The Westerosi's Blessing, Blood Crusade

Suleiman glanced at William Mooton without saying a word.

The glance was light, yet it weighed on William Mooton's chest like a massive boulder.

The thunderous roar he had just unleashed vanished into nothing beneath that single look.

Without Suleiman's command, the guards at the tent entrance did not move an inch, as though they had not heard William Mooton's words.

Gyles Leger stood frozen in place, his face alternating between red and white.

William Mooton had offered him a ladder, but Suleiman had pulled the ground out from beneath it.

Left hanging in midair, unable to go up or down, he had no idea what to do and became the greatest joke in the tent.

Inwardly, he cursed Suleiman and William Mooton, yet he did not dare make the slightest movement.

The other lords all lowered their heads. None dared look at him, much less speak for him.

Time passed amid the deathly silence, every breath like a dull blade carving into Gyles Leger's dignity.

In the end, Suleiman did nothing.

He did not even look at Gyles Leger again, as though the man did not exist.

"I have defeated the Westerlands and the two Vances."

His voice was flat, without the slightest ripple.

As soon as he finished speaking, the tent flap was violently thrown open, and several personal guards entered.

They tossed bundles of rolled-up banners onto the ground with dull thuds.

The banners unfurled, revealing the sigils stained with mud and blood.

Golden lions, boars, bantams...

Lannister, Crakehall, Swyft.

The two Vances, Piper...

Every banner represented an illustrious house, an army that had been crushed.

The lords in the tent seemed to stop breathing at once.

Their eyes widened as they stared at the banners on the ground, immense shock seizing their hearts.

So Suleiman's disappearance