The Lightbringer was stabbed into the ground, and it was clearly visible—the blade shone a brighter red than before. A translucent, vivid red, like a crimson crystal forged in flames, now imbued with life. But the magical radiance once surrounding the sword had vanished.
A gentle breeze passed through the courtyard, carrying a faint warmth from the red blade, as if it were a burning piece of charcoal.
"This sword is probably the real deal," Dany said with a frown.
Her right hand, the one that had gripped the sword, was clenched into a fist by her side, tightening and relaxing unnaturally.
"How did you do it?" Stannis asked hoarsely, his eyes dim.
"By using blood, sorcery, and soul to activate it," Dany replied, extending her right hand and opening her palm. The pale skin was lined with dark red cuts. The wounds had scabbed, with only a little blood still seeping out.
It was as if she had gripped not a leather-wrapped hilt, but a multi-edged blade.
"Why does it require blood?" the Red Woman exclaimed in shock.
Dany looked at the red sword embedded in the muddy ground with a complicated expression. In just a few moments, the damp earth near the blade had begun to dry out.
"This is a magic sword. Using it requires a sacrifice of one's own blood and soul. The damage to the wielder is far too great."
"Impossible! Azor Ahai used this weapon for decades and was never harmed by it!" the Red Woman shook her head repeatedly.
"The blood on your hand—wasn't that from a burn?" Stannis asked, noting that Dany's cheeks were still flushed with vitality, showing no signs of having her life force drained by a cursed blade.
"Think what you want. I'm not the one who'll be wielding it," Dany shrugged, her tone casual.
She wasn't lying. When she tried to channel her greenseer magic, Lightbringer had no reaction. But the moment she poured Nine-Colored Vortex magic into the red sword, her hand was seized with searing pain. Her blood and soul were drawn into the hilt beyond her control.
What was worse, the power she lost was gone forever—it wouldn't replenish. The Nine-Colored Vortex was shrinking.
Just two swings of the sword had permanently cost Dany about one-twentieth of her magic and one percent of her soul. If she were to truly wield Lightbringer in a battle against the White Walkers, she wouldn't survive the fight.
A sudden realization struck Dany: the entity inside Lightbringer had never responded to her soul before, but it had always longed to consume her completely.
Yes—when her soul power entered the sword, she glimpsed some of the magical runes inside and even sensed the cold, deathly sword spirit within.
She had tried to communicate with it, sending mental waves and asking if it was Nissa Nissa, Azor Ahai's wife—but the soul inside gave no response.
Yet, the moment her soul, magic, and blood entered the sword, the sword spirit began devouring the energy ravenously, its greed enough to make Dany's heart tremble.
So, without any hesitation, she cast the sword aside after the test.
"The prophecy was right! Your Grace, you are the reincarnation of Azor Ahai!" Old Aemon had no idea what Dany was feeling at the moment and burst into tears from excitement.
"Child of Prophecy! Child of Prophecy!" The Dragon Party, growing more confident by the day, erupted in cheers.
The loudest among them was Ser Elissa, so excited his bald head turned crimson as he led seven or eight of his men in raising their hands and shouting.
The wildlings looked around at each other, unsure if they should shout or how to do it. They felt increasing awe for the Dragon Queen, but they knew nothing of the prophecy from Asshai.
The Stag Party knights, meanwhile, were pale as death, as if their faith and ideals had been shattered in an instant. They stood in a daze, at a complete loss.
"Ahem, everyone," Dany pressed her hands down to quiet the cheering crowd before speaking. "Thank you all for your support, but I'm really not the Child of Prophecy—and I don't want to be.
Do you remember what I told you when I first came to the Wall?There are no saviors in this world. The only ones who can save us are ourselves. Here, on the borders of the Seven Kingdoms, every warrior defending the Wall against the White Walkers is a hero—a savior."
The courtyard fell quiet again. Some seemed thoughtful, while others whispered amongst themselves.
"She really said that?" Ser Florent whispered to blacksmith Donal, tugging his sleeve.
"Yes," Donal looked at the Dragon Queen with admiration and sighed, "From the beginning, she told us that anyone who contributes their strength is a great hero—a true Azor Ahai."
"Damn it, she refuses to eat from the prophecy bowl and just flipped the whole damn table. Now everyone's a savior, so what's the value or appeal of the real savior anymore?" Ser Florent cursed, scowling.
No wonder after being here for days, barely anyone had stepped forward to pledge allegiance to the so-called reincarnation of Azor Ahai.
The Dragon Queen was too much. She wouldn't run the savior business herself, but she also ruined the whole market, leaving all aspiring saviors with nowhere to go.
Absolutely ruthless.
But Donal didn't agree. He frowned and lectured, "She has magical dragons. She was born on Dragonstone, land of smoke and fire. She can control flames, kill White Walkers, and even activate Lightbringer. Who better fits the role of the Child of Prophecy than her?
If there truly is a savior, it has to be her.
And it's precisely because she is the savior that she's doing what a true savior should—helping everyone realize that there are no saviors. Only we can save the Seven Kingdoms.
Only false saviors keep shouting about their status, using it for personal gain."
Ser Florent was stunned. Fuck me, is that how we're spinning it now?
"Exactly," Ser Melisandre nodded beside him. "The more I see her, the more I believe she's the true savior. Only a real savior would be humble and care nothing for hollow titles."
