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

Chapter 350

Seeing Kal attacked again right before him, Oberyn stood frozen where he was, at a complete loss. He wanted to step forward to help, yet had no idea how he possibly could.

After all, the weapons on his person had already been taken earlier by the Kingsguard knight Garlan Tyrell when he entered the tent. And now, faced with a shadow assassin and a man holding a glowing longsword, this was clearly not a situation a mere mortal could simply rush into.

Most importantly, the shadow assassin that had supposedly slain Renly Baratheon in an instant clearly could not gain any advantage against Kal.

At that moment, a calm voice came from Kal's mouth.

"Wither."

After kicking down the shadow bearing the appearance of Stannis, only to see it stand again and point its sword at him, Kal raised a finger and immediately cast the rarely used spell [Wither].

However, just as he intended to use this method to restrain the shadow and determine exactly what it was—the invisible wave released by the [Wither] spell touched the shadow for only an instant before the figure reacted as if it had suffered some dreadful blow. The entire shadow immediately scattered like smoke blown apart by the wind and vanished into nothingness.

At that moment, Garlan Tyrell, who had just heard the disturbance from outside the tent and immediately rushed in with others, saw King Kal standing upright, a radiant sword in his hand, pointing a finger toward Oberyn Martell, whose face was filled with shock as he stared wide-eyed at the king.

"What happened? You dare attempt to assassinate the king?!"

"Damn it—seize the Red Viper! He's the assassin!"

Seeing the scene before him, Garlan shouted and charged forward with his sword.

…

Half an hour later, inside the great tent where everyone had gathered, every pair of eyes rested with strange expressions upon Prince Oberyn of Dorne, who sat to the side with a swollen face and bruised nose, currently receiving treatment from a maester.

"Ahem… Your Grace, was it truly Stannis who used black magic again just now to attempt to assassinate you?"

It felt somewhat improper to keep staring at him, so Lady Arwyn withdrew her gaze and turned toward the king with concern.

Facing the concerned looks and questions of the assembled crowd, Kal nodded.

"I did not expect him to be so utterly deranged—or to act so swiftly and decisively."

After receiving Kal's confirmation, the group felt anger rise in their hearts, yet they also could not help but breathe a sigh of relief.

Lady Arwyn followed with a quiet sigh.

"He was willing to kill his own blood brother, Renly Baratheon, through such despicable means. Naturally, he would show you no mercy either."

"Also… alas, Your Grace may not know—Stannis did not only kill Renly. Even your father's only publicly acknowledged bastard, Edric Storm, was also killed by him."

"What?"

Hearing this, Kal could not help but start in surprise.

"You mean he also killed Edric Storm? Why would he kill him? The Stannis Baratheon I remember should not be capable of such a thing…"

Seeing that the king did not quite believe it, Lady Arwyn exchanged a brief glance with several of the nobles present before taking a deep breath.

"He did not strike the blow himself… though it amounts to much the same. The one who actually killed Edric Storm was that evil witch."

"After learning of this, Stannis Baratheon's bannerman, the 'Onion Knight' Ser Davos Seaworth, once tried to stop her, but he failed."

"Afterward, he secretly sent out a letter informing us of the matter, and wished to cooperate from within and without to open the gates of Storm's End, bringing us inside to end this pointless war."

"Unfortunately, he failed before he could act…"

Not expecting there to be such matters as well, Kal could not help but frown.

As for what the Onion Knight had done, Kal was not surprised.

"It seems this Onion Knight still has justice in his heart. A gentleman born in a small realm—such is not his fault," Kal said. "So, did Stannis kill him?"

Lady Arwyn shook her head.

"Not yet. After this incident, Stannis also sent us a letter. He said that when he wins this war, he will hang Ser Davos Seaworth from the walls of Storm's End. He wants him to see with his own eyes that he was wrong."

"Stannis has truly gone mad…"

Hearing this, Kal had little to say.

The Stannis Baratheon in the original novels had his flaws, yet at certain moments he possessed a firmness that was his own.

And this time, it seemed the pressure Kal had placed upon him had indeed been too great.

Just as in that moment when he chose to sacrifice his own daughter to the Lord of Light.

It was not that he could not do such things. Rather, until the critical moment came, he would not yield to himself.

With that said, Kal fell silent, his fingers lightly tapping upon the long table before him.

