9 Chapter 8- Kevan Lannister

The setting sun bled crimson.

The brutal skirmish had come to an end, leaving the air thick with a nauseating stench. The once-smooth road was now covered in a slick mixture of blood and mud.

Rainwater and blood mingled together, clinging to the boots of the middle-aged master-at-arms.

Squish—

He stumbled forward, splashing mud and water, leaving a small pit behind that quickly filled with the reddish liquid.

Thud—

After taking only a few shaky steps, Ser William Darry collapsed to his knees in the muck.

One hand braced against the ground, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as he gasped for air, like a fish flung ashore.

Panting~

His other hand pressed tightly against his abdomen, blood continuing to flow between his fingers.

He was wounded.

This was the most severe injury he had sustained, stabbed below the ribs by a masked bandit's dying counterattack. He had lost count of the numerous other cuts and bruises that covered his body.

Not far away, a crippled knight struggled to slay the last Red Keep guard who sought his life, the sword grinding into the man's neck.

"You..."

"Damn you."

With a forceful swipe, blood sprayed as the defeated guard's lifeless body slumped into the mud.

Thud—

The one-legged knight, now unsteady from the kill, used his sword to prop himself up.

His dented breastplate heaved with each labored breath, golden hair slick with sweat clinging to his face.

By now, the black cloth that once covered his face had long been lost.

But he no longer cared.

Panic-stricken shouts echoed in the distance, as fleeting silhouettes glanced back before disappearing into the woods, vanishing without a trace.

It was a bloody battle, with deserters on both sides crumbling under the pressure. They had underestimated the morale and strength of the Red Keep's guards, and they paid the price.

When the fight reached a stalemate, the crippled knight had considered retreat.

But his broken leg hindered his escape.

The fleeing soldiers abandoned their lord, now a burden to them, and scattered in all directions.

On the entire battlefield, only a few gravely wounded soldiers remained, both the Red Keep guards and the one-legged knight's men.

Then, the Red Keep master-at-arms, Ser William Darry, painstakingly rose to his feet once more.

He and the knight were the only ones left standing on the battlefield.

The golden-haired, one-legged knight's hawk-like eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He knew that since being abandoned by his men, his chances of survival had dwindled.

Unless he could summon the strength to kill everyone here, including the trembling Queen Leila hidden within the carriage...

At that moment, the one-legged knight seemed to realize something, his vision momentarily blurred as he steadied himself.

Only then did he notice the silver-haired boy beside Ser William Darry, covered in mud and blood, a sword cradled in his arms. The boy had helped Ser William to his feet.

"So, there's still a man left here."

The crippled knight, leaning on his sword, let out a bitter laugh.

Not far away, the middle-aged master-at-arms' damp curls clung to his cheeks. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling dizzy.

This was a sign of excessive blood loss.

Despite his condition, he recognized the mastermind behind the assault. The black cloth had fallen from the limping knight's face.

"Kevan Lannister!"

"It's you!"

The blond, limping knight appeared aged, but he was only in his thirties. His deep-set eyes and long laugh lines framed a face adorned with a short, neatly trimmed golden beard that seemed disheveled at the moment.

Sir William's lips quivered slightly. He, of course, recognized the man before him.

He was the younger brother of the renowned Warden of the West, Tywin Lannister, and the uncle of Jaime Lannister, who currently served as a Kingsguard to His Majesty.

"So the Lannisters have betrayed the Iron Throne!"

Shock was evident in Sir William's voice.

If the Lannister family had decided to betray the Iron Throne, King's Landing was in grave danger.

Before they set out, the armies of the West had marched towards King's Landing under the banner of loyalty.

If King Aerys II ordered the gates opened to admit the Western army, the city, which had never been breached from the outside, would fall from within.

And Jaime Lannister was by the king's side.

"Sir William."

"Let us both step back."

Kevan Lannister seemed unperturbed by being recognized. He was in dire straits and had to beg for his life. Nothing else mattered at the moment.

Kevan leaned on his sword with one hand, raising the other in a gesture of sincerity.

Few Lannisters were foolish. Their bloodline was perhaps gifted with adaptability, considering everyone knew the origin of their family.

Now trapped in such a precarious situation, Kevan did not abandon hope for survival.

He didn't attempt to persuade the master-at-arms to surrender, as both parties knew it was impossible. If the master-at-arms had wanted to surrender, he could have done so long ago, instead of fighting to this extent.

So, Kevan wanted them both to step back.

Queen Rhaella, a few handmaidens, and a young boy were on the other side.

But Kevan, having undergone rigorous training since childhood, was a skilled fighter. A few women and a boy posed no threat to him. Even with his limp, he could slay them one by one.

The only threat to him was the severely injured Red Keep master-at-arms, who was far inferior to himself.

Upon hearing the words of the limping knight, whom Sir William referred to as Kevan Lannister, Viserys felt a slight tension in his heart and looked up at the man beside him.

"Impossible!"

Sir William, clutching his side with a pale face, flatly refused.

He couldn't let Kevan go. If Kevan regrouped the scattered soldiers, the ones to die would be Sir William and his companions.

Then, his gaze turned to Viserys standing beside him.

"Child, do you remember what I just taught you?"

'Learn to use the pointy end to stab your enemies.'

Viserys nodded vigorously, gripping his sword tightly.

"Follow me!"

With that, the middle-aged master-at-arms, leaning on his sword with one hand, staggered towards Kevan one step at a time.

Kevan knew his opponent was resolute. With his limp, he couldn't outrun Sir William. With no other choice, he drew his sword and prepared for battle.

Two once-noble lords now resemble two injured hungry wolves, stumbling and rolling in a fight in the rain and blood.