Robert. Baratheon's laughter echoed in the tent, with pride.
He had just set up a bet that he thought was extremely fair, a conspiracy that could silence everyone.
Eddard. Stark looked at his friend in silence, his face swollen from excessive drinking.
Full of childish defiance that a king should not have.
The vassals in the tent looked at each other, and no one dared to say anything more.
The king has made a decision, a decision that hangs the fate of House Lychester on a thread.
At this moment, the tent door curtain was violently opened again.
This time the person who rushed in was not an attendant, but a Crownlands nobleman with a ferocious face.
He didn't even have time to salute before he fell to the ground, his voice hoarse from extreme sadness.
"Your Majesty!"
The smile on Robert. Baratheon's face froze. He hated being disturbed when he was in the mood.
"What's the matter!" he shouted impatiently, "Is the sky falling?"
The noble raised his head, his face full of anger.
"It's worse than the sky falling, Your Majesty!"
"Riverlands...
...Riverlands rebelled!"
In one sentence, like a cold wave from the North, it instantly froze all the sounds and temperatures in the tent.
Robert. Baratheon The blood on his face faded.
He stepped forward, his huge body carrying a strong sense of oppression.
"What did you say? Speak clearly!"
The nobleman gasped and shouted with all his strength, "House Lychester! In the name of conquering Usurper! Raise troops at Riverlands!"
"Suleiman has led his army all the way south, like a flood!"
"All the castles along the way are either fleeing or surrendering! No one can stop them!"
"King's Landing...
...King's Landing is in danger!"
Quiet.
Deathly silence.
The air seemed to solidify, making everyone breathless.
The vassals who had been talking about each other just now were like chickens that had their throats strangled, their eyes widened, and their faces were full of disbelief.
Riverlands, starting a rebellion?
House Lychester, that family that was protected by the king in every possible way, even quarreling with Hand of the King and the vassals to save it, openly raised the banner of rebellion?
Robert. Baratheon stood there, motionless.
His blue eyes were fixed on the knight on the ground, as if he wanted to see traces of lying on the other person's face.
But there was only endless fear on that face.
"Suleiman..
Robert. Baratheon's lips moved and spit out a name.
This was a name he was defending and proud of just now, and even used it to make a bet with his best friend.
Now, this name has become the loudest slap in the face, hitting him hard in the face.
"Ha!"
A dry laugh squeezed out of Robert. Baratheon's throat.
He slowly turned around and looked at Eddard, Stark.
"Ned...
His voice was very soft, with a hint of trembling.
"Did you hear that?"
"He said... He said Suleiman was reversed."
Eddard. Stark looked at him, there was no ridicule in those gray eyes, no pride of "I told you so", only a deep sadness and solemnity.
He was in no mood to laugh at his friends, let alone mention the bet that had just been established.
The rebel Suleiman is precisely the person Robert promoted, reused, and trusted.
This shocking change was like the sharpest needle, instantly piercing the gorgeous and false scene of Seven Kingdoms.
Second Usurper War.
Seven Kingdoms The crisis that has been hidden for a long time has swept everyone away in the most intense and ruthless way.
"No way!"
Robert. Baratheon suddenly let out a deafening roar.
Like a mad bull, he rushed towards the huge war sand table and kicked it over with one kick!
The heavy wooden table crashed to the ground, and the carefully arranged army models, maps, wine glasses, and barbecue were scattered all over the floor.
"He's lying!"
Robert. Baratheon's eyes were bloodshot. He pointed at the noble who reported the message and roared at everyone in the tent.
"This is a conspiracy! It's old Arryn! He wants to force me to kill that kid!"
"He's jealous! You're all jealous!"
He was like a caged beast, pacing wildly in the tent, his loud breathing sound like a worn-out bellows.
No one dared to answer the phone at this time.
The king has lost his mind.
Eddard. Stark bent down and picked up a wine-stained map from the mess.
That is the whole map of Westeros.
His eyes fell on Riverlands, then slowly moved down, finally stopping at King's Landing.
His heart sank a little bit.
"Robert."
Eddard. Stark's voice is not loud, but like an ice cube thrown into boiling water, it carries a calming power.
"Now is not the time to be angry."
Robert. Baratheon suddenly stopped and turned to glare at him.
"What else do you want to say? Ned! Do you also want to say that I am wrong?"
"You want to say you won that damn bet?"
"Yes! You win!"
He waved his thick arms, his voice full of self-deprecation and rage.
