On the terrace, the cold late autumn wind brushed past.
Queen Selyse's body lay quietly on the ground. Stannis untied his cloak and covered her with it, concealing his wife's face.
The perpetrator of this act, Davos Seaworth, was held down firmly by two royal knights, kneeling a few steps away, his graying hair disheveled in the wind.
He lowered his head, his gaze staring blankly at the floor, his weather-beaten face appearing increasingly haggard.
His lips moved slightly, but he could not make a sound.
"Kill him!"
"I knew this damned fellow had no honor to speak of; he must have taken person gold!"
"Execute this traitor and avenge the Queen!"
The knights shouted angrily.
Several times, people tried to rush directly at Davos to kill him, only to be held back firmly by those beside them.
However, Stannis stood between Selyse's body and Davos, remaining silent for a long time.
"Be silent!"
After an unknown amount of time, the King roared coldly, drowning out all the clamor.
He took a step forward and looked down at the face he knew all too well: "Why?"
Stannis's voice was hoarse, as if every word was soaked in the sharp pain of betrayal.
He pointed at Selyse's still-warm body on the ground, his fingertips trembling slightly: "Why her, Davos..."
"...What exactly were you trying to do?"
"Why did you lay hands on my Queen!!!"
As Stannis roared, everyone's gaze focused on Davos once again.
The surrounding knights drew their swords, surrounding Davos so tightly that not even water could leak through; as soon as the King gave the order, they would immediately chop him into mincemeat.
Davos turned his neck with difficulty, his hollow gaze finally seeming to find focus, landing on Stannis's face.
His lips trembled, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, but he only made a faint, almost nonexistent sound.
He lowered his head, looking at his own blood-stained hands; immense pain and self-reproach seemed to overwhelm him.
"Speak!" Seeing him remain silent, Stannis's voice grew even harsher: "We all know you are not a mute, Davos!"
"In my presence, you always have endless advice to give and boundless loyalty to profess!"
"Now, tell me, what hatred did you have for Selyse that made you risk escaping from prison just to come here and kill her!!"
As the heavy words fell, Davos's whole body shuddered.
He closed his eyes, and two lines of turbid tears rolled down from the corners of his eyes, washing away the blood and dust on his face.
When he opened his eyes again, that blank gaze finally held a hint of emotion, yet it remained as ashen as dead embers.
"Your Grace..."
""
He choked up, almost unable to speak a complete sentence: "I... I never intended to harm the Queen. My target... was never her."
He turned his head, his gaze passing over the crowd to stare fixedly at Melisandre, who looked as if the bloody scene before her had nothing to do with her.
"It's her!" Davos's voice suddenly rose: "It's that red-robed woman!"
He struggled abruptly, and the guards holding him down used even more strength to suppress him.
"I escaped from the dungeon for no other purpose, Your Grace!"
"Because on the way, I heard them say that the blood of the true king must be offered to the fires of the Lord of Light, that Princess Shireen's sacrifice was the necessary price for victory!"
"I could no longer stand by and watch you be blinded, Your Grace!"
"I follow you because you represent law and justice. You raised your banners to return this land to order, not to hand it over to a... witch who rules with the blood of living men and bullshit prophecies!"
"She will destroy you, Your Grace!"
Davos struggled and roared at Stannis; since swearing fealty to him, this was the first time he had been so agitated in Stannis's presence!
"She will drag this kingdom into an abyss more terrifying than the Long Night!"
"She uses those vague visions to bewitch you, leading you away from the path you persisted in. From the beginning until now, how many people have we burned? Those were your subjects too!"
"Now, she won't even spare your only bloodline. This isn't salvation; this is madness and stupidity! I cannot sit by and watch you become a Mad King like Aerys Targaryen!!!"
"Silence! Blasphemer!" As soon as these words were spoken, the members of The Rear Party roared in anger. Some even tried to rush forward to beat Davos, but fortunately, they were barely held back by their companions.
Facing such an accusation, Melisandre herself remained calm, though deep within her red eyes, the flames seemed to flicker slightly more intensely.
