"Lord Renly, I—"
Barristan had only just lifted the tent flap and begun to speak when a gust of wind suddenly blew in from behind him.
Light and shadow stirred across the ground, as if something else had slipped in along with the wind.
In that single instant, Barristan felt the hairs on his body stand on end. Yet when his gaze sharpened and he instinctively turned his head to look, there was nothing there.
Before his eyes, only the shadow of Renly Baratheon was cast upon the silken canvas of the tent, swaying and shifting.
It seemed as though it was merely an illusion caused by the wind stirring the candlelight within the tent.
"What is it, Ser Barristan?"
Renly adjusted the expression on his face and turned around in confusion to ask.
But immediately after, he gave his shoulders a slight shiver and instinctively added, "It's so cold."
"I—… get out of the way!"
Thinking it was just a misunderstanding caused by the wind moving the candle flame, Barristan instinctively relaxed and was about to continue what he had been saying.
But just as he let his guard down and turned his attention back to Renly, he suddenly realized that the shadow which had been cast at a slant upon the tent moments ago had shifted from its original position.
And, whether it was an illusion or not, that shadow seemed to have become three-dimensional—like something struggling to break free from the silken canvas itself.
And, most importantly, that shadow raised a sword.
A black gloom surfaced within the green tent, the candlelight flickering with a trembling glow.
Yet Renly's sword was properly fastened at his waist, the black gemstone set into it especially eye-catching, hanging at a slant from his belt together with a dagger.
But that shadow-like sword?
And that bone-chilling sensation of murderous intent from just moments ago still lingered.
In an instant, Barristan realized that something was wrong. Though he did not know why, the danger sense honed through long years of battle compelled him to make a decision.
He had no time to say anything else. With a loud shout of warning, he reflexively drew the longsword at his waist and lunged toward the shadow at Renly's side.
But everything was already too late.
No matter how fast his movement, it was still slower than that shadow standing right beside Renly.
For at the very moment Renly spoke the words "so cold" in a faint, bewildered tone, in the blink of an eye, the steel plate protecting his throat was lightly cut open by the shadow, like cloth—together with most of his neck.
Renly managed only to let out a thin, rough gasp before the surging blood choked his throat, turning it into an indistinguishable whimper.
At the same time, the blood sprayed onto Barristan, who was charging toward him with sword drawn—onto his body, his face, and his blade.
Snow-white Kingsguard enameled armor, and a longsword whose blade shone as brightly as moonlight.
And that same snow-white cloak—the white cloak that symbolized the honor of the Kingsguard—was likewise stained by the gushing blood, blossoming with vivid, blood-red plum flowers.
Barristan stood there with his eyes wide open, witnessing that shadow use a longsword likewise formed of shadow to so effortlessly cut open Renly's neck.
"No…!!!"
Everything Barristan saw, Loras Tyrell saw as well.
Watching the lover who had been close to him only moments ago now spill blood into the air, a grief-stricken cry was forced from his throat, and he broke into a heart-rending wail.
Yet Renly was already unable to respond to Loras's cries. He wanted to do something, but found that he could not even lift his hand.
He could only stagger forward and collapse into the embrace of the Knight of Flowers, who was likewise rushing toward him.
Large amounts of blood poured out uncontrollably. The patterns upon the splendid armor turned into little streams, as a dark tide submerged the green and the gold.
In the next moment, the candles within the tent went out one after another.
Renly struggled to speak, but his own blood choked his throat.
His legs gave way, and only by Loras's strength was he held up and cradled in his arms.
Watching Renly gradually die right before his eyes, Loras opened his mouth, wanting to say something, yet not a single word could come out.
All sound dissolved into uncontrollable trembling amid extreme pain.
And just as Loras held Renly—his neck cut open, his strength gone as he collapsed to the ground—
Ser Barristan Selmy—who had drawn his sword and charged toward Renly, trying to block that strike for him—cut only empty air with a single swing.
His swift sword stroke cleaved nothing but the air.
"Stannis!"
After the strike missed, Barristan quickly checked his momentum.
Recalling the form of the shadow he had just seen, as well as the appearance of that sword, a name slipped from his mouth involuntarily.
