Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, initially held onto a glimmer of hope and drew a fake treasure map for the Bloody Mummers.
Two days later, the group of men who had gone out to dig came back empty-handed, and they gave Littlefinger another beating.
The Brave Companions, known among the Seven Kingdoms as the Bloody Mummers, under the leadership of their captain, Vargo Hoat from Qohor, claimed to gather talented individuals from the Nine Free Cities. In truth, they were all infamous criminals on the run.
Among the mercenaries active in the Riverlands and the Trident, Thoros from Myr had previously collaborated with the Bloody Mummers. Later, Thoros became a magician and distanced himself from their ranks, spending his days with the King.
Vargo Hoat was familiar with Thoros, as the mages of King's Landing were highborn nobles, and their tone and demeanor exuded supreme confidence. He had even heard of healing magic from Thoros's words. Thus, he immediately recognized Littlefinger's disguise as a limping wizard.
The Bloody Mummers was escorting a few wagons of prisoners to the Westerlands. However, upon discovering a treasure, they decided to excavate it before proceeding. The entire mercenary group set up camp in a forest outside Harrenhal.
"This bastard won't tell the truth, Fatty, you know what to do—cut off his hands!" Vargo Hoat, with his goat-like beard, sneered from atop his black-and-white steed.
"I love chopping off hands. Skinny, you pick: left or right?" Fatty Zollo, a Dothraki, regarded captives as his property, and cutting off hands and feet was as normal as breathing.
Littlefinger's feet were bound, and two men dragged him to a large tree, forcing him to kneel.
"The treasure is really here, I'm not lying! Please spare me!" Littlefinger had endured enough beating and just wanted this nightmare to end.
Vargo Hoat dismounted, grabbing an axe. "If it's not here, you'll lose both your hands! Brothers, dig!"
Following Littlefinger's indicated location, the treasure was finally unearthed—a large chest of gold dragons.
Littlefinger's face turned ashen; his only escape route was now closed.
The Bloody Mummers went into a frenzy, and after the captain confirmed each person's share, the group prepared to depart.
"Vargo Hoat: 'Where's Utt? We need to head to the Westerlands.'"
"He's probably off having fun with some little boy again," Fatty Zoro said, eagerly counting a handful of gold dragons from his pocket.
Moments later, Utt, clad in armor, ran back. Utt was a former Seven Gods priest wanted for his crimes. In his fifties, with graying hair and an exceptionally ugly appearance, he immediately kneeled before Vargo Hoat.
"Captain, I killed another little boy. Please, whip me!" he pleaded.
"This old fool!" someone mocked.
"It's my turn to beat him! I've been practicing the whip, and Utt's screams will be music to my ears!" A jester pulled out a whip from his waist and lashed it across Utt's back.
The sound of the whip cracking and Utt's wails didn't faze the other members of the Bloody Mummers, who continued eating and drinking.
After the whipping, Utt became more excited. Each time he was beaten, it invigorated him, his mind sharp, his ideas flowing. He saw Vargo Hoat toying with the treasure map and licking blood from his arm. Utt suggested:
"Captain, isn't business slow these days? Why not release a fake treasure map, spark a race among the noble houses to find it? That would bring in business for us mercenaries!"
"Hahaha, good idea! Utt, you'll handle it!" Vargo Hoat laughed.
"I want this man as my reward!" Utt said, grabbing Littlefinger's face with a strange affection.
Vargo Hoat: "Keep it light, don't kill him! The mines in the Westerlands need workers, and every slave can fetch a good price!"
That night, Littlefinger was thrown into a prisoner cart, his eyes rolled back and unmoving on the floor. Ramsey, shackled, recognized him and whispered:
"Hey! It's you, what are you doing here?"
Littlefinger tilted his head and saw Ramsey. "It's you?"
Ramsey: "Yeah, what happened to you?"
Littlefinger turned his face away, pressing the back of his head against Ramsey. "My butt hurts!"
Ramsey lifted Littlefinger's torn pants, glanced at his injury, and began searching through the cart. "We'll pack it with straw for now; it'll be better in a few days."
A few days later, rumors of the treasure map spread throughout the Riverlands, along with dozens of other treasure maps, each with a small story attached. The most alluring one was about the Targaryen family treasure.
Littlefinger and Ramsey were sold to a silver mine in the Westerlands for ten gold dragons each, as slaves.
---
No one knew the name of this mine, nor its exact location. All the previous slaves had been brought from outside the region and were illiterate. They probably only knew it was somewhere in the Westerlands, in the mountains.
Until today, the slave rebellion that the two had plotted, although slow in mobilizing the slaves, had gathered quite a few hidden wooden sticks over time.
Every day, the shovels and spades had to be counted and collected, and any broken or damaged wooden sticks could be reported. A sharp stone tied to a stick with rope could also be considered a usable weapon.
