At noon in the late summer of the North, the sun hanging high in the sky couldn't bring much warmth to Aldric and his friends, who were lying on a roof next to the Kingsroad in the east of Winter Town.
Brother John hugged his shoulders, blowing on his hands and rubbing them, complaining through chattering teeth, "Isn't the King's procession here yet? Let's wait downstairs; it's too cold up here."
Rennel pulled his thin fur coat tighter, responding impatiently, "What's the rush? Wait a bit longer. My friend in Winterfell told me yesterday that the dishes for tonight's banquet are ready. The King's team will definitely arrive before afternoon. He's Jory Cassel's subordinate; would he lie to me?"
Jory Cassel was the nephew of Winterfell's Master-at-Arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel, and the captain of the Lord's household guard.
A few days ago, news spread in Winterfell that the King's hunting party was arriving. Jory Cassel, representing the Lord, led more than half the honor guard down the Kingsroad to welcome them.
Residents of Winter Town with slightly better information sources put down their work today and gathered on both sides of the Kingsroad outside the town, preparing to see the King's pomp. After all, for ordinary people, the chance of seeing a King was about the same as seeing a White Walker—once was enough to brag about for a lifetime.
As a bard, joining the fun was not only Rennel's hobby but also a professional requirement. Naturally, he couldn't miss this grand event, so he dragged his good brothers from the courtyard to the east of town to welcome the King.
However, because they arrived too late, the good spots by the road were taken by nearby residents. So they chose a house facing the street, paid the owner one Copper Star, climbed onto the roof, and waited on the cold tiles.
They waited for most of the day.
Just as the four of them were gnawing on cold, hard bread to stave off hunger, Rennel suddenly pointed into the distance and shouted, "Look! They're coming!"
Aldric looked in the direction Rennel pointed. On the Kingsroad winding into the eastern wilderness, a team of hundreds was winding its way toward them.
It was a team of about three hundred people, almost entirely cavalry. They held high golden banners painted with the Crowned Stag, wore gold and silver armor, and guarded several luxurious carriages in the center.
The most luxurious one required a dozen fine horses to pull. Its massive wheels, half the height of a man, left deep ruts in the road. The wide carriage body took up most of the road, forcing the guarding cavalry to squeeze pitifully against the edge. Watching from afar, even Aldric worried they might accidentally fall off the roadbed.
Walking at the very front of the entire team was a tall, sturdy middle-aged man. He had long black curly hair, a thick beard, wore a black velvet doublet, and rode a tall black warhorse, looking around with majestic pride.
Aldric pointed at him and asked Rennel, "Who's that fat guy?"
Rennel glanced at him sideways. "That fat guy is the King."
"Our King of the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Yes, the King of the Seven Kingdoms." Rennel unconsciously lowered his voice, pointing at the man. "Robert Baratheon. The acknowledged warrior of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. But the common people prefer to call him the 'Usurper' and the 'Whoremonger King'."
"The former because, years ago at the Trident, he single-handedly killed the Targaryen heir, Prince Rhaegar, destroying the loyalists' confidence and securing the final victory of the war. After the 'Mad King' Aerys was killed and King's Landing fell, he was elected King by the rebels."
"As for 'Whoremonger King'... I don't think I need to explain much."
Rennel winked. "I heard the Queen is one of the greatest beauties in the Seven Kingdoms, yet His Majesty still has the energy to play outside. I can only say the number one warrior of the Seven Kingdoms doesn't lose to anyone in any aspect!"
Rennel suddenly remembered something. "By the way, John, didn't you go to Winterfell to pray for the Duchess? Is Lady Catelyn beautiful?"
Brother John shook his head. "I didn't see the Duchess at all. Septon Chayle of the Winterfell Sept told me that to welcome the King and his entourage, Lady Catelyn is devoting all her energy to preparing tonight's banquet to fulfill her duties as a competent hostess, so she had no time to receive a small wandering septon like me."
"But Septon Chayle is a nice person. After I finished praying for Lady Catelyn and the Lord's family, seeing my Seven-Pointed Star was too worn, he gave me a Book of Prayer, said to be obtained from the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing."
While Rennel and John chatted about gossip, Aldric didn't listen. He focused more on the military appearance of the King's team.
