Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 258 Battle of the Midsummer Hall

When Count Cavallin and Count Grandson led their respective armies at a hasty pace and finally arrived at the outskirts of Summerhall, the sight before them chilled them to the bone.

The distant horizon was no longer the fierce battlefield of expectation, but a deathly silent slaughterhouse. The flag of the Fair family's blue-and-grey castle lay drooping on the ground, trampled into the mud and blood.

Everywhere the eye could see were fallen corpses, scattered weapons, and unridden warhorses. And behind this scene of carnage lay Robert Baratheon's victorious army, disciplined and menacing, like a pack of wolves after a hunt, calmly watching their new prey.

The two counts instantly realized they were too late; Gerald Fair and his army had been completely annihilated.

Fear and considerations of reality overwhelmed their initial fighting spirit. With almost no communication, Cavallen and Grandson quickly reached a consensus—to unite their forces, abandon the decisive battle against Robert's army, which was riding high in morale, in the open, and immediately retreat to the ruins of the ancient and massive Summerhall behind them.

Earl Cavallin and Earl Grandson hoped to use the weathered, dilapidated walls, collapsed towers, and intricate courtyards to build a temporary defensive line for a desperate and stubborn resistance.

The army retreated hastily into the ruins of Summerhall, their eyes fixed on Robert Baratheon's army, which was gradually closing in and beginning to suppress them with crossbow fire.

They found no flags other than those of the Bucks, and optimistically believed that their opponents only had Robert's army, and that they might be able to hold out for reinforcements by taking advantage of the ruins.

While Robert's army drew the attention of all the defenders, Euron's real trump card was already in place.

His Iron People did not participate in the frontal siege, but had already used their superb infiltration capabilities to silently bypass the main battlefield like an undercurrent, and circled around to the weakest side and rear of the ruins' defenses—a steep cliff that was considered insurmountable.

While the defenders' attention was firmly drawn to Robert's army in front, a completely different shout of battle and shrill screams suddenly erupted from behind the ruins!

The defenders turned around in horror and saw countless fierce figures rappelling down the steep cliff top, which they thought was impossible to climb, as if walking on flat ground!

The leader was none other than Euron Greyjoy.

He was the first to leap onto the high wall of the ruins, his movements as agile as a black panther. His twin swords, "Sakura Ten" and "Wood Dry," were somehow imbued with raging demonic fire, dancing deadly arcs of light in the dim light. The moment his feet touched the ground, the blades flashed like venomous snakes, darting left and right, and the two guards stationed at the cliff edge collapsed, clutching their bleeding throats. The whole process was breathtakingly fast.

In the ensuing chaos, Euron displayed superhuman combat skills.

Paper drawing of the Type 6 Navy Navy model!

Euron moved with effortless grace amidst the chaos of battle, his enemies' blades always narrowly missing him, leaving no trace of blood on his clothes. He perfectly combined the agile movements of a water dancer with deadly killing techniques, transforming himself into a precise and efficient killing machine.

Euron's art of killing was simple yet brutal; he never needed a second move against any enemy. With each step he took, the blade trembled, and a guard would fall to the ground, becoming yet another warm corpse at his feet. Wherever he went, he left only a bloody path paved with astonishment and death.

These Ironborn warriors were unlike any knight on the continent of Westeros who valued honor and formation. They were more like raging pirates who had broken free from the sea's shackles and pounced on land, their mouths spewing chilling war cries and roars originating from ancient drowning god beliefs. They wielded heavy battle axes and strangely curved scimitars, their eyes showing no fear of death, only a pure thirst for slaughter and plunder.

Their tactics are completely unconventional; they don't maintain formations or engage in knightly duels.

They formed small groups, each fighting their own battles, yet maintained a strange tacit understanding amidst the chaos, relentlessly attacking the weakest points in the defenses.

This unconventional, fearless, and highly efficient method of combat, like a cold dagger, instantly pierced the core of the defending forces' lines, creating immense chaos within them and awakening humanity's most primal fear of unknown violence.

Time seemed to freeze when Robert's soldiers hurled the cold, maimed body of Earl Gerald Fair, his breastplate dented by the hammer, onto the battlefield as if it were a sack of grain.

That body, once a symbol of the majesty of a regional lord, now lay silently limp amidst dust and blood, the shattered emblems on its armor reflecting the pale light of the day. This horrifying sight became the final straw that broke the psychological defenses of the royalist coalition.

The desperate situation of being attacked from both sides was already agonizing, but now, witnessing firsthand the tragic end of their staunch ally, an old count known for his unwavering loyalty, shattered their remaining morale like a punctured husk, instantly deflating completely. Fear, like an icy tide, utterly engulfed the hearts of every royalist soldier.

Robert Baratheon sat high atop his warhorse, his powerful frame casting a long shadow in the setting sun. Like a lion surveying its prey, his cold gaze slowly swept over the pale-faced, trembling Royalist soldiers, finally settling on Earls Cavalen and Grandson.

His voice, like rolling thunder, boomed across the silent ruins, carrying an undeniable authority: "Will you fight to the death here like a warrior, or lay down your weapons and surrender immediately? Will you choose death, or will you choose to live? The choice is yours!"

This final ultimatum was like a heavy hammer, shattering the last remaining hope in the hearts of Earl Cavallin and Earl Grandson.

They looked around in despair, seeing only the undisguised fear in the eyes of their own soldiers and the gleaming, sharp blades of Robert's army pointed at them.

Just as the battle was about to end, dust rose again on the distant horizon. A bright banner gradually became clear – it was Dorne's "Sunpiercer Lance"! Prince Oberyn Martell, leading his Dornish army like a scorching desert wind, finally arrived at the Summerhall battlefield.

The arrival of the Dornish army, though without firing a single arrow, became the undisputed final straw that broke the camel's back.

Defeat was inevitable at this moment, and any form of resistance would be a pointless and futile act of suicide.

The two counts exchanged a glance, both seeing the same despair and hopelessness in each other's faces. They sighed heavily, as if aging ten years in an instant, and were the first to throw their swords down with a clang onto the rubble at their feet. The crisp sound heralded the end of their resistance.

Seeing that their lord had surrendered, the remaining royalist soldiers finally snapped.

Like dominoes falling, the battlefield was filled with the clanging of weapons hitting the ground. Everyone gave up futile resistance and chose the path of humiliation, but one that would allow them to survive.

Robert did not choose to execute them. In his rage, he adhered to the chivalrous principle of accepting surrender, demonstrating the magnanimity of a victor and the composure befitting a duke. However, this Lord of Stormlands was no fool; he would not naively release these lords, giving them the opportunity to oppose him again in the future.

Thus, Count Cavallon, Count Grandson, the captured "Silver Axe" Edric Fair, and all the other identified high-ranking officers were bound hand and foot and strung together in a long, dejected line of prisoners.

Under the tight escort of Robert and Euron's armies, they embarked on a long and humiliating journey to the dungeons of Storm's End, where their fate would be temporarily sealed in the dark depths of that seaside castle.