Chapter 50: Arrival at King's Landing

"Believe it or not, I for one believe in this god, Martin; he is the newly arrived God of Humor," Desmond joked.

Beside him were his companions, including the mounted Patrick and Arthur.

Except for the Lord of the Red Mill, the others burst into laughter.

One couldn't blame them; it was mainly because Arthur's remarks about this god, Martin, were simply too absurd.

To conjure up a new god out of thin air—anyone who heard it would take it as a joke.

For the past two days, whenever Arthur was idle, he would vaguely describe to them things about to happen in King's Landing.

Many understood what he meant, as the wolf, stag, and lion Arthur used as metaphors were easy to identify as the respective factions.

But few believed him.

Most people regarded his words as a joke.

Arthur pointed his index finger at the group, "You bunch of sheltered fellows, how can you not even believe in a God of Martin? In the extremely distant East, there are quite a few gods."

"For example?" Patrick didn't intend to let Arthur off the hook; he just wanted to see what other tricks the God of Hammers could come up with.

Desmond and the Attendants also leaned in, pricking up their ears to listen.

Acting this way was purely because the journey was too boring.

Having finally found a joke like Martin, how could they easily let the matter drop?

"Want to hear, do you?" Arthur sneered, and after taking a deep breath, he began to spread Blue Star culture.

"For instance, Bodhisattva Gatling, with a Gatling gun in hand, three thousand six hundred rotations per breath, every rotation ferries those with affinity; or take the God of Electromagnetism Faraday, a blessing of one hundred thousand volts, any wicked person can be blessed all the way to hell; or the God of Fire Cloud Huoyun Xieshen Nobel, the Father of Circles Zu Chongzhi..."

After he spoke for a long time, Patrick and the others shifted from their initial mindset of watching for fun to doubting their own lack of knowledge.

"Desmond, I haven't read much; are these gods actually real?" the heir to Seagard asked uncertainly.

Desmond was also a bit bewildered; it was mainly because Arthur spoke with such conviction.

"Perhaps, maybe the Maesters in Oldtown know of these things; I have never heard of them."

These dozen or so divine names and their primary abilities didn't sound like they were made up on the spot; perhaps there really was some truth to it.

Yule followed behind, also confused by his nephew as to whether it was real or fake: "I've spent twenty years knocking about Westeros and the Free Cities of Essos, and I've never heard of these gods either."

Arthur scoffed: "How many places have you actually been to? Do you know how big this world is? The Dothraki Sea alone is larger than the entire continent of Westeros, not to mention Asshai and Wuer tesi in the east. The legendary Qarth is an even wealthier city; how many people in Westeros have ever been there?"

"The world is so vast that no single person can know most knowledge and facts; for things you are unclear about, you must maintain reverence," Arthur lectured in an old-fashioned tone.

All nineteen were taken aback by Arthur's words, nodding either sincerely or feignedly.

"Do you believe in the God of Martin now?"

"Still don't, not unless the prophecies you spoke of come true."

"They don't even all have to come true; just one or two matching would be enough, after all, what Mr. Arthur said is truly too absurd," Desmond added.

"What if everything I said is true and happens in the future? How will you compensate me for mocking me now? You know, because of you, my fragile heart has suffered quite a blow." Arthur clutched his chest, pretending to be severely wounded.

"I, Patrick Mallister, swear that as long as one thing Arthur said is true, from now on I will only listen to your advice." He grinned and extended his right hand, making a not-so-serious vow.

"Take it seriously, this is a god." Although Arthur also wanted to laugh, this concerned his own grand undertaking of posing as a god; if he couldn't even fool these few people, he might as well give up this line of work early and go to sleep.

"How can you expect me to be serious with what you're saying? If something as absurd as Lord Eddard being killed really happens, it would mean the power of the God of Martin has reached a level unimaginable to ordinary people, that his thoughts could influence the operation of this world. But, is that possible?"

Patrick explained.

You've inadvertently glimpsed the truth, Arthur thought to himself.

Although he really wanted to keep making these people believe him, he was truly exhausted, so he stopped talking and let the thin horse beneath him carry him forward.

The group suddenly fell silent, and the party traveled on in quiet.

At dusk that day, as the fiery clouds on the horizon painted the sky into a beautiful masterpiece, they arrived at King's Landing.

This capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the residence of the King, and the second-largest port city in Westeros, looked no different from other large towns, except that the residents' clothes were a bit more ornate, the houses along the road were a bit more luxurious, and there were a few more Knights and nobles on the road.

If one had to name the only difference, it was that there were simply too many people.

Shoulders rubbing, sweat falling like rain, and sleeves blocking out the sun were not just empty words.

Here, Arthur found a trace of the feeling from his past life, the feeling of being a descendant of the dragon.

Even entering the city required waiting in a Platoon.

"Legend says King's Landing stinks to high heaven; it truly lives up to its reputation." Patrick fished a sachet out from somewhere and held it to his nose, sniffing.

In the air around them, the stench of feces, urine, sweat, foot odor, and the foul smell from the sewers mixed together, strongly assaulting the noses of the outsiders.

Just to let them know they had arrived in King's Landing.

In the original work, Tyrion Lannister wanted to renovate the drainage system of this city of five hundred thousand people because he couldn't stand the stench of King's Landing, but it came to nothing.

"It's even more foul than our stables back home."

Arthur's personal Attendant, Meidan, had no sachet to neutralize the stench; he helplessly fanned the air with his hand, as if that could drive away the smell near his nose.

But in reality, he was just fanning fresh stench into his own nostrils.

Arthur comforted him: "You should think of it this way: our stables back home have, to a certain extent, caught up to the level of King's Landing."

He couldn't stand the stench either, but there was no help for it; he could only endure.

After a few breaths, Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

He shouted at Patrick: "Do you have any other sachets? Give it to me."

Patrick shook his head gently but firmly, not wanting to give his spare sachet to Arthur.

Although he felt this little thing his mother gave him was a burden when he left Seagard, now it looked like something that could save his life.

He made up his mind that tomorrow he would definitely go out and pick a few good sachets to use in rotation.

"Hand it over!" Arthur didn't want his body and mind to suffer such torture from the stench, so he spurred his horse close to Patrick and snatched the sachet away.

Then he held it to his nose and took a few deep breaths.

Just after a few breaths, he felt the whole world become fresh again.

Patrick knew he couldn't beat Arthur, so he watched his unreasonable companion with longing, hoping he would return the sachet.

Arthur ignored him, prioritizing his own comfort first; he even had the leisure to glance at Patrick, wanting to see the sorry state of him covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve.

But clearly, Arthur was disappointed; the heir to Seagard fished another scented sachet from the luggage on his horse, held it up to his nose, and began to inhale.

PS: New author, new book, seeking collections, recommendation votes, and monthly tickets.

(End of chapter)