With the Hand's Tourney drawing near, the population of King's Landing swelled visibly.
Knights, mercenaries, merchants, and smallfolk from all over the Seven Kingdoms poured into the already overcrowded city.
The stench in the air—a mixture of sea brine, sewage, and cheap perfume—fermented under the southern sun, becoming thicker and more suffocating.
Lynn led the black Shire mare named "Storm" through the reeking streets.
For the past few days, he had done nothing but train his body and familiarize himself with his armor and horse.
This was his first time wandering idly through the city.
Not far behind Lynn trailed two figures.
One was Arya, her face full of excitement, finding novelty in everything around her.
The other was Sansa Stark, dressed in a proper blue gown, her small face written with restraint and unease.
Ever since Ned learned his daughter was secretly learning the art of killing from a "water dancer," he had mandated that Sansa must accompany Arya.
His excuse was "sisters should keep each other company."
In reality, he hoped Sansa's "ladylike demeanor" would rein in this wild girl who seemed to have lost her mind.
Arya scoffed at this, while Sansa suffered silently.
She would rather be doing needlework with her companions in the Red Keep than walking these filthy streets, enduring the dirty looks of the commoners.
Fortunately, they had asked Lynn to accompany them.
With Lynn present, they avoided nine-tenths of any unnecessary trouble.
Just then, an ornate carriage stopped at the street corner.
The door opened, and a golden-haired boy in fine clothes jumped down.
It was Prince Joffrey.
Hearing that Sansa was out, he had come to "protect" her from danger, seizing the chance to show off.
Behind him followed the hulking, terrifying figure of Sandor Clegane, "The Hound."
"Sansa!"
Joffrey spotted Sansa in the crowd immediately, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.
Sansa's eyes lit up instantly, a blush rising on her cheeks. She lifted her skirts and hurried to meet him, executing a flawless curtsy.
"Prince Joffrey."
Joffrey enjoyed being the center of attention, especially in front of his beloved Sansa.
He reached out, intending to take Sansa's hand, when a drunkard clutching a wine jar stumbled out of the crowd and bumped into him.
"Out of the way, boy!"
The drunkard slurred a curse, not even seeing who he had run into.
The smile on Joffrey's face froze instantly.
Growing up, when had he ever suffered such an affront?
Especially in front of Sansa!
"Hound!"
Joffrey's voice turned icy.
Sandor Clegane didn't even bother to draw his sword.
He stepped forward, his massive hand grabbing the drunkard's head like he was picking up a chicken, lifted him into the air, and slammed him viciously against the nearby wall!
THUD!
A dull sound.
The drunkard's head met the hard brick wall, the noise silencing the crowd for a moment.
Blood streamed down the wall. The drunkard's body twitched twice, then went still.
"Ah!"
Sansa let out a short scream, her face turning pale as a sheet.
Though she disliked the filthy drunkard, seeing a man smashed to death before her eyes made her physically ill.
Arya instinctively gripped the dagger Lynn had given her, her small face full of anger.
Just for bumping into him? Did that warrant his life?
And he was drunk! At least wait until he's sober to judge him.
Executing someone in the street?
This is completely unreasonable!
Joffrey was very satisfied with this result.
He glanced at the pale Sansa. Instead of comforting her, he felt this was the perfect opportunity to display his authority and masculinity.
He walked up to the twitching corpse, raised his boot, and ground it viciously into the bloody face.
"This is the price of offending a Prince."
He turned, looking at Sansa with a hint of boasting in his eyes.
"Do not fear, Sansa. With me here, no one dares to cause trouble."
Sansa looked at the red and white mess on Joffrey's boot, her stomach churning violently.
She found it disgusting, cruel.
But reason told her Joffrey was a Prince, her future husband.
She must support him unconditionally.
So, forcing down her nausea, she squeezed out a pale smile.
"You... you are truly brave, Prince Joffrey."
Hearing this praise, the smugness on Joffrey's face grew.
However, just as he reached out again to take Sansa's hand and bask in the beauty's adoring gaze...
Disaster struck!
A cold gleam shot without warning from the window of a two-story building across the street!
It was a crossbow bolt!
Aiming straight for Joffrey's heart!
So fast it allowed no time to react!
Screams of terror erupted from the crowd.
Sansa's pupils contracted sharply, her mind going blank.
The Hound's reaction was fast; he turned immediately, trying to block it with his body.
But it was too late.
