Myr had been ravaged by war more times than anyone could count. Flames, smoke, and screams filled the once–vibrant streets as rival factions battled endlessly for control. Blood darkened the stones, and fire devoured the city's proud towers. The aftermath of Governor Kasu's death had plunged the city into chaos, and those loyal to him were hunted like trapped animals.
Gendry tightened his grip around the heavy mace in his hands. His arms were already aching from hours of fighting, but adrenaline kept him moving. Ahead of him, the soldiers of the Wolf Pack Company clashed violently with the forces pursuing them—the Myr garrison, hired mercenaries, the governors' private guards. The battlefield was a chaotic mix of banners, armor, screams, and dust.
Men from across the known world had come to kill them.
Olive-skinned Myr locals, slender and sharp-featured; flamboyantly dressed Tyroshi with their dyed hair of blue, red, and purple; Lyseni soldiers with pale skin and soft blond curls; and even Meereenese fighters with curved spears and sand-colored armor.
Gendry realized the horrifying truth:
They were outnumbered several times over.
Still, the Wolf Pack Company wasn't ready to die. The remaining members merged with the reinforcements, reforming their wedge formation—small, compact, and deadly. The Handsome Man, Longspear, and Gendry took the lead, roaring the order to charge toward the outer gate and carve a path to freedom.
"Cover me!" shouted the Arrow Maker.
Several Wolf Pack soldiers instantly lifted their shields over him, creating a protective shell. The Arrow Maker stepped into the gap and drew his longbow. His aim was legendary—every shot struck true. Three arrows flew in quick succession, cutting through the charging enemy cavalry. Horses screamed and toppled, halting the encirclement for a precious moment.
"You made it!" cried the leader of the surviving Wolf Pack soldiers. His cheek was slashed open, blood dripping freely down his face. Tears mixed with that blood as he looked at them.
Leading him was Steel Fist, a broad-shouldered middle-aged man wearing gauntlets lined with steel spikes, both of which were soaked red.
"Where is the Commander, Steel Fist?" the Handsome Man demanded, though deep inside he already feared the answer. The fate of this battle was sealed long before they arrived, but he still hoped—desperately—for a miracle.
Steel Fist's jaw tightened. "Governor Joey of the Gunpowder Herb Guild betrayed us. Governor Kasu tried to reach out for reinforcements, but he and his entire family were poisoned at a banquet. The Commander failed to persuade Kasu to prepare defenses. Joey and the Navigators' Guild brought Unsullied and Meereenese pit fighters to the city. The Commander and four or five of our brothers fell. We barely fought our way out of Kasu's manor."
The pain in his voice was unmistakable.
"What? Governor Joey? He was from Kasu's own guild!" the Handsome Man exclaimed.
It was unbelievable. Yet betrayal always came from those closest.
Steel Fist nodded grimly. "After Kasu died, the vacant governor's seat went to Joey and the pirate appointed by the Blackwater pirates—Joey's brother-in-law. The Navigators' Guild only pretended to support someone else. Behind the scenes, they had already bought Joey."
"How could everything turn so quickly…" The Handsome Man exhaled shakily. The city's politics shifted like sand beneath their feet. Their strongest supporter, Kasu, dead. Commander Greybeard, killed in the resulting chaos.
Their last refuge burned away in a single night.
"Captain," Steel Fist said, reaching into his belt. "The Commander told me to give you this."
He held out a ring—black iron fused with bronze, carved with ancient First Men runes. At its center was a proud wolf's head.
The symbol of leadership of the Wolf Pack Company.
"You are our Captain now."
The Handsome Man swallowed, unable to process the weight of the moment. There was no time for grief. No time to accept or refuse. Only time to survive.
"Hurry," he said. "We must retreat. But not through the East Gate."
"Why not? The East Gate's defenses are weaker," Steel Fist argued.
"There's no time. Myr is already swarming with enemies. We'll feign a charge toward the East Gate, then double back to a secret tunnel I learned of earlier."
Steel Fist nodded instantly. "Understood."
