"Yes, my lord!" Hearing Kal's command spoken so firmly, Jon quickly answered in haste.
Satisfied he had understood, Kal gave him a nod.
Then, without further hesitation, he wheeled his horse about and took off in pursuit.
What Jon failed to notice was that several faint wisps of green light drifted from Kal's body as he rode off, attaching themselves to the scattered cavalry fleeing alone.
For these stragglers, Kal cast only a single spell—Wither Lotus—saving them for later, once he had dealt with the rest.
And once he vanished from Jon's sight, both his warhammer and longsword suddenly disappeared.
In their place appeared a seemingly ordinary wooden longbow.
But after summoning the bow, Kal did not draw an arrow right away. Instead, a golden drink materialized in his hand, and he held it to Fawkes' mouth.
Seeing it, Fawkes curled his lips skillfully, gulping down the bottle whole as it transformed into a streak of light sliding into his throat.
At once, the fatigue that had weighed on Fawkes after a full day's running and that last explosive sprint was gone.
The heavy panting vanished, his pounding steps turned lighter, livelier—like a tank refueled to the brim.
Only after restoring Fawkes' strength did Kal raise his longbow with interest, nocking an arrow and aiming at the men fleeing ahead.
"Kill, then try to run?!"
"Heh… I'll see that not one of you escapes!"
The words had barely left his mouth before the bowstring twanged and the air gave a sharp hiss.
An arrow pierced clean through the helmet of one of the fleeing men.
[Thud!]
"Gods damn it! That bastard's still on us!!!"
Seeing yet another comrade drop dead beside him, the cavalry captain whipped his head back—and sure enough, there was that blood-soaked devil still chasing them down.
At the sight of that figure, his panic boiled over into fury, and he burst into curses he could not hold back.
He drove his sword harder into his horse's rump, desperate to make the beast run faster—faster still!
But then came that same terrible sound again, followed by the heavy thud of another body falling from its horse.
In that instant, the cavalry captain felt his crotch go wet. Tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes.
...
Because it was already nearing dusk, by the time Kal had hunted down every Lannister soldier from the Westerlands he had encountered in this skirmish, night had fully fallen.
Only after finishing off the last man, who had withered away under his magic, did Kal once more retrace his bearings and return to the village that had been plundered and ravaged by the Westerland cavalry squad.
Tonight there was no moon, no stars in sight.
The shroud of night concealed every sin upon the land.
Outside the village, a great pyre of wood had been built. Yet it was not for burning corpses—merely for light.
Stepping forward into the glow of the fire, Kal walked into the village. Fawkes, drenched in blood from head to hoof, trailed behind him, head hanging low, led by the reins in Kal's hand.
"Who goes there?!"
"Wait—hold on—it's the boss!"
From the rooftop of a house hidden in the dark, Hall, who had been keeping watch with another man, spotted Kal's return. Excited, he leapt down from his post.
But as soon as he drew near and got a clear look, he nearly jumped back in fright. Before him loomed a figure like some ghastly giant. Only when he caught sight of the antlered helmet—unmistakable, one of a kind—did Hall breathe again.
Kal's surcoat, once golden and embroidered with the crowned stag, had been so thoroughly drenched in blood its original color was gone. Under the firelight, it seemed to shine with a dull, black glow—like a beast leaping straight through the flames.
Even so, Hall recognized him at once as their leader.
The soldier from House Stark's ranks, standing nearby, had also stiffened when he heard Hall's cry. His gaze held a raw reverence as he watched the giant, cold and silent, stride back into the night.
"Boss!—" gulp—the normally brash Hall couldn't help but swallow hard as he faced him.
Standing before Kal, every hair on his body bristled. It was as though a northern wind had blown straight into his bones and organs, cutting through his very marrow.
Hearing someone call to him, Kal finally seemed to stir. A faint smile crept onto his cold face as he raised his head.
"Hall? You're on sentry duty? Don't slack off."
