Chapter 134: So You're Pretty Close with the Lord of Light, Huh?
Gendry's breathing suddenly stalled, as if an invisible hand had seized his throat.
He stared blankly at Odin, his eyes wide beneath the helmet, so shocked that he even began to wonder if blood loss had made him hallucinate.
Kill… kill Melisandre?
The woman who had shared his body, the first woman who had entered his world when he was still ignorant and naïve?
Even knowing it had all been deception, manipulation…
Seeing the cold, unwavering seriousness in Odin's eyes, utterly devoid of any trace of mockery, Gendry felt his heart clench violently.
He turned his head stiffly and looked at Melisandre again.
Only now did he feel as though he was truly seeing her.
The red-robed woman who had always seemed calm and transcendent, as though flames burned within her, now had a faint flicker deep within those usually indifferent crimson eyes.
Her posture remained straight, but that absolute detachment, that sense of standing above all living things, had cracked ever so slightly.
Gendry opened his mouth, but only a dry, broken sound came out. His throat felt blocked.
I'm just a blacksmith's apprentice!
His mind roared.
He should have been in King's Landing, following his master Tobho Mott, sweating in a forge full of sparks, shaping farm tools and repairing armor.
His biggest worries should have been his master's scolding, an empty stomach, or perhaps the occasional restless glance at the women on Silk Street.
But the tide of fate had dragged him into all of this without reason.
The Brotherhood Without Banners' "protection" turning into betrayal, the red woman's eerie seduction and manipulation, the bloody battle on Dragonstone, the heavy stag-antler helmet on his head, the warhammer in his hands still stained with brains and bone, and this cold, powerful, unfathomable man before him—Ser Odin.
Everything was too insane, too heavy, far beyond what a mere apprentice could understand or bear.
Especially Melisandre.
Gendry's breathing grew rough as memories of that night surged uncontrollably.
The strange scent in the dim stone chamber, her pale skin revealed as the red robe slipped away, those crimson eyes so close they seemed to devour his soul, and that overwhelming sensation—a mix of pain, shame, and a strange, indescribable thrill of being completely controlled.
It had been an experience so intense it felt detached from reality.
Even knowing now that it had all been a ritual, a deception to extract "king's blood," how could the imprint of that sensation be erased so easily?
And now he was supposed to use this same hammer—the one that had just crushed Sunglass's skull—to smash her face, her body?
In that moment, the hammer in his hand felt impossibly heavy. His arm ached so much he could barely lift it.
"It seems… you haven't made up your mind."
Odin's voice sounded again, calm and indifferent, crushing the last trace of hesitation in Gendry's heart.
He shook his head slightly, and in those dark eyes flickered unmistakable disappointment.
Hopeless. Even dressed in royal trappings, still nothing like a prince.
Even with that helmet and that hammer, he was leagues behind Robert Baratheon in his youth.
Gendry's heart tightened sharply.
Odin hadn't said it aloud, but the meaning in that look hurt far more than words.
A strange panic rose within him. He realized he was terrified of being looked down on by this man.
Why?
He couldn't explain it.
Perhaps because he had grown up without a father, without guidance or recognition, struggling alone at the bottom of society, used to being ignored, used, treated as a tool.
And yet Odin, though harsh and even cruel at times, had taught him how to survive, had told him blunt, brutal truths, had stepped in to save him when it mattered.
Among all his drifting, chaotic experiences, Odin was the first person who possessed overwhelming strength, offered guidance, and expected something from him.
Like a father.
He didn't want to see disappointment in Odin's eyes. Not even a little.
"No… Godfather!"
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Gendry inhaled deeply, the air thick with blood, and gripped the hammer tightly with both hands.
"I'll do it."
Without hesitation, he lifted the heavy warhammer and turned toward Melisandre.
The hammerhead scraped across the stone, producing a dull metallic grind that echoed across the silent platform.
"Stop!"
A sharp shout rang out.
A knight in shattered armor, eyes burning with fanaticism, rushed forward and spread his arms, blocking Gendry's path.
