The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 19 - Making of a Tyrant V: The Giant Strikes

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"Can't we go to the Godswood?" 

Elia Martell sighed and shook her head. "No, sweetling. We cannot. Outside is full of men who would hurt us."

"Even Wylis?"

Elia sighed. The interactions between Wylis and Rhaenys had been rare and few, and yet, somehow, they had left a deep impact on Rhaenys' mind. She still remembered Wylis' name and often spoke about him. Perhaps it was his height. Or perhaps, his face. 

"Ser Wylis is…" Elia measured her words, not wanting to ruin the memory for her daughter. She couldn't tell her that her father was going to face Wylis in the field. "Out there as well."

The little girl sighed. She hadn't been able to leave Maegor's Holdfast in weeks now. The guards always stopped her and her mother. And since the only kid there close to her age was Viserys, she preferred to stay in the room.

"Come here, Rhaenys." Elia softly called for her. Her heart felt heavy. She knew she was a hostage in all but name, meant to bind Dorne to the Mad King’s cause. Her children bore the weight of it as well. Rhaegar had gone to war without a word to her, without a glance for his own blood. Once she had loved him, now she wondered if he had ever truly loved her.

Rhaenys climbed into the bed and lay her head on her mother's lap. "Will you tell a story?"

Elia brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s face. “The warrior-queen, Nymeria? If that is what you wish, so it shall be.”

That was their usual day. Boredom for the children, and worry for the mother.

Knock! Knock!

Normally, nobody opened the door without her permission. But this time it did, and that meant the visitor was socially above her. 

"Your Grace." Elia got off the bed quickly, greeting Queen Rhaella. 

Rhaella gracefully walked into the room. She looked tired, her expression grave. "Princess Elia."

The Queen approached the bed and sat down, taking the little sleeping Aegon into her arms. She wasn't that close with Elia, as Aerys had general distrust towards her and Dorne. Careful for her own well-being, she had maintained distance. Yet, she cherished her grandchildren. 

"The battle will be fought at the Trident," Rhaella revealed, aware that Elia was a prisoner and not privy to any information anymore. "Our numbers are greater."

"You do not sound certain," Elia asked back sharply.

Rhaella sighed and looked down. For some reason, she felt conscious of the dark blue injury mark on her shoulder, even if it was covered by the gown. "I have reasons to be. My son is unmatched, but his mind was clouded before he left. The best of the Kingsguards are nowhere to be found. And the enemy has better commanders. Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark, Hoster Tully, Jon Arryn, Wyman Manderly—"

"And Ser Wylis?"

Rhaella abruptly looked up at Elia. But she quickly looked away, realizing it was Elia's test to see her reaction. 

"He is a capable commander," Rhaella said softly. "One of the finest among them, I fear. He has not lost a battle since his rise… and he has already bested my son once."

For Rhaella, it was a troubling matter. The young man she was fond of was also the same man who shattered her son's pride, shattered his teeth in a tourney before half the realm.

Elia exhaled audibly and caressed her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders. She was nervous. She had every reason to be. "W-We… can only pray."

"If…" Rhaella continued. "If things go ill… His Grace will send me to Dragonstone, with Viserys and the child I carry. You must stay wary, Elia. Guard yourself, guard Aegon and Rhaenys. H-He won't let you leave. He will keep you here, to bind Dorne, until the very end."

Elia didn't know what the very end meant. And that uncertainty scared her. 

"I… will, Your Grace."

Rhaella nodded and got up to leave. She placed Aegon back on the bed and moved towards the door. But she paused for once and looked behind. "They call him Ser Wylis Kaiser now. He has claimed a family name."

Elia curiously looked at the Queen, wondering what that word meant. "That word... Kaiser... I have never heard it spoken in all my life."

"Never have I, Princess Elia."

"Why do you favor Ser Wylis, Your Grace?"

Rhaella frowned. That was too direct. Nonetheless, she answered before leaving for good. 

"Because he shows more decency than most men I’ve been forced to endure in my life."

"..."

Elia was left speechless. She had no expectations, and yet she was startled.

####

Harrenhal,

"The armies... have they gathered? Are you certain? How many?" asked Rhaegar Targaryen. "How many swords? The Boggs... have they come? And the Tyrells, where are they?"

Ser Barristan warily looked to his left, at Ser Jonothor Darry, and then at Prince Lewyn Martell. They were the only three Kingsguard with Prince Rhaegar. And they were the only ones who got to see the Prince's condition. His blabbering behavior. His paranoid eyes. 

The three men were all too aware of who else had those. 

"They’re all here, Your Grace. We number forty thousand strong. All that remains is to march north and bring the rebels to heel," said Ser Jonothor Darry.

"Yes, yes, our numbers are great, are they not? Great and terrible. Mighty, yes, mighty." Rhaegar stood to his feet, his night-black plate armor cluttered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen decorated in rubies on its breastplate. 

"Send word. We march now. We march and kill them, traitors all. Every last one. We shall cut them all down. All of them."

The three Kingsguards merely nodded. They suppressed all their doubts and fears. They chose to do their duty without asking any questions. 

"We'll likely face them near the Trident river, Your Grace." Ser Barristan said.

"Yes… Yes, the river will run red with their blood," Rhaegar roared, and wore his helmet. "That pretender Robert's blood, Stark blood, Tully, Arryn… all of them."

