So you an that group of tin n who recruited our warriors before... they are going to fail soon?"
"Correct. We call those tin n 'Lannisters.' They have provoked several powerful houses at once. Of course, the Lannisters are strong, but let use an imperfect analogy: I see the Painted Dogs are strong too, but if the Painted Dogs had to fight all the mountain clans of the Mountains of the Moon alone, could you withstand them?"
Hearing Jon's logic, Victor and Hughwolf exchanged a glance.
They both realized that switching sides might actually be a stroke of luck.
High Elder Victor spoke up:
"We understand what Lord Jon ans. Since it is the Fire Witch's will, we are willing to serve you. But regarding food and weapons..."
"Rest assured, I will provide you with better food and weapons!"
The weapons Tyrion had given them were second or third-rate discards from the Lannister army.
What Robb gave Jon was stripped directly from captured soldiers—naturally, much better quality.
Hearing this, High Elder Victor nodded, but raised a practical issue—communication between the mountain clans wasn't frequent, and conflicts were common.
The tribes that hadn't joined the Lannisters were located in remote areas and were very hostile to outsiders. It wouldn't be easy for Jon to ally with them.
"Leave that to ," Elder Hughwolf interjected before Jon could speak.
He reached directly into the boiling bronze cauldron, fished out a large chunk of marbled at with his bare hand, and placed it in front of Jon.
This acrobatic display surprised Jon greatly.
Good grief! The Iron Hand in real life!
Still, seeing soone willing to help, Jon showed respect:
"Then I thank you, Elder. How should I address you?"
"Haha, just call Hughwolf."
"Very well, Elder Hughwolf."
Hughwolf's enthusiasm clearly surprised the other two elders as well. Sora suddenly chid in:
"Elder Hughwolf is the person in our tribe who fears heat the least."
"Just heat resistance, nothing useful. Can't compare to Lord Jon's martial arts."
Hearing soone praise Jon's skills, Hakon lowered his head further, tearing savagely into the at in his hand as if he were ripping it from Jon's own body.
Overall, however, the atmosphere was much friendlier than when Jon first arrived.
The Painted Dogs were willing to accept Jon's group, and Elder Hughwolf even volunteered for the arduous task of contacting other tribes. It felt like divine intervention to Jon.
But as a businessman in his past life, he didn't believe in people helping him for no reason.
Fate's gifts always ca with a hidden price tag.
Honestly, in his past life, he even kept a guard up against his own bedmate, let alone this Hughwolf.
But if it were Roslin...
Suddenly, Jon realized his mind had wandered.
Seems putting a greasy middle-aged soul into a young body got the hormones flowing again.
Suppressing the strange flutter in his heart, Jon continued chatting with Victor and the others.
Once the discussion ended, Jon's group was shown to their quarters. Old York took the opportunity to warn Jon about Hughwolf.
Jon smiled and agreed; the saying "the older the ginger, the spicier it gets" really held true.
But soon, the old man started getting improper.
"My Lord, I think that little lass Sora seems quite taken with you."
Seeing him tease, Jon waved his hand indifferently. "Girls at that age, they're all a bit outgoing."
"Eh~ My Lord, that's not right. You have high martial skill, noble bearing, and you win battles. Forget a wildling girl; even in the Seven Kingdoms, plenty of noble ladies would fall for you! My Lord, you probably haven't bedded a woman yet, right? From my experience, that little girl would be... a firecracker in bed..."
As Old York got more lewd, Jon cut him off:
"Ser York, we are here to find allies, not a wife for . If you don't focus on business, maybe you should head back first?"
Hearing the rebuke in Jon's tone, Old York sat back down resentfully.
Although he got a small scolding, he felt pretty good inside.
That wildling girl nad Sora was indeed pretty.
Great figure, great face.
She ranked in the top five of all the girls he'd seen in his sixty-plus years!
Looks-wise, his granddaughter might struggle to compete.
But it seed Jon wasn't shallow about looks, which reassured him greatly.
They chatted about Hughwolf fishing at from the boiling pot, both finding it amazing.
Maybe his nerves for heat and cold aren't sensitive?
Jon didn't dwell on it.
anwhile, Hughwolf was packing his belongings, preparing to set off to lobby the other tribes.
But his son was unhappy about it.
"Father, why are we helping that outsider?"
Hughwolf looked at his complaining son. When the tribe decided to send troops before, he had gone to great lengths to hide this boy.
"You know nothing!" Hughwolf scolded.
He glanced out the window to ensure no one was around, then lowered his voice into his son's ear:
"Didn't you see how skilled that Jon is?! I reckon he's the most likely person in a hundred years to climb Fire-Cache Peak. Do you know what the treasure in Fire-Cache Peak ans? If we get that thing, never mind the little Painted Dogs tribe—the entire Mountains of the Moon, even the whole Vale, will be ours!"
"The Vale..." Hughwolf's son swallowed hard, looking like he dared not even dream of it.
"Father, what exactly is on Fire-Cache Peak?"
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