Although Tyrion still harbored grievances about King Karl's seemingly reckless decision, he ultimately had no choice but to obey.
As long as Karl remained King, Tyrion's duty was clear.
More importantly, after spending considerable time with him, Tyrion had come to understand something about Karl. The young king possessed a confidence that bordered on madness, yet somehow his plans continued to succeed. Combined with the terrifying existence of the dragon at his disposal, Karl inspired a strange sense of faith in those around him.
In the end, Tyrion decided to gamble.
He would place his bet on Karl Baratheon.
Standing atop the walls of Casterly Rock, Tyrion watched the army disappear into the distance. A complicated expression crossed his face.
If Karl succeeded in this campaign, history would undoubtedly remember it.
What was a king?
Karl was a king.
What was a hero?
Karl was becoming one.
The Coastal Road stretched southward along the western shores of Westeros.
Beginning near Lannisport, it followed the coastline of the Sunset Sea before passing through Crakehall, Old Oak, and eventually reaching the fertile lands of Highgarden.
Crakehall remained firmly within the borders of the Westerlands.
House Crakehall was one of the most powerful noble families sworn to Casterly Rock. Their lands sat between vast forests and the western coast, controlling an important section of the Coastal Road.
And it was precisely there that Karl intended to go.
A thousand soldiers marched beneath the banners of the crown.
Although the distance was not extraordinary, it would still require several days of travel.
Before departing, Tyrion had formally issued declarations of war in Karl's name.
The proclamations condemned both House Tyrell and Stannis Baratheon as rebels against the Iron Throne.
The moment the declarations were delivered, Karl departed.
No hesitation.
No negotiations.
No waiting for replies.
Yet despite his apparent urgency, Karl was not truly rushing.
The army moved at a comfortable pace.
Their progress was steady rather than aggressive.
Karl needed time.
Time for the nobles of the Westerlands to react.
Time for the lords of the Reach to react.
Time for rumors and fear to spread throughout the realm.
Politics was often more effective than swords.
Sometimes a marching army accomplished more than a victorious one.
Most importantly, Karl intended to use Crakehall as a test.
He wished to observe how the nobles of the Westerlands responded to his arrival and send a message to every lord watching from afar.
As for Renly Baratheon—
The supposed target of this campaign—
Karl never truly considered him an immediate concern.
From beginning to end, Renly had never been the main course.
At best, he was a side dish.
As the army advanced beside the coastline, Karl enjoyed the refreshing sea breeze.
The endless waves of the Sunset Sea crashed against rocky shores while seabirds circled overhead.
After several hours of travel, Karl turned toward one of the men riding beside him.
"Ser Arys."
The Kingsguard knight immediately straightened.
"Your Grace."
Karl smiled casually.
"Are you familiar with House Crakehall?"
Arys Oakheart blinked in surprise.
The question caught him off guard.
House Oakheart ruled Old Oak, one of the first major territories Karl would theoretically encounter if he continued marching south into the Reach.
The current Lady of Old Oak was Arys's own mother.
Arys himself was the youngest son of Lady Alerie Oakheart and had joined King Robert's Kingsguard many years earlier.
Since then, he had spent most of his life in King's Landing.
Although Crakehall was practically a neighboring territory, he honestly knew little about its affairs.
After a brief hesitation, Arys shook his head.
"I'm afraid I can't be of much help, Your Grace."
A trace of embarrassment appeared on his face.
"I know very little about House Crakehall."
Karl merely nodded.
"I expected as much."
Then his tone suddenly changed.
"What do you think about me marching against your homeland?"
The atmosphere instantly became tense.
The leisurely mood vanished.
The remaining Kingsguard exchanged uneasy glances.
Ser Balon Swann instinctively rested a hand on his sword.
Ser Marlin Warwick did the same.
Even Sandor Clegane looked over.
Everyone understood the implications behind Karl's question.
If war truly reached Old Oak, where would Arys Oakheart's loyalty lie?
The silence stretched.
Finally, Arys spoke.
His voice was calm and unwavering.
"Your Grace, you need not question my loyalty."
He looked directly at Karl.
"If you order an assault on Old Oak, I will gladly be among the first men to scale the walls."
The statement stunned everyone.
Arys continued.
"My oath is to the King."
"If necessary, I will fight my own family."
The other knights couldn't help but feel admiration.
Such loyalty was difficult to achieve.
Karl, however, simply shook his head.
"I am not Aerys Targaryen."
The statement surprised them.
Nor am I a tyrant."
His gaze moved across the gathered knights.
"I don't want mindless obedience."
"I want men who can think."
"I want men who still possess their humanity."
The words struck harder than any sword.
The Kingsguard lowered their heads.
They understood the meaning behind Karl's warning.
Blind loyalty could become dangerous.