She didn't even give Davos a glance, speaking faintly: "Ignorance cannot block the path of the Lord of Light. Fire will purge all fallacies."
"Look at her!" Such indifference made Davos even more certain of his thoughts.
He looked toward Stannis, his eyes filled with final plea and despair: "Your Grace, look at her eyes!"
"Is there any reverence for life in them?"
"As long as she is by your side, your bloodline will never be safe, and this kingdom will forever walk on the edge of a cliff!"
With that, he hung his head dejectedly, his voice lowering, filled with endless self-reproach and pain: "I intended... intended to remove this root of evil... I didn't expect... the Queen would throw herself forward... I... I am guilty..."
He finished his last word as if he had exhausted all his strength; his body went completely limp, no longer struggling or speaking, just staring blankly at the ground as tears flowed silently.
A brief, deathly silence fell over the platform.
However, the angry knights were not calmed by Davos's explanation; instead, their fury grew.
"Whatever the reason, the queenslayer must die!"
"Execute him!"
"Avenge Queen Selyse!"
"Treason! Murdering the Queen! Death by a thousand cuts!"
"Your Grace, please give the order! The law must be upheld!"
The knights erupted in angry roars.
After all, Davos's actions were indefensible under any law. His attempted assassination, though targeted at Melisandre, had accidentally and directly caused the Queen's death.
This was not only a capital crime but the most direct insult and challenge to the House of Baratheon and Stannis himself!
Not to mention, he was already a man with a "criminal status" before this.
The guards forced Davos to kneel firmly on the ground. Someone had already pulled open the collar at the back of his neck, exposing his throat, waiting only for the King's command.
All eyes focused on Stannis once again.
Davos closed his eyes. He did not defend himself further, nor did he look at those angry faces or the cold, glinting blades.
He straightened his back; though kneeling, he had clearly accepted his fate, whether out of guilt for accidentally killing the Queen or resignation to his failed assassination.
Stannis Baratheon stood there, looking at Davos—the man who had once been his most trusted confidant—looking at his graying hair, his rough face, and his missing fingers.
That was the price paid for supporting Storm's End, a symbol of the punishment and reward he had personally bestowed.
Anger burned in his chest.
Davos's actions had undermined his authority, led to Selyse's death, and brought division and chaos at such a critical moment.
But something else, more complex, was also stirring.
He remembered the first time he met Davos.
In the darkest hour of the siege of Storm's End, when the dead from hunger were everywhere.
This smuggler had risked his life and great loss to bring him life-saving food.
Wasn't it this almost foolish quality in Davos—untainted by any calculated interest—that he valued?
This uneducated fellow didn't understand profound politics or subtle maneuvering; he only knew how to do what he thought was right in the most direct way, even if it broke the law, even if it offended authority.
Only this time, the consequences were too tragic.
Execute him?
According to the law, there was no doubt he should do so.
But... Stannis's lips were pressed tight.
He saw that familiar stubbornness in Davos's eyes, that toughness that refused to yield even half a step on "principle" even in the face of death.
It was this very toughness that made Davos one of the few who dared to say to him, amidst the dejection after the Blackwater, "We were wrong, but we are still alive, and we must move forward."
To kill him would be to kill the voice that once reminded him not to forget "what we are fighting for."
Especially now, when Selyse had just died a violent death, the castle was in imminent danger, and the path ahead was completely shrouded in mist.
Stannis fell into an unprecedented struggle.
As the minutes and seconds ticked by, the shouts of the knights gradually grew quieter.
Is His Grace hesitating?
Why?
Melisandre's red eyes quietly watched Stannis, without urging him.
Looking around at the indignant faces of his trusted knights, Stannis finally closed his eyes slightly and raised his arm, preparing to give the order.
The crime Davos committed this time was truly unforgivable; regardless of his purpose, the murder of the Queen was a fact.
If he did not kill him, then the "just" image Stannis had always maintained would collapse in an instant; that was truly unacceptable.
But just as Stannis was about to wave his hand, while the knights watched like hungry wolves.
