Opening his eyes, Matthew felt different.
It was as if some invisible barrier had been pierced.
But he couldn't put his finger on what it was.
Matthew raised his hands, clenching them into fists. They felt strong, and the scars on the backs of his hands had faded slightly.
But nothing felt particularly extraordinary.
"What exactly does that 1.5 points of Mana do? Did it just boost my Valyrian bloodline by another 2%?"
For a moment, he couldn't figure it out.
Running a hand through his still-damp hair, Matthew decided not to dwell on it. He quickly shoved the remaining Gold Dragons into his bundle.
Right now, nothing mattered more than this treasure.
Next, he ran to his sleeping area and dug up the money he had buried in the dirt.
---
Outside the tent, Dale was getting agitated.
"What's taking him so long?"
He frowned, grumbled, and shouted inside:
"Are you done yet?"
He desperately wanted to follow his father into battle like a true knight, not play babysitter to some brat as an irrelevant guard.
Ser Imry patted Dale on the shoulder, his gaze drifting elsewhere as he said:
"Don't worry. Ser Davos has surely dealt with those Little Birds by now."
At that moment, Matthew lifted the tent flap, poked his head out, and smiled.
"Let's go."
Dale huffed, still visibly unhappy.
But Ser Imry smiled at Matthew and said:
"He didn't mean anything by it. He just really wants to fight alongside Ser Davos."
Matthew kept his smile, nodding slightly.
"I understand. If I had grown up at my father's knee, I'm sure I would feel the same."
Ser Imry's eyes glinted sharply. Staring at Matthew, he asked with an ugly smile:
"Are you really the King's child?"
He was still too young.
His eagerness was written all over his face.
Matthew, having grown up among all sorts of people, saw instantly that Imry had other ideas about him.
Looks like revealing my identity was useful after all, Matthew thought to himself.
Whether it was good or bad remained to be seen, but it was worth a shot.
"Just a bastard. Didn't Lord Stannis tell you?"
Matthew shrugged, his black eyes blinking innocently as he spoke in a flat tone.
Ser Imry lifted his chin, showing unprecedented interest.
"Did you know? I have a nephew who is also the King's bastard. You two do look somewhat alike, but your eyes are black. You look more Dornish."
House Florent indeed had a royal bastard named Edric Storm—the only acknowledged bastard of the King.
He was the result of Robert deflowering Stannis's wife's cousin on Stannis's wedding bed.
The scandal had spread far and wide, serving as amusement for many.
After all, the Florents were known for being ugly. No one could figure out how Robert got interested in a Florent woman.
Only Stannis, the victim, held a grudge about it, sending Edric away to Storm's End.
Matthew didn't know why Imry was bringing this up.
But a second later, Imry volunteered the reason.
"Matthew, I don't know how you managed to latch onto Lord Stannis, but I must tell you: you have no hope of using this to rise up."
His expression was relaxed and confident as he continued his warning:
"If the King's heir isn't Lord Stannis, it will be Edric. I advise you not to waste your efforts."
Matthew's heart sank.
He hadn't expected this seemingly ugly and dull young knight to be so scheming.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
He could accept this drawback.
If he wanted a piece of the pie in Westeros, he couldn't just change his banner from "Royal Bastard" at will.
Otherwise, who would believe him?
From the moment he decided to become a contender for the throne, Matthew knew he was destined to face things like this.
"Hahaha, Ser Imry, you joke. I'm just a powerless bastard. It is only thanks to Lord Stannis's kindness that I can escape the clutches of my enemies and seek revenge."
Matthew wore a humble yet dignified smile, looked down slightly at Ser Imry, and said firmly:
"Just as you said, the best heir to the King is Lord Stannis."
Imry nodded, affirming:
"It's good that you know your place. As long as you are willing, I'm sure Lord Stannis won't treat you unfairly after this mission."
Then, straining his neck to look tall, he looked Matthew up and down. eyeing the boy's youthful face and massive frame, he laughed:
"Of course, perhaps you could also follow me. Think about it."
"Apologies, Ser."
Matthew looked at Imry's large ears and refused decisively.
"I have no skills and I'm timid. I wouldn't dare work for a noble; I'd only mess things up."
Seeing a mud-legged bastard refuse him, Imry pouted instantly, looking like he wanted to draw his sword and cut him down.
But he kept a cool head, knowing Matthew was still needed for the mission. He huffed cold, swished his cloak, and went to chase after Dale.
