A sudden gasp rose from the audience. Samwell squinted, scrutinizing the scene.
Was this mishap truly just due to the king's large belly? Or was it a deliberate setup?
He soon got his answer.
Just as Robert himself stood there in a moment of confusion, several fighters around him suddenly attacked at once.
"Haha! Trying to catch me off guard? Foolish!"
Robert was undaunted, gripping his war hammer with both hands and swinging it in a wide arc. In an instant, bone cracked, flesh tore, and the ground was littered with carnage.
But rather than scaring the attackers away, this gruesome scene only spurred more to lunge toward the king.
Witnessing this, Samwell became certain—this was premeditated. This was an assassination attempt on the king!
"Stop! Halt the match immediately!" Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was the first to rush into the arena, trying to halt the match.
"Protect the king!" Queen Cersei screamed.
Gregor Clegane, the "Mountain," loyal hound of House Lannister, sprang into action, brandishing his enormous sword as he charged into the fray.
But it was too late.
Robert managed to strike down another mercenary rushing toward him, but a second attacker slipped through, stabbing the king's unarmored belly.
The intense pain made Robert roar, and he lifted his war hammer to crush the attacker's skull. But at that instant, yet another assassin appeared to his right, a curved blade slashing a long, hideous wound across the king's bloated belly.
With a sickening slash, Robert's intestines, tangled with blood, spilled out—a scene of raw butchery.
Screams, curses, and sobs filled the air, and the arena descended into chaos.
"No!" Barristan let out a furious, desperate roar, charging toward Robert's side like a maddened bear. He barreled into the assassin who had disemboweled the king, sending him flying, and drew his sword, shouting at the surrounding fighters, "Back off! All of you, back off!"
The assassin, struggling to rise, seemed ready to flee, but the Mountain was upon him. With a single, powerful swing, Gregor sliced the man in half.
The sheer brutality of the act terrified the remaining combatants, who scattered in all directions.
But Gregor, blood-drunk and relentless, hefted his bloodied sword and pursued them. Though he was slow-moving, guards around the arena had already closed in, blocking the fighters' escape routes.
With no way out, the Lannisters' monstrous hound began his killing spree.
In moments, the ground ran red, and severed limbs lay strewn across the blood-soaked arena.
Nathalie had buried her face in Samwell's chest, too frightened to watch. As he comforted her, Samwell coldly observed the carnage unfolding.
He hadn't expected this king to die not to a wild boar, as in the original story, but here, in this very tournament.
And it was clear—this was no accident. It was a calculated assassination!
He already suspected who was behind it.
Undoubtedly, it was the Lannisters.
Gregor Clegane's supposed revenge for the king was, in reality, an effort to silence witnesses.
As for who had led Robert into this carefully crafted death trap, it could only be Queen Cersei Lannister.
Yes, the queen had appeared to oppose Robert's participation in the melee, but it was precisely her "opposition" that had drawn him into the arena.
She knew her husband too well—knew that he would defy her wishes out of sheer spite.
By telling him "not to participate," she had achieved far more than if she had openly encouraged him.
What's more, this approach would allow her to feign innocence later.
After all, she had "tried" to stop him; it was he who refused to listen.
And that breastplate coming undone—was it really a fluke? Was it really due to Robert's belly?
Certainly not.
Who had fitted Robert's armor?
None other than his squire, Lancel Lannister—Cersei's cousin.
Then, in the end, a loyal hound of House Lannister arrived to slay the hired fighters and erase all evidence.
In the arena, the murderous machine from the Westerlands, Gregor Clegane, continued his slaughter while guards assisted him by keeping the fighters from fleeing.
Assassinating the king was undoubtedly grounds for execution, but killing without trial? This was a cover-up.
The arena was in complete disarray, with cries for a maester to save the king drowning out all else, and no one dared to interfere with Gregor's rampage.
As Samwell watched, he began to question whether this assassination was really Cersei's plan alone.
She was clever, perhaps even cunning, but had never shown the kind of foresight or strategic insight this scheme required.
Though the assassination certainly matched her style, its meticulous planning didn't seem like something she could devise.
There had to be someone behind her.
And the most likely suspect was Petyr Baelish, the "Littlefinger."
He must have caught wind of certain rumors and orchestrated this chaos to divert everyone's attention, creating a greater uproar.
Samwell couldn't help but acknowledge Baelish's skill in scheming—he was a master in the art of deception, far beyond Samwell's own capabilities.
Yet unfortunately for Baelish, Samwell had already relayed the rumor to someone who would make use of it.
While Littlefinger hoped to obscure the rumor with chaos, he didn't realize that within that very chaos, a serpent lay waiting to strike.
---
"How is the king?"
"We are trying everything we can…" Grand Maester Pycelle, his hands bloody and his brow slick with sweat, stammered, "Please, give us more time… just a little more…"
"Save him! Do you understand, Pycelle?" Cersei's shrill voice rang out, her face streaked with tears.
"I'll do everything… everything possible…" Pycelle, unable to bear the intense gaze of the gathered nobles, hurried back into the room.
Outside, a tense silence fell, broken only by the muffled sobs of the young prince and princess.
The queen turned, her face contorted with barely restrained grief. "Joffrey, take your siblings back to rest."
"Yes, Mother."
Petyr Baelish spoke up gently. "Your Grace, you should rest too. We will keep vigil here. Any news, I'll send word immediately."
After a moment's hesitation, Cersei left, escorted by her brother Jaime.
Once back in her chambers and behind closed doors, she could no longer contain her joy and burst into laughter.
Jaime looked at her, bemused. "Cersei, he was still your husband. Even if you're not grieving, laughing like this…"
"Why shouldn't I laugh?" Cersei sneered. "That fat pig is finally dead! I finally got rid of him!"
"You?" Jaime was stunned. "You orchestrated all this?"
"Who else?" Cersei poured herself a drink, her tone gleeful. "Oh, my dear brother, revenge is so sweet! I can't believe I waited so long to get rid of that pig! I should have done it sooner!"
"Revenge? He was your husband! What did he ever do to you?"
"What did he do?" Cersei's voice turned icy. "Years of humiliation, years of neglect—and you ask me that? On our wedding night, when I gave myself to him, he called me by her name. Lyanna Stark! From that moment, I wanted to kill him!"
"But he was still your husband. And your king…"
"My king?" Cersei glanced at him, disapproving. "What's gotten into you, Jaime? Don't tell me you're judging me? Kingslayer—have you forgotten you once killed a king yourself?"
Jaime fell silent, unable to find the words, but finally said, "You could have at least consulted me."
"Consulted you?" Cersei, sipping her wine, looked down at him with the air of a queen. "Your brain might be good for swordplay, but it's wasted on anything else. Do you even know that Catelyn Tully is here in King's Landing? Eddard Stark probably already suspects we pushed his son from that tower!"
"Catelyn Tully is here?" Jaime looked baffled. "How did I not know?"
"By the time you realize it, Eddard Stark might have already told Robert our secret!" Cersei cast a scornful glance at him. "The gods were fools to give you strength for the battlefield, while cursing me with a woman's body and a womb to suffer in childbirth, bringing children into the world for idiots like you! Now that fool Robert is as good as dead. Once Joffrey is on the throne, I'll rule this kingdom. And I'll show everyone that if I hadn't been born a woman, I'd be the most capable king of all! Father will be proud of me! I am his most gifted child!"
She approached her brother, lifting his chin flirtatiously with a smile.
"Now, come, let's celebrate."
(End of Chapter)