Chapter 104 — It's All Your Fault!
"Seven hells, the king is too cruel!"
"Poor Jim spent everything he had trying to cure his son's illness. He's drowning in debt!"
Just as Ser Meryn Trant's sword was about to fall, shocked voices suddenly erupted from the crowd.
"A child is sick—who wouldn't panic?"
"Exactly! Even a king can't just kill someone like that!"
Hearing the murmurs, Meryn Trant's expression darkened.
He turned toward the crowd, raising his sword as he shouted furiously.
"Shut up! All of you filthy peasants!"
"Do you even know that obstructing the king is punishable by death? That's the law!"
"Do you scum even understand what the law is?"
Ser Meryn felt magnificent.
He seemed to have completely forgotten what had caused the last riot in King's Landing.
Yet his arrogant behavior only ignited the crowd's anger.
"He called us peasants!"
"Listen to that! The king's dog barking!"
"They don't even treat us like people!"
"Kill him! Kill him!"
The first shouts of fury seemed to come from nowhere.
But by the time Meryn Trant realized something was wrong, it was already too late.
The crowd began to stir.
Men's faces hardened.
Weapons appeared from somewhere—hammers, sickles, wooden clubs.
Women pulled their children behind them, their eyes burning with anger.
This is bad.
Cold sweat broke across Meryn's forehead.
This scene…
It felt horribly familiar.
Just like last time.
He tried to shout an explanation—
but the crowd had already erupted.
The first stone flew through the air and struck his breastplate with a loud clang.
Then another.
And another.
Rotten vegetables.
Spoiled eggs.
Even a worn-out shoe.
The crowd surged forward.
From every alleyway and broken doorway, people poured out like a black tide.
They came too quickly.
Too organized.
Almost as if they had been waiting.
"Protect the king!"
A member of the Kingsguard roared.
The four white-cloaked knights immediately closed ranks around the carriage.
But soon they realized something strange.
This time… things were different.
Crowds burst from more than a dozen alleys at once.
The black tide instantly swallowed the twelve Gold Cloaks escorting the procession.
The city guards were separated, surrounded, and dragged to the ground.
Their weapons were seized.
Their armor stripped away.
Screams rang through the street.
But if Meryn Trant had looked more carefully, he would have noticed something odd.
The Gold Cloaks were merely being disarmed and stripped.
Very few were actually injured.
Within moments, the king's escort was reduced to just four members of the Kingsguard.
"Fall back! Fall back behind the carriage!"
Ser Balon Swann shouted hoarsely.
Together with two sworn brothers, he moved to shield one side of the carriage with their bodies.
Inside, he cursed Meryn Trant a thousand times.
But protecting the king was the priority.
---
Meryn Trant had reacted half a moment too slowly.
By the time he tried to retreat, the crowd had already swallowed him.
Five or six men tackled him to the ground.
One burly figure lifted a hammer he had picked up somewhere.
"No!"
Margaery happened to see the scene and screamed.
Crack!
The hammer came down.
Blood splattered.
Meryn Trant stopped moving.
Not only Margaery saw it.
Joffrey saw everything too.
In the final moment, Meryn's eyes bulged wide with terror and regret.
Blood poured from the shattered helmet and soaked into the stone road.
His gaze fixed on the king he had sworn to protect.
In a way…
He had fulfilled his oath.
But unfortunately, the king had no time to mourn him.
Because Joffrey had just wet himself.
Warm liquid trickled down his legs, soaking his expensive silk clothing.
Margaery glanced at him with thinly concealed disdain.
But before she could react further, a flying brick whizzed past her head and she flinched instinctively.
"The carriage won't hold!"
Ser Balon Swann shouted again.
He was in rough shape himself—someone had ripped away his visor, leaving a bloody scratch across his face.
"Your Grace! The wood is splitting! You must get out!"
"Get out?!"
Joffrey shrank backward instantly.
His voice trembled with panic.
"I'm not getting out there! Those are all rioters!"