"..."

No more words were spoken. 

####

Harroway Town, Riverlands,

The newly proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms had made the seat of House Roote his new camp. The town sat along the river Trident, and closest to the place they were most likely to meet the Targaryen host.

But it was night, and because of the lack of cunts to sheath his cock in, Robert Baratheon drowned his throat in wine. 

He was drunk and in pain; he'd recently fallen off his horse, leaving his already healing body wounded once again. But the spirits were still high, and Robert was ready to storm into the battle. 

Yet, Eddard and Wylis saw it. Robert was drowning the pain of his injury with the wine. And in Wylis' defense, he had no hand in Robert falling off his horse. Wylis was already satisfied with the injured Robert. As long as the man wasn't at his peak, there was room. But now, with Robert more injured, the threat that Robert might end up dying in the battle became real. 

"That’ll do, Robert. We fight at dawn."

"Bah, enough of it, Ned! The wine still makes me strong, stronger than half these whelps. Gods, is there no whore in this cursed town worth the gold? Not one?" Robert muttered as he tipped the cup to his mouth.

Wylis sighed when he saw Eddard looking at him. What was he supposed to do when Robert didn't even listen to his own best friend? 

"Robert, let's make a bet." Wylis chose to take a different approach. "Whoever fells the most of those loyalist dogs owes the other a favor."

Bam!

"Hah! Now that's the sound of a man," Robert bellowed, slamming his cup down. "We'll do it, Wylis, by the Gods. I'll strip you bare in my hall and let the women gape. I swear Lord Roote's wife near drooled at you, like some tavern wench."

"..."

That was a suggestion he wasn't expecting. And honestly, he was so confident that he didn't even see it as a bad deal. If anything, half the realm would talk about how muscular and mighty Ser Wylis is and how his cock's no less than a python.

"Then it’s agreed," Wylis said, clasping Robert’s hand firmly. He raised his cup and emptied it in one draught. “I’ll get some sleep now. After all, I fight for my honor come morning."

"Bah, I’ll find my bed too." Robert heaved himself up, swaying until Wylis caught him. "You two, Ned, Wylis... Seven hells, I’m blessed to have the both of you."

"Alright now, get some damn sleep. Don't you go about stroking your cock, fancying us two men." Wylis japed.

Robert howled with laughter. "Haha—After winning tomorrow, I might just do that."

"..."

Wylis and Eddard walked the new King to his bedchamber. 

Although Harroway Town was small, it still had plenty of decent buildings. With a seven-sided sept, a two-story inn, a stone round tower, and many smaller buildings, it was one of the decent towns that just didn't get to become a city.

They and a few of the higher nobles had taken up residence at the two-story inn. 

After settling Robert, Wylis went to his little room. He would have normally been made to sleep in a tent outside the town amongst the others, but as Robert's confidant and one of the battle commanders, he received a room. Even that was a lot, as most lords shared theirs. Wylis was just too big to share it comfortably with anyone. 

Creak!

He opened the door to his small room in the inn and walked inside. The room was already lit with a few candles. Wylis quickly locked the door and removed his tunic, trousers, and got butt-naked. 

Finally, he turned towards the bed and smirked. 

"Let's keep the noise low, Lady Roote."

The woman giggled throatily, completely nude, lying sideways on the bed, her entire creamy, pale, light freckled frame a sin of beauty. She was on the rather curvier side, but her breasts were fantastically voluptuous and juicy to look at. Her slightly rounder face was cuter, her highborn looks to thank for that. Her dark hair was long and silky.

"Of course, love," she cooed, and curled her fingers at him, calling for him. Her brown eyes were full of lust, her gorgeous, full lips pouting. 

"As you command." Wylis walked over, his cock already half awake, thick with need, throbbing, the veins bulging like singular roots carrying his very strength. He didn't hate the view; Clara Roote, the thick woman was just thirty and without a child. Her husband, Lord Roote, was an unremarkable man, weak in body, health, and mind, heavy on wine and sleep. 

"Ummmmh… Gods truly took time carving you, Ser." She moaned as Wylis stood beside the bed, near where she had her head on her folded hand. She used her free hand to quickly capture him, and moaned when she tried to wrap her soft fingers around him. "It'll be… hard not to cry my lungs out on this. But you'll be gentle, won't you?"

Wylis nodded, matching eyes with hers. 

In status, he considered himself above her and her lord husband. Sure, Wylis was just a knight, but still, he had more wealth, sway, strength, and voice than her or her husband. But the woman clearly considered herself mighty in status.

He didn't mind. All he saw was that she was rather easy on the eyes and willing to swell her womb with his seed. Nothing else mattered—She'd receive a beautiful child, and he'd received a whole year. 

"Mmmh—The feast is served," Clara mumbled and leaned her face closer to his cock. She took a deep breath near his thickness, as if taking his scent in, then lapped her kissing lips on his cockhead. She rubbed her lips there, then joined her tongue, rolling on the head. She was quite gifted in height, too, and her mouth could open wider than most.

Fuck! What a mouth! 

Wylis actually felt his knees go weak the instant her glossy lips wrapped around him. 

Clara widened her mouth in a perfect O, soft lips stretching to swallow down his thick cockhead. Her warm tongue pressed against the ridge as she slurped, her fair hand stroking his length at the same time, sliding up and down over the bulging veins. The contrast of her warm fingers and her stretched, wet lips nearly made his balls tighten.

