Going alone to the feast, unleashing a massacre

(Thanks to Konggu Wenchang for the monthly ticket.)

Night.

Dark clouds hid the moon behind them, and darkness shrouded the earth.

The silence around the Great Sept of Baelor was suffocating, as though even the air were about to freeze. An occasional cry from a night bird broke the deathly stillness.

In the bright candlelight, the High Sparrow, dressed in coarse gray linen, and Jaqen, clad in red robes, stood at the entrance awaiting their guest of honor.

Solemn choral singing drifted continuously from within the sept.

"What time is it now, Jaqen?"

After an unknown length of time, the High Sparrow, who had remained expressionless, finally grew somewhat impatient and turned to ask.

"It should be almost time, Your High Holiness."

Jaqen answered respectfully. Compared with the High Sparrow, whose eyes held a trace of anxiety, he appeared utterly calm, as though certain that Arthas would arrive on time.

Sure enough, with a loud peal of bells, a tall figure appeared on the steps and slowly climbed toward them.

The dark clouds obligingly parted a little, letting a bright shaft of moonlight fall upon Arthas and illuminate his dazzling golden hair, like the leading man making his entrance in a play.

"Lord Arthas, how wonderful that you could arrive on time."

Still expressionless, the High Sparrow went forward to greet him. After confirming that no one followed Arthas and that his hands were empty, without even a weapon, a flicker of satisfaction at his successful scheme crossed his eyes, though he quickly concealed it.

He reflected that this Commander, who had achieved success so young, was actually arrogant enough to attend the feast alone and unarmed. It seemed he truly enjoyed the Seven's blessing.

"Sorry for the wait, Your High Holiness."

The change in the High Sparrow's expression did not escape Arthas's eyes, but he merely exchanged pleasantries without betraying anything:

"A worship service is such a solemn occasion. I was simply debating at home what would be best to wear. I hope I haven't delayed anything."

"Not at all, Lord Arthas."

Seeing that Arthas was completely unguarded, the corners of the High Sparrow's mouth twitched slightly, as though he could barely keep himself from laughing.

He bowed slightly and extended his right hand, gesturing toward the interior of the Great Sept:

"You've arrived at just the right moment. We were about to begin."

Seeing this, Arthas said no more and strode boldly into the sept without hesitation, with the other two following close behind.

As soon as he set one foot inside, nearly a hundred men with painted faces and sharp blades stood arrayed on either side of the aisle.

They all knelt on one knee, pressing their foreheads to their sword hilts as they faced the Father and sang the song of the Seven.

"The Father's face is stern and strong,

He judges wrong and champions right,

He weighs our lives, the short and long,

And loves the little children."

Amid the solemn singing, Arthas slowly advanced down the aisle, step by step. Just as they finished the last line, he reached the foot of the Father's statue.

"Arthas Lannister!"

Once he had come to a complete stop, the High Sparrow's seemingly righteous roar sounded from behind him. Arthas turned and only then discovered that the barefoot man had not followed him, but stood far away at the entrance.

The High Sparrow raised both hands, his lips pressed together and his eyes closed, as though listening to the teachings of the Seven. In the light, he even looked a little holy.

"The Father knows all. He has long witnessed your crimes, and your sins cannot escape judgment!"

The moment he finished speaking, nearly a hundred Sons of the Warrior rose from the floor, raising their blades to point at the lone figure beneath the Father's statue.

"As far as I know, Your High Holiness."

Facing the blades of a hundred men, Arthas remained utterly calm. He did not turn around, merely gazing intently at the Father's statue, yet his soft murmur reached every ear with perfect clarity:

"The Seven are merciful. They will forgive every sin in this world without hesitation."

These words made the High Sparrow think that Arthas was finally afraid and wanted to beg his forgiveness.

He involuntarily took two steps forward, then, frightened once more by Arthas's terrifying prowess in battle, hastily retreated:

"Indeed, the Seven are merciful."

"All sins shall ultimately be forgiven, but punishment must come first!"

A trace of triumph flashed in his eyes. As though he could already see the glorious sight of himself seated at the pinnacle of power, the High Sparrow declared:

"Kneel, Arthas Lannister!"

"Confess your crimes before the Father, and I shall forgive you on behalf of the Seven!"

"After you have received your rightful punishment, of course!"

"Heh..."

Seeing his opponent finally reveal his true intentions, Arthas slowly turned around and gave a quiet chuckle.

He drew a deep breath, as though savoring the finest scent in the world:

"Do you know, High Sparrow?"

