Early morning, the Great Sept of Baelor plaza.
The early autumn sunlight slanted across the white marble floor, illuminating the texture of every stone slab.
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The air still held the dampness of night dew, mixed with the faint, briny scent from the distant Blackwater Rush.
The perimeter of the plaza had already been cordoned off by the Gold Cloaks.
They held spears, maintaining order with expressionless faces.
Beyond the line, the crowd surged.
In the front row were nobles dressed in silk and velvet, most of them hiding in the shadows cast by their servants, enjoying the best positions.
Behind them were merchants and craftsmen, and further back, the commoners packed together in a dense mass.
Many residents of Flea Bottom had come, along with some fishermen who lived outside the Mud Gate. Their expressions were complex; fear, excitement, confusion, and resentment flickered across their grimy faces.
In the center of the plaza, seven newly erected stone pillars were arranged in the shape of a seven-pointed star. Their rough granite texture stood in stark contrast to the smooth marble around them.
A man was tied to the foremost stone pillar.
The High Sparrow, or rather, Maros.
At this moment, he had been stripped of his signature tattered hemp robe and dressed in a coarse, undyed garment of raw hemp that looked very much like a shroud.
His graying hair had been shaved bald. Atop his head, a crooked seven-pointed star had been painted with some red pigment, glaring in the morning light as if a wound were bleeding.
Rawhide ropes bit deep into his wrists and ankles, fixing him to the stone pillar in a standing position.
The High Sparrow kept his head low, his lips constantly moving as he muttered in a faint voice that those standing close could barely hear.
It was the first scripture the High Sparrow had ever recited in his life: "Shoes blind the eyes, fine robes shroud the heart; only with bare feet touching the earth can one feel the pain of the gods, only in coarse cloth can one approach divinity...
"
Back then, he had become a septon based on this scripture. Now, it sounded like desperate self-hypnosis or the ravings of a madman.
People pointed and whispered about him, the sound of their discussion constant.
"Look, that's the High Sparrow...
""
"I heard he gave people poison to drink?"
"My cousin's child's foot rotted off because of his medicine!"
"But... but he used to give us bread...
"That was the devil's bread! Many people started coughing up blood and died within days after eating it!"
The people in the back were filled with righteous indignation, yet the nobles occasionally chuckled and commented as if they were appraising a work of art.
They could not see the suffering of the common people, nor had they ever experienced it. They simply found it entertaining to watch someone being punished.
Before long, the bells began to toll.
Seven dull strikes, as if thumping directly against a person's chest.
The crowd immediately fell silent.
The massive stained-glass doors of the Great Sept of Baelor slowly opened, and the fat High Septon emerged, followed by seven archseptons in single file.
They wore formal crimson robes, the seven-pointed star chains around their necks glinting in the sun, while their feet were still clad in various styles of ornate shoes.
The group walked onto a temporary wooden platform.
The High Septon gave a slight nod to the crowd, then took a deep breath and announced loudly, "In the name of the Seven!"
"Today, we hold a holy trial here!"
His gaze swept over the crowd before finally landing on the figure on the stone pillar. "Maros, son of a shoemaker, self-styled 'High Sparrow,' your sins are sevenfold."
"The first sin—desecrating the holy office and forging miracles!"
"The second sin—poisoning the commoners and harming women!"
"The third sin—distorting the teachings and trampling on dignity!"
"The fourth sin—illegal detention and the use of extrajudicial punishment!"
"The fifth sin—fraudulent accumulation of wealth and the theft of offerings!"
"The sixth sin—inciting riots and conspiring for rebellion!"
"The seventh sin—arrogantly claiming holiness and attempting to seize divine authority!"
With each charge read, the commotion in the crowd intensified, finally erupting into a powerful outcry. Their fervor far exceeded that of when they had taken the hallucinogens.
Once the people had quieted down slightly, the fat High Septon continued, "Such deeds are no ordinary sins. They are a rot at the foundation of the faith in the Seven, a poisoning of the souls of the believers!"
His voice suddenly rose. "Therefore, by the unanimous decision of the Faith, this man shall be subjected to the highest form of punishment—the Seven-Day Judgment!"
"The Seven-Day Judgment?"
"What on earth is that? I've never heard of it."
The people began to buzz with discussion again. To answer their questions, the fat High Septon cleared his throat and explained, "The Seven-Day Judgment corresponds to the seven aspects of the Seven!"
"Each day, a punishment will be inflicted according to the attributes of the deity he desecrated, punishing his flesh and cleansing his soul!"
