Chapter 128: The Battle Erupts!
Gendry stared at the open cell door, yet his feet felt nailed to the ground.
He had never imagined freedom would arrive like this.
It came too suddenly, too violently—reeking of blood. Not far away, the fallen guard's throat was still bubbling, fresh blood spilling onto the stone.
He was a blacksmith. He was used to the rhythm of fire and hammer, to shaping metal—creating, not destroying.
"Time waits for no one, bastard."
Odin's voice pulled him back. Calm, steady—completely out of place amid the chaos.
Gendry looked up at the man before him.
A mystery. A Lannister envoy, he claimed—bringing gifts and plans to Stannis. Yet now he stood in the dungeon, having killed a guard, opened the cell… and his eyes didn't ripple in the slightest.
Guess I'd better get used to this bloody world, Gendry thought, taking a deep breath before stepping out.
"You're the one who brought the enemy here!"
A furious shout erupted from the neighboring cell. Gendry turned to see Davos lunge at the bars, pointing straight at Odin.
Firelight flickered across his weathered face, carving deep lines of anger.
"I knew it—you're no Lannister envoy!"
"You came first to negotiate, to lull us into complacency, and then the fleet landed under cover of night—this was your plan all along! You people don't even understand what honor means!"
The accusation sounded… reasonable.
Even Gendry instinctively took half a step back, looking at Odin again with suspicion.
It was too much of a coincidence.
But Odin merely tilted his head and rolled his eyes, as if physically pained by stupidity.
"Try using that thing on your neck, Ser."
His tone carried faint irritation, as though the answer was obvious.
"If this were my plan, do you really think I'd personally come to this island—risking execution at any moment just to play bait?"
"Even if this place had dragons, it wouldn't be worth that risk, idiot."
He didn't bother softening the insult, then glanced at Gendry.
"And if Stannis loses, what do I gain?"
"I want a living king—one who owes me, one I can trade with. Not a pile of broken rocks trampled by Lannister soldiers."
"If Tywin wins, the credit goes to his army and commanders. At best, I'd be a nobody who nearly got himself killed. Which side benefits me more? Isn't that obvious?"
Gendry's expression shifted. He was… convinced.
Davos, however, remained rigid, gripping the bars until his knuckles turned white.
"Then… what is this?"
He stared at Odin, fists clenched, while Gendry also looked on eagerly.
Odin sighed, and Davos suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of how do you still not get this?
"Simple. The sky is blue. Gold is yellow. And human hearts are black."
"And me?"
"I got sold out by that old bastard Tywin."
"He sent me here on purpose—to use my head to lower Stannis's guard. Make him think King's Landing was hesitating, probing, looking for options beyond war."
"And while everyone's attention was fixed on me—the shiny little pawn—he launched a full assault under cover of night."
Odin spoke evenly, without the slightest hint of anger. As if he were narrating someone else's misfortune.
In fact, he even sounded impressed.
"Efficient. Lull the enemy and get rid of me at the same time… ruthless as hell."
Silence settled in the dungeon, broken only by distant sounds of battle.
Davos lowered his head, accepting the explanation.
Gendry, meanwhile, stared at Odin, his worldview cracking apart piece by piece.
The Brotherhood Without Banners had sold him for gold.
The red woman had seduced him… only to take his blood.
Every time, anger had burned in his chest.
But this man—
This man had been betrayed, abandoned to die… and yet stood here utterly calm.
"You were betrayed," Gendry couldn't help asking. "Why aren't you angry at all?"
Odin looked at him as if he'd asked something profoundly stupid, then let out a faint scoff.
"Anger?"
"Anger is expensive, kid. It burns your reason, blinds your eyes, and makes you chew on bitterness instead of figuring out how to survive."
He stepped forward slightly, firelight revealing the weathered sharpness beneath his youthful face.
"This world—especially this corner of it—is a slaughterhouse where everyone sells everyone."
"Loyalty has a price. Oaths have cracks. Today's brother-in-arms is tomorrow's knife in your back."
"As for me and Tywin Lannister? Our cooperation was never stable."
"He used me for things the Lannisters couldn't do openly. I used his name and resources."
"Mutual exploitation. That's all."
He spread his hands casually.
"Just didn't expect him to go this far—no room for negotiation at all."
"Given Tywin's style, if he's struck, it's a decisive blow. If I'm right, the fleet surrounding Dragonstone now is the Redwyne fleet."
"Stannis… probably can't turn this around."
He said it lightly.
But the weight of it crushed down hard.
If Stannis fell, Dragonstone would fall.
And everyone here—including Gendry, with the blood of King Robert—might not live to see tomorrow.
Gendry stared at him, a strange respect rising in his chest.
He had thought his own suffering unbearable.
Yet this man could calmly discuss life and death as if balancing accounts.
Compared to that… his own rage felt childish.
