Chapter 460: The Deserters

At this moment, King's Landing was shrouded in darkness, as if it had plunged into the depths of night. Aside from the brief flashes of lightning that provided fleeting illumination, the city was pitch black.

Thunder roared, shaking eardrums to the point of pain, but what struck even more fear into hearts was the low, oppressive sound of the battle horn.

It was a signal of an enemy attack, a call to prepare for battle.

But Omatt couldn't figure out—who exactly was their enemy?

Could it be the southern army?

Yet hadn't there just been news that the lords in the city had reached an agreement to surrender to Caesar?

As a soldier under House Lefford of Goldentooth in the Westerlands, Omatt had long lost his desire to fight.

The southern army had crossed the river, unstoppable, while the northern coalition had suffered defeat after defeat, retreating to King's Landing as their last refuge.

Even Tywin Lannister, the backbone of the Westerlands, had been assassinated.

To the people of the Westerlands, Tywin was akin to a deity—a symbol of victory and authority. While it was evident that the Storm King Caesar had gained the upper hand in their direct confrontations, as long as the Lion of Casterly Rock still stood, the people of the Westerlands had not lost all hope.

But now Tywin was dead. To the soldiers of the Westerlands, it was as if the sky had fallen.

Omatt was no different. All he wanted now was to flee back to Goldentooth, lay down his sword, pick up a hoe, and tend the fields. Autumn was almost over, and without sufficient grain stored, surviving the impending winter would be nearly impossible.

As for who sat on the Iron Throne—Tommen Baratheon or Samwell Caesar—it made little difference to lowly soldiers like him.

So when news came that King Tommen had agreed to surrender, Omatt had nearly cheered.

His comrades shared his relief. Smiles were breaking out on faces, and the entire camp seemed lighter, as though the storm above couldn't dampen their spirits.

Even when the storm tore through, flipping tents and drenching soldiers to the bone, the thought of the war ending kept their hearts warm.

Until the horn blared.

Omatt's first thought was that Caesar had rejected the lords' surrender and ordered an assault on King's Landing.

This seemed to be what most of the northern coalition soldiers thought as well.

Fear and fury spread through the ranks like wildfire. Though the soldiers had no choice but to arm themselves for battle, they cursed incessantly.

No one wanted to fight again, especially not in a battle they were doomed to lose.

"Let's run!" A voice suddenly rose above the storm.

Omatt couldn't tell who had spoken, but the suggestion struck a chord deep in his heart.

"How can we run? The southern army has surrounded the city—we'd never make it!"

"The southern army is only blocking the west and north!"

"King's Landing's southern side is the Blackwater River, and the east is Blackwater Bay. In this storm, trying to escape is suicide!"

"No one's asking you to go into the water. We'll hide in the harbor or on the shore. As long as we survive the chaos in the city, we'll be safe."

The logic was sound. The twelve soldiers in Omatt's squad exchanged glances, their resolve wavering.

The lords weren't present, and the storm had thrown everything into confusion. Even if they deserted, no one would notice.

As for punishment after the war? By then, who would care about a few deserters?

Run!

Once the decision was made, the squad sprang into action, Omatt among them.

In truth, they were far from the only soldiers planning to desert.

The northern coalition's morale had long since collapsed after a string of defeats, and Tywin's death had shattered any remaining hope. Now, with the battle horn echoing through the storm, their first instinct wasn't to fight but to flee.

Since the southern army had encircled King's Landing from the west and north, most deserters naturally headed toward the southeastern gates.

Even though the south and east were blocked by the Blackwater River and Blackwater Bay—and now ravaged by a storm—those seemed preferable to facing the southern army's steel.

And so, group after group of deserters converged on the southeastern gates.

When the northern knights returned to their positions, they found many of their men had already disappeared.

In the chaos of the storm, relaying orders was nearly impossible. The knights focused on gathering the remnants of their forces and tried to reassure them: the southern army had not betrayed their agreement, and the horn was not their doing. Instead, the threat appeared to come from the sea.

This brought a mix of relief and confusion to the soldiers. They couldn't understand how there could be enemies at sea.

The knights didn't understand either. But since the Storm King had issued the order, they had no choice but to lead their remaining troops to the eastern and southern walls.

Meanwhile, Omatt and his fellow deserters reached the Mud Gate.

They had worried about how to open the gate, only to find it already ajar—the guards had likely fled as well.

Ecstatic, Omatt and the others slipped through the gate and headed south.

The Mud Gate led to King's Landing's harbor, but in this cursed storm, no one dared set sail.

The deserters' plan was simple: hide in the harbor until the storm passed, then find a ship to escape.

The storm was at its peak, with darkness engulfing everything. Nothing was visible beyond arm's reach.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore guided Omatt and his comrades to the water.

"There's something in the water!" someone shouted in alarm.

"Probably a sailor who fell overboard," Omatt replied dismissively.

But a moment later, a terrified scream pierced the air.

"What's happening?" Omatt instinctively drew his sword, his heart racing.

No one answered.

More screams followed, along with the unmistakable sound of steel clashing and slashing.

"There's an enemy in the water!" someone yelled.

Panicking, Omatt stumbled back, desperate to distance himself from the shoreline.

But behind him was the Mud Gate, and in his mind, it promised an even deadlier battle.

As he hesitated, lightning split the sky, illuminating the docks for a brief, terrifying moment.

Omatt wished he hadn't seen.

Emerging from the water was a horde of grotesque creatures. Their waterlogged skin was pallid and bloated, with patches of flesh rotted away to reveal gleaming bone. Fluid oozed from their gaping mouths, and their eyes held no trace of humanity—only the predatory gleam of beasts.

"What are those things?" Omatt watched in horror as a half-decayed monstrosity gnawed on the corpse of a fallen soldier.

"Kill them!" a soldier roared, charging forward with his blade.

As the lightning faded, darkness reclaimed the world.

Omatt couldn't see the battle, but he could hear it—his comrades' shouts turning to screams, followed by the sickening crunch of flesh being devoured.

"Run!" someone finally screamed.

Omatt turned and bolted without a second thought.

In that moment, the southern army's swords seemed far less terrifying than the horrors rising from the water.

(End of Chapter)