Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

"Chiman, what are you doing?!"

A few clan leaders, sensing their imminent fate, shouted in panic, attempting to mask their fear.

Thud!

Chiman's sword pierced the chest of one clan leader, blood spraying across his body.

"Chiman! How dare you kill us?"

Thud!

Chiman's actions answered the accusations as he killed another clan leader without hesitation.

The wooden cabin erupted into a frenzy, with the remaining leaders cursing and struggling for their lives.

But Chiman was unmoved. He simply walked to the next leader in line.

"Wait! Chiman, I surrender! I'll submit—"

Thud!

Chiman's sword struck again, as if he were slaughtering wild game.

"You madman! You traitor! We've already surrendered! Why are you still killing us?"

Thud!

"The warriors of the Longbeard Clan will avenge—"

Thud!

The stench of blood filled the closed cabin, mixing with the foul smells of fear-induced filth and urine, creating a suffocating odor, reminiscent of a slaughterhouse.

The "Butcher" Chiman was covered in blood, wearing it like a gruesome red armor that made him a figure of terror.

With each clan leader he dispatched, the cabin grew quieter.

Only one remained—the Blue Skin Clan's chief and Chiman's own uncle, Lenya.

Oddly, Lenya no longer looked angry or afraid. He sat in silence, looking at his nephew with a detached expression.

"Tell me…why?"

For the first time, Chiman responded, his voice rough and hoarse, like a blade dulled by blood:

"For the future of the wildlings."

"The future of the wildlings?" Lenya's defeated expression shifted to one of anger. "You're destroying the future of the wildlings!"

Chiman shook his head slowly.

"No, you are the ones standing in the way of the wildlings' future."

Lenya looked stunned by the audacity of this statement.

Chiman continued, his tone calm and deliberate:

"We wildlings are also descendants of the First Men and the Andals. In essence, we're not that different from the Riverlanders. But while thousands of years have passed, the Riverlanders have built hundreds of castles, sustain millions of people, and assemble powerful armies. And us? We roam with beasts, remain mired in ignorance, divided into hundreds of small clans, fighting endlessly for tiny scraps of land and prey. After all this fighting, what have we gained?

"Still, we huddle here in the Red Mountains, occasionally raiding the lowlands only to flee at the sight of their organized armies.

"So, tell me, Uncle, even if I helped you drive the Riverlanders out of these mountains—what then? We'd return to the same miserable cycle, forever trapped in savagery and ignorance."

Lenya scoffed, "Do you really think becoming the Riverlanders' dog will change the future of the wildlings?"

Unfazed by his uncle's insult, Chiman answered in a level voice:

"At the very least, it's a chance to break down the walls between our clans and unite all the wildlings of the Red Mountains."

"And yet, the one who would rule the wildlings in this 'future' would be that Riverlander lord, while you're nothing but his mad dog!"

"If it helps the wildlings escape this pit of ignorance, I'd gladly be a mad dog."

Lenya fell silent.

At the brink of death, he found himself understanding his nephew's resolve.

That didn't mean he could forgive him.

Lenya would never forgive what Chiman had done, but he knew he could no longer stop him.

Whether Chiman would lead the wildlings to glory or plunge them into even greater despair, Lenya could not say.

But he thought, maybe the wildlings did need a different kind of leader.

"Don't become a mad dog," Lenya said, suppressing his anger. "The Riverlander told you to kill us, didn't he? By killing us, you earn the hatred of thirteen clans. The more you kill, the more blood stains you carry, until the whole world becomes your enemy. Chiman, restrain your bloodlust! Or else the wildlings will never see a brighter future because you'll already have fallen into darkness."

Chiman's face twisted into a strange smile.

"I'm already in the darkness, Uncle."

"There's still time," Lenya urged. "The Red Mountains are vast. You could stop now. The wildlings' future needs you."

But Chiman only shook his head. "It's too late. I killed my own father. I have no future."

Lenya's face paled as he recalled his brother-in-law's death. "You killed your father?!"

"And my brothers." Chiman took a step closer and drove his blood-stained sword through his uncle's chest. "And now, I've added an uncle."

Lenya let out a furious roar as blood gushed from his mouth. But his eyes held not hatred, but sorrow.

"Why…why have you done something so foul…so cursed by the gods…"

Chiman looked dispassionately at his uncle's dying face and said, "I prayed devoutly to the gods, but they never answered. So, I've decided to give my soul to the devil instead."

Lenya tried to speak, but with his heart shattered, he could no longer support his body. With a final gasp, he slumped over, blood pooling around him.

Chiman stared at his uncle's body for a long time, lost in thought.

Finally, he walked to the door and unlocked it.

Whoosh—

A cool night breeze swept in, though it didn't stir Chiman's hair, matted as it was with dried blood.

"Chiman, where is Lord Lenya?"

"Where's our Longbeard chief?"

"Our chief—since the fight is over and we've surrendered, can't you release them?"

Seeing the blood that coated Chiman, some of the wildlings began to curse and threaten him. Others even tried to rush him in fury.

Soldiers quickly intervened, subduing the most violent with threats and even killing a few of them, quelling the rising chaos.

Just then, Samwell arrived with his soldiers, entering the encampment.

The wildling captives fell silent, all eyes on the Riverlander lord who held their fates.

Samwell cast a brief glance at Chiman before turning to the captives. With a warm smile and a clear, resonant voice, he declared:

"All who are willing to submit, I grant you pardon!"

The captives were stunned, then erupted into cheers:

"Thank you, merciful lord!"

"We submit!"

"We pledge to serve!"

Chiman watched Samwell with a complex expression as the wildlings hailed him.

In the glow of the orange firelight, Samwell seemed almost surrounded by a holy radiance.

And Chiman, stained in blood and standing in the shadowed corner, exuded an aura of loathing and dread.

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. Then he suddenly slammed his fist against his chest and called out in a loud voice:

"Loyalty to the great Caesar!"

"To the great Caesar!"

"Caesar!"

"Caesar!"

"Caesar!"

The chants grew louder and louder, sweeping through the mountains like a fierce wind.

(End of Chapter)