King's Landing, inside the Red Keep.
The body of Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, lay quietly in the very center of the Great Sept of Baelor.
The former Hand of the King, who had toiled for the kingdom all his life, had finally found eternal peace.
Two eyeball-sized pebbles painted with eyes covered his tightly closed eyelids, watching this sinful world in his stead.
On the second floor, a stunning woman with golden curls stared at the dead Jon with her beautiful emerald eyes, as though afraid he might spring back to life at any moment.
"Cersei."
Just then, a man with the same golden hair and a handsome face strikingly similar to Cersei's slowly approached her.
"He's dead. He'll never come back to life."
Leaning against the railing beside Cersei, Jaime Lannister looked with some heartache at the beautiful woman who was both his twin sister and his lover, and softly comforted her.
"Jaime, I'm fine."
Cersei murmured as though trying to hypnotize herself, but Jaime could still see the worry in her anxious eyes.
"As your younger brother, I should remind you that worrying too much gives you wrinkles."
The teasing words of her lover and younger brother instantly soothed the woman once hailed as the greatest beauty in the Seven Kingdoms. She smiled alluringly, her radiance lending considerable color to the gloomy hall.
"Jaime, my little brother."
Cersei Lannister, the current queen of Westeros, looked at Jon Arryn's body and made a startling declaration:
"I've always thought you were the only one worthy of the title Hand of the King."
She caressed Jaime's face, so similar to her own, and her loving voice echoed in his ear:
"The Hands of the King are all cowards. How could they compare with your courage?"
"I remember when we were children at Casterly Rock. The wall was at least a hundred feet above the sea, yet you jumped without a second thought."
His lover's praise only made Jaime shake his head lightly.
"Spare me."
"Hand of the King? Only someone who's lived too long would want to be Hand of the King."
"Besides, speaking of courage, who could be braver than our little brother?"
Jaime's gaze drifted, as though he were once again seeing the boy who, at only ten years old, had dared to charge into Casterly Rock with a longsword and confront their father. It was something he dreamed of doing but never dared.
His father's authority was like a mountain, pressing down on him until he could barely breathe. Only in King's Landing, far from Casterly Rock, did Jaime feel he could breathe freely.
"Arthas..."
Cersei knew perfectly well that the brave younger brother Jaime meant could not possibly be that good-for-nothing Tyrion. Her red lips parted slightly as she murmured Arthas's name, as though calling to a lover.
At the thought of that incomparably handsome youth, Cersei unconsciously pressed her legs a little closer together.
"Cersei, I'm your lover!"
Cersei's reaction particularly infuriated Jaime. His large hand roughly encircled her slender waist as he reminded her jealously.
It never occurred to him that his own behavior was also an affront to the queen.
Nor was it surprising that he reacted so strongly. After all, ever since Arthas had come to King's Landing the previous year and even defeated him in a contest, Cersei had been captivated at first sight by this younger brother, who was even more handsome than he was.
She had even called out Arthas's name several times during their lovemaking.
"Don't be so petty, Jaime."
Cersei, by contrast, seemed entirely untroubled. She wrapped her arms around Jaime's neck and whispered in his ear:
"Arthas has grown up. Perhaps it's time to invite him into our 'big family' and let him feel the special warmth shared by Lannister siblings!"
"You've gone too far!"
Jaime breathed heavily, his hands unconsciously beginning to roam over his sister's body.
Though she had borne three children and time had left its marks on Cersei, he found himself struggling to resist the teasing of this former greatest beauty in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Now isn't the time, Jaime."
Just as Jaime burned with desire, Cersei pushed him away at precisely the right moment.
"Come to my bedchamber tonight."
With that, Cersei lifted her skirts and turned away gracefully, leaving Jaime with only the beautiful sight of her retreating figure.
"Arthas..."
Having calmed down, Jaime watched Cersei leave, his fingers closing into a fist as an emotion called jealousy rose in his heart:
"I won't let you take Cersei from me!"
"Jaime..."
Below the walls of King's Landing, the Imp rode at the head of the party. Looking up at the enormous lion's head above the gate, he softly called his brother's name with longing.
After all, Jaime and Arthas were the only warmth he had among the Lannisters.
"Tyrion."
Arthas rode up beside the Imp and asked in puzzlement:
"If you're so eager to see Jaime, why take such a long detour to enter through the Lion Gate?"
"Wouldn't going straight through the Dragon Gate be faster?"
The Imp immediately began waving his short little arms, pointing at the lion's head above the gate.
"Arthas, we're Lannisters. Lannisters!"
"As the disgrace of the Lannisters, I can afford not to care, but ever since Jaime joined the Kingsguard, you've been the Lannister heir. You must observe the proper formalities!"
"Pointless fussing. With enough power, you can ignore all these tedious formalities."
Arthas curled his lip disdainfully. Whether as the former prince of Lordaeron, the Death Knight he later became, or the Lich King after that, he had always done more or less as he pleased, for no etiquette could bind him.
Despite his words, however, Arthas, who did not yet possess absolute power, obediently urged his horse toward the city.
Ever since coming to this world, he had been able to sense only a faint trace of magic.
Fortunately, at ten years old, he had awakened Unholy Aura with that meager magic. With the aura's aid, he could temper this weak body without restraint.