A deep wound split his face, blood flowing freely, yet his gaze was fierce and fearless.
"I don't know who you are, ser. You may wear the late king's armor, and you may have helped us repel the traitors—but you will not touch Lady Melisandre!"
His voice was hoarse but resolute.
"She is the Lord of Light's chosen! She leads us out of darkness, she is the beacon against the endless winter! Her body carries divine fire, her words reveal the future!"
"She guides His Majesty! Her prayers give us strength! Without her, we would have lost our way at the Blackwater! Without her, how could the king's banner of justice stand in this corrupt world?"
His voice grew more fervent, almost manic.
"You can kill me! Kill all of us if you want! But the servant of the true god will not be defiled!"
"If you want to harm her, you'll have to step over my corpse—"
He never finished.
The warhammer howled through the air.
Gendry said nothing. He simply swung.
The heavy hammer carved a brutal arc and smashed into the side of the knight's helmet.
The shout cut off instantly.
The helmet caved in. The man didn't even have time to scream. His limbs twitched twice, then fell still. Blood and brain matter seeped out from the crushed metal.
Gendry stepped over the body without slowing.
"Don't block my way."
His voice was emotionless beneath the helmet.
He walked straight to Melisandre and stopped, his large frame casting a shadow that swallowed her entirely.
The platform fell silent.
Stannis pressed his lips together, his hand trembling slightly on his sword. Everyone held their breath.
Gendry raised his head and looked at her through the slit in his helmet.
Those crimson eyes reflected his bloodstained antlered helm.
For the first time, they were no longer indifferent.
Something stirred within them.
As if, only now, she truly saw him.
A strange thought surfaced in Gendry's mind.
He took a deep breath.
No hesitation.
The hammer swung down toward her head.
Melisandre did not move.
She did not even blink.
Her gaze seemed to pass through him, through the hammer, reaching somewhere far beyond.
Her lips moved rapidly in silent prayer.
Then, just as the hammer came within an inch of her head, it stopped.
Gendry's muscles trembled as he forced it to halt mid-swing, staring at her face.
Her crimson eyes reflected the suspended hammer clearly.
But that earlier flicker of fear had vanished completely.
What remained was calm. A calm so absolute it resembled martyrdom.
"Why didn't you dodge?" Gendry's voice came low and strained.
He would have preferred screams, resistance, even manipulation—anything but this unsettling calm.
Melisandre slowly lifted her gaze.
"Because I am not afraid."
"Why not?!" Gendry demanded, his grip trembling.
She smiled.
Not mockery, not despair.
It was a smile of understanding, as if she had glimpsed some grand truth.
He understood… and yet didn't.
But one truth became clear.
In her eyes, their brief, absurd intimacy had never meant anything.
From the beginning, it had been deception and use.
She had never held even the slightest place for him.
She had already given everything to the Lord of Light.
And he… was nothing more than a tool.
A vessel.
So… I never mattered to you at all.
He let out a quiet laugh beneath his helmet.
He lowered the hammer and sighed.
For a moment, hope flickered in the eyes of the remaining followers.
But then—
Without warning, the hammer rose from below and smashed into her side.
Bones shattered with a sickening crack.
"I will never… disappoint my godfather again!"
Melisandre's body flew like a weightless red leaf, crashing into the wall before collapsing to the ground.
She lay twisted, blood pouring from her mouth, life fading rapidly.
Gendry turned away without looking again.
He walked back to Odin, bowed, and said hoarsely, "I've done it, ser."
Odin patted his shoulder lightly.
"You did well. You learn quickly."
Then his tone shifted.
"But there's one more thing."
He walked toward Melisandre's body and stopped.
"Never assume your enemy is dead."
He smiled faintly.
"I'm right, aren't I… Lady Melisandre?"
She had expected refusal, perhaps even a debate, but she had never imagined that Odin would respond with such blunt, brutal force.
"Your prophecy."
