A Handsome Face Was Also a Form of Combat Power

The Lannisters all knew that Lord Tywin Lannister loved Jaime Lannister most.

Jaime's own excellence only made his position in House Lannister all the more exceptional.

Tywin Lannister had always treated Tyrion with cold indifference. Even without considering Tywin's attitude toward him, Tyrion's dwarf-like appearance alone made it hard to like him and easier to look down on him.

### Though all of that was true, Jaime's affection and protection meant the Lannisters at least maintained a veneer of respect toward Tyrion.

Lancel Lannister was one of them.

But today, Lancel had seen with his own eyes how Tyrion had protected him by slapping Prince Joffrey with his own hand.

Lancel no longer felt mere polite respect for his cousin Tyrion. In his heart, he admired him.

Lancel blinked and gazed at Tyrion with gratitude and reverence.

Lancel's gaze was naturally intense. After having the same experience with him as Gryn had, Tyrion couldn't help shivering under Lancel's sparkling stare.

Tyrion avoided Lancel's gaze and patted his thigh. "Come on, let's leave and go find Little Baron. They started preparing a smoked roast ox early this morning, and beef goes best with Summer Wine."

Lancel was reminded of the scene of heads rolling and couldn't shake the shudder of horror in his heart.

Could he still stomach meat? Lancel swallowed down the churn in his stomach and thought Gryn and the others must be made of sterner stuff.

Lancel nervously glanced in the direction Prince Joffrey had gone. Seeing no one there, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief and followed Tyrion. "Cousin Tyrion, should we tell Jaime?"

Tyrion spread his hands. "Jaime and Cersei are discussing something. I don't want to bother her right now. My dear sister would love an excuse to swallow me whole."

Tyrion reassured him again. "You should calm down. I promise nothing will happen. I think we ought to focus on tonight's feast instead."

Lancel thought Tyrion made sense. He really was panicking.

As they walked, Tyrion said, "Lancel, don't just think about the horrors you saw at the execution ground. Think more about why Gryn did what he did. You might learn something useful from his actions!"

Learn from Lord Gryn's cruelty?

Lancel suddenly felt that the battlefield might not be as wonderful as he'd imagined. The figures in books were nothing like what he'd seen with his own eyes.

It was all so bloody. The battlefield must be even bloodier.

Perhaps my father had realized long ago that I wasn't suited for battle, which was why he kept me away from the army.

Tyrion was patient. "You're still focused on how bloody it was, but I have to tell you that this is, at its core, a means of governance."

"Gryn is one of the very few nobles I know who cares about the smallfolk. Perhaps he's simply gifted. Even at a young age, he may have grasped the essence of power."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Don't spend the whole time drinking and enjoying yourself later. You can ask Gryn more about governance. That knowledge will help you on the road ahead."

Lancel came back to himself and nodded. "I understand, Tyrion."

Tyrion suddenly began to worry about House Lannister's future.

Jaime was too emotional, and it seemed the only Lannisters with any brains left were Tywin and himself.

Oh, and their cousin Kevan.

Three brains might be enough, since the Lannisters had plenty of gold.

An alley in the Queens Quarter, King's Landing.

Mutton Waters raised his warhammer and charged, then swung it hard. Bones shattered in a series of crunches.

Anguy carefully straightened his blue cloak, took up his bow, nocked an arrow, and drew the string back to a full moon. With a whoosh, the arrow pierced the neck of a burly man in the distance.

Mutton smashed another enemy's head with his warhammer, spraying sticky red blood everywhere.

Mutton and Anguy were quietly competing. If one killed an enemy, the other would immediately kill one too.

Mutton shifted his shield. With a thud, he blocked an enemy's thrusting longsword.

The enemy's hands went numb from the impact of Mutton's shield. He could only watch as the warhammer came down and shattered his skull.

Of the dozen or so enemies, only two remained.

Mutton briefly gathered himself, then charged. A shield bash and a swing of his hammer left two bloody heaps behind.

Panting heavily, Mutton plopped down on a stone and lowered his helmet's visor. "Anguy, I killed one more than you. Heh."

Anguy had guessed what Mutton was up to as soon as he charged, and reluctantly put his bow away.

Anguy walked with a frown, avoiding the pools of blood on the road. His new brown boots remained completely clean.

Mutton stared blankly at Anguy's movements and said in his simple-minded way, "Anguy, your clothes and boots are going to get dirty sooner or later."

Anguy came over and carefully inspected his boots again. "Mutton, don't worry about me. This is the first time I've ever worn such a fine cloak.

"And these soft leather boots—do you know how comfortable my feet feel when I walk? I really love them.

"Seven above, you wouldn't understand. As far as I knew, only nobles dressed this way, and yet this is my soldier's cloak."

Compared with the nobles' clothes, the blue soldier's cloaks made for House Crabb were several grades lower in their dyeing and material. Anguy simply didn't know any better. It was a lovely misunderstanding.

Looks were a form of combat power, too. Gryn placed great importance on the soldiers' uniforms being attractive and uniform.

Born a commoner and later living like a wandering sellsword, this was the first time in Anguy's life that he had worn such proper, handsome clothes.

Mutton said in his simple-minded way, "Everyone goes through this. You'll get used to it after a while. We all used to wear gray cloaks. We only changed to blue ones recently."

Anguy scratched the back of his head and said sheepishly, "It might take me a little longer to get used to them."

Seeing that Anguy was interested in the clothes, Mutton added, "Let's kill a few more today. We need to hurry. There aren't that many sellswords who slipped in. Since you're the lord's personal guard, if you do well today, you might get a cloak embroidered with the Crabb Crest ahead of time."

Anguy's eyes lit up. "How come I've never seen one? Do you have one?"

Mutton nodded emphatically in his simple-minded way.

Anguy was puzzled. "How come I've never seen you wearing yours?"

Mutton chuckled and replied, "I'm afraid I'll ruin it. Unless I'm ordered to, I can't bring myself to put it on."

Anguy nodded in understanding. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go! Didn't you say there weren't many?"

"Yeah, Leyton said there were only a hundred. Not enough for us to split."

"Right, they're cutting into my fun. Um... what does the cloak look like? Could I see yours when we get back?"

Mutton fastened his warhammer. "It's blue, with Marsh Marigolds embroidered on it. The flowers are really big. If you like, you can borrow mine to wear first."

"Then I'll buy you a drink? Ah, I'm really broke right now. Once I get paid."

"Just kill a few more. After the fight, we can trade the bodies for drinks—or money."

"Who needs money? Of course we'll trade them for drinks. Mutton, let's run!"