The Lich King who pointed his sword at the Seven

Did gods really exist in Westeros?

Arthas did not know. After all, since coming to this world, he had been able to sense only the faintest trace of magic.

But gods had certainly existed in Azeroth.

Even setting aside the four legendary Old Gods, Arthas himself had been able to wield godlike power after donning the Helm of Domination and taking complete control of his body.

Ever since learning that dragons existed in this world, Arthas had been asking around for information about gods.

The Seven, the Old Gods, the Cold God, the Lord of Light, and many more-their names kept reaching his ears from every corner of the continent.

But so far, these so-called gods had not displayed even a trace of supernatural power, which had made him doubt their existence.

"Cousin Arthas, what are you thinking about?"

Lancel Lannister, who shared his blond hair and even bore some resemblance to Jaime, rode beside Arthas.

Behind them rode over a hundred Lannister knights who had already donned gold cloaks.

The imposing procession drew the attention of the people of King's Landing, who flocked into the streets to watch.

"Tell me, if I burned down the Great Sept of Baelor, would the Seven appear and bring divine punishment down on me?"

Arthas looked toward the towering Great Sept of Baelor, a trace of contemplation in his smiling eyes, as though he were truly considering the feasibility of burning it down.

"Hahaha, you still love your jokes, cousin."

Hearing such blasphemy, Lancel, who had always seemed somewhat timid compared with Tywin's children since childhood, looked visibly uncomfortable.

After all, the Lannisters also worshipped the Seven.

Seeing that Arthas was still looking toward the Great Sept of Baelor, Lancel hurried to divert his attention, unwilling to continue this deadly conversation.

"By the way, why did we go to such trouble to kidnap an old commoner?"

He pointed toward the rear of the procession, where a gray-haired old man lay bound on a tall Lannister knight's horse.

The old man wore a coarse hemp robe, his heavily callused feet bare. Though ropes bound his entire body, there was not the slightest fear in his eyes.

He simply stared fixedly at Arthas at the head of the procession, with no telling what he was planning.

"Oh, Lancel, my dear cousin."

Arthas finally seemed to come back to himself and turned to look at the timid-faced Lancel.

Although Lancel was two years older, whether in build or bearing, Arthas seemed more like the elder of the two.

"If you want to keep working under me, don't ask questions about anything."

In truth, Arthas had looked down on this cowardly fellow since childhood. He always looked so downtrodden, nothing like a forceful Lannister.

But Lancel was Kevan's eldest son, after all. Having just agreed on terms with Kevan, Arthas could hardly turn around and kick his son out.

He could only give him a warning.

"And when we're working in public, address me by my title!"

"I... I understand, Commander Arthas!"

Meeting Arthas's faintly angry gaze, Lancel shrank back, as though Arthas might slap him across the face at any moment.

Seeing Lancel remain so cowardly, Arthas shook his head helplessly. He truly did not know how a man as bold as Kevan had fathered such a son.

Had he shouted at Jaime like that, Jaime would probably have drawn his sword and challenged him to a duel already.

"Oh, my dear Lord Ael!"

The imposing procession of Lannister knights arrived before the Great Sept of Baelor. From a distance, they spotted a fat man in a crystal crown and lavish robes greeting Arthas warmly.

This fat man was none other than the supreme leader of the Faith of the Seven, the current High Septon.

There was no helping it. Arthas and his party had caused such a stir that almost every commoner in King's Landing had come out to watch.

Once they realized the procession was heading for the Great Sept of Baelor, the crowd had packed the place solid, leaving only a single passage for the knights.

"Oh, Your High Holiness."

Looking up at the fat man above him, Arthas returned his greeting warmly, but did not address him by name.

Or rather, he did not know the man's name at all.

The septons of the Faith of the Seven had to give up their family names, while the High Septon had to relinquish his worldly name as well.

This was because people believed that whoever held the office of High Septon was no longer a man, but the spokesman of the gods above.

"The gods..." A flicker of excitement flashed through Arthas's eyes at the thought.

"If you really exist, you'd better not disappoint me!"