"I am an idiot! An idiot king who was manipulated by a young boy!"
"I gave my trust to a traitor! I quarreled with all of you over a traitor!"
"Are you all satisfied?!"
Eddard. Stark spread the map on another small table that survived the disaster, and pressed the rolled-up corners with the end of the dagger.
"Your anger cannot kill Suleiman."
He raised his head and looked directly into Robert. Baratheon's blood-red eyes.
"Your roar can't stop his army from approaching King's Landing."
"If you don't think of a solution, your Iron Throne will change its owner!"
These words were like a basin of ice water poured over the anger of Robert. Baratheon.
He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling like the sea in a storm.
The vassals in the tent did not dare to show their anger and looked at the guardian of the North in awe.
Only Eddard. Stark dared to speak to the king in such straightforward and even offensive language when he was furious.
Robert. Baratheon stared at Eddard. Stark, as if he wanted to burn him through with his gaze.
After a long time, the madness in his eyes gradually faded away, replaced by a deeper and colder darkness.
That's the look that only appears when facing Rhaegar. Targaryen next to Trident.
The look that belongs to Warrior.
"You're right, Ned."
Robert. Baratheon's voice was hoarse, but it regained the majesty of the king.
He walked to the tent door and opened the curtain.
The cold and biting sea breeze blew in, making his black beard dance wildly.
He looked at the gray sky and rough sea outside and was silent for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice was terrifyingly calm.
"I want Suleiman's head."
"No.
He shook his head and grinned, showing his white teeth. There was no warmth in that smile.
"I want to capture him alive."
"I want to tear him apart inch by inch with my own hands in front of all the nobles of Seven Kingdoms!"
The setting sun was like blood, dyeing the plains of West Riverlands a miserable dark red.
An army of six thousand men went out to fight, but now there are only a thousand remnants left, with broken flags, like a group of hares being chased by the Hound in a panic.
The army was defeated like a mountain, the horses' hoofbeats were tired and chaotic, and a thousand people had discarded their helmets and armor, and their armor rubbed against their wounds.
Everyone's face was smeared with soot and blood, and their eyes were empty.
Afterwards, the invisible West Riverlands pursuers were like maggots on the tarsal bones, biting so hard that they did not dare to stop for even a moment.
Patrick. Morrison was lying on the horse, his helmet had long since disappeared, and his face was covered with dried blood and mud.
His eyes were empty, swaying with the bumps of the horse, as if his soul had been left behind on that tragic battlefield.
Sir Old Lopin rides his horse closer to Patrick. Morrison.
His gray hair was blown to pieces by the cold wind, his plate armor was covered with knife marks, and the armor on his left arm even rolled up, revealing the blood-oozing linen shirt underneath.
But the old man's voice remained calm. "Victory and defeat are common things in this world, Master Morrison."
"Whoever commands an army can claim to be undefeated in his life? He can only assemble his army and fight again."
Patrick. Morrison turned his head sharply, his bloodshot eyes filled with grief, anger and regret at this moment.
Tears welled up in his eyes, mixing with the mud on his face and leaving two muddy traces.
"I regret it!"
He pulled at his hair in pain, his knuckles turning white from the force.
"I regret not listening to Mr. Suleiman's plan! Not listening to your advice!"
The scene of disastrous defeat washed over and over again in his mind.
Molle. Smallwood keeps sending troops to harass, humiliate, and provoke.
He thought that Smallwood had only a thousand soldiers and that his own army was several times that of the enemy. He was so excited that he decided to fight to the end.
Old Lopin Sir persuaded himself at that time, "If we win this battle, it will not have any impact on the overall situation."
"If we fail, it will affect the overall situation."
He doesn't listen.
The old knight took a step back and advised again, "If you insist on fighting, sir."
"We should also inform Lushen's army so that they can be prepared and prepare for us at any time."
He still didn't listen.
He felt that this war could be resolved in a few days without anyone else needing to intervene.
As a result, House Smallwood actually held on to the castle and fought to the end.
Just when he was putting all his main forces into a fierce battle, the West Riverlands coalition army swept in from the flanks.
The army was defeated like a mountain.
What made him even more heartbroken was that the first person to comfort him was Sir Old Lopin.
The old man's eldest son died on the battlefield in this stupid offensive launched by him.
Guilt and pain turned into hot tears, sealing his throat.
Patrick. Morrison turned his head, no longer daring to look into Sir Old Lopin's sad eyes.
