"Storm the gates! Seize that Targaryen remnant!"
Staring at the tightly shut gates, Magister Ordello immediately ordered Admiral Pymber to lead his marines and sailors in an assault on the courtyard.
"The first brave soul to enter gets thirty Gold Dragons!"
Ordello shouted his promise.
As the saying goes, heavy rewards make brave men. Hearing the promise of gold, the sailors' morale soared.
With a roar from Admiral Pymber, the first wave of over a hundred sailors brandished their cutlasses and charged.
"They opened the gate!"
The charging sailors suddenly halted.
The heavy double doors swung open from the inside, revealing the spacious courtyard.
Everyone was confused. Are they surrendering?
"Get in there!"
Seeing the empty courtyard beyond the gate, and lured by the heavy reward, the sailors—who had zero land combat experience—swarmed in like fish.
"There's a second gate!"
A sailor shouted in surprise.
As soon as the words left his mouth, just as the last sailor rushed through the main gate, two squads of Unsullied suddenly burst from the colonnades. On the left, a knight in white armor, longsword in hand, sprinted to the first gate and cut down the guards with two swift strikes.
Before the sailors could react, two thick hemp ropes snapped taut on the ground, connecting to the open gates.
"Stop them! Quickly!"
Outside, both Magister Ordello and Admiral Pymber shouted in unison.
But it was too late. With a heavy boom, the main gates slammed shut.
"In the name of King Viserys III of House Targaryen, I sentence you to death!"
A slightly overly excited voice drew the attention of the sailors, who were just realizing they had walked into a trap and were panicking.
Leonardo, who had named his character Lancelot after King Arthur's famous First Knight, stood there majestically. He was clad in a full suit of armor that Viserys had dug out of the Player Shop for him.
Beside him stood his uncle, David, who had taken the name Roland after Charlemagne's chief paladin. David was visibly trembling with excitement.
Individual heroism.
Stepping forward when the King is in peril. Solving the crisis single-handedly. This was exactly what he lived for!
David gripped the hilt of his sword, his palm sweating. He swore he absolutely loved this game.
Rick, the rancher, had named himself Bors, after King Arthur's nephew and a key member of the Round Table. Legend had it that Bors accepted the Green Knight's challenge. Rick dreamed of being such a man.
"In the name of Chivalry!"
Under the bewildered gazes of the sailors...
Roland drew the longsword at his waist. He had named it "Durandal," after the holy sword the legendary Roland wielded until his death.
"We do not seek to survive, but to be remembered in history!"
"We draw our swords to defend the honor of the Royal House!"
"Behind me lies the wall of my Liege; there is no reason to retreat!"
The three of them shouted cringy, chuunibyou slogans, getting themselves incredibly pumped up. Just three men charged at over a hundred sailors, looking like they were ready to die for glory.
Behind them, the player Jump_Off_Train_Halfway shook his head speechlessly. Then, wielding dual axes, he followed the three "LARPing" foreigners and crashed into the crowd.
"Wipe them out!"
Ser Jorah commanded a squad of Unsullied to block the gate, then led the rest to charge at the sailors.
Unarmored sailors facing fully armored Unsullied and the skilled Jorah Mormont didn't stand a chance. And even against the three fully armored players—who were burning with chuunibyou spirit—they were just cannon fodder for a Dynasty Warriors montage.
It just goes to show: full plate versus no armor is overpowered.
Player Roland wielded his "Holy Sword," hacking left and right. No enemy could last a single round. The sailors' cutlasses struck his armor, leaving only white scratches and small dents.
Lancelot and Bors followed closely. The three of them were like a high-speed killing machine, fanatically hacking down every enemy in their path.
Player Train, wielding dual axes, transformed into a whirlwind of death. He swung his iron axes with zero regard for defense. In just a short moment, three sailors fell to his blades. The cost? He lost two fingers on his axe hand.
A minor injury like that was negligible for a player.
When Ser Jorah's white cloak was speckled with blood and he had personally cut down his seventh enemy, the sailors—trapped and attacked from both sides—threw down their weapons and knelt in surrender.
Meanwhile, outside the gate...
Admiral Pymber, forced to watch his hundred men get trapped, was ordering the rest of his troops to attack the gate when shouts of killing erupted from all sides.
The Admiral and the Magister looked around.
A swarm of madmen holding Wildfire jars and a group dressed like assassins were closing in from both sides.
"It's those lunatics!"
"Seven Hells!"
"Run!"
"They don't take prisoners! I saw Magister Zollo surrender, and they burned him alive with Wildfire!"
Many of the guards around Magister Ordello had witnessed the madness of Minister_of_Excuses and his crew. Seeing the sea of green jars approaching, they lost all courage before the battle even began, looking terrified.
Some were already preparing to drop their weapons and surrender.
"Allahu Akbar!"
"Witness the art of explosion!"
It turned out that neither the sailors who had just come ashore nor the Magister's household guards were elites capable of maintaining discipline in the face of Wildfire.
Before the chaotic Grenadier Corps even reached them, the Magister and the Admiral set the example by being the first to turn and run.
This triggered a chain reaction.
If the bosses were running, why should the minions risk their lives? Seeing the two leaders flee, the sailors and guards followed suit, turning and sprinting toward the direction of the Brotherhood Without Banners.
"What the hell! Why are they all coming at us?!"
Mouse_Is_Duck's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Wait, wasn't the plan to pincer them and crush the center?
Is this right?
But with the enemy right in their faces, there was no dodging. Mouse had no choice but to lead his brothers and charge head-on.
Although player morale is generally higher than that of NPCs...
The NPCs the Brotherhood faced right now also had incredibly high morale.
This was what you call "fighting with one's back to the wall."
After all, if they couldn't smash through the group of "assassins" blocking their path, they would have to face the lunatics throwing Wildfire behind them.
"I don't want to die!"
"Go to the Seven Hells, you Wildfire maniacs!"
Crying and screaming, the natives waved their weapons and crashed into the Brotherhood players like a desperate flood.