September 6th, early morning.
The battle report from Stone Hedge had already spread through the Magic Network like ripples across still water, and many individuals possessed the clearance to view edited footage of the engagement.
Theon Greyjoy was, naturally, not excluded from this privilege.
Demonstration battle.
Theon chewed silently on this unfamiliar yet self-explanatory term, rolling it around his mind like a man might examine a curious stone.
When he considered it plainly, this had been the first large-scale clash between King Joffrey's new military and traditional forces arrayed in proper battle formation.
Before this, Massey's Hook had been a true night raid—no lights, no proclamations, only fire and death descending from darkness. The enemy had collapsed as expected, and fleeing soldiers proved even more vulnerable than those who stood their ground.
The only lesson learned there was ancient wisdom: night raids remained devastatingly effective.
In the Stormlands, though many castles had fallen in rapid succession, these targets had already been weakened to the point of irrelevance. The enemy's main strength wandered lost in the interior, chasing shadows and rumors.
Even Storm's End's garrison numbered only one or two thousand souls, while ordinary holds might boast mere dozens or hundreds of guards.
What skill was required to overcome such feeble resistance? The pattern had become depressingly simple:
Verbal demonstration, artillery barrage, Holy Warrior charge.
Stone Hedge was different.
The enemy had fielded thirty thousand men—a proper host by any measure. If nothing else, the strength and scale of future opponents would likely not exceed twice this number, making them roughly equivalent targets.
It seemed only natural to use this engagement as a template to demonstrate and guide future operations.
Demonstration battle.
Theon stared at the most thrilling scenes playing within the Light Curtain, pondering King Joffrey's true intentions behind this terminology.
Demonstrate what, precisely? Which elements were meant to be learned and replicated?
The pre-battle sentry elimination had been masterful. The enemy's "eyes" proved helpless against well-trained scout teams and died in silence, never knowing death approached.
The Light Curtain's new tactical functions proved invaluable. Every soldier in the army could observe friendly positions and movement patterns on the battle map, enabling coordination and mutual support. The conspicuous red enemy markers provided clear target designation.
Of course, those red markers sometimes proved inaccurate or failed to update promptly, especially during periods of darkness.
No one could be blamed for such limitations.
After all, the Security Bureau responsible for updating enemy position data operated from King's Landing, hundreds of miles distant. The internal affairs department possessed only a thousand or so qualified personnel.
For this battle, they had provided every conceivable form of intelligence—terrain and fortifications, deployment patterns, enemy status and movements. Such comprehensive support represented a magnificent achievement.
Expecting them to collect detailed intelligence on tens of thousands of individual enemies, update markers in real time, and commit no errors was simply unrealistic.
One should be satisfied with such unprecedented advantages.
Intelligence, equipment, discipline, communication—in every aspect that mattered, their forces had achieved supremacy unmatched anywhere in the known world. No commander could reasonably complain.
The Blackfish certainly would not make tactical errors.
The timing of each order had been flawless. From stealth approach and opening fire to subsequent charges, intimidation, advance and withdrawal, and final surrender demands—every instruction achieved its intended result: claiming both rebels and Stone Hedge at minimal cost.
Not a single Holy Warrior had perished. Casualties among ordinary cavalry numbered only dozens, even though merely a few hundred enemies died in the fighting.
Everything had proceeded smoothly.
Until an unexpected and shocking scene suddenly emerged.
Theon focused intently on this particular footage.
A fresh wave of "candles" rose skyward, illuminating countless faces upon the ground—along with a dozen corpses scattered strategically but changing the battle's entire complexion.
The expressions captured in that magical light were wondrous to behold.
Sneering, regret, grief, relief, despair, panic, madness—every conceivable state of human emotion, difficult to distinguish but impossible to ignore.
The deep darkness flickered past.
Afterward, more corpses and killings emerged.
Lord Lymond Foote of Stone Hedge was beheaded, the heir of House Shett ran through a dismounted Crownlands cavalryman with his longsword, Ser Caswell of Bitterbridge and a knight of House Varner died in each other's arms, Lord Roxton charged toward the cavalry's spears while bellowing his final defiance...
The footage ended.
Only clear black text summarized events upon the Light Curtain.
Theon read carefully.
The text outlined battle experiences and lessons learned, asking viewers to study successful role models while remaining wary of painful failures—such as the final "accident."
No one had anticipated such developments.
Night illumination was not natural for human beings, but a transcendent blessing. None dared question why gaps of darkness interrupted the light. Could such interruptions not be avoided by expending more "candles" and launching them earlier?
However, due to traditional military thinking and objective resource constraints, illumination round reserves were insufficient to be casually "wasted."
After all, each illumination round lasted only a dozen heartbeats in the sky before falling.
Ensuring continuous light throughout the engagement would probably double ammunition consumption—something the army had been unwilling to bear.
Compared to minor issues like lighting, commanders focused primarily on offense and defense.
But who could have foreseen that in those few brief gaps, their own casualties would nearly double while casting deep shadows over the surrender ceremony?
Moreover, most of the dead were prominent figures.
With such an incident, the demonstration battle hardly seemed to have concluded perfectly. Glorious victory inevitably bore some stains.
Even the text within the Light Curtain seemed to carry hints of regret.
Was it? Theon could not help wondering.
Compared to most observers, he—having experienced the warmth and coldness of human nature, familiar with the darkness lurking in men's hearts—could not help but think more cynically.
Was it truly an accident?
After forming this preconceived notion, rewatching the battle footage allowed Theon to taste additional meaning in every scene.
The identities of those who died in the end seemed peculiar indeed.
Half the lords and knights of the Riverlands had perished—most of whom maintained good relations with House Tully and had answered the King's summons in accordance with their liege lord's wishes.
Yet now they lay dead in darkness before victory's completion?
Survivors' rage had soared. Reach nobility became perfect targets for venting anger.
No family emerged unscathed—lords and heirs from Stone Hedge, Smithyton, Brightwater Keep, and other holdings were claimed.
But Vale nobility remained entirely untouched.
Though their position had been relatively safe during the final moments, such complete immunity seemed too convenient.
Thinking along these lines, the arrangement that sent allied forces from various kingdoms and most King's Landing troops to the attack's front lines became suspicious in itself.
Moreover, not only the final "accident," but many deaths during previous periods of darkness showed similar patterns.
Wherever cavalry advanced, high-ranking Reach officers consistently became corpses between illumination rounds—some of whom had already laid down weapons in surrender. Holy Warriors' silhouettes appeared beside many such bodies!
Why release this kind of footage? Wasn't the King concerned that people might discover the truth?
Theon had even approached Jon Snow—still wasting time in the Eyrie—in roundabout fashion, probing to see how many abnormalities this bastard had noticed.
Snow had naturally watched the footage.
However, within the Light Curtain, surprise on Jon Snow's face appeared entirely genuine—as though what he heard was not an amazing secret but an absurd jest, utterly groundless.
Theon quickly realized the truth:
The footage Jon Snow viewed differed from his own! The bastard had not witnessed those assassinations!
Theon became even more convinced of his suspicions.
Demonstration battle?
Clear sunlight streamed through the porthole beyond.
Theon gazed toward the distant sea. It was indeed a perfect demonstration battle—for Jon Snow, and for himself as well.
A curve protruded from the flat horizon.
The Arbor.
Theon sailed with the Fourth Fleet. A larger Arbor fleet remained at the island itself—now, of course, under the King's direct command.
Not far from the Iron Islands.
Theon's heart suddenly grew much heavier. Demonstration battle—what exactly did His Grace intend for him to learn?
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