The team finally arrived at the castle of Resting City, Resting City House Vance.
Patrick. Morrison is preparing to occupy the city and hold on to fight to the death, holding back West Riverlands's army and buying time for Lushen.
However, the city gate that was expected to open slowly was instead closed like steel.
The suspension bridge hangs high and motionless.
The city walls were lined with archers, their arrows shining with an icy cold light in the setting sun.
He stared blankly at the familiar figure on the city wall.
"Uncle! What do you mean?!"
His uncle, Ek Morrison, stood on the high wall of the castle, overlooking the defeated soldiers below the city.
"I'm sorry, little Patrick."
His voice cut through the wind, with a hint of apology.
"The House Morrison family must not be cut off like this."
"Only in this way can the family be preserved."
Patrick. Morrison stretched out his finger and pointed at the familiar yet unfamiliar face at the top of the city, trembling all over.
"You shameless person! I was so blind! I entrusted the castle to you!"
Ek. Morrison closed his eyes guiltily, as if he couldn't bear to look at it anymore.
"Only if you die can the family survive."
"Please forgive me, child."
Patrick. Morrison felt that his mind went blank, and then, overwhelming anger instantly swallowed up his reason.
It was his mistake to be defeated by the enemy.
What does it mean to entrust an important castle to a close relative out of trust?
Patrick. Morrison pointed at the city head, his whole body trembling violently, his facial features twisted together with extreme anger, becoming ferocious and terrifying.
"Ek. Morrison! I will kill you!! Even if it is parricide!! Even if you are cursed by the gods for eternity!! I will kill you!!"
He roared and swore a blood oath to the city. The oath echoed in the empty city and made the soldiers on the city wall shudder.
Ek. Morrison's face instantly turned pale, but he was determined and said no more.
"Fire the arrow!"
Arrows roared down.
The remaining soldiers below the city were caught off guard and fell instantly.
"Siege the city! I'm going to kill him!!"
Patrick. Morrison was furious, drew his sword and roared, frantically trying to rush towards the closed city gate, completely ignoring the dense rain of arrows.
Sir Old Lopin grabbed his reins tightly. "My lord! No!"
"West Riverlands's army is not far away! If we don't leave, we won't be able to leave!"
In the distance, billowing smoke and dust are already rising on the horizon, which is the sign that the West Riverlands coalition cavalry is approaching.
Patrick. Morrison roared to the sky, drew his sword and pointed at the sky, the sound was torn in the wind.
"Ah!!!"
Sir Old Lopin roared angrily, and with a strong tug, Patrick. Morrison's war horse turned around.
"Let's go!"
"I will lead the army to the rear! You must assemble your army and fight again!"
Patrick. Morrison looked at the old knight with a look of determination on his face, stretched out his hand and grabbed the old man's arm and trembled, unable to say a word.
"Take Morrison and go quickly!"
Sir Old Lopin roared at the surrounding cavalry.
The old knight's determination gave Patrick. Morrison the last chance of survival.
But West Riverlands's cavalry still pursued them closely.
Escape.
Endless escape.
Along the way, the noble knights saw that the situation was over one by one and chose to leave him, surrender, or collapse.
Patrick. Morrison is surrounded by only those civilian knights who were promoted on a large scale by Suleiman.
In the end, only twenty-eight riders were left in the dense forest and were surrounded.
Two hundred West Riverlands cavalry surrounded them from all directions, and the darkness trapped them in the middle.
The leader, wearing a crow feather cloak, is Tytos. Blackwood.
Tytos. Blackwood's voice is as gentle as ever. "Sir Morrison,"
"How are you since West Riverlands broke up?"
Patrick. Morrison leaned on his sword and leaned against a big tree, breathing heavily.
His horse had collapsed from exhaustion, and he had long been exhausted. He had to rely on external force to even stand.
But he still held his head high and responded, "Very good! Mr. Tytos!"
Tytos. Blackwood was silent for a moment, looked at this stubborn young man, and slowly said, "Kend down and surrender."
"Little Patrick, this war is over, Robert. Baratheon His Majesty will give you a lighter punishment."
"You are still young and don't deserve to die here."
Patrick. Morrison burst out laughing. The laughter echoed in the forest, full of madness.
"I was plotted by a traitor! That's why I fell into your hands! I didn't lose to you! Why should I kneel to you?!"
Tytos. Blackwood's complexion is still gentle.
"Patrick, you have been captured and are a prisoner. There is no point in using your words."
