Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Using branches and vines, Kal hastily fashioned a makeshift wooden sled.

Then, he hoisted the aurochs onto it, strapped the sled to his own horse Fawkes as well as Sandor Clegane's horse, Stranger.

And just like that, Kal used both horses to drag his quarry all the way from the banks of the Trident River back to the inn at the crossroads.

Sandor Clegane still hadn't regained consciousness. Kal poured more liquor down his throat until the Hound was completely limp, then slung him sideways across his own horse's back.

As for Stranger—apart from being foul-tempered toward anyone other than his master—Kal didn't seem fazed in the slightest.

In fact, in Kal's hands, the beast was more obedient than it had ever been under the Hound's care.

Even when Kal hitched it up to the sled for heavy labor, Stranger didn't dare act up. Instead, it meekly lowered its head and stood perfectly still, letting Kal do as he pleased.

And then there was the noble Prince Joffrey Baratheon.

Kal simply placed him on Fawkes's back, letting the boy ride quietly as they made their way back to camp.

But at this point, Joffrey was soaked to the bone, his body dripping with water. His fine velvet robes were nowhere to be seen.

He was left wearing only his undergarments—drenched and clinging to his skin—as he rode on horseback. His eyes were vacant, his body trembling. His lips had turned a sickly shade of blue, and his face was deathly pale. He couldn't even muster the strength to speak, his teeth chattering uncontrollably from the cold.

And so, riding the horse that had once belonged to Joffrey, Kal strolled leisurely into the encampment near the inn, accompanied by two men and an aurochs.

But before they could even get close, the group was spotted by the guards stationed outside the inn.

The moment they turned off the small path, they were seen.

Noticing the conspicuous group approaching, the soldiers instinctively looked over.

One sharp-eyed Lannister guard instantly recognized the pitiful figure slumped on horseback.

"Wait, is that...?"

"It's the prince!"

"Hurry—quick!"

Though the prince was no longer wearing his ornate red attire, that unmistakable golden hair made him easy to identify.

The soldier who first noticed something off about Joffrey immediately called the others, and they rushed toward the prince in a frenzy.

Kal's aurochs, being dragged along by two horses, was certainly an eye-catching sight. But to the king's guards—composed mostly of Lannister men—the prince was the clear priority.

So even though they also saw Kal and the massive aurochs being towed behind him, the moment they locked eyes on Joffrey, everything else faded into irrelevance.

"Prince Joffrey went looking for rubies along the riverbank," Kal announced before anyone could ask, "but he slipped and fell into the Trident."

"I had a hell of a time pulling him out!"

"You'd best get him back right away and into some dry clothes—before he catches a chill!"

Seeing the soldiers crowding around Joffrey, their faces filled with panic, Kal spoke up with a quick explanation before they could bombard him with questions.

As Kal spoke, the soldiers couldn't help but glance again at Joffrey—soaked from head to toe, his whole body trembling, his expression hollow and shell-shocked like someone who had just seen a ghost.

Though they harbored some doubts in their hearts, none of them questioned him.

After all, rescuing the prince took precedence now; there was no time to worry about anything else.

And besides, whatever exactly had happened to the prince wasn't their concern to begin with.

So, without delay, a few quick-handed men stepped forward and carefully lifted Joffrey down from the horse. Surrounded by anxious guards, they hurried him straight into the inn.

Just then, a man who seemed to be a steward—or someone of similar rank—noticed the commotion and immediately joined the crowd.

With only a brief glance at the situation, he sprang into action with practiced efficiency.

"Michael, Jordan—report Prince Joffrey's condition to the king and queen at once!"

"Owen! Go fetch a maester, someone skilled in healing. Get him here immediately to examine the prince!"

"And someone bring hot water from the inn, quickly! The prince needs a warm bath to bring his body temperature back up!"

"Also, get thick, clean clothes—dry ones! The prince must be changed into something warm right away!"

"Move! Hurry up, all of you! What are you dragging your feet for—haven't you eaten?!"

Kal didn't recognize the steward, but from the man's quick thinking and commanding tone, it was clear he was both capable and experienced.

As his orders were passed down in quick succession, several people in the crowd turned and jogged off—likely the ones who had just been called by name.

And Joffrey, like a limp puppet, vanished from Kal's sight in the blink of an eye, swiftly carried into the inn.

