"Besides these men, there was also a force of troops. They took barges north along the White Knife, carrying knights and warhorses. It is said the one who hired them was Genna Lannister, the younger sister of Tywin Lannister."
The counterattack at White Harbor, led by Kal, did not last long. By the afternoon, it was largely concluded.
What remained was left to White Harbor's own soldiers, who searched through corners of the city and nearby villages to track down the fleeing sellswords.
Most of these men had dyed their hair in strange colors, and their features differed greatly from those of the Northmen, making them easy to identify.
Each time one was found, by the king's command, he was put to death on the spot, and his head brought back.
Within the Merman's Court, the throne that normally belonged to Lord Wyman Manderly now belonged to the king. Deprived of his seat, he stood at Kal's side like a servant in attendance.
Hearing the report, Kal tapped the armrest with one finger out of habit, while his other hand propped his chin.
"Four companies of sellswords in total. Hiring them would require no small sum. Lord Manderly, who do you think funded her? Or is she merely spending what once belonged to the Lannisters?"
Kal was more inclined toward the former. Wyman thought the same.
Yet regarding the king's question, he had a more authoritative answer. Turning to Maester Theomore, who stood silently to one side of the hall, he gave a nod.
"Bring him in."
Maester Theomore bowed and withdrew. Not long after, he returned with a burly savage bound tightly in ropes. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a great beard, fiery red whiskers, and long braids.
Yet as he was dragged in by two warriors of White Harbor, he trembled like a quail soaked through by rain.
At the sight of the young king seated upon the dais, Redbeard collapsed face-down upon the floor.
"Spare my life, Your Grace, great King Kal, valiant dragonrider. I shall be your most loyal servant."
Cruel by nature and bloodthirsty, greedy for glory and gold, lustful, and with no interest in peace, Redbeard had long since been frightened out of his wits.
When it happened, he had been in a tavern, toying with a woman his men had taken from the city. Hearing the strange roar of a dragon overhead, he stepped outside to look—and beheld the apocalyptic sight beyond White Harbor's walls.
Great warships were tossed about like wooden toys by the golden reaper in the sky. Terrible fire poured down like water, burning even upon the sea without being quenched.
And then there was the man within the city, wielding a two-handed greatsword. No one could stand before him. Before him, all were like stalks of wheat, able only to pray to the gods in the fleeting moments before the sickle fell.
He could not escape. Running was useless. His speed was faster than a galloping horse, and the greatsword in his hand was as biting as ice, mercilessly reaping the lives that belonged to them.
A week ago, this had been the very excuse they used to threaten and extort that woman Genna. Now it had truly become the sickle set against their own necks.
No one understood the meaning of fear better than he did.
Yet Kal paid no heed to his words. His gaze shifted slightly as he spoke in an even tone, "Who is he?"
"He is the captain of the Cat Company, and the leader of the largest sellsword company to come to White Harbor. We found him at dusk in the cellar of a tavern."
"At the same time, he is the one who caused the greatest harm to White Harbor."
When speaking of Redbeard, there was no trace of Wyman's usual warmth. His eyes were filled with hatred. He could not even be bothered to state Redbeard's name.
Kal understood his meaning. His gaze settled upon Redbeard.
"Tell me everything about your company. Do not attempt to lie."
Faced with Kal's command, Redbeard dared not disobey. Trembling, he recounted everything he knew in full detail.
"So it was the Long Lances who went to Winterfell. It seems Genna Lannister's intentions do not end here."
According to Redbeard's account, the members of the Long Lances were almost entirely cavalry. After taking White Harbor, Genna had left the remaining three sellsword companies behind.
Then she took the entire Long Lances with her and rode toward the heart of the North.
Taking cavalry into the North's interior—her purpose was not difficult to guess.
After gaining a rough understanding of Genna Lannister's movements, Kal nodded. Then he looked calmly at Redbeard, who lay prostrate before him.
"His usefulness is at an end. Lord Manderly, how do you intend to deal with him?"
The cold words were spoken in a steady tone. Lord Manderly smiled.
"As Your Grace commands."
