"Strangler!"
The White Knight placed his right hand on his sword, staring coldly at the pale-faced old scholar.
"Do you even understand what you're doing? We came here at the Citadel's invitation, living under your roof, eating your bread and salt. That makes us your guests. What the Citadel is doing now—how is it any different from Walder Frey?"
"For the peace of the Seven Kingdoms, for the welfare of millions, to reduce conflict and war—this method may be dishonorable, but it's the simplest and most effective," Dr. Perestan replied with a bitter smile.
"Fool!"
Barristan's eyes blazed with fury, his teeth clenched.
"The customs and laws passed down for millennia are the spiritual backbone of Westeros. The Citadel should be fighting to preserve those noble traditions and values, not actively destroy them—the very soul of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Dany shook her head and sighed.
"Not just anyone can claim to represent the Seven Kingdoms or its people. Ask yourself, Doctor—would you be willing to be represented by the Rat Cook or Walder Frey?"
"Perhaps the Rat Cook also shouted about 'justice for the Seven Kingdoms' as he cooked the Andal king, perhaps Walder Frey also claimed he was 'reducing conflict and war' when he slaughtered northern guests at a wedding—just like you're doing now."
"Because of you, Slaver's Bay and the Free Cities have suffered years of war. People around the world cry and wail under dragonfire. At this rate, the Seven Kingdoms will follow the same path. Yes, I am guilty, the Citadel is guilty—I admit that. But we reduced death and chaos. We are not wrong!"
Perestan's face was deathly pale, but his eyes were filled with unwavering resolve.
"You think the Seven Kingdoms are peaceful now?"
Barristan shot a glance at Dany, speaking with pain and righteous anger.
"Music and rites are broken, morality is crumbling, wars rage endlessly, and the people live in misery."
"Do you know why Her Majesty came all the way from Slaver's Bay to Westeros? To spy on enemies?"
"The nobles of the Seven Kingdoms ignore the coming of winter, still playing their game of thrones. Only Her Majesty cares for the people's safety and refuses to wage a restoration war in the middle of winter."
"Even after learning that Westeros hadn't prepared grain stores for summer's end, she still came with two dragons to see the people's conditions—despite the dangerous situation in Slaver's Bay."
"You saw it yourself. She won the tourney with strength and impressed the Citadel with her wisdom. She cares about the people's lives, worries about them starving in winter, and is troubled by Robert's disastrous trade deficit and the nobility's extravagant ways."
"A kind and wise, heroic and benevolent monarch—how is she not worthy of the Iron Throne?"
"But you support the Lannisters—who murdered their king, slept with siblings, and usurped the throne? They are worthy of your loyalty?"
Dany awkwardly rubbed her nose.
My virtues are so prominent that even Barristan—who's never one for flattery—managed to spell them all out in such simple, honest words.
Look at the old scholar beside her, stiff and unyielding like a revolutionary martyr—now, even his face was changing color with shame.
"Thud—"
Overwhelmed with guilt, the old scholar suddenly knelt, bowing low to the floor in a full-body prostration.
"Watch out, something's wrong in the next room!"
The old knight tilted his head, listening, his expression changing drastically.
"They've got axe-wielders waiting in ambush on both sides—"
"Twang-twang-twang-twang-twang!"
The twang of bowstrings cracked like thunder, powerful enough to ring through even the brick walls.
Amid the storm of bowstring snaps came sharp whistling sounds—"Shh-shh-shh!"
The walls were instantly riddled with holes, dozens of them. Chairs and tableware were scattered in chaos, with occasional clang-clang sounds of metal striking metal.
"Scorpion bolts!"
The candle crashed to the floor and went out, but through the pale moonlight coming through the window, Dany saw the small room was now packed like a hedgehog—bristling with thick, iron bolts the size of a grown man's arm.
Unlike siege scorpions, these bolts weren't cylindrical but shaped like elongated, twisted willow leaves—still made of solid iron.
"The attackers aren't dead!"
Dany's cry alerted Perestan, who was still curled up on the ground. Then came the rustling of bolts being loaded and bowstrings drawn again from both sides of the wall.
"Ahhh, I'm gonna die—!"
Dany let out a dramatic, high-pitched wail and promptly dissolved her spirit projection.
"Screee—"
"Screee—"
At the same time, the roar of dragons echoed above the Citadel.
Yes—when the red-nosed old scholar served Dany soup, she had sensed a faint danger. She immediately entered a dragon-soul state, and Drogon's spirit had sent her a strong wave of warning. That's when she started calling her dragons.
Despite her anger during the talk with the scholar, she had also been stalling for time. Though her real body was hiding in the inn, Barristan couldn't just give up!
"Ahhh, Your Majesty, you mustn't die!"
The old knight howled as well, swung his sword to smash through the blocking bolts and furniture, then bent down to scoop up the old scholar. Before he could scream or struggle, Barristan struck him on the back of the head with the flat of his sword, knocking him out. He wrapped the man in a fur cushion from the couch, slung him over his shoulder, and charged toward the door.
The old knight's sharp senses had already noticed the clamor and torchlight outside the window below—jumping out would be suicide.
"Thunk!"