A man who obeyed every order without question might one day become a weapon against the innocent.
Such loyalty was not virtue.
It was weakness.
For a moment, no one knew how to respond.
Fortunately, someone broke the silence.
Sandor Clegane snorted.
"A silent blade. Drawn when needed. Sheathed when not."
The Hound laughed mockingly.
"What a miserable life."
The tension immediately eased.
The Kingsguard exchanged awkward glances.
Karl chuckled.
"That explains why you refused to wear a white cloak."
Sandor rolled his eyes.
"Of course."
"I prefer wine, women, and freedom."
The Hound's blunt honesty drew several laughs.
Karl nodded.
"And that's your choice."
"Everyone pursues happiness differently."
For a brief moment, Sandor felt strangely uncomfortable.
Karl always seemed capable of seeing through people.
It was as though nothing could remain hidden from those sharp eyes.
The conversation gradually faded.
Karl shifted his attention back to the road ahead.
Thousands of marching feet kicked up clouds of dust.
Merchants and travelers quickly moved aside whenever they spotted the royal host approaching.
News of war was spreading rapidly.
Fear traveled even faster.
Karl smiled faintly.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
Another day passed.
Eventually, a distant castle appeared on the horizon.
The massive walls of Crakehall gradually emerged from the afternoon haze.
Unlike previous campaigns, Karl had left many of his trusted companions behind.
The mountain clans remained at Casterly Rock.
Shagga was absent.
Timett was absent.
Even Hall remained behind.
Karl had intentionally preserved the defensive strength of the Westerlands.
The only notable exception was Bronn.
The sellsword had remained at Karl's side.
When Karl promised him the opportunity to become a landed knight—or perhaps even a lord—Bronn had accepted without hesitation.
Compared to titles and power, mere gold suddenly seemed less appealing.
As the army continued forward, movement appeared ahead.
A small cavalry force waited beside the road.
Their banners fluttered in the sea breeze.
Upon them was the sigil of House Crakehall.
A black-and-white boar upon a brown field.
The welcoming party quickly rode forward.
Immediately, Ser Balon Swann moved to intercept them with a group of royal guards.
The marching column slowed to a halt.
Karl watched silently.
After a brief conversation, Balon returned accompanied by three riders.
The newcomers dismounted and approached.
Karl remained seated upon his horse, observing them from above.
His expression remained unreadable.
"Before you stands His Grace, King Karl Baratheon the First, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
Balon's voice rang clearly.
The leading noble immediately stepped forward.
"Your Grace."
He knelt.
"I am Lord Roland Crakehall, Lord of Crakehall."
"I have come to welcome your arrival."
The wind howled across the Coastal Road.
For several long moments, Karl said nothing.
The silence felt oppressive.
Roland Crakehall could feel sweat forming beneath his clothing.
He dared not raise his head.
The young king's presence was overwhelming.
Finally, Karl spoke.
His voice was calm.
"Lord Roland Crakehall."
"Are you offering me your loyalty?"
The question sounded simple.
Yet it felt like a sword hanging above his neck.
Without hesitation, Roland drew his sword.
He placed it upon the ground before Karl.
Then he bowed deeply.
"My family swears loyalty to Your Grace."
"We shall obey your commands until death."
The submission was immediate.
Absolute.
Karl blinked.
Truthfully, he had expected resistance.
Perhaps negotiations.
Perhaps hesitation.
Instead, Roland surrendered faster than anticipated.
Many of Karl's plans for Crakehall instantly became unnecessary.
Still, he could hardly punish a man for obedience.
Tywin Lannister once said:
"When a man opposes you, answer him with steel."
"When a man kneels, help him rise."
"Otherwise, no one will ever kneel again."
Karl remembered those words well.
So he dismounted.
Picking up Roland's sword, he lightly touched both shoulders.
A symbolic acceptance of fealty.
Then he extended his hand.
"Rise, Lord Crakehall."
Roland accepted gratefully.
Karl smiled.
"So you've come to welcome us?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Roland hesitated.
Then he wiped sweat from his brow.
A strange expression crossed his face.
"However..."
Karl sighed internally.
He hated that word.
Whenever someone said "however," trouble inevitably followed.
"However what?"
Roland cleared his throat.
"Besides preparing supplies and accommodations for Your Grace's army..."
"There is another matter."
Karl raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Roland glanced around nervously.
Then he lowered his voice.
"A lady has arrived at Crakehall."
"A mysterious lady."
"She claims she has traveled a great distance for a single purpose."
Karl's interest was finally piqued.
"And what purpose is that?"
Roland swallowed.
"She wishes to meet you, Your Grace."
At once, every knight nearby became alert.
Even Sandor Clegane narrowed his eyes.
Meanwhile, Karl's smile slowly widened.
It seemed his visit to Crakehall was about to become far more interesting than expected.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)