The pitch-black night was suddenly illuminated as if it were daylight. The staff in Qyburn's hand emitted a brilliance akin to the sun, completely halting the vampires' magic and life regeneration, causing them immense suffering.
The source of the light became the greatest threat, and the vampires began leaping from the city walls, charging toward Qyburn. This played right into the Westerners' strategy, drawing the enemy away and relieving the besieged defenders of The Twins.
"Split left and right!" Addam Marbrand, the commander of the Western cavalry, roared from behind Qyburn.
The rapidly advancing Western knights immediately split into two flanks, centering their maneuver around Qyburn. Addam continued leading the left wing, while Tyrek Lannister commanded the right. As for Jaime, he had fallen behind, still galloping out of the forest alone.
This was a prearranged tactic—Qyburn would draw enemy attention while the cavalry flanked from both sides. This not only provided space for Qyburn to unleash his magic but also reduced obstacles for the charging knights.
Qyburn, positioned alone in the center, accelerated to the vanguard. His two skeletal giants thundered with each step, their terrifying forms composed of countless human and animal bones. They wielded massive bone axes, their eye sockets burning with blue soul-fire. The sight alone caused the Freys, who had been organizing the defense, to tremble in fear.
Such a conspicuous presence on the battlefield naturally made Qyburn the vampires' primary target. However, dozens of crimson magical attacks struck him without even chipping a single bone. The vampires' magic was designed to prey upon the living—blood-draining spells, fear curses—but against an undead like Qyburn, they were utterly ineffective.
The horse beneath Qyburn was caught in the magical crossfire, instantly shriveling into a dried husk and collapsing into the mud. Flung into the air, Qyburn landed effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing at all.
"Never thought this old man would see a day like this! Hah!" he cackled, watching the swarm of monsters rush toward him. He pulled out a crimson potion and downed it in one gulp—mana restoration.
"Ha!"
Raising his staff high, Qyburn poured even more power into it. The white light at its tip intensified, as if a miniature sun had descended onto the battlefield. The sheer radiance seared the nearby vampires' skin, causing them to recoil in pain.
Turning his gaze upon his enemies, Qyburn switched to wielding his staff one-handed, while his free hand conjured a barrage of illusion spells.
Fear—those afflicted turned and fled in terror.
Mayhem—several vampires began indiscriminately attacking anything that moved, including their own kin.
Calm—some vampires stood motionless, gazing at the light with serene expressions, hands clasped as if in prayer.
The vampires fell into disarray, while Qyburn's skeletal giants continued their rampage. Under his control, they raised their colossal axes, cleaving through the immobilized vampires, tearing apart those who fled, and executing clean finishing strikes on those caught in the chaotic melee.
Every sorcerer had their own combat style. The mercenary-turned-priest Thoros favored a mix of magic and swordplay. Though Thoros and Qyburn shared similar talent and magical reserves, Qyburn's approach was far better suited for large-scale warfare.
The thunderous pounding of hooves. The spray of mud.
The radiance from Qyburn's spell blinded the Freys defending the city, while the Western cavalry, silhouetted against the light, seemed like divine retribution as they burst forth, crashing into the enemy lines.
Silvered lances pierced through bodies. Sturdy plate armor deflected desperate attacks. From atop their steeds, the knights struck down with ruthless precision. Screams filled the night.
"Fall back! Regroup!" Addam Marbrand raised his sword, signaling for the knights to avoid getting carried away in the heat of battle.
On the right flank, under Tyrek Lannister's command, the knights had similarly slaughtered a significant portion of the enemy.
As he withdrew his lance from an enemy's chest, Tyrek readied for another strike—when suddenly, a voice reached his ears.
"Tyrek, stop! It's me—Benfrey Frey! Benfrey Frey!"
"Benfrey Frey? What the hell are you doing here?" Tyrek narrowed his eyes at the filthy man standing before his horse. It was indeed Benfrey Frey—the sixteenth son of old Walder Frey.
"We were tricked by the monsters! They treat humans as food! We can't defeat them, and we're too scared to escape! They're forcing us to attack The Twins!" Benfrey Frey lowered his axe in surrender, signaling that he had no wish to continue fighting.
"Then tell your men to surrender!" Tyrek barked. If they could make the enemy lay down their weapons, all the better. But now was no time for negotiations. He spurred his horse forward, ready to press the attack.
"Drop your weapons! Freys, lay down your arms!" Benfrey Frey shouted. But amid the chaos of battle, his voice carried no weight.
"I'll go with you!" Seeing his cries go unheard, Benfrey pressed close to Tyrek's horse, ready to fight by his side.