This left behind a chattering crowd drawn by the commotion, and Kal himself—who had not only brought the prince back but was now openly showing off his freshly hunted prize.

Kal didn't mind. He stood there like an outsider, completely unfazed, even smiling faintly as he quietly watched the others scramble in a panic.

Only after the group had taken Joffrey away did the rest of the onlookers—those unrelated to the emergency—finally turn their attention to him.

Sensing the shift in their gazes, Kal acted as if he were just now noticing.

Then, with a casual gesture, he pointed to the gray-black warhorse behind him—where a man lay sprawled across the saddle.

"Could I trouble a couple more strong lads? There's another drunk that needs hauling!"

Seeing all eyes turn toward him, Kal naturally took charge and gave the order as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

In the end, it took three Lannister soldiers and two inn servants working together to finally get Sandor Clegane down from the saddle and carry him away.

As they wrestled with the heavy man, the pungent stench of alcohol coming off him quickly reached the nearby crowd.

And given what they'd just seen of the prince's sorry state, it wasn't just the ones doing the lifting who started looking uneasy. The surrounding onlookers, too, began whispering and muttering among themselves.

They could already see where this was headed—and it wouldn't be good for the brute lying limp on that horse.

He was the prince's sworn protector, and yet here came the prince, soaked and shaking like a drowned rat.

And what about him? Passed out drunk and slung across a saddle like a sack of grain.

There was no need to guess. With the queen's temperament—and how much both king and queen doted on Joffrey—Sandor Clegane was in for a brutal reckoning.

As for exactly how bad it would be... the crowd could hardly wait to find out.

This was going to be good.

But as they realized the Hound was about to get his due, people began glancing again—almost unconsciously—toward the bastard boy who, just this morning, had been the target of all sorts of gossip.

Most had assumed he'd slipped away, unable to take the mockery.

Who would've thought he'd gone out and done something like this?

Not only had he brought back an aurochs, he'd also rescued the prince from the river.

Watching events unfold in such a dramatic way, the crowd of onlookers couldn't help but start speculating—would the king reward him?

A hundred gold dragons was no small thing. For a typical farming family, it might take thirty or forty years of toil, without spending a single coin, to save that much.

But saving the prince? That was clearly worth far more than a simple bounty.

Some in the crowd—even a few who knew certain insider details—began whispering: could this bastard be knighted for this?

Or perhaps... the king might even acknowledge him. Publicly recognize him as his own.

After all, bastard or not, he was the king's son...

And not just any son—his firstborn.

Regardless of whether people truly knew the details of Kal's true parentage, at this moment, all those gathered around were staring at the young man with piercing eyes—watching as he stood at the very brink of rising to the heavens in a single step.

In Westeros, if a commoner wants to become a noble, then valor—paired with opportunity—is the fastest path upward.

Amidst the buzz of the crowd, Kal didn't join the chatter. He simply raised a hand in a casual gesture to acknowledge the onlookers.

Then he turned around and began untying the ropes trailing behind the two horses. His face still wore a calm, faint smile.

But as he bent down, with his back to the crowd, there was a glint in his eyes—subtle and unreadable, hidden from everyone else.

While he busied himself, a voice rang out nearby—sounding far more excited than he was—as its owner shoved his way toward him.

"Boss! Hehe~"

"You know your smile looks just like the outhouse door at Lucy's brothel that never closes properly...?" Kal didn't even have to turn his head to recognize the lascivious laugh—it could only belong to Kossi.

"…"

Kossi, grinning like a fool and baring his wind-whistling gap-toothed smile, blinked at Kal in confusion. Clearly, he hadn't understood the jab his boss had just thrown at him.

Kal's mouth twitched. For a moment, he regretted bringing along someone who was quick-witted in action but seemed to lack that final spark when it came to subtle understanding—especially a semi-literate one like this.

So, he simply reached out and pinched Kossi's lips shut, squeezing them into a squashed lump as he deadpanned: "Because not only does it let the wind through, it also stinks like a latrine."

This time, Kossi got the joke—and though his mouth was mashed together by Kal's hand, he laughed even harder.

Not bothering to deal with Kossi's grinning nonsense, Kal turned and glanced at the rest of his subordinates, who had pushed their way over after hearing the news.

Facing this equally excited group, Kal slowly let his smile fade. He turned to the large, conspicuous aurochs in front of him, then drew the longsword from his hip.

"By the way, has King Robert returned yet?"

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