Chapter 2
Outside the castle, the atmosphere was as tense as a fully drawn bowstring.
The so-called "bandits" were actually quite well-equipped. Over thirty men carried gleaming iron axes and long swords. Their leader wore a crude iron-plated armor and had an ugly knife scar running across his face.
"Baron Pompey!"
Scarface rode a mangy, half-bald horse and slammed the back of his axe hard against the rickety oak gate, sending wood chips flying.
"I know you're in there! I'm not an unreasonable man. Send out that pretty new bride of yours and hand over that pathetic dowry. We'll pretend nothing happened! Otherwise…"
He licked his cracked lips, his eyes gleaming with lewd cruelty. "Once we break in, your delicate little wife will have to serve all thirty of us brothers!"
Inside the castle, there was dead silence.
Old steward Morsen gripped a rusty longsword, his two trembling stable hands helping him brace the gate. The old man's hands were shaking, but his eyes burned with desperate determination. "Young master… don't come out! Even if I die, I won't let them enter and humiliate the lady…"
Upstairs, through a narrow gap in the window, Alice covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.
She had just thought she had found a safe harbor. She never expected it to be the entrance to hell. If these men really captured her… she would rather smash her head against the stone wall right now.
Bang—!
At that moment, the gate they had been desperately holding shut suddenly opened from the inside.
Morsen turned around in horror. "Young master?! Why did you come out?! Go back and hide!"
Victor Pompey stepped out from the shadows wearing the same slightly outdated but still neat ceremonial robe. His expression was calm. Sunlight fell on his pale face, giving him a sickly yet elegant appearance — as if he were facing not a group of ruthless killers, but a bunch of farmers coming for a visit.
"Hide? The word 'hide' does not exist in the Pompey family dictionary."
Victor walked past the old steward and strode straight to the drawbridge.
Scarface was stunned for a moment, then burst into harsh, ear-piercing laughter. "Hahahaha! Brothers, look at this! This is that useless baron who only has a pretty face! What, are you planning to pay your debts with your ass?"
The bandits erupted in wild laughter. Their unrestrained vulgar insults filled the open ground.
Victor smiled too.
He lightly flicked nonexistent dust from his sleeve and swept his gaze over the thirty-plus fools as if looking at a pile of already rotting meat.
"I originally planned to leave your corpses intact."
Victor sighed softly, then slowly raised his right hand. His slender fingers snapped lightly in the air.
"But now, I've changed my mind."
[System Command Confirmed: Using Troop Summon Card — Spartan Heavy Infantry × 50!] [Deployment Coordinates: In front of the host!]
Buzz—!
A heart-palpitating tremor suddenly rippled through the air — the sound of space being violently torn apart.
A violent crimson storm swirled up where the castle gate had been empty just moments ago.
The laughter stopped abruptly.
The thirty bandits looked like ducks being strangled, mouths wide open, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.
In front of Victor, an impenetrable wall of steel had appeared out of thin air!
Fifty giant warriors, each nearly two meters tall, stood shirtless, their rock-hard bronze muscles gleaming like metal under the sunlight. They wore Corinthian-style helmets with only a narrow eye slit, carried massive round shields in their left hands, and gripped three-meter-long iron spears in their right. Behind them, blood-red cloaks fluttered wildly in the autumn wind.
An overwhelming, suffocating aura of blood and killing intent instantly flooded the entire area around Blackwater Bay!
These weren't soldiers. They were demons straight out of hell!
"W-what kind of sorcery is this?!" Scarface's mangy horse reared in panic, nearly throwing him off.
Victor stood behind the sea of red cloaks, his voice as cold as the winter wind:
"Spartans… crush them."
"HA!!!"
The fifty Spartan warriors stomped in unison, letting out a single, earth-shaking roar. The ground trembled beneath the pure display of power.
Then the formation began to move.
There were no flashy moves — just a precise killing machine. The front row locked their shields together, forming an unstoppable bulldozer-like wall, while the rear row thrust their long spears through the gaps like striking vipers.
"Block them! Block them now!" Scarface shouted frantically, swinging his axe.
But in this low-magic medieval world, facing these modified Spartan heavy infantry was nothing short of dimensional suppression.
Schlunk—!
The first sound of steel piercing flesh rang out.
A bandit had barely raised his rusty iron sword before a thick spear impaled him completely, lifting both man and armor into the air. Blood rained down like a shower.
"Ahhh!!"
Screams rose one after another.
It was a one-sided massacre.
The Spartan phalanx advanced like a meat grinder. The bandits' desperate attacks bounced off the bronze shields, creating only sparks with no visible damage. Every thrust from the Spartans claimed another life.
Severed limbs flew through the air. Blood dyed the dried-up moat crimson.
In less than thirty seconds, over thirty bandits had been reduced to just Scarface.
He was already broken, crawling backward on all fours, his crotch soaked wet. He babbled incoherently, "Don't kill me… I work for Ser Ryan of Harrenhal… You'll regret this… You're a demon…"
"Demon?"
Victor took a long spear from one of the Spartan warriors.
The system's enhancement hadn't only improved his stamina in that area — it had comprehensively strengthened his entire body. The heavy spear, which should have weighed dozens of pounds, felt as light as a feather in his hand.
He walked up to Scarface and looked down at the once-arrogant thug.
"In this damned world, only demons get to live well."
Thud!
Without the slightest hesitation, Victor's arm muscles bulged as he drove the spear forward.
The spear pierced straight through Scarface's mouth and out the back of his skull, nailing him to the muddy ground. His unfinished plea turned into wet, gurgling bubbles of blood.
[Ding! Congratulations, host, on completing the newbie quest: The Dignity of the Family!] [Killed 31 enemy targets. None escaped!] [Reward Issued: Primary Marrow Cleansing Pill × 1 (Stored in inventory)]
Victor pulled out the blood-soaked spear, flicked it in disgust, and turned around.
Behind him, old steward Morsen had gone completely dumb. He knelt on the ground, trembling, staring at his young master as if looking at an unknown god.
"Morsen." Victor took out a handkerchief and elegantly wiped the blood from his hands.
"Y-yes, my lord!"
"Cut off all their heads and pile them into a skull pyramid at the entrance to our territory," Victor ordered calmly, as if he were simply deciding what to eat for dinner. "Also, bring in the horses that are still usable. They're our spoils of war."
With that, he glanced up at the second-floor window.
There, Alice stood covering her mouth, staring at him in utter shock.
Victor gave her a gentle, almost charming smile.
But behind that smile lay an ambition that would soon make all of Westeros tremble.
"Clean this up properly. I don't want the smell of blood ruining my mood tonight."
Victor dropped the handkerchief and strode back into the castle.
This was the game of thrones.
The winner takes everything. The loser becomes fertilizer.
And he… was destined to be the house that takes all.