Wolf Hour-The Mercy of the Gods

"Day Seven".

As Thoros watched the Westerlands army struggling and screaming in the Wildfire, like insects thrown into flames, a number suddenly popped into his mind.

Today marks the seventh day since they stormed King's King's Landing, from narrowly holding off Tyrell's army at the River Gate to now luring Tywin's army into a trap.

He looked toward the Red Keep, where the flags on the walls had changed, and Thoros knew that the crown of victory had already been claimed.

"Long live Jon Snow - Kill!"

Thoros suddenly heard a shout, and the soldiers who had been lying in ambush jumped out and headed straight for the still-burning Wildfire.

Perhaps it was because of the time, or perhaps it was because of the spell, but Aerys's Wildfire was not as powerful as Tyrion's, yet it still coiled around the army that had entered the vicinity like a venomous snake, causing their morale to collapse.

Meanwhile, soldiers from all directions, including those from the Riverlands, the North, and the Mountain Clans, were ready to deliver the final blow.

When an organized army confronts an unorganized army, it's a one-sided massacre.

Thoros had witnessed many scenes of Westerlands armies ravaging fields and villages along the way, and therefore felt no pity whatsoever.

He drew his longsword, ran his hand across it, and flames enveloped the blade as he charged into the battle.

The soldiers in the Westerlands had to deal with Wildfire sticking to their bodies and also face attacks from ambushing armies; they were no match for them.

Encircle, divide, annihilate—under Beric Dondarrion's command, he acted as if he were butchering and dismembering his prey.

Two or three hours later, the battle was nearing its end. Of the more than 10,000 Westerlands Army soldiers who had stormed into the city, nearly 5,000 were captured, and more than 3,000 were killed in the first wave of explosions.

Long live Jon!

Long North!

Long Riverlands!

Just as everyone was celebrating their victory, it started raining again, and the rain came down hard and fast.

The rain extinguished the green Wildfire that was still burning like wildflowers by the roadside, and washed away the blood and mud from the soldiers' faces, like a mother's gentle caress.

"Is this the mercy of the gods?" Thoros reached out to catch the rain in surprise, only to find that the rain was still falling on their side of the battlefield, while the sun was still shining brightly not far away.

Thoros was a follower of the Lord of Light, and seeing this scene directly triggered his religious instincts. He actually closed his eyes, looked up at the sky, and begged for forgiveness.

He believed that perhaps the gods were disgusted by their excessive killing, so they sent rain to soothe the pain of humankind.

Thoros suddenly remembered that shortly after the Battle of the Blackwater ended that day, heavy rain had also fallen on the Blackwater.

The two consecutive coincidences made him uneasy.

If Jon were here, he would tell him it's just a physical effect.

King's Landing's Landing is located on the coast with abundant moisture, so the Wildfire essentially triggered rainfall in advance.

"Sir! Sir!" Thoros turned around and saw a young man with brown hair coming to his side.

It was Monde. At this moment, Monde's face was also pitch black, but his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.

"My lord, Tywin's army has withdrawn!"

"They withdrew?!" Thoros snapped out of his grief and couldn't help but feel puzzled.

Logically, Tywin shouldn't have received news that Jon Snow had already captured the Red Keep; he should have halted the attack before making further preparations.

However, it could also be Tywin's intuition.

Since Jon possesses Wildfire as a weapon, it's reasonable for him to use it to attack the Red Keep.

It is also possible that Tywin realized he had suffered heavy losses and that the siege was hopeless, and that he suspected Tyrell might defect, so he withdrew to preserve as much strength as possible.

But now, in his view, neither situation mattered anymore; what mattered was that they had defended King's Landing, the Lannister had retreated, and the Tyrell could no longer continue their attack.

What follows is a tug-of-war and negotiation among the various forces, and the reasons for the war, at least the biggest reason, have been dispelled, so the civilians of the Seven Kingdoms may be able to get a breather.

Sure enough, news of Tywin's Golden Lion Army collapsing and fleeing westward like melting snow spread like Wildfire among the camps King's Landing.

The first person to ignite this fire and precisely control its direction of combustion was Jon Snow.

Only he could use the momentum of a stunning victory to make those disheartened remnants of the Westerlands obey orders in the shortest time, fleeing home in panic without even the courage to look back.

