Joffrey Baratheon was on the brink of death.
His breaths had grown shallow, his eyes vacant, his neck limp—his soul already reaching toward the Stranger's cold grasp. Karl watched the boy prince's fading life force and couldn't help clicking his tongue in irritation. As much as he wanted to let the little bastard die, he knew he couldn't—not here, not like this. Killing Joffrey would be troublesome, and Karl had no intention of dealing with the chaos that would follow.
So, reluctantly, he lifted his hand.
A pulse of green light shot from his fingertips, followed by another. Two healing spells in quick succession—far more than the brat deserved.
The warm glow wrapped around Joffrey's mangled form, forcing life back into his trembling body. His soul, halfway through the Stranger's doorway, was yanked back into the realm of the living as if Karl had grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out.
Even with life returning to him, the prince's eyes remained hazy, wide and unfocused. His mind hadn't caught up with his body. He stared blankly at Karl, who was currently supporting him upright.
Before Karl could even speak, Joffrey coughed violently.
A mouthful of blood—thick, dark, and nearly congealed—burst from his lips, splattering onto the ground. As the blockage cleared, his pupils, which had been dilated and glassy, gradually contracted. Focus returned. Awareness returned. Life returned.
Only then did Karl exhale a faint sigh of relief.
But the momentary relief was quickly replaced by boiling irritation. He had just spent mana—his mana—on this brat. His forced smile evaporated instantly, replaced by a sharp raise of his eyebrow and a mocking curl of his lips.
"You son of a bitch," he hissed.
"Die!"
He didn't really intend to kill him now, but gods, he wanted to.
Whether because he was irritated at being forced to heal him, or because Joffrey's weakness offended him so deeply that he felt robbed of a satisfying fight, Karl snapped.
The instant he confirmed the prince wasn't dying anymore, he grabbed Joffrey by the collar and slapped him. Hard.
Once.
Twice.
The sound cracked across the riverside like small thunderclaps.
He held back this time—barely. If he had used even half of his strength, Joffrey's skull would've flown straight into the Trident River, and Karl didn't want to fish him out.
The prince, who had just crawled his way back from death's door, hadn't even understood what was happening before pain exploded across his cheeks. His head snapped sideways twice, and only then did he fully wake from his daze.
Warmth spread across his face… quickly followed by a strange numbness.
A metallic, salty taste filled his mouth. Something hard shifted between his tongue and teeth.
"P–pah!"
Instinctively, Joffrey spat.
A cluster of tiny white fragments—broken teeth—fell to the dirt, coated in thick crimson blood and spit.
For several seconds, Joffrey simply stared at the mess he had expelled, his mind blank with shock. Then fear paralyzed him completely.
"I… this…?"
His attempt to speak came out wet, barely coherent. More blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin.
Seeing the brat spit his own teeth and saliva onto him, Karl wrinkled his nose. Without a shred of gentleness, he tossed the prince aside like a sack of rotten grain.
Joffrey hit the ground with a painful thud and howled.
Clutching his face, writhing in the mud, he stared up at Karl with horror-filled eyes—eyes that for the first time truly understood he was not the one in control here.
"What… what have you done!?" he croaked through thick, swollen lips.
His voice wobbled, cracking with pain and fear. The arrogant prince of the Seven Kingdoms, once high above everyone else, now looked like nothing more than a pitiful stray.
Blood mixed with mud streaked across his once-proud golden hair. His fine clothes were torn and filthy, stained by dirt and humiliation. The boy who once strutted around the Red Keep now looked no different from a maggot squirming in a muddy ditch.
And he broke.
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" he cried, his voice thick and slurred due to his swollen face.
Tears and snot streamed freely, tracing lines through the grime on his cheeks. He flailed on the ground, trying desperately to crawl away, pushing at the earth with his hands and feet like a panicked animal.
But after only a few scrambling movements, he froze.
Then his gaze snapped toward the direction he had come from.
"Hound! Save me! Help me!" he shrieked.
The moment he remembered he had a guard—his mother's chosen guard—his confidence surged back for a moment, if only in the form of hysteria.
"You damned dog! You didn't protect me! How dare you not protect me!?" he screamed, voice cracking. "I'll have your head! I'll have your hands chopped off and burned in the fire!"
His threats were wild, panicked, irrational—a desperate boy clinging to whatever scraps of authority he thought he still had.
Then, twisting back toward Karl, he jabbed a muddy finger at him.
"You! Kill him! Kill this filthy lowborn! Skin him alive and make a rug out of him!"
But when he finally looked toward the "protector" he was screaming for, Joffrey's voice died in his throat.
Sandor Clegane lay sprawled on a fur carpet… completely motionless.
He didn't respond.
He didn't even twitch.
It was as if he were dead.
Joffrey froze. His breath hitched sharply. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
Earlier he had begged for mercy; a moment later, he had reverted to arrogant threats. But faced with the silent, unmoving hound, his bravado died instantly.
Karl couldn't help smirking.
This brat changed expressions faster than flipping pages in a book. If he weren't so disgusting, it might've been comical.
Karl twirled the riding crop in his hand, then stepped forward with deliberate slowness. He crouched down, meeting the prince's terrified gaze. Joffrey's eyes were so wide they looked ready to pop out of his skull.
"Your Highness," Karl said lightly,
"your hound is asleep."
He tapped the crop against Joffrey's chin, lifting it slightly.
"So let's not disturb him, okay?"
Joffrey whimpered, head trembling like a leaf in winter wind.
Karl's smile sharpened, dangerous and cold.
"Oh, and by the way," he continued cheerfully, "for your wonderful performance just now… we've prepared a little event for you."
He leaned closer.
"The name of the event is—'100 Free Draws Upon Login.'"
Before Joffrey could process a single word, Karl's arm snapped upward.
CRACK!
The whip sliced through the air with a sound so sharp it made the hairs on Joffrey's neck stand upright.
The prince flinched violently and burst into fresh tears.
And then Karl smelled it.
That familiar, foul stench.
The little bastard had soiled himself again.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)