Heartsbane was a massive two-handed greatsword, yet in Karl's hands it felt no more cumbersome than a slightly oversized one-handed blade.
Holding his newest prize, Karl casually spun the Valyrian steel sword through the air. Its razor-sharp edge sliced cleanly through the morning breeze, producing a smooth, satisfying whistle.
Valyrian steel was legendary throughout Westeros. It was lighter than ordinary steel, impossibly durable, and sharper than any conventional blade. Even after centuries of use, it neither rusted nor dulled.
Aside from the dragonbone-hilted dagger Robert had presented to him when he was knighted, this was only the second Valyrian steel weapon Karl had ever possessed.
He liked it immensely.
"It seems you've made the right choice, Count Randyll Tarly."
Karl smiled as he admired Heartsbane.
Watching the ancestral sword of House Tarly being treated like a newly acquired trophy caused Randyll's heart to ache. Yet he had no grounds to protest.
Karl had not defeated him through brute strength alone. He had defeated him with superior planning, flawless execution, and battlefield strategy. Randyll, an experienced commander, understood that better than anyone.
He simply turned his head away, refusing to look at Heartsbane any longer. Instead, his gaze fell upon his exhausted soldiers, who still stood in stunned silence after the sudden end of the battle.
"I did not bring these men here to die," Randyll said quietly. "You are a formidable opponent, King Karl—far more formidable than anyone imagined."
"Most people only know the image you've shown them. If anyone still underestimates you after witnessing my defeat, they deserve whatever fate awaits them."
Karl merely smiled.
Soon enough, the Seven Kingdoms would learn exactly what kind of man he truly was.
Sheathing Heartsbane, he looked at Randyll with amusement.
"You called me 'King.' That tells me you don't entirely reject the idea of serving me."
His meaning was unmistakable.
Karl wanted more than the legendary sword.
He wanted Randyll Tarly himself.
The count remained silent for several moments. His eyes drifted across the battlefield, where the rising sun illuminated the muddy pits concealed beneath the grass—simple traps that had decided the entire battle.
Such an ordinary trick.
Yet it had destroyed him.
No...
The truth was even harsher.
Karl had predicted every move he intended to make from the very beginning.
Everything Randyll had done had merely advanced Karl's carefully prepared plan.
As a veteran commander, Randyll understood precisely where he had failed.
Meeting Karl's gaze once more, he answered calmly,
"I won't deny that possibility. But until my liege lord suffers defeat as well, I will not kneel before you."
Karl nodded without disappointment.
"Then I look forward to that day."
He looked toward the brightening sky.
Summer had officially come to an end. White ravens were already flying across Westeros, carrying that message to every castle in the realm.
Who knew how many peaceful mornings like this remained?
Just before leaving, Karl spoke once more.
"Besides you, I also want your army."
"I know you won't refuse."
Randyll said nothing.
His silence was answer enough.
Another victory had been won—one that seemed almost unbelievable to outside observers.
Only Karl and Randyll truly understood how the battle had unfolded.
Randyll had lost because he allowed impatience to cloud his judgment.
Karl, whose reputation painted him as reckless and impulsive, had won because he had remained patient, cautious, and prepared.
The irony would not be lost on history.
The accompanying maesters carefully documented every stage of the battle. Their reports would eventually be sent to the Citadel, where future generations would study Karl's tactics.
For now, however, far more immediate concerns demanded attention.
The wounded required treatment.
Casualties needed to be counted.
Spoils had to be inventoried.
The army would remain camped for several days before marching again.
Returning to his command tent, Karl removed the captured armor he had worn during the battle and changed into his usual clothing.
He entrusted Heartsbane to Alex Oakheart, who respectfully slung the legendary sword across his back.
Meanwhile, Randyll Tarly issued orders for his remaining soldiers to cooperate fully before quietly walking into one of the newly built wooden prison cells.
Without another word, he lay down and fell asleep almost immediately.
He wanted no visitors.
He needed time alone to accept his defeat.
Not long afterward, Karl summoned all of his senior officers and advisers to a post-war council.
As everyone took their seats, Karl's attention settled upon the woman sitting near his right.
Lady Ewyn Oakheart.
Although Karl had stripped her of her position as Lady of Old Oak, she had voluntarily joined his army afterward.
Since he lacked experienced guides familiar with the Reach, Karl had accepted her service and entrusted her with intelligence gathering.
She performed her duties exceptionally well.
Only one thing bothered him.
Her increasingly fanatical devotion.
The recent rumors spreading throughout the army about Karl being the "Eighth God" had largely originated from her.
Karl looked toward her.
"Lady Ewyn, has House Hightower responded yet?"
She immediately straightened her posture.
"Your Majesty, House Hightower remains completely silent. Lord Leyton Hightower has not left the Hightower, nor has he shown any intention of joining House Tyrell's rebellion."
Karl tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the wooden table.
After a long pause, he shook his head.
"Then we'll leave them alone for now."