"Kill!!!"
A sudden, violent, and chaotic roar of battle erupted not far outside the terrace.
The sound was so close!
Everyone inside the hall turned pale with shock!
"Protect His Grace!" Gerald Gower was the first to react, shouting sternly.
The knights and guards immediately tightened their formation, surrounding Stannis, Melisandre, and the body on the ground in the center, their swords pointed outward as if facing a great enemy.
Everyone's heart sank; they knew very well that this terrace was at the highest point of Dragonstone, the terrain was treacherous, and there was only one narrow passage leading up.
If the enemy could fight their way to this door, what did that mean?
It meant that all the defensive lines below might have already collapsed, and they were forced into their final stand!
"Go look!" Gower urgently ordered a young knight beside him.
The knight swallowed hard, gripped his sword, and cautiously moved toward the closed heavy doors.
Outside the door, the sounds of intense fighting and screams were clearly audible.
His hand trembled as he reached for the heavy iron latch.
Just then.
BOOM!!!
A deafening explosion of sound!
The entire door seemed to suffer a massive impact and burst open!
The young knight bore the brunt of it, the half-door bursting inward and slamming squarely into his chest!
"Puh!!!"
He didn't even have time to scream before he was sent flying, spraying a large mouthful of blood mixed with visceral fragments in the air, crashing heavily onto the edge of the platform, his body sliding down limply, losing all signs of life instantly.
The door swung wide open!
Amidst the swirling dust, several figures were the first to rush in.
They wore bright crimson armor and were working together to carry a small battering ram!
Immediately following, more soldiers dressed in the same red plate armor filed in, their movements swift and well-trained, instantly occupying advantageous positions at the entrance, crossbows cocked and spears leveled like a forest, semi-surrounding Stannis's remaining forces on the platform.
There were dozens of them, radiating a murderous aura.
Finally, a tall and upright figure stepped over the broken threshold and onto the platform.
He was clad in exquisite red full plate armor, ornate in style, with a gilded crest of seven-pointed stars shining brilliantly on his chest!
His helmet was tucked under his arm, revealing a face of about forty years old, with long golden hair combed back and a neatly trimmed short beard on his chin.
His eyes were sharp, scanning the messy scene on the platform; when his gaze fell upon Selyse's cloak-covered body, a cold and gratified smile slowly curved on that stern face.
There was no warmth in that smile, only the refreshing feeling of hatred being vented.
"It seems I've missed a good show."
"Leo Sangras!"
Hearing the playfulness in the man's tone, Gerald Gower blurted out the name, his voice filled with shock and rage.
The other knights also gasped, their faces written with astonishment.
Ser Leo Sangras!
The Count of Sweetport Sound, head of House Sangras, one of the oldest vassals of Dragonstone, a knight known for his devout faith in the Seven and his bravery.
Although House Sangras had clearly distanced itself from Dragonstone after Stannis converted to the Lord of Light, no one expected him to appear at this moment in such a manner!
"Traitor!"
Ser Gerald pointed his sword at Leo and rebuked: "How dare you set foot on Dragonstone wearing that armor!"
"What of your oaths? What of your loyalty to King Stannis!"
Listening to his accusations, Leo Sangras did not answer immediately, but continued playfully: "Oh, Ser Gerald..."
"It's been a long time, and your temper is still as fiery as ever."
Gerald was momentarily stunned by his inappropriately calm tone, then his anger flared even more: "Enough nonsense!"
"Look at you! Wasn't your hair brown? Why has it turned gold? And what is that nonsense on your beard!"
A faint, ambiguous smile curved at the corner of Sangras's mouth, and he raised a hand to gently stroke the exceptionally neatly trimmed beard on his chin: "This?"
"Ser Gerald, this is a Casterly Rock-style short beard; the generals and personal guards under Lord Tywin all groom themselves this way—clean, efficient, and sophisticated."
"I forgot to tell you, I have now sworn fealty to Lord Tywin person!"
As he spoke, he clapped his hands. The knights behind him brought out several bags, and with a clatter, countless Gold Dragons skipped across the stone floor, making a crisp and piercing sound.