"Help me send a letter to Stannis Baratheon. Tell him I will end all of this tomorrow at noon."

"If he has not yet become truly foolish, and still places his faith in that Red Woman, I will allow him—before the sun reaches its highest point—to open the gates and surrender to me."

Kal knew very well what Melisandre intended by sacrificing Edric Storm. But whatever Stannis hoped to accomplish now, it was already too late.

With the prematurely grown dragon Robert, the golden-furred great hound JJ, whose strength even left a dragon gnashing sparks in a fight—and then himself, together with the most important of all, the dark elf witch Erevi—to speak frankly, Kal truly did not know how he could possibly lose.

Even if Melisandre, just as described in the original novels, truly summoned a demonic dragon from stone and set it upon him—so what?

It was not as though he had never had a dragon riding his face before.

After speaking, Kal raised his hand and waved it lightly. A [Heal] spell fell upon Oberyn, and the injuries he had suffered when everyone had rushed him and beaten him moments before vanished in the blink of an eye.

The miraculous power made the onlookers widen their eyes.

Yet after Kal waved his hand again, they all quietly withdrew from the great tent.

"Prince Oberyn, you may return for now. The agreement between us still stands. I am not the sort of ruler who must see certain things with his own eyes before trusting you."

"The greater situation and the interests involved—I believe both you and Prince Doran Martell understand them well."

Hearing this, Oberyn, who had inexplicably taken a beating and had nowhere to vent his anger, could only grit his teeth. Rising to his feet, he gave Kal a slight bow.

"I will relay your words to my brother Doran, Your Grace. May everything proceed as we wish."

After offering his courtesy, Oberyn raised his head again and shot a fierce glare at Garlan, who stood behind Kal with an embarrassed expression on his face.

"Once this war is over, I hope Ser Garlan Tyrell of the Kingsguard will give me some instruction in arms. It seems that after so long without drawing steel, my skill has begun to grow dull."

"…"

"As you wish, Prince."

The grievance had already been made. Faced with Oberyn's challenge, Garlan had no way to refuse.

Kal paid them no mind. After dismissing everyone—including Garlan—with another wave of his hand, he returned to the long table. Yet just as he was about to say something to Erevi, he suddenly noticed that outside the tent Garlan had stopped someone again.

"Garlan, who is outside?"

Hearing the king's question, Garlan immediately leaned his head into the tent.

"Your Grace, it is the red-robed priest Thoros, who seeks an audience with you. Shall I drive him away, or would you have him executed?"

Ever since Stannis, under the influence of the red priestess Melisandre, had killed Renly Baratheon, the red priests who worshiped the Lord of Light, R'hllor, had likewise been shunned and distrusted by the nobles of the Reach.

He had even been driven out of the army camp.

Yet somehow this time he had sneaked back in again—and had even come near the king's tent.

Thus, when Garlan spoke these words, his tone carried clear killing intent.

The king had just suffered an assassination attempt, and now these hounds of the Lord of Light still dared approach His Grace.

They could be killed without regret.

Inside the tent, Kal had not expected that the man Garlan had stopped outside would be Thoros, and he too felt somewhat surprised.

"No need. Though they worship the same god, their beliefs are not truly the same. Let him come in—he should have something to say."

Hearing that the king actually intended to admit the red-robed priest, Garlan frowned slightly, but he could only sheath the longsword he had just drawn back at his waist.

Then he made a request.

"Your Grace, I request permission to stand guard for you."

"Enough. Come in, all of you."

With a wave of his hand, Kal could not be bothered to dwell on it and allowed Garlan to enter as well.

Soon afterward, a travel-worn man followed behind Garlan into the tent. His skin was loose, his hair grey, and he wore a faded robe with scattered pieces of armor.

Seeing him, Kal could not help but frown.

"You are Thoros?"

Kal remembered Thoros, but in his memory the Thoros who had remained in King's Landing, spending his days drinking and chasing women, had been a tall, fat bald man who liked to wear loose red robes.

The man before him looked nothing like the Thoros in his memory.

The red-robed priest who had once raised a flaming sword high during the tourney, eager for battle and reckless in his abandon—where was that man now? The figure before him looked as though he had been drained dry, as if he had aged several years.

"It is I, Your Grace…"

Thoros bowed first, a bitter smile appearing on his face.

