Chett was tired that night, but he didn't want to slack off and bring shame to his lord. Thankfully, the feast had gone well without any troubles. The King had gone to sleep, so had the lord. Normally, he would also go to sleep at that hour.
But that night, because the King was living in the castle, he chose to make some rounds around the castle personally. Taking tiny naps on a chair instead, and then making more rounds.
His armor joints clanged as he walked, dressed as he would for a battle, minus the helmet, as they were within the castle, and it was dark despite the torches. The visor would only make it impossible to see.
I'm hungry again.
Thud!
But right as he turned a corner, he heard a sound and became alert. It was distant, a voice, a female. He rushed towards the voice as fast as his feet allowed.
"Let me go!"
"Seven hellllsss take ya, ya filthy little whoooore! Hic! I heeeard it from the bloody eunuch. You werrre whorin' yerself out, weren't ya? Then that giant took a fancy to yer cuuunt, eh? Wellll.. I've got goooold, reaaal goooold… Hic.. Come warm my bed toniiight…. Hic—burp! Let's seee… What that giant was ruuuttin' onnn…"
Chett's blood boiled the moment he heard that exchange. He recognised the female voice, Ros. He liked her, and she was like a sister to him. Ros and Anna were both nobodies before, smallfolk just surviving, like him. They understood each other the best and shared their admiration for Lord Wylis.
"Leave her alone, filth!"
Chett shouted and rushed over, pulling his blade out as he did. He recognised the lowly creature right away, one of the Kingsguards, the worst one, Boros Blount. He'd seen him drink throughout the feast and mock Small Paul the whole time.
One look at the scene and he knew what must have happened. There was water on the floor, a jar tipped over. Ros must have been out to get some water for herself, as most servants were busy cleaning and preparing for the next day, and caring for additional guests.
"Heh? Who might ya beee? Her lander? Shall I paaay youuu…. to use her cuuunt, eh?"
Chett didn't listen anymore and lunged forward to strike. He'd been given a clear command by Lord Wylis. If anyone dared try anything in Ramsgate, he was allowed to strike to kill. Even if it was the King himself, he was allowed to strike, wound, or kill. Damned be the consequences, was what Lord Wylis said.
And damned they be indeed.
Clank!
But no matter the intent, the difference in abilities couldn't be overcome with simple will. Chett had only started getting better at the blade and was finally a squire. But Boros Blount was an experienced knight who had faced many battles and duels.
In the split moment, drunk Boros had already backstepped and drawn his own sword; the man was still dressed in his Kingsguard armor. They clashed, and the Kingsguard got pushed back, no match for Chett, who was physically larger and stronger.
Yet the technique mattered. The Kingsguard sidestepped, dragged his blade across Chett's blade, low, and stabbed into the narrow gap between Chett's elbow guard and vambrace. As Blount's sword stabbed its pointy end, the chainmail didn't help as much.
"Ugh!" Chett staggered back, feeling the pain, blood dripping, and collected underneath his armor. "Lady Ros! Go inside and lock the door."
"Chet—"
"Go!" He shouted, glaring at the smug, drunk Boros Blount. "You're skilled. I see your white cloak is not without meaning."
"Heh-heh! Woulda been a gods-damned praise coming from the giant. But you… you… worthless little cunt… you're… beeeeneath meee!"
Chett prepared himself to face the drunken, rageful strike. At least Ros had gone inside, so he didn't care anymore. It hurt like hell in the arm, but he gripped the hilt tight, waiting for the chance.
Clash!
He received the blow head-on and once again won with superior strength. But he knew it wouldn't last long. He wasn't as good with a word. But, right then, he smirked and let go of his sword entirely.
Bam!
Chett punched Blount in the face and then stepped in, leaving no space to move the sword. Before he landed another punch, he circled a foot behind Blount's heel and then…
"Gah!"
Chett's second punch tripped Blount down on his ass. This was what Chett knew well. Lord Wylis had taught him that a battle between armored knights was less about swords and more about wrestling. After initial sword strikes, it always turned into a brawl, where both knights used their daggers to stab through the gap in each other's armor.