"Ser Gerald, everyone."
He looked around at his former colleagues, his voice carrying a sort of charitable arrogance: "This is the goodwill of Duke Tywin. As long as you lay down your weapons and surrender, the persons guarantee you will receive even more Gold Dragons!"
As soon as these words were spoken, instead of becoming greedy for the Gold Dragons, the knights pointed at Sangras and cursed indignantly: "Well now, I never expected that you, Sangras, would also turn traitor!"
"Wake up, Ser Sangras. You believe in the Seven, and the Seven do not forgive traitors!"
"Betrayal?"
Upon hearing this, Leo Sangras's smile vanished instantly. He took a violent step forward, pointing at the corpse of Selyse Florent on the ground, his finger trembling violently with agitation: "Because of this damned bitch, this poisonous woman whose heart was burned mad by pagan flames!"
"It was she who personally gave the order to burn my brother, Gunther Sangras—a knight who spent his life piously serving the Seven—alive!"
As these words came out, many knights on the platform who were not part of The Rear Party showed expressions of sudden realization.
Gunther Sangras, Leo's elder brother and the former Earl of Sweetport Sound, had been sentenced to death by fire by Queen Selyse on charges of 'inciting rebellion and blaspheming the true god' because he insisted on his faith in the Seven and publicly condemned the fanatical actions of Selyse and Melisandre.
That burning, which took place in the square of Dragonstone, had once chilled the hearts of many bannermen and soldiers who followed the Seven.
And Stannis, at the time, had tacitly approved the sentence under the pretext of 'maintaining royal authority.'
But no one had expected that the Sangras family's revenge would come so swiftly.
Looking around, Leo's chest heaved violently, his eyes bloodshot as he continued to roar: "For her bullshit evil god of fire, she defiled the temple of the Seven, and defiled my brother's pious soul!"
He snapped his head around to look at Stannis, his eyes no longer holding the slightest trace of his former awe: "From the moment you abandoned your oath to protect your bannermen for the sake of this mad queen and that red-robed bitch, the loyalty of the Sangrases scattered along with my brother's ashes!"
"So, I joined Lord Tywin. I brought the persons' most elite commando unit, bypassed your routed front-line forces, and came directly here through a secret passage!"
As he spoke, he suddenly drew the longsword at his waist, pointing it directly at Stannis and Melisandre beside him: "Today, I come to collect a blood debt for my brother and for the honor of House Sangras!"
Following his words, dozens of person elites in crimson armor stepped forward in unison, their weapons glinting coldly as they forced Stannis and his party completely to the edge of the Starry Terrace's cliff.
Before them were elite troops led by a hateful traitor; behind them was a hundred-foot cliff and the raging waves crashing against the shore; below them was the falling castle.
A desperate situation, a true dead end.
Stannis Baratheon slowly scanned his surroundings.
Internal strife, external threats, betrayal, death...
Everything seemed like a cold tide, completely submerging him and his remaining dream of a kingdom amidst the reefs and blood of Dragonstone.
However, he did not say a word.
He did not utter a single word of reproach toward Sangras, nor did he attempt to persuade the man to abandon his revenge.
Stannis Baratheon, King of Dragonstone, simply unbuckled the longsword from his waist under the watchful eyes of the crowd, drew it, and tossed the scabbard aside casually.
Since battle was unavoidable, then... let there be war!
"Argh!!!!"
"Kill!!!"
After a moment of silence, both sides simultaneously erupted with deafening war cries.
Leo Sangras's commando unit crashed into Stannis's personal guard!
The space on the terrace usually seemed spacious enough to hold dozens of people, but now, with blades raised and lives at stake, it felt exceptionally crowded.
The roars, the clashing of metal, and the sound of blades entering flesh became the main melody on the platform.
Blood splashed onto the ancient stone slabs, quickly gathering into small streams that flowed along the cracks.
Ser Gerald Gower stood loyally before Stannis, wielding a broadsword that whistled through the air, each strike carrying the killing experience of years of warfare.