He stared down, the sight utterly sinful. Her freckled, pretty face smeared with spit as she bobbed on him, cheeks hollowing with every hungry suck. 

Gluk! Gluk!

Clara moaned, a muffled tremor around his cock. Her voice spilled between choked gulps, broken words carried out in shaky breaths. “Mmmhh—Gods, your cock… so thick… feels too good on my tongue—”

Wylis leaned down, because even seated sideways, she was far too low for his towering frame. His massive hand claimed one of her breasts, a heavy globe of flesh that still sat high and round on her chest. They barely sagged despite their size; firm, plump, perfect soft fluffs. He kneaded and squeezed, imagining them swollen and leaking with milk someday. Even though he hated the taste of the maternal milk itself, his mouth watered at the idea of drinking from them.

His other hand traveled down, tracing over her curving waist and onto the swell of her hips. Gods, her flesh was so soft. His fingers sank into it as if it were dough, lush, wide enough to cradle any child he’d stuff into her belly.

He pulled one of her legs upward until her knee bent high and her plump thigh tilted, spreading her. 

Clara lay on her side on the bed, still sucking his cock like a desperate whore, but now her cunt was bared to him. Spread open, glistening, dripping like a ripe fruit.

Wylis’ two thick fingers slipped into her bald pussy, sinking knuckle-deep into that soaked little hole. Her pussy instantly squelched, her nectar coating his digits with noisy moistness.

“Ummmh!” Clara moaned, her thighs trembling as her pleasure spiked. 

She worked harder on his cock, sucking harder, hollowing her cheeks until her throat strained. She gagged herself, desperately trying to take in more, but there was still some of him left out. He was too lengthy for her throat to conquer, but the attempt alone made his jaw flex.

“How… will you have me enter, my Lady?” he asked, breath ragged from the sharp jolts of pleasure she gave him with every wet slurp.

Pop!

She pulled her head back suddenly, drool trailing from her lips to his spit-slick cock. Clara’s flushed face tilted up at him, eyes burning with lust and shame. “To look upon you so near… Seven save me, it feels sinful to let my eyes stray from your form and face.” 

Her chest heaved, soft swells undulating as she breathed. “Mmm… yet I would beg one favor of you. A gift I know none but you could grant.”

Wylis cocked a brow. 

He was already going to stuff her full of his seed until she dripped like a cat in the rain. What more could she want? 

“And that is?”

“In your arms… Can you lift me in your arms as you… enter me?” She whispered, almost bashful despite her soaked cunt.

The corners of Wylis’ mouth curled. He found her embarrassment adorable, but he also understood the appeal. She was a heavier woman, with full hips and a body meant for breeding. Her weak husband could never lift her, could never hold her while splitting her open. Perhaps Robert, but he certainly could.

“As you command, my Lady,” he said warmly, though lust burned. 

He grasped her and pulled her upright to sit on the bed’s edge. His cock hung in front of her flushed face, a fat, throbbing shaft that slid against her chin as she tried to catch her breath.

He crouched to one knee, sliding his enormous arms around her plush, wide ass. With a grunt, he hoisted her into the air as if she weighed nothing. 

“Ooooh! Seven!” Clara yelped softly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his thick neck, her legs clamping around his waist. Her cunt already smearing her juices onto his stomach.

Her heavy tits flattened against his chest as he held her up, the soft weight of them smothering him with heat. She showered wet kisses all over his jaw, his cheek, even his eyelids, smearing spit as she panted like a bitch in heat. 

She wasn’t thinking anymore. She was lost, greedy, lusting over him with her mouth and body, completely overtaken by the need she’d kept corked inside for far too long.

Wylis’ fingers sank greedily into the succulent flesh of her ass, kneading it like fresh butter, loving how her wide rump filled his palms. But his cock ached for more, he needed to feel her all over his throbbing flesh sword.

“Tell me, my Lady…” His voice was gravelly, his face close enough to hers that he could taste her hot breath. Her silky dark hair had tumbled free across her shoulders, brushing against his lips. “What made you make up your mind? My words were but a jape when I said your hips looked ready to bear a brood.”

“Heh…” Clara giggled faintly, though her laugh was broken with lust as she clung to him tighter, pressing her bosom into his chest until her nipples splayed against his skin. Her face hovered just an inch from his. 

“My lord husband and I have tried for years, yet the cradle stays empty. Never did I think I’d sink to such a sin… but with you, it feels as though the gods themselves set you before me. You may be my only hope for a fair and sturdy heir.”

"And it doesn't bother you that it'll be… my blood?"

“Oh, dear…” Clara brushed her lips across the corner of his mouth, her soft palm cupping his jaw. “That’s the bright side. My lord husband is gentle and dutiful, and I love him for it. Yet you must know, he is soft in flesh and softer still in spirit.”

Must be the damn wine and greasy food. Wylis thought in contempt, his cock twitching against her belly.

“So…” she breathed, leaning until her lips tickled the shell of his ear. “Put a babe in this sinful woman’s belly, won’t you?”

Fuck! Wylis’s teeth clenched. 

His cock throbbed like a beast ready to break free, harder than steel. With one hand, he shifted her up against his chest, and with the other, he seized his cock, smearing her dripping juices against his swollen crown before pressing it against her entrance. 