Lord Wylis had trained him extensively in that, so even if his swordplay wasn't the best, he would still win eventually. But he knew there was still a limit. If Blount wasn't drunk, maybe it wouldn't have been this easy.
"I'll kill you!"
Blount was moving by instinct. He had also grabbed his dagger from his waist and tried to stab Chett. Since they weren't wearing helmets, Blount got a lucky strike and sliced Chett's right cheek.
Chett initially didn't want to kill him and cause trouble for Lord Wylis. But seeing how willing Blount was to stab his throat, he did the same.
Bam!
Clash!
It wasn't easy, still. He had to overpower him. Blount's body moved on its own and tried to stop him from stabbing the throat while he straddled the chest. It was a last stand of strength. He tried to shove the dagger down, tip aimed at the throat.
Blount tried to push away his hand.
"Aaaaaah!"
Both of them screamed at each other's faces. But Chett was naturally stronger. He pressed his injured hand as well and, in a very slow, agonizing way, stabbed. Inch by inch, he punctured Blount's throat. Death didn't come fast.
First came a cough of blood, as it filled his airway. Then the strength was lost, and Blount's hands gave way. Chett fully stabbed and jammed his entire dagger to the hilt into the throat.
For a few moments, Blount's big, red eyes shook in disbelief. His feet thrashed metallic sounds on the floor. Then, he died.
At last, Chett slid off and lay beside the deadbody, panting. He was really nervous. This was his first real fight against an actual knight who was clearly far more experienced than he was. He had no idea if he'd win when he entered it.
If he wasn't drunk…
He gulped, throat dry. He knew he'd have died if Blount hadn't drunk. And after killing him, he'd have broken Lady Ros' door and…
Chett clenched his fist, forgetting the pain. A desire to get better rose. Ramsgate Castle didn't keep many soldiers inside because of the women they hid, and the castle was impossible to invade or sneak into.
But clearly, that wasn't enough. Sometimes, even the welcomed guests could be wolves in sheep's clothing.
Better train Small Paul for it.
At last, he heard the sound of someone coming. He just hoped this wouldn't cause his lord too much trouble.
####
Thud!
Squelch!
Thud!
"You filthy fat waste of air!"
Squelch!
"Feasted in my goddamn hall! Drank my fucking ale! And then eye my own woman!"
Squelch!
Thud!
Not a single man, servant, or noble present dared utter a single word to stop Wylis. Lord Arryn was there, and Ser Barristan had also appeared. The King was just arriving. But no one dared step forward as Wylis stomp-kicked on Ser Blount's dead skull and battered it into a fine meat paste.
Bam!
Bam!
Blood spilled all over the floor. His fury was true. He really was angry. If Chett hadn't killed him, he'd have done it in far worse, tormenting ways. He considered Ramsgate Castle his safehouse. One place he could breathe in peace and be with the women he cherished.
He was forced to hide half of them underground like rats. One had to take a false identity. And one almost got raped. He had every right to be furious at such a lowlife nobody not knowing his place.
His peace was ruined. A wakeup call that nobody could be trusted. That every guest welcomed in his halls was to be doubted.
Finally, after it was clear that Ser Blount's body was thoroughly headless, he stopped and stepped back, gathering his breath.
"Filth like this doesn't deserve so much as a pyre. His rotting carcass can feed the fish and be done with it," Wylis snarled, and finally looked up at Ser Barristan standing beside half-awake Robert, who was surprisingly silent. "Is this the caliber of your damn order? This is what the Kingsguard has been reduced to? A whoring drunkard?"
"Good fucking riddance." Finally, words came from Robert's mouth. "Was a rotten thing he tried on your woman, Wylis. I see the fault clear enough. Never could stand the bastard, but after the war, favors got handed out like whores at a tourney, and five seats were empty. Couldn't just toss the man out or gut him myself, much as I wanted to."
Then why the fuck do you wear a crown?
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Advance chapters on [PATREON] are in long-form format. I have 11 long chapters of this story on P@treon. That's equal to 40-46 Webnovel chapters.
Check out Wylis X Lyanna Stark NSFW Art & Wylis with Kids SFW ART, and advance chapters at [email protected]/MrPlotThickens Or Subscribestar.adult/mrplotthickens
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