"Ever since Your Grace left King's Landing, I have been following your trail. Yet each time I was about to meet you, I always passed you by, as though fate were mocking me."

"In the end, I had no choice but to wait here. Only today, when I saw you return riding a dragon, was my wish finally fulfilled."

Kal understood what he meant, yet his confusion only deepened.

"You mean you have been searching for me all this time?"

Thinking back, since returning to Casterly Rock after finishing Robert's funeral, Kal had scarcely stopped moving.

The only place where he had stayed somewhat longer had been the Citadel.

And even there, he had spent his days coming and going like a shadow while studying knowledge.

So surely this red-robed priest had not become so thin simply because he had spent the past months chasing after him?

"Yes, Your Grace. I once came here to persuade the Mad King Aerys II, who was obsessed with fire, to believe in the Lord of Light. But when I arrived here, I fell into confusion and even began to question my own faith…"

Hearing this, Kal raised a brow. Before he could finish speaking, Kal lifted a hand and interrupted him directly.

"If you have come to make me believe in R'hllor, then there is no need to waste further words. As for the reason—since you waited here for me, I assume no further explanation is necessary."

"If you have nothing else to say, you may leave."

Whether it was the Faith of the Seven or the Red God, Kal had never had the slightest interest in such religions.

Seeing that Thoros had come looking for him to preach, he cut him off and gave the order for him to leave.

Garlan immediately stepped forward, his expression unfriendly as he stared at Thoros. He raised his hand—the meaning was obvious.

But that was not Thoros's purpose in coming here.

He hurriedly shouted, "No, Your Grace! I did not come here to make you believe in the Lord of Light! I followed your trail because I have understood my mission!"

"Your Grace, I prayed with blood, and the flames delivered a prophecy to me. I followed you because you are the one who will save the world!"

"It is you—you are Azor Ahai!"

"The hero who, in the legends, is destined to bring an everlasting summer to the world!"

Seeing that he refused to leave, Garlan moved in directly to seize him, while Thoros shouted desperately.

His words made Kal frown deeply.

Why had these gods and ghosts come again?

"Stop!"

Kal simply called Garlan to halt.

Garlan had already paused his actions when Thoros shouted those words. Now that the king had spoken, he stepped aside.

"Speak."

What made Kal stop Thoros was not the so-called hero he spoke of, but the prophecy Thoros claimed to have seen in the flames.

If it was a prophecy in the flames, then it must be related to the Lord of Light, R'hllor.

And if the prophecy in the flames mentioned himself, then it meant that the matter concerned R'hllor and him—or rather, that this so-called "god," whose nature no one truly understood, seemed to have taken notice of him.

Kal knew clearly that the reincarnation of Azor Ahai could not possibly be himself.

He had never been reborn in a place of smoke and salt, nor could he ever be reborn in such a place.

Even if he truly had any connection with rebirth, it would only be in the game world—but in that world he had never died in any true sense.

For him, even restarting that world was nothing more than a single thought.

Between himself and that world there existed a constant, eternal relationship—he stood above time itself.

He was a narrator, a being of higher dimension, perhaps even a god.

Moreover, he would never draw a burning sword from the flames—although the largely useless [Unburnt] talent he possessed meant that he did not fear fire at all.

As for the Targaryen family's so-called Song of Ice and Fire, or the notion that the dragon must have three heads—none of it had the slightest connection with him.

The only part that might even vaguely relate to him was the prophecy concerning the Prince Who Was Promised.

But he had been born a bastard. The title of prince had never once rested upon his head; the word had nothing to do with him.

Even his inheritance of the throne had come directly, without any such stage in between.

Most importantly, Kal knew that the only people in this world who truly matched that prophecy were Daenerys Targaryen, and then Jon Snow, who had been betrayed and slain by the Night's Watch.

Both of their lives were tied to the place of smoke and salt, both had connections with the title of prince, and then there were the dragons. Even the flaming sword was not impossible.

So Kal did not believe that the Lord of Light himself would be ignorant of this.

Yet with none of the elements of that salvation prophecy matching him in the slightest, this red-robed priest of the Lord of Light had come claiming that he was the true reincarnation of Azor Ahai, the destined savior.

What nonsense.

Thus, what Kal cared about more was the meaning behind it.

R'hllor had noticed him—and seemed to intend to do something.

And since that was the case, Kal decided he might as well listen.

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