He looked at her face, craving the sight of it twisting as she realized just how monstrous he was. Her husband had given her scraps, but after tonight, no other man would ever compare.

“Mmmmmmhh…” Clara moaned, muffling herself against his neck. Her lips left hot, wet trails on his skin. 

Wylis braced her weight and slowly lowered her onto his cock. The heat of her was blinding, her cunt gripping and sucking him in as though the gods had crafted her for this exact purpose. She wasn’t tight like a maiden. She was worse; a neglected woman, unfulfilled, her pussy gripping and fluttering like it had been waiting years to be claimed properly. The weight of her curvy body pressing down on him made everything so much tighter.

Each inch stretched her petals wide, the squelching noise of her nectar gushing down his cock filling the chamber.

Lady Roote’s body shook. Her nails raked down his back the moment his tip split her further apart, and when her fingertips found the iron ridges of his muscles, she lost it. Her pussy throbbed, clamping around him in desperate spasms.

“Ahhh! Ooooh gods!” Clara shrieked into his neck, her whole body convulsing. The sheer stretch of him inside her, the feel of his raw power holding her weight with ease, the perfection of him in every sense. Her mind cracked, and she came undone. The orgasm hit her violently, juice squirting in wet, filthy gushes around his cock, her thighs utterly trembling against his sides.

She wasn’t shy in the aftermath. No dainty lady, no fragile flower. Clara was curvy, proud of her flesh, but now he made her feel weak, conquered, taken. Her cunt pulsed and clenched, drenching him with every throb.

“Ugh… clench your… teeth,” Wylis warned her.

He shifted his grip, then let her weight fall just enough. His cock sank in to the hilt, all the way to his base, burying his monstrous length into her dripping cunt. Few women alive could take him like that for their the first time with him, but Clara did, screaming into his upper chest as his cock lodged deep inside her pussy.

Her whole body shivered violently, her fluffy thighs trembling against his sides. She bit down hard into his shoulder, muffling her cries, as her cunt rippled and clenched helplessly around him.

Wylis felt her breaking, body wrecked as his cock claimed her completely.

"I'll move."

Wylis whispered against her ear, and before Clara could respond, her whole body jolted. 

He started hoisting her up and down his cock with nothing but the brute strength of his arms and back. Each lift and drop made her heart slam against her ribs, her cunt stuffed and stretched, her mind slipping further into madness. He was so fucking strong, it terrified and thrilled her in the same breath.

For Wylis, it was like plunging into a wet, tight furnace. Her walls gripped around him like a velvet glove soaked in honey, fluttering, gripping, sucking at his cock with every move. It had been weeks since he’d last fucked a woman. Now, this thick, fertile noble lady was milking him raw, and the sensation almost drowned him. He didn’t even need to thrust; her cunt did all the work, feeding his cock bliss with every squeeze.

But he wanted more. He pushed her back until her spine smacked against the wall, pinning her there as he started to ram up into her. 

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Flesh clapped violently with each thrust, the wet squelches echoing, dripping nectar sliding down his shaft onto the floor. 

Clara’s lips stayed sealed tight, her teeth biting into her bottom lip until it flushed red, her moans muffled, breathy, stifled gasps.

Wylis grunted like a beast as he bounced her on his cock, throwing her weight up and down brutally. 

Her pussy gushed around him, and even as she broke into her second climax, she only clung tighter to his neck, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. Her body wracked with ecstasy, she clutched him as though he’d tear her apart if she let go.

“I’m… close… to… coming,” he muttered, his cock surging inside her like an iron brand.

“Ooooh… Gods… fill me! Give me… a big, beautiful babe… like you~” Clara purred hoarsely into his ear. Her words dripping with unholy, desperate hope.

Finally, that took him over the edge. With a feral snarl, Wylis rammed her down hard, burying every veiny inch of his twitching cock until his balls slapped against her ass. His cock erupted deep inside her womb, torrents of hot, white seed bursting forth in endless waves. It sprayed and coated every fold of her cunt, a molten flood that made him groan savagely into her neck.

Clara’s eyes shot wide, her entire body shaking as she felt the flood inside her. There was so much spilling into her that it leaked around his cock. Hot streams of sticky batter running down her thigh and dripping from the curve of her ass. Yet she clenched desperately, squeezing her cunt tight, as if she could trap every drop of that virile seed and force it into her womb.

“Mmmm… this feeling… I know it’ll… happen,” she murmured breathlessly between bliss and exhaustion.

But Wylis’ beast wasn’t softening. His cock still throbbed inside her, hard and hungry. A wolf unsated. 

Smirking, he carried her to the bed and laid her down, then mounted her in the old, tried-and-true position. He spread her smooth, fleshy legs wide, eyes devouring the sight of her ruined cunt. Glistening, cream-coated, stretched to its limits, still stuffed with seed. Then, he looked up at her face, flushed and glistening with sweat.

"Can't be sure with just one, my Lady."

Clara’s body quivered, but she wrapped her soft, fluffy legs around him again with eager desperation. “Have me… all night… if you desire. Seven hells, I’m ruined for all cocks now… Ummmh.”

The sound of her begging sent a savage thrill through him. Wylis plunged back into her, cock sliding in and out of the creamy mess he’d made, fucking her deeper, harder, savoring every filthy squelch. He leaned down, enveloped her breasts in his hands, rounded them together, and suckled fiercely at her nipples. He bit and sucked until she gasped, sure he’d leave marks for days.

