Chapter 126: I Am the King!
Axell Florent's blade came down in a vicious arc, aimed straight at Odin's neck.
It was a strike without restraint. With over thirty years of knightly training behind him, Axell was certain—against an unarmed, unarmored man, this blow could not miss.
The sword howled through the air. In his mind, he had already seen it—steel biting into flesh, the heretic collapsing with a scream.
At the same moment, Stannis Baratheon leaned forward slightly in his seat, fingers tightening on the armrest.
Reason told him Odin should not die—not yet. Not before solving the siege of Storm's End. And executing a man without cause… that was not justice.
But another voice whispered within him.
Since when had he begun relying on Melisandre's prophecies? On her flames to "purify" all things?
He opened his mouth—
But for a fleeting instant, no command came.
And for a swordsman like Axell, that instant was eternity.
Meanwhile, Odin's peripheral vision locked firmly onto Stannis.
The king did not move.
No command. No intervention.
So after all this talk… you'd let your dog kill me over some vague prophecy?
No wonder no one followed you over Renly.
In that instant, Odin made his decision.
He did not attempt to fully dodge—that would be impossible at this distance. Instead, he stepped slightly back and to the side, twisting his body just enough.
The blade skimmed past his neck, grazing skin.
Axell's strike missed.
Momentum carried him forward—just enough to expose a fatal opening.
Odin moved.
Not backward—but forward.
His body pivoted on his left foot as his right leg snapped out, slamming into the back of Axell's knee.
"Ugh—!"
Axell's leg buckled. He dropped to one knee with a heavy thud.
Before he could recover—
Odin's right hand shot under Axell's sword arm, thumb pressing the back of his hand while his fingers crushed into the wrist. At the same time, his left fist struck the elbow joint.
A sharp crack.
Pain and numbness exploded through Axell's arm.
His fingers loosened—
The sword fell.
And in the next instant—
It was no longer his.
Everything happened in the span of a heartbeat.
Odin did not pause.
He did not even adjust his grip.
Using the forward momentum of the disarm, he drove the blade downward—
"Pshhk!"
Steel pierced flesh.
The angle was perfect.
Guided by precise anatomical knowledge, the blade slipped past the armor's protection and drove straight into the carotid artery.
Blood erupted.
Axell's body froze.
His eyes widened in disbelief. His mouth opened—but only blood bubbled out, a hollow choking sound escaping his throat.
Moments later—
The light vanished from his eyes.
His body collapsed forward.
Silence.
Dead silence.
The guards stood frozen.
They stared at Axell's corpse… then at Odin, standing calmly with the bloodied sword, his breathing steady, as if nothing had happened.
That was Ser Axell Florent.
One of Dragonstone's finest knights.
Fully armored.
And yet—
Disarmed. Killed. In seconds.
No struggle. No resistance.
This wasn't a duel.
It was an execution.
"Draw your weapons!!"
The silence shattered.
Blades rang out as knights drew steel. Guards burst through the doors, weapons raised.
In an instant, more than a dozen swords and spears pointed at Odin.
"Drop it!"
"Kneel!"
"You dare kill Ser Florent?!"
Surrounded on all sides, Odin did not move.
He let the blood drip from the sword's tip.
Then he looked past them—
Straight at Stannis.
Their eyes met.
And Stannis realized something unsettling.
This man—who had just killed someone in front of him—
Felt no fear.
No regret.
Those dark, steady eyes seemed to say:
Make a move… and you'll die before I do.
Then Odin spoke.
"I… am Odin!"
His voice rang out, overpowering the chaos.
"I was trained by Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard! I learned from Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Rainbow Guard!"
"You can go to King's Landing and ask—just days ago, before countless witnesses, I brought down Gregor Clegane—the Mountain himself—and cut out his filthy tongue!"
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The Mountain… defeated?
If true—
Odin flicked the blade, shaking off the blood.
Then his gaze swept across them like a knife.
"Listen well, boys."
His voice turned cold, edged with naked threat.
"You cowards hiding on this island, gnawing seaweed to survive—"
"Even if I stand here unarmored…"
"Even if you're all wrapped in iron—"
The tip of his sword pointed from one guard to another.
"I'll carve through you like cheese on a table."
"Try me."
No one moved.
Axell's corpse was still warm.
And now—
They hesitated.
Then—
"Kill him!"
Melisandre's voice cut through the tension, sharper than before.
Her eyes were locked on Odin's sword hand, red pupils burning with urgency.
Too fast.
Too precise.
Too much like the vision.
"The enemy of the Lord of Light hides behind skill!" she cried. "His strength is proof of his corruption!"
"For the king! For the Lord of Light! Kill him!"
"FOR THE LORD OF LIGHT!"
Two young knights, swept by fanatic fervor, charged.
Left and right—blades flashing.
Odin instinctively moved to strike—
But then—
He stopped.
He lowered his sword.
The two knights grinned wildly.
