After snapping Tybolt Crakehall's neck, Kal bent down and pulled a silk handkerchief from the body of an unfortunate woman who happened to be curled beneath him, then wiped the blood from his hands—the blood he had just gotten from killing.
The fallen Tybolt Crakehall lay right in front of her. His wide eyes, already devoid of light, happened to be staring straight at her; she let out a startled cry and promptly fainted.
As he looked at the hall, which had returned to silence, Kal casually dropped the silk handkerchief in his hand and turned to sweep his gaze around.
"Kneel."
"Or—death."
"You have only two choices."
Kal's voice was not loud.
Yet in the silent hall it was more deafening than the thunder outside, making people shiver involuntarily.
Those calm words seemed to have taken on the stench of the blood covering the floor.
And just as people listened to Kal's words and exchanged glances, at that very moment the shouts and clashes outside grew louder and louder.
Suddenly, several figures wielding sharp weapons—rainwater and blood mingled over their bodies—burst into the hall, shattering the eerie silence.
However, the instant they stepped inside and saw the horrifying scene before them, even Sandor Clegane, the Hound, was startled.
Then, before he could understand what had happened here, the sound of an iron sword hitting the ground rang out.
Immediately, such sounds joined together into a continuous clatter, drip by drip, like rain falling.
As Kal's troops broke through the castle's defenses and poured into the hall, those present knew the situation was beyond saving.
What was more, the lord they had sworn loyalty to was already dead—the blood from his slit throat spreading across the floor, vividly demonstrating what true visual shock meant.
And the young lord who had clamored about shouting and killing Kal had, at this moment, had his neck crushed outright; his tongue lolled out, hanging absurdly long.
That did not even include the roughly thirty others Kal had killed—severed limbs scattered everywhere, splashed across the ground.
Most eye-catching, and most horrifying of all, was the Tyrell family's bastard, pinned to the wall by a greatsword, hanging there as his blood stained the wall red.
It was as if it were a reminder.
So there was no hesitation. At this moment, everyone in the hall—soldiers, knights, attendants, and those women who had merely come to attend the banquet—lowered themselves to the ground and knelt, choosing to surrender.
The dark mass of people prostrate on the floor numbered no fewer than nearly two hundred at a glance.
The crowd knelt down one after another like this; aside from those who had been frightened into unconsciousness, only then did the braver women dare to let out muffled sobs.
Among them was also the newly widowed Lady Crakehall, who had lost both her husband and her child.
Listening to the women's crying, Kal found it only noisy.
"Silence."
The demon had grown angry. The sobbing cries were swallowed back into their throats, and they trembled in fear.
After halting that irritating sound of weeping, Kal raised his head and looked at Sandor Clegane, who had just come in, seen the floor full of kneeling people and corpses, and still did not quite understand what had happened.
"Go out and tell the soldiers of House Crakehall who are still resisting outside. Tell them of their lord's crimes and the fact that the rebellion has been put down."
"Then tell them, word for word, that if they surrender now and choose to join my army and swear loyalty to me, I will not pursue their crimes. Go."
The Hound did not understand at all how he was supposed to explain the crimes of House Crakehall.
After all, from the moment Bronn had come with a dagger to convey King Kal's order to him, telling him to stir things up, to the present scene that looked as if the matter had already been settled, the entire process had left him bewildered.
But in this atmosphere, it was not appropriate for him to ask more.
Thus Sandor Clegane entered in a daze, and then left again with his men in the same daze.
After handing over the work of persuading the surrender to Sandor Clegane, Kal no longer concerned himself with what was happening outside.
For those soldiers, it was enough to accept their surrender. Under these circumstances, they had no choice anyway.
After all, with the risk of losing their heads or being thrown into prison, following one lord or another made little difference.
If anyone still dared to resist stubbornly, then those obstinate elements could simply be eliminated along the way; for his subsequent control of Crakehall as a territory, this would bring only benefits.
Now, once these matters were dealt with, he would be able to take advantage of the momentum to bring the entire stretch of land—from Casterly Rock to the point where it now bordered the Reach—completely under his actual control.
Incidentally, after absorbing House Crakehall's holdings, he could also replenish enough supplies and resources to greatly enrich his logistics, easing the pressure.
Killing several birds with one stone.
So what came next was very simple. Looking at these people prostrate on the ground, Kal gave them two choices.
