The iron chain boom raised by the winch towers had been broken.
But Stannis's army was nearly annihilated.
Of the twenty thousand soldiers, barely three thousand managed to retreat.
Of the two hundred warships, fewer than twenty survived.
Stannis looked at the slack chain, grinding his teeth with a loud cracking sound.
As if wishing to bite through and chew up the iron chain and swallow it into his belly.
If I had just one more hour. Stannis thought, looking at the still-burning wreckage of his fleet.
But now the army was exhausted, and morale had dropped to freezing point.
Based on news from the Kingswood, Stannis heard an absurd rumor—the so-called Ghost of Renly.
People said Renly had resurrected and was leading the charge.
Stannis naturally scoffed at this.
He knew he had personally "executed" his usurper brother; there was absolutely no chance Renly survived.
As long as you live, there's always a way. Stannis thought, remembering the teachings of Maester Cressen, who had watched him grow up.
"Maester Cressen." For some reason, Stannis suddenly missed the kindly old maester terribly.
According to the Citadel's rules, once a maester was assigned to a castle, he served the lord of that castle—or more accurately, the castle itself—until the end of his life.
In a way, maesters could be called the castle's "software" or "wetware."
But after learning Stannis was granted Dragonstone, Maester Cressen went with him to the castle on Dragonstone.
This was the old maester's silent love for this man of iron. Stannis knew that with this departure, he didn't know when he would return.
He looked at the wreckage of warships covering the river, like his shattered victory, and finally turned his back with difficulty, leaving the battlefield.
At this moment, on the battlements, the defending Gold Cloaks and mercenaries finally celebrated their victory.
Watching Stannis's army retreat, they shouted loudly.
"Hear Me Roar!!!"
HEAR ME ROAR!!!
Using all his strength, Tyrion shouted the Lannister words towards the retreating Stannis.
He stepped on a helmet with the posture of a victor.
The crumpled helmet under his foot was like his prey.
This is my victory. Tyrion stood with hands on his hips, looking at the chaotic battlefield, feeling a release in his chest.
He truly wanted his father and all Lannisters to see that with Jaime in the Kingsguard, he was the only one qualified to inherit Casterly Rock.
Somehow, a look of desolation suddenly appeared on Tyrion's face.
Looking at Stannis's fleeing warships, he suddenly felt a sense of empathy.
He had studied the battles of Robert's Rebellion thoroughly and determined Stannis was a remarkable commander.
But Robert was somewhat harsh to this brother.
According to Stannis's merits and the order of succession, he should have inherited Storm's End and the title of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.
But Robert gave what rightfully belonged to him to that superficial Renly.
Tyrion could understand Stannis's feelings. At this moment, he felt a bit of mutual appreciation.
However, in this battle, only one of them was destined to obtain what rightfully belonged to him.
Sorry, victory belonged to Tyrion.
A bittersweet warmth surged in his heart, making the corners of his mouth twitch uncontrollably upward.
However, before this smile could fully bloom, a massive shadow silently enveloped him from behind. He didn't even have time to think about what it was before he felt a heavy blow to his face. The celebratory flames and the starry sky in his vision shattered instantly, turning into boundless darkness. All his ambition, calculations, and grievances came to an abrupt halt at this moment.
Podrick was stunned to see a Kingsguard murdering the Hand of the King. Just as the Kingsguard prepared to deliver the finishing blow to kill Tyrion completely, Podrick thrust his weapon into the Kingsguard's body, winning a sliver of life for Tyrion.
---
At this time, Sansa and Cersei were in a room together.
Though a duke's daughter, she was terrified of making even the slightest sound.
Watching Cersei pacing anxiously back and forth, Sansa dared not even breathe too heavily.
But even though she wished to become invisible, Cersei still glanced at her occasionally, as if pondering something.
"Your Grace, Your Grace the Queen Regent, His Grace the King has returned."
"Joffrey."
Hearing Joffrey was back, Sansa only felt more nervous.
Since her father Eddard was executed, Sansa had become Joffrey's punching bag.
He had personally said he would strip Sansa naked and throw her into Flea Bottom. She didn't think it was an idle threat.
Thus, she couldn't sleep whole nights, and even when she did, she would wake up startled from dreams.
Hearing her son was back, Cersei rushed to check on him.
One minute, two minutes, five minutes...
Sansa closed her eyes and pricked up her ears, trying to overhear their conversation as much as possible.
Why did Joffrey return?
Was the battle going badly?
Did Stannis break in?
Was she... about to be saved?
"Take the King to rest."
Finally, Sansa only heard this one sentence, and Cersei returned even more agitated.
She came to Sansa's side. Sansa sprang up from the corner of the chair she was barely sitting on, her frail body like a reed in the wind.
"Your... Your Grace."
Cersei was thinking about something unknown, and Sansa dared not look into her eyes.