The warriors following the King had bright clothes and armor, excellent weapons, and their faces unconsciously revealed a reserved pride, yet they often swept reverent gazes over the King walking at their forefront.
Watching this magnificent scene, Aldric felt envious.
Connecting this with the "prophecy" (plot summary) he saw when transmigrating, he guessed that for civil war to break out in the South with such a King ruling and such an army suppressing dissent, the only possibility was that King Robert croaked.
Thinking of this, a tremor rose from his tailbone. He couldn't help muttering, "A real man should be like this; I can replace him!"
Rennel couldn't understand Aldric's dialect and asked confusedly, "What did you say?"
Aldric shook his head. "Nothing."
"Saying weird things again."
Rennel curled his lip and turned to climb down from the roof.
John quickly grabbed him. "Where are you going?"
"To Winterfell to attend the banquet welcoming the King! Oh right, don't prepare dinner for me tonight; I'm going to eat a big meal!"
"We didn't plan to prepare your share anyway," Aldric quipped, then asked, "Why would they invite you to a banquet for the King?"
By then, Rennel's face had already sunk below the eaves. Hearing Aldric's question, he climbed back up specially to reveal a huge grin. "To perform, of course! I am the hottest bard in Winter Town! Alright, see you tomorrow, everyone!"
With Rennel's hasty departure, John and Aldric looked at each other and also started on the way home.
As time passed, the King's entourage successively moved into Winterfell. Except for the huge wheelhouse the Queen rode in—the most luxurious carriage in the King's team—which had to park in the clearing outside the city due to its size, there were no King's men left on the streets.
With a long creak, the East Gate of Winterfell shut the inside off from the outside.
For Aldric, who had seen National Day military parades on TV several times, the shock brought by the King's team was just a cold wind in winter—a shiver, and it was gone.
But for Kevin Turner, who grew up in the poor coastal countryside of the Fingers and had traveled at most to Coldwater Burn, it was a scene that kept him excited for a long time.
"Teacher, did you see? The King is so tall and strong! Feels even sturdier than you."
On the way back, Kevin kept excitedly describing everything he saw to his teacher. "And the blond knight in white robes and armor following the King, he must be the 'Kingslayer' Ser Jaime Lannister. He's much more handsome than I imagined."
Aldric didn't care if others were tall or strong, but saying someone was more handsome than him was unacceptable.
"What?" Aldric reached out and ruffled Kevin's hair. "You think your teacher isn't good enough?"
Kevin covered his head, pushing Aldric's hand away. "Of course you're amazing, you're the strongest warrior I've ever seen... But that's the King! My father told me the King is the strongest, noblest, bravest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, the knight of knights!"
Aldric surrendered helplessly. "Alright, alright. Even if you want to be a King's knight, you need a suit of fitting armor first. Let's hurry back. Your left greave is just one plate away from completion; let's try to finish it today."
"Teacher, can my helmet be made into..."
"No... the helmet..."
The cold wind of the North, like an old mother's cool yet gentle hand, wiped away the master and apprentice's chatter and smoothed the ripples stirred by the King's arrival.
Aldric and Kevin returned to their ordinary days of hammering steel plates day and night.
During this time, due to the spread of Aldric's fame and Howard's recommendation, several decent mercenary warriors came to the blacksmith's courtyard to discuss joining the Silver Hand.
After rejecting a few guys who were obviously out of sync, Aldric kept the contact information of a few others and agreed to call them for the next suitable job.
Both parties were indifferent to this seemingly ambiguous response.
For mercenaries, a real battle was the best opportunity to test each other's strength and character.
Before that, all promises were worthless.
Aldric thought life would go on plainly like this, but he didn't expect trouble to find him.
On the third night of the King's arrival, Aldric was in the yard instructing Kevin on how to use the shape of armor plates to deflect enemy attacks when suddenly he heard wailing and howling outside the yard, followed by a rude Southern accent: "Fuck your mother, open the door!"
Aldric was wondering which poor family was targeted by gangs when he saw his own courtyard gate kicked open with a bang.
Then Rennel, covered in bumps and bruises, was shoved into the yard, rolling into a corner and sitting against the wall.
After entering, the group walked straight toward the spider corpse. Kevin stepped forward to stop them but was roughly pushed away.
Unsure of the reason, Aldric suppressed his anger, stopped the furious Kevin, and quickly went to Rennel to check his injuries.