Tyrek gestured for his knights to avoid attacking Benfrey Frey, then flicked his gaze backward. "Stay close! Watch for the horses!"
"I understand!" Benfrey Frey acknowledged. Knowing that he was neither a skilled fighter nor an experienced rider, he wisely kept to the rear.
"Prepare to withdraw! Fall back one hundred paces and regroup!"
Tyrek had become caught up in the battle, leading the charge in his first major command. Only now did he remember that prolonged skirmishing was unwise—another charge was needed.
He thrust his lance into another enemy and turned his horse to retreat—when suddenly, his mount collapsed beneath him.
With a sickening crack, the warhorse's leg was severed. Tyrek was thrown to the muddy ground, his lower body pinned under the fallen beast.
A bloodied axe hovered before his throat.
Benfrey Frey, the same man who had just declared surrender, had swung his weapon to cripple Tyrek's horse. Now, he loomed over him, weapon poised for the kill.
"Benfrey!" At such close range, Tyrek roared, throwing away his lance and reaching for the longsword hanging from his saddle. But just like himself, the sword was pinned under the horse, and all he could feel was the lion-shaped hilt. No matter how he tried, he couldn't pull it free.
"Stop!" The surrounding knights shouted, thrusting their lances at Benfrey.
"Remember, you didn't die by my hand, but by your kindness!"
Clang! The axe struck, chopping into the connection between the chestplate and helmet.
"Benfrey!" With great effort, Tyrek lowered his head, bringing the edge of his helmet close to his chestplate to protect his neck, while at the same time, he grabbed Benfrey's arm.
Thud! A lance pierced Benfrey's chest, but he paid no heed to the wound. One of his arms clutched tightly onto Tyrek's helmet, preventing himself from being skewered by the lance.
Thud! Another axe came down, its blade slicing through the gap in Tyrek's helmet, cutting into his neck.
"Hahaha~~" Benfrey laughed maniacally, using all his strength to swing the axe towards the ground, as if madly chopping meat.
Three blows, four blows. Thud! Another three lances pierced his body. Benfrey, still laughing, was knocked down into the mud, his eyes wide open, a lance now impaled through his ear.
"Tyrek!" Willen Lannister, seeing his cousin under attack, rushed over, but it was too late.
Just yesterday, the brothers had been discussing how to jump over fences more elegantly like Witt. Today, Tyrek's head was severed and rolled away.
Pulling out the lance from Benfrey's head, Willen jumped off his horse and picked up Tyrek's head. This cousin, only a year older than him, had always been one of his few confidants, often looking out for him. Now, with his body and head separated, Willen didn't want his head to be trampled by people and horses on the battlefield, so he tied it to his saddle.
"Willen! Go!" It was dangerous to dismount in battle. The surrounding Westlands knights fought fiercely to protect Willen from attacks.
But Willen didn't care. He placed Tyrek's head in a cloth bag and tightly secured it to the saddle. Once done, he tugged the rope again to ensure it was fastened.
Willen then took out a dagger, cutting the lion-embroidered cloak from Tyrek's back. After tying a few knots with fine string, he attached it to his lance and remounted his horse.
"Westlands knights! Follow the banner!" Willen raised his lance high and ran towards the rear. Seeing the movement of the flag, the knights on the right side of the battlefield immediately turned their horses around and rallied towards the flag.
The knights quickly gathered in a cleared area, with Willen at the forefront of the formation, leading them into another charge.
The warhorses thundered, and Willen saw the dead horses, the corpses of many Westlands knights, and his cousin's headless body lying in the mud. Raising his lance high, he used Tyrek's red cloak as a banner, the family crest now lying horizontally, the bloodstained golden lion charging towards the enemy.
"Hear my roar!"
With a roar, Willen, his eyes bloodshot, urged his warhorse forward, breaking free from the formation and rapidly accelerating, charging ahead in the very front of the triangular formation.
"Hear my roar!"
Behind him, Martyn, Cerenna, Myrielle, and Joy Hill also cried out.
The warhorses, using their final strength, followed Willen's lead, their speed increasing as the Westlands knights raced ahead, lifting their lances and charging with all their might.
Originally just accompanying Jaime to gain battle experience, chasing the dream of knightly glory, these young men, fueled by the death of a brother and Willen's leadership, were swept up in the atmosphere and broke away from protection, charging forward. Though their martial skills were mediocre, today they became true warriors in spirit, true knights.
On the walls of The Twins, after the vampires attacked Qyburn, the remaining ones were quickly wiped out.
Thoros, who had already consumed a potion to restore his energy, felt his wounds nearly healed and his magic half restored.
