Chapter 18:
King's Landing, the Great Sept of Baelor square.
The midday sun was scorching, as if it wanted to bake everyone dry. Thousands of commoners crowded the square like flies waiting to be fed.
Beneath the towering white marble statue of King Baelor, a high platform for judgment had been erected.
Joffrey Baratheon, the newly crowned young king, sat arrogantly on the throne in an overly lavish and somewhat ridiculous golden outfit. Beside him, Queen Cersei sat with tightly pressed lips, a trace of anxiety visible in her eyes.
In the noble viewing area further below, Victor Pompey sat dressed in black, his expression indifferent.
His gaze was not on the ragged prisoner being dragged up by two Gold Cloaks. Instead, it was fixed on the bald executioner — Ser Ilyn Payne.
More precisely, on the massive sword in Ser Ilyn Payne's hands — broad as a door panel, with rippling smoke-grey patterns.
[Valyrian Steel Greatsword · Ice] [Status: Unclaimed (Original owner about to die).] [System Rating: SSR-grade Divine Weapon.]
"Criminal Eddard Stark!"
Grand Maester Pycelle read the lengthy list of charges in a trembling voice. "…plotting usurpation… betraying the late King Robert… do you plead guilty?"
Ned Stark knelt on the hard stone slabs. One of his legs was broken and the wound was festering. He had become so thin he looked like a different person.
He raised his head, his cloudy eyes scanning the crowd. He was looking for his daughter.
But he didn't see Sansa. He didn't see Arya either.
He only saw Victor Pompey sitting in the front row of the noble seats, giving him a slight nod.
It was a look only the two of them understood.
"They are safe."
Ned gave a bitter smile. For his daughters, for peace, he lowered his noble head and spoke the lie he hated:
"I… not only betrayed the late king… I also attempted to seize the throne from King Joffrey… I… plead guilty."
The crowd erupted. Rotten vegetables and stones rained down on the former Warden of the North.
Cersei breathed a sigh of relief. As long as Ned confessed and took the black for the Wall, this storm could be calmed and the North wouldn't rebel.
She leaned toward Joffrey and whispered, "It's done, Joffrey. Send him to the Wall."
But Joffrey stood up.
He looked at the frenzied crowd below, listened to the shouts of "Kill him!" and the intoxicating feeling of holding absolute power over life and death clouded his already dull mind.
"My mother… and my betrothed… both begged me to show mercy to this traitor."
A cruel and mad smile spread across Joffrey's face.
"But women are too soft-hearted! As long as I am king, traitors must die!"
"Ser Ilyn! Cut off his head!"
The entire square fell into shock.
Cersei tried to stop her son in horror but was shoved away.
Varys and Littlefinger both changed color. It was over. Everything was ruined.
Only Victor's lips curved up almost imperceptibly.
"Now."
Ser Ilyn Payne was a tongueless mute who only obeyed the king's commands. With an expressionless face, he drew the greatsword named "Ice."
The sword that had once symbolized the honor and justice of House Stark was now about to drink its master's blood.
Ned closed his eyes and murmured softly, "Winter is coming…"
Swish—!
A smoke-grey flash of light cut through the air.
A head rolled onto the ground, and blood instantly dyed the base of Baelor's statue red.
The crowd fell into brief silence, then exploded into even wilder screams and chaos. Some rioters even tried to rush the platform to seize the head.
The scene instantly spiraled out of control.
Gold Cloaks desperately tried to maintain order while nobles screamed and fled.
In the midst of this chaos, a black figure moved against the flow.
Victor Pompey strode onto the judgment platform. His Spartan guards and the Hound followed closely behind, roughly pushing aside anyone in their way and carving a path through the disorder.
Ser Ilyn Payne had just wiped the blood from the blade and was about to sheathe "Ice."
A hand wearing a black glove pressed down on the hilt.
Ser Ilyn Payne looked up. His dead-fish eyes stared at Victor as he made a threatening "hrr hrr" sound from his throat.
"This sword is too heavy."
Victor looked at the repulsive executioner, his voice ice-cold. "It's not meant for chopping heads, and it certainly shouldn't be held by a mute."
Ser Ilyn Payne flew into a rage and tried to yank the sword back.
But the next second, a massive steel blade was pressed against his neck.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, stood behind Victor, his burned half-face looking demonic in the sunlight. "Can't understand human speech, baldy? The boss says the sword belongs to him now. Let go, or I'll cut your head off to make a matching pair."