The bolt had already crossed the distance between him and Joffrey.
Just as blood was about to spill!
A flash of cold steel intercepted the bolt with speed surpassing human limits.
It was Lynn!
His physical capabilities far exceeded ordinary men, and his Spirit kept him hyper-aware of his surroundings.
The moment the bolt was loosed, he moved!
Draw sword.
Intercept.
All in one breath.
CLANG!
The lethal bolt was deflected, flying past Joffrey's face by a hair's breadth.
With a thwack, it buried itself deep into the wall opposite him, the fletching quivering violently.
Joffrey lay on the ground, unable to recover his wits for a long time.
He only knew that death had just brushed past his shoulder.
"Assassin!"
"Protect the Prince!"
The Gold Cloaks fell into chaos, drawing their swords and panicking as they surrounded Joffrey and Sansa.
The Hound charged immediately toward the two-story building.
Lynn leaped up from the ground.
He didn't look at the assassin. Instead, he closed his eyes.
Greensight!
Activate!
The world in his perception blurred instantly, time flowing backward rapidly.
He needed an anchor.
That bolt in the wall!
Hummm—
His consciousness traced the trajectory of the bolt, rewinding instantly!
He "saw" it!
In the room of the small building, a masked figure in black, immediately after loosing the bolt, dropped the crossbow and jumped out the back window.
Lynn's consciousness didn't stop. It continued to trace backward!
He needed to see who ordered this assassin!
The scene jumped again.
Last night, a dark alley in King's Landing.
The black-clad assassin knelt on one knee.
Before him stood a man with a goatee.
The man placed a heavy bag of golden dragons into the assassin's hand, his lips moving silently, seemingly giving instructions.
Though he couldn't hear the sound, Lynn saw the face clearly.
A face he knew all too well.
Petyr Baelish.
"Littlefinger"!
Lynn snapped his eyes open.
What a move, Littlefinger!
Diverting disaster, driving the tiger to swallow the wolf!
This bolt, whether it hit or missed, would raise a monstrous wave!
If Joffrey died, the enraged Robert and House Lannister would point their spears directly at the Hand, Eddard Stark!
Because the assassination happened right in front of his daughter!
Even if Joffrey lived, this attempt was enough to freeze the relations between Stark, Lannister, and Baratheon to absolute zero!
And then, he, the Master of Coin, could reap the benefits while the tigers fought!
A venomous plot!
Fortunately, Lynn had instinctively sensed something was wrong.
This was the phase where he needed stability. He wouldn't allow anything to slip from his control.
This also put Lynn on guard; he couldn't squander his Spirit recklessly anymore.
Littlefinger, having failed his last conspiracy, was baring his fangs again.
"I... I'm alive..."
Joffrey finally scrambled up from the ground.
His face was ashen, his body shaking.
He looked at the bolt in the wall that had nearly taken his life, then at Lynn standing before him.
For the first time, those blue eyes held no arrogance or cruelty, only the relief of survival and a near-fanatical gratitude.
"It was you! You saved me!"
Joffrey grabbed Lynn's arm, incoherent with excitement. "You saved my life!"
Sansa recovered as well.
She looked at the unharmed Joffrey, then at Lynn, standing tall as a pine, her beautiful eyes filled with wonder.
This Night's Watchman from the North, this man her father valued so highly, had saved her Prince at the critical moment!
This... this was more legendary than the hero stories sung by bards!
Just then, a familiar figure squeezed through the crowd.
It was Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.
The expression on his face was perfect.
Shock at the assassination attempt, anger at the assassin, and worry for the situation.
"By the Seven! Prince Joffrey, are you unharmed?"
His performance was flawless.
Lynn looked at him, his face betraying nothing.
He could smell the cheap brothel perfume on the man.
"Father! I want to see my father!"
Joffrey finally regained his composure.
Pointing at Lynn, he shouted to the surrounding Gold Cloaks.
"He saved my life! I want Father to reward him! I want him as my sworn shield! I want him to be the most honored knight in the realm!"
The boy's shouting echoed in the chaotic street.
Lynn looked down at Joffrey's flushed face, then looked up at Littlefinger in the distance, who was wiping cold sweat from his forehead with a look of lingering fear.
A crazy idea quietly formed in his mind.
Littlefinger, you like playing games?
You like targeting the Starks?
Very well.
Now, I'm joining this game too.
I wonder if the expression on your face will still be this entertaining when everything you so carefully planned becomes my stepping stone?
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