The scenery in the western suburbs of King's Landing is quite pleasant.
Joffrey rode his fine horse joyfully, escorted by The Hound, and accompanied Duke Tywin's caravan on their journey home.
It was a long journey.
The caravan would travel west along the wide Goldroad for over two thousand kilometers, reaching the heart of the Westerlands—Casterly Rock, built of rock and bone, with gold for blood and marrow, a castle that had never fallen.
His previous memories were far from enough to satisfy Joffrey's desire to explore Casterly Rock.
Unfortunately, when news of Hand Jon's death arrived, the caravan probably hadn't even touched the edge of the Westerlands. If he wanted to see Casterly Rock with his own eyes, he would have to wait a while longer.
On a fertile green hillock, Joffrey reined in his horse and gazed into the distance at the caravan winding its way along the road.
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. Having left there only in his teens, he must have a lot to say.
The Hound was still a little awkward. Being called by his real name occasionally felt as uncomfortable as eating a bug. Heh, have I been a dog for too long?
"Casterly Rock, huh," The Hound could barely remember. Back then, he was thinking about Gregor all day.
"It's big, it's hard, not a good place for fun."
Joffrey glanced at him, finding him a real killjoy. "The Mountain is in the caravan right now. Do you want to do something about him?"
It was better to settle this grudge as soon as possible. His personal guard constantly wore a grim face, his mind full of thoughts of revenge, which really ruined the atmosphere.
The Hound flinched as if touched by a tongue of fire. "Prince, let's rejoin the group early. The castle where we'll camp tonight is still far away."
As soon as he finished speaking, The Hound was the first to flick the reins and gallop straight down towards the caravan below.
What was the connection between rejoining the group and the castle being far away?
Joffrey shook his head and sighed. It's all my fault. I'll definitely not bring this guy next time I go out for a change of scenery!
After returning to the caravan, Joffrey climbed into his spacious carriage. Although it couldn't compare to the Queen's enormous wheeled palace pulled by forty horses, it was large enough for seven or eight people to rest and entertain themselves.
"Hannah, bring out everything we brought from the treasury."
This was originally the squire Elin's job.
The young girl sitting quietly in the carriage took out items one by one from the box under her seat.
Valyrian Steel that had lost its magic, Glass Candles, gems and crystals, and a greatsword.
Joffrey picked up a dagger and examined it carefully. It had a Dragonbone hilt, a blade as black as night, two fingers wide, slightly longer than his palm, and double-edged.
This was probably the dagger that was used to assassinate Bran in the story.
"Hannah, I took you from my mother without her permission. You don't have any thoughts about that, do you?"
Joffrey asked abruptly.
The little maid was startled and quickly expressed her feelings. "How could I? It is Hannah's greatest fortune to be able to serve the Crown Prince."
Her cheeks were slightly flushed.
"Actually, Hannah has already passed her fifteenth Naming Day. If it weren't for you, the Queen would probably have tried to match me with those squires. I wouldn't want that."
Glancing at the girl's beautiful features and figure, Joffrey chuckled softly and ruffled her chestnut curls.
In the future, when cleaning up the court, a senior maid with no family background, familiar with the Red Keep, and who was steady and reliable in her work would surely be of great use.
"We'll sleep here tonight. The carriage is warmer."
Hannah lowered her head shyly.
In the evening, the massive caravan finally reached the campsite.
This was the Thorne Family's ancestral castle in the western Crownlands. It was supported by tens of thousands of farmers within a radius of dozens of miles.
The Lannister Family's generosity and wealth were known throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and the Thorne Family naturally wouldn't and didn't dare to refuse such guests, having prepared ample food for their entertainment long in advance.
However, the stone castle wasn't large, and stuffing a thousand people into it made it quite crowded. The interior decoration and furnishings were also very ordinary.
Joffrey preferred to spend the night in his own carriage.
A banquet was being held outside. He let Hannah and the other servants do as they pleased, and stayed alone in the closed carriage.
It was time. He picked up the dagger again.
Since acquiring "it" the night before last, the changes in his soul had grown, its presence had become stronger, and that power was on the verge of bursting forth.
A certain instinct told him how to use it.
Let me see what the magic of Valyrian Steel is.
Joffrey took a deep breath, placed his right hand on the blade of the Dragonbone hilted dagger, and slowly closed his eyes.
