Game of Thrones: Summoning the Fourth Calamity

Chapter 144 The Commander Has Three Things He Doesn't Know: He Doesn't Know How Many Soldiers He Has...

"You? I still have the capital's garrison! The royal families still have their armies! I will personally lead the army and cut off Stannis's head right outside King's Landing!"

Joffrey paced back and forth beside the Iron Throne in a fit of rage, pointing at Tyrion and shouting.

"You think you can do it?" Tyrion retorted, then looked directly at Cersei. "Right now, listen to me and let His Majesty the King lead those rogue opportunists to confront Stannis's 70,000-strong army!"

"And what about you? Relying on your unparalleled giant stature? Or your foul tongue?" Cersei remained defiant.

Joffrey was still angry.

Tyrion closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then said, "I've brought at least three thousand warriors from the mountain clans. I think even you've heard how savage and brutal they are towards their enemies!"

Cersei finally reached out and calmed the restless Joffrey, then ordered the summons of Genos, the commander of the capital's garrison. As for the other courtiers and nobles, they naturally went home.

As Tyrion said, are you expecting a bunch of nobles who are so scared they're about to wet themselves before they even see the enemy to fight on the city walls?

It would be better to trust that the golden robe of Genos, the commander of the capital's garrison, could take on ten men single-handedly.

Inside the Royal Council Chamber, King Joffrey paced back and forth as if he were equipped with mechanical gears.

Cersei sat in the secondary seat, opposite Tyrion Lannister. To the left of the king was the Master of Coin, Littlefinger Petyr. The other ministers, such as the Master of the Sea and the Master of Justice, were jesters and incompetents promoted by Joffrey.

The newly appointed Grand Maester is Dr. Galadriel, the author of "The Son of Summer," sent by the Citadel. Tyrion acknowledges his talent but has no hope that he will be able to offer any useful advice at the upcoming meeting.

Tyrion looked at the jesters, the old maesters, the angry and foolish young king, and his foolish, arrogant, and self-important sister Cersei, and for a moment he felt a sense of powerlessness.

"How many Western soldiers are in the city now?" Tyrion, finding his drink tasteless, sullenly put it back on the table and asked Cersei.

"A thousand men, they must protect their king," Cersei told Tyrion right away, telling him not to worry about the thousand men, the Reds had to guard the Red Keep.

"Where's the golden robe?" Tyrion asked, looking at Genos, the commander-in-chief of the capital's garrison, who had just entered the meeting hall.

"About six thousand, or seven thousand..." Genos said absentmindedly, glancing at the medal representing the Hand of the King worn on the other's chest.

"Gods, is it six thousand or seven thousand? Forgive me for not understanding, but when was our garrison commander changed?"

Tyrion took a deep breath, gripped the table in front of him with both hands, and asked Genos the question, word by word.

"Seven thousand!" Genos opened his mouth, finally giving a number. He really didn't know how many soldiers he had under his command, because at this moment, besides himself, oh, perhaps there was also Lancel standing next to the Empress Dowager in the hall.

Aside from that little finger who always had that damned smile, probably no one knew that he, the commander-in-chief, had long been sidelined.

Genos himself estimated that the current capital city garrison numbered at least seven thousand, and possibly as many as fourteen or fifteen thousand.

Recently, the Queen Mother and the King have been very optimistic about him. Why? Because the number of commoners who come to bother the King every day to complain about the security situation has decreased by more than half compared to before.

This was certainly not because Genos was particularly capable; it was simply because most of the street thugs and outlaws of King's Landing had flocked to the capital's garrison to serve as soldiers and get paid.

Those two Targaryen henchmen completely controlled his golden robes, and all the surviving captains joined him in his corrupt ways. The notorious crime bosses of King's Landing, such as Rolger and Blackfang, all held the titles of company commander or even commander of a thousand.

It's basically a Targaryen monopoly!

"Perhaps while you're sleeping with prostitutes and gigolos at night, my men will storm in and slaughter you all! It all depends on whether the king across the strait wants to!"

Genos glanced furtively at everyone present and then thought to himself.

Tyrion tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table. He wanted to replace that fool Genos immediately, but he was new to the area, and Tyrion knew all too well how many bastards were in the Golden Robe.

Once the Gold Robes rebel, who will quell the unrest? They'll probably be finished before Stannis's army even arrives.

As for the mountain clans? Relying on them to quell the rebellion would be futile; once bloodshed is involved, those barbarians would simply hack and slash at anyone they see, leaving Tyrion himself likely in dire straits.

"From this moment forward, close the city gates, fortify the defenses, gather those who can take up arms, and prepare to fight the enemy on the city walls!"

Tyrion looked around at the people present, then fixed his gaze on the Lord Commander of the Seas: "How many men and how many ships are left in King's Landing's fleet?"

"There are probably only twenty ships left, and the manpower... there might be a thousand people or more!"

The jester stammered with a pained expression.

The Baratheon royal fleet, usually consisting of 160 warships including 80 rowboats, was anchored at Dragonstone and has now become part of Stannis's forces.

King's Landing usually leaves fifty warships of various classes behind, but Robert had previously called for a naval war and personally strangled the Targaryen bastards, so three thousand warships sailed from King's Landing to Dragonstone.

Although the First Lord of the Navy was an incompetent man, he somehow managed to avoid being blamed for sending warships to the enemy.

But Tyrion still spoke up, saying, "Very well, from now on you are no longer the Lord Commander of the Seas and Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Fleet."

"This..." The Minister of the Navy looked at the Queen Mother with an innocent expression, but Cersei ignored him and continued to sip the red wine in her glass.

So the Lord Naval Secretary turned his attention to Joffrey, hoping the King would intervene on his behalf.

"Hmph, dog! Cut off his incompetent head!"

Unfortunately, he chose the wrong person; Joffrey was not a monarch who would dwell on past relationships.

This time, the hound was very obedient. It took a few steps forward, grabbed the Minister of the Navy from his seat and threw him to the ground, then drew its long sword from its waist and chopped off his head.

Blood splattered on the hounds' armor and faces; it was gruesome, but at least the king's face looked somewhat better.

"From today onwards, I will assume the position of Lord of the Seas, and I nominate Bronn, who is by my side, as Commander of the Fleet," Tyrion continued.

Bronn behind him was somewhat surprised, but not intimidated. Instead, he gave a gentlemanly bow to the group of adults and said, "It is my pleasure, gentlemen."

"You will take over the fleet now, Bronn," Tyrion instructed Bronn.