Arthur ended his struggle. He drew his longsword, and with a flick of his wrist, blood droplets from the blade splattered onto the surrounding rubble.
Ser Qyburn's throat rattled like a leaky bellows, and he toppled forward onto his squire.
A deathly silence enveloped the area, broken only by the wind whistling through the mountain pass.
The Mull Family soldiers gripped their weapons, unsure of what to do, no one daring to take a step forward.
Even the refugees, who had just been prostrate on the ground, forgot to breathe, staring blankly at the man who had decided their fate.
Arthur's gaze swept over face after face—fear, bewilderment, awe—and finally, his eyes rested on the refugees.
His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears: "The Seven Gods have rendered their judgment."
"You are innocent. You may leave now."
The silence was broken by a suppressed sob, and then, as if a dam had burst, cries of relief and cheers of survival mingled together, echoing through the mountains. A hundred tattered people knelt, vigorously kowtowing towards Arthur, incoherently shouting his name.
Arthur watched this scene, looking at the still-warm corpse, looking at those who had been spared by an ancient rule.
He discovered a serious loophole in Westeros, and a thought formed in his mind, clear and sharp.
Trial by combat!
Nobles regarded it as sacred, commoners feared it as divine wrath—an ancient tradition rooted in faith and honor, a method of judgment no one dared openly defy.
For those lords who valued honor more than life, for those who firmly believed the Seven Gods' gaze was omnipresent, they could not refuse a challenge issued in the name of the gods.
Within the rules, without deviating from them, and as long as he could win, he could solve the biggest problems with the smallest cost.
In Westeros, high martial prowess was truly useful.
Arthur sheathed his sword and turned to walk toward the pale-faced Brother Meribald. The old Brother had not yet fully recovered from the recent bloodshed, his lips trembling slightly.
Arthur's tone was gentle, completely different from the ruthless executioner he had just been: "Brother, thank you for your witness."
In his opinion, these refugees and barefoot Brothers would spread his reputation further.
Meribald nodded, seemingly wanting to say something but not knowing where to begin.
After a moment's thought, Arthur's voice grew solemn: "You may tell the other servants of the gods."
"All barefoot Brothers of the Seven Gods, passing through my territory, will receive free food and shelter."
Meribald suddenly looked up.
"I will also give them travel expenses to support their ascetic journey."
Arthur's words did not end there; his gaze went past the Brother to the refugees still prostrating themselves.
"Additionally, please send all homeless orphans you encounter during your travels in the Riverlands to my territory."
"I, Arthur, will be responsible for caring for them until they grow into adults."
At these words, not only Brother Meribald but even the Black Lion nearby showed a strange expression.
He looked at Arthur. In Westeros, some people hoped to gain a reputation for justice, others for benevolence, and still others for honor. This young man was no exception; he was winning hearts. The difference was, he was winning the hearts of the common people of Westeros.
Tears welled in the Brother's eyes. He gripped Arthur's hand, his voice choked: "The Seven Gods will bless you, Lord Arthur. Your dedication to the common people and your help to the servants of the gods will spread throughout the Riverlands."
The refugees' cries grew louder; this time, it was heartfelt gratitude. Arthur's image in their hearts was already no different from that of a savior.
Brynden, the Black Lion, watched all of this, saying nothing, merely silently mounting his horse, watching Arthur order his soldiers to take out the spoils from Willow Wood City from their waists and distribute them to every refugee.
The towering castle stood before them, the Mull Family banner fluttering in the wind.
Lord Horn Mull personally greeted them at the castle gate. He was slightly plump, with a warm smile on his face.
As soon as he saw the Black Lion, he opened his arms and gave him a strong hug: "Ser Brynden!"
"My old friend, I'm so glad you could visit my castle!"
The Black Lion patted his back, his expression a bit stiff, as he had just killed one of his Knights: "Lord Horn."
Horn's gaze turned to Arthur and his party behind them, his smile growing even brighter, like a merchant about to make a big deal.
He casually inquired: "Ser Brynden, was the journey smooth?"
"Did you see my cousin, Ser Qyburn Mull?"
"He said he was going to deal with some escaped slaves. By now, he should be back."
"I want to introduce him to you, a powerful and honorable Knight, personally knighted by me."
The air instantly solidified. The Black Lion's lips moved, but no sound came out.
Arthur was expressionless, while Brin and the other Knights instinctively avoided Horn's gaze.
The smile on Horn Mull's face slowly disappeared. The atmosphere was strange, but he was not a fool; something was definitely wrong.
In the castle hall, the fireplace fire burned brightly, but it could not dispel the chill between everyone. To break the suffocating awkwardness,
The Black Lion cleared his throat, pointed at Arthur, and spoke first: "Lord Horn, we are here to negotiate the land dispute between you and him."
At the mention of land and negotiation, Horn Mull immediately perked up, his expression replaced by a smile: "Of course! Ser! Negotiation is the best way to solve problems!"
He stood up and looked at Arthur, overtly scrutinizing him from head to toe: "I heard the Black Lion captured Willow Wood City and gained a lot of spoils. He must be a very wealthy lord now!"
His meaning was clear: as long as there were enough gold dragons, returning the land was not a problem.
Arthur ignored his hint, merely raising his goblet and gently swirling the ale inside.
Just then, a Mull Family soldier stumbled into the hall. His armor was still stained with mud and blood; he was Ser Qyburn's squire from the earlier Trial by combat.
He looked at the Black Lion and Arthur, then rushed directly to Horn Mull, urgently whispering something in his ear.
Everyone in the hall focused their attention on them.
The Black Lion saw Horn Mull's joy visibly fade, changing from a vibrant red to a shocked pallor, and finally, turning into an enraged dark green.
Horn Mull slammed his fist on the table, supporting himself on the oak long table with his hands, veins bulging on his forearms. The entire table shook violently from his strength, and the goblets on it clinked.
He glared at Arthur, then glanced at the Black Lion, squeezing out a few words through gritted teeth: "You! How do you want to negotiate!!!"
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop to freezing point instantly.
The Black Lion sighed deeply. He knew things had spiraled into the worst possible situation. He looked at Arthur, signaling him with his eyes to say some conciliatory words, even a false apology would do.
After all, Qyburn had died in a Trial by combat, which was not particularly shameful for the Knights of the Vale who valued chivalry. It would just raise the subsequent negotiation price by several notches.
He turned his head, looking at Horn Mull, just about to personally mediate.
Arthur's voice rang out, still so calm, devoid of any emotion: "Lord Horn Mull."
The Black Lion's heart lightened, thinking he was about to concede.
"I challenge you to a Trial by combat."
Arthur continued.
"To resolve the land dispute between us."
The entire hall was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Horn Mull was stunned, his face, twisted with anger, now filled with bewilderment.
There was another loud thud as a hand slammed on the table, but this time it was not Horn Mull, but Brynden Tully.
Brynden Tully could no longer maintain his composure. He suddenly stood up from his seat, his chair falling backward with a dull thud.
He glanced at the unperturbed Arthur, then at the bewildered and shocked Horn Mull.
Finally, he said nothing. The battle-hardened old Knight turned and strode out of the castle.
He left without looking back, as if having made some kind of decision.
Leaving a room full of shock, anger, and astonishment behind him.
-------------------------
If you enjoy this story, you can read 70+ advanced chapters on Patreon!
Webnovel will keep getting 1 new chapter every day but Patreon readers can stay far ahead.
Maybe it's not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
[email protected]/Greyhounds
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"