Chapter 10 – The Tiger General
"BURN! Burn them all~~"
"Ahahaha!!"
The muffled shouts rang clear from inside the barrel, freezing everyone in place.
Reveray stiffened as though struck by lightning. Forcing a grin, he shot Robin an awkward smile.
Seven hells… I should've gagged the king while I had the chance!
Why did he have to wake up now, of all times?!
"Stand ready!"
Robin's eyes blazed. With a barked order, fifty spears leveled at Reveray and the four wagons.
"You disappoint me, my lord."
Robin did not strike immediately. Instead, he urged his horse forward, passing by Reveray with a low growl. Even if the viscount had smuggled the king, Robin couldn't simply cut him down here. The Duskendale lords might hold the strongest cards in town, but they weren't the only players. Not even Ser Denys Darklyn himself would dare casually execute a member of House Rykker.
"I—I can explain…" Reveray began, desperate to protest that the king had snuck aboard without his knowledge. But Robin gave him no chance.
The voice from the barrels grew louder as Robin approached. With a sneer, he wrenched the lid aside—
And there was King Aerys, filthy, wild-eyed, spewing curses.
"Well, Your Grace," Robin mocked, grinning wide, "you look quite lively."
At the sound, Aerys raised his head. His clouded violet eyes burned suddenly bright with recognition.
"You… I remember you!"
With a burst of manic strength, the frail old king lunged, clawing onto Robin's neck. The young knight reeled, caught utterly off guard as the withered monarch clung to him like a mad dog.
"I remember you! I REMEMBER! You danced before me—you dared to tug the dragon's beard!"
"You'll burn! You and your traitor lord both! Fire will reduce you to ash!"
Aerys shrieked and yanked at Robin's hair, frothing with rage. The towering Hollard staggered, unable to shake him loose, his horse stamping but miraculously holding steady.
The watching soldiers didn't dare intervene. Instead, many stifled laughter behind their shields. To see their king flailing like a fishwife—such a spectacle might only come once in a lifetime.
"Enough!"
Robin's strength finally told. He clamped a hand around Aerys's throat, squeezing until the king's face flushed scarlet and his limbs weakened. Reveray winced, torn between stepping forward and the spears that barred his way.
"Dragon, is it?" Robin snarled, dragging the wheezing king closer. Spittle flew as he mocked:
"Dragons have been dead for over a century, you wretched cur! Dragon blood? Fire and blood? Bah!"
He spat full in Aerys's face.
"Show me your fangs, 'dragon'! Bite through my throat if you dare!" He leaned closer, daring the monarch, howling with laughter.
But Aerys only gagged, eyes rolling back.
Reveray's jaw tightened. To see a Targaryen so debased was more than he could stomach. His hand drifted to the hilt at his side—
THUD!
The sound of a body hitting stone cracked through the tension. All turned to see a Darklyn soldier's corpse sprawled at the base of the wall.
Then—shouts, steel, the clash of battle from atop the ramparts.
Robin's brow furrowed, about to send men to investigate, when—
CRACK!
The top of a nearby barrel exploded. Wine and wood shards sprayed like shrapnel as a figure burst free, drenched crimson.
A flash of steel—swift, precise.
Before Robin could react, a sword point drove cleanly into the gap between gorget and breastplate. Blood sprayed as his eyes went wide.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then chaos.
Only Reveray's eyes gleamed with fierce excitement.
Lance kicked free of the shattered barrel, boots slamming into Robin's chest and knocking him from the saddle. With his free arm, he seized the half-conscious king, laying him flat across the horse's back.
"Seven hells, I almost drowned in there!" Lance spat, gasping. Two full minutes he had held himself under, submerged in sour wine, just to spring the trap.
The spell broke. Soldiers shouted, steel rang. Spears leveled once more as both sides scrambled to react.
Staring at the dense wall of spears before him, Lance's eyes narrowed. On his retinal display, the countdown for the Barristan Experience Card flickered—only two minutes remained.
With a sharp smack, he slapped Aerys across the forehead. He didn't bother blaming the old man for losing his mind at such a critical moment. Instead, his gaze shifted toward the city gate, where a small gap had been forced open. His voice was calm, almost casual:
"Time to move, old man."
"Heh…heh…" Aerys giggled madly, mumbling like a lunatic, "Burn them… burn them all!!!"
"Burn?" Lance grinned, then spurred his horse with a fierce shout:
"Flames are nothing compared to the thrill of steel!"
"Yaaahhh!"
The warhorse screamed and thundered forward. Just as its head was about to collide with the forest of spearpoints, Lance yanked hard on the reins. The beast reared high, front hooves slamming down with crushing force. Two soldiers beneath were instantly sent flying, their iron breastplates crumpling like paper.
At the same moment, at least three spears stabbed deep into the horse. One glanced dangerously close, slicing across Lance's thigh and carving a gash nearly to the bone.
But instead of fear, the critical danger only sent a rush of exhilaration flooding through him. His body burned with adrenaline—he couldn't even feel the pain!
[Passive: While fighting for the rightful king of the Iron Throne, gain +100% Courage.]
With a sudden motion, Lance tossed aside his sword and snatched a spear straight out of the enemy's hands. Empowered by the Barristan Card, his strength was overwhelming—the soldier had no chance of resisting.
The instant the weapon settled into his grip, a tide of instinct surged through his body. His muscles moved with flawless familiarity, as though he had spent years mastering the spear.
Several more soldiers pressed in. Lance lowered the shaft, the wooden tip scraping the packed earth before exploding upward in a lightning-quick thrust.
Each strike landed with deadly precision—piercing throats, thighs, and vital points in rapid succession. Then, with a spin, he swept the shaft sideways. The iron-capped butt smashed into three men's knees, the sickening crack of shattering bone ringing out.
Within mere seconds, the eight soldiers of the vanguard were all writhing on the ground, crippled or dying.
The display of ferocity froze the others where they stood, terror etched across every face.
"Ha… HAHAHA!"
Seeing them hesitate, Lance raised the spear and roared with manic laughter. The gleam of the spearpoint cut across their frightened expressions, and his voice bellowed like a wild beast:
"Come on then, pups of Duskendale!"
"I'm just getting started!"