More than ten men worked together to process the bison, and with how enthusiastically they scrambled to begin, the massive beast was cleaned in less than half an hour. Because they all knew Karl intended to present this bison to the king, Cauchy and the others didn't even hesitate—they rushed around to gather sticks, ropes, and whatever materials they could find.
After quickly assembling a large wooden frame strong enough to bear the creature's weight, they hoisted the cleaned bison onto it. Its belly, split neatly open for preparation, exposed the red gleam of fresh meat. The animal's eyes were closed as if it slept, its limbs tied to the wooden frame. Even in death, the bison looked strangely peaceful, as though accepting its fate with stoic calm. Cauchy and the others even positioned the beast in a way they believed looked dignified. To the untrained eye, it almost seemed like they were trying to dress the creature up as a bride for some bizarre ceremony.
Just as they finished, Cauchy—who had disappeared at some point while everyone worked—suddenly slipped back into the group. He moved with suspicious quietness, weaving through the bustle until he stood right beside Karl. Then, leaning close, he whispered urgently into Karl's ear.
"Boss, the king already knows what happened earlier—and he knows you saved the prince!"
His words trembled with excitement, his breath quickening. Before Karl could react, Cauchy hurried on, "And just now—His Majesty returned from visiting Prince Joffrey."
Unable to control his enthusiasm, he lowered his voice even further, though it still quivered with emotion. "The King has sent someone to summon you. He wants to see you—right now!"
Cauchy looked as though he were the one about to be honored. His whole body practically vibrated with excitement, more so even than Karl, who was the one summoned.
The others around them, who had been stealing glances while pretending to continue their work, understood precisely why he was so thrilled. There was an old saying: When one person ascends to heaven, even his chickens and dogs follow. And at this moment, they all felt that Karl—this illegitimate child who had long wandered on the margins of noble society—was about to rise to new heights because of today's events. And if Karl rose, the people who had chosen to follow him naturally would rise alongside him.
After all, none of them had joined him blindly. For one reason or another, they saw in Karl someone who treated them with trust and fairness, someone worth following. Among them were men who used to scrape by doing odd jobs at the docks of King's Landing, even acting as pimps or running shady errands to survive. Yet now they were here—standing beside a man who had just saved a prince and caught the king's attention.
Cauchy, who once thought he would spend his whole life drifting on the margins of society, suddenly felt as though he were dreaming. For the first time, the future seemed bright, and all because he had chosen to follow Karl.
When Cauchy whispered the news, the rest of the group—those who had followed Karl for about half a year—turned toward him with quickened breaths and wide eyes. They said nothing yet, but anticipation radiated from their faces.
But before Karl could respond, a commotion arose outside the crowd. Several sharp shouts rang out, drawing attention. Then the people parted automatically, forming a path without needing to be told.
A man strode forward from among the king's guards. His shoulder-length golden hair was neatly combed, shining like molten sunlight. His handsome face bore the calm, aristocratic confidence of someone accustomed to being watched. He wore no helmet, as though he didn't need one. The gleaming white armor of the Kingsguard wrapped around him like a second skin, a pristine white cloak cascading down his back.
Jaime Lannister.
"The Kingslayer…" Cauchy breathed reflexively, the word slipping out before he realized what he'd said.
He froze immediately afterward, clamping his mouth shut as if someone had stuffed stones into it. He quickly stepped out of the way, head lowered, eyes respectfully fixed on the ground.
His voice had been very soft, almost inaudible. But the moment Jaime approached, the entire crowd fell into instinctive silence. Something about his presence—not just the armor or title—commanded attention.
Jaime had clearly heard the whispered title, yet he gave no reaction at all. His expression remained unreadable, calm, focused. He didn't spare Cauchy a single glance. His golden eyes remained fixed solely on Karl.
He walked until he stood tall and straight in front of Karl, his posture flawless—like a statue carved from marble and pride.
"Karl Stone," Jaime said in a clear, steady voice, "The King already knows what happened."
"King Robert wishes to invite you to his banquet. He wishes to thank you personally."
Karl had expected someone to come for him, but not him—not Jaime Lannister himself, the famed Kingslayer, brother to Tyrion Lannister, and one of the most elite warriors in Westeros.
Despite the gravity of the summons, Jaime showed no hint of stiffness. After stating the message, a faint smile appeared on his lips. His golden eyes softened as he looked at Karl, almost warmly.
In that moment, Karl noticed it. That subtle shift. Jaime's gaze wasn't merely polite; it held something more. Respect? Appreciation? Recognition?
Perhaps Jaime was thinking of his younger brother Tyrion—alone, isolated, and misunderstood. Karl had never treated Tyrion with disdain the way others did. Maybe that alone placed Karl in a different light in Jaime's eyes.
Of course, Karl couldn't refuse a royal summons. And the king sending one of his own Kingsguard—Jaime Lannister, no less—was a clear sign of sincerity.
Karl nodded, acknowledging the summons. But rather than stepping forward immediately, he turned to gesture toward the prepared bison behind him.
He addressed Jaime with proper respect. "Your Excellency Ser Jaime Lannister, I have prepared a gift for His Majesty," Karl said. "A small token of respect from myself and my companions."
"But since we are of low birth and unfamiliar with courtly tradition, I only hope the King will not find it improper."
Karl spoke with impeccable manners—polite, composed, almost aristocratic. Jaime couldn't help but pause, momentarily surprised that someone of Karl's supposed background could speak with such poise.
Jaime turned his head toward the massive bison. The cleaned, neatly prepared carcass rested proudly on the wooden frame. Seeing its size and the clear effort that went into its preparation, his expression softened noticeably.
"I believe King Robert will be honored by your gift," Jaime said warmly. "It is a symbol of bravery—a worthy offering from a valiant warrior."
"May the Seven bless you. This is the finest gift you could present. I believe His Majesty will be very pleased."
He offered Karl a respectful nod, showing he did not reject the idea at all.
Thus Jaime personally led the way, Karl walked behind him, and Cauchy and the others followed while carrying the massive bison. Their hearts pounded with excitement, though they forced themselves to maintain outward calm. They wanted to appear dignified, though each of them secretly wished for a tail to express their joy.
Two hundred onlookers watched as the group made their way toward the entrance of the Crossroads Inn—the temporary seat of the king. Whispers buzzed among the crowd like insects in summer grass.
The inn itself was modest and small. This wasn't the Red Keep, nor was there an Iron Throne waiting inside. Everything here was simple, but the king's presence gave the place a different air.
Karl had hardly stepped before the entrance when he saw him.
A giant of a man.
Broad, towering, larger than life.
Six and a half feet tall, with a thick black beard, a heavy stomach like a fortress wall, and an aura that filled the entire doorway simply by standing there.
King Robert Baratheon.
Robert stared straight at Karl with sharp, assessing eyes.
"Karl Stone?!"
His booming voice rolled out like thunder.
And thus, Karl's audience with the king began.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)