Chapter 77 — Second Prison Break
The bolt punched straight through his chest.
The calm never quite left Varys' face—until he lowered his head in disbelief and stared at the steel shaft buried in his body. Before he could even finish processing it, a second bolt hissed through the air and slammed into his shoulder.
"A burning brazier… scorched flesh."
"Danger?"
Charles muttered to himself as he drew another steel bolt from the quiver at his waist. The arrowhead glinted coldly under the torchlight as he set it on the string.
This time, there would be no hesitation.
Thwip.
The bolt pierced Varys' neck. Blood sprayed as it tore through an artery.
The last vestiges of consciousness drained from his eyes. He looked dazedly at Charles one final time before his body collapsed to the floor.
[You have killed Varys, disguised as a dungeon guard, with a crossbow.
You have gained 1 point of Life Energy.]
...
Charles wiped the blood from his face and stared down at the still-warm corpse, his expression dark.
He had guarded against enemies openly and in secret—yet one had still slipped through.
A dangerous one.
Now what?
Some of what the Spider had said might have been exaggeration—or manipulation—but one fact was undeniable:
The bald king had already made his move.
Wait here and hope someone came rushing in to clear his name?
Stake his fate on another man's mercy?
The thought flashed through his mind—and was discarded just as quickly.
He would escape again.
Still, Charles did not touch the corpse. He could turn it into a skeleton warrior if he wished—but leaving it intact might prove useful later.
The Master of Whisperers disguising himself as a prison guard and coming here personally already spoke volumes.
"Just not decisive enough," he murmured.
With that, he stepped out of the interrogation room—his second visit to this very same dungeon.
As if arranged to give Varys clear access, there were no guards outside. After a quick glance around, Charles moved effortlessly up toward the upper level.
...
"Logan's got some nerve, going alone to see the black wizard."
"If we don't go now, there won't be another chance. They're mustering troops at the training ground by the Mud Gate. Once the king returns, the wizard won't be left alive in here."
"So… should we take a look?"
"Forget it. I'm not ready to die yet."
"Honestly, if the black wizard were really that dangerous, would he have been caught so easily?"
One guard was mid-sentence when he happened to glance downward.
A figure emerged from below.
At the same moment, a crossbow bolt screamed through the air and punched clean through the chest of the guard beside him.
Blood sprayed across his face.
The guard froze, mouth opening futilely.
"T-the black wizard?!"
"Run!"
"Go! Notify Ser Florent!"
The remaining two guards broke and fled up the stairs, disappearing in seconds.
Charles had waited below until he was certain of their number before revealing himself. He'd been prepared for a fight—but instead, they ran without resistance.
Watching their retreating backs, he frowned.
No reinforcements coming…
Am I supposed to escape with just one corpse's worth of strength?
That was absurd.
This place looked no different from the last time he'd been here. There might be "recruits" down in the Black Cells—but without keys, breaking doors would take time he didn't have.
Charles sighed and decided to first convert his latest kill into usable manpower.
But as he passed by one of the cells, a rough, gravelly voice suddenly rose from behind the iron door.
"Kid. Let me out. We escape together."
The voice was deep and hoarse.
Charles paused, then turned toward the cell.
"The Hound?" he said slowly.
"Good memory, little wizard."
"Let you out so you can kill me?" Charles sneered. He hadn't forgotten how this brute had nearly taken him by surprise before—if not for people throwing themselves in the way…
"You made me uneasy," Sandor growled. "That's why I tried to kill you."
"And now you feel at ease?"
"I still want to kill you. But if I don't get out, I'll lose my head."
"You could put on a black cloak."
"Stannis, that Bald, won't give me that option."
Charles hesitated.
Then, after a brief moment of consideration, he gestured for the skeleton to retrieve the weapons the guards had dropped while fleeing.
He took one in hand—and swung it hard against the lock.
Clang.
The lock shattered with a sharp crack.
An unkempt, grotesque face immediately thrust itself out. After glancing once at the skeleton beside Charles, the man bared his teeth in a crooked grin and stepped out of the cell.
"I'll take the rear," Charles said, lifting his crossbow as a signal. "You clear the way."