Beneath the dome of glass, gold, and crystal, Arthas stepped back twice and reached out his right hand to stroke the altar gently, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

As he extended his right hand, a sword of deep blue was slowly drawn out. Where blade met hilt, an eerie ram's skull gradually appeared, the same deep blue light flickering within its hollow eye sockets.

As the blade trembled incessantly, Arthas, too, felt Frostmourne's hunger for the delicious soul of the man in the distance.

Looking at the High Sparrow's disbelieving eyes, he leveled the sword at him, and an ancient, commanding whisper resounded throughout the Great Sept:

"Your delicious soul is trembling!"

"H-heretic! He is a heretic!"

The High Sparrow, who had always looked so unruffled, finally panicked. He pointed at Arthas, whose eyes shone blue, his voice as shrill as a frightened little girl's:

"Quick! Kill him! Don't let this heretic defile the hall of the Seven!"

At the High Sparrow's command, more than a dozen fanatical Sons of the Warrior shouted, "By the Seven!" and lunged at Arthas with their blades raised.

But before the Lich King, the pitiful fighting strength of these ordinary mortals was no different from moths flying into a flame.

The sound of blades piercing flesh rang through the hall. In the blink of an eye, Arthas was already pulling Frostmourne from the chest of the last man to swing a sword at him.

Bright red blood stained the holy sept, as though turning it into the filthy, evil Seven Hells.

"Heh... heh..."

Holding Frostmourne, which trembled incessantly with excitement, Arthas slowly walked into the hall, his eyes glowing deep blue as they swept over the others holding weapons:

"I really didn't like the song you were singing."

The youth's once-gentle voice had become like that of a god or demon, striking heavily at every soul.

Arthas paused for a moment, as though considering something.

Suddenly, he drove Frostmourne into the floor with both hands. The men he had just killed actually began to stagger slowly to their feet!

Amid rising and falling roars, the undead army had arrived!

At this utterly bizarre sight, the fanaticism in the eyes of the Sons of the Warrior gradually turned to terror. They scattered in panic, desperately trying to escape.

Yet, at some unknown point, someone had already shut every door tight. No matter how they screamed and cried, there was no response.

"Damn you, Jaqen!"

Among them, the High Sparrow pounded frantically on a door while cursing furiously.

He had noticed Jaqen vanish as soon as the sudden change occurred. By now, even a fool could tell that the man had betrayed the Seven long ago!

"I told you, I really didn't like the song you were singing."

Leaning on Frostmourne, Arthas slowly sat down on the steps and watched their panicked expressions with pleasure. Souls steeped in terror were always the finest seasoning on the Lich King's menu.

"Oh, right!"

He gently patted the step beside him, suddenly seeming to remember something:

"Why don't you sing 'The Rains of Castamere' instead?"

"Let me hear who sings it well, and I'll let him live!"

The Lich King's playful whisper reached every ear with perfect clarity. Toying with people's hearts was his specialty. With nowhere to flee, they could only turn hurriedly and kneel before Arthas, begging his forgiveness.

Some who had heard this song that made the Lannisters famous hastily began to sing through their sobs:

"And who are you, the proud lord said..."

"That I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know..."

"In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws..."

"And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours."

As the singing continued, the undead resurrected by the Lich King hurled themselves at the crowd like utterly vicious beasts. Some who could not sing the song were bitten and torn to pieces on the spot.

Seeing this, the people sang even harder. This highest hall of the faith of the Seven now seemed to be hosting a Lannister family feast.

These most devout followers of the Seven had now all changed sides, as though they had suddenly become Lannister retainers, ceaselessly singing its praises!

And none among them sang harder than the High Sparrow.

"Tap... tap..."

The singing, roaring, and screaming never ceased, yet they could not drown out Arthas's crisp footsteps.

As he walked, he casually swung Frostmourne, cutting off a head with every step, each soul drawn into the evil divine weapon.

When the last person other than the High Sparrow fell, the appetizer was over. Frostmourne's hunger for the fallen soul before it reached its peak!

"And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere..."

Watching Arthas approach, the High Sparrow knew his death was at hand, yet dared not stop singing. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, and his voice trembled so:

"But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear..."

The evil greatsword slowly rose, its keen point like a vicious ghost seeking someone to devour, baring its savage fangs.

"Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall..."

The deep blue blade pierced his chest, and at that moment, the fallen soul was finally released.

The light gradually faded from the High Sparrow's eyes. Blood slowly trickled from the corner of his mouth as he murmured the final line:

"And not... a soul to hear."