Although Barristan himself was momentarily startled the instant the name left his lips, once he came back to his senses, he immediately realized that this was the truth.
Because he had seen Stannis earlier that very morning. That shadow had looked almost exactly like Stannis—although much of its detail was obscured by pitch-black gloom.
But it was Stannis, without doubt.
And it was at that moment that the candles within the tent suddenly went out. Darkness immediately swept through the tent, leaving only the embers in the brazier to emit a faint glow.
The shadow before them seemed to thrive in such an environment, already on the verge of withdrawing again and vanishing from sight.
But Barristan would not allow it to have its way. Though he did not know what this thing was, nor how dangerous it might be, nor how Stannis had accomplished this—
Barristan's first reaction was still to stop it, to keep it there.
Thus, after that first strike had missed, Barristan only froze for a brief instant before rapidly pursuing it.
Yet several consecutive sword strikes still fell short. It was as if he were hacking at an illusory void, with nothing to bite into at all.
Only when the final strike landed as the shadow fell back upon the tent—and his longsword once again caught up to it—did that blow merely graze past the shadow's arm.
This time, it was no longer the completely empty sensation from before, because when the sharp blade cut across the silken canvas of the tent, there was still a faint resistance.
A gust of cold wind blew in through the torn opening in the tent, causing Barristan to halt the motion of his hands.
Through that opening, everything outside was pitch-black. The shadow that had already been difficult to discern with the naked eye had long since vanished without a trace.
In that instant, the surge of anger ebbed away like a receding tide, and a cold sweat soaked through Barristan's back.
In the heat of battle he had not felt it, but now—after that bone-chilling sensation faded and his mind cleared—Barristan finally realized what it had been just moments ago.
"Witchcraft…."
Several seconds passed. While Loras still held Renly's corpse, wailing soundlessly, and Barristan stood dazed, staring at the night beyond the tent, the sounds within finally reached outside.
Bryce Caron and Emmon Cuy—who were on duty guarding Renly that night—quickly burst in with two soldiers holding torches.
With a single glance, they saw Renly collapsed in Loras's arms, saw him soaked through with Renly's own blood.
And there was Barristan as well—upon that snow-white armor that symbolized the honor of the Kingsguard, the plum-blossom stains were even more glaring.
"Damn you—so you actually joined together to murder him!"
Before Bryce could even make sense of what he was seeing, Emmon Cuy—rash by nature and hot-tempered—let out an instinctive roar and immediately stepped forward.
"Put him down, you damned thing!"
At the side, Bryce only had time to ask a single question: "Gods above—Barristan Selmy, Loras—why? Why has this happened?"
The relationship between Loras and Renly had been kept in the shadows, but in truth, anyone with eyes knew they were lovers—only that their love was not accepted by the world.
Yet now, Renly's corpse lay in Loras's arms, staring with hollow eyes, a massive gash at his neck pouring out blood.
And beside them stood Barristan, captain of the Kingsguard, his body and sword both stained crimson.
In the next instant, Bryce seemed to think of something. In panic, he raised his hand and pointed at the two of them.
"That's it—you are Kal Baratheon's Kingsguard!"
"And you, Loras—you blamed the destruction of House Tyrell on Lord Renly!"
"This is a plot—you murdered Renly!"
Hearing Bryce's accusations, Barristan came back to himself and turned to look.
Loras, meanwhile, lifted his head in a daze. Renly's blood still would not stop flowing, soaking the green cloak on his shoulder until it turned pitch-black.
"No… this…"
Faced with the accusations, just as Loras was about to say something, Emmon had already pulled a long-hafted battle axe from the pile of weapons by the entrance and brought it crashing down toward Loras's head.
"I'll have your life—you will pay for what you've done!"
This time, Barristan did not speak. And this time, he reacted.
With a single bounding step, he thrust his sword out ahead of the blow, intercepting the axe's path.
There was a clang as steel met iron and sparks flew—Barristan actually took the axe head-on, blocking the chop with his sword.
Immediately after, the blade in Barristan's hand swept and lifted, prying the battle axe aside and knocking it off course.
