Chapter 676: A Helping Hand

Asha, caught off guard, was suddenly pulled into a dim room by a man, her heart racing. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for a faint glow from the far end, rendering it impossible for her to discern his features.

Quickly, she tightened her grip on her weapon and demanded, "Who are you—"

"You—"

"Silence!"

The man, standing before her, released his hold on Asha. His voice, deep and commanding, cut her off.

Asha, the fierce Ironborn Princess, was momentarily stunned into silence, her face a mask of disbelief. The man's voice was familiar to her, reminiscent of times long past.

"You…"

His grip had been strong, almost bruising, evidenced by the reddening marks on her wrist. A theory formed in Asha's mind about his identity, but it seemed too audacious. Even she found it hard to believe.

Yet, recalling his earlier words and the deadly pursuers behind her, Asha chose caution, biting back any further questions.

However, at that moment, the sounds of chaos echoed from the alley outside. Clearly, her assailants had caught up.

"Where is that wench?"

The masked mercenaries chasing Asha were evidently well-acquainted with the labyrinthine streets of Tyrosh. While some had pursued her doggedly, others had circled around, planning to trap her again.

If they succeeded this time, even if Asha possessed the fighting prowess of the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne, escape would be impossible.

Yet, the mercenaries now seemed bewildered. Asha had vanished right under their noses!

"What?"

"How can this be?"

"Where is she?"

The mercenaries' leader, his anger palpable even beneath his mask, barked at his subordinates.

"How should I know?"

But they were as clueless as he, having not sighted Asha during their pursuit.

"Did the wench sprout wings and fly away?!"

His sarcasm was evident, but all present understood that Asha couldn't have vanished into thin air. Their suspicion turned to the houses lining the alley.

"She had help! Search every house!"

"Quickly! The city guards will be here any moment!"

In anticipation of their operation, they had bribed a captain of the Tyroshi city guard. Tyrosh, known for its avarice, would even sell its ruler's position to the highest bidder—if the price was right.

But there was a limit to this corruption. They had paid handsomely for a window of time, but it was running out. They hadn't expected Asha and her Ironborn protector to put up such resistance, and now they found themselves in a precarious situation.

The leader's face, though obscured by his mask, was visibly livid. The mercenaries knew the price of failure and began to search for Asha Greyjoy with renewed vigor.

"Open up!"

"Open up!"

Boom—

Boom—

They went from door to door, forcefully breaking in. Inside one of the houses, Asha's heart raced once again.

"What do we do now?"

However, the man remained silent, gripping a massive axe hidden behind the door.

Suddenly, shouts of conflict erupted outside. The Tyroshi guards, albeit belatedly, had arrived.

The news of the Iron Throne's emissary being attacked had reached the palace of the ruler of Tyrosh, who immediately ordered protection for Asha. An attack on an emissary from the Iron Throne in broad daylight would spell certain war.

Tyrosh, being the closest city-state to Westeros, was vulnerable. The Iron Throne didn't even need to deploy from Westeros; the forces stationed in Pentos could easily subjugate the island city-state.

So, when the Tyroshi guards appeared, Asha and her mysterious savior knew they were safe.

The tall, broad-shouldered man put down his axe and lit a candle, banishing the darkness. As the flickering light illuminated his face, Asha recognized him instantly.

The audacious theory she had earlier was proven true, and the words tumbled out of her mouth without hesitation.

"Uncle!"

The chapter concludes with a playful remark that could be interpreted as, "The alarm didn't ring. Overslept, overslept."