Littlefinger's mouth was full of complaints, but the plan was still underway. Every day, he conspired with the slaves to discuss the rebellion.
Gradually, the slaves built an organization around him called the Demon Squad, a name derived from the slave brands on Littlefinger and Ramsey' foreheads. At this moment, Littlefinger regained the sense of leadership he once had in King's Landing and activated his old organizational skills.
In the pitch-black mines, it was finally confirmed that at least several hundred slaves would join the rebellion.
At the lowest level of the silver mine, it was mealtime again. Judging by the time, it was probably evening.
The iron door was opened by the guards, and several wooden carts filled with food entered. Under the dim light of a few oil lamps, the slaves ate quickly. Today, they were unusually quiet, with no chatter like usual.
After the meal, Ramsey began to clean the wooden utensils, and the oil in the lamps burned out. Only the torches held by the eight guards provided light.
"Hurry up and push the carts out, you damn slave!"
"Coming, master!" Ramsey pushed the cart with force, but as it passed the iron door, the wheel came off with a loud snap, and the cart got stuck right in the middle of the door.
In the darkness, countless slaves watched the scene.
"Now's the time! Charge!" Littlefinger shouted.
"Slave revolt! Call for help!" The guards drew their swords, but countless stones had already been thrown, hitting them.
Ramsey and a few other slaves who were pushing the carts used the carts to block the guards, and soon the slaves charged forward.
"Spare me!"
"Ah!"
With Littlefinger and Ramsey leading the charge, the slaves' ferocity was roused. In the darkness, a few were stabbed to death, but nothing could stop the ensuing assault. Soon, the eight guards were torn apart and eaten by the starving slaves.
"Quiet down! We still have three iron gates to go through! It's best if the guards have the keys; if not, we'll dig through the stones beside the gates! Today, we're getting to the surface!"
"Oh!"
"Charge out!"
Littlefinger and Ramsey donned the guards' armor, one taking a sword, and the remaining equipment was distributed among the strongest slaves.
"Push the carts to the front. Everyone else, stay quiet, blow out the torches and oil lamps, and hurry up!" Ramsey began directing.
As they climbed further up the mine, more people joined. The slaves held pickaxes, some carried wooden sticks, and those without weapons held sharp stones they had sharpened. Breaking through two iron doors, they quickly reached the first level of the mine.
The space on the first level was vast, and many civilians were working there.
"Slave revolt! Slave revolt!" Clearly, the civilians did not side with the slaves.
It wasn't until this moment that the slave revolt was discovered.
Ding~ Ding~ Ding~
The bells outside the mine rang wildly, and the large iron gate at the exit was immediately locked. The guards quickly organized and set up defenses, planting long shields in the ground and extending spears through the iron bars. A large group of archers followed behind.
"Break the carts!" Littlefinger raised his sword high and gave the order as planned.
The revolting slaves charged to the first level, having gathered everything useful in the mine. All the wooden mining carts were dismantled into planks.
"Don't fear their arrows! Hold the planks up to the gate! Charge!"
Thwack~ Thwack~ Thwack~
The arrows struck the thick planks, and many slaves were injured or killed. But more slaves followed, picking up planks to fill the gaps, finally reaching the iron gate.
"Hold it! Hold it! Those with pickaxes, come over and dig!" Littlefinger urged.
"Ah!"
The slaves pressed the planks against the iron gate, using their bodies to hold it in place and give space to those behind. The arrows were useless now, but the guards' spears still reached through the gaps in the planks, stabbing at the slaves.
"Hurry and dig!"
"Ah~"
"Drag him away, others hold the line!"
Slaves were continuously stabbed to death, but the outcome now hinged on this moment. No one would give up. Some slaves pressed their bodies against the spears to prevent them from retracting, while others blocked the gaps in the planks with stones.
The strongest slaves, under cover, frantically swung pickaxes at the stone beside the iron door.
Suddenly, the guards outside began to retreat. They started piling firewood at the entrance, and more guards began pouring oil onto the pile.
Boom~~
The fire was lit, and the only exit was blocked by the flames.
The slaves in front of the iron gate stopped, despairingly watching the fire.
"What do we do?" Littlefinger asked, gripping Ramsey' hand.
"The fire's blocking the entrance; they want to suffocate us in the mine!"
Surrounded by death and with flames outside, fear began to spread among the slaves. The morale was on the verge of collapsing.
Ramsey was also sweating, looking around desperately:
"This is the only chance; we must charge out! Some will have to die first!" Ramsey whispered something to Littlefinger, then went to speak to a few other slaves.
Fully armored guards shouted from behind the fire:
"Drop your weapons, retreat into the mine, and we'll spare you! Otherwise, we'll burn you all alive in there!"
"Retreat, retreat, we're going back."
"Please don't kill us."
The guards continued their intimidation:
"Archers, fire arrows! Push them back into the cave!"