"You now have two choices: one, to be dealt with under the kingdom's laws for the crimes of rebellion and treason, and attempted regicide."
"As for the other, I think you already heard it just now."
"However, for you, if you want to receive my mercy, then I hope to see your performance in the coming war against the Reach."
Mercy does not command troops; righteousness does not manage wealth.
Kal would not simply let these people off so easily.
If they wanted his approval, how could they do without offering some kind of pledge of allegiance?
If that were the case, it would be better to just kill them, find a garden outside at random, and bury them as fertilizer—it would be more useful that way.
With no surprises, as long as they were not truly brain-damaged people who would swear to the death in loyalty to House Crakehall, they naturally understood what choice they should make.
Soon, dozens of soldiers came into the hall and took these soldiers, knights, and the like away.
After that, all the attendants in the castle were called over to clean the hall and carry out the corpses.
The weather lately had been both hot and humid; if the bodies were not dealt with, it would take only half a day for people to "taste" what that meant.
The wood that had been felled long ago was carried and piled up outside the castle; this was where they would ultimately end up.
But the night was still long. The night that should have been a celebration turned into a slaughter, and by the time things ended, there was still a long stretch of time until dawn.
The torrential rain had eased considerably, and the lightning flickering at the edge of the sky only occasionally lit up within the clouds, bringing a rumble that was almost too faint to hear.
At this moment, behind Kal followed a maidservant with her head lowered, accompanying him as he walked toward the room that Lord Roland Crakehall had left for him.
In the maidservant's hands was a tray covered with a lid—food that had just been reheated in the kitchens.
Arys Oakheart—Kal had let him rest, and also have him deal with Marlin Warwick's corpse.
Seeing yet another Kingsguard die right in front of him, Kal could not help but wonder whether he had some kind of DEBUFF on him that specifically countered Kingsguard.
After all, counting the two Kingsguard he had killed at the Inn at the Crossroads during the trial by combat at the very beginning, and then the newly appointed Kingsguard Ser Marlin Warwick who had died for him just now, in the span of only one short year a total of seven had died.
Now, aside from Ser Barristan Selmy and Arys Oakheart at his side, it could be said that in just a single year the Kingsguard had been completely replaced once over.
And most importantly, every single one of them had more or less been connected to him.
That made things somewhat awkward.
But regarding this, Kal could only offer a moment of silent mourning in his heart for Marlin Warwick.
After all, having his head blown apart by a surprise arrow attack left no way for Kal to save him.
If he had not died on the spot, and it had only been poisoning or severe injuries, Kal would have had a way to save him.
After all, he was not the Lord of Light, truly capable of performing divine miracles to resurrect the dead.
"Ha—," Kal sighed inwardly. His steps finally stopped before the door of the room that had temporarily been turned into the cell holding Margaery Tyrell.
"Your Majesty!"
Seeing Kal return, Balon Swann hurriedly saluted and then stepped aside.
However, although his movements were proper and by the book, the look he cast at Kal could not help but be somewhat peculiar.
After all, he was neither deaf nor blind. He naturally knew about the chaos in the castle. Because of it, he had even been tense, worried that someone might attack this place—but fortunately, aside from Margaery Tyrell in the room attempting to come out and being blocked back by him, nothing else unexpected had happened.
"Has anyone come by?"
Seeing Balon Swann step aside to clear the doorway, Kal did not go in immediately, but instead asked casually.
"No, Your Majesty, but Miss Margaery did try to come out—"
Hearing that no one had come, Kal was somewhat surprised.
Leaving Margaery Tyrell here deliberately as bait had been something he had done on purpose.
But it seemed to have had no effect.
It appeared that the members of House Tyrell who had come to Crakehall might truly have been only that bastard and Margaery Tyrell.
But then, as Kal thought it over again, he felt that it was also reasonable.
So he merely shook his head, said nothing more, undid the latch, and pushed the door open.
The maidservant hurriedly carried the tray and followed him into the room.
Inside the room, rows of candles burned, bringing bright light.
A figure draped in a bedsheet stood dazedly by the window, silently looking out at the castle outside, where the chaos had already subsided.
The maidservant lowered her head. After taking out the food and setting it on the table, she hurriedly left.
Only when the sound of the door closing rang out again did Kal speak. "I promised to bring you some food. Aren't you coming to try it?"
Kal did not pay any attention to Margaery Tyrell standing by the window and looking outside. Instead, he sat down on his own, then took a piece of toasted bread, cut it open with a small knife, and spread some butter on it.
