The red-robed priest Thoros listened to the screams echoing in his ears, his body trembling as he dropped to one knee and bowed to Robb.
"Your Majesty, I am Thoros, a red-robed priest from Myr. I am deeply grateful for your saving grace. They call you the King in the North—may I ask, is your father Duke Ned Stark?" Thoros asked cautiously.
Robb had some impression of the red-robed priests as a group. They were ascetics who served the Lord of Light, one of the most active gods in this world at present.
At the very least, that god truly answered prayers.
The red-robed priest before him also seemed to be someone of some importance, but Robb couldn't quite remember clearly—anyone who wasn't a major character never left a deep impression on him.
Robb raised a hand, signaling him to stand and speak. "You're members of the Brotherhood Without Banners, aren't you?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. We were acting under the orders of the King's Hand—Lord Ned Stark—to apprehend the Mountain. We never expected that halfway along the road…"
Thoros let out a long breath of relief in his heart. With this relationship made clear, the ferocious King in the North before him probably wouldn't subject them to the same inhuman treatment.
Robb nodded. "I've heard of your deeds. Ser Blackfish said you do your utmost to protect farmers and innocent folk, shielding them from Lannister thugs. You've done well—you are true knights."
The red-robed priest hurriedly expressed his gratitude. "To receive the praise of the King in the North is the highest honor we could ask for."
"Since you've already come into conflict with House Lannister, why not join my forces?" Robb continued. "I'm heading to find Ser Edmure. He's gathering soldiers and supplies in the Riverlands. You can travel with us—it'll be safer that way."
Facing Robb's invitation, Thoros knew he had neither the leverage nor the desire to refuse.
It wasn't just fear that he, too, might be flayed and hung from a spear.
He knew that with their own strength alone, they couldn't avenge Beric—survival itself would be a challenge. Joining the army of the North was a good choice.
"We would be honored, Your Majesty. But please grant us some time, so we may bury Lord Beric and our fallen brothers."
Robb mercifully gave them time.
After all, Beric had died fighting for his lands. Burying such a warrior was only right.
——
Although the red-robed priest Thoros had never truly felt a response from the Lord of Light, the teachings he had received since childhood still guided him to conduct Beric's funeral according to the rites of the Lord of Light.
On the battlefield, everything was kept simple. Thoros had his men gather branches and flammable materials, then placed Lord Beric and the other fallen brothers atop them.
When all was done, Thoros began to softly chant the prayers of the Lord of Light.
Watching his movements, Greenbeard and the wolf cavalry from Tyrosh felt a sense of familiarity.
This was the most common ritual in their homeland.
On another continent, faith in the Lord of Light was widespread. But here in Westeros, only the Seven and the Old Gods enjoyed broad belief.
So Smalljon and the Northern wolf cavalry wore looks of open disdain: heresy!
In Westeros, the people of the North and the Children of the Forest still believed in the Old Gods, and they scoffed at all other faiths.
This was one of the reasons the North had always stood apart from the rest of the realms.
At last, Thoros finished the final line of the prayer: "For the night is dark and full of terrors."
Holding a torch, he prepared to ignite the dry fuel and burn the bodies.
At that moment, the sky suddenly darkened.
Countless dark clouds appeared from nowhere, completely shrouding the sky above Robb's position, like storm clouds pressing down upon a city.
A single beam of sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell upon Thoros, who was chanting the prayers.
The strange phenomenon drew everyone's attention. The wolf cavalry and the Brotherhood members all instinctively looked up.
The wolf cavalry said nothing. They silently closed ranks around Robb, subtly surrounding the Brotherhood members and Thoros within their formation.
The Brotherhood paid no mind to the battlefield at all—they were huddled together, whispering excitedly about the phenomenon.
"What's going on?"
"A miracle?"
"Probably… doesn't Thoros always say he's a believer of the god, that he can use magic?"
"Magic my ass. He only knows cheap tricks. I've seen him smear wildfire on his sword to make it burn."
"Then how do you explain this? The clouds cover the sky, and only he's bathed in sunlight."
"I… how would I know?!"
Thoros himself was utterly bewildered. He had no idea what was happening—he had performed this ritual countless times before, and nothing like this had ever occurred!
He raised his head toward the source of the sunlight. The next instant, his pupils lost focus, as if he had lost consciousness, and the torch slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.
His eyes rolled back, rolling until they vanished entirely, leaving only hollow white sockets.
The aura around him changed as well. His movements became gentle, as though the slightest exertion might tear his own body apart.
Elegant. Dangerous.
This was the most striking impression the red-robed priest now gave.
Thoros tilted his head slightly, those pupil-less eye sockets turning toward Robb.
The wolf cavalry sensed something was wrong. They didn't know what had happened, but the red-robed priest before them was completely different from before!
He was like a frenzied beast holding perfectly still—yet that stillness radiated an overwhelming pressure.
Perhaps some had only heard of it before, but now everyone felt it firsthand: pressure.
Just standing there, the red-robed priest made people feel an irresistible urge to kneel and worship!
The members of the Brotherhood Without Banners could no longer suppress their instincts. One after another, they dropped to their knees with dull thuds, chanting the most devout prayers.
The wolf cavalry began to feel the same pull, but they struggled desperately to keep their minds clear and resist it.
Under such immense pressure and resistance, they raised their spears in unison, aiming them at the red-robed priest, using the action to ease the strain.
Just as someone was about to lose control and rush forward to stab this charlatan priest through with a spear, they heard a familiar voice.
Robb sat atop his horse, looking down at the red-robed priest.
"Do not point your spearheads at Him anymore. A friend has come from afar—we should be happy about that."
"And no matter which 'He' it is, we must maintain the most basic courtesy."
After Robb finished speaking, every wolf cavalryman felt the weight lift from their bodies. The oppressive pressure vanished, and they returned to normal.
They let out quiet breaths of relief, lowering their spears, hearts still pounding as they recalled what had just happened.
What kind of monster was this red-robed priest?!
Robb's expression remained calm. Alone, he rode his horse forward and stopped before the red-robed priest.
"So then… who exactly are you?"
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
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(End Chapter)