"Sansa is such an idiot," Arya Stark huffed, two wooden swords flashing as she darted gracefully through a room cluttered with obstacles. She moved like a cat, nimble and light, practicing her footwork while mocking her sister. "Last night she actually said she wants to have a bunch of blond-haired babies with that fool Joffrey. But everyone in House Baratheon has black hair!"
After more than four months of relentless training, Arya's Postnatal Inner Core Skill had advanced to the second level, and she had reached minor mastery in both the Jade Maiden Sword and Quanzhen Sword techniques. Now she was ready to begin learning the Pure-Heart Jade Maiden Sword, the fusion of the two styles.
Hearing the little girl's teasing remark, Aedric's heart tensed.
He instantly knew—the final act was about to begin.
The wolves and the lions were on a collision course.
He stood in silence for a moment, then quietly left the room. When he returned a short while later, he carried a wooden box and a bundle in his hands.
"Arya, stop for a bit. I have something to show you."
The lively girl bounced over, curiosity shining in her eyes.
Aedric handed her the box first. "Go on, open it."
Arya obeyed—and her eyes widened in astonishment.
Inside lay a pair of beautifully crafted short swords, each in its own scabbard. The blades were only about two feet long, half the size of a greatsword—just right for her build and style.
When she drew one, the dimly lit room flashed with silver light. The blade gleamed cold and bright, its chill making her shiver.
"'Silver Frost' and 'Cold Moon,'" Aedric explained. "Each blade is one foot seven inches long, weighs nine taels and three qian. Incredibly light, sharp enough to slice hair in midair. I had them made especially for your sword style."
To demonstrate, he plucked a single strand of Arya's hair and gently set it on the edge. The hair instantly split in two, drifting down like snow.
"Wow! They're that sharp!" Arya exclaimed, eyes shining. She swung the twin swords in delight, marveling at how perfectly they fit her hands. "Jon, where did you get these? They must have cost a fortune!"
Arya wasn't stupid. Since arriving in King's Landing, Aedric had been giving her mysterious pills that made her body stronger and her cultivation progress faster each time she took them. Those clearly weren't cheap.
Now he had brought her a pair of swords that rivaled Valyrian steel in quality—the cost must have been staggering.
She remembered asking him before where he got such things, but Aedric had always brushed it off with a smile. Now, excitement and guilt mixed in her heart; she was afraid her "brother" had paid too high a price for her sake.
"They were forged long ago," Aedric said casually, shrugging.
In truth, he thought silently, they were forged in another world—part of a collection of divine weapons I had crafted for an empire. I made them specifically to complement the Pure-Heart Jade Maiden Sword Technique.
As Arya admired the weapons with gleaming eyes, Aedric sat beside her and asked quietly, "Arya, what color is King Robert's hair?"
"Black," she answered absentmindedly, still captivated by the swords.
"And Lord Stark's?"
"Father? It's kind of brownish-gray."
"And yours?"
"I'm his daughter, of course it's brownish-gray too. Why are you asking—"
"What about Prince Joffrey's?"
"Gold, obviously…"
Her voice trailed off. Her body froze.
Arya's face went pale as the realization dawned on her. She looked up at Aedric in horror, about to cry out—
But Aedric clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Yes," he said softly, meeting her wide, frightened eyes. "The father has black hair, but the son's is golden. Interesting, isn't it?"
He slowly removed his hand and raised a finger to his lips. "Shh. Lord Stark should already know. Don't speak of it to anyone. Just keep it to yourself."
"But… but…" Arya stammered, panicked. "Sansa's been spending all her time with Joffrey! What if something happens to her?"
Despite their bickering, they were still sisters—blood of the same blood. Arya's first thought was for Sansa's safety.
"You can warn her," Aedric said gently. "Tell her to stay away from Joffrey for the next few days. But don't mention anything about his parentage. Your father likely has a plan. And Sansa's not exactly tight-lipped—if she lets something slip, it could be disastrous."
Then he handed her the bundle. Inside was a soft, form-fitting suit of armor, light as silk.
"Wear this under your clothes from now on," he instructed. "And keep your swords with you at all times. Just in case."
"Jon… something bad's going to happen, isn't it?" Arya whispered, clutching his arm. Fear flickered in her gray eyes.
"No one knows the future," Aedric said softly, brushing her hair back with a tender hand. "But if you're prepared, you'll survive it. Whatever happens, I'll protect you. I'll protect all of you. I promise—we'll make it back to Winterfell."
Arya bit her lip, trembling. Then she buried her face against his chest, holding tight, as if she could draw safety from his heartbeat.
Aedric stroked her back gently, though his own eyes gleamed cold and sharp.
He'd endured the title of "bastard" long enough. Now, at last, he could act openly.
Lannisters, he thought, his gaze icy as steel. You think you're masters of the "game of thrones"?
Then I'll teach you the truth — power doesn't come from schemes and titles.
It comes from the barrel of a gun.
And that rule never changes, no matter what world you're in.
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