Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 200 The Chase – The Battle of the Imperial Guard

The golden sea monster of the Iron Islands, the sun-piercing spear of Dorne, the yellow sun and white moon of Tarsus, and the crowned stag of Storm's End walk side by side, their banners intertwining in the wind, creating a rare sight.

The group proceeded at a leisurely pace along King's Road, seemingly just a chance encounter, but in reality, it was driven by a cautious consideration—safety was the most important consensus in everyone's mind at that moment.

Elia did not inform the Mad King of her decision to leave Rhaegar with her daughter Rhaenys.

No one could predict how Iris II would react upon learning of this, after all, he was a monarch who would suddenly order the burning of nobles at a banquet.

The main force of the Iron Islands had already passed through Riverrun and was marching back towards Ironborn Bay. Only Euron insisted on traveling with Dorne, determined to personally escort Elia and Ashara southward. They would traverse the rugged hills where the Riverlands and Stormlands meet, all the way to distant Storm's End—from there, the two women would sail across the turbulent Shipwreck Bay, finally returning to their homeland of Dorne.

Those who remained by Euron's side were his most loyal core forces: the Red Priestess Gwendolyn, who always accompanied him in silence, her fiery red robes fluttering in the wind like an inextinguishable flame of faith; the veteran Dagmer, as steady as a reef, his scarred face etched with the marks of time and unwavering loyalty; the Regretful One, Victoria Daniels, who always kept a safe distance; and twenty elite Ironborn warriors, each a survivor of the rigorous selection process on Pyke Isle, taciturn with eyes as sharp as knives, the salt and smoke of the Iron Islands having seeped into their bones.

Although this small team is small in number, it is like a meticulously forged dagger, sharp and dangerous.

When Robert Baratheon learned at Harrenhal that Princess Elia was determined to divorce Rhaegar and return to Dorne with her daughter Rhaenys, he burst into a thunderous laugh that seemed to resonate through the stone walls of the hall.

"Good! Good! Good!" he shouted three times, his rugged face flushed with excitement, his broad hands pounding his chest with resounding thuds. "On my turf, you can rest assured! Whether it's the Mad King or that arrogant Rhaegar, who dares to stop me—" His voice suddenly turned fierce, his eyes flashing with the characteristic ferocity of a Stormlands lord, "Whether it's the Golden Robes or the Kingsguard, I, Robert Baratheon, dare to kill them all!"

He could never forgive Rhaegar for the humiliation at the Tournament of Harrenhal—that arrogant prince dared to present the tiara of "love and beauty" to his fiancée Lyanna in public. This not only tarnished Lyanna's reputation but was also a blatant trampling on the honor of both the Baratheon and Stark families.

Looking at Elia, who resolutely chose to leave Rhaegar, Robert felt a surge of camaraderie and satisfaction.

"Let those Targaryens know," Robert's voice echoed through the hall like a storm, "that not all are willing to tolerate their arrogance and madness!"

Lord Selwyn Tarth of Twilighthall and his daughter Brienne, leading several dozen Tarth knights, joined the southward journey. They were already knighted by Robert, Lord of Stormlands, and their trip to Storm's End was both a report to the authorities and a route to return to Tarth by ship from its port.

Few knew that Brienne harbored a simple and pure wish. The young woman rode silently in the procession, her azure eyes occasionally glancing at Euron Greyjoy, the figure fluttering in the sea breeze at the front of the column.

Whenever Euron discussed the route with Dagmore or whispered with the Red Priestess, Brienne would unconsciously slow her horse, just to catch a glimpse of him. To her, this journey south was not only a return trip, but also a precious period of time; she only wanted to travel a little longer with the Iron Islands boy who had shone so brightly in the tournament.

Earl Selwyn saw his daughter's thoughts but only sighed in tacit approval. He waved his hand, ordering the knights of Tas to join the ranks. The banners fluttered in the wind, adding another unique sight to this already peculiar group.

Euron rode at the head of the procession, the sea breeze ruffling his dark curly hair as he occasionally glanced at the trees and hills on either side of the road.

Both he and Robert Baratheon openly angered the Mad King at the tournament, and when faced with a mad ruler, all common sense and bottom lines become meaningless.

"Remember," Euron had told Oberyn and Robert, "we cannot judge the Mad King's actions by reason. An ambush? To him, that's just an afternoon pastime."

Every knight in the ranks remained vigilant. The Dornish spearmen and Iron Islands axeman coordinated their attacks, forming an invisible protective net. Ashara Dayne's grey horse remained close to Elia's mount, her pale golden hair fluttering in the wind like a gentle banner.

Little Rhaenys, held tightly in her mother's arms, was completely unaware of the impending danger, her silvery laughter still ringing out from time to time. Yet all the adults knew—on this road to Storm's End, every shadow might conceal the Iron Throne's blade, every gust of wind might carry the killing intent from King's Landing.

The shadows of the trees in the Imperial Forest swayed gently, and dappled sunlight filtered through the layers of branches and leaves, casting dappled patterns on the marching procession. In the midst of this tranquility, the rapid and orderly sound of horses' hooves suddenly broke the silence of the forest, growing louder and louder like muffled thunder from afar.

A procession of nearly a hundred men in golden robes galloped from the end of the road, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust. They had clearly been on a forced march; their horses were foaming at the mouth and nose, and the knights' golden robes were covered in dust, yet they still maintained their royal dignity. Having received a message from a raven, they had traveled day and night, finally catching up with their target here.