Creak! Creak! Creak!

And then the creaking ritual began. The bed shook, the claps echoed. The Lady of House Roote had already received his seed. Whatever followed was plain, simple, carnal desire. 

Ting!

[Name: Lady Clara Roote
Age: 30
Occupation: Lady of House Roote
Current Loyalty: 61%
Status: Impregnated]

####

The next morning, there was silence in the town. 

The men woke up, washed their faces, and prepared their armor. The squires busied themselves arming their knights or lords. The others sharpened their swords, and a few spent time with their horses. 

Wylis had no squire, but he had help that day. Since he had spent quite a time with the men from Stormlands, commanding them in Robert's stead, a few of them helped him put on the armor. It was heavy and made for him. But it was quite simple. 

A silver, shining, plate armor with big, round pauldrons that curved on the shoulders. His leg guards were also quite big and heavy, suitable for Wylis' size. Finally, he had a simple helmet, no shining ornaments, just a steel helmet, round on the top, no movable visor, merely two slits for his eyes.

Such simple armor. And yet, he looked the most imposing man in the entire army of slightly more than thirty thousand. He was already the tallest man in the field, and with his armor, he stood out more. And then his massive, six-foot-long sword, its shining golden rainguard caught eyes. 

After that, he went out and met with Robert and Eddard. Both men had worn their finest armor. Robert looked imposing with his antler helmet and warhammer. Eddard's armor was still too simple, with not much plated armor on him. 

Then, they all rode to the shore of the Trident. There was only one way to cross it, and it was no bridge, but a simple ford, a very shallow part of the river that allowed one to cross it on foot. It was on River Road, close to the Crossroads Inn. 

"There's the fucker," Robert grumbled. On the other shore of the ford, they could see the royalist army gathered. It was massive, better armed than their own, but the leaders commanding the army looked rather weak. Just three Kingsguards and one Prince Rhaegar Targaryen in his fancy dark armor. 

Fuck, I hate this helmet. 

Wylis was fighting an entirely different battle. He'd never worn something that restrictive in a battle. He'd never participated in a battle that was going to be that chaotic. But at the same time, he couldn't afford not to wear it in order to win the Can't Touch Me quest reward. 

And what's wrong with him? Wylis looked at Robert again. His face looked red, too red. At first, he suspected it was a hangover from the night before. But it still hadn't reduced. 

"Spare no strength!" Robert bellowed. "Wylis, cover my right. Ned, take the left. I’ll crush the silver-haired whoreson’s chest like kindling!"

Can't let you do that, Robert. Wylis sighed and just nodded. 

He looked ahead at the supposed battlefield and felt excited. Because it was a ford, most of the land was submerged. Once there, he wouldn't need to hold back his Earthbending. As long as he didn't create boulders out of the ground, he knew his kill rate would surpass any known man in the history of Westeros. One without a dragon, to be precise. 

The Birth of the Tyrant quest is also involved. Wylis remembered. How in God's name do I bring the entire battlefield to a standstill for five seconds? By Killing Rhaegar? But that'd end the battle entirely. 

"Men!" Robert blasted, his voice booming, his eyes red. He raised his warhammer high, already atop his mighty steed. "There is no greater glory than to end the mad reign of a tyrant! Once we win this battle, the road to King’s Landing is ours—We will storm the city and set fire to the goddamn Mad King. Men, you fight not for me, but to end a bloodline rotten with madness, incest, and corruption. The Targaryens end today—And the greatest spawn of filth stands there! The rule of Targaryens ends today! We!... Will!... Win!... Today!"

"Haaaaaa!" Robert rushed forward with a war cry. The entire rebel army followed suit, pouring into the wide ford.

The Royalist army did the same and poured into the ford. 

The earth vibrated. The air turned heavy. The war cries, clattering armors, and gallops were all one could hear. In that rush, no command, no order, no roar could stop anyone. 

In that chaos, Wylis had already found his first first target. He had no desire to hold back. Not one bit. This was the end of the Rebellion. This was the final battle. If there was any name and fame to win, it was now. 

"Caliburn, I'm counting on you, buddy!" Wylis rode faster than the rest of the men behind him. He didn't want to be squeezed between them. No, he wanted to leap into the enemy lines and reach his target. 

His six-foot-long blade glinted on that bright day. He galloped fast, and with each passing moment, the enemy ranks came nearer. 

Woosh!

At last, Caliburn leaped forward, all limbs in the air. The giant horse flew above the heads of the enemies. 

"Whaaaaaa!" Wylis roared at the top of his lungs, his voice metallic and echoey due to that helmet. His right arm moved, swinging that massive blade with a single hand, and for some reason, the men near him found their feet not only stuck into the ground, but rather impaled by sharp spikes. 

Slash!

Slash!

"Gaaaaah!"

"Ugh!"

To the left, to the right, Wylis swung his blade like he was cutting down grass around him. He beheaded the less armed men, and those with good armor got their skulls fractured, shoulders shattered, or ribs broken. 

"Ha!" Wylis maneuvered his horse. "Faster, Caliburn! Faster!"

Clank! Clash!

He engaged a horsed knight, a Rhaegar bannerman holding a spear. That was the only weapon that could strike Wylis. But he was coated in armor, and…

"Ugh! Move, goddammit!"

