Chapter 258 - 258: A Settled Debt

The quiet thud of the old Mallister knight's body hitting the stone floor was muted, yet it echoed through the hall like iron striking granite. Ser Cael's severed head came to a rest near young Patrek Mallister's boots, its wide, unblinking eyes frozen in an expression of absolute shock, as if still questioning the sudden end.

Dark blood erupted from the neck, quickly filling the gaps between the flagstones and thick in the damp air. Inside the chamber, the silence was total.

A sharp chorus of drawing steel shattered the frozen air. The Mallister knights behind Patrek cleared their broadswords first, followed instantly by the Blackwood retinue, their points aimed directly at Solomon.

The chain reaction tore through the room in an instant.

Steel rasping against leather echoed continuously as every man present reached for his hilt.

The Mallister and Blackwood retainers held their bare blades with white knuckles, their arms trembling with raw fury. Ludo and Rosso stood shoulder to shoulder before Solomon, their own longswords raised to cover his chest.

Ser Robin and the Deddington captains drew their edges without a moment of hesitation, pointing their steel straight at the Blackwood and Mallister lines. The Lychester knights froze for a split second before drawing their own blades with wild enthusiasm to back Solomon. Even the three Vance officers pulled their weapons from their scabbards.

In the span of two breaths, the small council chamber was split down the center. The air stretched tight as a drawn bowstring, killing intent clashing silently along the bare edges.

Raymun Darry was the sole figure who remained unmoved, sitting rigid in his chair. Pale as lime, his knuckles turned chalk-white as his fingers dug into the armrests. His gaze flicked frantically between the two camps, entirely uncertain of his next move.

A remarkably fast blade, Tytos Blackwood thought. His face remained an unreadable mask, yet a sudden wave of surprise passed through his mind. He was counted among the finest swordsmen in the Riverlands, yet he had failed to track the draw, largely assuming the boy would not dare shed blood in a formal council.

The young commander carried no hesitation. He drew to kill, settling the insult in a single stroke.

Tytos's eyes swept over the divided room, marking old Lord Lymond, who was still drawing circles on the stone table in his own world.

He noted Solomon standing at the apex of the vanguard, flanked by the Deddingtons, the Lychesters, and even the Vance officers who held bare steel. Tytos felt a genuine astonishment that so many men were prepared to draw against two of the premier seats of the Trident to defend the standing of House Lychester.

Ser Caek of House Vance held his hilt with sweating palms, his mind in complete confusion. He had no clear understanding of why his fingers had instinctively drawn steel alongside Solomon's men. He glanced back at his two sub-commanders, who held their blades with the exact same wide-eyed panic.

Clink. Ser Caek was the first to slide his broadsword back into its scabbard, his fingers hurried and clumsy. He and his two retainers dropped back into their seats, desperate to frame their action as a simple misunderstanding and re-establish their neutrality.

Beside Raymun Darry, Ser Ronald felt the muscles along his jaw twitch. The boy hasn't shifted an inch. He had anticipated it. The moment Ser Cael opened his mouth, Ser Ronald had felt a dark premonition of what Solomon would do, yet he had not expected a stroke so absolute, leaving no room for negotiation.

The Lychester knights stared at Solomon with a mix of deep gratitude, wild excitement, and quiet disbelief. Though they had wished to defend their master's standing, drawing steel against House Blackwood and House Mallister in open council was a boundary they had never dreamed of crossing.

Yet this outsider, a second son who owed them no ancient loyalty, had drawn his blade and taken a head to preserve their lord's honor.

The Deddington captains, after a brief hesitation, turned their eyes to Ser Robin at the front. House Blackwood was a great name in the realm, far outstripping the Deddingtons in raw power. But seeing old Ser Robin hold his ground beside Solomon without a trace of fear, the balance in their minds shifted entirely.

The Blackwood name offered them no land. Their future manors and the wealth promised from the Payle lands were bound to Solomon alone. The knights tightened their grips, their eyes turning hard.

Young Patrek Mallister trembled from head to foot, his finger pointing at the headless corpse on the flagstones, his voice cracking into a high whine. "I... you... he... Ser Cael..."

"His speech was improper, but... but the penalty was not death..."

No man offered a reply. The two lines glared at each other across the narrow space, leaving the boy's protest hollow and meaningless.

Solomon let out a long, quiet breath, clearing his chest of the irritation. I wanted that head the moment he opened his mouth.

He did not afford Patrek Mallister a single glance, his cold stare passing over the Blackwood and Mallister retinues instead.

"If any gentleman present believes my accounting lacks justice, he may issue a challenge for trial by combat under the Seven."

Solomon spoke without raising his voice, yet every phrase landed clearly across the chamber. Under their unblinking watch, he methodically slid his broadsword back into its leather scabbard with a soft click.

He lifted his eyes to meet the young master of Seagard, a faint smile touching his lips as he delivered his final phrase.

"Challenge me one by one, and I shall take every head you send forward."

The words fell over Patrek Mallister like a bucket of ice water, instantly dousing the last embers of his fury and courage. He recalled the dark rumors surrounding the second son, that every trial by combat he accepted ended with a corpse in the dirt.

Patrek's face flushed deep red, his frame shaking like a dry leaf in an autumn wind, yet he lacked the stomach to utter the demand for trial. Not a single word cleared his throat.

The standoff remained rigid. Then Lord Lymond Lychester suddenly stopped his rambling internal chatter. He stood up, walked over to the corpse, and nudged the severed head with the toe of his boot, kicking it across the stones past Patrek's pale face.

His voice rang out with absolute clarity, his gray eyes flashing with a sudden, lucid intensity. "A clean stroke!"

"Had Solomon stayed his hand, my own steel would have taken the neck!"

The old lord turned to a Lychester knight, delivering a flat command.

"Cut the tongue from his jaw and throw it to the hounds!"

The directive signaled complete, official support from House Lychester for Solomon's execution. Solomon scanned the room, his eyes passing in turn over the officers of Vance, Darry, Lychester, and Deddington.

Finally, his gaze settled on Tytos Blackwood. He delivered his instruction in a tone as flat as if he were discussing the morning weather.

"Gather the lances. We ride."

"Lord Tytos, if your banner prefers a separate path, you are free to part company here."

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