Game of Thrones: The Wrath of the Sleeping Dragon

Having overcome his inner fear with all his might, his leaden legs seemed to suddenly regain a bit of strength.

Then, just as the startled warhorse was about to collide with him...

He lunged to the side.

Chapter 7 Courage

thump--

Viserys rolled somewhat disheveled on the blood-stained road, his blue velvet top becoming filthy.

A startled warhorse whizzed past his ear, its heavy hooves pounding the ground, causing pebbles to bounce slightly.

The prince felt as if his ears were about to be deafened, and he knelt down on the ground, curling up in a ball.

Huhu~

He was panting heavily, his hands supporting him on the ground, his cheeks burning red.

"I..."

He wanted to say something about surviving the ordeal, but his racing heart made his blood rush to his head.

However, the tense situation is constantly changing, leaving him no time for reflection.

Sir William's sword lay on the ground not far away, covered in mud, but still gleaming with a cold light.

In the midst of the chaotic battle, the sounds of fighting filled the air, blood splattered everywhere, and both sides were blinded by rage.

Viserys lay on the ground, panting heavily, his hands supporting him as he looked up at the longsword that seemed rather heavy to him in the distance.

"I…"

Then, I don't know where the courage and strength came from.

Damn it!

The silver-haired boy gritted his teeth and tried to steel himself. He struggled to his feet, ignoring his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. He rushed over and hugged it tightly.

Cool to the touch.

The chilling aura emanating from the blade was almost tangible.

Perhaps in his previous life Viserys dared not wield such a long and sharp weapon, fearing he might break the law or hurt himself, but at this moment, he felt an unparalleled sense of familiarity with the sword.

Because in such a chaotic situation, everyone is too busy looking after themselves, and no one can protect him...

He was alone.

The silver-haired boy gritted his teeth slightly, nervously clutching his longsword and silently swearing an oath.

No matter who wants to kill him, he will not surrender like a rabbit; even if it means death, he will take a bite out of them.

"I will definitely..."

However, just as Viserys was encouraging himself...

A 'bandit' who had fallen from his warhorse after his horse's leg was cut off in the recent battle stood up unsteadily, supporting himself with one hand on his sword and the other on his head.

His leather armor was cut open with a gruesome gash; he was just a hair's breadth away from being disemboweled, but by some stroke of luck, he survived.

When the 'robber' stood up, a red mark and a golden lion symbol were revealed beneath the tattered leather armor.

It flashed by in an instant.

For various reasons.

The Red Keep guard who had just cut off his horse's leg was instantly killed by others; the battle was exceptionally fierce, and he was not finished off.

When he recovered and pushed aside his companion's corpse to get up, he shook his head and saw the boy standing in the empty space in the center of the battlefield, holding a sword.

That signature long, silver-gold hair, those jewel-like pale purple eyes, that youthful, beautiful face—the boy holding the sword also noticed him, and a clear look of panic appeared in his eyes, which had just been filled with determination...

Like a startled rabbit.

He never imagined that he would be targeted by the enemy so soon after he had just made a vow.

The masked bandit who had fallen from his horse saw this unprotected "big fish" and a sinister smile slowly appeared on his face, the black cloth covering his face being blown away by the wind.

However, he didn't care at all.

Holding a longsword, he walked step by step toward Viserys.

A Targaryen prince without protection is like a fish on a chopping board.

No matter how noble the boy's birth or how pure his bloodline, I myself, even kneeling on the ground, couldn't see the boy's toes.

However, at this moment, his noble birth and lineage were not enough to allow the prince to avoid the sharp sword of this commoner.

Viserys, whether stunned or for some other reason, stood motionless.

His breathing was slightly rapid, and he gripped Sir William's sword tightly with both hands, the tip of the sword pointing directly at his opponent.

His mind was blank, filled only with the sentence the middle-aged coach had just given him.

"Learn to use the sharp end to stab the enemy."

Behind Viserys' unseen back, a black mist gradually spread and churned into an indescribable form, and a pair of scarlet eyes opened within the mist, staring at his back.

Viserys' eyes gradually turned crimson, his breathing became heavy, and he gripped his longsword tightly.

At that moment, in the blink of an eye...

Rumble...

The warhorses galloped.

The horseshoes rolled up blood and mud.

William Darryl was covered in blood, whether from himself or his enemy, and held a longsword, blood dripping continuously from the blade.

Then he raised it high, the warhorse galloped past the bandit, and the longsword traced a path in the blood-red setting sun before slashing down heavily.

puff--

next second.

A perfectly healthy head flew straight up, followed by a fountain of blood.

Huhu~

The middle-aged man's slightly curly long hair was stained with blood, making him look somewhat ferocious. His eyes were bloodshot, and his legs were tightly gripping the warhorse beneath him. He then handed his longsword to his left hand.

Tap tap...

Horse hooves trod on bloody mud.

Then, as he passed Viserys, he bent slightly and pressed his body against the horse's back.

He reached out and picked up the little prince, placing him behind him, while speaking urgently.

"Your Highness, hold me tight!"

At the most critical moment, the middle-aged coach discovered that Viserys was in danger. He quickly spurred his horse to the scene, killed the enemy with a single sword stroke, and saved the young prince who was about to fight to the death.

The enemy's scalding blood splattered onto the silver-haired boy's delicate face, and Viserys suddenly shuddered as if waking from a dream.

The black mist behind him, invisible to others, slowly dissipated, and his pale purple, jewel-like eyes regained their clarity.

His throat bobbed slightly, and he gently clenched his teeth.

He then realized what had just happened.

He... he actually wants to fight the enemy to the death?

Where did they get the courage?

However, he had already been lifted onto the horse by Sir William. Upon hearing the coach's words, Viserys did not hesitate and decisively hugged the other tightly.

An enemy was beheaded less than three feet away from him, blood splattering on his cheeks, yet Viserys felt no urge to vomit, or rather, had no opportunity to do so.

Instead, it strengthened his resolve and made him clench his fist.

Because he knew very well that if he wanted to survive, now was not the time to feel nauseous and vomit.

The blood in the young body seemed to be ignited and began to burn fiercely.

For a seven-year-old boy, it's hard to say anyone could be braver than him.

"kill!!"

Then, the battle, like thunder erupting from the knight's tongue, once again resounded along this blood-stained road.

Chapter 8 Kevan Lannister

The setting sun is like blood.

The battle was over, and the air was filled with a nauseating stench. The once smooth road was now covered in blood and mud.

Rainwater and blood mingled together and stuck to the middle-aged coach's boots.

Snapped--

Then he stumbled and stepped down, splashing water and leaving a small pit, which was quickly filled with red rainwater.

thump--

Staggering a few steps, William Daryl's knees buckled and he collapsed to his knees in the mud.

He braced himself on the ground with one hand, sweat beading on his forehead, and gasped for breath, like a fish that had been thrown ashore.

Huhu~

His other hand was tightly clutching his abdomen, and blood continued to flow from between his fingers.

he got hurt.

This was the most serious wound on his body, inflicted by a masked bandit's dying counterattack, which pierced his ribs with a sword. He had many other wounds, large and small, which he himself had forgotten.

Not far away, the lame knight also struggled to draw his sword and fell the last Red Keep guard who tried to kill him, the longsword pressing hard against the man's neck.

"you..."

"Damn it."