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"Cough... Phyles, you stay here with your group and organize the smallfolk to put out the fire. The rest of you, come with me. We're going after them!"
After they had finished off the enemies in the stepped alley, the captain of the Gold Cloaks coughed a few times, rattled off his orders, and ran off with his men in the direction Edd's group had broken through.
"Cough, ptui! Bastard. When it was time to risk our necks, he sent us first. Now that there's a chance to claim the credit, he's the one running ahead."
Phyles, who had been left behind with seven Gold Cloaks to put out the fire, spat in the direction the captain had gone and cursed loudly.
"Cough, cough! Move it and drag those smallfolk out of the houses to help put out the fire. If this gets out of control, they'll all die."
After cursing a few more times and ending up coughing even harder because of the thick smoke, Phyles turned to the men in his group and gave the order.
Watching his companions move away, and coughing nonstop because of the smoke, Phyles suddenly had an idea. He sat down on top of a corpse. Since most of the smoke hung around head height, the air felt less suffocating sitting there.
Footsteps, footsteps, footsteps!
A string of hurried footsteps came toward him. When he looked up, he saw that it was the other two encircling groups arriving.
"The criminals broke through that way!"
Recognizing a few familiar faces among the men coming, Phyles immediately pointed in the direction the captain had gone and shouted.
Go on, then, and fight over the credit. Don't let that damned captain take it all for himself.
As he watched the soldiers from the two groups rush past him, he wished that silently.
When the two groups had disappeared completely down the northeastern street and the men from his own group still had not come back, Phyles, with nothing else to do, let his gaze drift to the corpses scattered across the ground.
Since I'm not getting any credit anyway, maybe I can at least make a little money.
Thinking that, he immediately bent down and began patting through the fallen bodies. It did not matter whether he found silver stags or copper pennies, nor whether they were smeared with blood. He simply stuffed everything into his sleeves and boots.
When he saw, slumped crookedly against the wall at the bend of the alley, a corpse with its face covered in blood, his eyes lit up.
Although the dead man was wearing a worn leather jerkin, Phyles, seasoned in the ways of King's Landing, could tell at a glance that the lining inside the garment was worth a fair bit.
Now I've struck it rich.
That thought flashed through his mind, and he immediately abandoned the rest of the search and hurried over to the body.
Just as he was bending down to frisk it, the "corpse" suddenly opened its eyes.
"Ungh, ungh!"
Robb, who had been pretending to be dead, shot both hands forward like lightning and seized the Gold Cloak by the throat.
The brutal strength in his hands cut off any cry for help. The man clawed at Robb's wrists, struggling desperately to break free.
But Robb's arms were like an iron vise, locked around his neck without budging an inch.
Little by little, Phyles's entire face turned blue-purple. His eyes filled with blood and bulged from their sockets like those of a dead fish.
When the signs of life finally vanished, Robb released his throat, shoved the corpse aside, and rose at once.
He cast one last deep look at the three Winterfell riders who had chosen to stay behind of their own will. Their bodies, trampled countless times, were in a terrible state.
Biting down hard on his lip, Robb snatched the sword from the belt of a fallen Gold Cloak and ran southwest, exactly the opposite direction from the path Edd's group had taken.
By using Edd and the others as bait to draw the enemy toward the northeastern exit, and taking advantage of the fire and smoke as a distraction, Robb had pretended to be a corpse while waiting for a chance to break out alone through the Street of Steel to the southwest, a route he already knew better.
If he was right, and there truly was an informant hidden among Edd's group who did not want to reveal himself, then at least some of them should be able to survive.
Was Robb's plan cruel?
By the standards of his past life, it was extremely cruel. If there was no informant in Edd's group, then, pursued by so many enemies, it would be very hard for them to survive.
Using others as bait so he could escape alone. If some moralizing saint from his past life had seen that, they would surely have climbed onto a pedestal of virtue to condemn him.
But in this world, not one of those Winterfell riders had objected to the plan.
Even knowing they would probably die, they had still charged forward without fear, fighting to the end to create the illusion needed to draw all the enemies away.
Of course, Robb would never let them die in vain. He would take very good care of the families they left behind.
Just as he had expected, all the enemy's attention was fixed on Edd's group. Not a single Gold Cloak or Lannister soldier could be seen in Cobbler's Square.
Keeping close to walls, shops, and piles of debris in the street to stay hidden, Robb made his way southwest toward the Street of Steel.
On one of the streets, twenty Lannister soldiers were waiting in silent formation.
Watching the smoke rising from the square and hearing in the distance the unceasing cries of battle and agony, Janos Slynt, commander of the Gold Cloaks, swallowed hard, his face tense.
Too restless to remain silent any longer, he turned to Jaime Lannister, who stood beside him, whistling as calmly as ever while trimming the nails of his left hand with a small dagger in his right, and asked:
"Lord Jaime, are we really just going to wait here?"
"Why do you think I had most of your Gold Cloaks brought over to the Gate of the Gods side?
Because those northern barbarians, at the first moment, will definitely try to escape that way so they can get back to that frozen land.
If all goes well, they'll be driven straight to us before long."
Hearing Janos's question, Jaime stopped whistling, glanced sideways at him, and replied with a smile.
Janos almost reflexively asked the next question:
"And if it doesn't go well?"
"That's why we're waiting here.
I very much doubt that wolf pup will be captured so easily.
But with the trap we've set, they aren't getting out of here today no matter what.
In truth, ever since that time in Winterfell, when I saw him deliver that strike, I've wanted to test my sword against his with my own hands."
As he answered Janos's question, Jaime finished with a clear gleam of anticipation on his face.
"So that's why you insisted on staying here in person. But they could still break out through the other side, couldn't they?"
After hearing him out, Janos nodded thoughtfully.
"They won't get through the Gate of the Gods no matter what. And that boy shouldn't be stupid enough to run toward the sept, where the hidden archers are waiting.
So that leaves one side or the other, more or less a one-in-two chance. And my luck has never been bad."
Jaime replied confidently, clearly pleased with his own analysis.
Suddenly, something occurred to him. The smile vanished from his face, and he said in a low voice:
"If they choose the other side... then we'd best already start thinking about how to explain to the queen why the Stark pup ended up chopped into mincemeat."
"Kill them!"
Janos, who had been about to continue the conversation, suddenly heard shouts of combat from ahead and turned tensely to look.
As the shouts drew closer, Jaime put away the dagger, straightened up, and grinned from ear to ear.
"Looks like I was right again."
Robb, now only one more street away from breaking completely out of the encirclement, had just rounded a corner when he stopped short.
Carried by his momentum, he still took a few more steps before managing to plant his feet firmly.
Looking at the formation drawn up right there at the intersection, he shook his head with a helpless expression and said to the man blocking his way:
"You're not going to let me pass, are you?"
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