*
The Kingsroad gradually narrowed into a causeway, and the weather grew colder. Rhaegor and the others changed into winter clothes they had bought in Saltpans.
The nights were no longer comfortable; the further north they went, the more biting the dampness of the swamps became. The sea winds from the Bite swept across the rugged, desolate coast, mercilessly scouring the boundless, immense marsh.
Black mud swamps were everywhere, with flowers larger than humans blooming in the mud and thick fog. These vibrant giant flowers continuously emitted a foul stench that made one want to vomit last night's meal. With the naked eye, Rhaegor could tell how ancient and dense the swamp trees were, emerging from the mud like ghosts baring their fangs and claws. They were accompanied by decaying marshland, dense fungi, and many plants whose names he couldn't even begin to guess.
During the day, the pale sunlight offered no warmth to the group. Even when the sun was directly overhead, the cold emanating from the depths of the swamp made everyone almost forget it was summer. Even on the relatively safe causeway, they could see lizard-lions lurking in the swamp. These fierce reptiles floated half-submerged in the water, resembling black logs with eyes and teeth, ready to enjoy their next meal.
The warhorse that had been with Albin since he was a child playing with a wooden sword was swallowed by the swamp. It rolled off the causeway, sinking with a scream into the unfathomable marsh. Rhaegor and the others watched with their own eyes as hungry lizard-lions swarmed it, tearing the poor beast to a pile of bones in the blink of an eye.
Now he could only ride on Rhaegor's packhorse, cautiously acting as a scout for the team.
Deeper into the causeway, he couldn't even perform this task anymore. Although the long winter had passed, its effects still left deep marks on the land. The melting snow of winter in summer not only provided abundant water for the Neck but also made the causeway muddy, obscured, and it was even possible to inadvertently stray off the causeway and into the depths of the swamp.
Lord Cregan Stark knew this was a serious problem, but even the snowmelt in the North took several years. In fact, even now, years after summer had arrived, the snow in the North had not fully melted, and the mission of clearing the causeway was arduous.
Lord Cregan could only order the leader of the Crannogmen, Lord Brandon Reed of Greywater Watch, to lead his Crannogmen in guiding people through the causeway and rescuing those who fell into the swamp at any time.
But the peace was broken.
Wildlings from the Vale had fled into the Neck, engaging in small-scale conflicts with the Crannogmen.
The wildlings were no match for the "Frog-Eaters." The Crannogmen's agile movements, poisoned arrows, and the iron armor and iron swords from the Stark family made the poorly equipped valley wildlings, unfamiliar with the terrain, suffer greatly.
But they were still a menace to the causeway.
Clang.
Legan laboriously parried a bone arrow, his purple eyes filled with rage: "Jaime! Kane! Traitors!"
He had been hit by an arrow. A bone arrow, dipped in who-knew-what, had pierced his shoulder, and an indescribable chill gradually spread from the wound. He felt his strength slowly leaving him, and even his vision was blurring.
Seeing the poison take effect and the warrior who had killed several of their men in a blink of an eye gradually lose his ability to resist, the leading wildling couldn't help but spit, thinking to himself, you cowards. To use the weapons and poison of those frog-eating midgets, that's something only women and children use.
But they still used them, because they knew that their team alone could not take down those noble boys from the South. Although the old man with the scarface had sworn to help them separate the group, even this young man, ambushed and poisoned, had still killed several people.
The chieftain felt uncertain. After all, this young man, tricked into scouting by Jaime, wasn't even wearing armor, but the other two young men in the team never took off their armor.
He waved his hand, signaling his companions to close in.
Several wildlings holding spears slowly approached.
Your Highness, they betrayed us! Don't come over!
These were Legan's last thoughts before he lost consciousness.
As he fell, he saw a warhorse leap into the swamp.
The rapier was illuminated by the pale sun at that instant, and it pierced the chieftain's still startled head more easily than cutting through a block of butter. Then came the crashing impact of a flail.
Rhaegor dismounted from his warhorse without a word. He glanced at Legan, who was kneeling on the ground, leaning on his longsword, already unconscious, then turned and walked towards the startled wildlings.
"Son of Gulber, are you afraid?" an older wildling shouted, charging forward with a spear.
