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"Your Grace!!!"
The moment he saw over a thousand slave soldiers in the Magister's Plaza drawing their bows, the usually humble and unobtrusive servant, Coleman, cried out in alarm.
Without a moment's hesitation, he took great strides forward and threw himself before Jacaerys to shield him from the incoming arrows.
At the same time, the Faceless Man, who had been impersonating Magister Moser, reacted with equal speed. He seized a nearby magister and dragged him forward to use as a living shield.
The other magisters, terrified out of their wits, immediately threw themselves to the ground, covering their heads in panic.
Only Lord Corlys Velaryon sprang to his feet, rushing toward his personal guards in an attempt to arm himself.
WHIZ! WHIZ! WHIZ!
The crossbows, crafted with the advanced technology of Myr, unleashed volleys of three bolts each in a heartbeat.
More than thirteen hundred slave soldiers had surged into the Magister's Plaza, and in that instant, nearly four thousand sharp bolts tore through the air. It was as if a dark, heavy curtain had descended from the heavens, blotting out the sky as it hurtled towards the stands surrounding the plaza.
BOOOOOMMM!!!!
CRASH!
A colossal dark green figure suddenly plummeted from the sky, falling like a meteor and smashing into the ground directly before the Grandstand.
The force of its fall was so immense, its mass so heavy, that the hardened bluestone pavement of the Magister's Plaza cracked apart, leaving a massive crater where it landed.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The relentless rain of arrows battered against Vermax's body, the sharp tips ricocheting off his scales with sharp, clear sounds like ringing steel.
Thanks to Vermax shielding the Grandstand, those seated there remained safe and unharmed.
However, the viewing platforms on either side were not so fortunate.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The dense, storm-like barrage of arrows instantly turned the wealthy and powerful nobles of Myr who had come to watch the spectacle into grotesque human pincushions.
Only a handful managed to survive — either those fortunate enough to have someone shield them or those who, with quick instincts, dragged others before them to take the deadly bolts.
Screams of terror echoed across the plaza.
"Ahhhh!!!"
The spectators on the outer viewing platforms, now realizing the danger they were in, shrieked in horror and surged toward the exits built into the wooden barricades, desperately trying to escape.
Upon the Grandstand, Jacaerys sat watching the scene unfold with a faint smile, his gaze falling on Coleman, who was standing before him with arms outstretched, shielding him with his own body.
DRIP! DRIP!
At that moment, droplets of blood began to fall steadily from between Coleman's legs, staining the ground at his feet.
Although Coleman had previously moved without apparent difficulty, in truth he had been walking with small, mincing steps, much like the eunuchs from Jacaerys' past life. His injury in that most delicate area had never fully healed.
Just now, when he suddenly jumped forward with such force, the old wound must have torn open once again.
Regardless of whether Coleman's actions sprang from genuine loyalty or whether he was gambling on Jacaerys having prepared defenses, the young king acknowledged and accepted his devotion in that moment.
Rising to his feet, Jacaerys leaned close to Coleman and murmured softly, "Leave this place. Tell Stone to proceed with the plan."
Without hesitation, he reached into his robe and drew forth a short dagger he had carried with him for many years. Then, with a determined gleam in his eye, he charged at the Faceless Man, who had also drawn a blade in readiness.
Hearing Jacaerys' command, Coleman revealed a smile of pure, heartfelt relief. Despite the pain, he hobbled toward the edge of the Grandstand, limping heavily as he made his escape.
At this moment, no one would pay any attention to a minor figure like him.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The daggers in the hands of Jacaerys and the Faceless Man clashed again and again, the sharp ring of steel against steel filling the air.
Their fierce struggle seemed evenly matched, each testing the other's strength and skill.
Meanwhile, Lord Corlys Velaryon, having reached his guards, received a double-bladed battle axe from one of them. Gripping the weapon tightly, he turned his gaze toward the battling figures of Jacaerys and the Faceless Man, his expression dark and complex.
He was no fool.
For months now, he had been secretly investigating the disappearance of his younger brother, Vaemond Velaryon. After obtaining secret information released quietly by agents loyal to Baelor, he had pieced together a grim understanding of the truth.
Ever since Aemond's infamous theft of a dragon, Corlys had placed great hopes on Jacaerys, recognizing the boy's exceptional potential. The early victories in the Stepstones campaign had seemed to confirm the wisdom of his choice — Jacaerys had revealed himself to be a brilliant military genius.
Yet as time wore on, matters had slowly slipped beyond his control.
The assassination at the Red Keep, which had stripped Jacaerys of his inheritance rights, had rendered Corlys' secret pact with King Viserys I null and void.
Worse still, the horrifying rumors of Jacaerys' brutal conquest of Tyrosh had begun to undermine the very foundations of House Velaryon's reputation.
