"No—no! Don't!"
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die here!"
"I want my mother! I want my mother! I don't want to die here!"
"Gods, save your poor servant—"
"Hahahahaha! That's it, that's it—that's the price, the price!"
"He's a demon! He's a demon!"
"He's the Stranger's incarnation! He's the reaper of lives—"
"Father Above, I pray to you—"
On the chaotic battlefield, with each rise and fall of Kal's two-handed greatsword—alongside the gilded blade—lives were cut down in that simple repetition.
Terror was born.
Fear, outcry, retreat.
The yearning to live, faith in the gods—
—all erupted at once.
Then, in short order, this battle that had only just broken out turned in a terrifying reversal.
The Lannister troops dispatched here had their confidence shredded under the giant's rampage.
A one-sided rout unfolded. What followed was a chaotic collapse, an uncontrollable flight.
But just as said before—
Because the Dragon Gate stood at the northernmost corner of the walls, very near Rhaenys's Hill, one of the three hills overlooking King's Landing—
That hill cut off this corner.
Buildings, narrow streets, confined everything crammed here.
Far off, the ruined Dragonpit atop Rhaenys's Hill silently watched the war and the bloodshed at its feet.
The cramped terrain here, dividing the area into fragments, made it impossible for thousands clashing in such chaos to spread out at all.
The greater the chaos, the more fear grew.
Those who could not escape died in despair.
Those behind, still unaware, kept charging forward.
But within the Dragon Gate, the mountain clan warriors only grew in number.
By now, the battle between the two sides was no longer a fair war.
With each passing moment, corpses piled beneath their feet, rising into mounds.
To shield his own men from dying needlessly, Kal had no choice but to trample that mountain of corpses, his weapons swinging so long they moved almost numb.
He no longer knew how many he had killed. Everything before his eyes was red, but at the very least, it was in the hundreds.
He kept killing until frustration gnawed at him, his heart growing restless.
Only then did the press of men before him slowly open the faintest of gaps.
Feeling the sudden release of pressure, Kal started in surprise and raised his head.
At last, he realized that the collapse and terror at the battle's center had only now begun spreading outward through the packed mass.
At the Lannister host's flanks, soldiers finally woke to what had happened at the front.
They looked up at the warrior standing atop their piled dead, butchering their comrades.
And as panicked cries surged through the crowd, they too turned and fled.
Even with captains and officers driving them, killing men to force them to fight, nothing could halt the rout of an army broken within.
Once that terror infected them, they too could no longer bear the torment in their hearts and fled.
Thus ended the battle Kal Stone had chosen to fight head-on.
With one last swing, he lopped off two heads.
He watched them tumble, the corpses fall.
Then Kal stilled his arms and stood there, his gaze following the ebbing red tide as it receded from before him.
The Lannister host left their helms, their armor, their banners scattered across the ground, tangled together with the battlefield's corpses.
And at that moment, behind him a cheer burst forth.
The heavy steel gate slowly rose, drawn up by the winch inside.
With each grating creak, shrill cries rose higher and higher.
The tribal warriors cheered their victory, then surged forward, jostling to pour into the city.
Kal lowered his longsword and looked up toward the wall.
Where Lannister bowmen should have stood guard, they were now locked in combat with clan warriors who had somehow already scaled the battlements.
Kal caught sight of a bald man in fine armor being shielded as they pulled him back toward the Red Keep—
—or rather, toward the Iron Gate.
"Don't let Kevan Lannister get away—seize him alive!"
Seeing the old bastard try to flee, Kal—who, despite having just slain many and feeling a touch hollow—immediately recalled who had caused all this.
With a roar of anger, Kal simply threw aside the two-handed greatsword that had begun to feel cumbersome, switched the gilded longsword back to his right hand, and readied himself to scale the wall in pursuit.
But he had only taken a few steps when someone stopped him.
"Lord Kal, what should we do next?"
The slaughter of war still continued.