Sansa felt her body trembling.
"Watch her closely."
Cersei ordered the maid beside Sansa.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Maid, or maybe septa. Sansa didn't know. Since Eddard died, everyone around her who used to be friendly had become hideous.
Maids were like this, guards were like this, even those so-called septas were like this.
Maybe Stannis broke in?
Sansa encouraged herself silently.
Will he save me? Sansa wasn't sure. Although she had seen Stannis, they had never spoken.
After an unknown amount of time, a knight ran hurriedly back to the castle and reported loudly to Cersei: "Your Grace, Stannis's army has left!"
"Are you sure?!" Cersei asked urgently.
This time, Sansa heard Cersei's words clearly.
But the so-called "good news" pushed her into an abyss deeper than deep.
She didn't know when she could leave this court she had once yearned for. Now she just wanted to go back, back to Winterfell to continue her needlework. She missed Arya, missed Bran, missed her mother, even missed Jon.
Suddenly, Sansa felt the back of her hand become wet. Only then did she realize it was her own tears.
Suddenly, Sansa thought of her direwolf, Lady.
It was Arya's wolf that bit Joffrey, but in the end, her Lady became the scapegoat.
A thought appeared in Sansa's mind: if she ended up like her direwolf, would she not have to suffer here anymore?
This young girl, out of despair, thought of death.
Once born, this thought lingered.
It was dark, but warm.
Just as Sansa pondered the possibility of this idea, Cersei's scream suddenly rang in her ears.
Shrill, piercing, like the sound of shattering crystal.
"Where did the Northern army come from?!
"WHERE DID THE NORTHERN ARMY COME FROM?!!!"
The North? Did she just say the North?! Instantly, Sansa felt light and warmth flood into her dark world.
Although only a little, it was enough for her to shake off that damned thought.
On the other side, Bronn, temporarily taking over command in Tyrion's absence, also couldn't figure out where this Northern army had sprung from.
Shouldn't they be in the Riverlands?
"Get up! Get the fuck up, the enemy is attacking again!"
Looking at the mercenaries and Gold Cloaks lying sprawled on the ground, Bronn shouted loudly.
Although this suddenly appearing group of soldiers wasn't large, they clearly came from another city gate.
There should be more enemies coming.
And like them, they were on the walls, eliminating the terrain advantage, while the Gold Cloaks on his side were exhausted.
But Bronn wanted to hold on a bit longer because he knew reinforcements were already crossing the river.
If he could repel this group of soldiers and hold the gate, it would be another great merit.
Thinking of this, Bronn felt a bit excited.
He kicked and dragged the soldiers lying on the ground, barely forming a defensive line.
Bronn strained his eyes, trying to see what banner the enemy flew.
But because the light was too dim, he could only see white patterns on a black background.
"Karstark?"
As a mercenary, Bronn naturally understood some heraldry; he had read two books on Tyrion's suggestion recently.
"Hold! Our reinforcements are crossing the river. Don't be afraid of this few men!" Although the Gold Cloaks thought they had won and were pulled up, their arms, which could wave swords just moments ago, now felt incredibly heavy.
Some could barely hold their spears by clamping them under their armpits.
Bronn took off his gauntlets and threw them aside to grip his sword hilt better.
While speaking words of encouragement, he looked at the approaching banner.
Not the sunburst?
Bronn realized it wasn't the sunburst banner of House Karstark but a somewhat familiar banner.
When he saw the "running and roaring" white direwolf on the banner, his thoughts were instantly pulled back to the battlefield at the Green Fork that day.
Not only that, but a massive head hung on that banner.
"The Mountain!"
Bronn instantly remembered the owner of that head and what the banner symbolized.
Eddard Stark's bastard, the madman who flooded the battlefield that day, Jon Snow!
Since Tyrion returned to King's Landing with him, he hadn't stopped mentioning this name.
And Bronn had seen Jon's skills with his own eyes on the battlefield.
Not to mention he killed The Mountain.
I'm no match for him. Instantly, Bronn lost his will to fight, feeling courage drain from his body.
But the soldiers he had rallied were still standing there foolishly, and he felt embarrassed to leave just yet.
Sure enough, as the Northern army got closer, Bronn gradually saw the face of the leading commander clearly.
He wore white armor, holding a longsword in his right hand and a line-breaking greatsword in his left.
Bronn recognized it again; that greatsword belonged to The Mountain! Yet he wielded it freely with one hand.
As an expert swordsman, Bronn saw Jon's terrifying power at a glance.
Bronn wanted to run, but he knew once he ran, he would have zero chance of survival.
While he hesitated on the spot, Jon, leading the charge, shouted loudly at the Gold Cloaks blocking his way:
"I am Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark!
"I am Jon Snow of the Green Fork!
"I am Jon Snow who slew The Mountain!
"DEATH TO THOSE WHO STAND IN MY WAY!!!"