WTR-LAB
Game of Thrones: Flames of Wrath
The cold wind howled, whipping the Snow several fathoms high.
"Gods be good!" Eddard gasped.
A massive corpse came into view. "Robb, don't touch it!" The squire Jory Cassel leaped from his horse, drew his sword, and stepped forward to turn the creature's head over himself.
"My lord, it's a Direwolf!"
Jory found it hard to believe, for direwolves had not been seen for hundreds of years.
The sight before him left him stunned; the Direwolf's massive frame was half-buried in the Snow, blood staining the drifts red, its grey fur already frozen and stiff.
The eye sockets were crawling with swarms of insects, and its sharp teeth were still visible within its snarling maw. It was hard to imagine what could have caused such a great beast to die so miserably here.
"My lord, this is no good omen," Hullen, the master of horse, whispered into Eddard's ear in a voice only the two of them could hear.
Except for Bran, everyone present seemed to understand something, their gazes turning toward Eddard in unison.
Eddard Stark, with his long brown hair and grey eyes, was thirty-five years old this year. Once the second son of House Stark, he had become the Lord of the North through a twist of fate. His face was weathered by time, and a few strands of his beard had already turned white, making him look several years older than his actual age.
He looked at the scene before him with a grim expression, whispering, "winter is coming." The Direwolf was the sigil of House Stark, and it held a meaning for their family that differed from that of ordinary people.
Eddard walked to the corpse and leaned down to inspect it. The dutiful Jory handed him a sword so that our Lord could turn it over to examine it.
The longsword sank deep into the Snow, and with a casual shove, the massive body flipped over. Only then did Eddard see the huge antler lodged under the Direwolf's neck; it seemed this was the cause of the great beast's death. Beneath the corpse, several pups were revealed, their tiny whimpers catching Bran's attention.
Robb stepped forward and gathered the wolf pups into his arms. "There are five in total." Seeing the expectant look in Bran's eyes, Robb picked one from his arms and handed it to his young brother.
Bran cheered, cradling the tiny Direwolf. This Direwolf had grey-black fur and had not yet opened its eyes, only instinctively sticking out its tongue to lick Bran's cheek.
Holding the other four pups, Robb said to his father, "Father, let us take them back and raise them." Seeing that Eddard did not respond, Jon Snow also chimed in:
"Father, don't these five correspond exactly to your five children? Your sigil is the Direwolf, and these five pups happen to be three males and two females."
Eddard looked at his "bastard." "Jon, don't you want one?" Jon Snow had dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders; though he was only fourteen, he possessed the features of House Stark more distinctly than his half-siblings. His black clothes made his lean physique even more apparent. He had a long face and a pair of grey, piercing eyes. "He looks so much like himself," Eddard sighed.
"I do not bear your surname, and I have no right to be a Stark." There was no emotional fluctuation in Jon's words; this was simply what he thought. Even though his father, Eddard, treated him very well—so well that he almost forgot his status as a bastard many times.
Eddard eventually softened his heart. "Go on then, take them back. Jory, bring me my horse!"
"Wonderful! It's my little wolf now!" Bran's cheering reached Eddard's ears, and a rare smile appeared on his stern face. Even the fiercest wolf has affection for its young.
Just as they were mounting their horses to head back, Jon suddenly stopped. He heard a faint cry. "Listen!" However, the others heard nothing but the howling of the cold wind.
Jon dismounted, walked to the mother wolf's corpse, and pulled a small white wolf from under a tree behind it. Its fur was pure white, starkly different from its siblings, most of whom had grey-black fur.
Its eyes were as red as two rubies. For some reason, while the other pups had not even opened their eyes, this one's eyes were bright and spirited.
Its gaze was remarkably like Jon's. As Jon met its eyes, it felt like a bond of destiny, making him determined to raise it.
"Lord Father, this one is my wolf," Jon said happily to Eddard while holding the white pup.
Eddard gave him a deep look. "Very well, my child, it is yours." With that, he rode off slowly, gripping the reins and frowning, lost in thought.
