In front of the Dragonstone cave, all the warriors held their breath, awaiting good news from King Robert.
However, Robert Baratheon had been inside for a long time, yet no sound emerged.
"The King couldn't have encountered danger in the cave, could he?"
A nobleman from the Stormlands whispered softly.
Instantly, all the nobles began to chatter.
Hearing this, Stannis Baratheon's expression turned very ugly.
He was about to reprimand his subordinates but was interrupted by his younger brother Renly Baratheon: "A Dragonstone mine that large is enough to equip an entire army.
His Majesty must be too excited to pay attention to us!"
As soon as these words were spoken, all the nobles' eyes instantly lit up.
Indeed, this was a treasure that could save the people of the entire continent of Westeros!
It was understandable that King Robert, personally investigating the reserves, was delayed due to excessive excitement.
Seeing that the nobles before him were appeased, Renly then gave his brother Stannis Baratheon a look, and then went down to meet him.
Deep inside the cave, Robert Baratheon squatted alone in the center, silent.
He clearly remembered this place was supposed to be a sanctuary with towering black crystal pillars, but now only a messy, pockmarked ground remained.
That Viserys Targaryen truly had dug up all the Dragonstone from the entire mountain in advance, not even leaving him a speck of dust.
"Bastard… bastard, you really did clean it out!"
Robert Baratheon was on the verge of tears.
He slowly picked up a handful of dark gray gravel.
They were fragments of Dragonstone ore.
They were as light as ashes, sifting through his fingers.
"It's gone… all of it… gone."
He muttered to himself, his voice distorted and echoing in the empty cave.
That twilight from many years ago suddenly crashed into his mind: at that time, they had ascended Dragonstone by King Aerys's command, waiting for their parents to return after finding a bride for Prince Rhaegar.
His brother Stannis had also stayed by his side, his face taut, for half a year.
As a young man, he had personally touched those cold crystal pillars.
But now, only a huge void remained here, just like his life.
"Your Majesty?"
A hesitant voice came from behind him.
Robert Baratheon did not turn around; he knew it was his younger brother, Renly.
His brother, usually so optimistic, was now as tense as a drawn bowstring.
Robert Baratheon slowly stood up, the joints of his armor groaning with friction.
He suddenly thought of Rhaegar, that silver-haired Targaryen prince.
At the Trident, when his warhammer shattered that man's chest, he saw a flicker of relief in his eyes.
Now he suddenly understood; perhaps Prince Rhaegar had known all along, known that this game for the iron throne never had a winner… In the castle hall, whispers spread like a plague.
The lords gathered in restless circles, their eyes flickering with unease.
Everyone knew that the Dragonstone ore, crucial for defeating the Night King and the army of the dead, had been taken in advance by Viserys Targaryen!
On this coastal stone island, the lords' loyalty to Robert Baratheon was eroding at a visible rate.
Some repeatedly caressed their sword hilts, some intentionally raised their voices to complain about insufficient supplies, while more silently exchanged glances.
Old Walder Frey tapped the stone table with his knuckles, his shriveled lips occasionally spitting: "Losing cities and lands, unable to defend one's own stronghold, what talk is there of lords and nobles?"
This old man, almost toothless, made no effort to hide his dissatisfaction with the new King Robert Baratheon.
As a fortress in Riverlands, his Twins, under Robert's defense, had been so easily captured by the army of the dead!
Walder Frey never imagined that before he died, he would lose his cities and lands, driven by the dead to such a remote island!
Hearing this, several lords from Riverlands subconsciously looked around, then whispered in agreement: "If you ask me, in this world, only the kings of the Targaryen Family can save the world!"
At these words, everyone fell silent.
Everyone knew that such a statement was tantamount to treason!
Lord Roose Bolton stood quietly in the shadows, his fingertips lightly tracing the stone wall, as if in deep thought.
When someone looked at him, the Lord of Dreadfort merely nodded slightly, offering an elusive, faint smile.
Robert Baratheon cast a despondent gaze across the hall, suddenly feeling a dizzying sense of absurdity.
These faces had once cheered him in King's Landing, raised toasts to him at feasts in Summerhall.
But now, their eyes held only suspicion and calculation, like a pack of sharks smelling blood, ready to bare their teeth at him at any moment!
Robert Baratheon sighed helplessly.
He had never imagined he would become King of the Seven Kingdoms.
His dream was to be a general, to fight on the battlefield!
However, when the Mad King Aerys hanged his brother and utterly destroyed his family, he had no choice but to raise an army to quell the rebellion!
Robert saw Renly shaking his head in resignation, saw Stannis's tightly pressed lips, saw Lord Bolton thoughtfully caressing his wine cup.
In that moment, he suddenly understood.
The iron throne was never a symbol of power.
It was merely a giant instrument of torture, nailing all who sat upon it to the shadow of power.
He thought of King's Landing.
The winding, narrow streets, the fishmongers' cries in the market, the barefoot children in Flea Bottom chasing a ragged ball, the clang of blacksmiths on Steel Street from dawn till dusk.
Thousands of lives breathed, loved, struggled, and died there.
They never asked for a good king, yet they had to bear the cost of every incompetent one.
"Give the order."
Robert Baratheon said in a deep voice, as if something within him was awakening, "I am returning to King's Landing."
The hall suddenly fell silent.
Walder Frey's curses caught in his throat, Lord Roose Bolton's finger paused on the rim of his cup, and all the surrounding whispers froze.
Everyone knew that King's Landing's Mud Gate could not withstand the assault of the army of the dead!
Just then, Robert Baratheon straightened his back, and his warhammer crashed heavily onto the table.
"Let him come, Viserys.
Let him bring his Dragonstone and his magic to save all the people here."
Robert Baratheon said in a deep voice, "At least in the final moments, I will stand where I should stand—not as a king, not as a conqueror, but simply as a man who chose how to die."
"I am returning to King's Landing to fight my last battle in this life.
Those who are willing to come, follow me!"
He looked at everyone, then turned to face west, towards that bustling city situated on the Blackwater Rush.
As a king, with his dynasty in turmoil, he chose to do the same as the Mad King Aerys Targaryen: to defend King's Landing, which was destined to be lost!
"Brother, Storm's End has never fallen,"
Stannis Baratheon stood up indignantly.
As one of the kingdom's iron-blooded commanders, he would never surrender to Viserys Targaryen, the son of the Mad King.
"That's right, brother, we haven't lost yet!"
Renly Baratheon stood up, echoing him with a guilty conscience.
Looking at his two younger brothers before him, Robert Baratheon scoffed disdainfully.
"Renly, I know all about the letter of surrender you sent to Viserys Targaryen!"
Robert looked at his hypocritical and cowardly younger brother and sneered: "If even my own brother doesn't believe I can win, how can outsiders?!"
Hearing Robert's words, Stannis Baratheon was practically fuming.
His brother, to be so weak, so weak as to seek refuge with his mortal enemy.
Just as Stannis was enraged and Renly's face flushed with shame, Robert Baratheon overturned the dining table and roared: "Get out, whether you want to defend Storm's End or go over to Viserys, that descendant of a wicked dragon, you don't need to inform me.
Everyone has the right to choose how to survive!"
"Get out, nobles!"