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"Who does that bastard think he is?" Lord Celtigar cursed. "With his lowly status, he is not worthy to sit in my presence."
He picked up a stick and staggered toward Melena. "And you," he sneered, "don't think I didn't notice where your eyes were wandering. Always looking at him, weren't you? As expected, lowborn creatures are drawn to each other. Perhaps I should strip you bare and send you to him. He likes to act righteous, doesn't he? Even needing His Majesty's permission for everything."
He scoffed. "As if I can't see through his excuses. I've bedded more women than he ever will."
With a sharp crack, the stick struck Melena. She dropped to her knees, sobbing silently, too afraid to cry out.
"Filthy little whore."
He kicked her, but in his drunken clumsiness, his foot slipped. He crashed to the ground with a pained wail.
Cole returned to his quarters and stripped off his armor. Even among those inside the castle, few believed they would win. After today's brutal attack, fear and doubt would spread like wildfire. More men would consider surrendering.
The night passed quietly. Renly did not launch another assault. It wasn't until dawn that the blaring of war horns shattered the silence.
The enemy attacked again, their strategy unchanged, and the casualties on both sides mounted.
The slaughter continued for three grueling days. Both armies were exhausted. Those who came down from the walls were either gravely wounded or too drained to fight.
Cole stayed in the tower, feigning disinterest, idly tending to his sword. Others doubted Stannis, but he didn't. If the battle turned against them, there was always Melisandre's magic. One move from her, and Renly would be finished.
He was still pretending to clean his blade when a soldier suddenly bolted down from the top of the tower. Then another. And another. Before Cole could grab one and demand answers, a corpse tumbled down the stairs. The body was fresh.
That told him all he needed to know.
Cole shoved the man aside and turned to run up the steps.
Just as he reached the top, a figure burst from the ladder. His armor was unmarked, making it impossible to tell if he was friend or foe. But when the man kicked the fallen corpse out of his way, Cole didn't hesitate.
Without a word, he lunged with his sword.
The man raised his shield to block, but he was a moment too slow. Cole braced his right hand against the hilt and pushed forward with his left, driving the blade into his opponent's gut and pinning him against the stone wall. The man coughed blood, then collapsed.
The battlements were not in full retreat as Cole had feared, but a chaotic melee raged. Blades flashed, blood splattered, and the screams of the dying filled the air.
The enemy had seized control of the ladder. No wonder men had tried to flee—Cole was now trapped among the attackers.
A dozen enemy soldiers had climbed up, perhaps more. Cole didn't have time to count.
He seized a fallen spear and drove it through the back of an enemy who had his back turned. The man shrieked, but before he could react, he was swallowed by a flurry of swords.
Another soldier spotted Cole near the ladder. Within moments, three men rushed him, blades raised.
Cole yanked the spear free, stabbed one attacker, then swiftly retreated.
As he stepped back, he collided with something behind him—reinforcements.
Cole shouted, raising his sword, then drew another. He charged forward.
The moment he broke through, he cleaved through two enemies blocking his way. The group of attackers was quickly overwhelmed by the defenders, leaving only a single soldier still climbing the siege ladder.
Cole looked up.
A flash of silver.
The knight above swung his blade.
A deafening clang rang in his ears, and for an instant, it felt like his skull had been struck with a war hammer. His grip on the ladder loosened, and then—
Sky.
The blue sky above.
He was falling.
The battle on the wall was still raging, but suddenly, chaos erupted below. Cole drove his sword into another foe, but his attention was drawn to the commotion beneath the walls.
At the base of the fortress, a mass of soldiers—Renly's troops—were breaking formation, scattering in panic.
Some had even turned on each other.
And in the distance, cavalry galloped forward, chasing the deserters.
"They're running! They're running!"
A sharp, frantic voice rang in Cole's ears.
He looked at the battlefield—just moments ago, the enemy had been fierce as wolves, but now they scattered like frightened lambs.
"Lord Julius! The king has ordered all knights to gather at the gate immediately!"
A messenger rushed toward him. It wasn't surprising—after all, Cole stood out among the soldiers.
The men quickly parted to let him pass, and he hurried toward the gate. A cavalry force of about five hundred had already assembled there. At the front of the army, Cole spotted Stannis, clad in full armor.
An attendant approached, leading a warhorse outfitted in protective gear. "Ser Julius, the king has appointed you as his vanguard officer!" the man called out loudly over the restless neighing of horses and murmurs of the gathered knights.
Cole barely caught the words, but he understood Stannis's intent. The enemy was in retreat, and now was the time to press the attack. As the vanguard, it would be the cavalry of Storm's End who struck first.
Glancing around, he saw noble knights among the ranks, their eyes burning with anticipation.
Cole gritted his teeth, guided his horse alongside Stannis, and saw the king swiftly issue the order.
The moment he received it, a knight carrying the royal banner rode up beside him. With a deep groan of chains and gears, the portcullis began to rise.
With a thunderous boom, the drawbridge slammed down.
Cole raised his sword and bellowed, "Charge!"
He spurred his horse forward, leading the charge as the cavalry thundered across the bridge.
A cluster of enemy soldiers had gathered just outside the gates, but the sight of the onrushing cavalry sent them scattering like frightened birds.
From the castle walls, the charge must have looked like a wave of banners surging forward—a crowned stag with a flaming heart, a silver falcon soaring through a burning sky, and a white crab emblazoned on a field of red.
Like a razor-sharp blade, the cavalry cut into the fleeing ranks, leaving a trail of corpses in their wake.
Above the battlefield, white shadows flickered against the sky. A pair of keen blue eyes gazed down from above, taking in the chaos below.
The white dragon glided over the battlefield, its piercing gaze locking onto a retreating force still maintaining some order.
Amidst the rout, one legion was falling back in formation, bearing banners of a gold-rimmed black crowned stag, a golden rose on a green field, and the sigil of a walking huntsman.
Unlike the panicked soldiers fleeing in every direction, these troops resisted the chaos, holding ranks as they withdrew. Even so, they looked battered and desperate.
Cole and his knights surged forward, their banners flying—the half-white bird, half-flaming stag standard leading the charge.
In the confusion of battle, direction was meaningless. There was no strategy—only instinct and momentum.
Yet, somehow, this cavalry unit seemed to have eyes in the storm, never straying from their target. They cut through the chaos, heading straight for the most central enemy banner.
Even with his superior numbers, Renly couldn't form a proper battle line in the midst of this disorder.
Seated atop his armored horse, flanked by his seven Rainbow Guards, he looked around in alarm, his heart as unsettled as the battlefield itself. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure what orders to give.
Lord Randyll Tarly, ever the hardened commander, wasted no time. He immediately dispatched cavalry to halt the fleeing soldiers and signaled the royal guard to escort the king to safety.
"They're chasing us!" shouted Yellow Guard Emmon Cuy, his voice urgent.
Renly turned his gaze to the approaching cavalry. His eyes landed on the strange banner leading them—a flag he had mocked before.
Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Stannis's hounds."
Beside him, Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, yanked his reins, wheeling his horse around. His voice rang out clear and strong.
"Good Morrigan! Bryce Caron! With me—we'll hold them here!"