"Are you coming or not?"
Odin cut through his thoughts sharply.
"Time doesn't wait."
Gendry jolted, stepping forward quickly. Survival instinct overrode everything.
But his gaze drifted toward Davos.
The Onion Knight sat motionless, staring at the severed finger bones scattered before him, face unreadable in the firelight.
"Ser…" Gendry called.
Davos finally looked up.
He glanced at Gendry, then at Odin—studying him for a long moment, as if making a final judgment.
The dungeon seemed to freeze. Outside, the sounds of battle grew louder.
Then Davos spoke.
"East side of the dungeon. Go straight. At the three forks, turn left each time."
"At the end there's a dead wall—but behind it is an abandoned drainage tunnel. Not many know it."
"It leads to the cliffs. At low tide, you can climb down. There's a small boat I prepared."
"You might escape."
Odin raised a brow, surprised—but nodded quickly.
"Thanks."
"Take the boy," Davos said quietly. "He doesn't belong here."
Then he turned away, shoulders heavy, as if he'd aged years in a moment.
Odin didn't hesitate.
"Stay close."
He pulled open the dungeon door.
The corridor outside roared with chaos—shouts, footsteps, steel clashing.
Stepping over the corpse, Odin paused, crouched, and efficiently stripped the dead soldier's sword. He weighed it, then handed it to Gendry.
The hilt was cold. Heavy.
"Know how to use it?" Odin asked.
"No."
"Doesn't matter."
"Hold it. Stay behind me. Don't fall behind."
"If someone tries to kill you, don't think—just swing like you're hammering iron. However it lands."
"Hesitate—and you die."
Gendry nodded hard, gripping the sword tighter.
Odin cast one last glance back—briefly at Davos—then stepped out.
But just as he crossed the threshold, he tossed something back into the cell.
Clink.
It landed at Davos's feet.
A key.
Davos stared at it for a long time. Then slowly bent down, picked it up, and walked to the door.
Click.
The cell opened.
Freedom came—mixed with smoke and blood.
He stepped out… then paused, turned back, and carefully gathered the severed finger bones, wrapping them in cloth like treasures.
Then he left.
The corridor beyond was chaos.
Gendry's skin prickled—this was the closest he'd ever been to real war.
Odin moved fast. Gendry stumbled after him.
But soon, something felt off.
"Ser… are we going the wrong way?"
"Davos said—"
"I heard him."
Odin didn't stop.
"And then what, kid? Jump off a cliff and pray the sea doesn't kill you?"
He slipped past an archway, scanning ahead.
"Even if the boat's still there… can you sail it?"
Gendry hesitated. Then shook his head.
"Exactly."
Odin clapped once.
"Me neither."
"We'd drift. No food. No water. No charts. Trusting our lives to a piece of wood and the sea?"
"I never gamble my life on luck."
"Luck's a whore. Sweet today, drowns you tomorrow."
He tapped his temple.
"This is what you rely on."
Gendry understood.
Control—not chance.
Even if it was dangerous… it made sense.
And so he followed, silently.
Strangely, Odin seemed to know the castle.
Every turn, every pause—perfect.
He avoided main paths, dodged patrols, anticipated danger seconds before it appeared.
It was like watching someone who could see the future.
Gendry was awestruck.
What he didn't know—
Was that some people simply had something called a "cheat."
With [Insight Lv3], Odin's perception far exceeded normal limits.
Danger? Just another variable to manage.
Gradually, Gendry relaxed—trust creeping in.
Maybe… following this man meant survival.
Then—
"Stay sharp, Gendry."
Odin stopped abruptly.
His voice turned serious.
"This is where it gets hard."
Gendry tightened his grip and looked around.
A wide corridor.
Nothing unusual—
Until—
Footsteps.
From both ends.
Two groups of soldiers appeared simultaneously.
Front—seven or eight men. Baratheon stag on their chests.
Behind—another group. Better equipped. Purple armor with grape sigils.
"The Redwyne fleet," Odin murmured.
Both sides froze.
Swords drawn. Crossbows raised.
And in the middle—
Odin and Gendry.
The Baratheon knight at the front shouted:
"You two—whose side are you on?!"
Gendry panicked.
"He's a Lan—"
"We're with Ser Davos!" Odin cut in instantly, stepping forward.
"His Grace sent us to inventory the grain shipment from King's Landing. Then the attack happened—we got separated!"
The knight's suspicion eased.
Davos's men?
That made sense.
Especially the ragged "sailor" beside him.
Despite Davos Seaworth being imprisoned, everyone knew just how vital he—and his fleet—were to Dragonstone's supply lines.
"I see."
The knight nodded, accepting the explanation. "Get over here—quickly. Stay away from those bastards!"
