The sun rose slowly over the horizon, its golden rays filtering through the trees of the Kingswood.
As the morning warmth spread across the forest, the battle finally came to an end. Only the lingering smell of blood and smoke remained to tell the story of the fierce fighting that had taken place.
A beautiful victory, Gendry thought.
The perfect appetizer before the real war begins.
The Stone Crows had been completely wiped out.
Ser Lothor Brune and Anguy personally brought back the head of their leader, Shagga.
Mounted atop a long spear, the giant clansman's severed head still stared outward with wide, unblinking eyes, as if frozen in eternal shock.
The Black Ears, Burned Men, and Moon Brothers had also suffered losses. However, when the situation became hopeless, Qira had surrendered to Ser Guyard Morrigen, preventing the complete destruction of her people.
Now all the surviving captives had been gathered in the Burned Men's camp.
Disarmed and surrounded, they stood in uneasy silence.
Stormland soldiers formed a ring around them, their weapons ready.
The cavalry sat proudly atop their warhorses beneath golden stag banners, openly displaying their thirst for battle. The victory had only sharpened their appetite for bloodshed.
Yet among the mountain clans, few mourned the destruction of the Stone Crows or the death of Shagga.
The clans of the Mountains of the Moon rarely cooperated.
They raided together when it was profitable and fought one another whenever disputes arose.
To them, survival mattered far more than loyalty.
Qira watched as Red-Hand Timett knelt before Gendry.
She was surprised.
The infamous one-eyed warrior had always been known for his pride and brutality.
Yet now, even he had surrendered.
"I have lost."
Timett lowered his head.
Behind him, the warriors of the Burned Men followed suit and dropped to their knees.
Those unwilling to kneel had already been killed.
Timett raised his single blue eye and looked at Gendry.
Gendry stood before the clansmen like a mountain.
Power seemed to gather around him like a black storm.
"You once served Tyrion Lannister," Gendry said calmly.
"Now you have another choice."
"Become my subjects."
"Or die."
The words were simple.
No one doubted he meant them.
Qira lowered her head bitterly.
"I understand."
She was a lean but powerful woman, with a flat chest and a weathered face hardened by years of life in the mountains.
The Burned Men feared nothing.
At least, that was what Timett had always believed.
But the difference in strength between the two sides was overwhelming.
If the mountain clans had once been allies of the lion, then before the storm they could only become servants.
After a long silence, Timett spoke.
"Timett, son of Timett, is willing to fight beneath the stag."
"I will follow the storm and obey its commands."
His voice carried humiliation and resignation.
Once, he had believed himself a king among the Mountains of the Moon.
Now he realized there were far greater powers beyond those peaks.
Fortunately, the mountain clans respected strength above all else.
The blood of the First Men still flowed within them.
Simple.
Direct.
Unyielding.
They accepted defeat when it was undeniable.
"Very good."
Gendry nodded before turning toward Ser Lothor Brune.
"Teach them."
"The Imp never taught you discipline."
"I will."
The captives stiffened.
Lothor stepped forward and spoke loudly enough for every clansman to hear.
"Unauthorized killing—death."
"Robbery—death."
"Rape—castration or death."
"Theft—flogging."
His voice remained calm and emotionless.
Then he added:
"Serve well, and you will earn gold, food, and spoils of war."
Military law in Westeros was harsh.
An army required both discipline and fairness.
Every capable commander understood that balance.
Few could achieve it.
Gendry intended to.
Lord Randyll Tarly was famous for ruling his armies through exactly that combination of strictness and efficiency.
Murmurs immediately spread through the captives.
"That's impossible!"
"The Halfman never restricted us like this!"
"We belong in the Mountains of the Moon!"
"We don't kneel!"
Even in defeat, some clansmen remained stubborn.
A few openly voiced their objections.
Gendry merely smiled.
"Ser Guyard."
"Show them my hospitality."
"It seems they still require instruction."
The mountain clans clearly needed a lesson.
Kneel and live.
Or refuse and die.
Guyard Morrigen nodded.
Several armored soldiers stepped forward.
Without hesitation, they dragged two protesting clansmen from the crowd.
One belonged to the Black Ears.
The other to the Moon Brothers.
The pair struggled furiously, still unable to understand the situation.
This was not a negotiation.
It was an order.
Guyard raised his hand.
The soldiers thrust their spears forward.
Pfft!
Pfft!
Steel pierced flesh.
The spearheads punched through hearts and lungs.
The two clansmen collapsed immediately.
Their blood flowed across the earth in dark crimson streams.
Silence filled the camp.
Gendry looked at the captives.