"An albino among the grey, the runt of the litter. That one's yours, Snow," Eddard's ward, Theon Greyjoy, mocked mercilessly. It seemed he and Jon Snow did not get along well.
————
Joffrey found an excuse to go to a far corner to study his abilities. He discovered his body was filled with volatile Fire magic, circulating continuously from his head to his toes, yet he was unable to use it. "Could it be that the Red Comet that streaked across the sky when the dragons were born was the beginning of the magic reboot?"
He remembered the blood-Red Comet from the show, trailing a long, pale red tail as it streaked across the sky...
Although he could not move the magic, Joffrey felt his body was stronger than ever. Before, he couldn't hold a sword for long, but now the blade felt incredibly light.
"It seems I need to forge a spear." In his previous life, Joffrey had studied the Yang Family Spear, and he was still not quite used to medium-to-short range weapons like sabers and swords.
"The spear is the king of all weapons. The Yang Family Spear is ever-changing and infinitely divine, admired by all under heaven." For some reason, Joffrey's memory had improved rapidly after his transmigration, and distant memories surfaced in his mind.
An old man with white hair holding a spear appeared in his mind; Joffrey remembered this was his grandfather from his previous life.
"The spear is a waist-locking bond; first strike the hands and feet. Be faster than fast; even after striking, it's still too slow."
"An advance so sharp it's unstoppable, a retreat so swift it's unreachable."
Spears and lances are the absolute rulers of the battlefield; even if Guo Jing went to war, he would have to use a lance.
However, the Yang Family Spear of Joffrey's previous family was different from the traditional one. It was possible his ancestors had failed to inherit it completely, instead innovating and adding their own understanding based on what they had learned.
The traditional Yang Family Spear's combat characteristics focused on'speed,' emphasizing a combination of feints and reality, hardness and softness. Its strikes were unstoppable and deceptive, while its retreats were as swift as the wind, steady and grand.
But Joffrey's ancestors failed to achieve the balance of hard and soft, only learning the 'hard' part and never mastering the'soft.' Thus, over hundreds of years of inheritance, they took a different path, focusing solely on the 'hard' characteristic and creating the Qiao family's unique Yang Family Spear.
The biggest difference was the shaft. To achieve the balance of hard and soft, the traditional Yang Family Spear generally used a wooden shaft. Because it swayed like pear blossoms when wielded, its full name was the 'Yang Family Pear Blossom Spear.'
Joffrey's family version, however, was made of three interlocking steel tubes. As the saying goes: 'A gentleman hides his weapon and waits for the right moment to act.' It was both easy to carry and incredibly powerful.
"Your Highness, it is time for us to go."
While Joffrey was lost in thought, a magnetic voice interrupted him.
He saw a man, tall and handsome, with flowing golden hair, riding a white horse. He wore a longsword at his waist, a lion-crested helm, a beast-patterned belt, golden armor, and a white cloak. At first glance, a sense of refined elegance seemed to emanate from him. It was no wonder the books described him as having'shining green eyes and a smile as sharp as a blade.'
"Alright, Uncle Jaime." Joffrey called him uncle, but in his heart, he knew this man was the biological father of his current body.
It had to be said that Joffrey was very satisfied with his appearance in this life. When he watched the show in his previous life, he thought Joffrey looked quite decent, and he was quite imposing when he first appeared. They say a nephew takes after his uncle, and his mother looked almost exactly like his uncle; it was truly remarkable.
(According to the original setting: Jaime and Cersei look very similar, 'like statues cast from the same mold.' As children, they even swapped clothes to impersonate each other, and even their father Tywin couldn't tell the difference.)
Thinking of the House Stark he was about to meet, Joffrey couldn't help but feel a sense of yearning, especially for Eddard Stark. His favorite character, yet standing on the opposite side—it was truly a poignant plot.
Joffrey rode back, a different thought emerging in his mind—could he change the fate of some people? Once this thought appeared, it could no longer be removed, growing wildly and flooding his mind...