At once, Odin grabbed the still-dazed Gendry and pulled him into the ranks of the Dragonstone soldiers. The men cooperated, opening a gap and ushering the two "non-combatants" toward the rear.
Only after squeezing into the formation did Gendry feel the fear hit him.
He glanced at Odin, eyes filled with admiration.
This man's reaction speed… unreal. The lie had been flawless.
But—
Those were Lannister allies ahead, weren't they?
Why were they standing with Stannis's men?
No one answered the question forming in his mind.
Because by then—
The two forces were already closing in.
Battle was inevitable.
"Kill the traitors!"
The knight's roar exploded through the corridor.
Almost simultaneously, the Redwyne officer barked his own command:
"Leave none alive! Clear the passage!"
Steel met steel.
Blades hacked, pierced, and tore. Screams filled the narrow stone hall.
Torchlight flickered wildly across flashing weapons, casting twisted shadows of men locked in brutal struggle.
Gendry's blood surged.
A Dragonstone soldier was impaled through the gut by a spear—yet still roared as he hacked the shaft apart.
A Redwyne soldier had his blade blocked by a shield—only to draw a dagger and drive it into his opponent's neck.
Gendry instinctively raised his sword and took a step forward.
A hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.
"What are you doing?"
He turned—meeting Odin's calm, piercing gaze.
"Helping!" Gendry pointed at the melee, as if it were obvious.
"Helping?"
Odin shot him a look like he'd just said something idiotic.
"You actually think you're one of Stannis's men now?"
Gendry froze.
Right.
He wasn't a soldier.
He was a prisoner.
"Then… what do we do?"
"Watch."
Odin released him and stepped slightly in front.
"This is their fight. Not ours."
Gendry swallowed and forced himself to stay still.
The knight fought fiercely, armored and relentless, cutting down two Redwyne soldiers in quick succession.
But his men were exhausted, poorly equipped compared to their enemies.
One by one, they fell under the disciplined assault.
Until—
The last Dragonstone soldier was skewered by three spears at once.
Only the knight remained.
Back against the cold wall, drenched in blood, armor cracked and broken, chest heaving.
Before him stood four Redwyne soldiers, led by a cold-faced officer, advancing step by step.
The knight's grip on his sword was steady—
But his arm trembled.
Blood dripped down the blade.
And then—
Odin moved.
The knight's eyes lit up for a split second—hope.
"Idiot! Don't come closer!" he roared.
"Run! Get to the chamber beneath the mason's tower—take Princess Shireen and go!"
"I'll hold them off!"
But Odin ignored him completely.
His gaze locked onto the Redwyne officer.
Something in that gaze made the officer hesitate. He raised a hand, signaling his men to pause.
He studied Odin carefully.
This man—who had claimed to be one of Davos's followers—
Now radiated something… dangerous.
Behind him, the knight tried to charge again, but outnumbered four to one, he was quickly cut down further, collapsing to one knee.
Despair closed in.
Blades rose—
Death, inevitable.
And then—
A blur of motion.
Odin cut into the battlefield at astonishing speed.
The officer reacted instantly, raising his sword to block—
Clang!
The impact sent a shock up his arm. The force was far beyond expectation—his grip nearly failed.
The other three soldiers immediately abandoned the knight and turned on Odin.
Too late.
He twisted aside, his movement fluid—almost unnatural.
The pommel of his sword slammed into one man's throat.
He spun.
A half-circle of steel flashed—
Two men dropped instantly.
The officer and the last soldier roared and charged together.
Odin dipped low, surging forward—
His blade drove upward through the soldier's jaw, bursting out the back of his skull.
At that same moment—
The officer's sword descended.
Odin parried effortlessly, his blade flowing with the motion—
Then—
It slipped past the guard.
A cold edge kissed the officer's throat.
A single pull.
Shhhk—!
Blood erupted like a fountain.
The officer staggered, clutching his neck, eyes wide with disbelief—
Then collapsed.
Silence.
From first strike to final kill—
Barely ten seconds.
The corridor fell eerily quiet.
The knight leaned against the wall, gasping, staring at Odin as if he'd just witnessed something impossible.
Since when did "one of Davos's men" possess this kind of skill?
Odin simply flicked the blood from his blade and stepped forward.
The knight's voice trembled, filled with disbelief:
"You… why are you so strong… why didn't you act sooner?"
Odin ignored the question and extended a hand.
"Save your strength for something useful, knight."
"Stand up—if you still intend to fulfill your duty."
"Take Princess Shireen and leave."
The name hit like a spark.
The knight shuddered.
He looked at the corpses on the ground.
Then at Odin.
This man clearly wasn't one of theirs.
But right now—
Trusting him was the only option left.
At last, he pushed himself up with his sword, legs shaking, blood still seeping from his wounds.
"…Follow me."
Dragging his injured leg, he began moving down the corridor.
And this time—
Odin followed.