He didn't know how long passed.
The external noise gradually diminished and disappeared, and the sound of breathing became everything, rising and falling like a tide, washing over his mind.
Finally, it was stirred slightly.
As if consuming its origin, its presence immediately weakened considerably, and then a cold, invisible mass separated from it.
A strange feeling.
It wasn't a sensation from the gem-like crystal, nor the special light he saw, but a coldness that reached deep into his soul.
A water-like chill flowed through his eye sockets, the base of his tongue, throat, shoulder blades, upper arms, forearms, wrists, all the way to the tips of each finger on his right hand.
That right hand broke free from the control of his brain and clenched the dagger with sudden force.
But under the caress of the invisible cold energy, he seemed to lose all fear and pain, his face expressionless, letting blood drip down the blade and through his fingers.
In an instant or an eternity, the cold energy completely transferred to the dagger. The patterns on the dagger lit up again, and the white light gradually filled and spread...
In the next moment, waves of stinging pain, the smell of iron, and his bleeding right hand flooded into his mind simultaneously.
He immediately threw the dagger away as if it were a hot iron, and carefully cradled his poor right hand with lightning speed, even wanting to stick out his tongue and lick it.
Damn it, that really f*cking hurts!
This magic stuff is too weird! How could I be so cruel to myself! Mechanical mind?
He wanted to cry but had no tears. How was he going to explain this? Say he suddenly went crazy and self-harmed?
Hiss~
The wound on his hand was incredibly itchy.
He noticed with surprise that the white light on his body was rapidly dimming.
This process was hard to quantify. Fortunately, the sense of "its" existence didn't weaken further, and the final brightness of the white light was similar to what he had seen yesterday morning. At least it hadn't completely disappeared.
My hand?!
Joffrey stroked his right hand. It no longer hurt. All the scars had completely vanished, with only the slightly dried bloodstains proving that everything that had just happened wasn't an illusion.
It healed me?
Joffrey could only think of this explanation. It had created Valyrian Steel at the cost of part of its own essence and had used the white light to repair his injuries.
Amazing.
In just a few minutes, his spirits had fluctuated wildly with the changes in the situation, finally ending perfectly.
After calming down, he began to summarize his gains from this experience.
The toughness and sharpness of Valyrian Steel, the rapid healing of wounds—these seemingly unrelated things actually had something in common.
He had previously discovered that the material properties of Valyrian Steel itself were not indestructible. However, cracked Valyrian Steel would gradually recover as the white light was consumed.
In other words.
Each attack by Valyrian Steel also caused tiny damage to itself.
It was only because this magic could quickly repair the tiny damage to Valyrian Steel, keeping it in optimal condition at all times. Coupled with its greater value as a collectible and symbol, it was rarely used in everyday life. These factors together created its current reputation.
The healing of wounds was probably a similar effect.
He was lost in thought.
Perhaps he could call it—Healing Magic.
Hannah's voice came from outside the carriage, "Your Highness, there's steak and lamb legs, fried fish and smoked chicken, roast duck, bread and honey, cake, fruit, red wine and ale here. Do you need anything?"
Joffrey began to tidy up the messy scene. "Just bring some food over."
After eating his fill.
Joffrey lay relaxed on the carriage bed, carefully admiring the eight-inch-long Valyrian Steel dagger in his palm.
It was different from the previous ones.
This dagger was the crystallization of his wisdom, made by his own hands and stained with his blood.
Looking at this dagger, Joffrey felt as if he saw thousands upon thousands of equally powerful swords, axes, and spears.
One day.
Those scenes from his dreams would become reality. Not just the Seven Kingdoms, but the world would submit!
Hannah changed into a light veil and got onto the bed.
She leaned against the prince, reaching out curiously to touch the blade. "Your Highness, this dagger is so beautiful. Does it have a name?"
"It didn't before, but now I'll call it 'Light of Peace'. What do you think?"
He had once curiously looked it up. Joffrey was a French variant of Geoffrey, meaning divine peace.
Hannah nestled her head into his arms, her voice soft and light. "It's a nice name~"
What are you doing, woman? Why are you suddenly acting like this?
A flame that was on the verge of erupting suddenly ignited in Joffrey's heart. What did a man want? Power, conquest, women.
"Heh heh, then let me show you the power of 'Light of Peace'!"
"Ah, Your Highness~"
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