Game of Thrones: I Created the Weave

Outside the gates of Storm's End.

Cortnay Penrose, mounted on a chestnut horse, exchanged a serious gaze with the opposing knight before him.

The knight's eyes were shadowed and downcast, and he sported a rust-colored beard. His white scale armor was etched with intricate gold lines, and he wore a golden sun helmet. His knee guards, throat guard, hand guards, and long boots were all gleaming iron plate.

It was unclear if he was showing off or simply afraid of death.

Crucially, the wool cloak of this knight was adorned with a golden lion clasp.

"Ser Cortnay Penrose."

The knight's rust-colored beard swayed slowly. "Long time no see."

Cortnay Penrose snorted coldly. "You've been living quite comfortably in the Red Keep, I fear you've completely forgotten the Stormlands, Meryn Trant!"

Cortnay Penrose recognized that face.

How could he not? From his own Paper Town to Storm's End, the Grassy Vale, the ancestral seat of the Trant family, lay in between.

"What, the Gallows Knight has transformed into a proud golden lion?"

Cortnay Penrose's face was filled with mockery.

Meryn Trant was unbothered, stroking the golden lion clasp on his shoulder. "As a Kingsguard, one must naturally forget their family, neither marry nor have children, and serve the King with single-minded devotion. Ser, instead of praising me for upholding my oath, why do you speak insults?"

If it were truly out of duty as a Kingsguard, it would be understandable, even worthy of respect. But was Meryn Trant that kind of person?

Cortnay Penrose was too lazy to waste any more words.

"Say what you need to say quickly. You can hurry back and wag your tongue at your master, and I can have a little more peace in Storm's End, saving my strength for killing the enemy."

Cortnay Penrose glanced at Meryn Trant with disgust.

If this fellow hadn't come floating from a distance carrying two peace banners, seen by countless people, he truly would have wanted to initiate a duel immediately to rid the world of a filthy villain.

What a pity.

He looked up again.

One peace banner was painted with seven-colored stripes, trailing seven long tails, attached to a staff with a Seven-Pointed Star at the top.

The other banner was similar, except all the "seven" were replaced with "six."

He knew this was a wicked fruit of the False King Joffrey's willfulness. To actually say that "the symbol of The Seven is a Six-Pointed Star"? Utter nonsense!

And Meryn Trant, neither respected The Gods nor was he brave enough to face death!

He looked at Meryn Trant again with contempt. If this fellow had truly dared to come with only a Six-Pointed Star banner, it would have shown some loyalty and courage. But to also carry a Seven-Pointed Star, ha!

As if provoked by his gaze, Meryn Trant finally unrolled the King's Writ.

"By the grace of Joffrey I of the House Baratheon and Lannister, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm..."

Cortnay Penrose lazily dug at his ear.

"...infinite in power, rebels shall be destroyed. To show the mercy of The Gods, open the gates immediately and pledge allegiance to justice. Those within the castle may still be pardoned, judged by merit, not by crime."

Meryn Trant held out the writ, his face filled with indifferent arrogance.

"Finished reading?"

Cortnay Penrose spat. "That is my answer. Go back and report, and let those poor soldiers come and die against the walls, adding to your sins!"

"Or, do you wish to die by my sword?"

Cortnay Penrose reached for his sword hilt. Facing this fellow Meryn Trant, he couldn't feel at ease coming empty-handed.

Meryn Trant showed no surprise or anger.

"Sword duels are outdated."

Meryn Trant sighed condescendingly, then rode towards the camp without looking back.

Watching Meryn Trant's glittering back recede, Cortnay Penrose knew that he had refused the only bloodless opportunity.

But what of it? The enemy's blood would be ten, a hundred times that of Storm's End!

Cortnay Penrose turned his horse around.

Crossing the drawbridge and entering the gatehouse, he felt the countless murder holes and mechanisms hidden in the shadows.

Solid stone would roll down from above, and hot oil would be poured.

Bow and arrow would open and close from the left and right, ballistae would unleash their power, and fire ballistae would spit out fire.

The iron gate could crush a man in half when it fell, turning him into a pulp of flesh. Afterward, it would separate the inside and outside into two worlds; the world inside was doomed, and the world outside was merely waiting for death.

The gates were also reinforced with iron bars, and if necessary, they could be covered with a layer of iron spike covering to prevent tampering.

Even the ground was not dull and uninteresting.

Mechanisms controlling underground pits were installed on both sides of the inner wall. Once activated, the ground in the gatehouse would collapse, revealing a pit two zhang long and two zhang deep.

Forget heavy siege engines, even lightly armored soldiers would find it difficult to cross, and there were countless active murder holes.

All of this was the enemy's nightmare and Storm's End's lullaby.

Cortnay Penrose knew this perfectly well.

Click, click, click~

The iron chains tightened with the winch, pulling up the drawbridge behind him once more, sealing the gap in the outer wall.

The entire gatehouse instantly plunged into darkness.

In the dark, confined space, fragmented sounds began to fill the area from all directions. These sounds came from the soldiers waiting in formation behind the murder holes.

Boom~~

The heavy gate was slowly lifted by the iron chains, and light shone through the gap below the gatehouse, growing brighter and larger until it was wide enough for people to pass through.

Cortnay Penrose spurred his horse through the gate.

Thud~

The gate fell heavily to the ground, opening again at some unknown time.

...

"Ser, a letter from Amberly."

Cortnay Penrose had just stepped onto the North Wall when a maester hurried over with a scroll.

The seal on the letter was the sigil of the Rogers family, black ink, nine silver unicorns surrounding a silver maze.

The Rogers family of Amberly, neighbors to the west of Rain House City. The fleet from King's Landing.

He could already guess the contents of the letter.

Opening the letter, it was indeed as he expected.

Amberly had been attacked by the fleet. Although the castle was not breached, many coastal fishing villages and towns had been plundered or burned. Some enemy troops had even pushed inland, intending to attack more villages and towns.

They were acting more and more like pirates.

Cortnay Penrose's mood was complex.

"Ser, how should I report this to His Majesty?" the maester asked cautiously.

Cortnay Penrose looked towards the enemy camp to the north.

It was confirmed now, the enemy had not brought large siege engines, their supplies were insufficient, their tents were scattered, and they didn't even have war drums or horns!

As for the reason.

The letter from Amberly confirmed a guess he had previously dared not believe.

The enemy's white light and sound were not without limit. Amberly had also heard the thunderous surrender call from the fleet, but only half of it, the other half abruptly cut off.

So, because of this power, the enemy was arrogant enough to abandon drums and horns.

But this power suddenly disappeared, and it was unexpected, which led to the enemy's current difficulty in issuing commands?

"Ser!"

A soldier ran from the east, "The besieging fleet is moving! They..."

Cortnay Penrose raised a hand to stop him.

There was no need for further words, the fleet was already passing by in a line, sailing further north.

He turned back to face due north.

In the center of the shore camp, a Crowned Stag banner, larger than a sail, was flying over the main camp.

Joffrey, you are as arrogant as ever.

Not long after.

Storm's End's ravens were all released.

The besieging soldiers shot a few rounds of arrows, but six or seven ravens still escaped the attack.

Flying north.

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