Though Star Singer was just a rapier, it was also a Valyrian steel sword, a Valyrian steel sword of unparalleled sharpness.
The sword flashed, and the spear broke cleanly.
The young wildling, called Son of Gulber by his companion, froze. He stared blankly as the head of his elder, who had led him to escape the iron-clad men from the Vale, cracked with a crunch.
His eyes stung.
So, I'm dead too.
Rhaegor neatly pulled Star Singer out of the young wildling's eye socket, looked around to confirm there were no other wildlings, and then walked towards Legan, somewhat disbelievingly. Ailarion emerged from the woods, eyes red, dragging "Hyena" Kane, who had a broken arm and looked like a dead dog. The warhammer in his other hand was covered in red, yellow, and white unknown liquids. Albin followed Ailarion, his face full of grief, his old chainmail also stained with blood.
Ailarion had never expected the two usually obedient mercenary knights to betray them.
Because there was no value. Kane, familiar with the causeway, had led them down a dead end into the swamp, while Jaime had tricked Legan away under the pretext of daily patrol duties.
They were ambushed by the wildlings like this.
If not for Ailarion's vigilance and the armor Rhaegor had barely taken off since passing Harrenhal, they might have fallen in the first volley of arrows.
Those damned wildlings had poisoned their arrows, and some even had iron arrows.
Kane had his arms and legs dislocated by Rhaegor, who became exceptionally calm when angry, while Jaime died under Legan's frantic attacks after being hit by an arrow.
His body still lay in the muddy swamp, his blood congealed and no longer flowing.
It's all my fault.
Rhaegor blamed himself in his heart.
If I hadn't trusted those two so much, Legan wouldn't have been hurt.
He also had some medical knowledge and knew that Legan wasn't dead, but needed treatment.
No, Rhaegor suddenly realized something.
There is never a sudden betrayal; all betrayals must have a precursor.
But Kane and Jaime had never shown any signs of betrayal. They absolutely couldn't have known his identity; the identity of Rhaegor Varese couldn't have been the excuse for their betrayal.
Money? Weapons and warhorses?
It was possible, but Rhaegor had also gained some insights during his many years of studying with Dragonzel. For example, it was Albin who had once looked at his armor and sword with greedy eyes, but that boy's greed was pure, an envious kind of greed. After being impressed by his martial arts, this greed transformed into an understanding and acceptance of "he's so strong, he deserves to have such good things."
Jaime had once looked at his money pouch with greedy eyes, but Rhaegor knew this was a common ailment among mercenary knights.
What had he overlooked?
Just then, Rhaegor saw the red-eyed Ailarion and Kane, who looked like a dead dog.
"Your Highness... Legan he..."
An idea, like a spark from colliding stones, flashed through the young man's mind.
It's him.
"Hyena" Kane Muddle, he never showed greed for anything. Sometimes his presence was strong, but at other times, one wouldn't even realize such a person was in the team.
He was a guide for the Riverlands and the Neck.
Rhaegor thought of something.
Father, your guidance is too deliberate. Rhaegor couldn't help but inwardly grumble about his simple and crude father, Dragonzel.
"You are not Kane Muddle."
Rhaegor turned around, looking expressionlessly at "Hyena" Kane on the ground.
"Which member of the family are you? Uncle Quengur, or Brother Surun? Or Brother Sage?"
"The Prince is right," Kane smiled contentedly.
"Though you sometimes act foolishly, you are indeed very perceptive."
"Cut the fucking bullshit," Rhaegor suddenly stood up. "How do we deal with Legan's poison? Don't fool me, I know you have medicine that can prevent the poison from reaching his heart."
He said through gritted teeth.
"Hand it over, and I can pardon you for deceiving me." The young man glared fiercely at "Kane," whose face was slowly melting. "Brother Sage."
Everyone, the author is re-reading the original work to improve his writing. His current writing is indeed a bit lacking, so he has decided to study Martin's writing style and rhetoric. From tomorrow until next Thursday, the author will be somewhat busy, so the daily update time will be irregular, but he can guarantee 4500-5000 words per update. There will be no breaks or missed updates. Double updates will resume next Thursday.
I hope that when I resume double updates next Thursday, everyone will feel that my writing is no longer like dry bread.
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