Chapter 280

The return of the Chief Logistics Officer after two months was like a storm crashing into Castle Black. He arrived with his sleeves rolled up, radiating an air of confrontation, and summoned the brothers to witness whatever drama was about to unfold. News of his entrance spread like wildfire across the towers and under the rooftops. Whether in the middle of voting, eating, or simply milling about, the black-clad brothers abandoned their tasks to converge upon the election hall.

Time was short, and Aegor didn’t wait for the audience to fully gather. Flanked by his loyalists, he strode directly toward the “battlefield.” His entrance preceded him, the murmurs of his arrival causing the once-quiet cellar to erupt with noise: jeers, curses, laughter, and the stomping of boots and fists on tables blended into a cacophony that filled the arched chamber.

Aegor stepped inside, the weight of dozens of eyes falling on him immediately. Pyp, who had been watching the door like a hawk, was the first to spot him. With practiced precision, Pyp placed two fingers in his mouth and let loose a shrill whistle that sliced through the noise like a blade. The room fell silent almost instantly, the cold air that seeped in from outside now mirrored by the frigid tension within. All that remained was the faint crackle of the hearth and the deliberate sound of Aegor’s boots descending the steps into the hall.

Every man held his breath. The clash of titans was about to begin.

----

“Ah, Chief Logistics Officer, you’ve returned,” said Ser Denys Mallister, his polished courtesy unshaken despite the obvious tension in the air. His voice carried a sharp undertone as he smiled. “It seems your time in the North has been rather... productive.”

“Duty called,” Aegor replied evenly, brushing off the comment. “When the logistics of the Watch are being threatened, someone has to address it. But let’s not dwell on me. What I’m curious about is this—two months and no Lord Commander? And now, suddenly, two seasoned candidates withdraw to back a greenhorn who hasn’t even worn the black for a full year?”

Cotter Pyke was not one for pleasantries. He sneered openly, his small, beady eyes glaring daggers at Aegor. “Who we support is none of your business,
Officer.”

“None of my business?” Aegor’s voice sharpened as he paced down the aisle, his boots clicking against the stone floor. “You’re electing the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch—the shield of the realms of men, the leader of our fight against the dead—and you think it’s none of my business? This concerns every brother under the Wall’s shadow, every man who has sworn his life to this cause!”

He stopped abruptly, his gaze like steel as he pointed at Yohn Royce, who sat at a table flanked by a few supporters. “And this is who you’ve chosen? What gives him the right to even stand for this position?”

----

Ever since he had been transported into this world, Aegor had made it a point to maintain cordiality. Whether out of a desire to make allies or to preserve the goodwill of those around him, he understood that politeness was the bedrock of persuasion. But Yohn Royce... was an exception.

This was a man whose son had died—indirectly—because of Aegor. Aegor had also played a key role in manipulating the Vale’s political turmoil, ensuring Royce’s exile to the Wall. Their enmity was inevitable. And now, Royce was here, riding on Cotter Pyke’s support, with the express goal of opposing him.

If there was no chance of reconciliation, then there was no need for restraint.

----

Being publicly called unqualified was an insult that would ignite the anger of even the most patient man. Yohn Royce rose from his seat, his fists clenched as he locked eyes with Aegor. The old lord’s face reddened, his anger barely contained. He wanted nothing more than to strike the smug smirk off Aegor’s face. But he knew better than to give in to such impulses. This was Castle Black, a military institution, and the rules were clear: in a place like this, the first man to resort to violence lost.

Though Royce was tall, age had diminished his physical presence. Standing before Aegor, he appeared slightly shorter, a subtle but undeniable advantage that Aegor exploited with his commanding posture.

“I have no qualifications? And what gives you the right to make that judgment?” Royce’s voice was sharp, but the strain of suppressed rage bled through his words.

“Oh, do I need to be a chef to judge the quality of a meal?” Aegor retorted, his smirk widening. “I’m not running for Lord Commander, I’m simply questioning your ability. But since you’ve asked, let’s talk about qualifications, shall we?”

The room’s attention was riveted on Aegor as he launched into his tirade, his voice rising with conviction. “Since I became Chief Logistics Officer, I’ve brought over one hundred new recruits to the Wall. I’ve personally secured more than five hundred gold dragons in cash, along with thousands of pounds of grain, meat, clothing, and weapons—including dragonglass enough to fill this hall!

“Every brother here has benefited from my efforts. Weekly meat rations, warm clothing, boots, gloves—things we once thought luxuries are now standard. Even the wildlings who have crossed the Wall owe their survival to the supplies I’ve procured. Every pound of food, every stitch of clothing, every copper spent—those were my contributions. Contributions the Night’s Watch made no effort to support.”

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the room, his voice unrelenting. “I am the Night’s Watch’s supply chain. And what has Lord Yohn Royce done? A man exiled for his failure in the Vale, a man whose rebellion led to his disgrace. What victories has he won? What proof has he given that he can lead us against the dead?”

----

Samwell’s note had prepared Aegor for this moment, listing every contribution he had made in meticulous detail. The numbers were undeniable. While Aegor’s claim about the recruits might have been exaggerated, everything else was true—and every man in the room knew it.

Royce faltered, his initial surge of anger giving way to hesitation. He glanced at Cotter Pyke and Denys Mallister for support, but neither spoke. Their silence confirmed what he feared: Aegor’s claims were accurate.

“You’ve contributed much,” Royce said after a long pause, his voice cold. “But those are the duties of an officer. The brothers who patrol the Wall and face the dangers beyond have risked their lives while you remained safe in the rear.”

“True,” Aegor admitted with a shrug. “But how many patrols have you been on, Royce? How many wildlings or wights have you slain? As an officer, I’ve participated in twenty patrols and killed one of the Others. Can you say the same?”

----

Royce was speechless, caught entirely off guard. Aegor’s words were a hurricane, battering away any attempts at resistance. Even Denys Mallister, always composed, seemed taken aback.

Sensing the tide turning, Aegor pressed his advantage, his voice echoing through the hall. “In the face of the greatest threat this world has ever seen, we don’t need a competent Lord Commander. We need an exceptional one. Is this the best you can offer? A man whose name is carried more by his armor than his deeds?”

The room was silent, the weight of Aegor’s challenge hanging heavy in the air. All eyes were on Royce, but the once-proud lord had no answer.