"Trial by combat?!"
The moment Karl's voice rang out, the courtyard erupted. The crowd stiffened in shock before a wave of gasps exploded like a sudden storm.
People stared at Karl Stone as if he had lost his mind.
No one—absolutely no one—expected him to say such a thing.
After all, King Robert had just hinted quite clearly that Karl had another option… a far easier, safer, and more favorable option. Robert Baratheon, in his unmistakable boisterous manner, had practically thrown him a lifeline. If Karl simply opened his mouth and asked for leniency, the king would most likely grant it.
After all, Robert was famous for his temper, yes, but he was also famous for despising Cersei's arrogance. If Karl played along properly, Robert would almost certainly shield him.
Everyone knew it.
Cersei Lannister treated people like fools—dragging soldiers into the inn, accusing an illegitimate knight of harming the crown prince, and trying to force a conclusion by sheer pressure. Her actions were practically a provocation in front of the entire realm.
And yet…
Instead of grasping the lifeline that the king had offered, Karl Stone stepped forward and chose trial by combat.
What logic was that?
What sense did it make?
Was this boy insane?
Wasn't a trial by combat exactly what Queen Cersei wanted?
Why walk straight into her trap?
The crowd burst into another uproar. Confusion whirled through the air like wind through dry leaves.
But then…
Slowly, scattered individuals began recalling Karl's earlier comments—words that had seemed cryptic at the time.
"Prejudice in people's hearts is a mountain."
And—
"I believe the Queen has certainly made even more thorough preparations."
Not everyone here was a fool. Some had sharp eyes. Some had seen enough political games to read beneath the surface.
And the more they thought about those two sentences…
…the more their expressions changed.
Their gazes shifted toward Cersei and the men she had brought—every soldier wearing armor, every knight armed, even though it was nearly evening and the camp should have been resting.
Fully armed, fully prepared, and fully aggressive.
Then they looked again at Karl.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
A few thoughtful individuals finally understood the terrible reality.
Karl Stone wasn't throwing away an opportunity.
He was escaping a dead end.
Perhaps the moment Cersei stormed in with soldiers and a ready-made accusation, Karl already guessed she had prepared everything. The charge she leveled—attempting to murder the crown prince—was not something a mere newly appointed knight could refute. Especially when the prince himself had insisted Karl hurt him.
And the only witness who could prove Karl's innocence—Sandor Clegane—was lying conveniently "unconscious" in the inn, unable to speak a word.
The facts had already been shaped.
The "truth" had already been decided.
Karl had no proof.
No defense.
No supporting witness.
And his supposed crime involved the queen's beloved son.
What choice did he truly have?
A trial by combat wasn't a reckless choice. It was the only choice left for him.
Once the crowd understood this, their faces twisted in pity. Their eyes softened, even those who had thought little of Karl before.
This illegitimate son, newly knighted, had no backing, no family influence, and had somehow offended the queen herself. In such circumstances, trial by combat became the only possible path—perhaps even the only path Cersei had left him on purpose.
If he died, her plan succeeded.
If he refused, he still died, just more slowly.
But what shocked everyone wasn't merely that Karl chose trial by combat.
It was how clearly he saw the situation.
He was not panicking, not trembling, not begging.
He faced Cersei's overwhelming pressure with calm clarity and even a resolute sense of honor.
He didn't ask to be saved.
He didn't hide behind the king.
He didn't complain that life was unfair.
He simply chose the only honorable route left.
Courage.
Pure, unyielding courage.
For a brief moment, silence washed over the crowd. Even those who had mocked Karl earlier now felt something close to respect.
Tyrion Lannister, who had seen the situation long before anyone else, looked the most bitter of all. He had tried to smooth things over—not because he cared deeply about Karl Stone, but because he knew Cersei well enough to fear what she would do. He had tried to stop her.
But Karl still ended up cornered.
And now, seeing the inevitable unfold, Tyrion could only sigh helplessly.
Perhaps trial by combat truly was Karl Stone's only path.
"No! I will not allow it!"
The sudden roar of anger cut through the tense silence.
Everyone turned. Robert Baratheon, who had also reached the same conclusion as the crowd, glared furiously at Cersei. His anger was so strong it almost radiated off him like heat.
This was not the first time he had seen Cersei acting viciously—but tonight, something about her was different. She looked more desperate, more frantic, as if losing control.
Robert could not tolerate it.
He took a deep breath and declared loudly:
"I am the king! I have the right to stop a trial by combat!"
His voice trembled with fury.
"And I—
in the name of the King—
declare that your accusations against Karl Stone are unfounded!"
The crowd gasped again.
Cersei's face drained of color. She had prepared everything—every soldier, every accusation, even a witness who could not speak. Yet at the most crucial moment, Robert simply flipped the table on her.
The humiliation burned her like fire.
She glared at Robert's back with an expression so dark that even her own guards shifted uncomfortably.
But Robert paid her no attention. He had made his decision and wanted to leave the inn immediately, tired of the suffocating presence of the Lannisters.
He took a step toward the exit—
—and suddenly found his path blocked by a tall shadow.
He froze.
A young knight stood before him, lit by firelight. His expression was firm, resolute, but respectful.
"Your Majesty, your knight Karl Stone is honored that you would grant him justice…"
Karl bowed slightly, then lifted his head.
"But there are honors that a man must win with his own hands.
And tonight—this honor is mine to reclaim."
The courtyard shook with another wave of uproar.
Karl Stone actually refused the king's protection!
Robert stared at him, dumbfounded.
For a moment, the king saw in this boy the reflection of a young Robert Baratheon—fearless, stubborn, and full of fire.
The same eyes.
The same determination.
The same refusal to bend.
And then…
Robert Baratheon laughed.
A deep, thunderous laugh filled with pride and something almost like nostalgia.
"Perhaps," he said, "you are the first knight I have ever seen who truly understands what a knight's oath means."
His eyes narrowed, and he spat out coldly:
"Unlike that cowardly traitor who stabbed his own king in the back."
The reference was unmistakable. Many people stiffened in shock.
Robert looked back at Karl.
"You're right. I shouldn't stop you. A knight earns his honor, not hides behind his king."
He raised the sword he still held—the same one he had used earlier.
And with solemn reverence…
Robert Baratheon handed his own sword to Karl Stone.
"Win.
And when you win, I will give you the justice you deserve."
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