After ending a night of exhaustion, Kal—who had already more or less figured out what new content the updated version had added and what changes had been made—came out from the game world just as the sky outside was beginning to lighten.
But when he returned to the place where his army was camped, he discovered that the atmosphere seemed somewhat off.
It was not that there was any problem with the army itself, but rather that Samwell Tarly and Jon White Wolf were both standing guard at the entrance of his tent.
Their faces carried clear fatigue, as if they had barely slept, forcing themselves to stay alert and glancing around as though waiting for something.
Seeing this, Kal slightly furrowed his brows, feeling somewhat puzzled.
He immediately stepped forward, called out to the two of them, and then asked, "What is it? Why are neither of you resting?"
"Lord Kal—"
The moment Sam heard Kal's voice, his shoulders twitched instinctively.
Then his face showed a look of surprise, and he hurriedly said, "A letter came from King's Landing. It is for you. Lord Tyrion said this letter is very important."
"No matter how important the message is, it still isn't a reason for you to stay up on watch while marching. That is not an excuse."
Hearing the reason, Kal still reprimanded them once.
Then he frowned and said, "Do you know what the message is?"
While speaking to the two of them, Kal lifted his foot and walked toward his tent.
He had originally thought that something truly had happened to the army during the time he was away, but from Sam's words, he sensed that something was not right.
This made a trace of unease rise in his heart, and even his steps quickened.
Jon and Sam immediately followed closely behind him.
Not bothering to explain, Jon quickly answered Kal's question: "Only the Maester traveling with us and Lord Tyrion know the contents of the message, but they did not tell us."
"After reading the letter, Lord Tyrion only told us to wait for you, saying he had to inform you of this matter the very moment he saw you."
"And Lord Tyrion and the Maester both had strange expressions, like it was something very important."
Hearing this, Kal's brows tightened, the unease in his heart growing stronger, and he stopped speaking.
He quickened his steps and arrived before his own tent, lifting his hand to pull open the heavy curtain.
Inside, the lamps were bright, and a dwarf and a young man were sitting at a writing desk.
The young Maester in a Maester's robe lowered his head, picking at the nail on his hand without speaking.
Tyrion, on the other hand, was drinking cup after cup of wine, looking as if he were trying to make up for the amount Kal had restricted him from drinking these past few days.
But around the two of them, there were still four guards with armor never leaving their bodies and swords never leaving their hands, guarding the pair. The atmosphere was heavy and silent.
No wonder Sam and Jon felt it was a major matter. With Tyrion acting like this, how could it not seem so?
Kal felt his heart jolt.
Now it was no longer just unease—an ominous premonition was enveloping him.
"What happened? Don't tell me it is some bad news."
Kal stepped into the tent and asked in a deep voice.
Hearing Kal's voice, Tyrion's wine cup trembled in his hand, and he hurriedly put it down.
Then he lifted his head instinctively to look at Kal, and the faintly anxious expression on his face suddenly froze. "Where did you go? Why do you look exhausted?"
But fortunately he knew the matter was important. While speaking, he grabbed a letter on the table and jumped down from the stool.
"Roughly three hours after you left, a letter from King's Landing arrived, carried by a raven."
Tyrion rarely had such a serious expression. Even when Kal had seen him in the cell of Winterfell, he had only looked more sorrowful.
Frowning, Kal casually said, "I went to work on matters concerning how we should develop in the Westerlands in the future. A black raven? From your expression, it seems to be an unsettling message."
"You guessed correctly. At least, that is how I see it."
Tyrion acknowledged Kal's sharpness, then handed the letter over.
Kal said nothing, took it, lowered his head, opened the white parchment, and held it near the candlelight.
On the white parchment traced with black ink, the very first line read: [To His Majesty King Kal of House Baratheon…]
Seeing that line suddenly and without warning, Kal instinctively froze. Then, when he reacted, his eyes widened uncontrollably.
He then suddenly lifted his head, looking at the grim and heavy-faced Tyrion Lannister who was staring at him.
He was confirming whether this was not some low-quality joke.
Understanding him perfectly, Tyrion of course knew what Kal was thinking, so he nodded.
