The cold river wind from the Blue Fork River swept across Bronn's cheeks.
He leaned against a bare, dead tree, his chest heaving violently. Each breath pulled at the sword wound beneath his ribs, causing excruciating pain.
Seven or eight bodies lay on the ground, some from the opposing side, some from his own, blood flowing freely.
Bronn's cold gaze swept around. Over fifty figures formed a silent encirclement. They wore ordinary leather armor, but their posture and the way they held their swords exuded the demeanor of elite soldiers.
There were no insignia or items on them to identify them, only the undisguised killing intent in their eyes.
Back in Li River City, he saw that the situation was not right. While Bethen was arguing with the Frey soldiers guarding the river, he immediately led his men away from Bethen's group. As he expected, they hadn't gone far when the Frey Family's people instantly changed their expressions, seizing both people and goods.
Two choices: north or south. The North, that damned place, was freezing cold and offered few opportunities. The Lannister Family's fleet had been burned, so they definitely wouldn't continue pursuing him. He thought about heading south, assuming he wouldn't encounter any Lannister Family members. He never imagined that when a person's luck turned bad, even drinking cold water could choke him.
He truly was ridiculous. He had successfully escaped in Luanhe City and even lamented his good luck, only to run into trouble immediately after.
Bronn spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the reddened mud in front of him: "Damn it... I really messed up this time."
He recalled earlier, outside Deep Valley, he had used the gold dragons Arthur gave him to recruit over a hundred men. He had a sudden idea: before returning to Arthur's territory, he would earn some extra cash.
That seemingly lucrative merchant caravan was his carefully chosen target. Who would have thought that beneath this fat meat lay an iron plate that could break all his teeth, bringing him a death sentence? His group of over a hundred men was pursued until only five remained, and now only one was left.
Bronn recalled what Arthur had once said, that people should be content. He felt a complex mix of emotions, a hint of sighing within: "If only I had known, I would have honestly returned to that kid Arthur's territory and taken his blood money."
He took a deep breath, suppressing the sharp pain from his wound, and forced out what he believed was his most innocent, least desperate smile. He spread his hands, palms up, trying to appear harmless to the other side:
"Hey, brothers, is there some misunderstanding here?"
His voice sounded relaxed, with a hint of street-smart slickness.
"We're just passing mercenaries, just earned some blood money in Seaguard. We don't have much money left now; it all went to the women in Seaguard. We're just heading home."
He pointed to his dead brothers on the ground, a perfectly timed sadness on his face: "Look, these are all friends from my village, poor souls."
The encirclement remained motionless. No one paid attention to his performance. The silent pressure weighed even heavier on Bronn. He felt like a clown, just like that Bethen, doing useless work outside Luanhe City, and this time he was playing the role of Bethen.
Finally, a gap opened in the encirclement, and a middle-aged man slowly emerged. He was tall, with neatly combed golden hair that stood out against the gray sky, clearly displaying the prominent features of the Lannister Family.
His eyes were cold, as if he were examining an animal about to lose its life:
"You are Bronn."
It wasn't a question. The man ignored Bronn's solo act, merely stating it in a flat, factual tone. The smile on Bronn's face froze.
The man continued, still in a declarative sentence, without any emotional fluctuation: "You ambushed Roderick's merchant caravan."
Bronn's voice was dry. The other party had clearly identified him; there was no chance for sophistry. The last shred of hope in his heart was crushed bit by bit: "And who are you, my lord?"
The man took off his outer robe and handed it to a soldier nearby, his golden hair unmoving in the wind: "I am Damon Lannister."
The name Lannister Family hit Bronn's heart like a giant rock, instantly making his head spin. He knew that today's matter could not be resolved peacefully. Any sophistry seemed pale and ridiculous in the face of the Lannister Family name.
The smile completely vanished from his face, replaced by a resigned calm. He had indeed intended to use the gold dragons Arthur gave him to pull off a big job, to earn some capital for his future, and then to earn Arthur's blood money. He never expected that this extra job he robbed would lead to a deadly feud with the Lannister Family.
Bronn knew he was dead. A feud with the Lannister Family couldn't be resolved with a few kind words.
He relaxed instead, his body no longer tense, even showing a bitter, self-mocking grin:
"How ridiculous. After working for most of my life, in the end, all I wish for is a quick death."
He looked at Damon Lannister, raising his head, and asked in an almost challenging tone: "Alright, Lord Lannister."
"Since I'm going to die anyway, can you satisfy a small curiosity of mine?"
Damon Lannister's eyebrow twitched slightly, seemingly surprised by his attitude: "Speak, mercenary."
Bronn bared his teeth, stained red with blood: "Tell me, who exactly was that unlucky fellow I killed in the merchant caravan, the one pretending to be the captain of the guard?"
"I at least deserve to know how much my worthless life is worth, right?"
A ripple passed through Damon Lannister's eyes, but his tone remained cold, as if he were going through a necessary procedure. He countered: "So, you admit your crime?"
Bronn tilted his head back and laughed mockingly: "Since I'm going to die either way, what's there to not admit?"
"Just tell me quickly, so I can die with understanding."
"And let me know how great a deed I, Bronn, accomplished in my life."
Damon Lannister looked up at the pale sky. The cold river wind from the Blue Fork River seemed to pick up.
His voice, filled with sorrow, cut through the whistling wind and clearly reached Bronn's ears: "Lord Gillian Lannister."
The smile on Bronn's face froze, and he gasped. He now understood why the Lannister Family was relentlessly pursuing him to the death.
Damon Lannister's voice continued, each word like a heavy hammer, attempting to pronounce his death sentence, striking his heart: "The youngest brother of the Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister."
His gaze returned to Bronn, and in that gaze, besides coldness, there was a hint of almost imperceptible pain and anger. A merchant named Roderick came to Casterly Rock for a secret audience. This damned merchant told Lord Tywin that he wanted to seek cooperation but intended to play hard to get. He was locked in the deepest dungeon of Casterly Rock by Lord Tywin and confessed everything in just one night.
The news was about a treasure called'Spectacles' in the territory of a small lord in the Riverlands, who was now rising to prominence, the Black Lion.
And Tyrell Family intended to monopolize this business and earn the first huge profit from it.
Lord Gillian was always curious about new things. He strongly petitioned to lead a team of elite soldiers, disguised as merchant caravan guards, to go with Roderick to retrieve the goods.
They successfully obtained the goods but completely disappeared on their way back to the West.
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