In the Name of the Father, All Unbelievers Shall Be Slain

Petyr Baelish's carriage jolted its way through the crowded streets.

The wheels rumbled dully over the cobblestones.

He lifted the curtain.

A wave of heat rushed into his face, carrying King's Landing's distinctive, overpowering stench.

Excrement, rot, and the sour sweat of hundreds of thousands of poor people.

But today, there was something else mixed into the smell.

Something like burning—frenzied and pungent.

The crowd in the street moved like congealed honey, thick and sluggish.

The carriage could barely advance.

Guards cleared the way ahead, their voices angry and hoarse.

"Make way!"

"The Master of Coin is headed to the Red Keep! Move aside!"

Their shouts were swallowed by the roaring crowd, like stones cast into the sea without raising a single ripple.

At the corner of Eel Street, the carriage came to a complete stop.

Petyr Baelish saw the source of the disturbance.

A septon in a brown robe stood atop several stacked wooden crates.

He was gaunt as a dried stick of firewood.

Only his eyes burned with hellish flames.

"The Seven watch over us!"

The septon's voice was hoarse, yet it pierced through the surrounding clamor.

"To kill a heretic is not murder!"

"It is the righteous path to the seven heavens!"

The crowd fell silent for an instant.

A moment of dead stillness.

Then a thunderous roar erupted, like mountains collapsing and seas surging.

The septon raised both arms as though embracing an unseen god.

The skin on his face stretched tight over his cheekbones, twisting into an expression of wild ecstasy.

"Use your hoes! Your axes! Your hammers! Purify this defiled land!"

"For every unbeliever you kill, a portion of your sins shall be washed away!"

His words were like boiling oil poured onto a blazing fire.

"Kill one, and your soul may ascend to