Odin stepped closer, so near that they could feel each other's breath, his cold eyes boring straight into the depths of Melisandre's gaze. "I'm curious."
"All that nonsense you claim to see in the flames… does any of it involve me?"
Melisandre froze completely.
She had seen countless reactions to prophecy before. Stannis Baratheon doubted yet listened, Selyse Baratheon followed with blind fanaticism, and the believers worshipped without question.
But never—never—had she encountered someone like Odin.
He did not ask for prophecy with reverence, nor bargain for it. Instead, he demanded it outright, as if the mysteries of the divine deserved no special respect at all.
"Speak."
His fingers tightened simultaneously around her throat and the ruby at her chest. "Or I'll rip this thing off."
"I'd really like to know… without it, can you still stand back up so 'miraculously'?"
Her breathing grew labored.
That gem… it was the core of her power, her window into the flames, in some ways more important than her very life.
She clenched her teeth as fear crept in, her pupils beginning to dilate uncontrollably, crimson eyes reflecting the flickering firelight around them.
"I… saw…"
"Ice and fire intertwining through the endless night. A freezing tide swallowing the land. Dragons screaming beneath a frozen sky…"
Her voice quickened as she revealed details she had never spoken aloud before.
"The powers of ice and fire collide at their peak, and the outcome will decide whether the world falls into ruin… or is redeemed…"
Suddenly, her eyes widened in sheer horror, her tone turning sharp and frantic.
"No… this… this is impossible!"
"Ice and fire, light and darkness…"
"Everything… everything is being covered by a hand stretching out from the darkness… my lord!"
"Ahhh!"
She let out a piercing scream, staring straight at Odin, her trembling finger pointing at him as if she had glimpsed something utterly incomprehensible.
Her words dissolved into chaos, as though something she had always believed without question was cracking apart.
Odin frowned deeply as he listened.
What the hell is she talking about?
A hand in the darkness?
Is she talking about me?
Before he could make sense of it, his heart suddenly jolted.
Through Melisandre's crimson eyes, he seemed to glimpse something vast—a gigantic eye, formed from pure void, suspended in endless darkness, slowly turning.
And then—
It looked at him.
That gaze held no emotion, no intent, as if it were simply observing.
Cold sweat exploded across his back.
Every instinct in his body screamed at once.
Danger.
Without a single moment of hesitation, acting purely on instinct—
He tore the necklace free and, in the same motion, drove his sword straight through Melisandre's chest, twisting it violently to shred everything within.
A choked cry escaped her lips.
The ruby necklace in his hand turned scorching hot for a brief instant, glowing with a fierce red light before rapidly dimming.
At the same time, Melisandre's body began to change before their eyes.
Her smooth skin lost its luster, deep wrinkles spreading rapidly. Her dark hair turned gray and brittle, her once upright body shriveling and collapsing in on itself.
It was as if decades of aging had been compressed into mere seconds.
In the end, the withered body slid off Odin's blade and collapsed onto the ground, then began to crumble, breaking apart into lifeless gray ash. Only the tattered red robe remained, barely holding the outline of a human form.
From that pile of ash, a hoarse whisper lingered in the air.
"Black hand… the hand in the darkness…"
For a long moment, silence reigned.
Only then did Odin slowly exhale, releasing his grip on the sword.
He casually tossed the now cold, lifeless ruby necklace into a nearby brazier. The flames licked at it with faint crackling sounds, but no further reaction came.
He turned around, his expression already returned to its usual calm, though deep in his eyes there remained the faintest trace of lingering shock.
He hadn't forced Melisandre out of curiosity about faith, but to extract information.
He hadn't expected… that.
Taking a slow breath, he glanced at Gendry, who still stood frozen, clearly unable to process the string of impossible events that had just unfolded.
Or perhaps it was the image of Melisandre's final transformation into a withered corpse that had left a deeper scar on his mind.
Either way, it didn't matter.
Odin brushed dust from his armor as if nothing had happened and spoke lightly,
"Now she's dead."
"Lesson over."