A person elite lunged with a spear, but Gerald parried the tip with his blade, stepped forward in the same motion, and cut through the man's mail and ribs, sending blood spraying.
Immediately after, he swung his sword back and cut into another enemy's knee, disabling another man in an instant.
However, there were simply too many enemies.
Deep red armor continued to pour in from the gates, looking like a suffocating tide in the dark night.
Gerald had to deal with attacks from all directions simultaneously, and soon he could no longer cover both his left and right.
His pauldron was dented by a mace, and a sword light grazed his thigh, drawing a spray of blood. Though he gritted his teeth and endured it, his steps became staggered.
"Protect His Majesty! Shrink back toward the battlements!" Gerald roared hoarsely, his voice sounding quite weak amidst the chaos.
Stannis Baratheon was also fighting hard with his sword.
His swordsmanship followed the orthodox training of Storm's End, but unfortunately, his physique had never been equal to his brother's since childhood, and he was never known for extraordinary strength or ferocity.
Surrounded by four or five of his most loyal royal guards, he fought and retreated, trying to put his back against the solid battlements to reduce the directions from which he could be attacked.
But even so, the pressure was immense.
One guard was run through the abdomen by a spear and fell with a scream; another had his helmet split by a battle-axe, spilling brains.
Several deep gashes were added to Stannis's plate armor, and his visor was deformed by a blow. A stream of blood flowed down from his forehead, blurring the vision in his left eye.
His breathing began to grow heavy, and with every swing of his sword, he felt his arms getting heavier, yet there was not a trace of fear in his eyes.
On the other end of the platform.
Leo Sangras's objective was quite clear.
He barely even spared a glance at the struggling Stannis; from beginning to end, his eyes were locked onto that red figure.
The moment the battle broke out, the Red Priestess had been shielded by layers of her most fanatical followers.
These Rear Party knights and soldiers might be shortsighted strategically, but they were incredibly fanatical in their faith.
They formed a tight circle, surrounding Melisandre in the center, using their bodies and weapons to fend off the tide of enemies.
Ironically, because the royal guards around Stannis were mostly chosen by The Rear Party, the defensive force around Melisandre was actually slightly larger in number than that around the King.
But this slight numerical advantage could not make up for the gap between them and the enemy's numbers.
"Tear through their formation! Seize the witch!"
Under Leo's personal leadership, the red-armored knights continued to push toward Melisandre's position.
Leo himself was a skilled swordsman, and added to the grudge of his brother's death, he fought with a completely suicidal style. The knights around him were also brave and coordinated well.
A Rear Party knight raised a warhammer to strike, but Leo did not dodge. He took the hit on his pauldron while decisively thrusting his sword, piercing the opponent's throat where it was unprotected by a gorget.
Flesh and blood flew; the formation was torn open, only to be desperately plugged by the following Rear Party members, and then torn open again.
The battle was tragic and grueling, every step forward paved with corpses.
Sangras's numerical advantage was too great; they could attack in waves, while The Rear Party's formation was constantly shrinking, suffering heavy casualties.
Finally, at the cost of more than ten casualties, Leo Sangras, with the coordination of four or five knights, forcefully carved out a gap and advanced to within just a few steps of Melisandre!
Several fanatical believers threw their bodies forward to block him, only to be cut down by the swords of Leo and his knights.
From then on, Melisandre and her guards were completely separated by the swarming enemies.
Leo Sangras, covered in blood, approached Melisandre in the corner step by step.
A look of excitement at his impending revenge appeared on his face. He casually grabbed a bronze brazier nearby that had been used for lighting and violently splashed the charcoal and oil inside, which had not yet fully extinguished, onto the ground in front of Melisandre!
A wave of scorching heat hit them, making their faces flicker between light and shadow.
"Bitch! Look at me! Look at me!!"
Sangras stared fixedly at the red-robed figure who still stood tall across the leaping flames, looking like a madman.
"Back then, you stood by flames just like these. You said the Seven did not protect my brother. You listened as the sound of his prayers turned into screams, and you watched as his body turned to ash!!"
