Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Chosen

Happy times must eventually come to an end.

The noise gradually subsided.

The figures gradually thinned out in the hall, which was littered with cups and plates.

The king had already been helped away, and the queen had also disappeared with their two young children.

The Eds probably went back inside and did their business.

Only a handful of people remained in the hall.

The servants responsible for cleaning up the mess could also take a break to enjoy a few bites of delicious food that they had never seen before.

A singer, dressed in a simple cloak, plucked the strings of a lute in a corner.

"In the towering hall..."

"The king has long since departed..."

"Jenny dances endlessly with her ghost..."

The singing was hoarse and desolate, echoing softly in the empty hall.

The piece is called "Jenny of the Wasteland," and it tells the tragic story of a commoner woman and the king, about their love, sacrifice, and class struggle.

Long before the caravan reached Winterfell, while it was still wandering in the desolate graveyards, the singer cleverly infiltrated the northward-bound group by using this song dedicated to the king.

Joffrey leaned back in his chair and listened quietly.

His gaze slowly swept across the hall.

The servants, having just eaten a few scraps, wore simple, honest expressions of satisfaction.

This scene forms a clever irony with the joys and sorrows described in the lyrics.

After looking around, Joffrey's gaze fell back on the daring singer.

Beneath his gray hair was a weathered, sharp face, and a pair of brown eyes that revealed a shrewdness beyond his station.

Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard's brother and the chief ranger of the Wall, listened intently.

He chuckled and grabbed a handful of coins, tossing them jingling into the old hat at the singer's feet.

"Well sung, my friend! Give us another song about the Great Wall!"

The singer bent over deeply, his gray hair falling down and obscuring most of his face.

"As you wish, sir." His voice was extremely submissive.

Joffrey picked up his half-cold glass of wine, concealing his barely concealed smile.

He certainly recognized who the singer was.

Mance Red.

King of the Frontier.

But Joffrey had no intention of exposing his identity.

He's never been beyond the Great Wall, so what right does he have to accuse this singer so beloved by the Night's Watch brothers?

Is this the formidable enemy that the Chief Ranger has been searching for for years?

Moreover, leaving this king, who had finally unified the free people, here would not benefit anyone.

Because the harsh winter beyond the Great Wall requires all those who can take up arms to become a force to fight against the cold night.

Joffrey finished his drink, turned the glass upside down, and indicated that there was nothing left in it.

The northern man opposite them raised his defeated hands.

"Your Highness, I am truly impressed."

"You are simply the reincarnation of Dionysus!"

After dismissing the challenger, Joffrey's mind raced, and he looked at his system again.

[My Destiny Points are full; I will convert one lottery draw chance into this account.]

It was truly worth it for him to have drunk with everyone who could hold their liquor.

After bringing up the panel, Joffrey learned from his previous mistake.

The search for auspicious feng shui locations is all baseless magic and metaphysics.

Once you've saved up enough, you can start drawing immediately without delaying.

The illusory image of the roulette wheel reappeared.

After spinning rapidly, it slowly came to a stop.

A few lines of small text appeared before Joffrey's eyes.

Stargazing (Beginner)

[I really didn't expect this: Focusing on a person you've seen before, observe some movements in their vicinity (Cooldown: 7 days)]

[Character to be played in this episode]

A strategist who cared deeply for his country and its people.

Joffrey tapped the table lightly.

interesting.

He has now leaked multiple maps.

……

The following morning, the drill grounds of Winterfell were illuminated by a faint sunlight.

Joffrey inhaled the crisp, cool air deeply, the stimulating chill instantly invigorating him.

"Over here, over here!"

Robb was already waiting there, his deep red hair somewhat disheveled, with cold water droplets still dripping from the ends.

But his sunken eyes and unsteady gait revealed the exhaustion of a hangover.

"Why don't you wait until you've rested before playing?" Joffrey kindly advised. "It always makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of someone in distress."

"How can that be?" Robb's tone was firm. "How can you go back on your promise?"

"We agreed to have a competition today, so we must have one."

With that, he reached out and pulled out the steel sword that Joffrey had just given him.

"Nonsense!" A figure rushed forward in the blink of an eye.

Ser Roderick, the coachman of Winterfell, snatched the sword from his hand.

"No real swords allowed, it's too dangerous!" the instructor said sternly. "You can only use the wooden swords for practice."

The nearby hunting dogs widened their eyes dramatically: "Fighting with wooden swords? Are they little girls?"

"Hahaha……"

The laughter was both rough and unpleasant.

"When their skills are perfected, they can naturally use real weapons." The instructor gave the hound a sharp look. "Clegane, I train knights."

"I said use a wooden sword, so I'll use a wooden sword."

Joffrey shrugged.

The hound spat and crossed its arms, stepping aside.

After donning the leather armor for the trial, the battle quickly began.

Robb embodies the typical Northern style: direct, solid, and with a particular emphasis on the power of his strikes.

Joffrey, on the other hand, often used his experience training with the hounds to block and deflect force with more agile footwork, patiently looking for an opening to counterattack.

However, after the swords clashed a few times, he found that Robb's attacks were weak and lacked power.

Did I drink too much of his drink last night and make him weak?

After testing the waters a few times and figuring out his opponent's strengths and weaknesses, Joffrey spotted an opening and dodged a vertical slash.

He nimbly slid to the side and swept towards his armpit.

Robb winced in pain and instinctively covered his wound with his left hand, leaving him with only one hand to wield the sword, swinging it wildly without any strategy.

Joffrey easily brushed it aside.

He then stepped forward, began with a thrust, followed by a feint downward slash, and finally struck the man's head twice with the tip of his sword.

This move is called Reverse Blade Slash, and the action is both elegant and crisp.

Robb was hit, swayed twice, and collapsed to the ground.

"good!"

The hound clenched its fist, raised its armored arm high, and howled from afar.

He glared menacingly at his surroundings.

"Good!" "Good!" "Well done!"...

The Baratheons and Lannister warriors watching the battle quickly joined in the shouts.

The Stark guards looked at each other in bewilderment.

They lost far too quickly.

Robb was still lying on the ground, dazed, clutching his head.

Joffrey reached out and pulled him up, his face full of apology: "I'm so sorry, I couldn't stop myself just now."

Robb blinked, seemingly not fully awake yet.

Joffrey then helped him to a bench outside the court.

"You...you did a good job." The coach's face was full of reluctance, and his tone revealed disbelief. "Help them take off their armor."

After removing his leather armor, Joffrey stood in the sunlight, tidied his sweat-dampened blond hair, and then casually tossed his head.

"Wow!" came a few suppressed gasps from under the porch.

Joffrey looked up and only caught a glimpse of a few brightly colored skirts hastily flashing past the corner of the wall.

"Did you see how I fell?" Rob asked a tall, thin young man with dark skin, rubbing his temples.

Joffrey didn't hear what the young man said.

The instructor's powerful roar filled the entire training ground once again.

"Prince Tommen, Bran, it's your turn!"