His unwavering daily sword practice at the highest point of Casterly Rock had actually been training his physique. After all, his swordsmanship already had no room left to improve.
His earlier fight with the Mountain had not required him to use any sword techniques at all. He had opposed him purely with physical strength.
"Well now, my dear Lord Tyrion, my dear Lord Arthas!"
As the party slowed their horses along the foul-smelling streets of King's Landing, a short man with a small mustache spread his arms in a smiling gesture of welcome:
"Welcome back to King's Landing!"
"Disgusting pimp."
Arthas glanced at the man and muttered a complaint just loud enough for Tyrion to hear, then immediately turned away and ignored him.
"Lord Baelish."
The Imp, however, returned the greeting with great courtesy and enthusiasm. After all, whoremongers and pimps were naturally birds of a feather.
"Oh, my dear Lord Tyrion."
Baelish once again exchanged pleasantries with the Imp in an extravagantly exaggerated tone:
"You have no idea. Ever since you last left King's Landing, the ladies of my humble establishment have been unable to eat or drink!"
"You simply must stay longer this time. I'll give you half off everything!"
"Lord Baelish, you're far too kind."
The Imp's gaze drifted toward Arthas, who stood beside him looking thoroughly displeased, and he replied loudly with a somewhat teasing tone:
"I remember you offering Ael everything for free when he came last time."
"How did it become half price for me?"
"Hahaha!"
Baelish laughed heartily and raised his right hand toward Arthas:
"You can hardly blame me for that. With Lord Arthas's looks, never mind free-even if those whores had to pay him, they'd probably still queue for ten days or a fortnight!"
"Watch your tongue, Littlefinger!"
Unable to stand it any longer, Arthas spoke up to stop him, even using his mocking nickname.
As the illustrious prince of Lordaeron, a Death Knight, the Lich King, and now the sole legitimate Lannister heir, Arthas had never set foot in a brothel in either of his lives.
For pimps who forced respectable women into prostitution, Arthas felt only heartfelt contempt.
"Lord Arthas, I meant you no disrespect whatsoever."
Baelish was shrewd even among the shrewdest. How could he fail to see that Arthas was genuinely angry? He hurriedly placed his right hand over his chest in apology.
He did not even mind being addressed by his insulting nickname.
To rise from the eldest son of an exceedingly insignificant family to the kingdom's current Master of Coin required not only schemes and tricks, but considerable self-control as well.
Baelish would never show the slightest displeasure over such a minor insult. He would only remember it firmly and wait quietly in the shadows for an opportunity.
Arthas, meanwhile, merely felt that although the man appeared genial, the way he looked at him always gave him the sensation of being watched by a venomous snake.
"Enough nonsense, Baelish."
Ignoring the apology, Arthas's tone remained cold.
"Clear the way and let us go straight to the Red Keep. This place reeks."
Before coming to King's Landing, Arthas had believed nothing in the world could smell worse than an abomination's body odor. After arriving, however, he discovered just how utterly wrong he had been!
On the outskirts of King's Landing lay the slum called Flea Bottom. There was no underground sewage system whatsoever, and the poor there had no concept of propriety or shame.
Everyone relieved themselves wherever they pleased. Unless you were on horseback, you might step straight into someone else's excrement in the street!
This was also why Arthas had been completely unwilling to come to King's Landing. Had the Red Keep not stood upwind, where the stench could not reach it, the pleasure-loving Robert would probably have ordered the capital moved long ago!
After all, Lordaeron's infrastructure had been highly developed, with a host of water mages lending their aid. In two lifetimes, Arthas had never smelled anything as outrageously foul as King's Landing.
"As you command, Lord Arthas."
Baelish bowed again and gestured for him to proceed.
A playful smile immediately appeared on Arthas's face. He pulled the reins, and his fine horse broke into a rapid stride past Baelish.
Its hooves struck heavily, splashing the Master of Coin with excrement.
"Hahahaha!"
Seeing this, the knights all followed Arthas's example. Countless horses thundered past Baelish, spattering his entire body with excrement like raindrops. In an instant, Baelish acquired a new surname: Shitsey.
"My sincerest apologies, Lord Baelish."
The Imp fought back his laughter as he apologized to Baelish:
"My younger brother is simply far too spoiled."
"It's quite all right."
It had to be said that Baelish truly knew how to endure. Even with his veins bulging, he still acted as though he did not care:
"It's only a child's prank."
The Imp nodded in admiration, while also recoiling somewhat from the stench on him, and raised his sleeve to cover his nose.
Seeing that the others had almost disappeared, he hurriedly covered his nose and bade Baelish farewell:
"It doesn't seem like a good day to patronize the ladies. Why don't we meet another time, Lord Baelish?"
With that, without waiting for an answer, he spurred his horse straight toward the Red Keep.
Yet, whether deliberately or not, the Imp did not slow his horse. Baelish, who had just relaxed, was splashed in the face once again.
The stench of mingled shit and urine flooded his nose and mouth. Only after hurriedly spitting several times did he recover. Watching the Imp's retreating figure, Baelish's murderous gaze was almost tangible:
"Damn the Lannisters. Damn the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. I, Petyr Baelish, will trample every last one of you underfoot sooner or later!"
Before you continue