The enemy's horse refused to move, as if all its limbs were stuck. And by then, Wylis was upon him. 

Slash!

He stabbed and broke through a gap in the armor. He drove through the chainmail and impaled the knight on his blade entirely. 

Bam!

As Wylis continued to gallop. The enemy knight got pulled along, still stuck on the blade, or rather, his dead body. Around them, the remaining royalist men began to hesitate. That display of barbaric strength was too much for their eyes. As if a god was fighting on that battlefield. 

Fuck, the blade's stuck!

Wylis cursed and yanked his sword as hard as he could. But the sword still didn't come out. 

Goddamit! 

"Move!" 

And just like that, he felt like he went from being the hunter to the hunted. The man who was his target was rushing towards him instead. Sword out, passing through the royalist men. Wylis knew he was a high-value target. He was practically driving the right flank of Robert. 

"Move!" The enemy knight kept passing through the men towards him. 

Fuck it!

Wylis made a quick decision and let go of his main sword, letting the dead body fall. He picked up the pace and rushed towards the incoming knight. He had a plan, a risky one, but one that he could pull off. 

Jonothor Darry… Just a fucking shitguard. 

Wylis glared at the incoming commander of Rhaegar's army. Killing him was bound to spread disarray. 

"Move!" 

Wylis didn’t have to do anything. Ser Jonothor Darry was coming at him at full speed. And that was what Wylis wanted. 

Splash!

Splash!

The water splashed around Caliburn's gallops. 

The distance grew less.

Now!

Wylis used Earthbending. Touching ground while doing it enhanced his power to its true limit; he could still accomplish some tricks on horseback. He froze Jonothor's horse's front hooves. He froze them so hard that the impact was devastating. 

Crack!

The horse's front legs cracked. 

"Neeeeigh!"

The horse cried in pain and, with all its power, kicked back its hind legs as high as it could. And that was enough to send Ser Jonothor Darry flying through the air, right towards Wylis. 

Bam!

"Gotcha!" 

Wylis caught Ser Jonothor Darry midair. But instead of keeping the man up on the horse, he let him fall to the side. He hooked a hand under the knight's chin, practically hanging him by his head while the rest of his body was dragged, his feet thrashing on the splashing water. 

"Faster, Caliburn!"

Wylis kept the horse running and took out a dagger from his side. He stabbed into Ser Jonothor's neck—one, two, three, as many times as he could. The Kingsguard kicked his feet, tried to stand, flailed his arms, but at the speed Caliburn was running, that was impossible. 

"Glurk—Ugh~"

Blood sprayed from Ser Jonothor's throat. And Wylis still didn't stop. Instead of just stabbing, he started grinding the blade's length over the throat, like running a saw through a tree. 

Ser Jonothor was dead already. 

Wylis kept dragging that dead body. 

He dragged it halfway across the battlefield and finally…

"Here's your commander!" Wylis roared and fully severed Ser Jonothor's head. He discarded the torso and raised the head high above him, showing it to the battlefield. "Here's your goddamn Kingsguard!" 

It was as if time froze. 

Wylis was tall.

Caliburn was tall. 

Wylis raising a severed head above himself was like a flag hoisted above the battlefield for all to see. 

And that severed head was far too easy to recognize. One of the four main commanders of the royalist forces. Kingsguard, Ser Jonothor Darry.

"Here, have your Kingsguard!" Wylis shouted and threw the severed head towards Rhaegar Targaryen at a distance. 

And he almost hit the prince with it. But still, it fell close enough that Rhaegar saw it. As did the men around him. And when Rhaegar froze, the men around him froze. 

Ting!

[Side Quest Completed - Birth Of A Tyrant
Description - Bring the entire battlefield to a five-second standstill during the Battle of the Trident.
Reward - Battle Aura: 30% Strength boost in a battlefield.]

Oh! I can feel it! 

A sudden surge of strength ran through his body. He could feel it in his muscles. He felt lighter, his grip strength stronger, his fatigue lost. 

Thirty percent? How big is that? 

"What're you gawking at! Kill them! Kill the royalist bastards!" Wylis shouted and snapped the men around him back to reality. He also used that pause to turn his horse. He went back to where he dropped his blade. Without getting off the horse, he leaned sideways and grabbed the hilt. 

Woosh!

Holy shit! 

He ripped the sword out with ease. It wasn't the sword that had become dislodged. It was his pure, raw strength that did the magic. 

Feels… invincible. 

"Argh!"

Right then, he heard a voice he recognized. He turned, and sure enough, an extremely fat man had been thrown off his horse and surrounded by royalist men. 

Time to give this a try. 

He went back to cutting grass. It had never been easier than now. 

Woosh!

"Aaaargh!"

He didn't leave men injured anymore. He left them dead. Even if his blade didn't take their heads, he still shattered them. His blade's edge started chipping because of his explosive strength. 

Left, right, he swung it like a bat. 

As he went, he left a trail of dead bodies.

"Haaaaa!" Wylis arrived at the downed lord at that point. He jumped down from his horse and engaged the enemies directly. He was still too big and overpowering. 

He swung fast, heavy, hilt gripped in both his hands. The men around him tried to stab him through the gaps in his armor. 

"Ugh! I-I can't move!" 