"Cowardly little wizard," the Hound spat onto the floor. He snatched the weapon from the skeleton's grasp and strode forward at speed.
"How did you get out last time?" he asked without turning back. "I mean the Red Keep."
"There's a secret passage near the Maidenvault," Charles replied plainly. If they reached that area, it wouldn't stay secret anyway.
"The Maidenvault?"
The Hound shot him a sideways look as he walked.
"I remember passing through there."
"We saw you then."
"Me?"
"The skeleton."
"…Fuck."
He snorted a laugh as they reached the stairwell. Just as he was about to go up, Charles stopped him.
Turning around, the Hound saw the wizard crouch beside a corpse and casually scoop out one of the dead guard's eyeballs.
"That is one sick fucking habit you've got."
Charles ignored him. He pulled out a pendant and began muttering under his breath.
Anyone with a brain could tell he was casting a spell, so the Hound forced himself to wait—impatiently.
The gore-coated eyeball in Charles's hand began to change. Veins shriveled away, the grayish pulp hardened, and in moments it became a smooth, independent sphere.
"I don't know what the hell you're doing," the Hound growled as noise echoed from above, "but you'd better hurry."
Before the sentence finished, Charles suddenly hurled the eyeball up the stairs—then recoiled as if something had clawed at his face, staggering back and shielding his eyes.
"Oi—what the hell—"
"Six men," Charles said rapidly, bracing himself against the wall. "One's an armored knight. Three more knights are coming down from the upper level—there may be more behind them. We end this fast!"
The Hound didn't understand—but he didn't waste time asking.
Sword in hand, he charged up the stairs.
Behind him, Charles whispered urgently to the corpse missing an eye.
At the same moment the Hound collided head-on with the incoming guards, a blood-red skeleton clawed its way out of the body and scrambled upward under the wizard's command.
Six men, just as Charles had said.
Leading them was a knight even the Hound couldn't name. He planted himself at the narrow stairwell, sword raised, holding position.
Then the bloodstained skeleton lunged from behind.
The soldiers' discipline shattered instantly. One screamed. Another dropped his sword and bolted.
Times had changed.
With the Black Wizard's name now whispered in terror across King's Landing, fear came fast and deep.
"You useless bastards!" the knight roared and charged without waiting.
His strike was blocked cleanly by the Hound. A vicious kick followed—metal cracked, painfully—and the knight folded with bulging eyes.
A punch smashed into his face.
Down he went.
The rest of the soldiers hesitated—then saw Charles appear with another skeleton in tow.
They ran.
Even the three knights rushing down from above couldn't stop it. Shouting orders, cursing—none of it helped.
Fear spreads like disease.
At first the knights were furious. Then they saw their enemies.
Their legs began to shake.
And when the Hound crashed straight into them, their resolve collapsed. They turned and fled with the rest.
An encounter that should have demanded blood and sweat disintegrated in moments.
But the escapees had no intention of letting them go.
The Hound didn't need orders. He chased with long strides, cutting down the slowest, the weakest.
Behind him, Charles fired relentlessly. Spells spilled from his lips without pause.
Bolts flew, were retrieved, and flew again. Skeletons clawed their way out of fresh corpses under his command, swarming upward in madness.
Ascending the stone steps, moving, shooting, killing, Charles felt an eerie sense of familiarity—
Except the man fighting at his side had once been his enemy.
Living men became bones. Bones became weapons. The gore was horrifying—and panic amplified it tenfold.
The arrest had been rushed, improvised. Even knowing who was imprisoned below, even knowing he'd escaped once before, the dungeon hadn't been reinforced.
Under the combined assault of skeletons, steel, and terror, resistance crumbled.
They broke out.
But just as they reached the area near the Maidenvault and began searching for an exit, alarm bells pealed.
Soldiers flooded in from the Red Keep's walls, trembling as they surrounded the two fugitives.
"The bald bastard's harder to deal with than the Lannisters," the Hound spat, glancing at the growing ranks. Blood-streaked saliva hit the floor.
"I'd say you're fucked, kid."
"Maybe," Charles sneered, tossing aside the longsword he'd picked up earlier.
"But you're definitely worse off than I am."