The Newborn "Light of Peace"

The scenery in the western outskirts of King's Landing was quite lovely.

Joffrey rode happily on his fine horse, escorted by The Hound as he followed Lord Tywin's convoy home.

It was a long journey.

The convoy would travel more than two thousand kilometers west along the broad Goldroad, reaching the heart of the Westlands—Casterly Rock, whose flesh and bones were stone, whose blood and marrow were gold, and which had never fallen.

Joffrey's old memories alone were far from enough to satisfy his curiosity about Casterly Rock.

Unfortunately, by the time news of Hand of the King Jon's death arrived, the convoy would probably not even have reached the edge of the Westlands. If he wanted to see Casterly Rock with his own eyes, he would have to wait a while longer.

On a fertile, lush green hill, Joffrey reined in his horse and gazed from afar at the winding convoy below.

There were over a thousand well-equipped lords, knights, and guards—practically an army.

"Sandor, what do you think of Casterly Rock?"

Joffrey asked The Hound beside him. Since he had not left that place until his teens, he surely had something to say about it.

The Hound still felt somewhat awkward. Being called by his real name once in a while made him feel as though he had swallowed a bug. Heh, have I been a dog for too long?

"Casterly Rock..." The Hound could barely remember it. Back then, all he had thought about was Gregor.

"Big, hard, and not a fun place."

Joffrey glanced at him. What a buzzkill. "The Mountain is in the convoy right now. Do you want to do something to him?"

It would be better to settle this grudge sooner rather than later. His personal guard wore a taut expression all day, his mind filled with revenge. It really ruined the mood.

But The Hound shuddered as if licked by a tongue of fire. "Prince, we should rejoin the convoy soon. The castle where we are camping tonight is still far away."

The moment he finished speaking, The Hound flicked his reins first and rode straight toward the convoy below.

What did rejoining the convoy have to do with the castle being far away?

Joffrey shook his head and sighed. My fault. I definitely won't bring this guy along next time I go out to relax!

After returning to the convoy, Joffrey climbed into his spacious carriage. Though it was not as grand as the enormous Wheel Palace that required forty horses to pull, it was still large enough for seven or eight people to rest and entertain themselves in.

"Hannah, bring over everything we took from the treasury."

This had originally been the duty of the attendant Elin.

The young girl sitting quietly in the carriage took out item after item from the chest beneath her seat.

Valyrian Steel stripped of its magic, a Glass Candle, gemstones and crystals, and a greatsword.

Joffrey picked up a dagger and examined it closely. Its hilt was Dragonbone, its blade black as night. It was two fingers wide, slightly longer than a palm, and sharpened on both sides.

This was the dagger used to assassinate Bran in the story, wasn't it?

"Hannah, I asked Mother to give you to me without permission. You don't have any thoughts about that, do you?"

Joffrey asked abruptly.

The little maid was startled and hurriedly expressed her feelings. "How could I? Being able to serve His Highness the Crown Prince is Hannah's greatest fortune."

Her cheeks flushed faintly.

"Actually, Hannah has already passed her fifteenth Name Day. Without you, the Queen would probably have tried to pair me with those attendants. I wouldn't have wanted that."

Joffrey swept his gaze over the girl's pretty features and figure, chuckled softly, and rubbed her chestnut curls.

When the time came to clean out the court, an experienced maid with no family backing, familiarity with the Red Keep, and a steady, reliable nature would surely be of great use.

"We'll sleep here tonight. It's warmer in the carriage."

Hannah lowered her head shyly.

By evening, the massive convoy finally reached its campsite.

This was the family castle of the Thorne Family in the western Crownlands. Tens of thousands of farmers from dozens of miles around supported it.

The generosity and wealth of the Lannister family were known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Naturally, the Thorne Family neither would nor dared refuse such guests, and they had prepared ample delicacies well in advance.

But the stone-built castle was not large. Cramming in a thousand people made it extremely crowded, and its interior furnishings were quite ordinary.

Joffrey preferred spending the night in his own carriage.

A banquet was being held outside. He told Hannah and the other servants to do as they pleased, then remained alone in the enclosed carriage.

It was time. He picked up the dagger again.

Ever since he had acquired "it" the night before last, the changes within his soul had become increasingly pronounced. Its sense of presence had grown stronger and stronger, and that power was on the verge of emerging.

Some instinct told him how to use it.

Let me see what Valyrian Steel's magic is.

Joffrey took a deep breath, placed his right hand against the blade of the Dragonbone-hilted dagger, and slowly closed his eyes.