Reason told him that the wisest course now would be to flee at once, to join forces with Rhaenys and escape Myr.
If Jacaerys died here, the Velaryons could move swiftly to seize control of the Stepstones.
Yet, despite his logical reasoning, a deep, gnawing unease coiled within Corlys' heart.
His instincts, honed over countless voyages during his Nine Great Voyages, had saved him from peril many times before. Now, they were warning him of danger yet again.
Corlys hesitated.
But their enemies would not.
As he himself had once observed, he and Jacaerys shared the same surname, and in the eyes of their foes, they were one and the same.
From behind the prone magisters, a group of guards sprang into action. Most of these guards rushed to protect their masters, but six of them moved differently.
Drawing their swords, they split into two groups.
Three of them charged directly at Lord Corlys and his six guards. The other three made for Jacaerys and the Faceless Man.
As they ran, each of the six pulled a wineskin from their belts, each one large enough to hold a man's head.
Glug, Glug, Glug!
They lifted the skins high and poured the contents into their mouths. Thick, dark liquid dribbled from the corners of their lips.
It was the Wine of Courage, a strange and dangerous concoction brewed from a secret recipe that included deadly nightshade, the larvae of bloodflies, black lotus root, and other rare ingredients.
The masters of Astapor had used it to train the Unsullied. With every meal, the Unsullied were given a precise, tiny amount to drink, which over the years enabled them to become utterly fearless and immune to pain.
However, consuming the Wine of Courage in large quantities over a short period was tantamount to suicide.
Huff. Huff.
The moment the six guards finished drinking, the whites of their eyes were overtaken by a web of red veins. Their breathing grew ragged and bestial, sounding more like the snarls of wild beasts than human breaths.
The blood vessels on their faces bulged and writhed like a nest of squirming worms beneath their skin.
Because they were closer, the three guards rushing at Corlys and his men were the first to engage.
CLANG!
One of the guards, holding his sword in both hands, brought it down with terrifying force at one of Corlys' personal guards.
The man instinctively raised his sword above his head to block.
SQUELCH!
Though he managed to catch the blow, the terrible strength behind it was monstrous. In the next instant, his sword was ripped from his grasp and flung high into the air. The enemy's blade, carrying unstoppable force, split his head clean in two.
Seeing this, Corlys' pupils contracted sharply.
A veteran of countless battles, he instantly realized that something was horribly wrong with whatever the enemy had consumed.
He forcefully altered his stance, abandoning his initial intent to engage the enemy head-on. Twisting his body at the critical moment, he narrowly evaded the longsword that one of the guards slashed down from the front.
Seizing the opportunity before his opponent could stabilize his strength, he deftly sidestepped and swung his double-bladed battle axe with precision, severing the enemy's arm in a single, clean blow.
Yet, to Lord Corlys' astonishment, the disarmed guard seemed to feel no pain whatsoever. He paid no heed to the torrent of blood spurting from his severed stump and continued his assault, sword still raised and murder burning in his bloodshot eyes.
Not only was Lord Corlys facing such relentless assault, but the other four household guards at his side were also being overwhelmed by the other two berserk guards. They found themselves driven back step by step, their defenses collapsing under the fierce and unyielding assault.
Three opponents against six men, yet they had managed to kill one instantly, and now, with overwhelming strength and madness, they were crushing the remaining five without pause.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the grandstand, another battle unfolded. Jacaerys, though courageous, was clearly at a disadvantage. He lacked proficiency with short blades and could only wield his dagger clumsily, treating it more like a longsword.
Against the Faceless Man, who was highly skilled in the deadly art of dagger combat, Jacaerys' movements were riddled with flaws and openings.
After merely a few minutes of exchange, the Faceless Man seized an opportunity. With a cold glint in his eye, he thrust his dagger straight at Jacaerys' heart, aiming for a swift and fatal end.
Today was supposed to be a day for gladiatorial performances, so naturally none of the distinguished guests were clad in armor. Jacaerys wore only his elegant court attire, seemingly offering little protection against such a lethal strike.
CLANG!
The deadly blow, which the Faceless Man had been certain would pierce through Jacaerys' chest without fail, was unexpectedly blocked. A faint illusion of dragon scales shimmered into existence over Jacaerys' body at the moment of impact, deflecting the dagger with a clear metallic sound.
The Iron-Walled Strategist, the trait that provided a fifty percent boost to his defense, was still present by his side and remained unchanged.
However, after Vermax's recent evolution, the creature's defense had grown exponentially stronger, and Jacaerys' own defenses had been elevated to an even greater level.
Now, even the sharpest of daggers, if not wielded with extraordinary force, could no longer breach his defenses.
From the perspective of any ordinary man, Jacaerys had already become someone truly invulnerable to blades and arrows.
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[Chapter End's]
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