Reform Begins in the Westerlands; In This Moment, the Old Era Was Declared Over

Horseshoes clattered against the gravel road, producing a monotonous, tedious sound.

Other than that, there was only the wind.

Tyrion Lannister rode alone, his old horse gaunt beneath him.

The Riverlanders had tossed it to him carelessly.

There were no guards, no attendants.

Even the crimson velvet coat that symbolized the glory of the Lannister family had become a rag smeared with mud and blood.

It hung from his deformed body.

The arrow wound in his right shoulder still throbbed faintly. Every jolt of the saddle felt like a saw grinding back and forth across his bones.

But he could not feel the pain.

A numbness deeper than pain had engulfed him.

I should not be alive.

That thought had circled through his mind the entire way.

Suleiman had not killed him. The Black Lion, his peer, had merely waved a hand and set him free.

"My punishment for you will be harsher."

"I will forgive you."

"You will be granted freedom."

His words still echoed endlessly in Tyrion's mind. This punishment was truly too cruel.

Tyrion Lannister reined in his horse and stared blankly at the fork in the road ahead.

Deep Den lay to the west, and The Reach to the south.

Where should I go?

The Westerlands' army had vanished like ash. It had been utterly annihilated—nothing like it had ever happened before.

Under his command, they had all become mountains of corpses piled along the riverbank.

He was a sinner of the Westerlands.

Return to the Westerlands?

Those Westerlands lords who had escaped by chance probably wanted nothing more than to devour Lannister flesh alive.

Perhaps they would seize him, offer him up like a sacrificial scapegoat, and drag him to King's Landing.

They would beg forgiveness from the Targaryen's new king.

And even if he