Only now it had shifted from a battle of offense and defense into a chase.
Facing the Lannister host, whose will to fight had collapsed, all anyone could do was hurry to claim their spoils.
Hearing his name, Kal paused and turned.
He saw Shagga, Timett, Chella, Hall, and Bronn—those who had gathered together and not yet joined the pursuit—looking at him.
Their gazes were tinged with a strange fear.
Only Chella's eyes shone with eager excitement, though compared with her earlier boldness, her face now wore an unfamiliar obedience she likely had never shown in her life.
Ignoring the light in their eyes, Kal furrowed his brow and glanced up at Kevan Lannister, who was fleeing atop the gate, then looked back over the battlefield.
The fighting began outside the city, but its core was inside—and now it was spreading through all of King's Landing.
Having understood the situation, Kal spoke quickly: "Prisoners—take them alive. Those who surrender will not be killed; report them to us and they'll still count toward your battle merits!"
"How long are we to keep slaughtering them like this?!"
"Seize those in command first; the rest will be easy."
After saying this, Kal seemed to think of something else.
He studied the Lannister host as it fled like a receding red sea, but his gaze fixed on the black, steadfast rock that chased them.
"But I have one condition," he added. "Tell our men there is to be no pillaging of civilians in the city. Everything I promised them will be given—nothing less."
"Tell them this is my promise, and also my order and my bottom line!"
Kal, mindful of these men's natures, issued the warning at once.
Perhaps because his hands were so stained with blood, an invisible killing intent spread from him as he spoke.
Those present felt it; they blinked, swallowed, their pupils trembling.
"Yes, my lord. I will carry out your will."
"If anyone disobeys, you need not act—I'll skin him myself!"
Seeing how serious Kal was, Timett—the first to swear fealty to Kal and the first truly won over by him—immediately stepped forward.
That single eye shone with resolve.
Hearing Timett's reply, Kal turned to look at Shagga and the other former clan leaders.
Faced with the heavy pressure pressing down on them, they hastily nodded.
After giving his orders, Kal had no time for further arrangements.
What mattered most now was to end this war and place King's Landing in his own hands.
Only that would finish the war he had started—and that he alone should end.
The Lannisters' ambition and resistance had to be ended as well.
And what he needed to do now was take Kevan's head.
The old man could not be allowed to escape.
With his will delivered, Kal's mid-level commanders quickly dispersed.
As for Bronn, mercenary that he was, he had also been shaken by this battle. He no longer preened and showed off before Kal as he had earlier.
Now he was on his best behavior, watching Kal with careful eyes.
Hall also did not join the pursuit. As commander of Kal's one standing force—his trusted men—there was much he still had to handle.
For instance, he now brought Jon Snow back with him.
"Boss!"
Hall grinned at Kal, no longer calling him "my lord," but reverting to the old familiar address.
As he spoke, he stepped aside to bring Jon forward.
Kal looked at him. Ever since Jon had followed him, Kal had from time to time fed him, and the boy had managed to grow a little taller. Though his face was tired and his body filthy with blood, his spirit seemed intact.
In his hands he carried a familiar greathelm.
Clutching it in his arms, Jon stepped up.
"My lord, I found it."
He raised his hands to return it to Kal.
The antlered greathelm was filthy beyond recognition, yet Kal did not take it.
"Keeping it in good order is your duty—at least until I knight you."
Kal smiled as he spoke, clapping Jon on the shoulder before saying no more.
He strode past him, heading in pursuit of Kevan Lannister along the line of the inner wall.
As they watched the blood-soaked god of slaughter depart, his footprints marked in blood step by step into the distance, Bronn's throat gave a hard swallow, his nerves at last loosening.
"Hey—lads, did you see Lord Kal just carve through the Lannister lines by himself?"
"That was a storm—honestly, I've only ever seen such terror on the Narrow Sea."
"He was like a bloodstorm, tearing apart the Lannisters' last hope!"
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