"Looks like you have realized something. Continue, and afterward I will need to know your answer—"
"The letter is from the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. It bears the seal of House Stark, the direwolf pressed into white wax."
"But just as was said before, black wings bring bad tidings."
[—When you receive this letter, your father Robert, my King for the past fifteen years, has already passed away.
He was wounded by a boar during a Kingswood hunt.
At his final moment, in the name of Robert Baratheon the First of House Baratheon, he officially legitimized you, Kal El, as the trueborn heir of King Robert the First of House Baratheon, and officially made you the lawful successor of King Robert the First, with the first right of succession to the Iron Throne.
Regarding your lawful rights, King Robert left a last will before his death. When you return to King's Landing, I will announce it for you under the certification of the Small Council.]
At the end of the letter, it was signed with the title and name of the Hand of the King—an ink blot before it, and then:
[Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.]
After reading the letter, Kal stood where he was, silent for a long time, the light in his eyes flickering.
For a moment, inside the tent, only the sound of burning flames and breathing existed, and outside the sky grew brighter.
Seeing that he did not speak, everyone present only looked at him quietly, while Tyrion waited for him to recover from this blow.
At last Kal closed his eyes, tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and then reopened them.
"What advice do you have, my 'Hand of the King'?"
Kal's thoughts were somewhat chaotic. He wanted to hear what this giant trapped in the body of a dwarf thought of this matter.
Seeing he had more or less digested it, Tyrion waved his hand to signal the four guards to leave, keeping only the Maester along with Jon and Sam.
After handling all this, he turned to look at Kal, whose expression had barely changed.
"Have you already appointed me as your Hand? Your Majesty King Kal Baratheon I?"
Familiar with Kal, Tyrion knew his old friend was in a foul mood, so he made a small joke.
Hearing this, Kal could only twitch the corner of his mouth. He folded the letter in half twice, and under the cover of putting it into his pocket, placed it into his inventory.
He then turned and sat down at the writing desk, turning his head toward Tyrion.
Tyrion was struggling to climb back up onto his original seat.
Kal said, "Perhaps only when I truly sit upon the Iron Throne will I be able to pin the badge of the Hand of the King onto your chest. So for now, let us hold a 'Small Council' and discuss what we should do next."
The exchange between the two left Samwell Tarly and Jon White Wolf—who still did not fully understand the situation—staring wide-eyed.
The two were so startled that they did not know whether they should leave or stay.
The sensible Maester had long since lowered his head and stood behind Kal.
Seeing the two hesitate, Kal made a gesture indicating that they should come over and sit by the long table as well.
With heavy hearts, Jon and Sam exchanged a glance and carefully approached.
"The King was injured in a hunting accident and has now died, but before his death he legitimized me as the lawful trueborn heir of Robert Baratheon I."
"And Lord Eddard Stark addressed me in the letter as His Majesty King Kal Baratheon I."
Kal explained the contents of the letter to the two, and then turned his head toward Jon.
The two—who had not even fully sat down yet—were once again shocked by the news from Kal's mouth.
Then, after a brief pause, Jon suddenly remembered the greeting he had performed when he first met the King in the North, when Lord Eddard had led them.
So he knelt down, drew the longsword Kal had gifted him, placed it on the ground before him, rested both hands on his knees, and lowered his head to Kal.
"Your Majesty, your knight Jon White Wolf awaits your command."
Beside him, the slower-reacting Sam—still stunned—saw Jon kneel in loyalty and hurriedly imitated his movements.
"Your Majesty, your squire Samwell Tarly awaits your command."
Kal, who had still been immersed in the sadness and confusion of Robert's sudden death, could not help but almost laugh at seeing the two of them act like this.
Tyrion, naturally understanding Kal best, saw their actions and turned to look at Kal, spreading his hands.
"Your Majesty, may I be excused from that? My legs are short—sitting on a stool by myself is already difficult enough."
Facing Tyrion's complaint, Kal pinched the bridge of his nose and quickly waved his hand.
"Enough. All of you, get up. This matter is not as simple as it looks."
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