Having used magic intensively, Thoros's longsword had long been rendered useless, breaking into shards when he struck down a vampire. Searching the ground, he found two decent swords and strapped them to his waist, ordering the riverland knights to protect Edmure while he leapt off the wall to assist Qyburn.
Since the beginning of the battle, Thoros had killed around forty vampires on his own, ranging from the low-level ones recently turned, who died with a single strike, to the higher-level ones who could only be killed after exchanging fatal wounds.
Now the vampires had gathered around Qyburn on one side of the battlefield. To reach him, Thoros first had to break through the encirclement of the Frey soldiers. They had initially thought he was weak, considering how troublesome it was to kill vampires. But after surrounding him, they quickly realized the danger, as they fell in pieces, unable to escape. For these soldiers, who didn't even wear armor, a small electrical shock could pierce through several of them.
On the walls of The Twins, Harry began organizing the surviving men. They put down their swords and took up crossbows, shooting into the crowd below to cover Thoros's movements.
As Thoros moved toward the center of the battlefield, the Frey forces found themselves not only dealing with two waves of cavalry but also with a deadly mage, Thoros, whose presence disrupted their command.
In the distance, the skeletal giant swung its massive axe in a frenzy. By this point in the battle, the constant close-range assault by the vampires had caused its collapse, shattered bones scattered across the ground. The remaining vampires began to flee toward Qyburn.
"The first true summoning, I wonder which two will come," Qyburn said, his posture straight as he used two high-level Conjuring spells.
"I smell blood!"
"Qyburn, I really like your style," two Dremora Lords in grotesque black armor, glowing with faint red light, appeared by Qyburn's side.
"Greetings, brothers. The enemies are vampires and the Freys," Qyburn said, sending information about the enemies via their shared magic connection.
The two Dremora Lords were around Qyburn's age. After signing a summoning pact with the Oblivion Realm, the three had exchanged many ideas on corpse research. They were as familiar as if they'd known each other for years, and they had orally sworn brotherhood as members of different races.
Unlike the summons made by Wit, Qyburn's Dremora Lords wielded different weapons—one dual-wielded short swords, and the other carried a double-handed battle axe.
"Trash from Coldharbour!"
After confirming their targets, the two Dremora Lords immediately charged into the fray, drawing their weapons as they rushed toward the vampires.
Qyburn, seeing the support arriving in the form of Thoros, who was already engaged with the Frey forces nearby, expended the last of his magic to cast a high-level illusion on him.
The battle summon increased Thoros's vitality and endurance for 10 minutes, perfect for someone like him who preferred close combat.
Thoros, who usually felled one enemy with a single strike and occasionally cast lightning spells, suddenly found his mind racing. His swords began swinging rapidly in a blur, and lightning crackled from the blades like whips. With each strike, more followed in quick succession—one sword, two swords, five—an unending flurry.
After some time, feeling as though his stamina was inexhaustible, Thoros was engulfed in lightning. He raised both hands at his sides, tightly gripping his swords, and began to spin through the enemy ranks. The lightning charged his muscles, increasing his speed, and the electric currents enhanced the reach of his blades.
Whirr~~~
Thoros became a whirlwind of lightning, cutting through enemies like a mad spinner. The air was filled with the sounds of limbs being severed, bodies falling, and the smell of burning flesh.
Soon, the vampires under the illusion were swiftly dealt with by Thoros and the Dremora Lords. As their dog-like allies from the Frey family saw the tide turning, they began to discard their weapons and surrender.
"No prisoners!" Willen Lannister, covered in blood, continued to lead the Westlands knights in pursuing the fleeing Freys who had thrown down their weapons.
"What should we do?" Edmure, on the city walls, asked. His gaze no longer saw any vampires; only humans were scattering in all directions.
"Lord Edmure, these people have already allied with the vampires. They have betrayed humanity, and the law no longer applies to them," said Harry's group.
"Right! They betrayed humanity! Why should I care about anything else!"
Exhausted, Edmure climbed to the city battlements, assisted by his knights, and shouted toward the battlefield, "In the name of Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun, these Freys have betrayed humanity, and they will all face the death penalty!"
His voice was too faint; no one on the battlefield heard it.
With the help of the knights of Riverlands, they stood on the battlements, repeating Edmure's words.
Soon, outside of Lannister Castle, aside from the knights of the Westlands, Thoros, and Qyburn, no one else was alive. The battlefield was littered with corpses, and the land was drenched in blood.
"Victory!"
"We won!"
Cheers erupted throughout the Twins.
---
If you can, support me on pa treon:
Pa treon. com/ RightTranslations (No spaces)
Up to 100 chapters ahead.