Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web.

Chapter 216: A Great Harvest

A great harvest.

Joffrey gleefully reaped the fruits of his hard-earned victory.

He looked around.

Bryce Caron, self-proclaimed Earl of Nightsong, had proposed to wipe out the culprits between the Wendwater and Massey's Hook, the fierce nightingales known as 'Sweet as a Song'.

The Shadow Sword flashed.

The Nightingale Earl's body was split in two diagonally, blood spilling across the ground, dyeing his orange hair even brighter.

Horrified cries, curses, and pleas rang out simultaneously within the tent.

The Shadow remained unmoved.

Lord Lister Morrigen of Crow's Nest and his two brothers, Richard Morrigen and Gode Morrigen, were all stubborn loyalists. Even last night, they hadn't shown much change. How could they be allowed to live?

The Shadow Sword twisted and lengthened swiftly, like a striking viper, piercing the hearts of the three in the blink of an eye, impaling them as if they were grasshoppers on a string.

A truly bizarre sight.

But the 'string' was too sharp, and the flesh of the three could not withstand it, soon being severed on one side, falling down, soaking the carpet, and seeping into the earth below.

"Protect the King! Guards!" someone shouted.

All of this had happened in just a few breaths. The stunned guards did not react for a moment and actually subconsciously drew their weapons.

The Shadow Sword contracted, condensing into a one-handed sword, and then plunged into the ground.

People didn't understand why, but soon,

Clang~ Clang~ Clang~

Slender shadows thrust up from the ground, piercing all the guards!

People couldn't help but choke.

Armor and flesh were all pierced.

Joffrey was very satisfied. This power was becoming more and more obedient.

He focused his mind.

All the scattered shadow thorns began to rotate, shaking off the remaining stains clinging to them.

The shadows returned.

By this point, less than ten breaths had passed.

Blood and mud mixed with dregs were already stuck to everyone's bodies. The stench of blood spread throughout the tent, turning the feast into a death hell. The living were wailing.

Still not enough.

The Shadow Sword struck out continuously, greedily devouring one trembling soul after another.

There were many traitors in the Stormlands.

Roland Clynton of Crow's Nest, 'Red Roland', died by beheading.

Munde Wylde of Rain House, a potential threat due to his age, retained some dignity, his neck only half-severed.

Sebastian Errol, heir to Haystack Hall, was cut in half at the waist.

Lord Robin Peasebury of Podsnap…

Joffrey had given them opportunities. From the initial choice, to each leak of information, the change of ownership of Storm's End, and the political reforms, there was more than one chance.

They had countless opportunities to turn back.

Unfortunately, almost no one was willing to accept reality, and most people no longer had the value to be forgiven.

The Shadow turned to Lord Hugh Grandison of Grandview, 'Graybeard'.

The elderly 'Graybeard' instantly collapsed to the ground. "Your Majesty, spare me! Your Majesty, I have repented! Please give House Grandison another chance! Everyone knows that you are the only King!"

Renly's eyes were heavy with sorrow, and he was unwilling to waste any more effort refuting anything.

"Your Majesty!" Lord Alexander Estermont of Greenstone scrambled to the Shadow's feet. "House Estermont is willing to serve you! Anything!"

He was nicknamed the 'Golden Earl'.

The Shadow still did not speak. But it was silent for a moment.

Joffrey had not intended to slaughter everyone. Some were rare talents, some had more value, and for some, the best moment to deal with them had not yet arrived.

He turned to the other side.

The survivors of the Stormlands couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. It seemed that the threat of death had been lifted. Many people collapsed instantly, no longer able to support their bodies.

Facing the Shadow, the lords of the Reach trembled, their faces turning several shades grayer in an instant.

Mace Tyrell kept his eyes tightly closed, not daring to let a trace of light enter his eyes, even less daring to look directly at that terrifying and bizarre shadow.

Is it coming? Is it going to kill me?

Lord Mace had never regretted participating in the rebellion as much as he did now.

He thought that the worst outcome would be Renly's failure, and the family would side with the final victor. Who knew…

That he would have to gamble with his life?!

The Shadow's footsteps and actions were silent, but Mace Tyrell was startled by every sound, as if it were a harbinger of death.

Is it in front of me?

Lord Mace's heart was pounding wildly, feeling the air as heavy as steel, unable to breathe at all, his face becoming increasingly hot, and his head buzzing incessantly.

The Shadow, carrying its sword, passed him by.

Of course, Joffrey would not do anything to Mace Tyrell. He had just made an alliance with Highgarden, so how could he destroy his foundation now?

However, the Reach had to shed some blood.

Different from the judgment rules of the Stormlands, the blood that the Reach had to shed had already been determined.

The Shadow walked to Randyll Tarly.

The Shadow Sword was raised high.

Randyll Tarly's face was calm as he raised his head to look directly into the Shadow's ink-black eyes, his neck exposed without any cover.

The blade swung down.

There was no feeling at all, as if it were truly just an invisible shadow.

Randyll Tarly's breathing hitched.

But he blinked, and blinked again. His thinking was still normal, without any pain or confusion.

He turned to look to the side, wondering if his head would roll off. If that were the case, would it be considered suicide?

Fortunately, that didn't come true.

Someone else's head fell. "Earl Merryweather," Randyll Tarly said softly, knowing that he had survived.

The Shadow continued to clean up.

The Fossoways of Cider Hall, the Appleton of Appleton, the Merryweathers of Longtable, and the Mullendores of the Green Valley.

None of them in the eastern Reach were spared.

After all, Highgarden had already given compensation. In the agreement between the two parties, there was no place for them.

Only those wearing the 'Green Apple' sigil were spared, the Fossoways of New Barrel. Even the red apple was not allowed.

Mace Tyrell, unaware of the truth, stared blankly as his loyal vassals were killed one by one, a wave of grief and trembling in his heart. But deeper down, he was mostly relieved and relaxed.

Although he didn't quite understand the reason, he knew that he probably wouldn't die.

A silver lining in the misfortune.

In people's senses, the killing lasted for a long, long time, almost like eternity.

But in reality, it was less than a quarter of an hour.

The Shadow had stopped, standing quietly in the middle of the tent, the Shadow Sword in its hand as pure as ever, without any stains, innocent and naive.

In the Shadow's vision, gray smoke filled the air, and the silver light of the living flickered violently, sometimes bright, sometimes dim.

Finally.

The Shadow still did not pluck the most tempting fruit.

Renly, however, seemed to have already died, his face stiff and white, his eyes dull, unmoving. The soft couch beneath him had become his coffin, only the lid had not yet been closed.

The Shadow withdrew the darkness that enveloped the tent.

The external army was still gathering enthusiastically, drums and horns surging and loud, each sound proclaiming confidence in victory.

The Shadow遁entered the ground. Still did not speak.

The camp was deathly silent until finally, a soldier couldn't help but lift the curtain.

The clamor and chaos reached their peak.

Renly, Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, all the witnesses were silent.

In any case, the war was over.

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