But hidden behind the helmet, no one could see that smile. To them, it was only a chilling laugh, his shadow on the ground twitching and stretching—more eerie, more sinister still.
"O-of course! I'm the most loyal and honest man in the Blackstone Company!" Hall stammered. "Boss, you can always count on me!"
Facing that smile, Hall was nearly in tears from fear. He forced a wretched grin, piling it on as he professed his loyalty—to the Blackstone, and to Kal.
Seeing his act, Kal realized just how terrifying his appearance must be in this place, at this hour.
He reached up, pulled off his helmet, and with a laugh and a curse shoved the stiff, blood-caked reins into Hall's hands.
"You bastard. You're only fit to hold my horse!"
"Even if you wanted to lick my ass, you'd have to get in line first!"
Relieved at last, Hall grinned broadly as he took the reins.
"It's an honor to hold the boss's horse. But, uh, boss… if licking your ass really means standing in line, where would I be in that line?"
Seeing this bastard still running his mouth, Kal raised his thumb and forefinger, leaving just a sliver of space between them.
"From beyond the Wall, all the way down the King's Road to Storm's End."
"About this long."
"So now you can piss off."
With that, Kal generously planted a boot straight into his ass, then strode toward the heart of the village, where the most people had gathered.
Hall, rubbing the backside where he'd taken the kick, finally let out a breath. Feeling that his boss still had that familiar, human air about him, the fear in his chest eased at last. He patted his chest with lingering dread, sucking in air in heavy gulps.
"Damn it… that was terrifying!"
"When he looked at me just now—I couldn't even see his eyes—but for that one instant, I thought my head was no longer on my neck…"
Kal ignored Hall's clowning, but at his words, he realized what had happened.
Indeed, his killing intent was overflowing. He had been lost in thought, distracted, not even aware he'd already made it back. After cutting down more than forty men, the aura of slaughter had unconsciously seeped out of him.
And once he stepped into the village, the first thing his eyes caught were the corpses lined up along the street.
Bodies still clad in twisted red-and-gold armor, and others with heads toppled to the side—clearly the twenty-odd men Kal had slaughtered earlier that evening in his first charge.
Kal counted—twenty-one.
Added to the twenty-three he had just hunted down, that meant the cavalry squad had numbered forty-four in total.
Not a small force.
Turning it over in his mind, Kal wondered why Tywin had sent such a large cavalry detachment just to sack this village.
But just then, a voice called out from behind him.
"Kal—my lord!"
Kal turned his head. It was Jon Snow.
Of course. In the whole company, only Jon would address him like that.
The Stark cavalry called him Ser Kal Stone. Jory Cassel called him "Captain."
As for the old hands of the Blackstone, their titles were far more rough and steeped in the ways of the road.
"How is it?"
Kal skipped pleasantries, speaking bluntly. His eyes, however, fell to the blood still staining the longsword hanging at Jon's waist.
"You killed someone?"
At that, Jon stiffened, his face draining pale.
"Two. One of them begged me to give him a quick end."
"And the other—" Jon faltered, fear flashing across his face.
"The other tried to kill you, didn't he?" Kal finished the thought for him.
Jon lifted his gaze, looking up at the massive figure before him, reeking of blood. Nervous, and with a touch of fear, he nodded.
"You did well, Jon."
"You must understand—on the battlefield, the moment your opponent raises a weapon, he is your enemy."
"You cannot know how that enemy will treat you. The only thing you must do is use your weapon to kill him first."
"This is as natural as the rising sun. You need not feel guilt over it."
But at Kal's words of comfort, Jon's stubborn heart finally gave way, and hot tears streamed down his face.
"But he—he just wanted to live! He had only one hand—he couldn't even hold his sword steady!"
Jon wept, head bowed, shoulders shaking.
Kal stepped forward, patted him on the shoulder, and then walked past.
"But isn't that the same for you?"
"Only if you live will the people who love you be spared pain."
"Remember this: as long as they are the enemy, do not hesitate!"
"Otherwise your mercy will only turn into harm—for yourself, and for those bound to you."
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---