Yet in the face of a sudden assault and the humanoid monster known as the Mountain, individual valor proved pitifully fragile.
The Mountain did not even need to strike personally. His elite soldiers advanced with longspears and shields, skewering Yohn's personal guards one by one.
Lord Yohn swung his greatsword, cutting down several enemies, but was quickly run through by multiple spears at once. His towering body swayed, the blade slipping from his grasp.
He looked down at the spearheads piercing his body, his eyes filled with fury and unwillingness, before finally collapsing to the ground.
Elsewhere in the castle, Andar Royce heard the shouts and clashes of the Lannister army's surprise assault on Runestone. His heart twisted in agony, yet only one thought remained in his mind.
Save his sister, Ysilla.
He smashed open his door, drew his sword, and sprinted toward Ysilla's chamber. The corridor was already in chaos, filled with killing cries and screams.
When he burst through her door, the sight before him froze his blood.
His beautiful sister was pinned to the bed by two grinning Crownlands soldiers. Her dress had been torn apart, exposing wide stretches of pale skin as she struggled and cried in desperation.
A massive shadow, like an iron tower, stood beside the bed, slowly removing bloodstained gauntlets.
It was the Mountain.
"No! Let her go!"
Andar's eyes split with rage as he roared and charged, sword raised.
The Mountain did not even turn around. He swung a backhand punch, impossibly fast.
The iron-gauntleted fist slammed into Andar's chest.
Crack!
The sound of breaking bone rang out clearly.
Andar was flung backward, crashing heavily into the wall. Blood mixed with fragments of his shattered organs burst from his mouth.
His sword clattered to the floor as his body slid limply down the stone, his vision rapidly fading.
The last thing he saw was the Mountain's massive figure moving toward the bed where Ysilla cried in despair, and his sister's tear-streaked eyes, filled with boundless terror and hopelessness.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
In a tower room, Waymar Royce was jolted awake.
Through the narrow window, he saw his father stabbed to death. He heard his brother's furious roar and his sister's shrill, almost inhuman scream of despair.
He bit down hard on his fist until blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Grief and hatred tore at him, threatening to rip him apart.
But he knew that charging out would mean certain death.
Forcing himself to endure, he searched for a way to escape in the darkness.
Taking advantage of the chaos and the cover of night, and relying on his familiarity with the castle, he crawled out through an abandoned drainage outlet and escaped Runestone City. Covered in filth and burning with unforgettable hatred, he vanished into the vast night.
Only one thought filled his mind.
Vengeance against the Lannisters, against the Mountain, against the Iron Throne.
He would cross the Narrow Sea, go to Conquest Keep, and seek the power needed to challenge the lion.
The slaughter at Runestone lasted for most of the night.
When the faint light of dawn finally pierced the smoke-filled air, the ancient castle had become a living hell.
Corpses lay everywhere, blood ran in streams, and the core members of House Royce had been almost completely wiped out. Servants and soldiers lay dead or dying in countless numbers.
The Mountain's men and the Crownlands soldiers rummaged through the ruins and bodies, seizing anything of value.
Every portable treasure was stripped away and loaded onto carts prepared in advance.
The Mountain did not linger long in Runestone. Leaving part of his force behind to dispose of the bodies, he led the main army straight toward nearby Gulltown.
Gulltown was still basking in the brief relief of Lord Grafton's safe return, completely unaware of the catastrophe that had befallen Runestone.
When a murderous army suddenly emerged from the morning mist, it was already too late.
Gulltown's walls were far weaker than Runestone's, and its defenders were caught utterly unprepared.
The Mountain's forces broke through the gates with scarcely any real resistance.
Lannister elites coldly eliminated anyone who dared resist, while the Crownlands soldiers descended into a frenzy of unchecked plunder.
The once-prosperous port city instantly turned into a killing ground.
Soldiers smashed open shop doors, looting goods and gold without restraint. They stormed into the mansions of wealthy merchants, committing rape, pillage, murder, and arson.
Even the merchant ships moored at the docks were not spared. Swarming soldiers seized their cargo, then set the vessels ablaze.
Streets that had once bustled with life were stained red with blood, littered with corpses and roaring flames.
House Grafton's castle was breached, and Lord Gerold was hacked to death amid a desperate, futile resistance.
House Arryn's grand castle was also completely overrun. In the towering flames, the Arryns of Gulltown were wiped from existence.
Just as this vision of living hell reached its peak, a swift sailing ship bearing the banner of the Iron Bank of Braavos slowly entered Gulltown's harbor, now shrouded in thick smoke, littered with floating corpses and burning wreckage.
Noho Dimittis and Meryn Trant stood at the bow, staring in stunned disbelief at the scene before them.
Where was the prosperous Gulltown?
Where was the quiet, orderly harbor?
All they could see was smoke, fire, ruins, and soldiers looting and slaughtering beneath the glow of the flames.
Noho Dimittis's face drained of color, his throat dry. He had spent his entire life calculating profits and losses, yet he had never witnessed brutality laid so bare.
Their ship was soon spotted by a group of Lannister soldiers, who escorted them ashore.
In a relatively open area piled high with chests and crates of treasure looted from the city, they saw the Mountain standing there like a demon made flesh.
Beneath his boot rested a chest overflowing with gold and silver coins and glittering jewels.
He glanced at the pale Noho Dimittis and spoke without the slightest trace of emotion.
"Envoy of the Iron Bank. The Queen Regent ordered me to repay the debt with this."
Noho Dimittis looked at the cartloads of bloodstained wealth, clearly seized moments ago from ruins and corpses, then at the burning harbor and the hellish landscape around him. A chill surged from his feet straight to his scalp.
At last, he understood what Cersei had meant.
This was not income.
It was plunder.
It was slaughter.
A blood debt paid with the lives of countless people of the Vale and the annihilation of a flourishing port city.
The depths to which the Lannisters would sink far exceeded his expectations.
His stomach churned violently, and he nearly retched.
Noho Dimittis took several deep breaths, forcing himself to suppress the storm raging inside him.
He was an envoy of the Iron Bank, not a judge, and not a knight.
The Iron Bank acknowledged only gold, not its origins.
This blood-soaked payment would resolve most of the Iron Throne's debt.
He steadied his voice and said calmly,
"I understand. Please convey to the Queen Regent that the Iron Bank has received this repayment. We will immediately begin counting, loading it aboard ship, and transporting it back to Braavos."
The Mountain ignored him, turning away to continue directing the cleanup.
Nearby, the Kingsguard knight Meryn Trant prepared to depart with the Iron Bank's envoy for Braavos, tasked with recruiting the most elite mercenary company for the Iron Throne.