His declaration was interrupted by a dull rush of air. A black hand axe spun through the howling wind and, with a thud, buried itself deep in the back of his raised head.
The cold expression on Damon's face froze. His eyes widened, his arms fell limp, and he reached for the back of his head, only to touch the cold edge of the axe and something warm and wet.
Then he crashed forward, hitting the muddy ground and splattering it with scarlet.
The silence lasted only an instant.
All around them, from the dense jungle, the thick woods, and the riverbank where the waters roared, came a sudden eruption of countless beastlike howls and shrill cries.
"Ironborn! Ironborn!"
"Damn it! Why are there Ironborn here?!"
The Lannister soldiers let out shocked roars, their voices breaking.
Countless figures burst from their green camouflage. Clad in rough leather armor and wielding axes, swords, and iron hammers, they charged at the Lannister soldiers like demons crawling out of hell.
"Take their heads!"
"Sacrifice them to the Drowned God!"
Bronn was utterly stunned. One thought rang wildly through his mind: How the hell were there Ironborn in this place?!
He instinctively shrank back, his hand reaching for the dagger at his waist. He gave a bitter smile. One kind of death had turned into another; there didn't seem to be much difference.
In his despair, a reckless thought flashed through his mind. Bronn remembered the dagger at his waist, which he had stripped from some unlucky bastard earlier. There was a faint lighthouse emblem on its hilt.
The Farwynd family of the Lonely Light.
Summoning all his strength, he roared at the chaos, "I'm a sailor from Lonely Light Island! Hadwin! Don't kill me!"
As he shouted, he charged forward instead of retreating,