Chapter 670: Jon's Assassination

"Kill!"

Jon Connington, leading from the front, sword in hand, was the first to plunge into the heat of Skyreach.

"Help me!"

"Please, save me!"

As he stepped through the city gate, a Dornish soldier, armored in sandy yellow leather, helmet affixed, and armed with a spear and shield, dashed towards him, ablaze and wailing in agony.

Thud—

Jon, however, did not save him. He coldly knocked him to the ground with a swift kick.

Slurp—

He proceeded to pierce the soldier's throat with his sword, blood instantly soaking into the earth below, ending the soldier's pain.

"Lord Connington!"

"You should not be here!"

Clang, clang, clang—

The battlefield within Skyreach was shrouded in thick smoke and rampant flames, punctuated by the clashing of weapons and intermittent screams. Though the dragon had breached the city gates and crushed the Dornish soldiers' courage, skirmishes still erupted throughout the city. It was indeed a risky move for Jon Connington, the commander of the army, to be here.

One of his Kingsguard, wielding a blood-stained sword and face smeared with soot and smoke, slew a Dornish soldier, standing protectively beside Jon. He turned, expressing his concern, "It's too dangerous here! Please, step back!"

Yet the ash-red haired man, adorned with the Hand of the King pin, waved him off indifferently, "It's alright. The enemy is like a dog that has lost its home."

A Westerosi proverb claims: How can a general ask his soldiers to be brave if he himself does not lead them into battle? Jon Connington often adhered to this principle.

During the Battle of the Bells, he led the charge, nearly slaying Hoster Tully himself and killing the heir to the Vale, Denys Arryn, causing a crisis of succession in the Vale. He was a man of action, not words, and his steadfastness and silence were often mistaken for arrogance and indifference.

"Go!"

"Capture all members of House Fowler, including the criminal, Count Franklin Fowler. But remember, do not harm them."

Jon then ordered his guard, intentionally instructing them not to massacre innocents, avoiding the brewing of further hatred. The tragedy that befell House Cynford was one thing; seeking justice and enforcing the kingdom's law was another. But if they extinguished House Fowler in return, the ensuing cycle of vengeance would be endless. Thus, Jon insisted on holding only the chief culprits accountable, believing a father's sins should not be visited upon his daughter.

"Yes!"

As the Kingsguard nodded, preparing to move to his next task, a sudden twist occurred.

The castle's grand hall roof had collapsed into ruins, with only two solitary, half-erect walls remaining amidst the smoldering flames and billowing black smoke.

From these ruins, a man emerged, his dark, curly hair and somewhat reddish-brown skin marred by burns, his eyes filled with hatred as they locked onto Jon Connington.

He shakily drew his bow, aiming with tremendous effort despite the intense pain coursing through his scorched, blackened, and bloodied fingers.

Jon, unsuspecting, continued to converse with his guard.

Thud—

The sound of the bowstring was lost amidst the cacophony of battle.

An arrow pierced through the dense smoke and flames, suddenly embedding itself into Jon Connington's chest.

Spurt—

Blood sprayed forth.

Jon Connington, struck by a surprise arrow, collapsed into a pool of his own blood. The soldiers of the royal army, initially stunned, erupted into chaos.

From afar, Varys, who had been scrutinizing the battlefield with Balerion the Black Dread now at his side, felt a sudden jolt in his gaze, his face darkening.

"Trouble."

He possessed fragmented precognitive abilities. He foresaw Jon Connington's assassination but, being so near, it was too late to act.

"Lord Connington!"

"Lord Connington!"

"The Hand of the King has been struck!"

Amidst the uproar, the knights and nobles from the Riverlands who had stormed Skyreach with Jon Connington found their scalps tingling at the sight of the fallen man.

"Disaster!"

"Trouble is brewing!"

The Hand of the King, as the name suggests, is the king's right-hand man. Now that the Hand had been ambushed, how would King Varys react? They dared not imagine the scene that would unfold. If the king were to unleash his wrath, Dorne would undoubtedly suffer. The best outcome for them would be to avoid implication in the tragedy.

"Maester! Maester!"

"Quickly!"

A maester, his neck adorned with chains, hurried forward, ready to tend to the fallen Jon Connington.

"Catch the assassin!"

"Catch the assassin!"

"Spare no one!"

Then, the knights from the Riverlands, snapping back to reality, bellowed in rage, venting their fury upon the hapless Dornish soldiers.

Moments ago, they were accepting the surrender of some Dornish soldiers. But now, after Jon's attack, the situation abruptly shifted.

"Die!"

The royal soldiers, eyes ablaze with rage, indiscriminately slaughtered without hesitation.

"Kill them all!"

Squelch, squelch, squelch—

As the royal soldiers wreaked havoc, the Dornish, already on the losing end, were decimated. Dornish soldiers who had surrendered were now summarily executed, while those who had not surrendered were given no quarter. Those who fought to the bitter end were pierced by multiple spears, collapsing amidst the bloodbath.