"Now! It's your turn to stand before the fire!"
His chest heaved violently, tears mixing with the blood on his face as they flowed down: "Let me see... let your god perform a miracle!"
"Let it send a bolt of holy fire from the heavens to protect you!"
"Hahaha!!!"
He waited for a moment with his arms spread wide, but when nothing happened, Sangras laughed out loud.
"Don't worry, I won't just kill you like that, bitch!"
"I'm a man who hates to waste things. I'll let my men, and every soldier who landed on Dragonstone today, have their turn with you, and then I'll cut off your head!"
"I want to watch closely as your head is thrown into this fire, sizzling as it burns into a lump of charred, rotten meat!"
"Hahahaha!!!"
Facing this hysterical death threat, a flicker of panic crossed Melisandre's face.
It wasn't that she was afraid of being tortured to death.
As the most pious believer of the Lord of Light, she had long ago offered her soul and body entirely to the one true god of the world.
It was just... this ending was not the same as any of the prophecies she had seen.
"My Lord..."
Her lips moved soundlessly, staring intently at the wall of leaping flames before her, as if praying: "Please give me guidance..."
In an instant, Melisandre's pupils seemed to dilate slightly under the reflection of the firelight, losing focus as if her vision had penetrated the physical flames to see a sight that mortals could not glimpse.
"I see it..."
She suddenly spoke, her voice not loud, but just enough for Sangras to hear clearly.
"What do you see? Bitch!"
"Do you see me pulling out your intestines and hanging them on a spear tip, hahaha!!"
Melisandre ignored Sangras's roar, her gaze still locked deep within the flames: "I see him, a warrior... coming from the flames..."
"He wears... an antlered helm, a warhammer in his hand... you will die beneath that hammer."
"An antlered helm? Are you fucking kidding me? Robert Baratheon has been dead for two years!!!"
Hearing this, Sangras laughed even more uncontrollably: "Hahaha, your god shows you such ridiculous illusions?"
"It seems it's not all that great then. Are these your last words? How fucking—"
Before he could finish his sentence!
Whoosh—
A terrifying sound of air being torn apart came from behind his side without any warning!
As an excellent warrior, Sangras instantly felt a bone-chilling threat of death!
There was no time to think, it was purely a battle instinct honed through a thousand trials!
Sangras used all his strength to desperately dive and roll to the side!
Just as his body veered away from where he had been standing—
BANG!!!!!!
A massive sound exploded at the spot where he had just been!
BOOM!!!
Stone fragments sprayed out as the solid black stone floor was actually smashed into a shallow pit, with cracks radiating out like a spiderweb!
An exaggeratedly styled two-handed warhammer, covered in blood and fire, was deeply embedded in the shattered stone slabs, the head even vibrating slightly!
Sangras, his heart still pounding, rolled to his feet and knelt on one knee.
His left arm had been sliced open by a flying stone, stinging painfully. He snapped his head up to look in the direction the attack had come from.
He saw a tall, burly figure slowly pulling up that warhammer that had just caused such terrifying destruction. As the head left the ground, it brought up more stone chips!
The most striking thing was the helmet on his head—menacing and majestic antlers spread to both sides, casting a silhouette like an ancient giant beast under the flickering firelight.
The burning flames seemed to flicker and bow because of his movements, framing his tall stature with a flowing golden-red outline.
In that instant, he truly seemed like the warrior Melisandre had prophesied, born from fire and blood...
A Warrior!!!
Under Sangras's stunned gaze, countless soldiers shouting "Long live His Majesty Robert Baratheon" filed in from behind the antlered warrior, raising their weapons to attack the red-armored knights.
The situation, which had been firmly in their grasp, was instantly reversed!
And the warrior in the antlered helm scanned the messy platform, glanced with a complex expression at Melisandre standing dazed in the corner, and finally fixed his gaze on Leo Sangras.
Slowly raising the warhammer to his shoulder, a domineering voice passed clearly through the visor of the antlered helm into Sangras's ears: "You..."
"What do you plan to do to my woman?"