After eating their fill, drinking deeply, and resting well, Karl finally gathered his men.
Before him stood nearly two thousand warriors of the High Mountain clans—thick-bearded, scarred, loud, and restless. From a distance they resembled a troop of wild macaques assembled on some legendary mountain of myths. They sat astride sturdy warhorses stolen or traded from the lowlands, crude weapons raised high, eyes blazing with anticipation.
Ahead, not far across the plains, rose the walls of King's Landing.
The city shimmered beneath the sunlight—wealth, power, and opportunity wrapped in red stone and iron.
The clansmen roared.
They howled at the sight of it, at the thought of it. Their voices rolled across the open field like a coming storm.
Karl watched them quietly.
Under such circumstances, a long speech would have been pointless.
With morale like this, rhetoric was unnecessary. And even if he spoke of politics or legitimacy, most of these men would not understand—or care.
So he gave them something far simpler.
"Can you trade the rags on your backs," Karl shouted, his voice booming across the formation, "for steel armor forged by the finest blacksmiths in the capital?"
The roar quieted slightly. They listened.
"Can you fill your torn pockets with so many Gold Dragons that they spill into the dirt?"
A rumble of excitement rolled through them.
"Can you trample those arrogant knights who mock you—take their lands, their treasures, their women?"
Now they were fully alive, leaning forward in their saddles.
Karl raised his hammer.
"How much you take depends on how much you dare! Raise your weapons! Ride with me!"
The response was deafening.
This was no speech about honor or destiny.
It was gold. Steel. Blood.
And for mountain clans who had survived on scraps and pride, that was more powerful than any grand declaration of purpose.
Satisfied, Karl lifted the massive antlered helmet and lowered it over his head. The great rack of horns framed him like a pagan god of war.
He was not riding Fox today, and he wore only a simple coat of chainmail—barely more than decoration for what he intended.
As the helmet settled into place, his hand brushed his lips.
Two small vials vanished.
Strength Potion.
Energy Potion.
They burned down his throat like liquid fire.
Power surged through him—raw, intoxicating, undeniable. Muscles tightened, veins swelled. His strength rose by a full measure beyond mortal limits.
Karl reached down and lifted his warhammer.
The weapon was monstrous—so heavy that Jon Snow would struggle to budge it from the ground.
The horse beneath Karl sidestepped instinctively when the hammer rose.
Karl pulled the reins and turned his mount to face the city.
"Charge!!!"
His roar crashed like thunder across the plain, drowning out two thousand voices.
For a heartbeat, the clansmen froze.
Then they erupted.
Horses lunged forward. Weapons gleamed. Dust exploded into the air.
Charging a fortified city with cavalry was madness.
But King's Landing lay three miles away, and Karl had no intention of marching politely to its gates.
At a full gallop, three miles vanished quickly.
The Dragon Gate loomed ahead.
Karl pulled his reins and halted just beyond bow range.
He lifted his gaze.
The crowned stag of Baratheon was gone.
In its place snapped the golden lion of House Lannister.
Along the battlements stood not Gold Cloaks—but red and gold Lannister soldiers, bows already drawn, arrowheads glinting in the sun.
The iron portcullis of the Dragon Gate hung lowered—thick bars sunk deep into stone, spikes biting into the ground.
A wall within a wall.
A boundary between two worlds.
Then a figure appeared above the gate.
Golden armor. Crimson cloak. Square jaw framed by gold beard and hair.
Kevan Lannister.
"Who goes there?" a guard shouted beside him.
The tone was dismissive—like a man barking at strays.
Hall moved to announce Karl's name.
Karl stopped him with a hand.
Then he lifted his head slightly.
"Lannisters," he called out, his voice amplified by the hollow echo of the antler helm, "today you all die."
"When I take your head, Kevan Lannister, I will tell you my name."
No banner flew behind him.
No sigil declared his cause.
And before any further words could be exchanged—
Karl kicked his horse forward.
The animal screamed and lunged.
Both armies blinked.
This was not how sieges began.
Arrows were drawn, but too slowly.
By the time Karl entered range, the archers were still reacting.
Kevan's eyes narrowed as recognition struck him.
The antlered helm.
Reports from the Riverlands.
The monster in battle.
Kevan raised his hand.
Brought it down.
"Loose!"
The command snapped across the wall.
Bowstrings thundered.
Hundreds of arrows rose into the sky in a dark arc.
They fell like iron rain.
Karl heard the whistle.
He lifted his gaze.
Black points filled his narrow field of vision.
He snorted coldly.
His wrist flicked.
Steel rang from sheath.
Clang!
The longsword blurred in his left hand.
Silver and gold light flashed beneath the sun.
Arrows struck—
—and shattered.
Sparks burst midair. Shafts split. Iron heads spun away.
Not a single arrow touched him.
Not one hair of his horse was grazed.
Gasps erupted from both sides.
"Gods…"
Even the mountain clans stared in stunned awe.
Karl rode one-handed, sword flashing, hammer in the other.
No shield.
No hesitation.
He flicked aside the final arrow and looked directly at Kevan.
Though his eyes were hidden, Kevan felt it.
A chill like winter steel pierced his spine.
"Fire again!" Kevan shouted. "Do not stop!"
Arrows flew once more.
Behind Karl, Hall finally roared.
"Charge! Kill them!"
The clans surged forward in a wild wave.
Karl slowed deliberately.
Let them close distance.
More arrows fell.
More shattered.
He had reached the gate.
The sword in his hand shimmered faintly—an enchantment awakening.
With one final vertical cut through an incoming arrowhead, Karl sheathed the blade.
His eyes fixed on the portcullis.
Lannister soldiers stood behind it—spears ready.
Karl drew back his arm—
—and hurled the longsword.
It spun through the air, becoming a disk of light.
The blade passed through the iron bars like mist.
Then it expanded.
Inside the gate, soldiers barely had time to blink.
The disk swept through them.
Heads separated from shoulders.
Spears snapped.
Limbs fell.
Like a scythe through wheat.
Karl leapt.
Standing on the saddle mid-gallop, he stomped down with explosive force.
The saddle shattered.
The horse's spine broke under the surge of strength.
Using the recoil, Karl launched himself upward.
Warhammer raised high in both hands.
He aimed for the four iron bars his sword had weakened.
"Open!"
The hammer came down.
Boom.
The iron pillar exploded.
Fragments blasted outward like shrapnel.
Men behind the gate screamed as their own defenses impaled them.
Karl landed.
Spun the hammer horizontally.
The weapon howled like a windmill blade.
One pillar after another snapped and flew apart.
Stone cracked.
Iron shattered.
Within seconds, the Dragon Gate had a man-sized breach torn through it.
Silence followed.
Smoke drifted.
Broken bodies lay scattered.
Surviving Lannister soldiers trembled, weapons shaking in their hands.
Karl stepped forward through the ruined gate.
Iron crunched beneath his boots.
He raised the hammer again.
His voice dropped low—but carried clearly.
"First, understand this."
"I do not accept surrender."
And behind him—
Two thousand mountain warriors poured into King's Landing like a flood.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)