That night, at Luke's residence.
Moonlight poured like water over the mansion on Rhaenys's Hill. Luke was in his study reading the latest intelligence from the Web when he heard footsteps outside.
Bronn pushed open the door and saluted. "My lord, Petyr Baelish has co to visit."
Luke's eyebrows rose slightly.
Littlefinger?
The man had sent soone during the day to invite him, but Luke had ignored it. Now he was showing up in person?
"Let him in," Luke said, putting down the docunts. A cold smile appeared on his face.
Monts later, Petyr Baelish walked into the study.
He looked exactly as always — slim build, sharp eyes, and that ever-present smile that was impossible to read.
Petyr offered a smile. "My lord baron, forgive for calling on you so late at night."
Luke kept a cold expression and made no move to stand and greet him.
"Master of Coin, what brings you here at this hour?"
Petyr acted as if he hadn't noticed the chill and kept smiling.
"My lord baron, it has been a long ti. You look even more impressive than before."
Luke gave a cold laugh.
"Thanks to you. Half a year ago, that pack of hyenas who besieged — I heard you were the one fanning the flas."
Petyr's expression didn't change.
"What makes you say that?" He spread his hands innocently. "We are allies. I helped you obtain your title, I helped move your magical goods, and I helped suppress the nobles' discontent toward you. Today I also convinced the new Hand to expand royal cooperation with you. The Iron Throne will fully support you."
Luke stared at him for a long mont before his expression finally softened.
"It seems I misunderstood you, Lord Petyr."
Petyr waved his hand with a smile and looked out the window into the courtyard.
There, several guards from the family guard were patrolling. Moonlight glinted coldly off their half-plate armor.
"These must be the Jaqenion family guards," Petyr said admiringly. "Truly a pack of wolves and tigers. They've only been training for a short ti, yet they defeated a much larger coalition of old noble houses and left no survivors. All the noble ladies in King's Landing are praising your skill at training and commanding troops."
Luke remained silent, quietly watching the man and wondering what he really wanted.
Petyr took another step closer and lowered his voice.
"Rumors in the streets say you possess magical weapons that can kill dozens of n in an instant. Is that true?"
Luke smiled.
"That is a secret of House Jaqenion. I'm afraid I cannot disclose it."
Petyr did not press the matter. He simply nodded, as if he had expected the answer. He glanced around to make sure no one else was present, then leaned in mysteriously.
"My lord baron, chaos is coming to the Seven Kingdoms."
Luke feigned confusion.
"Why? The King is in good health, the heir is secure, the position of Hand has been filled. The realm is at peace — where is this chaos coming from?"
Petyr shook his head, a sharp light flashing in his eyes.
"The previous Hand did not die of illness."
He stared straight into Luke's eyes and spoke one word at a ti. "Jon Arryn was murdered. Lord Eddard is his foster son. He will surely investigate until he uncovers the truth. When that happens, no one knows what will occur."
Luke put on a surprised expression — of course it was fake.
Petyr continued, "I predict that once the truth cos out, the Seven Kingdoms will descend into war, and that day may arrive very soon!"
He stepped closer, his tone sincere.
"I suggest that after the tourney ends, you return to your lands at once. Recruit soldiers, expand your army. That way, whether you choose to watch from the sidelines or pick a side, you will have more options."
He paused, then added, "House Hoare of Harrenhal is dying out and weak. That would be an excellent place."
Luke nodded thoughtfully.
Seeing that his words had been taken in, Petyr smiled with satisfaction and took his leave.
Luke stood by the window, watching the slim figure disappear into the night.
Truthfully, he rather admired Petyr Baelish.
This was a very complicated man.
Born relatively low, yet possessing extrely high intelligence and cunning. He almost never fought with armies; instead he manipulated others through information, money, and lies. He treated the nobles of Westeros like chess pieces, turning every war and upheaval into an opportunity to climb higher.
He had loved Catelyn Tully his entire life — a twisted, enduring love. Most of his betrayals and sches were, in large part, to prove he was worthy of her.
He had strengths, but his flaws were obvious: he would stop at nothing to achieve his goals and had no loyalty whatsoever.
Petyr thought he could manipulate Luke.
Little did he know that, in Luke's eyes, Littlefinger was also a very useful chess piece.
Because Luke, too, wanted the Seven Kingdoms to fall into chaos.
Only in chaos could he step forward to clean up the ss and reduce the resistance to his conquest of Westeros.
The "Seven Wardens" had no reason to exist!
The corners of Luke's mouth curved into a smile.
…
The tourney proceeded as scheduled.
It was a bright, sunny morning. Outside King's Landing, the tourney grounds were filled with colorful banners waving like clouds.
More than thirty thousand spectators packed the stands. Cheers, shouts, and whistles rged into a roaring sea of noise.
King Robert personally declared the tourney open.
His voice was drowned out by the cheers of thirty thousand people, but no one minded. Everyone was simply waiting for the show to begin.
Golden and crimson Lannister banners, the crowned stag of House Baratheon, and the direwolf of Winterfell snapped in the breeze, as if heralding the arrival of a new era.