In their eyes, this was divine judgment.
The heretic trembles!
The Lord of Light guides us!
They surged forward—
"FOR THE LORD OF LIGHT!"
"DIE, HERETIC!"
And then—
Heavy footsteps thundered.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
A figure rushed across the stone table—
Leapt—
And landed between them and Odin.
A gray cloak flared.
Beneath it—chainmail. Leather.
And the crowned stag blazing on his chest.
Stannis Baratheon.
"Your—"
The left knight barely spoke before—
Flash.
A sword pierced his chest.
Straight through the heart.
He looked down—
At the blade in the king's hand.
Stannis did not even look at him.
He twisted the sword. Pulled it free.
Blood sprayed.
The knight collapsed.
The second knight froze.
Too late.
Stannis kicked his knee out.
He fell.
Before he could rise—
The king's sword was already raised above him.
"Mercy! Your Grace—!"
The man sobbed, terror replacing all zeal. "We only sought to purge heresy—!"
Stannis looked down at him.
His voice was calm.
Cold.
"What… were you about to do… to my guest?"
The word guest landed like a hammer.
Guest right.
Sacred.
Untouchable.
And with that—
The sword fell.
"Pshhk!"
The blade drove through his chest, pinning him to the stone floor.
The body convulsed—
Then went still.
Silence returned.
Heavier than before.
No one moved.
Because now they understood.
This was not Melisandre's domain.
Not the Lord of Light's.
This—
Was the king's hall.
And here—
Only one man decided who lived and who died.
The weapons in the guards' hands drooped weakly. Their eyes were wide with disbelief as they looked at their king—then at the two fresh corpses on the ground, still twitching faintly.
The king… had killed his own men?
Why?
Confusion and shock flooded the hall.
Stannis Baratheon slowly pulled his sword free. Steel scraped faintly against bone, a grating sound that set teeth on edge. He flicked the blood from the blade, then raised his head and swept his gaze across the room.
Wherever that gaze passed, men lowered their eyes, or turned away entirely.
No one dared meet it.
The air seemed to freeze—thick with the stench of blood and the crackle of fire.
"Next time."
His voice was absolute.
"Before I give the order, I do not want to see anyone act on their own."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
The guards snapped awake as if from a dream, answering in unison.
Swords were sheathed. Spears lowered. They stepped back in disciplined formation, clearing space, their posture rigid with respect. Whatever chaos had just unfolded, this was no rabble—it was still a king's guard.
Stannis gave a faint nod, satisfied as order reasserted itself.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
It landed on Melisandre.
The red priestess stood in shadow, her expression obscured—but her body was tense.
The message was unmistakable.
What he had just done—and the way he now looked at her—
Was a warning.
"Do not forget, woman."
Stannis spoke each word clearly, before all present.
"I am the king."
It was not merely a statement.
It was a line drawn.
Faith might guide power—but it would never rule over it. Never replace it. Never decide life and death in his stead.
Melisandre trembled—just slightly.
She met his gaze, and in her eyes flickered something complex: shock, confusion, anger… and something deeper still. A fracture between prophecy and reality.
But in the end, she bowed.
"As you command, Your Grace."
Her red hair fell forward, veiling part of her face.
"Your will… is the will of the Lord of Light made manifest in this world."
Stannis gave a small nod.
That was enough.
For now.
He turned away from her, as if the matter were settled.
Then his eyes found the man who had not moved at all—
Odin.
Odin stood where he had been, sword lowered, expression unreadable—as if the bloodshed moments ago had been nothing more than a passing illusion.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
Then Stannis spoke.
"Our business is not yet concluded, Ser Odin."
His voice was rougher now.
"Return to your quarters. You will be provided with water and food."
A simple gesture followed.
Dismissal.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just… closure.
Blood answered with blood.
Debt settled.
That was his way.
Perhaps no other lord in the Seven Kingdoms would have handled it like this—not even Eddard Stark.
But this was Stannis Baratheon.
In his world, there was no such thing as apology.
Only law.
Only judgment.
To him, the throne was not a desire—it was a right. A duty.
But to Odin—
That was not enough.
Because Odin understood something Stannis did not.
The moment Stannis chose shadow and blood magic…
The moment he sacrificed morality for victory…
That "just" king had already begun to disappear.
And more importantly—
Odin never forgot a debt.
Stannis had hesitated.
Had allowed Axell to strike.
That alone was enough.
Killing two guards did not settle the matter.
Debts don't vanish.
They wait.
And when the time comes—
They are collected.
Outwardly, however, Odin simply nodded, showing no sign of objection.
He let the blood-soaked sword—taken from Axell—fall casually to the ground.
"As you wish, my lord."
Stannis glanced at him, offering no reply.
Instead, he looked at the blood pooling across the stone floor… then at the shaken guards.
And, like a king delivering final judgment, he spoke:
"Remove the bodies."
A pause.
Then, quietly—
"Enough people have died today."