Ser Florent couldn't take it anymore. "Did none of you hear what she said? She literally said she's not the savior!"
"Ah, that's the true style of the Child of Prophecy!" Pomegranate Eyes looked at the Dragon Queen with reverence, moved beyond words. "It's easy to understand, really. Does a truly rich man go around telling everyone, 'Hey, I'm loaded'?"
Ser Florent nearly choked on his own spit. He couldn't swallow it, couldn't cough it up—he was suffering.
Dany didn't expect her words to have such an effect. To be honest, she truly thought the title "Child of Prophecy" was a trap and never wanted to compete for the title of savior.
At that moment, she noticed the old maester watching from a third-story window of the King's Tower.
She was about to leave the Wall—and it was time for that old man to take the black.
"Gren, Edd," Dany called out to two familiar Night's Watch brothers, pointing at the red-nosed old man, "Go bring your brother down here."
"Brother?" Grenn was confused.
"All who have sworn the Night's Watch oath are brothers. Today, he officially joins us."
"Oh."
"Hiss—" On the other side, a cry of pain from Stannis drew a wave of startled exclamations from the crowd.
After Daenerys gave up her claim as the prophesied one, the Two Deer* moved to reclaim his Lightbringer.
But the moment he grabbed the hilt, he let out a howl and yanked back his right hand. In just that brief grip, the part of his palm that touched the sword hilt sizzled like meat on a grill, releasing a scorched stench and a puff of white smoke. His skin had blistered and burned.
His hand was scorched black.
Everyone was shocked.
That was just residual heat!
They had all seen it—just moments ago, the Dragon Queen had gripped the flaming, searing-hot sword with her bare hands, yet showed no discomfort whatsoever. What did that imply?
They exchanged glances; the thought in their hearts was obvious, unspoken.
While Stannis looked for a pair of leather gloves to wrap around the hilt, Melisandre quietly approached Daenerys and asked in a low voice, "What secret did you discover in the Red Sword?"
Daenerys raised an eyebrow and replied, "If I tell you the Red Sword's secret, you tell me the connection between the Lord of Light and the prophesied one. How about that?"
The Red Priestess's crimson pupils contracted slightly. After a pause, she nodded. "The prophesied one is the Child of Sacred Flame, the earthly representative of His Majesty, the Lord of Light."
"Does it have to be a follower of the Lord of Light?"
"That's not the point. The Long Night is, at its core, a battle between the Lord of Light and the Great Other. The sun is the Lord of Light. Summer is the Lord of Light. The one favored by Him will be the one to end the Long Night. If such a person isn't a Child of Sacred Flame, then who is?"
"Hm." Daenerys glanced subtly at Jon, who was talking to Sam, and suddenly understood. Melisandre wasn't wrong at all.
Even if Jon currently believed in the Old Gods, once he dies and is resurrected by R'hllor, he would become R'hllor's Holy Son.
Just like Catelyn—once a devout follower of the Seven, but after resurrection, she became a living miracle of the Lord of Light. Anyone who saw her after she came back wouldn't think about the Seven anymore, only marvel at the Lord of Light's divine power.
Foreigners and people of the Celestial Empire prove divinity in different ways.
To people of the Celestial Empire, longevity defines a deity—the longer you live, the more divine you are. Add white hair, white beard, white eyebrows, and a line like "I attained the Way before the Three Sovereigns, five thousand years ago," and the air of divinity is complete, leaving all in awe.
But for foreigners, living too long makes you a witch or a monster—you're to be burned. A true deity must raise the dead—or come back from death themselves.
Jesus' greatest miracle to prove he was the Son of God, wasn't it resurrection?
Catelyn came back to life—even if she returned as a maddened spirit, the Brotherhood and Thoros of Myr still revered her, believing she represented divine will, the voice of a true god, a sacred figure.
If Jon is resurrected, he'll instantly gain a divine aura, like a third of Jesus' fate and halo. Everyone would see him as no ordinary man. And if he fulfills the destiny of the prophesied one, the Lord of Light who brought him back will be worshipped like God.
Having received the answer she sought, Daenerys began to speak of the Red Sword's secret. "Inside Lightbringer is a complex system of runes. My sorcery activated sixty percent of them, but the remaining forty percent remain dormant."
"You mean... it wasn't even at full power before?" The Red Priestess was stunned.
"Maybe. The stronger the sword, the stronger the Night King must be—that's not good news." Daenerys sighed and continued, "Deeper within the Red Sword, there's a lifeless, withered soul. I tried to communicate with it, but got no response."
"A soul… could it really be Nissa Nissa?" the Red Priestess murmured.
"There's no response—I don't know."
"Do you have any matching sorcery or meditative techniques for using the Red Sword?" Daenerys asked again.
Like how the Golden Serpent Sword comes with the Golden Serpent Manual.
"No."
"You're sure?" Daenerys was skeptical. "You've seen it too—activating it requires immense energy. Only with such great sorcerous power can the Red Sword be this strong. Azor Ahai couldn't have been an ordinary person."
"The legacy of Lightbringer has never been broken. If matching sorcery existed, I would know about it," the Red Priestess said with certainty.
At that moment, the clumsy Grenn came over, carrying the red-nosed old man on his back.
The old maester was wrapped in a cashmere-lined cloak bought in King's Landing. His face was waxy pale, eyes dim—he seemed to have lost a lot of blood?
(End of Chapter)
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