"I—"
Samwell Tarly had barely managed to utter a single syllable when he noticed the change.
Karl Stone's gaze, which moments earlier had been calm and attentive, suddenly sharpened like a drawn blade.
Before Sam could react, Karl's right hand had already moved.
With a clear metallic ring, the gold-plated longsword was drawn from its scabbard and slashed through the air at a speed far beyond what the eye could follow.
Clang!
Sam heard the sound first, then saw the result.
A fist-sized stone, spinning viciously through the air, was cut cleanly in two. Both halves tumbled down and landed heavily in the mud at Sam's feet.
For a heartbeat, Sam's mind went completely blank.
Then—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
A storm of sound erupted around them.
More stones whistled through the air, accompanied by indistinct shouts rising from the dense forest on one side of the road and from the cliff towering above the other.
"Woo—!"
"Kill them!"
Karl tilted his head, narrowly avoiding another stone, and shouted without hesitation.
"Enemy attack!"
His voice cut through the chaos like a warhorn.
As he spoke, Karl swept his gaze across the surroundings with practiced speed.
Only then did the terrain reveal its fangs.
The road they were traveling dipped inward toward a sheer cliff face roughly ten meters high. Above it, jagged rocks jutted out like teeth, perfect for hurling stones. On the opposite side, thick woods pressed close to the road, their tangled branches and bushes forming an ideal hiding place.
It was a textbook ambush site.
"Attacks from above and from the woods!" Karl barked. "Get close to the cliff—now!"
Another stone came crashing down toward his mount. Karl's sword flashed again, splitting it apart in midair.
Sparks flew.
The horse beneath him shrieked in terror, rearing violently as panic seized it. Its hooves scraped wildly against the ground, its head tossing as it prepared to bolt.
Karl did not hesitate.
Using the saddle as a springboard, he kicked off and launched himself from the horse.
In the same motion, he seized Samwell—who was still staring around in confusion—and dragged him bodily from his mount.
Sam's vision spun. The world went dark for an instant as he felt himself lifted, then slammed back down.
Karl shoved him hard against the base of the cliff.
"Stay here!"
Only after securing Sam did Karl turn his attention fully to the battlefield.
Using the horses as partial cover, he looked toward the forest.
Branches shook violently. Bushes parted. Shapes moved within the greenery, closing in fast.
Then—
Crack.
A dull, wet sound rang out.
Karl's head snapped around just in time to see a dark blur descend from above Kennedy's position.
The stone struck.
Kennedy had just drawn his longsword, reacting to Karl's warning, when the rock smashed into his unprotected skull.
There was no scream.
Part of his head collapsed inward. His body stiffened, then toppled sideways off his horse like a puppet with its strings cut.
Brain matter and blood sprayed outward.
Jon Snow, riding beside him, was splashed across the face.
For a fraction of a second, time seemed to freeze.
Kennedy lay motionless on the ground, his skull shattered, one eye grotesquely burst.
They had not been traveling in full battle gear. No helmets. Only light leather and chainmail.
Against a falling stone from above, it made no difference at all.
Karl's expression hardened.
"Everyone dismount!" he roared. "Now! Don't stay mounted—get off the horses!"
This time, there was no hesitation.
Shock had sharpened their instincts.
Jon, Sam, and the others slid from their saddles and pressed themselves against the cliff, using both stone and horses as cover.
The barrage from above ceased, replaced by the pounding of feet and angry cries as the attackers closed in.
Karl exhaled once, steady and controlled.
Good.
They had listened.
Without the battles he had led them through over the past months, this ambush would have turned into a slaughter.
Kennedy's death, however, was simply misfortune—brutal, unavoidable misfortune.
"Lord Karl," Jon asked hoarsely, wiping blood and fragments from his face, "who's attacking us?"
Karl's eyes burned as he stared into the forest.
"The High Mountain Clans."
That was all he said.
Then he raised his sword—and charged.
He had lived in the Vale for only a year since arriving in this world, but that was more than enough to know what dwelled in the Bright Moon Mountains.
The High Mountain Clans were remnants of the First Men who had fled into the mountains during the Andal invasion. Scattered, savage, and isolated, they lived in deep forests and rocky highlands, divided into countless tribes.
They recognized no lord, no king, and no laws of the Seven Kingdoms.
They raided travelers. Burned villages. Took food, weapons, and captives alike.
Men and women fought side by side, all hardened by a life of hunger and blood.
As Karl burst onto the forest path, five figures lunged out to meet him.
They wore mismatched scraps of chainmail and fur, animal bones and horns hanging from their heads. Their weapons were crude—clubs, axes, chipped blades—but their eyes gleamed with feral excitement.
They smelled of sweat, blood, and rot.
They hesitated when they saw him.
Karl did not.
The longsword rose.
A faint, cold glow wrapped itself around the blade.
With a single vertical strike, Karl split the first attacker from head to groin.
The body parted cleanly, organs exposed, blood spraying outward as Karl ran straight through the falling corpse.
He did not slow.
The second enemy stepped into range.
Karl swung horizontally.
The blade flashed.
A head lifted into the air, severed cleanly just above the lip. The upper half of the skull spun away like a discarded bowl, long hair fluttering as it fell.
The body staggered forward two more steps, tongue lolling, before collapsing.
Karl's left hand rose.
Blue light flared.
A crack of thunder snapped through the forest.
Lightning leapt from his palm, faster than thought, striking the remaining three raiders.
Their bodies convulsed violently, muscles locking as the spell tore through them.
Karl did not wait.
He moved among them, sword flashing.
Two were cut apart where they stood.
The last collapsed stiffly—only to have his skull crushed by a thrown bone club from deeper in the woods.
Karl plunged onward.
The forest erupted into chaos.
Screams echoed. Branches snapped. Shadows fled and died.
Birds burst from the canopy, shrieking into the sky as if fleeing a monstrous predator.
Even a shadowcat, drawn by the scent of blood, chose to retreat rather than linger.
Back on the road, Samwell Tarly doubled over, retching violently.
Jon barely noticed.
His eyes were fixed on Kennedy's corpse.
Moments ago, that could have been him.
Fear twisted in his chest—then hardened into fury.
"Kennedy…" Jon whispered, gripping his sword.
He drew Longclaw, its pale steel gleaming.
"We'll avenge him."
Above them, the forest shook.
Carl Stone's wrath had only begun.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)