The moment the words fell, the battlefield went deathly silent.
Not only did the slaves and sailors cast desperate looks, but even the four men-at-arms who had stepped forward snapped their heads up, their eyes wide with disbelief and horror.
One younger guard's lips trembled as he forced out the last of his courage. "Ser… they are—"
Swish!
Gerion didn't give him the chance to finish.
His longsword slipped with perfect precision through the narrow gap between helmet and gorget, slicing clean across the throat.
The young guard's head flew skyward, his face still frozen in shock.
"Ah!"
The remaining three guards recoiled in terror at the bloody scene, a strangled cry escaping their throats. Whatever pity had lingered in their eyes was swept away by the madness of survival.
Shaking, nearly sobbing, they still raised their swords without hesitation and hacked down at the four wounded, despairing slaves and sailors before them.
In an instant, the four fell lifeless into spreading pools of blood.
Gerion didn't spare the corpses a glance. His cold eyes turned on the three men-at-arms who had just carried out his order, their chests heaving with ragged breaths.
"Kill them as well."
His finger pointed at the three who had obeyed him only moments ago.
The eight remaining guards froze.
The command struck them like a hammer blow to the chest.
Killing unarmed slaves—they could stomach that.
But now, to kill their own brothers-in-arms?
For the first time, hesitation gripped the hands that held their blades.
Then Gerion's gaze swept across them—cold as an abyssal sea. In that instant, the fear of death and the iron weight of Lannister obedience crushed any bond of comradeship.
One of them growled low in his throat. Blades hissed through the air, plunging into the backs of the unsuspecting three.
The rest followed with clenched jaws.
Screams ripped out at once.
The three were run through from behind, eyes bulging in disbelief as they looked down at bloodied sword tips bursting from their chests, before collapsing into the muck.
Only then did Gerion stride forward at a measured pace, his gaze sweeping the eight who remained.
Their faces were splattered with gore, their eyes filled with terror and numbness.
His voice cut like steel. "On Valyria's ruins, beneath the banner of House Lannister, cast aside your worthless mercy. Your swords strike only where I command. Defy me, and remember their fate."
At last his cold eyes fixed on the lone figure still standing at the center of the circle—Lo Quen.
Lo Quen drew a deep breath. He still gripped the steel blade tightly, its tip angled to the ground.
His clothes were in tatters, his body drenched in blood, yet deep in his black eyes burned a strange calm, edged with sharp vigilance.
That unsettling composure made Gerion Lannister, long accustomed to fear and pleading, pause with a flicker of doubt.
"Come with me. Kill this one. He stole a guard's sword. He'll be trouble."
Gerion lifted his bloodstained blade, the tip leveled squarely at Lo Quen, his voice laced with caution.
The eight guards instantly shifted stance, blades snapping up, all points aimed at Lo Quen as the circle tightened.
Lo Quen frowned inwardly.
He had underestimated how far Gerion Lannister's ruthlessness would go.
He had hoped to conserve his precious Magic, not waste it on these men.
But now it seemed he had no choice.
Fresh from battle, his body craved time to recover—so for the moment, he would stall.
Meeting Gerion's gaze head-on, Lo Quen spoke in the Common Tongue of Westeros.
"Lord, why must you drive us all to the end?"
Gerion's advance froze.
For the first time, surprise flickered across his cold, rigid face as his eyes swept over Lo Quen.
"You speak the Common Tongue? And fluently, no less? Who are you? A slave from Yi Ti—how could that be..."
Lo Quen cut him off. "Lord, I am indeed a slave from Yi Ti. As for the Common Tongue, I learned it during the long voyage—by listening, by watching, little by little."
"Heh."
Gerion gave a short, cold laugh. "Only bastards who skulk in the dark learn to survive like rats in the shadows.
You saw how I deal with those who defy me, with useless trash. You stole that sword from my dead men to cling to life until now. From the moment you took it, every breath you've drawn has been a debt to House Lannister. Every second, the interest piles higher. And now, you must pay—with your life."
His words tightened around Lo Quen like a noose.
Lo Quen's chest sank with heaviness. He truly could not understand why this Gerion Lannister was so unhinged.
Coldly, he answered,
"Debt? I don't recall owing you anything. From Volantis onward, you never treated us as men. And your own guards—you toyed with them like pets, tormenting them at your whim. You enjoy that feeling of control, don't you? But, Lord, one day, you may find yourself paying for that cruelty."
Gerion's face twisted at the black-haired slave's taunt. Never had he seen such defiance from one of his kind.
Fury surged through him, veins bulging as he spat, "Sharp-tongued brat! In the Seven Kingdoms, someone like you would've been left to rot in some reeking gutter, a meal for rats. Maybe other houses would spare you—but I am a Lannister. And Lannisters..."
Lo Quen's lips curved into a half-mocking smile.
"And Lannisters always pay their debts, isn't that so?"
By now, his resolve was set. He would leave none of them alive. Even if it meant burning through what little Magic remained, he would not allow this cursed Lannister to walk away.
The words struck Gerion Lannister like a thunderclap from a clear sky.
He froze.
A lowborn slave from far-off Yi Ti—an ant who had just been struggling under monster claws—had spoken a saying more famous than his family's own words, "Hear Me Roar."
Impossible.
What could it mean?
A storm of thoughts raged through his mind. Memories long buried clawed their way back, and his gaze on Lo Quen changed utterly.
Lo Quen caught the violent flicker of doubt in his eyes and opened his mouth to press further—
When suddenly—
Screeeech—!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
From the horizon, out of the roiling crimson-lit clouds, an otherworldly howl erupted—so shrill and terrible it seemed to tear the heavens apart.