The second person to know the news was Mace Tyrell, the commander of the Reach army, who had just been an "ally." When the scouts brought news that Tywin had fled and Jon had taken control of the Red Keep, Mace felt as if he were back at Storm's End's End. Once again, he had meticulously prepared and given his all, only to find that he hadn't even touched the edge of the stage. All the spotlight and applause were on someone he had never truly taken seriously.

Last time it was Stannis, this time it was Jon Snow. Lord Mace sullenly downed a large glass of golden wine from Arbor, the bitter liquid unable to dispel the suffocation in his throat.

He stationed tens of thousands of troops outside the city, wasting money and supplies, but in the end, he only benefited others, making a great name for himself as a bastard in the North.

All I can say is that the Lord Mace is truly an "honest and kind man."

Compared to Mace, who was merely feeling frustrated and defeated, Petyr Baelish was experiencing a chilling, pinprick-like fear.

Mace the vast fields of Highgarden and tens of thousands of troops as his backing, no matter how much Stannis or anyone else disliked him, they could not shake the foundation of House Tyrell.

But what did he have on his Littlefinger? A few bags of gold coins, a title that was all but worthless, and a bunch of shady conspiracies. Under Stannis's hammer of "absolute justice," a "disloyal subject" like him was the perfect sacrifice. Speculation was outdated; the question now was: how to survive.

He had to squeeze through a crack before the new regime completely shut down, exchanging a sufficiently substantial "pledge of allegiance" for his right to survive.

"Your Grace," Petyr entered Mace's tent, which reeked of alcohol and decadence, his face bearing his most adept mask of concern and humility, "The situation is now clear. Jon Snow has taken the Red Keep, Joffrey."

They must have met with certain death. The elite of the Westerlands are wiped out, and Lord Tywin is like a dog with its tail between its legs. Now is the time to demonstrate Highgarden's strength and foresight.

Mace waved his hand dismissively, his belly jiggling with the movement. "Show off? Show off what? Go back to Highgarden! Stannis's forces have suffered heavy losses. Does he dare to attack me again? At worst, I'll just acknowledge him as king." His thinking was simple: retreat to the South, and he would still be the Duke of the Reach and the Warden of the South.

Seeing Mace's expression, Petyr felt his stomach churn, but his smile grew even more earnest, "My lord, Stannis certainly wouldn't dare to openly oppose Highgarden. But have you considered what will happen after he sits on the Iron Throne? The House Florent of Brightwater Keep, Queen Selyse's family, has always prided themselves on possessing the purer ' Gardener bloodline.' If His Majesty were to grant Florent part of the Reach under the pretext of 'treason' to reward their loyalty—wouldn't that be a never-ending source of trouble?"

Mace's eyes widened, as if this was the first time he had thought of it. Petyr silently prayed: God help me, this slow-witted lion has finally caught a whiff of blood.

"What does the adult mean?"

"Pursue Tywin!" Petyr's voice was low but carried a seductive power. "Use the submission of the entire Westerlands, or at least Tywin's head, as a House Tyrell Stannis for his coronation. This will not only resolve the previous..."

The misunderstanding will allow Stannis to see who the true pillars of his power are in pacifying the Seven Kingdoms and bringing prosperity. This is not fear, my lord; it is a visionary foresight, a way to keep Highgarden forever free from unnecessary conflict.

Mace stroked his double chin, lost in thought. Plundering the wealthy Westerlands did indeed sound tempting, and it would certainly save face.

Just then, the tent flap was flung open, and his second son, Loras Tyrell, strode in, his handsome face covered with a layer of frost. "Father," his voice was tense, "Joffrey is dead. That— Jon Snow —sent his head."

A chill ran down Petyr's spine as he looked at the exquisite wooden box Loras held. Jon's actions were too swift and ruthless! He immediately raised his stakes. "My lord! The opportunity is fleeting! Tywin isn't far! If we send troops now, we can still catch him by the tail!"

"We're attacking the Lannister?" Loras immediately turned to Petyr, his eyes filled with knightly honor. "They are our allies! How could the House Tyrell commit such a treacherous act?"

Petyr cursed inwardly at this beautiful fool whose brain had been corrupted by chivalry. His mind raced, and he immediately found a way in. He turned to Mace and said in a tone of pure concern for the other man, "My lord, such a momentous decision—shouldn't we—consult Lady Olenna as soon as possible? Her wisdom always guides us in the brightest direction."