Kal smiled as well.
"Then I suggest you set up a post in the Fishmarket and nail his hands and feet to it with the iron spikes used for ship repairs."
"There should still be many fishing nets at the docks. Find the one with the smallest mesh and bind it tightly over his body. I imagine the people of White Harbor will gladly carve a piece of flesh from him."
"If the cuts are made with care, and he is given sugared water in time, he should live for three days."
Redbeard collapsed completely. A shrill wail tore from his throat. His breeches were soaked and fouled. The warriors of White Harbor dragged him away toward the Fishmarket docks.
With Redbeard's matter swiftly handled, the discussion returned to the previous topic.
"Genna Lannister most likely intends to find Tywin Lannister and take him away. From what I know, Tywin Lannister has already been rescued by Balon Greyjoy, and Balon Greyjoy has now gone to Winterfell."
"Your Grace, allow me to accompany you. House Manderly must offer its loyalty."
At a single word from Kal, Wyman immediately volunteered to ride with him.
Yet this time, Kal shook his head.
"No. Robb Stark is still their captive. The longer we delay, the less certain his safety becomes."
"During the Greyjoy Rebellion ten years ago, Lord Eddard Stark caused him to lose two sons. His only remaining son was then taken by Lord Eddard and raised at his side as a ward."
"It cannot be ruled out that he might kill Robb Stark to vent his anger. And, speaking of it, Jaime Lannister may be counted as having died by my hand. So it also cannot be ruled out that Tywin Lannister harbors similar thoughts."
Kal considered further. Though he had already arrived in the North, and with his presence—and Robert's—suppressing the North entirely would not be difficult.
But if he lingered to wait for Wyman to gather troops before marching on Winterfell, by then Balon Greyjoy—having learned what had happened at White Harbor and the Iron Islands—might choose to act like a cornered hound.
In theory, Balon would likely treat Robb as a bargaining chip to secure his own advantage. Yet who could say what a madman might do?
After all, Tywin's fate was already sealed.
Or perhaps he would hand over a dead Tywin Lannister and a living Robb Stark in exchange for a path of retreat.
Whatever the outcome, Kal would not leave the choice in his enemy's hands.
This journey north was never meant to leave these restless factors concealed.
So long as there was cause and the means, Kal would spare no effort to prepare for everything before the threat of the Long Night descended.
"Prepare a chamber for me, and see that Robert has sufficient food. I will depart directly for Winterfell tomorrow."
"The sooner the turmoil here ends, the better. Storm's End still awaits me."
Understanding the urgency, Lord Manderly no longer pressed for honor and hastened to have chambers prepared for the king.
Yet after finishing a lavish supper and returning to his room, Kal did not retire at once.
Instead, he stood by the window, frowning as he stared northward beyond the dark.
"It draws ever nearer. Can those from the game world truly be brought out?"
"Ah…"
After a quiet sigh, Kal's figure vanished from before the bed, and the chamber was left empty.
Outside the castle, Robert, who was feasting with his head lowered, suddenly lifted it toward the direction of Kal. A trace of humanlike puzzlement flickered in his eyes. Then he shook his head and resumed eating.
He knew his master would sometimes disappear. Yet by the next morning, he would always reappear.
He had grown used to it.
…
Storm's End.
With candles lit, Stannis Baratheon remained in the great hall, head lowered as he studied the map spread across the long table before him.
The map was covered with wooden-carved pieces, each placed in its corresponding position.
It was already deep into the night.
Out of the darkness, a figure robed in red approached, carrying an oil lamp in her hands, and came to stand beside him.
"This place is secure. We have made many preparations. This time, we can hold for at least three years."
"At present, only here can we wait for our opportunity. But I need that boy. That is the purpose for which we came."
Looking at the man before her—his face drawn tight, lips pressed thin, his bald crown faintly glowing red in the candlelight—Melisandre spoke softly.
Stannis gave no reply to her words, as though he had not heard them.
"Kal Baratheon also wields sorcery. Perhaps he learned it somewhere in the eastern continent, or perhaps he has placed his faith in some foreign god."