He did not know how much time passed.

The noise outside gradually faded away. The sound of his breathing became everything, rising and falling like ocean waves as it washed over his mind.

At last, it was stirred slightly.

As though it had consumed a portion of its source, its sense of presence immediately weakened considerably. Then it separated out a mass of cold, invisible substance.

It was a strange sensation.

It was not his perception of gemstones and crystals, nor was it the special light he could see. It was a chill that touched the depths of his soul.

The liquid-like cold flowed through his eye sockets, the root of his tongue, his throat, shoulder blades, upper arms, forearms, wrists, and finally every fingertip of his right hand.

That right hand broke free from his brain's control and suddenly clenched the dagger with all its strength.

Yet soothed by that invisible, cold energy, he seemed to lose all fear and pain. Expressionless, he allowed blood to drip down the blade and through his fingers.

In an instant—or an eternity—the cold energy completely transferred into the dagger. Patterns lit up on the dagger once more as White Light gradually filled and spread across it...

The next moment, waves of needle-pricking agony, the metallic tang, and his bleeding right hand all flooded into his mind at once.

He immediately flung away the dagger as though it were a branding iron, then carefully cradled his poor right hand with lightning speed. He even wanted to lick it with his tongue.

Fuck, that hurt like hell!

Magic is way too bizarre, isn't it?! I was actually that ruthless to myself! A mechanical mindset?

He felt like crying without tears. How was he supposed to explain this now? Say that he had suddenly gone mad and mutilated himself?

Hiss—

The wounds on his hand itched unbearably.

To his surprise, he noticed that the White Light around him was rapidly dimming.

The process was difficult to quantify. Fortunately, the sense of "its" presence had not weakened any further, and the final brightness of the White Light was about the same as what he had seen yesterday morning. At least it had not disappeared completely.

My hand?!

Joffrey touched his right hand. It no longer hurt. Every wound had vanished completely, and only the slightly dried blood proved that what had just happened was not an illusion.

It healed me?

That was the only explanation Joffrey could think of. It had created Valyrian Steel at the cost of part of its own source, then used White Light to repair his injuries.

Amazing.

In just a few minutes, his emotions had risen and fallen wildly with the unfolding events, before finally coming to a perfect close.

After calming down, he began reviewing what he had gained from this experiment.

The toughness and sharpness of Valyrian Steel, and the rapid healing of wounds, appeared unrelated, but they actually shared something in common.

He had already discovered that the material properties of Valyrian Steel itself had not reached the point of being indestructible. Yet cracks in Valyrian Steel would gradually repair themselves as White Light was consumed.

In other words—

Every attack by Valyrian Steel also inflicted minute damage upon itself.

It was simply that this magic could rapidly repair the tiny damage sustained by Valyrian Steel, allowing it to remain in peak condition at all times. Combined with its greater value as a collectible and symbol, which meant it was rarely used in ordinary circumstances, that was what had created its present reputation.

The healing of wounds was probably a similar effect.

He fell into thought.

Perhaps he could call it—Healing Magic.

Hannah's voice came from outside the carriage. "Your Highness, we have steak and lamb shanks, pan-fried fish, smoked chicken, roast duck, bread, honey, cakes, fruit, red wine, and ale. Is there anything you would like?"

Joffrey began tidying up the messy scene. "Just bring me something to eat."

After filling his stomach.

Joffrey lay relaxed on the bed in the carriage, carefully admiring the eight-inch Valyrian Steel dagger in his palm.

It was different from the others.

This dagger was the crystallization of wisdom that he had crafted with his own hands and stained with his own blood.

As he looked at the dagger, Joffrey seemed to see countless equally powerful swords, axes, and spears.

One day.

The scenes from his dreams would become reality. Not only the Seven Kingdoms—the whole world would submit to him!

Hannah changed into a gauzy outfit and climbed onto the bed.

Leaning against the Prince, she curiously reached out to touch the blade. "Your Highness, this dagger is so beautiful. Does it have a name?"

"It did not before, but now I call it 'Light of Peace.' What do you think?"

He had once looked it up out of curiosity. Joffrey was the French variant of Geoffrey, and its meaning was sacred peace.

Hannah nuzzled her head into his chest, her voice soft and sweet. "It sounds nice~"

What is this woman suddenly trying to do?

A flame that urgently needed to erupt immediately rose in Joffrey's heart. What did men want? Power, conquest, women.

"Heh heh, then let me show you how powerful the 'Light of Peace' is!"

"Ah, Your Highness~"