Night.
Arya suddenly came to Gary's room. She sat inside, unwilling to leave for a long time.
Gary saw the reluctance in her eyes and smiled. "It's all right. Don't we still have seven days? We can go out and have fun for a few more days. And I swear I'll come back to Winterfell to visit you all."
Arya's eyes reddened. "Luke, I don't want to say goodbye."
"I know." Gary had practically watched her grow up, so their bond went without saying. He rubbed Arya's head. "You're too young. You're not old enough to travel yet. You've seen how filthy the world outside is. It can devour you without leaving so much as a bone."
Arya lowered her head and pouted. "Then when can I travel with you?"
Gary crouched before her, meeting her eyes. "You're seven this year. You'll have to wait until after your coming-of-age ceremony at sixteen."
"Huh? Then I have to wait nine more years?" Arya deflated and turned her head away in displeasure.
Gary comforted her. "Do you remember when we first met? Five years have passed before we knew it, but that scene feels like it was only yesterday. The next nine years will be the same. They'll pass in the blink of an eye."
Arya hopped off the wooden chair and suddenly exclaimed in delight, "That's right! Luke, can't you dream? You can meet me in your dreams!"
Dream? Oh, shaping dreams.
Gary shook his head. "I can't enter other people's dreams. Last time, you wandered into mine by accident."
Arya's smile vanished, and she drooped once again. "Oh, all right."
Gary sat beside her. "Ahem, shall I tell you a new story?"
Arya's attention was immediately caught. "A new story? Yes! Yes!"
She obediently sat back down on the wooden chair, staring intently at Gary as she waited for him to continue.
"Now, there was a place called Kaer Morhen, a secret place where witchers were trained..."
The story went on late into the night, and, led along by the tale, Arya slowly drifted off to sleep.
Gary carried Arya very carefully to her room and laid her on the bed.
Then he took off her boots and tucked her beneath a blanket before returning to his own room.
"Ah, shaping dreams?"
Gary sat at the bedside, murmuring to himself.
Ever since Bingling had "died," he had sealed away this ability out of guilt and self-reproach.
For five years, he had never shaped a new dream.
But now that he knew Bingling was fine, he no longer had that concern.
The objects in dreams were merely insubstantial illusions, though. They could not be brought into the real world. The only thing he could gain from dreams was knowledge.
Yes, that was right. Knowledge.
The martial moves of the Qi Family Saber Technique were knowledge, so they could be reproduced in real life.
But even if Ding Baiying's Falling Plum came into his possession, it would still be an illusion in a dream, impossible to bring out.
The reason Gary had not shaped any new dreams was not that he underestimated the power of "knowledge." On the contrary, he believed "knowledge" was far more powerful than physical objects.
In fact, if he wanted to, he could even shape a real-world setting in a dream and then steal the "detailed algorithms for nuclear weapons."
Unfortunately, having the algorithms would be useless. He might not understand them.
Even if he could understand them, he might not be able to find nuclear materials in the world of Game of Thrones.
In fact, several years ago, he had fantasized about making firearms in the world of Game of Thrones. But later, unable to find gunpowder in Winterfell, he had been forced to give up.
"There seem to be alchemists in this world. Perhaps I can ask them for help someday."
That makes sense. Those people who dabble in chemistry should have some way to make gunpowder.
Gary lay on the bed. "Someday, I'll modernize all the armies of the North..."
Seven days later.
The Kingswood, outside King's Landing.
To make room for the tourney grounds, a large clearing had been cut in the Kingswood. The felled trees would be used to build stands for royalty and nobles, as well as the grounds where the knights would compete.
When Tyrion brought Gary and Arya to the Kingswood, the tourney grounds were already packed with noble guests from various houses. They first had to go up one by one to the high wooden platform where the royal family sat, presenting gifts to celebrate Princess Myrcella's birthday, before returning to their seats in the nobles' stands.
Only after the princess had received all the nobles' birthday gifts would the king officially begin the tourney.
That was the general order of the tourney. It was not complicated.
As a contestant, however, Gary could not go to the nobles' stands. He had to go to the knights' rest area instead.
"Luke, do you think we'll get to see the princess and the princes?" Arya suddenly asked.
Gary thought for a moment. "We should. You might even get to talk to them."
Arya had never met anyone from the royal family and felt a little nervous. "Really?"
"Luke, His Grace has already entered your name. You need to prepare," Tyrion said, looking thoroughly embarrassed after finding out what was going on.
King Robert was that eager to watch a show? He really was something.
Gary rubbed his faintly aching head. "I've never entered a tourney. Explain it to me first."
Tyrion came beside Gary and pointed at the tournament grounds as he began his introduction. "Over there is the archery field. The largest area is for mock group battles and the melee, and that one is for single sword duels."
"But those are all preliminary events. You don't need to enter them. Your reputation as the White Wolf and His Grace's recommendation have already put you straight into the final event."
Gary recalled the contents of the television series and asked uncertainly, "The final event? You mean two people on horseback charging at each other with wooden lances?"
Tyrion nodded. "That's right. It's called jousting. It tests the knights' horsemanship, lance skills, strength, and courage. It's the final step in deciding the champion."
"Boring."
Gary spoke in a low voice.
Tyrion immediately said, "Luke, listen to me. Both opponents wear full plate armor, and their wooden lances are deliberately blunted. Even so, jousting is still the event with the highest death rate!"
Gary knew that, of course. The acceleration provided by a horse could turn a wooden lance into a very dangerous weapon.
Even the protection of plate armor was no use. A blow to the body would still cause internal injuries (blunt-force trauma). And if it struck a vital spot, such as the neck, death was certain!
"A contest like this, with no technical skill involved, is utterly boring to me."
Gary could not muster any enthusiasm. Besides, he was not a proper noble and had never trained with a lance growing up.
Tyrion suggested, "If you're really not interested, why not just go through the motions?"
Gary rested his hand on Ice at his waist and nodded indifferently.
He was attending the reigning king's tourney, and carrying a sword belonging to the former royal dynasty would hardly be appropriate. So, before leaving that morning, he had stored Dark Sister in his room and brought the greatsword Ice instead.
"Come on, I'll take you to put on your plate armor." Tyrion waved and was about to lead the way.
Gary stopped Tyrion and explained, "No need. I didn't bring plate armor. I'm fine as I am."
Tyrion smiled. "I know, so I prepared some for you already. Come on, go put it on."
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