"But that is not what matters. What matters is that he has already turned toward that unspeakable ancient god—the dark god, the soul of cold ice, the god of night and fear."
"The speed at which his dragon grows is far too strange. And he himself is shrouded in mist. Even I cannot see him within the flames."
"Give me the boy, and I shall awaken the demon dragon from stone."
"He cannot enter Storm's End. Seize this chance. If we offer Edric Storm to complete the ritual, we can summon the demon dragon from the statues of Dragonstone, and grant you greater power."
Melisandre continued, revealing part of the purpose for which they had come.
Only when she had spoken thus did Stannis seem to come back to himself.
After a long while, he spoke with difficulty.
"Edric Storm has done nothing. He has done no wrong. He should not pay for this with his life…"
Hearing his reluctance, Melisandre smiled faintly.
Setting down the oil lamp, she reached out and touched one of the carved pieces upon the map.
It was a ship, coming from the direction of Dorne.
"Now the Seven Kingdoms have turned toward the false king who stole your throne. He commands immense power. If we do not act, when shall your mission be fulfilled?"
"This is the path our Lord has shown us."
"The cold wind has already begun to blow. Soon will come the Long Night without end."
As she spoke, Melisandre pushed the oil lamp toward Stannis.
Stannis looked into the flame almost unconsciously.
Within the fire, white snow drifted down; a ring of torches; a tall hill within a forest; black-clad figures beyond the torches; shapes moving across the snow.
"Westeros must be united beneath the one true king—the prince foretold, Lord of Dragonstone, the chosen of R'hllor."
Drawing back his gaze, Stannis still did not speak.
He even walked directly past Melisandre, lifting his head to gaze out the window.
After a long while, his voice sounded.
"Tell me—could it be that Kal Baratheon is the prince you believe in the prophecy?"
Melisandre did not hesitate in the slightest. She even let out a faint scoff.
"After the long summer, when the stars bleed, Azor Ahai shall be reborn amidst smoke and salt and awaken the demon dragon from stone."
"You are the son of the holy flame, the warrior of light, Azor Ahai reborn. The prophecy is fulfilled in you. The red comet in the sky proclaimed your coming. You are the one who drew forth the hero's red sword, 'Lightbringer,' from the fire."
"Kal Baratheon matches none of the symbols of the prophecy—neither rebirth amidst smoke and salt, nor any other sign."
Faced with Melisandre's resolute words, Stannis, already wavering in doubt, clenched his teeth.
"He has a dragon. As you said, he too awakened a demon dragon from stone. And it is said he also possesses a sword of light."
Stannis continued his defense.
Melisandre denied him again.
The expression on her face grew stern.
"No, Stannis, you are mistaken. It is precisely for that reason that Kal Baratheon is a false king. He is stealing what should belong to you."
"No—I even suspect the foreign god he serves has joined hands with the ancient god to stop you!"
As she spoke, Melisandre circled behind Stannis.
"He was born in a mountain valley of stone. The blood that runs in his veins is that of a baseborn bastard—born of lust and lies. Lies and greed, debauchery and betrayal—these are his nature."
"And it is precisely because he appeared as a bastard that he is able to steal what rightfully belongs to you. This is the design of the ancient god. Its hand was set in motion long ago."
"As for the dragon he possesses, and the so-called 'red sword'?"
"That is because he used blood magic. He drew power from the blood, life, and soul of your brother, Robert Baratheon. He traded his life to obtain that demon dragon—before the stars bled."
"So do you truly believe it was a Faceless Man who killed Robert? How could a Faceless Man's assassination be discovered and the killer captured?"
"And he had only just been sent away from King's Landing by Robert to his own lands when your dear brother died. Have you never suspected him?"
"As for the sword—" she gave a cold laugh, "lightning courses through him, yet never flame."
"He is the true murderer. He is the one who stands in the way of your becoming the hero."
"If you wish to stop him, you must awaken the demon dragon from stone, complete the prophecy that belongs to you, and truly become the reborn son of the holy flame—the warrior of light, Azor Ahai."
"Stop him, Azor Ahai!"
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