Dusk fell across the land like a heavy cloak.
The thunderous sound of horses' hooves echoed through the countryside, accompanied by the blaring of horns and the roar of men's voices. Looking southward along the Kingsroad, one could see columns of heavily armored cavalry stretching into the distance.
They formed three precise columns that turned east at the crossroads outside Bronzegate City, heading straight for the castle's imposing gates. The countless camps that had sprung up around the fortress stirred to life at once.
Figures emerged from beneath canvas tents, lifting flaps to witness the mighty procession of mounted warriors passing by. They could not help but cheer from the depths of their hearts.
These were infantrymen, ten thousand strong, who had been ordered to gather here. Their number was too great for the confines of Bronzegate City, strong fortress though it was. Space had to be reserved for the cavalry guarding His Grace, so the foot soldiers were relegated to camps outside the walls.
Life in the wilderness was no easy burden to bear. The earliest arrivals had been sleeping in tents for nearly a moon's turn, their bedding soiled and disordered, riddled with fleas and reeking of sweat and worse. Combined with the monotonous training regimen and the unpalatable slop that passed for food these past days, the soldiers' patience had worn dangerously thin.
Every man among them longed for the order to break camp. All knew that Lord Tyrell of the Reach had mustered an army of 100,000 to support His Grace. Once they reached the walls of King's Landing, victory would come as easily as drawing breath.
Then their suffering would end. They would dwell in prosperous King's Landing, enjoying warm, clean beds, savory meals, endless rivers of wine, and buxom whores eager to throw themselves into their arms. There would be feast after feast, each more lavish than the last.
At last, they would fulfill their obligations, pay their blood tax, and return home safe and contented. Mayhaps they might earn a silver stag or two—enough to buy a few more acres of land or build a mill. Or, with the smile of the gods, catch the eye of a knight or lord, win the favor of great men, remain in their service, and perhaps even earn spurs of their own one day.
Of course, many said there would be no true battle to speak of. His Grace Renly commanded an army of 100,000 strong. The boy king in King's Landing—bah, the false king forsaken by the gods—likely hadn't the courage to remain seated upon the Iron Throne.
Some wagered they would find an empty city when they arrived, that the Lannisters would have fled back to the Westerlands in disgrace, leaving only the smallfolk behind. Others thought King's Landing would sue for peace. His Grace would show mercy, claim the Iron Throne that was rightfully his, and allow the Lannisters to slink back to their western holdings.
The false king, abandoned by the gods, would don the robes of the Faith to atone for his sins, or take the black and join the Night's Watch, to guard the Wall of ice and snow until his dying day.
Still others believed the Lannisters would not escape so lightly. They would be made to pay countless gold, the false king would lose his head, all traitors would face judgment, and those who had committed crimes would pay the price.
In short, not a soul had contemplated failure. This would surely be a war fought with ease and pleasure, with few—if any—casualties, and the rewards would be wealth and honor beyond measure.
All that was needed was a decree from His Grace.
At this moment, watching the seemingly endless line of cavalry approaching, every man knew that decree was not far off.
The cavalry's formation suddenly shifted. A large cluster of knights drew together, tall golden banners overlapping to obscure the figure riding in their midst. Then a suit of armor the color of the forest, topped with a helm adorned with magnificent golden antlers, emerged from behind the banners.
Renly Baratheon.
The soldiers shouted and cheered in succession. "Long live His Grace!"
"Victory!"
"Long live Baratheon! Long live King Renly!"
The cries gradually united into a single voice, growing louder until tens of thousands roared as one, their combined might shaking the wilderness. The sound swelled, intense and surging, like an unstoppable tide.
Renly pulled his reins and left the road, stopping at its edge to return a sincere and generous smile to the soldiers surrounding him. He even permitted them to kiss his boots.
Not until the aroma of dinner wafted over from the camp did the crowd around Renly begin to disperse.
The Earl of Bronzegate City, Ralph Buckler, stepped forward with a deep bow. "Your Grace, your presence brings great honor to Bronzegate City. House Buckler has prepared our finest chambers to ease Your Grace's fatigue."
"There is no need," Renly replied. "Seeing these warriors in high spirits and strong of body has already satisfied me and relieved my weariness."
Renly rode forward, shadowed closely by a group of lords.
"Your Grace," called the heir of Lady Sheila Errol of Haystack Hall, Ser Sebastian Errol, his expression not unlike that of a pup eager to please its master. "The seven thousand footmen stationed at Haystack Hall are also in fine spirits, all eager to spill blood for Your Grace and depose the false king."
Renly nodded appreciatively, and Ser Sebastian Errol's face shone with satisfaction.
Earl Bryce Caron of Nightsong approached to seek instruction. "Your Grace, should we recall the two thousand horsemen from Massey's Hook? Nearly everyone has departed those lands."
"Wait a while longer and observe how King's Landing responds," Renly replied.
He reined in his mount and turned to survey the assembled lords. "My lords, victory awaits our grasp, but we must remain wary of the pitfalls beneath our feet, lest we stumble and suffer needless injury."
"Before new tidings arrive from the North, let us rest well in Lord Buckler's Bronzegate City and enjoy his hospitality." Renly chuckled. "After that, if merriment is what you seek, you shall find it only in the Red Keep."
The lords all smiled at this and followed Renly into the city.
The entire scene was faithfully projected upon the main screen of the Monitoring Hall, until the gates of Bronzegate City closed and no person remained in view.
"Everyone remain seated, no noise, no movement. Wait for your beacon to be issued!" bellowed the steward responsible for distributing the beacons.
Hot Pie and his fellows, having undergone rigorous training, were accustomed to such commands. They remained silent, sitting upright, eyes fixed ahead.
Yet none could maintain such composure within their hearts.
Hot Pie was no exception.
Like the other ninety-nine newcomers, he too yearned for his beacon and the important tasks that would follow.
Renly and his five thousand horsemen had arrived at Bronzegate City.
Recalling the flood of cavalry, the noble crests he had only seen in the light curtain before now, the unfamiliar earls and knights, the presumptuous false king Renly— Hot Pie's heart still hammered with excitement.
He knew what this meant.
The rebel forces of the Stormlands had fully assembled and stood ready to march at any moment, prepared to unleash a storm of blood and fire.
He, a member of the Security Bureau, would witness history—and change it.
" Hot Pie, yours."
The steward placed a shining square steel plate before him—a beacon.
Everyone in the Security Bureau knew that the "Eye" could see the whole world, and the beacon determined where the "Eye" would look.
Fixed beacons bore engraved names and, when placed upon the "Eye," revealed only specific locations or persons, though they required no time to locate their targets. Live beacons could observe many places and people but proved more troublesome when searching for specific targets.
This was Hot Pie's first time being permitted to use a live beacon.
Taking a deep breath, he placed the beacon onto the raised round surface at the side of the screen, entered his password, and immediately the screen began to flash with various images.
Wilderness, dense crowds, villages, and castles.
Hot Pie searched for the gate of Bronzegate City.
Ding~
The familiar prompt sounded. Hot Pie's attention instantly returned to the Divine Grace Light Curtain.
The glorious task displayed at the top of the light curtain changed its name: "Holy Land Glory: Act II - Divine Grace is Mighty."
Hot Pie looked out the window.
The sun had already set.
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