As for Kal's "single-minded obstinacy," Tyrion still harbored some complaints, but he could only comply.
At the very least, as long as it was still the king's order, he had no choice.
And most importantly, faced with Kal's confidence and hot-blooded resolve—along with that dragon as the final trump card—Tyrion chose to go mad together with Kal.
Watching the army depart before him, he could not help but imagine that if Kal succeeded on this journey, it would surely become yet another legendary tale.
What is a king?
This is it!
What is a hero?
This is it!
The Ocean Road is a main thoroughfare linking the Westerlands and the Reach. Starting from Lannisport, it runs roughly along the coastline of the Sunset Sea, stretching southward.
Along the way, it passes Crakehall and Old Oak, all the way to Highgarden.
Crakehall's lands still belong to the Westerlands.
House Crakehall of Crakehall is one of the major noble houses of the Westerlands, seated along the Ocean Road in the southern part of the Westerlands, between the Sunset Sea and a vast forest.
It was also Kal's destination on this journey.
An army of a thousand marched along the Ocean Road. Setting out from Casterly Rock, the column would still need several days on the road.
After Tyrion, acting as scribe, issued the call to arms in Kal's name—as the King on the Iron Throne, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm—against the disloyal in the southern lands: the Reach, House Tyrell, and Stannis of Dragonstone, Kal led his forces south without a moment's pause, without even the slightest thought of waiting for replies.
Yet although he moved decisively, Kal was not in a hurry.
So while on the surface he put on a show of urgency, in his actual actions he left ample room,
maintaining a leisurely pace of advance.
He needed to give the nobles of the Westerlands time to react, and at the same time give the nobles of the Reach time to react.
So every bit of theater that needed to be performed, he performed to the fullest.
And most importantly, under the pretext of probing House Crakehall of Crakehall, he needed to release certain signals he intended to send to the rest of the nobles across both regions.
As for personally campaigning against the disloyal Renly Baratheon himself?
Sorry— from beginning to end, he was never on Kal's menu.
So naturally, he would not appear at Kal's table either.
"Ser Arys Oakheart, are you familiar with House Crakehall?"
Along the way, while leisurely admiring the coastal scenery, Kal suddenly spoke and asked Arys Oakheart, who was riding at his side.
Arys Oakheart was a knight of House Oakheart.
On this campaign, the first noble seat and castle in the southern Reach that Kal nominally needed to attack was Old Oak, the seat of House Oakheart.
And the current head of House Oakheart, the Lady of Old Oak, was the mother of Arys Oakheart—one of the only two Kingsguard inherited from the era of Robert.
Arys Oakheart was the youngest son of Lady Arwyn Oakheart, the Lady of Old Oak.
He had become one of Robert Baratheon I's Kingsguard in 290 AC. Nearly ten years had passed since then, and the slightly distracted Arys Oakheart suddenly heard the king's question and hurriedly came back to himself.
The remaining two Kingsguard—his sworn brothers, Ser Balon Swann and Ser Marlin Wyrwick—also could not help but look toward him.
Mm, that also included Sandor Clegane, who had refused to become a Kingsguard but had not refused to be formally knighted, and who had inherited House Clegane and sworn fealty to Kal.
His ugly face turned as well.
"Your Grace, I don't have much understanding of House Crakehall—" Arys Oakheart answered Kal with some shame in his voice. "I may not be able to offer you much help."
On reflection, that was only natural. He had become a Kingsguard at nineteen and thereafter remained in King's Landing. Although Crakehall was not far from his family's seat at Old Oak—indeed, it could even be called a neighbor—that did not change his unfamiliarity with Crakehall and House Crakehall.
Kal smiled, not taking it to heart.
After all, this was merely a pretext to lead into what he wanted to say next.
"Then how do you view my raising arms against your house?"
Kal's sudden words caused the originally relaxed, slightly dull atmosphere to grow tense.
The two newly appointed Kingsguard looked toward their sworn brother, their hands instinctively moving to rest on their sword hilts.
Among them, Ser Balon Swann came from House Swann of Stonehelm, a noble house of the Dornish Marches and one of the principal houses of the Stormlands.
His father, Gulian Swann, is the Lord of Stonehelm and head of House Swann, and he is Lord Gulian Swann's second son.
What Kal had just asked made him feel that perhaps the question was also directed at him.
As for Ser Marlin Wyrwick, his house is only a small noble house of Westeros, located in the Riverlands, and he had no particular thoughts about the war that was now about to come.
The three men's little movements made Sandor Clegane, the Hound, let out a scornful laugh from the side.
