Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 274 Peach Inn

Jon Clinton crouched on the damp mud of the Blackwater River, extending his gloved fingers to gently run them across the ground. Apart from traces of water erosion and some small animal footprints, there were indeed no fresh human or horse hoofprints on the muddy riverbank.

He stood up, his cold gaze sweeping over Shitang Town, which was surrounded by his army like an iron barrel. In the darkness, the town's outline appeared particularly fragile under the torchlight.

"They did leave through the back door of the castle," Jon's voice was calm yet carried an unquestionable authority, as if stating a fact he had long known. "The bloodstains point here, but the footprints have disappeared."

Jon Clinton turned to Levin Martell and several officers beside him, his eyes blazing. "What does this mean? It means they never even reached the river. My army completed the encirclement of the town the moment they breached the outer walls. Robert escaped the castle, but there's no way he could have escaped Stonehall right under our noses."

Jon's tone grew increasingly certain, each word striking the silent night: "He must still be hiding somewhere in town. A wounded stag can't go far, nor can it hide for long. Send the order to thoroughly search every house, every cellar."

Even if it means turning Shitang Town upside down, we will dig it out!

At Jon Clinton's command, the torchlight, like bloodthirsty fireflies, instantly flooded the streets and alleys of Stonehall.

A meticulous and brutal manhunt ensued.

Wang Jun's soldiers advanced in battle formation, sweeping through house to house. His knights brutally smashed wooden doors, and the soldiers searched every corner where people might be hiding—crowded barns, dark cellars, and even filthy sewers, sending men inside to investigate thoroughly.

But Robert Baratheon seemed to have vanished without a trace.

Jon Clinton quickly realized that he was dealing with far more than just a wounded fugitive. News of the Tully family's open rebellion against the Iron Throne and their raising of the banner of righteousness had already spread throughout the Riverlands.

Every resident knew that Robert was the leader of the rebels and their hope. Thus, a silent understanding spread among the townspeople.

They wove a protective net with silence and seemingly compliant lies. Wang Jun had just searched the eastern rooms when Robert was likely quickly moved to the western cellar: he might have been hidden in a secret compartment of someone's house when the soldiers stormed the tavern.

The townspeople, with their familiarity with every inch of the town, cleverly outwitted the outsider Wang Jun, making him run around in circles.

The entire town of Stonehall was no longer just an ordinary outpost on the map; it had become the Tully family's most secure lair, with every stone and every resident guarding the wounded stag.

The dungeon reeked of blood and decay. Two Stormlands soldiers who had escorted Robert were tightly chained to racks, their faces already torn and bleeding, but their eyes remained defiant.

Jon Clinton stood in the shadows, watching expressionlessly as the executioner skillfully carried out his task. The cold iron clamps gripped the first soldier's left little finger, and with a sickening crack and a muffled scream, a severed finger fell to the ground.

"Tell me, where is Robert Baratheon hiding?" Jon's voice was as calm as if he were asking about the weather.

All he received in response were heavy breathing and curses. Then the second and third fingers were severed in quick succession. When the instruments of torture were turned to another soldier, the first man finally lost consciousness.

Even while enduring excruciating pain, the two gave surprisingly similar answers: after escorting the Duke to his hideout in the town center as planned, they were quickly shunned by their local accomplices.

They truly have no idea whether Robert is alive or dead, or where he has been moved to.

Jon Clinton tapped his fingertips lightly on the hilt of his sword. He could tell these two tough men weren't lying—Robert was like a drop of water, completely integrated into the sea of ​​people protecting him. This realization deepened the King's Hand's grim expression. He turned and left the dungeon, leaving behind a cold command: "Dispose of him."

The footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only the echo of dripping blood in the dungeon.

The search has reached a stalemate, and the wounded stag remains hidden in some corner of this quiet town.

While Jon Clinton was burning with rage over the fruitless search, Robert Baratheon was in a much more relaxed situation than he had imagined.

The injured duke was not huddled in a dark, damp cellar or sewer, but was hiding in the most chaotic yet easily overlooked place in Stonehall Town—the Peach Inn.

This inn, which also operated as a brothel, was located on the east side of the market square and looked quite dilapidated.

The whitewashed walls had peeled off in many places, revealing the mud bricks underneath. Several windows had cracks plugged with rags. Half of the roof had been damaged by fire and, although it had been repaired with wood and thatch, it still looked dilapidated. A weathered wooden sign hung above the door, depicting a peach with a large bite taken out of it, creaking in the breeze.

Beneath this desolate scene lies an unexpected sanctuary.

The inn's madam and the girls, usually looked down upon by the noble lords, had become his most reliable protectors. Robert was settled in a relatively clean room in the attic, accessible only through a hidden door. His wounds were treated and bandaged again, and there was even a glass of coarse ale beside him.

The sounds of soldiers shouting and footsteps searching could be heard from outside the window, but behind this broken door, there was an absurd yet real peace.

Robert leaned against the wall, listening to the faint, deliberately coquettish laughter coming from downstairs—the perfect cover to deceive the pursuers. He sipped his ale, a bitter yet defiant smile even appearing on his lips; the disheveled state of a defeated general was replaced by a reckless stubbornness.

Behind the repaired wooden door of the Peach Inn stood a voluptuous madam with fiery red hair—Aiju. She moved among drunken sailors and pleasure-seeking customers, her laughter wanton, yet her eyes always maintained an astonishing clarity.

Few know that this striking red hair is a carefully placed pawn in Euron Greyjoy's grand scheme. She is part of Euron's "double agent" plan, placed in Stonehall, a strategic town in the Riverlands.

The diverse and chaotic environment of Peach Inn provided her with an excellent disguise and a source of intelligence.

Normally, she not only ran this inn-and-brothel, but also used the casual conversations of passing merchants and soldiers to secretly pass on information to Lisa. Now, when Robert Baratheon, this wounded stag, wandered into her territory, she activated this chain of protection almost without hesitation.

On the surface, she was just an innkeeper who took money to do things and provided hiding places; but in reality, every seemingly casual decision she made was precisely serving the captain of the Iron Islands far away.

The air inside the Peach Inn was stuffy.

Aiju's girls—Kas, Lana, Gissin, Alice, and Haley—were dealing with all sorts of guests as usual. When King's Landing soldiers broke in under the pretext of a search, they became the most effective "line of defense."

The soldiers clearly had ulterior motives; the search quickly turned into harassment and groping.

One of the soldiers, under the guise of a search, forced the rather attractive Cass into a room upstairs, eager to have sex with her. Cass, experienced in such matters, knew that resisting would only arouse more suspicion, so she half-heartedly resisted, using coquettishness and submission to entangle the soldier in bed.

Next to the room where they were having sex was a dark room cleverly concealed by a wardrobe.

Robert Baratheon was hiding there, and through the thin wooden planks, he could clearly hear the silvery voices and creaking of the bed next door. With his back against the cold wall, he could feel the slight vibrations of the wooden planks and even smell the cheap perfume mixed with sweat wafting through the cracks.

The Duke of Stormland clenched his fists, his wounds throbbing with pain. Humiliation and rage churned within him, but he had to remain silent as stone. The prostitute Cass had used her body to build the last, and most unexpected, barrier for him.