Chapter 206 — Wife Slayer
"You aren't anymore."
The moment Lance spoke those words, the smug expression on Ser Manly Stokeworth's face froze completely.
He could never have imagined this outcome.
He had believed that the Prince Regent had finally realized his mistake—finally willing to lower his pride and listen to the opinions of an old commander who had devoted half his life to maintaining order in King's Landing.
Yet now, before the eyes of everyone present—
Lance was stripping him of his command.
"I—"
Manly instinctively tried to speak.
But before the words could even leave his mouth—
A terrifying aura burst forth from Lance.
It was like a sword being drawn from its sheath.
The oppressive force spread outward without the slightest restraint.
It wasn't directed solely at Manly.
Everyone in the hall felt it clearly.
"Ghk—"
Manly's throat struggled, but no sound emerged.
Forcing himself to look up, he saw those cold blue eyes fixed firmly on him from the high seat.
A painful pressure throbbed in his temples.
It felt as if a blade were hovering mere centimeters from his forehead.
I can't speak.
His breathing quickened.
The battle-hardened knight who had faced countless enemies on the battlefield suddenly found himself lowering his head without even realizing it.
He dared not meet Lance's gaze.
Nor dared he say another word.
Because the meaning behind that gaze was unmistakable.
If he spoke another word in defiance—
He would die.
Seeing Manly bow his head obediently, Lance snorted coldly and shifted his gaze away.
After personally killing more enemies than he could count, and with both swordsmanship and physique approaching their peak, Lance had long developed an aura that could make ordinary men tremble.
It resembled something like the "Conqueror's Haki" from a certain anime in his previous life—
But far more crude and brutal.
In essence, it was nothing more than pure killing intent.
His control over it was still somewhat rough.
He couldn't yet compress it precisely onto a single target.
Instead, it spilled outward indiscriminately.
Still—
It worked perfectly well for reminding a certain overly confident commander of his place.
Although Manly had openly challenged him in public, the man had once helped Lance greatly.
He was essentially one of Lance's own people.
Unless Manly crossed a true bottom line, Lance had no intention of killing a subordinate who had been loyal for so long.
Such an act would contradict his principles—and worse, it would chill the hearts of those serving under him.
"Stop playing dead on the floor."
After forcibly suppressing Manly's attempt to protest, Lance turned his attention to Janos Slynt, who was kneeling on the ground.
"Go bring Ser Balman Byrch here."
"Ah?"
Janos blinked in confusion.
Balman?
Why summon him now?
But this man, who excelled at reading his superior's intentions, quickly pieced things together.
Manly Stokeworth had been one of the Prince Regent's early supporters.
Even though he had publicly contradicted Lance and lost his position as commander, the role probably wouldn't go to just anyone.
And Ser Balman Byrch—
He had fought his way out of the desperate battlefield in Dorne alongside Lance.
Now he had also ridden south with the Prince Regent to crush the Stormlands rebellion.
Whether in terms of merit or loyalty, his record was impeccable.
On top of that—
Balman was Manly's son-in-law.
If he became the next Commander of the Gold Cloaks, it would be the most reasonable choice.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Though a faint bitterness stirred in his heart, Janos knew perfectly well that the position of commander would never fall to someone who had only recently been promoted like himself.
He quickly rose to his feet, dusted off his cLotes, and hurried out of the hall with several Gold Cloaks.
Janos didn't even spare Ser Manly a glance as he left.
It was as if the accusations the man had shouted moments ago simply didn't exist.
Born a minor noble of humble standing, Janos had long since learned the art of survival.
Knowing when to advance and when to retreat—that was how Janos Slynt stayed alive.
---
"Your turn, Greyjoy."
After watching Janos and the others leave, Lance tapped the armrest of his chair and lifted his gaze toward Balon Greyjoy, whose forehead was now drenched in cold sweat.
The heir of the Iron Islands seemed stunned by the aura Lance had released earlier. He stood there stiffly, unable to move.
"Since you have admitted that you struck Tobho Mott more than seven times," Lance said calmly,
"then according to the laws of the realm, you must pay with one of your hands."
He paused slightly.
"Of course, considering this is your first offense…"
"I will allow you the honor of carrying out the punishment yourself."
"You may choose which hand."
Lance tilted his chin.
One of the Gold Cloaks immediately understood, removed the dagger from his belt, and tossed it toward Balon.
Clang.
The cold dagger struck the stone floor.
Balon swallowed nervously.
He had never imagined that coming to King's Landing simply to see the capital on behalf of his father would end in such disaster.
Am I really going to cut off my own hand?
He raised his hands in front of him.
Only then did he realize that these hands—hands that had taken countless lives—were trembling uncontrollably.
He couldn't resist.
Or rather…
He didn't dare.
Not in King's Landing.
And certainly not after feeling the terrifying killing intent that had erupted from Lance moments ago.
That presence had shaken his very soul.
Even the blood-soaked executioners of the Iron Islands had never possessed such a terrifying aura.
Resistance felt impossible.
---
"I'll do it!"
Just as Balon hesitated, Urrigon suddenly rushed forward.
He grabbed the dagger from the floor, pulled it free of its sheath, squeezed his eyes shut, and thrust it toward his own arm.
Stab!
But the expected pain never came.
Urrigon cracked one eye open.
Then both eyes widened in shock.
"Ba… Balon!"
His fist had been caught midair by a powerful hand.
The dagger had instead plunged deep into Balon's palm.
Balon made no sound.
No scream.
Only the muscles of his face twitched slightly.
With his other hand, he seized Urrigon's wrist.