This made the other two—aside from Arys Oakheart—come back to themselves, and their old faces flushed red on instinct.
Kal, however, did not pay them any mind. Though he was speaking with Arys Oakheart, his gaze still remained on the distant scenery.
A storm was forming over the sea at the far edge of his vision, a dark, gray swath, and it was unclear whether it would blow this way.
Faced with the king's question, Arys Oakheart wore a solemn expression, his eyes resolute.
"Your Grace, you have no need to question my loyalty. If you require it, when you wage war on Old Oak, I will become one of the soldiers who storm the walls."
The Kingsguard's foremost duty is to protect the king from harm and threats, but at the same time, the white knights also swear to obey the king's commands.
If Kal questioned his loyalty, he would not begrudge proving himself.
Even if such an act required him to raise the butcher's blade against his own family, or even to die beneath his family's swords.
Hearing Arys Oakheart's words, Ser Balon Swann and Ser Marlin Wyrwick could not help but feel somewhat awkward, yet the looks they gave him also carried a measure of admiration.
Hearing Arys's answer, Kal turned his head to look at him for the first time.
This man was, after King Robert Baratheon, aside from Barristan Selmy, the only Kingsguard still alive who had once sworn loyalty to him.
In the original work, there is not much written about him, but even so, it can be seen from the sidelines that this man's loyalty was unquestionable.
So after he was poisoned during his fight with the Red Viper, Kal did not hesitate to use his own antidote to save his life.
However, in response to his answer, Kal shook his head. "I am not a tyrant, nor am I a Mad King."
Kal made it clear that he was not so cruel.
"And I believe that as my Kingsguard, at the very least you should have a bit more humanity and a will of your own. Blind loyalty for the sake of loyalty will sooner or later cause you to lose yourselves."
"That may not be a good thing, because by then, no one will know whom your blade will be aimed at."
Kal's words were neither heavy nor light; they were even somewhat baffling.
Yet the three Kingsguard present all felt as if struck by lightning and hurriedly lowered their heads.
They naturally understood the warning embedded in Kal's words.
But just as they wanted to say something to express their loyalty, they found themselves unsure where to begin.
At that moment, an unexpected person spoke up and rescued them.
"To be a blade that does not speak—drawn when needed, and kept quietly in its sheath when not—this is why I was unwilling to become a Kingsguard. What bullshit honor."
Sandor Clegane's inexplicable words pulled the three men out of the tense and strange atmosphere.
Still, listening to what he said, they all fell into thought.
What a leader says is not merely to be heard; more often, it must be grasped and understood.
Looking at the three of them, the mockery and disdain on Sandor's face grew even more apparent.
As for the Hound's patter about pondering life and becoming some sort of philosopher, Kal did not indulge him.
"Indeed—drinking wine and playing with women are pleasures of this world."
"But Sandor, everyone who lives has their own personal pursuit. You do as well, don't you?"
Having his words turned back on him, Sandor Clegane's ugly face immediately darkened. Of course he knew what Kal meant, even though he had never spoken that secret in his heart to anyone.
Yet somehow, he felt that Kal knew everything about him, as though those eyes could see straight through his flesh and bones.
Kal merely smiled.
After admonishing them, Kal turned back and glanced at the long column of troops.
An army of a thousand was not large, but with four hundred cavalry and six hundred infantry, it still kicked up a long trail of dust along the Ocean Road.
Along the road, the merchants who had originally been traveling there, as well as some common folk, did not dare come near at all.
Those who were well informed had long known that war was rising again and were each seeking their own way out.
The corner of Kal's mouth lifted slightly as he silently waited for events to ferment.
In the blink of an eye, another day passed, and at the far edge of their sight, the silhouette of a castle was already visible.
This time, the thousand troops Kal brought with him were all former Lannister forces of the Westerlands. All of his wildlings from the mountain clans of the Vale were left behind at Casterly Rock and Lannisport to deal with the unpredictable risks that might follow.
So Shagga, Timett, Chella, and even Hall—Kal did not bring a single one of them.
Everyone at his side now was a newcomer who followed him.
Well— not entirely. He still brought along the mercenaries who had followed him after leaving Maidenpool, such as Bronn.
In any case, Kal had reduced the risks to Casterly Rock and Lannisport to the lowest possible level, maximizing their fighting strength.
As for Bronn, the mercenary who seemed to care only about coin, Kal told him that if he survived this war, he could choose to become a knight, or even a noble.
With both money and that condition on the table, Bronn did not hesitate to choose the latter.