Dozens of archers set fire to arrows, dipping them in oil. Countless flaming arrows flew into the cave, embedding in the planks.
"We can't retreat, or we're done for."
"Let us go back!"
The slaves by the iron gate wanted to retreat, but those behind them wanted to charge out, causing a crush at the narrow opening.
A cloud of dust rose from the depths of the cave, and Littlefinger, Ramsey, and ten others covered in dust ran out shouting, "The mine's collapsing! Get out now!"
"The mine's collapsing!"
The slaves realized that staying meant certain death, but running out still offered a slim chance of survival. Hundreds of slaves desperately pressed forward.
Ah~~~
Ugh~~~
The slaves at the front were crushed by those behind them, their bodies pressed tightly against the iron bars. The immense pressure made it hard to breathe, and their ribs were crushed, causing them to die. The crowd continued pushing forward.
"Hurry and shoot!"
By this time, the arrows were useless; those struck had already fallen lifeless.
Bang! The iron gate was finally toppled. The group of slaves in front fell to the ground, and seeing the black night sky through the flames, they began to cheer loudly.
"Demon Squad! Charge out!"
In the chaos, falling meant certain death. The slaves behind didn't wait for those in front to rise; they stepped over their bodies, and more and more people trampled over them, until they were crushed to death.
The mine guards numbered over a hundred, a few of whom were knights, while the rest were local civilians. The slaves, driven by their desperation to escape, overwhelmed them quickly, even with decent weapons. The overwhelming flood of slaves soon drowned and tore the guards apart, with only a few guards managing to flee on horseback.
Torn apart was no exaggeration. Littlefinger thought the name "Demon Squad" was quite fitting for this group of people.
After the battle, some slaves began collecting weapons, clothing, and other usable supplies from the camp.
By a campfire, the two leaders of the Demon Squad, along with a dozen of the strongest slaves, discussed where to go next. These dozen slaves were now wearing full armor, temporarily acting as officers.
Ramsey, holding a broken pocket watch with a cracked face, checked the time: "Ten minutes, we have ten minutes to regroup. When the time's up, we have to move or we won't outrun the cavalry."
"Trouble's brewing. We're in the House Banefort mines in the Westerlands!" Littlefinger looked at the few flags in the camp, noting the men with headscarves framed by firelight.
"Do you know where to go from here?" Ramsey, panting, looked at him.
"To the north is the sea, and to the west and south is the heart of the Westerlands. Our only option is to head northeast toward the Riverlands," Littlefinger said. He didn't know the exact location, but based it on the Banefort family's territory.
Ramsey looked up at the sky; the thick clouds hid the stars: "Without the stars, we can't find our way. We can't take the main roads either. We'll have to stick to the valleys for now."
"Everyone, gather up!" Ramsey shouted. Now, these slaves were their only hope for survival.
The slaves trickled over. Littlefinger and Ramsey found a large rock to stand on and began rallying the group.
Littlefinger called out loudly, "We've escaped, but now we need to head for the Riverlands. I will lead you to safety, but we first need to avoid the pursuers. We'll leave in a few minutes."
There were about three hundred slaves left, and upon hearing Littlefinger's words, they remained silent.
This approach was too weak! It wouldn't work! Ramsey gestured for Littlefinger to stop and took over.
"We've killed and escaped, but don't be afraid! Have you heard of Wright Baratheon, the story of the man who killed thousands in Braavos? No? Doesn't matter, he killed tens of thousands in the city, and now, wherever he goes, people fear him! We've already killed over a hundred. The nobles will send people to hunt us down, but we'll go on to kill thousands, even tens of thousands! When they hear the name Demon Squad, the whole of Westeros will tremble!"
As the fear faded from the slaves' faces, Ramsey shouted louder.
"We are demons! We have returned from the hell where the sun never shines! We are man-eating demons! Wherever we go, all life will turn to ash! We will kill every noble who has enslaved us!"
"Kill the nobles!" a dozen slaves shouted in response.
Ramsey continued, shouting even more fiercely, "Take their wealth!"
"Take their wealth!" Over a hundred slaves joined in.
Ramsey bellowed, "Take their women!"
"Take their women!" All the slaves began to get excited.
"We, the Demon Squad, have two commanders. The first is me, the Black Devil, and the second is the White Devil, whom you all know!"
Ramsey pointed to Littlefinger. "Grab your food and weapons, follow me! Let's go!"
The slaves had no horses, and most didn't even have shoes, but years of working in the rocky mines had toughened their feet, so walking through the muddy forest paths was more comfortable for them.
Littlefinger turned to Ramsey and asked, "When did I become the White Devil?"
Ramsey grinned. "My hero is Wright Baratheon, known as the Red Devil of Braavos. Your face is pale, so you're the White Devil!"
Littlefinger looked at Ramsey' face. "Alright, your face is darker than mine. The Black Devil suits you better."
To this day, neither of them knew the other's real name.