Patrick. Morrison snorted coldly, "It would be better to die!"
"Today I, Patrick. Morrison, will die here! Master Suleiman will avenge me sooner or later!"
At the mention of Suleiman, Tytos. Blackwood's eyes flashed with complicated emotions.
He shook his head. "Riverlands is lost, Suleiman is bound to be defeated, there is no way to win, it's useless to say anything."
Patrick. Morrison laughed in anger.
He took two steps forward, pushed away the civilian knight in front of him, and pointed the tip of his sword at Tytos. Blackwood's face.
"Tytos. Blackwood, you know best how you saved your life!"
"If Master Suleiman hadn't led us to rescue you at Oldstones, you would have died long ago!"
"I'm ashamed of you!"
The West Riverlands knights who were surrounded looked at each other.
Tytos. Blackwood's gentle expression finally cracked and he sighed.
He stretched out his right hand fiercely and waved forward vigorously.
Patrick. Morrison resolutely raised his sword, ready to face death.
At this moment, there were sudden shouts of killing from all directions in the forest.
Countless feather arrows were shot from among the dense branches and leaves, and the West Riverlands cavalry was caught off guard and fell instantly.
"Is there an ambush?!"
Tytos. Blackwood was shocked.
Although the enemy's armor was in tatters and looked like bandits, their numbers were so large that they instantly disrupted the formation of the West Riverlands cavalry.
He was not fond of fighting, and did not dare to engage in battle without knowing the enemy's situation. He immediately turned his horse around and led his men to retreat quickly.
Patrick. Morrison was shocked in place by this sudden change.
A man dressed as a gangster walked up to him and bowed.
"Sorry, Master Morrison."
"I am the person left by Master Suleiman in West Riverlands. My name is Will."
"I originally planned to help you, but I arrived too late and couldn't help you in time."
Patrick. Morrison The long sword in his hand fell to the ground with a sound.
His knees weakened and he fell to the ground without replying.
A surviving civilian knight next to him struggled to get up and said anxiously, "Your Excellency!"
"Please send someone quickly to inform Lushen's army! Southwest Riverlands has been defeated!"
Will looked at the knight, then at Patrick. Morrison who was kneeling on the ground, and was silent for a long time.
Finally, he sighed heavily.
"Although you did not inform Lushen, he learned that you were making moves and has led his troops away from Rushmarsh to prepare for response."
"House Frey took the opportunity to sneak attack Rushmarsh."
"Rushmarsh has fallen. Lushen led the army to retreat to the east coast of Green Fork and re-defense."
As if struck by lightning, everyone stood stunned on the spot, bowing their heads and trembling.
Pain, despair, guilt, and sadness flooded them like a tide after they had just escaped death.
"What kind of battle is this?"
A knight covered in blood threw the sword in his hand to the ground, spread his hands, looked up to the sky and cried out in sorrow, with a cry in his voice.
"What kind of battle is this?!!!"
A knight next to him knelt on the ground, clenched his hands into fists, and kept hitting the muddy ground, sobbing and neighing. "Ah!
Ah!! Ah!!!"
Patrick. Morrison seemed to have lost its soul, staring at the ground with empty eyes.
At this moment, a travel-worn messenger walked out of the crowd behind Will.
When he came to Patrick. Morrison, he didn't know what to say for a moment and reported in a low voice.
"Master Suleiman has issued an order to appoint Sir Patrick. Morrison as General of West Riverlands Military Region and Governor West Riverlands, with full authority to act! No need to ask for instructions!"
Patrick. Morrison's soul seemed to be pulled back to its body by these words.
He stood up suddenly and cried loudly.
"Master Suleiman! Master Suleiman!!"
He cried, pulled out a sword on the ground, and tried to wipe it from his neck.
Everyone was shocked, swarmed up and snatched his sword.
Patrick. Morrison struggled desperately, and a bloody gash had been cut on his neck by the sword blade, and blood was flowing out.
"Don't save me! Don't save me!!"
He kept wailing and crying.
"I ruined Mr. Suleiman's big event!!!"
Will grabbed the sword, threw it away, and sighed heavily.
He grabbed Patrick. Morrison and shook it hard, as if shaking a drowning person.
"Now we can still regroup the army! Let's fight again!"
"If you die! Who will lead the army! Who will fight again!!"
Patrick. Morrison lost his sword.
He knelt down on the ground, clenched his hands into fists, beat the wet and cold soil crazily, and screamed like a trapped animal.
"Ah!!!