The sept was silent, save for the faint sounds of battle echoing from afar.
Six horses, enough for six riders.
Yet over forty people remained in the sept.
Of the forty, only thirteen could still stand.
Even without accounting for the bedridden wounded, those thirteen were still too many.
Riding out didn't guarantee escape, but staying behind meant certain death.
No one wanted to abandon this final sliver of hope.
"I am the commander, so I will assign the spots," Samwell declared, his tone resolute.
The others remained silent.
Throughout these days of battle, they had seen Samwell's fighting prowess firsthand. Without this formidable young lord from Eagle's Nest, they would never have lasted this long within Dorne's heartland.
In fact, the Iron Throne's forces likely owed their breakthrough to this group's relentless defense of the sept, which had drawn away so many enemy forces.
In both rank and strength, Samwell's authority was unquestioned.
"Dickon Tarly, Lucas Dayne, Katu, Robar Royce, Feiler Royce, and William Stone. You six will ride out."
Three Reachmen, three from the Vale—a fair distribution.
But most importantly, Samwell had not chosen himself.
With this, those forced to remain behind couldn't feel resentment. If even their commander was staying, what complaints could they have?
"Brother! I'm not leaving!" Dickon began to protest.
"Lord Caesar, please allow me to give up my place for you," Lucas pleaded.
"Milord…" Katu, his loyal squire, hesitated to speak.
"Enough! This is an order, not a discussion!" Samwell barked. "Your mission is to break through!"
"Brother!"
"Don't you understand?" Samwell glared at his younger brother. "Don't think escaping guarantees survival. You might die even faster than I do!"
Dickon bit his lip hard, struggling to hold back tears.
Samwell turned away, refusing to meet his brother's gaze, and commanded once more, "Mount up! This is an order!"
Then he moved toward the door, shifting the statue of the Father that barred their way.
---
"Prince Oberyn, let's go! Forget about these men!"
"You go ahead. I'll stay to avenge Obara."
Lord Quentyn hesitated, unsure.
Sensing his reluctance, Oberyn gave a bitter smile. "Take your son with you, too. Go!"
"Yes, Your Grace." Only then did Lord Quentyn hurriedly gather his second son, who had just become Oberyn's squire, and retreat.
Oberyn downed a mouthful of fiery liquor and prepared to order the final assault. Then, he noticed that the barricades before the sept doors had been moved aside.
Were they surrendering?
A bloodthirsty grin twisted Oberyn's lips. Surrender or not, they would all die.
But then, the rumbling of hooves echoed from within the sept.
Oberyn's expression shifted, and he shouted, "They're trying to break out!"
As soon as he spoke, six riders burst from the door.
The Dornish soldiers moved to close in on them, but a flaming arc exploded from the doorway, ripping a gory path through their ranks.
The six riders charged through the opening, breaking free.
Samwell's chest heaved as he lowered his sword.
He turned back, looking at the six men who remained standing behind him, as well as the wounded who lay deeper within the hall. With a faint smile, he asked, "Do you all know the Song of the Seven?"
In silence, they nodded, their eyes filled with resignation.
Samwell raised his burning sword before him and declared, "Then let us sing to the Seven, and fight to our final breath!"
"To the final breath!" The seven men stood tall, as if a mighty army stood at their backs.
"The Father's face stern and strong, judging wrong and upholding right."
Their voices rang out as the Dornish soldiers advanced.
"The Mother blesses life's creation, watching over each mother and child."
Samwell lifted Dawn, unleashing a second slash of flame.
The fiery sword's arc swept across the doorway, cleaving through the foremost soldiers.
In what seemed a mishap—or perhaps intentional—the flames also ignited the statues and wooden furnishings they had used to block the door.
"The Warrior stands before his foes, with spear, shield, and sword in hand."
The Dornishmen surged forward, a forest of spears thrusting ahead.
Dawn's flaming light surged like a forest fire.
A third slash.
Samwell's body tingled, his greatsword feeling as heavy as lead in his hands.
"The Crone, ancient and wise, knows the fate of each mortal soul."
Only three voices continued to sing.
Would this be the end?
Samwell's vision blurred as flames climbed the sept walls, but still not fast enough.
He attempted to raise Dawn for another strike, but his strength was spent.
Was this it?
The Dornish spears closed in once more.
Their faces twisted in the smoke, warped and indistinct.
Time itself seemed to slow, seconds stretching into eternity.
Thud!
Samwell heard his own heartbeat.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
It pounded, fierce and strong, an all-encompassing rhythm.
Blood surged through his veins, filling him with power once more.
No.
This was not the end!
