Alaric did not look up.
He did not flinch.
The stone hit his palm one last time. He closed his fist around it.
"You talk too much," he said.
The words came out low and rough. Not meant to impress.
The rider in front frowned. "What was that?" he snapped, leaning forward in the saddle. "Say it again."
Alaric lifted his head.
His eyes held no warmth at all.
"I said," he told them, "Cersei should've sent men. Not meat bags."
For a breath, no one spoke.
Then the leader sneered. "Kill him."
The riders kicked their horses forward.
They barely moved before the light behind Alaric dimmed. The shadows at the treeline thickened, spreading across the ground like spilled ink.
Two shapes stepped out.
They were wolves in shape alone.
Livy and Rivy were huge—larger than any beast the riders had seen. Their backs rose higher than the horses' heads. Their black fur swallowed the morning light, and their breath rolled out heavy and hot, carrying the stink of iron.
The horses lost their nerve at once.
One collapsed screaming. Another reared and threw its rider hard into the mud. The rest fought their reins, eyes rolling white as instinct took over.
The men followed seconds later.
Rivy crossed the clearing in a blur. Her jaws closed around a falling rider. Armor folded with a sharp crack. What hit the ground was no longer a man.
Livy hit like a landslide. Her weight crushed one rider flat. She tore another from his feet and snapped his neck before he could cry out.
Steel rang uselessly. Blades shattered or slid free without finding flesh. Panic replaced training. Men ran. Men fell.
It ended quickly.
When the noise stopped, only one still lived.
The leader lay tangled in thorns, breathing in short, broken gasps. Blood soaked the ground beneath him. His eyes darted wildly, unable to settle on anything but the black shapes standing over him.
Alaric stood and walked closer.
"A message," he said.
The Blood Scout emerged from the trees.
"Use their horses. Heads on the pommels. Soak the sigils."
The Scout moved at once.
Alaric looked down at the survivor. "Tie him to the front horse. He rides back alive."
The man tried to scream. Nothing came out but air.
The horses were turned south and sent on their way.
When the sound of hooves faded, the wolves returned to Alaric's side. Their massive forms sank back into his shadow, leaving the clearing empty again.
"Good work," he said quietly.
As he took one final glance at the slaughter, he felt nothing. After living in his world for so many years, it wasn't exactly hard for him to kill men like these—men who raped and murdered for a bag of silver.
Alaric climbed back onto his horse. The animal was still shaking, terrified by the smell of death hanging in the air. He turned his horse North and rode away, leaving the bloody mess behind.
...
One Week Later
The air had changed. The warm, salty breeze of the south was gone, replaced by a biting, damp chill. Alaric stood on a high, windy ridge, his heavy cloak snapping in the gusts. Below him, the Green Fork river roared—a violent, muddy rush of water that cut the land in two.
Sitting right on top of that water was The Twins.
The home of House Frey looked like a grey, rotting parasite. It was two identical towers joined by a massive stone bridge. For six hundred years, the Freys had used this bridge to get rich and act like they owned the world. Alaric crossed his arms, his dark eyes scanning the walls.
if you wanted to cross the river for hundreds of miles, you had to go through them.
...
In King's Landing
The morning sun hit the castle, but it didn't feel warm to the guards at the city gate. They heard a slow, steady thud-thud-thud of hooves coming from the road. Then came the smell—the thick, gagging stink of old blood and rot.
Twelve horses walked out of the trees. They moved like ghosts, their fur matted with dried gore.
The guards ran out to meet them but jumped back in horror. Hanging from every saddle were the severed heads of the men Cersei had sent to kill Alaric. Their faces were twisted in pure terror. Their Lannister badges had been ripped off and soaked in filth, tied to the horses' necks like sick party streamers.
The leader was tied to the front horse. Or, what was left of him was. He was a pale, empty shell, both his arms gone. He had bled out days ago.
...
Back to the Alaric
He felt a small hum in the back of his mind. The System was telling him his "message" had been delivered.
[Panic Spreading: House Lannister]
[Reward: +500 MP]
Current MP: 4,832
The wind howled over the river, smelling like rain and old mud. Alaric stood perfectly still on the ridge, a dark shadow against the purple evening sky. His enhanced eyes spotted movement below.
The massive iron gate of the southern tower groaned open. It sounded like teeth grinding together. A heavy, fancy carriage rolled out, painted in deep blue and silver. Twenty Frey soldiers rode around it, looking nervous and hurried, as if they were desperate to reach their destination before dark.
Alaric narrowed his eyes. This wasn't a normal patrol. The carriage was built strong to protect someone important—and in a family as the Freys, someone Walder Frey actually cared about was a rare find.