Matthew followed behind, his eyes narrowed into slits like daggers aimed straight at Imry's heart.
He had seen Imry's behavior clearly.
It seemed House Florent wasn't just eyeing the throne; they also loved to make fools of themselves. How laughable.
Matthew sneered internally.
Even if it wasn't me, would any normal person with a connection to a Duke go and pledge loyalty to a minor knight?
From this moment on, he understood one thing.
Regardless of stance or relationship, Imry was an enemy who could not be won over. He had to find an opportunity to help him die peacefully.
Making up his mind, Matthew stared at Imry and quickened his pace to keep up.
However, he failed to notice a small tail following behind him.
Returning to the broken shack, Dale and Imry walked ahead to speak with Davos.
Matthew walked past them, glanced at the two extra crossbows on the ground, and briskly entered the shack. Ignoring the smell of blood, he used his foot to flip over every corpse.
All thirteen were there. Wald was buried at the bottom of the pile.
Sure enough, he was still clutching a blood-covered crossbow.
Matthew couldn't help but grin. Squatting down, he pried Wald's fingers open one by one without a hint of disgust, muttering:
"Only one squad left. Where did they go?"
Snatching the crossbow, he sighed.
"Pity."
He shook the crossbow, then used the corpse's clothes to wipe off the remaining bloodstains.
Next, Matthew untied the quiver. Strapping it to his waist while walking out, he said:
"Everyone, good work!"
Looking at the row of sitting guards, he thumped his chest with one hand, offering his thanks.
The guards glanced at Ser Imry first. Seeing him motionless, few responded.
Only Davos, seeing Matthew carrying a bundle with an irrepressible joy on his face, nodded and asked:
"The Little Birds guarding this place are dead. Where do we go next?"
"Let's hide in the wild first. Once the heat dies down, we'll sneak back into King's Landing and ambush Littlefinger's brothel."
Having secured everything he needed, Matthew raised his hand, pointing across the Blackwater Rush, and replied in a tone of discussion.
With a clear enemy by his side, he felt it was better to be low-key for now.
As for whether Davos knew about his little schemes, Matthew wasn't sure.
Maybe he knew but chose not to warn him.
He didn't know if Davos was plotting something or just looked down on him.
Matthew preferred the latter.
Being underestimated by nobles—how normal was that?
Just like now.
Matthew smiled at Davos and asked:
"Is there a problem with the plan?"
Withdrawing his scrutinizing gaze, Davos stood up from the ground and asked:
"The wild? We can't cross the Kingswood, Stokeworth is too close, and the God's Eye is too far. None are suitable."
Matthew looked up at the moon, which was already setting in the west, and held up two fingers.
"There's also Sow's Horn or Hayford. As long as we don't enter the castles."
"Sow's Horn it is, then. It keeps us away from King's Landing for now, and we can retreat into the Riverlands if needed. We'll stay for a week and then return."
After a moment of silence, Davos nodded slightly. Looking back at the guards, he raised his left hand, missing the tips of four fingers, and said:
"Let's go. We move now."
Since he gave the order, no one dared to object.
Only Dale grumbled:
"Father, we are knights. How can we hide in the wild and live like savages, like criminals?"
Hearing Dale, Imry immediately started chiming in.
But Davos turned and glared at them, warning:
"We are here to assassinate Littlefinger, not on vacation. If you aren't willing to suffer a little, you can take a boat back to Dragonstone early."
That shut them up instantly. Their faces turned red, and they could only mutter under their breath.
Matthew didn't speak, but he was sneering inside.
In the end, Ser Imry was just a noble who had never known hardship. He probably had zero useful wilderness survival skills.
Once they were in the wild, Matthew had a hundred ways to slowly play him to death.
Don't blame me. Blame yourself for being too stupid, too arrogant, and knowing too much.
Matthew smiled at Ser Imry, who looked back at him.
But all this required a long-term plan.
Matthew followed at the rear of the group, mulling over his strategy.
The Fishmarket was quiet, save for the sounds of animals, the water, and their footsteps.
Walking with the moon at their backs, their shadows stretched long and diagonal ahead of them.
When they reached the King's Gate, with no shacks or tents to block the view, the shadows of the crowded group merged into one.
But if you looked closely, you could see an extra small head.
Suddenly, Davos drew his sword in a flash, spun around, and shouted:
"Who goes there?"