He reached down and gently patted Invincible's snow-white neck, then swung nimbly out of the saddle. Resting Frostmourne on his shoulder, he climbed the steps toward the Fat Bishop.

Though the Lannister knights behind him had yet to submit to him completely, the journey from Casterly Rock to King's Landing had been utterly boring. Now that there was a spectacle to watch and even take part in, they naturally would not miss the opportunity.

Over a hundred fully armed knights followed their Commander's example and headed toward the sept in Arthas's wake.

"Lord Arthas, what are you doing?"

Looking at the knights who had all but surrounded the sept, the Fat Bishop's previously composed face betrayed a little fear. He truly had no idea when he had offended this newly appointed Commander of the Gold Cloaks.

"Oh, Your High Holiness, please don't be frightened."

Slowly lowering Frostmourne from his shoulder, Arthas planted it before him with a thud. His gentle smile made it almost impossible to feel any hostility toward him.

He pointed at the ferocious-looking knights behind him.

"These men of mine all come from the Westerlands. Their faith in the Seven is unwavering."

"They only arrived in King's Landing today, and every one of them insisted on coming to pay their respects at the heart of the faith of the Seven-the Great Sept of Baelor."

"I hope we haven't disturbed your devotions."

Who the fuck do you think you're fooling?

Looking at the amiable Arthas, the Fat Bishop had all but cursed eighteen generations of his ancestors in his mind.

Who came to pay their respects at a holy site fully armed?

Though furious inwardly, the fat High Septon still lost his nerve before over a hundred Lannister knights with golden lion badges gleaming on their chests.

"In that case, please have everyone sit here for a while. I shall personally deliver a sermon for these noble knights from the Westerlands!"

The fat High Septon wore a fawning smile, but inwardly he was frantic. He wanted nothing more than to send this plague of troublemakers away as quickly as possible.

After all, King Robert had left that morning. In all of King's Landing, no one could stop this Commander with six thousand Gold Cloaks at his disposal.

"That's quite all right, Your High Holiness."

Arthas showed no regard whatsoever for the Fat Bishop's attempts to please him.

"These fellows are used to lazing about in the Westerlands. They'll certainly feel uncomfortable if we make them stay obediently in one place."

"Let them wander around on their own and admire the sights of the sept while they're at it."

At Arthas's command, the surrounding Lannister knights instantly took his meaning and streamed into the sept.

"This... this won't do."

Seeing them barge unceremoniously into the sept, the Fat Bishop was beside himself with anxiety. His voice verged on tears as he pleaded with the unshakable Arthas.

"Lord Arthas, please rein in your men. Have them come out at once."

He could hardly be blamed for his anxiety. After all, he had just been preparing to play grown-up games with two septas, and they were still tied up naked in his room!

"What are you saying?"

Watching his frantic reaction, a trace of amusement flashed through Arthas's eyes, but he feigned anger.

"Does Your High Holiness not welcome devout believers in the Seven on their pilgrimage?"

"Or could it be..."

Raising the sharp blade of Frostmourne, Arthas advanced on the High Septon step by step with an overwhelming sense of pressure. His words rang in the man's ears like a judgment.

"There's something filthy you don't want me, the Commander of the City Watch, to know about?"

"Of... of course not."

Faced with that question, the High Septon felt an utterly terrifying aura coming from Arthas. Nearly wetting himself with fear, he explained shakily.

"The Great Sept of Baelor is the heart of the faith of the Seven. I merely fear that your knights might unwittingly profane the Seven."

"Hahaha!"

As he let out a burst of scornful laughter, more than half of Arthas's golden eyes turned white.

He raised Frostmourne and pointed past the Fat Bishop toward the center of the square, where a great statue of Baelor I towered above them, its compassionate expression seeming to gaze over all of King's Landing.

"The Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, the Stranger..."

As though reciting something intimately familiar, Arthas slowly named every one of the Seven.

"Your High Holiness, start praying."

As his icy voice rang out, the former Lich King of Azeroth delivered his ultimatum.

"Pray that any one of them appears at once."

"Otherwise, your soul is mine!"