Flames reignited along Dawn, casting light outward—
A fourth slash!
"The Smith toils with fire and hammer, at anvil, bellows, and flame."
Flames billowed outward, igniting the Dornish ranks and catching upon the wooden statues and benches within the hall.
Once more, his mind blanked.
At last, he had converted all his mental strength into raw physical power.
Savoring the torrent of strength coursing through him, Samwell laughed wildly and swung his sword again—
A fifth slash!
Flames surged out, fanning across the wooden structures in the hall.
Tendrils of fire coiled and writhed like serpents, unfurling across the space.
The flickering orange light overtook the dimming sunset outside, bathing the hall in eerie, terrifying beauty.
A dragon's fire.
At last, the Dornishmen were cowed. Outside, soldiers hesitated to charge; those within scrambled to escape.
Searing winds whipped through the hall, but Samwell felt no heat.
On the contrary, the bronze armor's coolness made him feel as though he stood amidst ice and snow.
The blazing inferno filled his vision, yet around him, he could see no other companions.
Were they all dead?
Samwell glanced around, his gaze unfocused.
No, not all.
In the shadows deeper within the hall, wounded soldiers continued to sing to the Seven:
"The Maiden dances high above, inspiring love and hearts' lament."
Their faint, distant voices soon succumbed to the roaring flames.
The world turned blood-red.
Samwell stood his sword upright, the statue of the Maiden burning before him.
In the flames, her face seemed to shift, first becoming Margaery Tyrell's sweet smile, then morphing into the coy grin of Nathalie Dayne, and finally freezing into the pale, cold beauty of the woman from his vision on the Wall.
Her skin as pale as snow, her gaze as icy as the moon.
She wore a wreath of winter roses upon her head, the crimson petals as bright as blood.
"Take me with you," she whispered.
He reached out, but the icy woman melted into mist.
A whirlwind of rose petals swept around him, and the sky above turned an unearthly white.
Clang!
A spear pierced through the flames, striking Samwell's chest with a metallic screech as it grated against his bronze armor.
Reflexively, Samwell swung Dawn—
A sixth slash.
The flames dissipated, merging with the spreading inferno but failing to find their mark.
"Red Viper!"
"Caesar!"
Prince Oberyn, clutching a spear, circled Samwell warily, his face twisted with rage.
"I'll kill you!" he growled, his expression contorted with hate.
"Come, then." Samwell held his sword steady, his eyes fixed forward, never following Oberyn's movements.
Having transferred his mental power to physical strength, Samwell could no longer boost his agility. He knew that the Red Viper posed a lethal threat.
Oberyn's circling steps grew faster and faster, until he was sprinting in a blur.
Samwell shut his eyes.
Suddenly, Oberyn changed direction, his spear darting out like a viper's strike, a faint shimmer tracing its deadly path.
Shhck—
Samwell twisted away, but the spear found its mark, sliding into the joint beneath his arm.
Oberyn twisted the spear and yanked it free, but Samwell trapped it under his arm and swung Dawn—
A seventh slash.
"Die!"
Brilliant light flared, burning even brighter in the fiery hall.
Oberyn released the spear and spun, nimble as a cat, but he was too late.
The flaming arc sliced through him, shearing off his left arm, part of his left shoulder, and half his face, which blistered and melted, dripping like wax.
Oberyn's maniacal laughter filled the air as he staggered forward. "Let us die together!"
With a roar, he lunged at Samwell, pulling him down into the flames.
They rolled together, entwined like lovers, consumed by fire.
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
The flames engulfed the two men. Prince Oberyn roared like a beast, but Samwell looked calm, as if he was just lying on a soft and comfortable feather bed.
"No! Impossible! How can this be!" Prince Oberyn saw that Samwell was unharmed in the fire, and his roar turned into angry and terrified questioning.
But he obviously didn't get an answer, as the flames soon devoured his flesh and blood, leaving only dry bones.
Samwell gently pushed away the remains of his enemy, he lay quietly in the flames, and let the flames gently wrap around him.
There were tingling sensations in his arms, accompanied by a strange numbness.
But at this moment his mind was attracted by the illusion dancing in the flames.
Those were blurry scenes.
At the carnival banquet with singing and dancing, King Joffrey stood proudly and shouted out inaudible words...
Blood surged in like a sea, engulfing the entire Skyreach City. Countless horrible corpses sank and floated in the sea of blood...
A charming witch in a red robe stood in front of him, the ruby at her throat flickering with strange flames, like a beating heart...
The picture finally freezes in the blue sky, and a fiery red comet suddenly passes by, leaving a gorgeous long tail——
The stars weep blood.
(End of Chapter)