Under Balon's strength, the younger Greyjoy could not resist.
The dagger slowly slid out of Balon's hand.
Squelch.
Blood poured from the wound.
Then Balon lifted his boot and kicked Urrigon hard in the chest.
Thud.
"The trouble I caused isn't something a brat without a beard needs to pay for!"
He spat in contempt.
"I'm Balon Greyjoy, damn it!"
With those words, a savage light flashed across his face.
He raised the dagger—
And drove it violently into his already wounded left wrist.
Stab.
The blade pierced through flesh but failed to sever the hand completely.
Balon only frowned.
He pulled the dagger out again.
One cut.
Two cuts.
On the third strike, the calloused hand finally separated from the arm and dropped heavily onto the stone floor.
Blood gushed from the jagged wound.
Even Balon's iron will began to falter.
His face turned pale as he clutched the stump and dropped to one knee.
"I… haa… I have… accepted… the punishment… Prince Regent…"
Though breathing heavily from the pain, he still forced himself to raise his head and glare at Lance.
"So now…"
"Shouldn't that bastard who sold fake goods… be judged as well?"
---
Lance nodded slightly.
"Hard man," he said calmly.
"You've got guts."
"...Tch."
Balon gave a pained snort of disdain.
But a flicker of satisfaction appeared in his eyes.
It was as if earning Lance's acknowledgment was something worth pride.
"There are no cowards in the Iron Islands, Lance Lot!"
The young Greyjoy's endurance was astonishing.
Even after severing his own hand, he showed no sign of fainting.
Compared to a certain Kingslayer who nearly collapsed after losing a hand in another story…
Balon's toughness was undeniable.
He even thumped his chest with his remaining hand while Urrigon helped tear a strip of cLot from his cLoting to bind the wound.
The grisly sight made several Gold Cloaks grimace.
---
"So now we judge that bastard blacksmith, right?" Balon said again.
He stood upright once more, forcing his posture straight despite the blood loss.
Holding his severed arm high, he shouted:
"You've seen it yourself! We Ironborn may have a bad reputation, but every one of us is a hard man!"
"We raid, we plunder, we take what we want by blade and axe!"
"We pay the Iron Price, as our ancestors did!"
"But we do not admit to crimes we didn't commit!"
"My brother didn't steal that man's garbage sword!"
"He must be punished!"
"If I do not see justice today…"
"I will return to the Iron Islands with this severed arm and never again recognize the fairness of the Iron Throne!"
He slammed his fist against his chest and roared:
"Even if it costs my life, I will claim the justice owed to me, Prince Regent!"
---
His roar echoed through the hall.
Even the Gold Cloaks, hardened law enforcers, looked at the notorious Ironborn with newfound respect.
All eyes turned toward the high seat.
They waited to see how the Prince Regent would judge this bloody plea for justice.
---
Lance chuckled softly.
Then he rose from his chair and walked slowly toward Balon.
The hall fell silent.
Everyone held their breath, fearing the Prince Regent might simply cut down the "insolent" Ironborn.
After all, Lance's recent victories had raised the prestige of the Iron Throne to unprecedented heights.
Crushing the Stormlands rebellion in only ten days had proven the crown feared no region of the Seven Kingdoms.
But Balon's bloody sacrifice stirred undeniable sympathy.
---
"Don't… don't kill my brother!"
Seeing Lance approach, Urrigon trembled in fear but still spread his arms to shield Balon.
The white-armored knight simply extended his hand.
He placed it on Urrigon's shoulder—
And gently moved him aside.
---
"Balon Greyjoy."
"You've impressed me."
Lance studied the stubborn Ironborn calmly.
"Yes, you've committed many atrocities in your raids," he said.
"But in this matter, you were not the one at fault."
He waved dismissively.
"Relax. Stop looking like the world wronged you."
"I already sent someone to bring Lord Qarlton Chelsted, the Master of Coin, to investigate that blacksmith's accounts."
A grin spread across Lance's face.
"Surprised?"
"That man's crimes go far beyond falsely accusing you."
Balon stared in shock.
Lance continued coldly:
"He's made a fortune lately."
"But the taxes he reported are nearly identical to what he paid before."
"When we confirm his tax evasion…"
"I guarantee the punishment he receives will be ten times harsher than yours."
---
Balon exhaled deeply.
His tense body finally relaxed.
Moments earlier, he had been prepared to risk his life fighting Lance if the judgment proved unjust.
"Your foresight is worthy of respect, Your Highness," Balon said.
He dropped onto the floor, gazing up at the towering knight with complicated emotions.
He should hate the man.
After all, he had just lost a hand.
But only now did Balon realize—
Lance had controlled every possible outcome from the beginning.
It was… admirable.
Perhaps his father was right.
Under such a powerful ruler, the Iron Islands might have no choice but to abandon the Old Way and seek peace with the mainland.
---
"Have Maester Qyburn look at him," Lance ordered calmly.
"Even if the hand is reattached, it won't be the same."
"Maybe Qyburn can make him a prosthetic."
"A hook, perhaps."
Lance smirked slightly.
That would suit a pirate.
---
But just as the matter seemed settled—
The doors suddenly burst open.
BANG!
"B–Bad news, my lord!"
Everyone turned.
Janos Slynt stumbled into the hall, his helmet nearly falling off.
He ran straight toward Lance, gasping for breath.
"Ser… Ser Balman Byrch… he… he…"
Lance frowned.
"Calm down and speak clearly."
"What happened?"
Janos gulped air several times before finally blurting out—
"He… he killed his wife… in his own home!"