"Whatever they're planning, they'll reveal it when the time comes."
In truth, Karl remained wary of both House Hightower and the Citadel.
But since neither had openly acted against him, there was little reason to provoke them unnecessarily.
If they intended to remain neutral, he certainly wouldn't object.
Ewyn's expression, however, remained troubled.
"There is another matter, Your Majesty."
Karl gestured for her to continue.
"Reports indicate that House Redwyne has already dispatched the Arbor fleet."
"Their destination appears to be Lannisport... and possibly Casterly Rock."
For a moment, the entire command tent fell silent.
Every officer present immediately turned toward Lady Ewyn.
Jon Snow frowned slightly, while the White Wolf and the other commanders exchanged uneasy glances.
House Redwyne possessed one of the greatest fleets in all of Westeros. If the Arbor fleet truly intended to attack the Westerlands, the consequences could be severe.
Karl, however, reacted very differently.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"So that's their plan?"
He chuckled.
"Do they intend to trade homes with me?"
"Or do they believe attacking the Westerlands will force me to abandon my campaign in the Reach? Perhaps they imagine they can trap me between two fronts."
The more he considered it, the more amused he became.
Seeing his reaction, Lady Ewyn hesitated before speaking again.
"Your Majesty... House Redwyne's fleet is exceptionally powerful. It is widely regarded as one of the strongest naval forces in the Seven Kingdoms. I believe we should treat this threat with greater caution."
Karl simply waved a hand dismissively.
"There's no need to worry."
"When Jon marched south to reinforce us, Lannisport naturally lost a portion of its defenders."
"But I prepared for that possibility long ago."
"As for Casterly Rock..."
A confident smile spread across his face.
"No army can simply march in and capture Casterly Rock."
The fortress had earned its reputation over thousands of years. Even if every ship in the Arbor fleet landed its soldiers safely, taking Casterly Rock would be another matter entirely.
Karl paused, his fingers lightly tapping the table.
Then an idea suddenly occurred to him.
"Oh, right."
He looked toward the maester seated nearby.
"Tyrion mentioned before I left that several Westerlands nobles had begun showing signs of divided loyalties."
"In that case, prepare a letter."
The maester immediately picked up his quill.
Karl spoke without hesitation.
"Address every noble house in the Westerlands."
"Order them to immediately dispatch troops to reinforce both Lannisport and Casterly Rock."
"Also make it absolutely clear that anyone who ignores my summons will be considered to have joined the rebellion."
He leaned back in his chair.
"I've been so busy fighting these battles that I nearly forgot about those people."
He looked at the maester once more.
"Don't waste time dressing it up with elegant language."
"Keep it direct."
"Write exactly what I said."
The officers exchanged puzzled looks.
Only Jon Snow seemed to understand Karl's intention, his thoughtful expression revealing that he had already guessed part of the King's plan.
The maester quickly drafted a formal template before presenting it to Karl.
Karl carefully read through it.
After making only a few minor adjustments, he nodded in satisfaction.
"Perfect."
"Now simply replace the names and send copies to every lord."
The maester bowed respectfully before leaving to complete the task.
Karl clapped his hands lightly.
"Now then..."
"Where were we?"
"Let's continue."
Lady Ewyn opened her mouth as if she wished to object once more.
In the end, however, she simply sighed.
Since the King already had a plan—and had even begun mobilizing every loyal house in the Westerlands—there was little more she could add.
Still...
The entire campaign continued to feel unbelievable.
Karl was not merely King.
Before his coronation, he had also been Warden of the West.
Yet throughout this southern campaign, not a single major Westerlands army had marched alongside him.
Every soldier currently under his command had been recruited, trained, or incorporated while the campaign itself was already underway.
No lord in the history of Westeros had ever waged war in such a manner.
It was almost impossible to believe.
Perhaps...
That was why so many soldiers had begun calling him a god.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Lady Ewyn continued her report.
"Aside from Count Randyll Tarly's vanguard, which Your Majesty has already defeated, nearly every major army summoned by Highgarden has now gathered around the castle."
"We estimate their numbers already exceed twenty thousand."
"They continue to receive reinforcements."
"It remains unclear whether they intend to cross the Mander River to attack us directly, or simply wait behind the walls of Highgarden for your arrival."
Karl rested one hand beneath his chin.
"It makes little difference."
"Our first priority is reorganizing the army."
He looked around the table.
"Integrate the soldiers who surrendered with Randyll."
"Disperse those willing to cooperate among our existing units."
"As for those who remain stubborn..."
A cold smile crossed his face.
"Send them to Old Oak."
"They'll receive proper re-education there."
No one questioned his decision.
Karl continued issuing orders.
"Handle the remaining logistical matters as quickly as possible."
"I want this army marching again within one week."
A strange smile appeared on his face.
"After all..."
"An excellent show is about to begin."
The officers exchanged uncertain glances.
Ever since defeating Randyll Tarly, the King's confidence seemed to have increased dramatically.