But their spears never reached him. Nobody could see what was going on under the water. 

Splash!

And the water turned bloody with Wylis' strikes. He killed them, multiple men in a single strike at times. Stabbed, and a few he kicked. He was no superhuman, but his strength was most certainly at the peak for a man his size. 

"Seven hells! I owe you, Wylis."

Wylis gave the fat lord a hand. "Lord Manderly, might I suggest two pies instead of three?"

"You ask for too much, good Ser. But in your honor, let it be two and three-quarters."

Wylis chuckled and helped the man grab his sword as well. It was interesting that Wyman even came to the battle despite his rather rotund form. He could barely ride a horse due to his size.

"Ser Wylis, ride quickly to Robert," Wyman said, his face drawn with concern. "They’ve pulled him to the rear. A fever burns in him, and Lord Stark had to drag him with a dozen men. He was mindlessly throwing his hammer around, even at allies."

Fever? Wylis frowned. It wasn't his doing. The injuries Robert had suffered in the Battle of the Bells were already healed for the most part. It was falling from the horse that had injured him recently. 

If Robert and Eddard are at the rear, then…

He surveyed the battlefield and noticed the royalist knights running around on their horses and killing the rebel men. Without Robert and Eddard, two of the major commanders were gone. 

"No, if I go to Robert, the battle will be lost," Wylis replied, and returned to his horse. 

"Ser Wylis, Lord Hoster, and Lord Arryn are pressing for a minor retreat to regroup. Without Robert, we can't win this battle."

Like hell I can let that happen! Fuck! 

"Lord Wyman, go to the rear and send Lord Stark back. Fortune leans toward us. One of their commanders has fallen, and I’ll see another soon follow. It is now or never. The fight must continue. If Robert can't stand, then we'll win him the damn throne." Wylis declared and handed the lead of his horse. "Take my horse. I'll fight on foot."

Lord Wyman frowned. "How will yo—"

"Go, my Lord!" Wylis firmly voiced and turned to leave. He looked towards the distant figure of Rhaegar Targaryen on his steed. The man was guarded from all sides. "Send Lord Stark as fast as you can."

With that, Wylis disappeared into the chaos. Well, more like the cause of the chaos, as he could never disappear. 

Splash! Splash!

His feet touched the ground. 

No more holding back!

He was no god of war. He couldn't go against forty thousand men. But he could cause mass injuries, enough to tip the tide in his favor. 

Clank!

Clash!

Wylis engaged with the men right away. They tried to surround him on many occasions, but each ended with them getting stuck in the dirt and dying by his blade. Either heads cleaved or skulls bashed. 

"Kill the giant!" 

Wylis turned to look at the one giving that command. It was Prince Lewyn Martell, another Kingsguard. The man was leading ten thousand Dornish men. And in one look, it was clear, they were trying to circle him. 

Fuck! I gotta break their momentum. 

Clank!

“Hold the line! Watch my back!” Wylis shouted, spotting Lord Roose Bolton among the men. “My lord, they’ve nearly surrounded us. Gather the men, we'll strike before we’re caged!”

Almost the same age as Wylis, Roose Bolton did as Wylis asked and gathered his men behind Wylis. 

Using them, Wylis pressed forward towards Prince Lewyn. The Dornish army had too many spears, so Wylis was aware of the dangers, and he chose not to play with them. 

Bam!

Splash!

He smashed his foot on the water, but acted like it was nothing. In the distance ahead, a sudden sinkhole formed on the shallow ford. It was deep enough to trap two dozen men inside it. Then it quickly filled with water, and they started drowning with all their heavy armor. 

"Go around!" Prince Lewyn's command was relentless.

Wylis only had to worry about his front, however, as Lord Roose and his men handled his rear. 

Clank!

"Argh! My foot!"

Whenever more than three men attacked him, he created sharp spikes under the water and pierced their feet deep. The soles weren't made of metals, and that was his respite. Blood soaked the entire area surrounding Wylis. 

Thud!

Whenever he stepped forward, the men fell, cut, dismembered, disfigured. 

"Hold them back! We have the numbers!" 

Wylis ignored the man, but it was true. The enemy did have the numbers. He was their target, and they were closing in from each side. At least two hundred men were entirely focused on surrounding him, Lord Roose and his men. 

This is tiring. 

He felt the effect of Earthbending on his body. It used a lot of his energy. But he was nowhere near done. 

"Aim for Prince Lewyn!" Wylis changed direction and headed towards the commander. He went faster than the men behind him. 

"Aaaaargh! My leg!"

"Ugh!"

"Seven hells!"

The men cried in pain whenever they approached Wylis, then died in pain. He truly looked like a giant on that battlefield, his steel armor blood-soaked, but his own body unscathed. He left a trail of dead bodies in his wake. 

He'd stopped counting long before. 

Slash!

Thud!

Stab!

He dodged back, blocked, and countered a spear. 

Clank!

He turned and struck back. His large frame gave him plenty of strength, but it also required a lot of energy. He panted, grunted, and put his full strength in each strike. 

"Haaaaaa!" He roared at the Dornish soldiers and started running all of a sudden. 

Splash!

Another sinkhole appeared, and finally, the wall of men protecting Prince Lewyn atop his horse vanished, drowned below. 

"Haaaaaaa!"

