Thud—
Viserys rolled clumsily on the blood-soaked road, his blue velvet tunic now soiled.
The startled warhorses thundered past his ears, their heavy hooves pounding the ground, causing the stones to jump slightly.
The prince felt as if his ears were about to burst, kneeling on the ground, curled up.
Wheeze, wheeze
He supported himself with his hands on the ground, gasping for breath, his cheeks flushed and burning.
"I…"
He wanted to say something, relieved to be alive, but his rapidly beating heart caused his Blood Essence to surge.
However, the current tense situation was constantly changing, leaving him no time for any kind of reflection.
That sword of Sir William lay on the ground not far away, stained with a bit of mud, but still faintly gleaming.
In the midst of the melee, the sounds of fighting filled the ears, blood sprayed, and both sides had already lost their minds.
Viserys was lying on the ground, supporting himself with his hands, panting heavily. He raised his head and looked at the slightly heavy longsword not far away.
"I…"
Then, courage and strength came from somewhere.
"Damn it!"
The silver-haired boy gritted his teeth, trying to make himself look fierce. Then, he struggled to get up from the ground, ignoring his heart, which was beating so fast it felt like it would leap out of his chest. He suddenly charged forward in one breath and tightly embraced it.
A cold touch.
The chilling aura of the blade felt almost tangible.
Perhaps in his previous life, Viserys wouldn't have dared to hold such a long, sharp weapon, fearing he'd break the law or hurt himself. But at this moment, he felt an incredible kinship with the sword.
Because in this chaotic situation, everyone was preoccupied with their own survival, and no one could protect him.
Only he himself could.
The silver-haired boy clenched his teeth slightly, clutching the longsword and silently vowing.
No matter who tried to kill him, he wouldn't surrender like a helpless rabbit. Even if he died, he'd take a chunk of flesh with him.
"I will definitely..."
But just as Viserys was steeling himself...
A Bandit, who had been thrown from his horse when its legs were cut off during the fight, staggered to his feet. He clutched his head with one hand and used the other to support himself with his sword.
His leather armor had been cut open, revealing a gruesome wound. He'd almost been gutted, but fate had spared him.
As the Bandit stood up, a flash of red and the mark of a Golden Lion were visible beneath the torn leather.
A fleeting glimpse.
For various reasons, the Red Keep Guard who had just severed his horse's legs was swiftly killed by others. The battle was intense, and he hadn't been finished off.
When he finally recovered, pushing aside his fallen comrade's body and crawling to his feet, he shook his head and saw the boy standing in the empty space at the center of the battlefield, holding his sword.
The iconic silver-gold hair, the pale purple eyes like jewels, and the boy's beautiful, almost girlish face. The boy, who was holding his sword, had also noticed him, and his eyes, which had been filled with determination just moments ago, were now clearly filled with panic. Like a startled rabbit.
He hadn't expected to be targeted by the enemy so quickly after silently vowing to himself.
The masked bandit who had fallen from his horse saw the unprotected 'big fish' and a grimace spread across his face. The black cloth covering his face had been blown away by the wind.
He didn't care at all.
Clutching his longsword, he advanced towards Viserys, step by step.
An unprotected Targaryen prince was like a fish on a chopping block.
No matter how noble the boy's birth, no matter how pure his bloodline, the bandit, in his past life, wouldn't have even been able to see the boy's toes, even if he was kneeling.
But now, noble birth and bloodline were useless in protecting His Highness from the bandit's sword.
Viserys, whether out of fear or some other reason, was standing still, unmoving.
His breathing was slightly rapid, his hands gripping Sir William's sword tightly, the tip aimed at his opponent.
His mind was blank, filled only with the words the middle-aged instructor had taught him.
"Learn to use the pointy end to stab your enemies."
Behind Viserys, where he couldn't see, a mass of black mist gradually spread and churned into something indescribable. A pair of crimson eyes opened within the mist, watching his back.
A layer of crimson gradually coated Viserys's eyes, and his breathing grew heavy as he tightly gripped his longsword.
And then, in a flash...
Boom!
The warhorse galloped.
The hooves kicked up blood and mud.
Willem Daire was covered in blood, he wasn't sure if it was his or the enemy's. He held a longsword, and blood dripped constantly from the blade.
Then he raised it high. The warhorse flew past a Bandit, and then the longsword carved a trail under the blood-red sunset, hacking down heavily.
Pfft—
In the next second.
A perfectly good head flew off, and blood gushed out like a fountain.
Hoo…
The middle-aged man's slightly curled, blood-soaked hair made him look ferocious. He had already lost his mind, his legs tightly gripping the warhorse's flanks. Then, he switched the longsword to his left hand.
Clatter, clatter
Hoofbeats pounded on the bloody mud.
Then, as he passed Viserys, he bent down slightly, his body pressed against the horse's back.
He reached out and scooped up the little prince, placing him behind him, and urgently said,
"Your Highness, hold on tight!"
The middle-aged instructor realized Viserys was in danger at the most critical moment. He urged his horse forward, arriving just in time to slay the enemy with a single sword stroke, saving the young prince who was about to fight the enemy to the death.
The enemy's hot blood splashed onto the silver-haired boy's delicate face, and Viserys finally woke up as if from a dream, his body suddenly shivering.
The unseen black mist behind him slowly dissipated, and his pale purple, gem-like eyes regained their clarity.
He swallowed hard, clenching his teeth slightly.
He finally realized what had just happened.
He… he actually wanted to fight the enemy to the death? Where did that courage come from? However, he had already been lifted onto the horse by Sir William. Hearing the instructor's words, Viserys didn't hesitate, firmly embracing him.
An enemy had been beheaded within three feet of him, and the blood splashed onto his face. Yet, Viserys didn't feel any urge to vomit, or rather, he didn't have the chance to do so.
Instead, he became even more resolute in his courage, clenching his fists.
Because he knew very well that now was not the time to feel sick if he wanted to survive.
The Blood Essence in his small body seemed to ignite, beginning to burn fiercely.
For a seven-year-old boy, it was hard to imagine anyone being more courageous than him.
"Kill!!"
Then, the battle, like thunder bursting from a knight's throat, once again echoed on this blood-soaked avenue.