Meanwhile, on another front.
The mercenary with the axe on his back was already having second thoughts. He wanted to abandon the rest of his comrades and make a solo retreat.
For mercenaries like them, talk of brotherhood and loyalty was just hot air, easily dismissed with a chuckle.
They were all in it for the money, risking their lives for the sake of it.
No one knew how long they had left.
Or if they'd close their eyes tonight and still be able to open them tomorrow.
As a mercenary, he could die from any number of unfortunate circumstances. In the Courage Mercenary Company, even the low-ranking mercenaries were constantly being replaced.
He himself was considered a mid-level member of the company because of his strength.
The new recruit, who had just joined a short while ago, exchanged greetings with them. In a few days, that person might be carried back as a corpse.
Life and death were too familiar to them.
Life was about activity on a woman's belly, venting or striving to leave behind a seed.
Death was lying sprawled on the ground, not caring whether it was the Seven, the Old Gods, the black goat god, R'hllor the Lord of Light, or even the Weeping Lady of his homeland, Lys. Whichever god's kingdom would accept him, even as an ox, a horse, or a dog, would do.
But… no one had ever died. Who knew if they would truly meet these gods after death?
They didn't even know who to entrust with their earnings, so they could only squander them wantonly, enjoying life while they could.
Therefore, for such people, what was there to worry about? Selling out teammates when things went south was the most normal thing, and backstabbing wasn't something they'd only done once.
And now.
He was carefully making his way through the Stone Drum Tower, an axe in one hand.
The other hand held a shield, taken from the corpse of a guard. He no longer dared to underestimate Viserys because of the boy's age.
This little thing...
The mercenary's thoughts were a little restless. His eyes darted around. The mission to kill the young prince had gone awry, costing them two men.
He didn't know how things were going on the other side either. The entire castle seemed to have awakened, with servants and guards now alert.
Even if they had killed Queen Lyra, escaping probably wouldn't be easy.
"Forget it."
"Don't blame me, I'll retreat first."
The mercenary gritted his teeth, finally making up his mind to abandon the rest of his brothers and retreat.
No matter how high King Robert's price was, it wasn't worth more than his life. He didn't want to be rich but dead.
Then, the tall man felt the rope at his waist and climbed onto the stone window. He prepared to use the rope to escape the castle once more, then find their ship and leave Dragonstone.
The man turned his head left and right, looking around. Seeing no one, he finally relaxed.
He didn't know where Viserys had fled to. That little thing ran incredibly fast; he had lost track of him long ago.
Crack—
The mercenary then fixed the grappling hook on the wall, pulling hard to make sure the rope was secure.
Then, he put his battle-axe and shield on his back. He carefully checked again to make sure no one was around. Only then did he pull the rope with both hands and slip outside the castle. His body disappeared into the darkness.
Whoosh—
With the continuous descent of the rope, the mercenary slid down skillfully, gripping it.
"They got away."
The mercenary breathed a sigh of relief.
However, he felt no guilt. The deaths of the others had nothing to do with him; knowing he could escape was enough.
But as he was halfway down, something chilling happened.
He suddenly felt the rope sway slightly, but it wasn't from his own effort. Some other force was shaking the rope.
"Hmm?"
The burly man, his face covered in war paint, was taken aback for a moment. Then, he raised his head and saw a small figure appear in the window he had just emerged from.
Because he was backlit, the mercenary couldn't make out the other person's face or expression.
However, Landon could recognize at a glance that it was the young prince, Viserys, whom he had just been pursuing.
"Damn it!"
The mercenary's heart sank slightly, realizing the situation was dire.
"No..."
Muscles coiled on his thick, powerful arms, gripping the rope tightly. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.
He didn't want to die.
In fact, if there was a way to live, no one wanted to die.
However, Landon, who had a small reputation among the mercenaries in the Disputed Lands, was truly panicked at this moment.
Although he had earned the title "Bloodhand of Lys" because of his ruthlessness and had even once killed ten slaves in a row in the arena, winning cheers from the crowd,
now, no matter how strong his courage was, it was not enough to save him at this time.
The mercenary stepped on the outer wall of the castle and lowered his head slightly to glance at the cliff below.
However, the area below was pitch black, and he couldn't see anything, as if a gaping maw was waiting to swallow him whole, leaving not even a bone fragment.
Splash—
Waves kept crashing against the jagged reefs below.
And far out on the sea, this war seemed to be drawing to a close.
The Greenstone Island fleet hadn't come this time intending to take Dragonstone in one fell swoop.
After all, Lord Redwyne had no reason to refuse the King's orders, but he also didn't want to see his forces take too much of a beating.
The Greenstone Island fleet was, after all, the private property of House Redwyne, and he would feel the loss of every warship and every soldier.
So, after a simple probing, and putting on a show, Lord Redwyne ordered the fleet to prepare to withdraw from the battlefield.
And the commander of the Dragonstone fleet also knew full well that, without supplies from Westeros, their fleet was now living on borrowed time. Therefore, they similarly did not pursue the retreating Greenstone Island fleet, but instead allowed them to withdraw from the battlefield in an orderly fashion.
However, at this moment.
No one could understand the fear in the heart of the mercenary, suspended in mid-air, unable to advance or retreat.
"I… I don't want to die."
The castle on Dragonstone was perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, and he was less than halfway down. There were at least twenty yards of drop remaining.
If he fell from here, there would be no chance of survival. He would be smashed to pieces, as the ground below was a rocky beach.
"Your Grace, please forgive my crimes."
"I…"
The mercenary was panicked, gripping the rope tightly, wanting to beg Viserys for mercy. He opened his mouth but didn't know what to say. His voice was carried away by the wind.
Viserys stood before the stone window, his gaze serene as he watched the mercenary trapped on the cliff.
He was breathing slightly heavily.
Then, he drew the short sword from his waist and placed it on the hemp rope, before hacking down with a vicious swing.
.....
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