"The first day—the Day of the Father. He is punished with the 'Hand of Judgment.' He dared to make unjust judgments; now, the instruments of his judgment shall be taken!"
"The second day—the Day of the Mother. He is punished with the 'Breasts of Mercy.' He twisted mercy into cruelty; now, the source of his hypocrisy shall be withered!
""
"The third day—the Day of the Warrior. He is punished with the 'Feet of Prowess.' He desecrated strength to bully the weak; now, his path of conquest shall be severed!"
"The fourth day—the Day of the Maiden. He is punished with the 'Face of Purity.' He defiled purity to satisfy his private desires; now, the window of his peeping shall be blinded!"
"The fifth day—the Day of the Smith. He is punished with the 'Body of Labor.' He denied labor and stole the credit of creation; now, his thieving body shall be dismantled!"
"The sixth day—the Day of the Crone. He is punished with the 'Lamp of Wisdom.' He feigned wisdom to lead people into darkness with ignorance; now, the fire of his vanity shall be extinguished!"
"The seventh day—the Day of the stranger. He is granted the 'Final Enlightenment.' He abused the fear of death and desecrated life; now, he shall face the void!"
With each day's sentence announced, the crowd erupted in gasps of suppressed shock.
The names of these punishments sounded bone-chilling, filled with a cruelty steeped in religious symbolism.
The nobles whispered among themselves, while most commoners showed fear. Some even began to quietly trace the seven-pointed star across their chests.
Amidst the uproar, the fat High Septon made a final announcement: "If this man can sincerely repent within these seven days, endure the holy judgment, and wash away his sins, and if a breath of life remains by the seventh day, it shall prove his heart may yet be redeemed and his sins forgiven!"
"This is the single thread of mercy within the Seven's endless severity!"
The sentencing finished, and a dead silence fell over the plaza. Everyone looked toward the High Sparrow on the stone pillar.
But at that moment, the High Sparrow, who had been muttering with his head down, suddenly snapped his head up. A fanatical, twisted smile appeared on his face, and he began to laugh aloud!
"Hahaha... Good! The Seven-Day Judgment!"
"This is clearly the final trial given to me by the Seven, the last seven steps to the most holy stage!"
His eyes were wide and bloodshot, yet they burned with a searing light as he scanned the crowd. "Do you see it?!"
"This is the path of the divinely chosen, which the saints of old also endured. This is my glory, my crown!"
He struggled, trying to straighten his bound body, and screamed toward the sky, "To be born is to be in sin; the mortal world is a prison!"
"I will atone for all of you with my flesh and blood! I will prove that the truly chosen of the gods fear no torture in this world!"
"The Seven are with me!"
"Seven days from now, you will witness the rebirth of a saint—stronger and purer than ever before!"
His mad declaration echoed across the plaza.
This display caused fear to appear in the eyes of some, and some of his former followers began to waver.
They seemed to be thinking, 'Yes, if... if he really can endure it?'
That would be a true miracle!
Corleone stood on a slightly elevated step at the edge of the crowd, silently watching the farce with an expressionless face.
"Madman," the Dothraki Warrior beside him spat in disdain. "In dothraki, I kill at least dozens of guys like this a year!"
"Not entirely," Corleone shook his head, unable to help but sigh. "This fellow is still calculating, laying the groundwork for the future."
"If he really can survive these inhuman seven days, even with just one breath left, then this performance of suffering today will become his best endorsement."
"His prestige will soar infinitely, becoming a part of the legend of King's Landing, and even The Seven Kingdoms. People will sing of how he endured the tortures of the Seven without falling!"
"This man's obsession with power has surpassed fear and even reason, becoming an instinct. It's a pity...
"
"A pity what?" Iggo asked.
"It's a pity that to survive these seven punishments I personally designed, a will of steel alone is not enough."
Watching the executioner take the stage, Corleone arched an eyebrow. "At the very least, one also needs a body of steel."
Immediately afterward, under the gaze of thousands, the first day's punishment, the 'Hand of Judgment,' began.
The executioner took a needle and precisely drove it into the tip of the High Sparrow's right middle finger.
"Aaaaah!!!"
A heart-wrenching, soul-tearing shriek instantly shattered all the fanatical declarations from moments ago!
The pain in that voice was so pure and primal that everyone who heard it couldn't help but shudder.
The High Sparrow's body jerked violently before being snapped back by the rawhide ropes. His head snapped back, the veins in his neck bulging, and his eyeballs nearly bulging out of their sockets!