As he moved, the aroma of the food gradually drifted through the room. Only then did Margaery Tyrell turn around.
In the candlelight, her eyes were red, as if she had cried.
The room was still in the same disordered state.
But the atmosphere that had once been ambiguous had instead become extremely strange.
"Why?"
"You—why did you do something like this?"
A somewhat hoarse voice was forced out of Margaery's throat, sounding both aggrieved and incredulous.
Margaery had never imagined that after sharing intimacy with her, Kal would step out the door and then turn around and attack House Crakehall, seizing the entire castle.
Outside the window, the rain was indeed pouring down, but how could that conceal the bloody slaughter within?
She truly did not know what had happened.
But from the moment she tried to go out and was stopped by Kal's Kingsguard, a bad premonition had already arisen in her heart.
Then, as she calmed down and carefully thought it through, she gradually understood where this chaos had come from, and in her clever mind an ominous thought took shape.
Margaery was very smart. She understood that the chaos before her had not come out of nowhere, and that it must certainly have something to do with her.
After all, no matter how she thought about it, she could not understand why a noble who had already sworn loyalty to Kal would be attacked by Kal the moment he turned around.
So after eliminating all the unreasonable possibilities, there was only one answer left.
It had something to do with her.
And if it had something to do with her, then—
Looking at the man sitting calmly on the stool, spreading butter on his bread, tears once again slid uncontrollably from Margaery's eyes.
A feeling of having been used up and then betrayed spread through her heart.
But faced with Margaery's question, Kal did not even lift his head.
"You want to know the answer?"
Kal placed the buttered bread in his hand onto the plate opposite his seat, then took the other slice he had separated earlier and held it in his hand.
Then he raised his head and looked at the crying Margaery Tyrell.
The Rose of Highgarden now had disheveled hair, a grief-stricken expression, and tears soaking her face.
"If you want to know the answer, and you also want to fight for a slim chance of survival for House Tyrell, I suggest you come and sit here."
"And then, whatever you want to know, I can tell you."
Kal's tone was extremely calm, as if the faint screams and shouted curses that could still be heard at this moment had nothing to do with him.
Margaery had not expected Kal to speak to her like this, but the moment she heard House Tyrell mentioned from his mouth, along with the faintly implied threat, her pupils could not help but contract.
Realizing the seriousness of the situation, she no longer bothered crying. She wiped the tears from her face with one swipe and stepped forward.
Her original clothes had long since been torn to shreds during the earlier fighting.
At this moment, the only thing Margaery could use to cover herself was the bedsheet draped over her body.
As she sat down, some of her figure was inevitably revealed.
Kal did not let his gaze wander. He simply smiled and placed the silver knife and fork in front of her.
"I suggest you eat something first. With an empty stomach, there's nothing you can do."
Looking at the cutlery Kal had placed before her, Margaery thought for a moment, then instead picked up the bread on the plate with her bare hands and stuffed it straight into her mouth, biting into it.
Seeing her gnaw at the bread as if she were tearing at him, Kal smiled even more broadly, finding it amusing.
Then he personally tore off a goose leg from the roasted goose in front of him, carefully cut it into small pieces, and placed them onto her plate before once again spreading butter on his own bread.
After taking a couple more bites, Margaery Tyrell could no longer remain silent.
"I want to know why you did this."
The defiant momentum she had been holding onto could no longer withstand Kal's unhurried composure. Defeated, her tone grew weak.
"Your arrival was ill-intentioned," Kal said calmly, elegantly putting a piece of crisply fried goose meat into his mouth and chewing as he spoke.
"But I know this has little to do with you. After all, the greater ill intent lies with House Tyrell."
Hearing this, Margaery's eyes widened.
"Why would you say that? I don't believe you don't know what it would mean if you accepted me!"
"Then what about Renly?"
Kal abruptly stopped what he was doing and raised his head, his gaze sharp as he looked at her.
"Yes, he did openly question my right of succession—but don't forget that he still bears the name Baratheon."
"And without Tyrell instigation, I don't believe he would have done something like this. He may not be clever and he may have ambitions he shouldn't, but he isn't foolish."
"But what you are doing now is also betraying him."
"With me, duplicity and betrayal are unacceptable. Fence-sitters have only one choice."
"Destruction."
"What I need are subjects who bow their heads, not allies who might stab me in the back at any moment."
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