"Protect me, you useless fools!"
"When I get back to the Red Keep I'll kill every one of those filthy peasants… every last one!"
The cowardice in his voice made the Kingsguard inwardly curse.
But bound by their oaths, one of them stepped forward and kicked open the carriage door.
"Staying inside is more dangerous!"
"Your Grace, Your Grace the Queen Regent, Lady Tyrell—stay close!"
Now Joffrey had no choice.
He was grabbed by the hair and dragged roughly from the carriage.
Cersei followed immediately.
Margaery came out last.
Her skirt caught on the broken door and tore open in the struggle.
---
The street had become hell.
People were everywhere.
Twisted faces.
Raised clubs.
Rotten vegetables and stones flying through the air.
The Kingsguard barely managed to maintain a small defensive circle.
"Head north!" Balon shouted. "There are fewer people that way!"
The three Kingsguard began moving.
Balon led the way.
Two sworn brothers guarded the flanks.
Joffrey was forced into the center.
Cersei clutched his arm tightly.
Margaery followed behind them.
Then—
A stone struck the last Kingsguard in the shoulder.
He stumbled.
The formation opened a brief gap.
Cersei, who had been walking with her head lowered, suddenly saw her chance.
She loosened her grip on Joffrey.
Then quietly—
pushed backward.
The motion was quick.
Subtle.
In the chaos, almost no one noticed.
Margaery had been glancing behind them at their pursuers.
She was completely unprepared.
The shove was strong.
She stumbled forward—
straight into the crowd surging from the side.
"Ahhh!"
The unfortunate Rose of Highgarden only had time to scream before disappearing into the mass of people.
Joffrey turned.
For a moment he saw her brown hair vanish into the crowd.
Several filthy hands grabbed her arms, tearing at her pale-blue gown.
"Margaery!" he shouted instinctively.
But Cersei had already seized his arm again.
Her grip was so tight it felt like his bones would break.
"Run!"
The Queen Regent screamed into his ear.
There was a strange excitement in her voice.
"She's finished! Run!"
Joffrey was dragged forward.
He glanced back one last time.
He barely saw Margaery being dragged into a dark alley before disappearing completely.
The crowd closed over her like a tide.
As if she had never existed.
Just like the fool from House Stokeworth.
---
"This way! Quickly!"
Ser Balon Swann shouted as he led them into a relatively open street.
For a moment it seemed they might escape.
Then—
Pursuers flooded in behind them.
At the far end of the street, dozens of men suddenly appeared, blocking the road.
Balon Swann finally drew his sword.
In the earlier chaos he had never had the chance.
Seeing this, the other two Kingsguard drew their swords as well.
They glared at the encroaching crowd.
"There are too many…" one of them murmured.
Balon Swann heard him.
But his eyes remained unwavering.
"We swore an oath," he said quietly.
As the crowd slowly pressed closer, the space around the three Kingsguard shrank inch by inch.
Joffrey was terrified.
He could smell the sweat on the people surrounding them.
He could see the red, furious eyes staring back at him.
Cersei pulled Joffrey behind her and drew a small dagger from her sleeve.
Her hand trembled, but her gaze was as fierce as a lioness protecting her cub.
"Anyone who touches my son," she hissed, "I'll gouge their eyes out!"
But inside, her heart was pounding wildly.
That damned man…
He wouldn't actually turn this into a real massacre, would he?
The crowd continued to close in.
The man at the very front raised his club—
ready to strike.
---
Bwooooo—
A deep, resonant horn suddenly echoed through the street.
The sound seemed to rise from the very depths of the earth.
Everyone froze for a moment.
Then, from the other end of the street, the crowd began to part on its own.
Hoofbeats approached.
The first thing that appeared was a banner.
A pure white field.
At its center, a massive black hand, its five fingers slightly spread.
The banner snapped loudly in the afternoon wind, radiating a savage, commanding authority.
The man holding it was tall and powerful.
Bare-chested.
Bronze skin crisscrossed with scars.