Ser Ilyn Payne froze. He was crazy, but not stupid. He knew he couldn't beat the Hound, let alone the dozen bloodthirsty Spartan warriors beside him.
He released the sword.
Victor gripped the wide hilt.
Buzz—!
A strange resonance traveled up his arm. The unique lightness and sharpness of Valyrian steel made him fall in love with it instantly.
"King Joffrey!"
Victor raised the greatsword, turned toward the still-breathless young king, and shouted loudly.
Joffrey snapped out of his excitement and looked at Victor holding the massive blade, instinctively taking a step back. "Pompey? What do you want?"
"His Majesty is wise and mighty! He has executed the traitor!"
Victor raised Ice, pointing the tip toward the sky, loudly praising the foolish decision (which greatly pleased Joffrey). "But this sword is evidence of the crime! It is also a murder weapon! It carries a curse! For Your Majesty's safety, House Pompey is willing to take custody of this cursed blade and use it to crush the rebels in the North for you!"
The logic was full of holes, but in the current chaos and Joffrey's extreme excitement, it perfectly scratched his itch.
"Hahahaha! Well said!" Joffrey laughed wildly. "It's just a broken sword! If you want it, take it! Use it to kill more Northern wolf pups for me!"
Cersei's face turned pale beside him. She wanted to stop this — it was a Valyrian steel sword, priceless! But looking at the chaotic crowd and the wolf-like private soldiers behind Victor, she wisely chose to stay silent.
Offending Victor, who now had armed forces, was not worth it right now.
[Ding! Congratulations, host, on completing an Epic-level Interception!] [Acquired Item: Ice!]
[Detected that this weapon contains the fortune of House Stark. Would you like to spend 5000 Family Points to perform "Blood Refining"?] [After Blood Refining: The sword will be renamed by the host and unlock special attributes.]
Victor looked at the greatsword in his hand, his eyes filled with ambition.
"Blood Refining. Now."
[Blood Refining Successful!] [New Attributes Unlocked: Frost Strike (Attacks apply cold effect), Armor Penetration (Ignores ordinary plate armor).] [Please rename the weapon.]
Victor stroked the flowing ripple patterns on the blade — marks left from being folded and forged thousands of times.
"From now on, you shall be called — [King's Landing]."
"I will use you to rule the realm."
…
Late that same night, Pompey Manor.
Victor did not bring "Ice" (now King's Landing) home. He stored it in the system's armory.
When he returned to the bedroom, he deliberately took a bath outside and changed clothes to wash away all traces of blood.
But when he pushed open Sansa's door, he was still met with a heartbreaking scene.
Sansa sat by the window, staring blankly in the direction of the Red Keep.
Although Victor had strictly sealed off the news, the deafening bells that rang across King's Landing that afternoon (signaling the death of an important person) and the panicked looks of the servants had given her an ominous premonition.
"Victor…" Sansa turned her head. Her once-bright deer-like eyes were now bloodshot. "My father… is he…"
Victor walked over and remained silent for a moment.
Then he knelt on one knee in front of Sansa and took her ice-cold little hands.
"I'm sorry, Sansa."
Victor's voice was hoarse, his acting at its peak. "I tried my best. I tried to stop Joffrey on the square, but he went mad… he tore up the agreement."
"Waaah—!"
Sansa's last shred of hope shattered. She let out a heart-wrenching cry and threw herself into Victor's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
Victor held her tightly, resting his chin on her red hair.
His eyes looked through the window toward the North.
Ned was dead.
Robb Stark would soon declare himself King in the North.
The War of the Five Kings would soon engulf all of Westeros.
"Cry," Victor gently stroked Sansa's back and whispered in her ear. "Cry until your tears run dry, then become strong."
"I will avenge you. I will use the sword that killed him to cut off Joffrey's dog head."
Sansa suddenly lifted her head. Besides grief, a flame of hatred burned in her eyes for the first time.
"Revenge…" she gritted her teeth, clutching Victor's collar desperately. "Kill him… Victor, please… help me kill him…"
[Ding! Sansa Stark Status Change!] [Darkening Initiated: Avenging Goddess (Embryonic Form).] [Dependence on Host: 100% (You are her only hope for revenge).] [Congratulations, host — You have completely seized the legal claim to the North!]
Victor kissed away the tears on her face.
"As you wish, my little she-wolf."
Outside the window, thunder rumbled.
A storm was coming to wash this sinful city clean.
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