If this had been the old Jon Snow — the timid bastard son of Winterfell — no one would have listened to him. But after witnessing Aedric's near-demonic power firsthand, none of the surviving Stark guards dared question a word he said. Backed by Arya's firm nod as a true-born Stark, the group mounted up at once and galloped out of King's Landing without hesitation.
Perhaps because the coup within the Red Keep was meant to remain secret, or perhaps because the Lannisters were confident their fifty Gold Cloaks would easily succeed, there were no alerts raised at the city gates. The moment the guards saw the Stark direwolf banner, they waved them through — not one dared stand in their way.
Half an hour later, once they had ridden well clear of the city, Aedric abruptly reined in his horse. He pointed toward the northwest.
"Twenty li that way," he said. "There's a dense forest with a lightning-struck dead tree — only half a trunk left. I buried food and weapons under it long ago. It's enough to sustain all of you on the ride back to Winterfell."
Then he turned his horse toward the city once more and looked at Arya.
"You'll take everyone there and wait. I'm going back for Lord Stark."
"Jon!" Arya's voice trembled. She gripped his arm tightly, eyes wide with fear. She couldn't bring herself to say leave Father behind, but she also didn't want her brother walking to his death.
Aedric smiled faintly, his tone steady and solemn.
"From this moment on, you're the leader, Arya. You have to learn to stand on your own. Believe in yourself — and in the swords in your hands. As long as you still hold your blades, there's nothing in this world you can't face."
Before the girl could answer, he nudged his horse sharply and charged back toward King's Landing.
About an hour later, he returned to the outskirts. By now, the gates of the city were tightly sealed — the alarm clearly raised. But Aedric had expected this. He didn't even slow down as he veered off toward a secluded section of the moat and dove straight into the dark water with barely a splash.
He knew this route well. Over the past few months, he had practiced infiltrating the city countless times.
The truth was, when King's Landing was built, no one had imagined needing to defend against a martial arts grandmaster.
Holding his breath with the Breath-Sealing Technique from the Nine Yin Manual, Aedric slipped unseen through an underground waterway. After ten minutes of silent swimming, he surfaced at a rarely visited stretch of the Red Keep's outer river, climbing up soundlessly onto the bank.
A wave of internal energy evaporated the water from his clothes in an instant. Then, from his storage space, he retrieved a full set of Gold Cloak armor and quickly donned it. A few adjustments later, he looked every bit a palace guard.
Marching openly through the gates, he slipped into the Red Keep without resistance.
Inside, the palace was swarming with soldiers — the aftermath of a coup always brought heightened vigilance. But Aedric's disguise was perfect; a lone Gold Cloak moving about drew no suspicion. And when someone did try to stop him for questioning, a quick flick of the Soul-Shifting Technique bent their will to his.
He couldn't help thinking wryly: Ancient worlds are easy. Try this with modern surveillance cameras and biometric scans — see how far you'd get.
After passing several guarded checkpoints, Aedric reached the dungeon entrance. He had already mapped this area mentally long ago. Adopting a tone of authority, he declared himself an emissary of the King, sent to interrogate the treasonous Lord Eddard Stark.
As for a royal writ? With Soul-Shifting, one could conjure any "authorization" needed straight from the victim's mind.
Peering through the iron bars, Aedric finally saw him — Lord Eddard Stark, still alive.
Relief flooded through him. Unlike the television plot, this version of events had skipped Jaime's ambush and Ned's leg injury. The man was weary and disheveled, but not maimed.
Still, Aedric was prepared for the worst. If Ned had been gravely wounded, he was ready to knock him unconscious and stash him inside his dimensional space. Unfortunately, the pocket realm's volume was limited — there was only room for one person at a time. That was why Arya hadn't been hidden there earlier.
Confirming Ned's relatively stable condition, Aedric struck without hesitation. A burst of soft internal force rippled outward — the dungeon guards clutched their chests, eyes wide, and fell dead without a sound.
He plucked the keys from their bodies and opened the cell.
The older man stared, speechless, until recognition dawned. "Jon…?" he whispered, astonishment flickering across his gaunt features.
"No time to talk, Lord Stark," Aedric said briskly.
He removed the iron shackles from Ned's wrists and pulled a folded uniform from beneath his cloak — another Gold Cloak outfit, perfectly sized.
"Put this on. We're leaving now."
Ned blinked, momentarily taken aback by how well-prepared his supposed bastard son was. But he wasted no time — years of campaign experience told him this was no moment for questions. In moments, both men looked like ordinary guards.
As they moved through corridor after corridor, Aedric's every casual remark or authoritative glance made other soldiers wave them through. To Ned, unaware of the hypnotic power of the Soul-Shifting Technique, it looked like a flawless infiltration.
He couldn't help feeling a pang of complicated emotion. So the boy prepared for this all along… even anticipated my capture. He must have trained harder than anyone knew.
Step by step, they neared the outer gate. Freedom was only a few dozen paces away.
For the first time since his arrest, Ned Stark began to hope.
But just as they were about to cross the threshold —
DONG! DONG! DONG!
The alarm bells rang out across the Red Keep, echoing through stone corridors like thunder.
The dungeon had been discovered. Someone had found the dead guards.
And now every soldier in the Red Keep knew — the traitor Eddard Stark had escaped.
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