"Stop! We are not the murderers—Stannis is the one who killed Renly!" Barristan shouted loudly, trying to argue for his and Loras's innocence.
As soon as he finished speaking, he swiftly stepped in front of Loras, shielding both Renly's body and Loras behind him.
Yet as he spoke, Barristan failed to notice that his own body was still stained with Renly's blood—and that Bryce and Emmon had only just let him in, and then, in the very next moment, Renly had died.
As a result, his words carried no persuasive force at all.
After all, there had been only three people in the tent.
Renly had been killed—among those still alive, who else could the murderer be?
"Stannis killed Renly?!"
"But your sword is stained with Lord Renly's blood!"
Emmon was still somewhat stunned that his axe strike had been blocked by a sword that arrived later yet struck first.
But in his raging fury, upon hearing Barristan's utterly unconvincing defense, he could not be bothered to listen at all.
He roared again, and this time directly hefted the battle axe and hacked straight toward Barristan.
Emmon's words also snapped Bryce into action. If the murderer was one of the three people in the tent, and if Loras—given his relationship with Renly—was most likely not the killer, then Barristan had to be the murderer, and he also had a motive.
Because the Kingsguard needed only to obey the king's orders.
Immediately, Bryce let out a shout and issued orders to the two terrified soldiers he had brought with him, who did not know what to do: "Enough of this—seize Barristan Selmy first. He is the one who murdered Renly!"
Faced with their accusations, Barristan had bitterness he could not voice.
And seeing that this man not only refused to listen but was charging in to strike again, this time Barristan did not wait for the blow to land. At the instant the axe was still raised high in midair, just about to come down, he stepped forward half a pace and met it head-on, slicing clean through the axe handle with a single stroke.
The broken axe head continued spinning through the air.
Then Barristan lifted his leg and drove a hard kick into Emmon's chest, sending him stumbling backward and crashing to the ground.
In the process, he also knocked down one of the soldiers who had rushed forward to join the attack.
But just as Barristan was dealing with Emmon's assault, Bryce—who had earlier shouted to seize him—had already moved with another soldier to flank him from behind.
Seeing Barristan's fierce momentum, one of the soldiers directly hurled the torch in his hand and then thrust with a spear, his movements extremely practiced.
At the same time, Bryce swung the longsword in his hand, following the trajectory of the thrown torch and cutting toward Barristan's right hand from the opposite direction, from low to high.
As the Lord of Nightsong and the head of House Caron, Bryce was no mere showpiece—his swordsmanship was highly accomplished, and his sense of combat rhythm was impeccably timed.
Their actions were swift. Having just dealt with the frontal assault, Barristan was momentarily hard-pressed to respond to everything at once.
But the title "Barristan the Bold" was no empty reputation.
As a legendary figure renowned in his own right, he had already been a member of the Kingsguard back in the era when they were regarded as the greatest knights of the Seven Kingdoms.
A torch flew straight toward his face. Barristan reacted instantly, chopping it aside with a raised hand. He did not care that the pitch on the torch splashed onto his hand and ignited, nor did he mind the sparks scattering as he struck it away.
Barristan's eyes widened as he precisely followed through and seized the spearhead that thrust toward him next.
He held fast, forcing a contest of strength and refusing to let the spear pierce him.
But facing the longsword swung by Bryce, Barristan could no longer afford to hold back.
So his sword could only be faster—sharper.
Before Bryce's blade could reach his arm, Barristan reversed his grip, flicked upward, and brought his sword down in a single stroke, severing Bryce's hand cleanly at the wrist.
Along with it, the sword still clutched in that hand traced an arc through the air before clattering to the ground.
"Ah—!"
Bryce felt a sudden lightness at his wrist; the sword he had swung was replaced by blood spraying from the severed joint and searing pain.
Now there was only one opponent left.
Barristan abruptly released his grip with his left hand, letting go of the spear. The soldier stumbled forward off balance.
Barristan immediately lifted the hilt of his sword to meet him, dropping him to the ground with a single blow.
"Go—we must leave. Right now only we know the truth. If we die here, Renly's vengeance will never be fulfilled!"
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