Although angry, seeing Rennel's bruised and comical face, he couldn't help laughing. "How did you get beaten like this? Caught stealing someone's wife?"
Rennel smiled bitterly. "I'm like this, and you're still joking. Just now, I was telling the story of the 'Seres Spider Slayer' and The Chronicle of the Dawn at the Smoking Log as usual. These guys drank too much and kept making trouble. One moment saying I made it up and never read The Seven-Pointed Star, then saying my story didn't make sense, the character collapsed, the plot was boring, then saying the protagonist was too ugly and unattractive..."
Aldric rubbed his nose. "Just that? That doesn't warrant a beating."
"Of course not. I've been in this business for years; I've seen everything." Rennel spat a mouthful of bloody saliva on the ground. "But when I finished The Chronicle of the Dawn, that blond kid suddenly jumped up, saying I blasphemed the Seven and wanted to drag me to the Winterfell Sept to burn me to death."
"I didn't know if he was drunk-talking, so I tried to run, but they caught me and beat me up."
"And your spider. The guy with the mustache said this monster is a blasphemy against the Seven and wants to drag it out and burn it..."
Aldric noticed Rennel clutching his right hand. He grabbed his wrist and lifted it, seeing Rennel's finger joints swollen like cooked sausages.
Aldric's voice was dull. "What happened here?"
"Easy, easy."
Rennel pulled his hand back. "Stepped on while being beaten. But I protected it, so only one finger is hurt. It's fine; I still have nine fingers to use. They are wandering knights who came with the King. Don't provoke them."
A wicked fire rose to Aldric's chest. He narrowed his eyes at the bastards laughing and joking in front of the giant spider, his tone cold. "But they have already provoked me."
Joss Hill, a hedge knight from Lannisport.
He didn't know who his father was, and neither did his mother, because on the day the story happened, Lord Tywin's army passed through their village.
Because of this unfortunate encounter, there were many young people his age in the village, and he was the strongest one.
Although he didn't know who his father was, Joss was still grateful for the body he was given, allowing him to live as a mercenary after coming of age. For this, Joss was willing to grant his biological father a merciful death if he ever found him.
For a bastard with no background like him, joining the King's army was a good choice.
But joining the regular field units meant being cannon fodder for the knight lords.
Joss Hill didn't want to be cannon fodder. Not for anyone.
So he latched onto the King's troops at Casterly Rock and tried his best to curry favor with the guards in the escort, gradually becoming barely "friends" with a few naive young men.
The status of the King's guard was exalted, and the pay was high. Directed by the Kingsguard, they were the core of the King's army.
Its members were either rich or noble.
If he could become their "partner," running errands and killing people, he would earn more than being a wandering mercenary.
Before passing the Neck, there were many taverns and brothels along the way. Joss was willing to spend money and finally hooked up with a young guard of the King, even getting to know one of the King's squires through him. They got along well.
Unfortunately, the road from Moat Cailin to Winterfell was long and boring, causing his relationship with his "friends" to become distant again.
Originally, Joss planned to have some fun while the team stayed in Winterfell. But unexpectedly, as the capital of the North, Winterfell only had this small town, with only two or three brothels.
Joss and his friends didn't even get a number in line.
They could only go to the tavern to drink and kill time.
Unexpectedly, although the Northerners were rigid and gloomy, the ale was good and strong.
Even rarer, the stories told by the bard were unheard of in the South—witty, interesting, and quite fresh.
Even ignoring the content, the mention of a wagon-sized spider in the story moved him.
As an experienced warrior, Joss didn't believe the bard's claim that a mere five people could take down such a beast unharmed.
Joss estimated that if he encountered such a beast, it would take at least a dozen men, using terrain and obstacles, constant harassment, and attrition to take it down.
In the process, losing five or six men wouldn't be strange.
So there was only one possibility: either that guy named "Lewie Seres" lied and they just found a carcass in the forest and claimed the kill, or the spider's size was exaggerated—maybe just bigger than the stool under his butt.
If it really was the size of a wagon, getting his hands on it would be a great choice, whether selling it for money back south or presenting it to the King for a title.
The problem was how to get the spider.
What to do?
Just as he was thinking, he heard his "good friend," Lancel Lannister, suppressing a roar: "The Mother incarnated as a snake monster? How dare you?! This is blasphemy!"