The white cloaks of the Kingsguard shone brilliantly in the sunlight.
Ser Barristan Selmy rode once around the field, waving to the crowd.
The aged legendary knight still sat tall and straight, earning thunderous applause.
The finest knights of the Seven Kingdoms had gathered here.
From the Westerlands ca Ser Jai Lannister. His golden armor was dazzling in the sunlight, the white cloak embroidered with a golden lion. Everywhere he went, young girls scread.
From Dorne ca Prince Oberyn Martell. He rode a sand steed, lance in hand, wearing his trademark mysterious smile.
From the Reach ca Ser Loras Tyrell. The appearance of the "Knight of Flowers" sent the entire crowd into a frenzy; young maidens threw flowers in his direction.
Yet right at this mont of gathered stars…
A single rider erged from the crowd.
He sat atop a massive coal-black destrier, wearing a full suit of silver armor with golden accents and no helt.
The entire arena fell silent.
Who was this man?
He looked more refined than Ser Jai and more masculine than the Knight of Flowers.
That armor was simply stunning — sleek lines, exquisite craftsmanship, gleaming with a cold light under the sun.
If the natives had a concept of "aliens," they would have said: this was fucking dinsional superiority! Alien technology had invaded.
In an instant, he outshone everyone else.
In the royal box, King Robert couldn't help but shout.
"It's that guy! Luke Jaqenion! The wine-making kid!"
He was so excited he nearly stood up, only to be pressed back down by Eddard beside him.
"I want to enter the tourney too!" Robert said. "I want to face that lad! Everyone in King's Landing is saying his martial prowess is unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms! Rumors say even the Dragon Rhaegar couldn't compare to him!"
Eddard Stark quickly cald the King's wild mood.
"Your Grace, if you enter the lists, this tourney might as well not be held. The champion would be you no matter what. Besides, you already hamred the Dragon Rhaegar to death."
The ministers nearby also tried to dissuade him. Robert waved his hand in mild disappointnt.
"Fine, fine! Let the tourney begin! I want to see how impressive this kid really is!"
Only then did the nobles in the stands realize that the man was the much-talked-about "magic baron" Luke Jaqenion.
Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of the Lord of the North, lit up with excitent.
She suddenly felt that the "Knight of Flowers" wasn't all that impressive anymore.
So the famous Lord Luke was this tall and heroic. For so reason, she felt that Lord Luke was exactly the kind of knight described in the storybooks — brave, handso, mysterious, and magical.
Arya beside her also grew interested.
"Does that magic baron really know magic?" she asked her sister. "The Imp told he can make lots of delicious candies. After the tourney, I'm going to ask him to teach magic."
Queen Cersei, seated beside Robert, let her gaze linger on the striking figure in the arena.
She licked her lips lightly, as if the sight had awakened her appetite.
But her sharp tongue spared no one.
"I think that boy is all show and no substance," she said carelessly. "Jai could defeat him with one hand."
In the arena, Luke reined in his warhorse and looked up at the stands.
Truthfully, he had not wanted to participate in the tourney.
A full baron and Celestial Dragon competing on the sa stage as these "mud-footed knights"? It was beneath him!
But…
For free attribute points, he would lower himself.
His recent "lack of action" had slowed the gain of free attribute points. The tourney was undoubtedly an excellent chance to raise his fa!
His gaze swept across the stands.
Then he saw her.
Cersei Lannister… the legendary "Queen of Whores"!
Luke had to admit she was an absolute beauty. A hundred tis more stunning than the version in the TV show!
She stood there as if the sunlight itself paused for her.
Her golden hair cascaded like molten gold, every strand gleaming with the Lannister family's signature wealth and pride.
When she turned her head, the flowing luster of that hair could make any jewel seem dull.
Her eyes were another miracle… erald-green orbs carrying a cat-like laziness and vigilance.
When you looked into those eyes, you felt both drawn in and scrutinized, as if she could see straight through your desires while hiding her own thoughts deep within that pool of green.
Her skin was as white and flawless as the deepest marble beneath Casterly Rock, so delicate one might doubt whether anyone dared to touch it.
High cheekbones, sharply defined lips — every inch of her face had been exquisitely sculpted, combining the warmth of southern sunshine with the cold austerity of northern winds.
It was damn hard to imagine this was a middle-aged woman who had already given birth to three children!
She looked no older than an eighteen-year-old maiden. Where was the middle-aged matron?
Luke felt puzzled.
With such a stunning wife, why was King Robert still so promiscuous?
His gaze continued moving.
Then he saw another beauty.
A young girl with red hair sat in the Stark family section. Her appearance was in no way inferior to Cersei's. While she lacked the mature allure of a married woman, she possessed the fresh, sunny charm of youth.
Luke used his spiritual power to eavesdrop for a mont and confird her identity.
It was indeed Sansa Stark.
Eldest daughter of the Lord of the North.
She was breathtakingly beautiful too.
Luke withdrew his gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
In that case, how would the real-life "Little Rose" turn the world upside down?
He was starting to look forward to it.
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