The gloomy sky weighed heavily on everyone's hearts, a persistent, inescapable gloom.
The drizzle had stopped.
But the enemy's attack was like a sudden storm. Hooves pounded the ground, and raised swords and spears charged directly at the carriage protected by the guards in the center.
All the enemies were masked with black cloth and had removed their family crests from their armor, seemingly trying to conceal their identities.
The leading knight held a spear clamped under his arm, the sharp tip slightly lowered, gleaming with a chilling light, aimed at the Red Keep guards ahead.
His face was covered by black cloth, revealing only his eyes. A muffled, word-by-word roar echoed.
"Kill! Them!"
It was like thunder.
Boom——
In the next second, the sound of iron hooves thundered as they charged in.
The masked attackers had a very clear objective: they wanted to kill Layla and her child.
Queen Layla and her handmaidens were stunned by the sudden attack, not even realizing what was happening.
"Enemy attack!"
Among them, Sir William, a veteran of countless battles, was the first to react.
However, he didn't have his longsword in hand at the moment. He could only unfasten the short throwing spear, which he was skilled at using, from his waist. He aimed it at the enemy charging in the front and threw it with all his might.
Whoosh——
The short spear whistled through the air.
The lead knight among the masked attackers was caught off guard and struck directly in the chest by the spear.
Thump—
The spear didn't pierce the knight's sturdy chest armor, but it did leave a deep dent.
Because the masked knight hadn't secured his legs properly, the spear's immense impact disrupted the balance of the charge. The knight was thrown from his horse.
Plop.
Dust swirled as the masked knight was sent sprawling. His foot was caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged a few meters before managing to free himself.
The cavalry following him were experienced. They quickly recognized the situation and, avoiding their fallen 'leader', continued their charge.
Otherwise, the unlucky knight would be trampled into pulp by the merciless iron hooves.
And this ambush on the road officially began with that spear.
"Kill—"
Instantly, the sounds of fighting echoed throughout the road and the surrounding woods like thunder. The Red Keep's guards, who had just been resting, were caught off guard by the attack and immediately fell into a disadvantage.
Several soldiers were directly knocked away by warhorses, or had their throats slit before they could even stand up.
Blood sprayed, and screams rose and fell. Some soldiers even dropped their weapons and plunged into the forest, attempting to escape.
However, the masked knight who had just fallen from his horse had also struggled to his feet.
His leg seemed to be broken. He didn't know where his spear had gone, and he used the scabbard of his sword to support the ground, limping and struggling to stand upright.
A pair of eyes held barely concealed vexation.
Because the shame of falling from a horse had plagued him for half his life.
He had once been defeated in a team competition at a jousting tournament held in King's Landing by a red-robed monk from Myr. The reason was that the red-robed monk used a flaming longsword to frighten his warhorse, and thus the esteemed knight was disgracefully thrown from his own horse.
He hadn't expected to fall from his horse again today, apparently breaking his leg this time.
The masked, lame knight stood with difficulty, supporting himself with his sword sheath. The pain in his leg surged like a dull knife carving into flesh, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
However, he just gritted his teeth and endured the pain, his face unchanged. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, scrutinizing the entire battlefield with unwavering focus.
He saw several Red Keep guards, responsible for escorting the Queen and the Prince, attempting to escape. Then, with a wave of his large hand, he pointed his finger in their direction and decisively ordered.
"Kill them all!"
"Let none escape!"
Before the start of the War of the Usurper, the family had remained neutral, staying between the rebels and the Iron Throne.
However, after the Battle of the Trident River, when the royal heir died in battle, the situation became clear. The Targaryens' power was waning, and the family had lost faith in the Iron Throne. They also found the perfect time to intervene in the war, allowing them to directly reap the rewards of victory.
Now, the heads of Queen Layla and Prince Viserys would be the best way to join the rebel camp.
But for various more important reasons, they couldn't reveal their identities just yet.
Therefore, with a command from the Lame Knight, several masked 'bandits', well-trained, decisively broke away from the battlefield.
Boom!
The galloping hooves stirred up the mud, and the masked attackers, riding on horseback and wielding bloodstained longswords, charged forward.
Swish—
Without hesitation, they urged their horses, parting the weeds and leaves, and plunged into the forest. Their aim was to kill all enemies and leave no survivors, ensuring that no information would be leaked.
"Very good."
The lame knight nodded in satisfaction at the scene.
Then, the pain in his leg flared up, and the muscles in his face twitched violently. He clenched the hilt of his sword to support himself.
Although the Royal Domain's army was corrupt, the Red Keep's guards were still quite elite. Caught off guard by the sudden attack, they immediately fell into a disadvantage, suffering heavy losses. However, when they recovered, they put up a tenacious resistance.
In an instant, under the leadership of the Red Keep's instructor, several masked cavalrymen were knocked off their horses, their heads lopped off in a single sword stroke, blood gushing out like a torrent.
"Protect Her Majesty the Queen!"
The middle-aged man with slightly curly hair was covered in blood. He seized a warhorse and scrambled onto its back.
His body lay flat against the horse's back as it galloped, holding his sword in one hand. He dodged the enemy's attack in the brief space between two passing warhorses.
Viserys immediately used his exquisite swordsmanship to slit the man's throat.
The warhorse, startled, dragged the corpse on its back towards the forest.
Viserys, clutching Sir William's sword, was still in a daze.
He realized what had happened, but his legs felt as heavy as lead, rooted to the spot as he witnessed the scene unfold.
Piercing screams, spurting blood, a head rolling on the ground – the intensely graphic images made his breathing hitch.
Then, he saw a panicked warhorse, dragging an enemy's corpse, charging directly towards him.
Only then did Viserys's mind snap back to reality. He knew that if the horse hit him, he would be dead.
He fought against his inner fear with all his might, and his leaden legs seemed to suddenly find some strength.
Then, just as the frightened warhorse was about to hit him, he dove to the side.