It almost appeared as though he no longer viewed this war as a dangerous campaign.
Lady Ewyn could not help speaking once again.
"Your Majesty..."
"Shouldn't we proceed more carefully?"
"Reports suggest that Highgarden already commands more than twenty thousand soldiers."
"If another week passes, their strength could easily exceed thirty thousand."
Karl simply narrowed his eyes and smiled mysteriously.
"There is no need."
"I doubt this battle will happen at all."
"Now that the Arbor fleet has sailed toward the Westerlands..."
"There will soon be something far more interesting to watch."
---
Time passed quickly.
News of Randyll Tarly's crushing defeat spread across the Seven Kingdoms like wildfire.
The realm was stunned.
No one had expected the legendary commander of House Tarly to lose so completely.
The challenge had been delivered only the previous day.
Before sunrise the next morning, the battle had already ended.
Randyll had surrendered.
He had become Karl's prisoner.
Even Heartsbane, the treasured ancestral sword of House Tarly, now belonged to Karl Baratheon.
It sounded impossible.
Randyll's force had consisted of five to six thousand elite cavalry.
They had fought on open ground against an army composed mostly of infantry and only a fraction of their cavalry strength.
By every conventional measure, Randyll should have held the advantage.
Yet instead of winning...
His army had been utterly destroyed.
Many believed such a humiliating defeat deserved an investigation for treason.
How else could such an outcome be explained?
Unfortunately, the details of the battle remained secret.
Only two men truly understood what had happened.
Karl Baratheon.
And Randyll Tarly.
Everyone else was left with rumors, speculation, and disbelief.
Nevertheless, as attention shifted toward the Reach, every noble in Westeros found themselves watching the same battlefield.
Curiosity surrounding Karl Baratheon grew stronger with each passing day.
How many more miracles could this man create?
At the same time, Renly Baratheon—still traveling toward Storm's End after departing Highgarden—and Stannis Baratheon on Dragonstone, who had recently released Eddard Stark, both began paying much closer attention to the southern campaign.
The outcome of Karl's invasion would determine far more than the fate of the Reach.
It could reshape the future of the Seven Kingdoms themselves.
If Karl failed, Renly Baratheon would emerge as the greatest beneficiary.
In that case, the struggle for the Iron Throne would return to its original course. House Baratheon would remain divided between Renly and Stannis, with Karl becoming little more than another failed claimant in history.
But if Karl won...
Everything would change.
A victory over the Reach would shatter the balance of power across Westeros. The political landscape would be rewritten overnight, and both Renly and Stannis would be forced to reconsider their ambitions.
Would they continue fighting for the Iron Throne?
Or would they recognize Karl's overwhelming momentum and submit to him instead?
No one knew the answer.
What everyone did know was that the next battle would determine far more than the fate of the Reach. It could decide the future of the entire realm.
For that reason, Highgarden became the center of attention throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Every raven carried rumors.
Every castle waited anxiously for fresh reports.
Every lord wondered whether Karl Baratheon was truly a military genius—or merely a reckless gambler whose luck had yet to run out.
Even the shocking news of Tywin Lannister's betrayal of the Night's Watch and his attack on House Umber failed to divert the realm's attention.
Compared to Karl's astonishing campaign in the Reach, every other conflict suddenly seemed secondary.
The storm gathering around Highgarden had become the focal point of Westerosi politics.
Meanwhile, far away in the Westerlands, inside the halls of Casterly Rock, one man felt as though the weight of the entire kingdom had been dropped squarely onto his shoulders.
Tyrion Lannister buried his face in his hands before roughly running his fingers through his hair.
He let out a long, exhausted sigh.
"Seven Hells..."
"Why didn't I just smash my own head against the Iron Throne back in King's Landing?"
He groaned dramatically as another stack of reports landed on his desk.
"Where does Karl Baratheon get this ridiculous confidence in me?"
"He marches into the Reach with barely any support, leaves the Westerlands in my hands, and somehow expects everything to work perfectly."
"I'm clever, not a miracle worker."
His complaints echoed through the chamber.
Unfortunately for Tyrion, no one seemed particularly sympathetic.
The servants simply continued their work as though they had grown accustomed to their acting lord's theatrical outbursts.
At that moment, heavy footsteps approached.
Dogtooth Cauchy, the long-absent Grand Steward of Casterly Rock, entered the room carrying a sealed invitation.
His expression was unusually troubled.
"My lord."
Tyrion looked up.
"What now?"
Cauchy stepped forward and respectfully presented the letter.
"Forgive the interruption, Lord Tyrion, but regardless of the war that lies ahead..."
He hesitated briefly before continuing.
"The High Septon currently residing in Casterly Rock has requested an audience with you."
Tyrion stared silently at the invitation.
Another problem.
Another unexpected visitor.
And somehow, he had the unpleasant feeling that this meeting would prove every bit as troublesome as Karl's latest campaign.
Outside, the winds continued to gather.
The storm surrounding the Seven Kingdoms was only just beginning.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)