The grand talk of a 'divine trial' seemed so hollow and laughable in the face of such direct physical agony.
In the distance, Corleone shook his head slightly. No longer watching, he turned and walked down the steps.
"No need to watch."
He said to Iggo, his voice calm and steady, "There's no way this guy can survive."
"On the first day, he might be able to tough it out with madness and adrenaline. But starting from the second day, when thirst, blood loss, infection, and so many debuffs stack up..."
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"Madness won't save him, and faith certainly won't. He's just a mortal who thinks he's special, and a mortal's body has its limits."
Unless he converts to a certain Lord of Light right now, maybe then he'd have a chance...
Hearing this, Iggo grinned. "Then he might as well stop being human."
Corleone was exactly right.
By the evening of the first day, after the executioner had destroyed all five fingers and coated them in molten honey, the High Sparrow was still preaching.
"See... this is... the trial!"
"My blood... flows for you... atonement... all for atonement...
", the second day, the 'Day of the Mother.'"
A corrosive paste of wormwood and salt crystals was applied to his chest and abdomen, then tightly wrapped in coarse linen soaked in wine. He could only make wheezing gasps from his throat, unable to utter a complete sentence.
The third day, the 'Day of the Warrior.'
A heavy hammer slowly crushed his ankle bones and arches. Even his screams became faint. His body twitched uncontrollably; his eyes rolled back, he lost control of his bowels, and a foul stench filled the air.
On the fourth day, when the executioner smeared that foul-smelling mixture on his face, he barely reacted.
In the evening, when he was moved back to his iron cage, the guards found his body already cold.
The High Sparrow was dead, having died during the 'Face of Purity' punishment.
In the end, he failed to complete his'Seven-Day Trial.' His body was hastily collected on the morning of the fifth day and reportedly thrown into the sea.
The plaza was thoroughly cleaned, and the seven stone pillars were removed as if nothing had ever happened.
Only the memories of the onlookers from those seven days and the snippets of discussion in the streets and alleys remained to prove that a madman had once dreamed of ascending to heaven, only to fall to his death on the steps.
The fifth day.
Early morning, the Place of Order.
The aroma of toasted bread and herbal porridge filled the air.
Corleone sat by the window, enjoying a simple breakfast: boiled eggs, bacon, roasted mushrooms, and a cup of hot goat's milk with honey.
Outside the window, the streets of Flea Bottom were much cleaner than before; not a hint of stench remained, and the line for porridge had gradually become orderly.
The Place of Order was nearly complete. Soon, everyone would have new jobs and be able to support themselves without relying on relief.
Not far away, Brienne was instructing a few young men in basic swordsmanship on the training grounds, her shouts clear and forceful.
At first, these boys were quite arrogant, refusing to accept instruction from a woman until Brienne punched a training post into splinters right in front of them.
Iggo leaned against the doorframe, sharpening his shortsword, his eyes lingering on the large woman as if he had already planned out having several children with her.
Everything was so peaceful and orderly, filled with a slow but steady vitality.
This was the feeling Corleone liked.
Footsteps approached from the door, steady and unhurried.
Corleone didn't look up until the footsteps stopped beside his table.
White armor and helm, short golden hair streaked with gray, and a handsome face looking slightly haggard.
"Hey, Jaime!"
Recognizing the visitor, Corleone immediately stood up happily and embraced him, his right hand clapping against the hard backplate of the armor.
Feeling that strength, the frustration Jaime had felt over the past few days lessened quite a bit.
He had been back in King's Landing for over half a month, but Cersei had been unwilling to let him touch her. Fortunately, he found some warmth here with Corleone.
"Corleone," Jaime began, his voice a bit raspy.
He pressed his hands on Corleone's shoulders and paused for a moment, as if weighing his words, before speaking after a long hesitation:
6
"Cersei wants to see you."
Cersei?
The Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister?
Corleone raised an eyebrow.
Why did she want to see him?
In an instant, countless thoughts flashed through Corleone's mind. Could it be that his never-before-displayed [Bed Technique Lv3] had been discovered by her?
Who leaked the news?!
But even if she lusted after his superior skills, she didn't need to have Jaime come and invite him, did she? Could it be that the Queen Regent enjoyed this kind of arrangement?
Seeing that his expression was off, Jaime seemed to sense that the boy was thinking something unhealthy. He quickly stepped forward and lowered his voice: "The King in the North, Robb Stark..."
"
"...is dead!"