"Do you understand now?"
"We understand."
No one objected again.
The choice before them was simple.
Die now.
Or live and serve.
Nearby, the Red Priestess stepped forward.
Until now, force had ensured obedience.
Now she intended to provide faith.
"Timett, son of Timett."
"Qira of the Black Ears."
"Come forward."
The two leaders exchanged uncertain glances before approaching.
The priestess gestured toward the flames.
"Look."
She tossed a handful of powder into the fire.
The great ruby hanging from her throat glowed brilliantly.
The flames shifted from orange to pale white.
Ash rose into the air.
The sparks spun together, forming circles of burning light.
Timett stared in shock.
"I see something."
"You truly are a great fire witch."
"A blessed servant of fire."
Qira nodded.
"So do I."
The priestess smiled.
"What do you see?"
Timett swallowed hard.
"A vast field of snow."
"Figures moving through the blizzard."
"There is fire..."
"But all I can feel is unbearable cold."
Qira frowned.
"What are those figures?"
The priestess answered softly.
"The servants of the Great Other."
"The cold winds have already begun to blow."
"Soon, the Long Night will come again."
Timett's face turned pale.
"The Others?"
As a descendant of the First Men, he knew the old stories.
The Long Night.
The White Walkers.
The darkness beyond the Wall.
Compared to the war they had just fought, those ancient tales represented something far more terrifying.
The Red Priestess raised her voice.
"The war you have joined today is nothing."
"The true war is yet to come."
"A war for the fate of the world itself."
"Only the Unburnt."
"Only the Hammer of Justice."
"Only the Chosen One of Destiny can save mankind."
She pointed toward Gendry.
"Praise the savior."
"Praise the Storm!"
The ruby around her neck blazed like a living flame.
Timett immediately dropped to one knee.
The vision he had seen felt too real to dismiss.
"The Stormbreaker..."
"The Storm."
"I will follow you."
"I will help drive back the darkness."
Qira knelt beside him.
"I will follow as well."
One by one, the clansmen followed.
"I will follow!"
"So will I!"
"We will follow!"
The descendants of the First Men understood those ancient legends better than most.
The cold winds were already growing stronger.
The threat felt real.
Soon the entire camp erupted into cheers.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
Even many Stormlanders found themselves swept up by the moment.
Whether they believed the visions or not, one fact remained undeniable.
Gendry continued to win.
Every battle.
Every campaign.
Perhaps the gods truly favored him.
Perhaps destiny had chosen him.
The Red Priestess's words only strengthened that belief.
---
Meanwhile, fires burned on both banks of the Blackwater Rush.
Columns of black smoke rose into the sky like giant fingers pointing toward the heavens.
Using a Myrish telescope, Gendry observed King's Landing from afar.
"Well played, Tyrion."
The dwarf had ordered everything between the city walls and the river burned.
Warehouses.
Shops.
Taverns.
Brothels.
Even much of the dock district.
Many of those structures had been illegal, but they had also provided livelihoods for thousands of common folk.
Jon Snow nodded.
"He's always been clever."
"If he survives," Gendry said thoughtfully, "I'd like to meet him."
Tyrion was undoubtedly one of the sharpest minds in Westeros.
Unfortunately, he currently stood on the opposite side of the battlefield.
Jon, Gendry, and Tyrion shared an odd similarity.
All three were outsiders.
Two were bastards.
One was a dwarf.
Lothor snorted.
"The people of King's Landing will hate him even more now."
"Probably."
Gendry lowered the telescope.
"The fire in the Kingswood isn't large enough."
"Tyrion will eventually realize what we're planning."
"There's no helping it," Lothor replied.
"The trebuchets are still being moved into position."
"That takes time."
The Blackwater Rush had never looked so empty.
Every ferry had been withdrawn.
Merchant ships had either fled or been seized for military service.
The only vessels remaining were the royal warships.
They patrolled the deeper waters constantly, ready to attack any approaching force.
Gendry thought for a moment.
"Send a message to Bronze Yohn."
"Have the main Vale army moved here."
Jon looked puzzled.
"Aren't we planning to attack the city from both sides?"
"No."
Gendry shook his head.
"King's Landing could easily become a pile of ashes."
"I'd rather destroy the armies coming to save it."
His gaze drifted toward the distant city.
The Lannisters.
Varys.
The Tyrells.
Even powers from across the Narrow Sea.
All roads seemed to lead to King's Landing.
The city had become the center of every political storm in the world.
How do you untie a knot like that?
You don't.
You cut it apart.
The best way to solve the problem of King's Landing...
...was not to become trapped within it.
It was to crush it completely.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)