The Wolf Pack prepared to move—when the ground suddenly trembled.
"Boom… boom… boom…"
The Myr army parted like a curtain, revealing small trebuchets pushed forward by slaves. They were crude wooden machines, but deadly enough. The Myr army no longer dared approach the longbowmen head-on; instead, they sought to crush them from afar.
"Shields! Raise the shields!" Dick the Fletch shouted.
He nocked another arrow and let it fly, striking one of the leading cavalrymen clean in the throat. The trebuchets were too heavily guarded to hit, so he focused on slowing the charge.
The longbowmen returned fire, raining arrows across the battlefield. The Myr soldiers cursed and stumbled—unable to match the famed Westerosi longbow range—but still pushed forward under the encouragement of their officers.
And then…
"BOOOOM!"
A deep horn blast echoed across the battlefield.
Gendry's head snapped up.
From the far side of the battlefield, thirty figures advanced in perfect formation—silent, steady, terrifying. They wore spiked bronze helmets, black leather armor, and carried short spears, round shields, and straight swords. Their movements were precise, each step identical to the last.
The Myr soldiers erupted in cheers.
"The Unsullied!"
"The Unsullied have arrived!"
Gendry felt the tension in his spine tighten. The Unsullied were the elite of the Free Cities—legendary warriors who once saved Qohor by withstanding eighteen consecutive Dothraki charges. Those who survived the brutal training since childhood were said to know no fear, no pain, and no hesitation.
"They really brought the Unsullied…" the Handsome Man muttered. "Myr must be drowning in gold to afford this."
"The Unsullied never ride horses," he continued. "We'll push through them just enough to retreat behind the rear line. No one engage too deeply!"
He raised his sword and charged diagonally toward the incoming formation. Steel Fist, Gendry, and Longspear rushed beside him.
The Unsullied advanced as a single organism—shields overlapping, spears extending in a flawless line. No battle cries, no chaos, no visible emotion. Only efficiency.
Gendry swung his hammer forward just as an Unsullied thrust his spear. The impact rang out like a bell.
"Clang!"
The force sent a jolt through Gendry's arms. The Unsullied were fast. Faster than he expected. Years of drinking courage wine had hardened their nerves and dulled pain itself.
Longspear thrust repeatedly at another Unsullied, but every attack was parried by the precise rotation of a bronze shield. Their defensive discipline was terrifying.
"Don't get bogged down!" someone shouted.
Gendry ducked a spear thrust, rolled forward, and smashed his hammer upward. The blow struck an Unsullied's helmet, sending him sprawling backward. The shield wall wavered, just for a moment.
He grabbed the fallen man's leather shield.
"Leather armor… good," he muttered. "My only chance."
Had they been heavily armored, the Wolf Pack wouldn't stand a chance. But their light armor left openings.
Gendry roared like a charging stag and stormed forward, swinging his warhammer in wide, brutal arcs. The wind whistled around the hammer as he moved, each strike growing more confident, more powerful. Unsullied tried to counterattack, but Gendry was a beast unleashed.
His strikes were relentless—left, right, forward, smashing shields, cracking ribs, knocking men off their feet. The world blurred into motion. The only thing he saw was the path forward.
One Unsullied lunged for his throat. Gendry twisted sideways and slammed the warhammer into the man's chest. The soldier toppled.
Another thrust a spear toward his back—but his new shield absorbed the blow, splintering slightly. Gendry spun around and brought his hammer down with a furious grunt.
Bodies fell around him.
Unsullied—among the finest soldiers in the world—lay broken at his feet.
"Gendry! Move!" the Handsome Man grabbed his arm, pulling him away. "There's a gap! We must reach the tunnel before they regroup!"
Gendry exhaled heavily. He had lost himself to the fury of battle. But this wasn't the time to die gloriously. This was the time to survive.
He nodded, tightened his grip on the shield, and followed the retreating Wolf Pack toward the hidden escape route—while the enemy roared behind them, bringing the full fury of Myr down upon their heels.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)