Wylis ran till the edge of that sinkhole and leaped into the air like a beast. Using every ounce of strength in his legs, he jumped over the sinkhole, his massive, blood-tainted blade gripped above his head.

Prince Lewyn reacted quickly and pointed his sword to stab at Wylis. 

"Neeeeight!"

But all of a sudden, Prince Lewyn's horse reacted and raised its front legs high. 

Thud!

Prince Lewyn fell backwards into the shallow water. 

Splash!

"Not so fast!" Wylis landed and slammed his foot on Prince Lewyn's chest, and without wasting a second, thrust his sword in the gap between the helmet and the chestplate. It was scummy to use earthbending like that. But he felt no pity, for he was fighting against forces that once used dragons in battlefields.

"Grugh… ghk…~" Prince Lewyn tried to wave his sword with one hand, to strike Wylis. 

But Wylis was fast, driving his blade into the man’s throat. The Kingsguard gurgled blood from his mouth; it flowed beyond the visor of his helmet and seeped red into the water. 

Fuck this… I gotta catch my breath. 

He no longer rushed to attack. He stood there, one foot on Prince Lewyn's chest, the sword still standing, tip stabbed through the throat. He used the rain-guard for support and just took deep, long breaths. 

He gulped, the helmet making it really hard to breathe. 

Behind him was the sinkhole, so he was rather relaxed. But that also meant that the Boltons were away. He was there alone. And sure enough, Dornishmen began appearing, making a semi-circle, surrounding him. 

This wasn't the goddamn plan. 

The battle had gone beyond just earning name and fame. Killing Rhaegar was now a necessity. Not just for the Quest, but to ensure he'd remain on the winning side. To not become the Mad King's sacrifice. 

"Alright…" He tiredly muttered and stood up straight again. "I'll kill you all next—Then I'll go for your silver-haired fucker."

Wylis pulled the sword out of Prince Lewyn's throat and gripped it with both hands. 

"Come on then! What're you waiting for?"

He did plan on using Earthbending, but just for making spikes now. Sinkholes that big ate too much of his energy. 

Ting!

Ugh, what now?

[Tyrant's Bastard Detected!]

[Daughter(Bastard) - Ashara Dayne
Life Points Available - 10]

[Strength - 0/10
Dexterity - 1/10
Intelligence - 1/10
Charisma - 6/10
Vitality - 2/10]

As if someone poured life into Wylis, his eyes widened. His heart shook, exhilaration surging through him. 

Daughter? A girl? I-I finally have a daughter?! 

And looking at the absurdly high Charisma value, he gulped. 

How pretty is my little girl? Holy shit, fuckers around the realm will chase her!

"No!" 

He roared for no reason. The Dornishmen before him confusedly stepped back at the sudden outburst. 

"NEVER!" 

No longer the might of a knight. The Dornishmen faced the wrath of an overly protective father.

"Haaaaa!"

Not waiting for the Dornishmen to come at him, Wylis rushed up to them. 

"My leg!"

The same cries echoed. 

Slash!

Thud!

Heads rolled. A few bodies fell into a puddle of blood. 

But beyond mere jokes, Wylis thanked Ashara and his little daughter. Hearing that ping gave him the energy and the desire to push ahead. He wanted to see his daughter. He wanted to see her grow. And he really didn't want a Rhaegar Targaryen in that future. 

"Wraaaaaa!"

He fought like a mad beast from that point on. He slashed, he stabbed, made them trip, made them jump with wounded feet. Those who got too close received his kicks. 

But it was still tiring. 

Where's the fucking Lord of Winterfell? 

Splash! 

Splash!

Splash!

Unexpectedly, the noise of water splashing increased. He took a quick glance and noticed at least three dozen men on horses approaching. Leading them was Eddard. 

"Barely on time!" 

Wylis aimed at the running Dornishmen. They were no match for that many northern men on horses. Of course, Wylis didn't make it easy for them. He made them walk a path made of dirt spikes. They bled, they fell, they got stabbed by northern men, and died. 

"Ser Wylis." Eddard arrived near Wylis, and with his horse was a lead tied to Caliburn. "I've brought your horse."

Wylis just nodded, still recovering his breath. 

"We can still win this," Eddard said, eyeing the dead body of Prince Lewyn. "This battle must mean something."

Wylis continued to nod and climbed onto his precious horse. He patted and caressed him first, then took out a pouch of water. Finally, after he felt ready to move, he looked at Eddard. 

"No, Lord Stark. This rebellion must reach its conclusion," he said and looked around. "You should go after Ser Barristan."

Eddard understood his intention. "Robert wanted to finish him."

"He'd better save himself from finishing first."

"Aye, the fever's heavy."

Wylis grabbed his sword then and looked towards a certain direction. 

"Lord Stark, get me to Rhaegar, and I swear on my life I'll get Robert his crown."

"You've ended two of their commanders. You defied the retreat. Why?" Eddard stared expressionlessly at Wylis. "What's in it for you?" 

To Wylis, the answer was clear as day. He didn't joke, he didn't smile. His eyes were coldly focused on the black armored man in the distance. 

"Everything, Lord Stark."

____________________

Question: Let Ser Barristan live or not? Wylis can go for the triple Kingsguard kill if he wants to.

Choice 1 - Yes, let him live. [They won't meet on the battlefield.]

Choice 2 - No, let him die.

Choice 3 - Let Wylis beat him bloody before letting him live.