The lead knight urged his horse forward a few steps and called out in a loud yet restrained voice, "Is that Princess Ilya ahead?"

The troops stopped immediately, and the knights of Dorne, the Iron Islands, and Storm's End quietly adjusted their formation, forming a protective barrier.

Princess Elia frowned slightly, gently stroking the uneasy Rhaenys in her arms, and calmly looked at the newcomer. The sunlight shone perfectly on her pale and dignified face, and a knowing yet wary look flashed in her deep eyes, characteristic of the Martell family.

The entire royal guard seemed to freeze at that moment, with only the heavy breathing of the golden-robed men's mounts and the occasional birdsong from the forest standing out clearly in the tense atmosphere.

A slender hand gently lifted the carriage curtain, revealing Princess Elia's pale face in the shadows. Her gaze calmly met the newcomer's, her voice as soft yet clear as a breeze in Dorne: "I am Elia. And you are?"

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The golden-robed knight bowed slightly on horseback, his armor making a crisp sound with the movement: "I am Jeslin Bywatt, captain of the King's Landing garrison."

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Ilya's fingers tightened unconsciously, but she remained calm: "Sir Jeslin, what brings you here?"

Jaslin's voice was steady yet undeniable: "I have come to welcome the princess back to King's Landing."

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In the brief silence, only the sound of the wind in the forest and the restless hooves of horses could be heard.

Ilya took a deep breath, her voice soft yet unwavering: "No need. I have already made it very clear to Prince Rhaegar that I am taking Rhaenys back to Dorne."

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Her gaze passed over Jaslin, looking south, as if she could already see the red dunes of Dorne and the sun-drenched courtyard. This statement was not only a response to the captain of the Golden Robes, but also a princess's declaration of her destiny.

Jaslin Bywart's hand rested firmly on the hilt of his sword, his voice calm yet undeniably authoritative: "Whether Prince Rhaegar agrees or not is not our concern. We are acting on orders personally issued by His Majesty the King."

Before Princess Elia could respond, a black horse charged out like a whirlwind. Oberyn Martell rode up to block his sister's carriage, his narrow eyes flashing with the fiery fury of the Dornish desert: "Whose orders are it all!" he sneered. "My sister has dissolved her engagement with Prince Rhaegar, and now she is returning to Dorne with me. If she knows what's good for her, she'll take her people and get back to King's Landing right now!"

Jeslin slowly drew his longsword, the steel blade gleaming coldly in the forest sunlight: "Your Highness, I cannot disobey the king's command. Please do not put me in a difficult position."

Dare to draw your sword!?

Just as Euron and Oberyn exchanged glances, preparing to give the order to act, another figure moved even faster than the two of them.

Robert Baratheon was already at the forefront, his warhammer swinging like a storm, his thunderous roar echoing through the forest: "Enough with the nonsense! Let's fight! Kill them all!!!"

His imposing figure seemed to transform into a whirlwind, charging straight towards the golden-robed group, with the Storm Knights close behind. The whistling sound of warhammers tearing through the air became the strongest prelude to this inevitable conflict.

The golden-robed men of King's Landing were indeed well-equipped. Their brand-new armor gleamed like mirrors in the forest sunlight, every armor plate was polished to a shine, and their longswords gleamed coldly when drawn. Not even a single scratch from battle could be found.

It is precisely this excessively perfect neatness that exposes their fatal flaw: a lack of real battlefield experience.

Compared to the elites of Storm's End, Dorne, and the Iron Islands who had just emerged from the bloody battles of the Harrenhal Tournament, these members of the capital's garrison were far inferior.

When Robert's warhammer tore through the air, when Oberyn's spear shot out like a serpent, when Euron's blade drew a deadly arc, the chilling killing intent condensed from life-or-death battles made many Gold Robes tremble with fear, almost unable to hold their weapons.

The battle was one-sided from the very beginning. The golden-robed warriors' orderly formation was completely shattered in the first encounter, their magnificent armor proving as fragile as children's toys before these battle-tested warriors. The clash of swords, the neighing of warhorses, and screams of terror instantly filled the forest clearing.

The more imposing the capital's garrison was when they arrived, the more pathetic and miserable they became when they retreated.

Many were thrown from their horses before they could even turn around; others scattered in panic, abandoning their so-called royal orders and duties. The conflict quickly devolved into a complete rout, their gleaming armor and discarded weapons gleaming ironically in the sunlight.

A cold glint flashed in Euron's eyes as he shouted, "Annihilate them all! Leave no one alive! If you let even one person escape, more Golden Robes will swarm in!"

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Oberyn immediately understood, swinging his spear forward: "Chase them! Don't let a single one escape!"

The cavalry of Dorne and the Iron Islands charged out like cheetahs, launching a relentless pursuit through the woods. Amidst the flashing blades, the golden-robed figures fell one after another, their screams echoing through the Kingswood.

In the chaos, only Captain Jeslin Bywatt displayed extraordinary survival instincts. He ruthlessly used his comrades' bodies as shields, galloping recklessly on horseback, his armor stained with their blood. Just as he was about to break through the encirclement and escape into the depths of the forest—

A lithe figure leaped out of the shadows of the forest like a ghost. A flash of cold light, and a longsword pierced through the air, precisely penetrating Jeslin's breastplate and pinning him to the ground from his horse.

Euron narrowed his eyes and recognized the assassin who had appeared silently.

"White Deer" Wenda—she stood quietly in the forest, her petite figure radiating a chilling aura of killing intent, as if she had become one with the forest.

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