Right now, a squad of about a hundred men under Storm-Overlord's command was busy teaching a lesson to those players foolish enough to get caught by the Enforcement Squad.
You see, these things were supposed to be done quietly, in the dark. Maybe grease a few palms if you have to. Why resort to brute force when you don't need to?
"You lawless scum! Ambushing a royal supply convoy? Killing the King's soldiers? You have violated the King's Peace and the laws of His Grace, King Viserys III!"
"If you know what's good for you, hand over the murderers and pay a fine of one thousand Gold Dragons! If you refuse, our army will storm the gate immediately! Once we're inside, we will leave no one alive!"
Ghost-Fire-Boy sat atop a high horse, fully armored with a cloak billowing behind him. He looked majestic. Behind him, however, his hundred-odd players looked like a chaotic mob of goblins from a fantasy novel, brandishing weapons and howling like demons.
"We don't have a thousand Gold Dragons! But we are willing to return your goods and swear fealty to King Viserys! If you insist on extorting us for money we don't have, we will resist to the last man!"
On the wooden palisade, the middle-aged chieftain's face was pale. He was clearly terrified but had forced himself up there to negotiate. He looked down at the menacing players with a face full of despair.
Ghost-Fire-Boy completely ignored the first half of the man's sentence. He turned to the players behind him and shouted:
"They killed six of our soldiers! They killed three of our war hounds and three beastmasters! They scavenged our soldiers' weapons and now they dare to resist! What do you say we do?!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
"Heads will roll!"
A hundred players roared in unison.
The Andal chieftain on the wall was so terrified by the bloodlust that he collapsed to the ground.
In reality, it was their own greed that had invited this disaster. Ghost-Fire-Boy had intentionally sent a few players to wander near their territory day after day.
Sacks of wheat and flour were paraded in front of the hungry Andals like a seductress. How could they resist?
Just yesterday, a group of hot-headed young men from the village had recklessly ambushed the "merchant caravan" and killed the players transporting the grain.
And so, Ghost-Fire-Boy now had a legitimate Casus Belli to bring his brothers here and "demand justice."
"Chief, let's fight them!" Behind the palisade, a young man with bloodshot eyes clenched his fists, staring hatefully at the Targaryen soldiers pushing a battering ram toward the gate.
The chieftain looked blankly at the reckless young man who had led the raid on the supply wagon and brought doom upon their tribe.
"Coward!"
Seeing his leader paralyzed by fear, the young man stood up in anger and shouted to his tribesmen:
"The Dragon's soldiers want to slaughter us! We will not let them! Anyone who trusts in Obsidian, fight with me to the death!"
Obsidian was the young man's name.
It was clear he held significant sway among his people. At his call, most of the young men rallied to him.
Wooden spears, hunting bows, stone knives, rusty swords—anything that could pass for a weapon was scavenged. They rushed to the palisade, ready to make a desperate stand.
---
"Show these hillbillies what we're made of!"
Ghost-Fire-Boy shouted, slamming his visor shut and pointing his steel sword forward.
A hundred armored players roared and charged the wall, pushing the battering ram and carrying siege ladders.
"Loose!"
Obsidian stood on the wall, raising a stone hammer and bellowing orders.
The tribe's hunters drew their bows. Their aim wasn't bad, but the volley was sparse. Most of the arrows bounced harmlessly off the players' plate armor and raised shields.
"Let them taste our steel!"
Some players pulled out heavy draw-weight bows and fired heavy arrows in high arcs toward the wall.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Players usually carried as many weapons as their inventory slots allowed. Now that they were in range, they sheathed their swords, unslung crossbows and bows from their backs, and unleashed a hail of fire. Within seconds, several defenders on the wall were shot dead or knocked off the ramparts.
"Take cover! Wait for them to get close, then use the stones!" Obsidian shouted.
He didn't need to tell them twice. Suppressed by the players' superior firepower, the tribesmen knew they couldn't win a shootout and ducked for cover.
"Charge!"
"Get the ladders up! I'm taking first blood!"
"First onto the wall! I am the Vanguard God!"
Screaming nonsense, the players reached the base of the wall with almost no resistance. Ladders slammed against the wood. biting their swords, holding shields over their heads, the players scrambled up like ants.
"Drop them!"
At Obsidian's command, his tribesmen heaved rocks down onto the attackers.
Even with armor, players were knocked off the ladders in droves, caught off guard by the stone rain.
"Smash that shitty gate with the ram!" shouted the player leading the ground charge.
Behind him, players chanted rhythmically as they heaved the battering ram forward, finally reaching the gate.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The crude wooden gate didn't stand a chance. In just a few strikes, massive holes were punched through the timber.
"Kill them all!"
Players crowded at the gate, howling as they swung their weapons and squeezed through the breaches.
It was armored steel against unarmored flesh. It was a massacre. In moments, they cut down the dozen Andals guarding the gate, threw it open, and the main force of players swarmed inside like a hive of angry hornets.
A dozen war hounds, unleashed by their masters, sprinted into the village, leaping at anyone not wearing armor and refusing to let go.
"For the children!"
Dozens of spear-wives surged from the village, brandishing knives and spears to block the players' path. Leading them was a sturdy woman riding a small pony.
The players showed no mercy. Blades flashed, and the spear-wives were cut down, women and horses alike falling in pools of blood.
The woman on the pony was dragged down by a player and hacked until she was unrecognizable.
"Fight them to the end!"
Obsidian, eyes red with rage, led his remaining tribesmen down from the wall for a final stand.
Facing these desperate, cornered beasts, the players didn't panic. They were veterans of grinding mobs. Shoot from afar, slash up close—it was routine.
Before Obsidian's group could even reach melee range, the unarmored Andals were mowed down by a volley of arrows, half of them dropping before they could swing a weapon.
"Aaargh!"
Obsidian roared as he charged. A player calmly dropped his longbow, pulled a crossbow from his back, aimed point-blank, and put a bolt through the man's chest. Obsidian collapsed, dead on the spot.
"Spare my people! We surrender!"
The chieftain suddenly rushed out from somewhere, blocking his remaining tribesmen. He looked at the players and begged.
"Boss, what's the call? Kill or spare?"
The squad leader looked up at Ghost-Fire-Boy, who was slowly riding his horse into the village.
Damn it, why ask me? Just kill them and be done with it. How am I supposed to give that order now?
Ghost-Fire-Boy's face darkened behind his visor. He glanced sideways at the person riding next to him. Seeing that the man remained silent, he lifted his visor and addressed the squad leader loudly:
"Confiscate their weapons and lock them up! We do not kill enemies who surrender!"
"Understood!"
The squad leader was visibly surprised but followed orders, instructing his brothers to disarm the survivors and secure the prisoners.
"Hey buddy, just a small token of appreciation. Want to be friends?" Ghost-Fire-Boy pulled a coin purse from his saddlebag. Making sure no one was looking, he tried to pass it to the man beside him.
"What are you doing?! The Enforcement Squad doesn't take bribes!"