And just at that moment, far ahead on the Ocean Road, a cavalry detachment of roughly twenty riders stood by the roadside.
The banner fluttering in the sea breeze bore the image of a black-and-white boar on a brown field.
It was House Crakehall of Crakehall.
Seeing the approaching column from afar, before Kal and the others could draw near, the small cavalry unit quickly moved to meet them.
Noticing their presumptuous approach, Ser Balon Swann rode out first to intercept them, accompanied by a small detachment from the rear.
The column was halted.
Kal silently watched the group stopped by Ser Balon Swann, waiting for their exchange.
"They're from House Crakehall. It looks like they're here to welcome you, Your Grace," Ser Arys Oakheart leaned close and murmured softly into Kal's ear.
Kal gave a slight nod and said nothing.
After that, the opposing party spoke with Ser Balon Swann for a few moments and then halted.
The roughly twenty riders dismounted, and three of them were separated out and brought over by Ser Balon Swann.
Kal remained seated upright on Fawkes's back, looking down at the men who had come before him. His expression was impassive, his eyes without the slightest ripple.
"Before you stands the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm—His Grace King Kal Baratheon I."
Ser Balon Swann, who had brought them over, was the first to introduce Kal to the visitors.
Only then did he turn back toward Kal and gesture toward the men. "Your Grace, this is Lord Roland Crakehall of House Crakehall, the Lord of Crakehall. He says he has come to welcome your arrival."
After finishing the introductions for both sides, Ser Balon Swann stepped aside, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze sharp as he watched Roland Crakehall.
Roland Crakehall hurried forward, lowered his head, and knelt on one knee before Kal.
"Greetings to His Grace King Kal Baratheon I. House Crakehall awaits your command."
Kal looked at him in silence and did not speak.
Along the Ocean Road, the sea wind howled, carrying a chill.
Yet within that silence, Roland Crakehall felt sweat soak his back.
He wanted to lift his head to look at the young man before him, but for reasons he could not explain, a nameless pressure and fear weighed upon his heart as though it were tangible, leaving him afraid to speak and afraid to look up.
"Lord Roland Crakehall—" Kal's voice was calm, without the slightest rise or fall. "Are you offering me your fealty?"
Kal's tone carried no emotion, but Roland Crakehall felt his hair stand on end in an instant.
"O-of course, Your Grace King Kal. House Crakehall awaits your command and swears to serve you unto death."
Roland Crakehall should not have appeared so humble and fearful before Kal, yet he could not shake the sense that some vast, nameless dread was coiling around his heart.
So when faced with the question Kal threw at him, he did not hesitate in the slightest. He directly drew his longsword, laid it crosswise on the ground before him, lowered his head, and swore an oath of fealty to Kal, expressing his submission.
Seeing him soften and cower so decisively, Kal could only abandon, in his heart, the thought of killing a chicken to warn the monkeys.
Though there was some regret, looking at Roland Crakehall bowing his head in submission before him, Kal could only dismount and accept his fealty.
Any special intentions he had originally harbored toward Crakehall had to be set aside—for the moment, at least, this counted as a good start.
Crakehall's lands were a fine place in terms of both position and resources, and Kal had indeed had some ideas about them.
Moreover, with war against the Reach looming, and with the aim of eliminating hidden dangers while also opening a direct route along the Ocean Road to Casterly Rock, Kal had never expected that a great lord like Roland Crakehall would yield so decisively.
It left him somewhat at a loss.
But Tywin Lannister once put it well: "When someone rises to challenge you, you must answer decisively with iron and blood; when they kneel in submission, you must raise them up with your own hands, or no one will ever be willing to submit again. Any man who must shout 'I am the king!' is no true king."
Since he could not answer with iron and blood, all Kal could do was personally raise Roland Crakehall up.
"Lord Roland Crakehall—have you come on this journey to welcome us?"
After picking up the longsword Roland Crakehall had placed before him and lightly touching it to his shoulder to signify acceptance of his submission, Kal set aside his private calculations. With a smile on his face, he helped the Lord of Crakehall to his feet.
"Of course, Your Grace, but—"
At this point, Roland Crakehall wiped the cold sweat from his brow and looked at Kal with a trace of something odd in his eyes.
"But what—?"
Nothing is more unsettling in speech than a "but" or a "however."
Kal did not know what sort of trick this lord intended to play.
"This time, in welcoming Your Grace, aside from obeying your orders to prepare supplies and make ready for war, there is actually also a lady of mysterious identity waiting to see you. She told us that she wishes to meet you."
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