Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 159: A Crown Built on Corpses
The melee grounds were nothing more than an enormous fenced pit.
The earth beneath it was black and sticky underfoot. The land had already been trampled once by the hooves of the knights during the jousts, then churned loose again by the all-night revelry of thousands upon thousands of drunken spectators. By now the soil had become soft, broken, perfect for a grand melee.
Perhaps that was why melees were always held after the jousts. A little bit of common sense hammered out through centuries of tournament tradition across Westeros.
The fence itself stood only chest-high. Any man who wished to quit during the fighting merely had to force his way to the edge and vault over it, sparing himself a useless death.
But today, with ten thousand Golden Dragons waiting for the victor, everyone knew this would become a slaughter.
Eddard Stark took his place upon the high platform the King had crossed moments earlier. Compared to yesterday, the stands looked strangely empty. The Stark women were absent, and so was the queen who had stormed off after being cursed at by Robert, along with her attendants.
Petyr Baelish sat beside Eddard with a face full of apology, once again explaining how his poor understanding of the King’s temperament had accidentally caused all this.
Sincere attitude. Earnest tone.
Had Eddard not already seen through him, he might truly have believed it.
The crowd roared like surf smashing against cliffs.
Robert Baratheon had once more forced himself into the armor that had been hastily widened for him. Black iron dominated the suit, and atop his head sat a bucket-like greathelm fitted with huge antlers, savage and theatrical. Over the armor hung a dull yellow surcoat.
The sheer size of the man, combined with the monstrous plate and antlered helm, was enough to make many men’s guts turn cold at a glance.
Even the squire managing the arena gate froze when Robert approached. After the King entered, the lad simply stood there staring before finally remembering to shut the gate behind him.
Walking behind Robert, Lannor clicked his tongue faintly. He planted one hand atop the fence, and the lower edge of the gambeson beneath his Superior Ursine Armor swept a smooth arc through the air.
Then he vaulted cleanly over.
Very few people noticed. Of those who did, fewer still understood how heavy his armor truly was.
Robert’s two-handed warhammer stood nearly half his height. The grotesque head of the weapon alone was enough to make people instinctively picture shattered flesh and broken ribs.
There was a place in Westeros called the Ruby Ford.
Not because rubies were mined there, but because during the rebellion Robert’s warhammer had struck Prince Rhaegar’s ruby-studded breastplate.
Rhaegar had been acknowledged across the Seven Kingdoms as one of the greatest knights of his age. Robert’s hammer had caved in the thickest part of the armor in a single blow.
Rhaegar died where he fell. The rubies scattered into the river in glittering fragments, and even now, it was said, people still searched the mudbanks for them.
Calling the Robert of those years a first-rate knight and warrior was no exaggeration.
And now, after more than a decade away from true battle, the King had stepped back into the mud and blood of combat once again.
And reveled in it.
“Hah ... ah! Gods, this is good. This is damned good.”
Under the gaze of the entire arena, Robert hefted the massive hammer in his hands. His fingers flexed restlessly around the haft.
“What are you waiting for? Start already! Fight! Kill each other! Earn your Golden Dragons! And if any bastard today dares avoid me or refuses to swing at me, I’ll melt the gold down and drown him in it! Hah! Hahaha!”
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