As he reached the door, Barristan suddenly shifted aside, narrowly dodging a thick scorpion bolt—he'd heard the sound of it being dragged into position outside.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
He chopped the wooden door apart with a few strikes, lowered his head, and rushed out without hesitation.
Outside the door was a scorpion the size of a treadmill. Two grey-robed maesters were cranking the winch, and one lay on top, stringing the bow. Around them stood twelve leather-armored soldiers with hand crossbows. When they saw the knight charge out, three of the maesters backed away in terror, shouting:
"The traitor's escaping! Fire!"
"You court death!"
The old knight roared and cleaved off half a maester's skull with a single blow. Then he spun and sliced two crossbowmen clean in half at the waist.
"Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk!"
The soldiers didn't miss—nearly every bolt struck the old knight. A few even hit the "Queen" on his shoulder. But shockingly, the bolts that struck Barristan sparked briefly and bounced right off.
"Damn it! That bastard Rondo sold us fake armor-piercing bolts!"
A commander in full blue enamel armor cursed, tossing aside his hand crossbow and drawing his longsword.
"Blades! Cut him down!" he shouted to his men.
Nine soldiers in full armor surged forward to attack together. The old knight didn't dodge at all—he met blow for blow, exchanging injuries.
"Clang! Clang! Bang! Clang!"
"Aaahhh!"
In a flash, Barristan took eight brutal strikes. Sparks flew from his armor, and the massive force sent him staggering, but he responded with a sweeping counterattack—a "whirlwind slash."
"Crashhhh!"
Four swordsmen were struck. Three had their bellies torn open, collapsing to the ground while holding in their spilled guts. The commander, wearing plate armor, got away with just a shallow cut on his lower stomach.
"Damn you, Rondo! Even the steel swords are fake..."
A dying soldier lying on the ground whispered his last words.
"Ahhh—!"
The commander, who had narrowly escaped death thanks to his armor, turned pale and pointed at the old knight in shock. "Valyrian steel—he's wearing Valyrian steel armor!"
"His sword, it's incredibly sharp! That's Valyrian steel too," a maester who had taken cover in the distance reminded them.
But the old knight didn't even glance their way. After breaking through the encirclement, he immediately dashed toward the stairwell, his armored boots thudding heavily—thud, thud, thud.
Though it all sounds lengthy, the actual exchange was brief—just two rounds, three sword strikes, all within less than three seconds.
Just as he was about to rush up to the third floor, a figure suddenly appeared beside him.
It was Dany!
She stopped him and said, "Don't go up. There's an ambush on the rooftop. The maesters know about the spiritual bond between dragons and dragonriders. They've set up forty or fifty scorpion ballistae and at least two hundred archers and crossbowmen."
"Which side is least guarded? I'll jump out the window and charge through," the old knight said, panting.
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"No need. Stay here for now—I'll take care of the small fry," Dany said with a mysterious smile, then vanished once more.
The old knight was still puzzled when, the next moment, cries of alarm erupted from outside.
"The sun?!"
"Seven above, there's a second sun rising in the sky!"
"What's going on?! Is that really the sun? But it's already ten at night!"
The old knight found a window in the stairwell and cautiously peered out—but before he could see anything, the armored swordsman from earlier returned with six soldiers in tow.
"Do you know who I am? I'm Ser Barristan Selmy. Now get lost!" the old knight growled in annoyance.
"What? Ser Barristan?" The seven men froze. The commander lowered his crossbow and cautiously stepped forward. "You're truly Barristan the Bold? I'm Ser Darks Norton, a knight under Earl Hightower. We've met a few times before. Do you remember me?"
"No."
"Then… could you lift your visor so I can confirm?" Ser Norton asked.
"Fine," the old knight said, stepping closer. Then—
Shing!
Clang!
Almost simultaneously, the old knight thrust his sword straight at the gap in Norton's throat armor. Norton suddenly raised his hand, aiming a shot at the eye slit in the old knight's helmet—but the old man had anticipated the move. With a quick duck of his head, he dodged the bolt.
"You—" Norton clutched his gushing throat, stumbling backward as he shook his head repeatedly. "No... you're not... not Ser Barristan. He would never... stoop so low!"
"Heh, you guessed right. I'm not him," the white knight sighed wistfully. Then, with a powerful swing, he shattered the throat armor entirely—Norton's head flew seven or eight meters before landing right in front of the six stunned soldiers.
A fountain of blood erupted. Norton's headless body collapsed with a thud.
"Get lost!" the old knight roared again.
Clatter!
One of the swordsmen dropped his crossbow and fled, wailing, "Lord Norton's been ambushed and killed by Ser Barristan!"
"I'm not—ugh…" The old knight stretched out his left hand helplessly, as though trying to grasp something that had already slipped away. In the end, he just sighed and shook his head in silence.
At that moment, the commotion around the Steward's Tower grew louder.
"The sun is falling!"
Ignoring the archers downstairs with their drawn bows, the old knight quickly leaned out the window to look up at the sky.
One glance—and his eyes went wide.
A dark red fireball, as large as a small house, was plummeting from the sky at incredible speed. Though it was clearly aflame, it radiated a heavy, tangible presence—like a real star crashing down with a deafening roar.
(End of Chapter)
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