Muscles like they had been carved from stone.
He rode a black horse without a saddle, its mane braided into dozens of thin strands.
Clearly—
a Dothraki warrior.
The Dothraki said nothing.
He merely swept his gaze across the crowd.
Many people immediately lowered their heads.
Then he planted the banner pole firmly into the ground.
Beside him, surrounded by more than a dozen men in black uniforms, a gentle gray mare slowly walked forward.
The rider wore a simple but well-tailored dark-gray robe.
No insignia.
No jewelry.
Short black hair.
A face that wasn't particularly handsome, but firm and resolute.
And those jet-black eyes—
once you met them, it was almost impossible to look away.
Sunlight fell across him.
An invisible pressure spread outward.
[Presence Lv.3]
Joffrey pointed at him repeatedly.
But for a moment, he couldn't remember the man's name.
Cersei, however, finally relaxed.
The tension she had been holding snapped loose.
---
The rider stopped outside the circle.
Odin looked calmly at the club-wielding "rioters."
Then at the bloodied Kingsguard.
Finally, his gaze rested on Joffrey and Cersei.
Then he spoke.
"Put down your weapons."
His voice was quiet.
But every person present heard it clearly.
There was no threat in his tone.
Yet the men who had looked like wild beasts moments earlier actually began to step back.
They exchanged glances.
Lowered their heads.
The clubs in their hands slowly dropped.
"Lord Odin…"
"Lord Odin!"
The horse advanced slowly.
Wherever Odin passed, the crowd automatically opened a path.
He stopped in front of Joffrey and dismounted.
"Your Grace. Your Majesty."
"Odin!"
At last Joffrey remembered the name.
He rushed forward, nearly crying, grabbing Odin's arm tightly.
"Odin! That's your name, right?!"
"Thank the gods you're here!"
"You came to save me!"
"It's alright, it's alright. I'm here now, Your Grace."
Odin calmly patted Joffrey's head, soothing him.
To an outsider, the scene might have looked as though he were the king's father.
Even Cersei felt her heart skip a beat.
To be honest, no one wished more than she did to see Joffrey share such warmth with Jaime.
But that had never been possible.
For a brief moment—
she felt strangely moved.
"Don't worry," Odin said gently.
"As long as I'm here, no one will dare harm you."
He glanced down at his newly tailored robe, now smeared with Joffrey's tears and snot.
Without drawing attention, he subtly pushed the boy away.
Then he turned toward the retreating crowd.
His voice turned cold.
"These people… I will deal with them."
"They dared obstruct the king. They will pay for today's actions."
"Exactly!"
Joffrey immediately shrieked with excitement, pointing at the crowd.
"Kill them! Kill them all!"
"I want the entire King's Landing to know what happens when someone offends the king!"
"I will punish every one of them!"
"Indeed."
Watching the hysterical outburst of this "great king," Odin did not contradict him.
He even nodded seriously.
"Yes, it is a grave crime."
"They will certainly be punished."
Then he turned to Iggo.
"Take them all away. Lock them in the cellars."
"We'll decide their punishment after I finish dealing with things here."
The Dothraki warrior dismounted.
From the saddle he untied several bundles of rope and tossed them to his men.
As if everything had been prepared in advance.
Strangely—
the "rioters" offered no resistance at all.
They quietly extended their hands to be bound.
The entire process was eerily calm.
Watching this, Joffrey's fear slowly melted away.
In its place came overwhelming relief.
Odin is here.
Everything will be fine.
As long as Odin is here, I'm safe.
Then suddenly—
Joffrey seemed to remember something.
He looked around frantically.
Then he stepped forward and grabbed Odin by the collar.
His voice rose in accusation.
"Margaery… Lady Margaery is gone!"
"She was dragged away!"
"Those rioters dragged her into an alley!"
He glared at Odin with furious eyes.
"Why didn't you come sooner?!"
"If you had come earlier, Lady Margaery wouldn't have been taken!"
"It's all your fault!"
"It's all your fault!"