Arthur looked at the soldiers, a smile appearing in the night: "Make him presentable."
The soldiers placed Jero Legge's body on an open space beneath the inner keep's wall, tidied his armor, and placed the family longsword that belonged to him in his tightly clenched hand.
More torches were lit, illuminating the stage of death beneath the wall.
The soldiers silently stuck torches into the earth, forming a circle around the corpse.
The flickering flames made the young corpse appear eerily lifelike, the entire scene resembling a bizarre and evil ritual.
Arthur turned and said to the soldiers: "Have the soldiers shout."
The soldiers looked at Arthur, awaiting his words.
"Just shout, 'Jero Legge is dead.'"
"The envoy from Riverrun has arrived, and as a sign of negotiation sincerity, we return his son's body."
Soon, crude and loud shouts pierced the night's tranquility, crashing against the inner keep's stone walls one after another.
"The envoy from Riverrun has arrived, and as a sign of negotiation sincerity, we return your young master's body."
"Jero Legge is dead!"
"The Legge Family's young master is dead!"
"Come out and see your heir!"
"Roger Lygg! Your son is dead! Take the body back!"
"Your son is dead!!"
A soldier on the city wall, tired and hungry, forced himself to stand and look down. The sudden blaze of torches outside the city gate instantly sobered him.
He squinted, trying to make out what it was. When he recognized the human figure lying on the white cloth in the center of the light, a chill shot from his feet to the top of his head.
He opened his mouth but couldn't make a sound, his throat as if choked by an invisible hand.
More and more soldiers were awakened. They climbed out of their sleep, gathered behind the battlements, looking down in horror, their whispers merging into a murmuring clamor. Panic silently spread through the crowd.
A pale-faced officer on night patrol stumbled down the castle tower and rushed to the lord's chambers.
"My Lord!! My Lord!!!"
He even forgot to knock, directly crashing through the heavy wooden door.
Roger Lygg, who had been pacing anxiously, spun around. He, too, had been woken by the sudden noise, and he understood the meaning, but he dared not believe it, his eyes bloodshot.
The officer fell to his knees with a thud, his head bowed low: "Young Master Jero's body…."
Roger Lygg sprang up as if stung by a scorpion, grabbing the officer's collar: "Nonsense!!"
"That's a lie! It's that bastard's trick! How could my son be dead?!"
The officer trembled all over, not daring to look up, only repeating: "The torches are shining… many people saw it…."
Roger Lygg pushed him away, his chest heaving violently.
He cursed aloud, but his heart felt as if clutched by a cold hand, throbbing with pain.
He threw on a cloak, pulling the hood low, and groped his way up to the inner keep's arrow slits, not daring to make a sound, like a thief, quietly peering down through the gaps in the stone wall.
Flames soared into the sky, and right where the light was brightest, a body dressed in the family's armor lay still.
He had personally put on that armor for his son; that sword was his coming-of-age gift to his son.
Under the torchlight, Jero's face was ashen, his eyes tightly closed, as if he were merely asleep—his only son, his heir.
Roger Lygg felt all the blood in his body instantly freeze. His legs went weak, and if the soldiers beside him hadn't quickly caught him, he would have fallen backward from the city wall.
He knew it too well; it was his son, truly his son.
A non-human roar erupted from deep in his throat, filled with animalistic pain and despair.
"My son! My Jero!"
He tore at his suddenly graying hair like a madman, banging his head against the castle wall again and again, producing dull thudding sounds.
He pounded his chest with his fists, as if to lessen the sharp pain in his heart, tears and snot smeared across his face, crying like a helpless child.
"They killed my son!"
"They killed my son!"
"Arthur! You demon! You devil!"
"I curse you! I curse you!"
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