The basement.
Cheap candles burned, filling the air with smoke.
High Sparrow sat cross-legged on a coarse hemp mat, the old the seven-pointed star spread before him. The candlelight flickered in his deep-set eye sockets, making his gaunt face look like a living statue.
"Our brothers and sisters have decreased by another dozen."
At this moment, a core member spoke: "Old Tumor Bal went to that Place of Order yesterday, received porridge, and even sent his wife there to treat her cough."
"The widows of the Iron Street—Corleone's people helped them repair their leaking roofs."
"And the dockworkers, the prostitutes, the tanners..."
"Those guys do everything. No matter who goes, they can get food, and if they're sick, they get treated."
A moment of silence filled the room.
Just a few days ago, they had over several hundred fanatical Faith Protectors. At Fishermans Square, the Saltpans Street, and the Muddy Way, every sermon could gather nearly a thousand people.
But now...
"The flock will always lose its way."
High Sparrow was very calm, his fingertips gently stroking the rough pages of the scripture as if he hadn't heard the bad news.
He didn't look up, his gaze remaining on the scripture: "The temptations of the mortal world—food, medicine—these are the devil's sweet poisonous baits. They feed the flesh but starve the soul."
"But... High Sparrow."
"The bread we distribute is almost gone, and the ingredients for the medicinal soup are also... that supplier has been missing for three days. Fewer and fewer people have been coming to hear the gospel lately."
"So... you have begun to doubt."
Hearing his subordinates' complaints, High Sparrow finally raised his eyes, which were like two deep wells: "Doubt our path? Doubt the mission the Seven have bestowed upon us?"
"No! Of course not!" everyone hurriedly denied.
Looking around, High Sparrow slowly closed the scripture: "Remember, brothers and sisters."
"We walk a narrow path, a path of thorns. Those who choose the wide road, the road of comfort—their souls already have a price tag: a bowl of porridge, a few herbs, a roof that doesn't leak."
"And we..."
" "
"We choose to bear the sins of the world; this is the glorious mission."
Saying this, he stood up, his hemp robe falling to his ankles: "How is Flea Bottom? Are the tongues of the people still spreading the truth?"
A subordinate immediately replied: "We have followed your instructions and let people spread the truth, and the effect is very good."
"That Vito Corleone is already seen by many as an incarnation of the devil. Some say he performs sacrificial rituals at the Place of Order in the middle of the night, using infants' blood mixed into the medicinal soup."
"Some say he is actually a bloodmage from across the Narrow Sea, and those gray eyes can steal souls."
"Others say that the dothraki savage beside him eats a living person's heart every week, or else he'll go mad..."
" "
"Very good."
High Sparrow nodded slightly, his pupils narrowing: "If a lie is repeated a thousand times, the fool will take it as the truth. And what we must do is... reclaim the temple before the truth is completely defiled!"
Saying this, he pulled a roll of parchment from his robe and unfolded it under the candlelight.
It was a crude floor plan, looking like some grand building.
"The time has come, brothers and sisters."
His gaze fell on a certain spot on the parchment. High Sparrow's voice remained calm, yet it seemed to tremble slightly.
"We have received confirmed news that the current High Septon has suffered a sudden stroke. Tomorrow night, seven Archseptons and twelve High Septonss will hold a closed-door meeting in the inner hall of the Sept to elect a new High Septon!"
"What!"
As soon as these words were spoken, everyone present was delighted.
In a sense, although these Septons were registered with the Faith, they had not been able to enter the Sept and could only be considered "wandering Septons."
But after the war broke out, this Septon, who claimed to have walked The Seven Kingdoms barefoot, came to King's Landing and united them into a very powerful force.
If they could take advantage of the High Septon's stroke to push High Sparrow into the position...
"Is the... source of information reliable?"
An old Septa swallowed and asked.
High Sparrow glanced at her and did not answer directly.
Because the one who provided him with the information was a knight whose eldest son had been violated by a High Septons. Justice could not be served, and the man had broken down; he now needed to take the "soothing potion" provided by High Sparrow to fall asleep.
Absolutely reliable.
"Tomorrow night, one hundred and twenty of our most devout brothers and sisters will be lurking around the Sept, and there will be fewer than ten guards at that time."
"One hundred and twenty against ten—the advantage is ours!"
He raised his head, his gaze sweeping across every face, firmly remembering everyone's expression. Anyone who dared to show even a hint of hesitation would be dealt with afterward.
"We shall step into the Sept, brothers and sisters."
"Let the Septons, who wear silk robes, eat candied fruits, and discuss theology but have never known hunger, see with their own eyes what true... faith is."
High Sparrow opened his arms as if he were already standing upon the altar!
The next night, the moon was as round as a Silver Stag, hanging high above the seven-pointed star spire of the Great Sept of Baelor.
In the shadows at the edge of the Sept square, a dense crowd was surging inward. Everyone was dressed in dark clothes, holding various weapons in their hands.
Axes, wood knives, and even a few stolen longswords.
They walked with exaggerated strides, every person's eyes seemingly burning with fire, their expressions incredibly excited.
"Sure enough, everything is exactly as you said, High Sparrow!"
A Septon leaned in, his voice trembling with excitement: "There are only eight guards, all dozing off, and the main gate isn't locked at all!"
Hearing this, High Sparrow nodded.
It was going too smoothly—so smoothly that a trace of unease flickered in his heart, but he immediately suppressed it.
This was destiny.
He told himself: The Seven have chosen me, because only those who have truly experienced suffering can understand the sanctity of suffering.
And I... am the one destined by heaven!
As his steps drew closer, he seemed to already see himself standing on the main altar of the Great Sept of Baelor, preaching to the believers kneeling throughout the hall.
The Golden Lion of Casterly Rock, the Rose of Highgarden, the Sun of Dorne... all nobles would have to grovel under the will of the Seven!
At that moment, the midnight bell rang in the distance.
"The time has come."
High Sparrow raised his hand, making a simple gesture without a word.
The crowd surged toward the Sept like a tide.
The gate was indeed unlocked. The Faith Protectors pushed it open roughly. Inside was a dimly lit corridor, and the empty line filed in, the sound of footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
High Sparrow walked in the middle. His bare feet stepped onto the smooth marble floor for the first time, yet he didn't feel cold.
With every step, he felt himself getting closer to his destiny.
They passed through the nave.
The reliefs of the Seven watched silently on both sides of the corridor, and the stained glass shimmered in the moonlight. The Sept was terrifyingly quiet; only heavy breathing and footsteps could be heard.
The door to the inner hall was just ahead. The two heavy oak doors were carved with content from the seven-pointed star, and warm candlelight leaked through the gap.
A Septon looked back at High Sparrow, and after receiving a nod, he slammed the door open.
The inner hall was smaller than imagined.
A long ebony table occupied the center. Seven Archseptons sat around it, with twelve High Septonss standing nearby.
Just as expected.
High Sparrow couldn't help but purse his lips slightly; this was exactly as the intelligence had described.
As the door was pushed open, nineteen pairs of eyes turned in unison.
The Archsepton sitting in the primary seat had white hair. Seeing High Sparrow and the others barge in, he didn't panic, but only spoke slowly: "Carrying weapons and intruding into the inner hall of the Sept—do you know that this is a grave crime?"
Hearing this, High Sparrow stepped forward, his hemp robe sweeping across the polished floor. The Faith Protectors quickly fanned out, surrounding the long table and pointing their weapons at the Septons.
"We are very familiar with crime, Septon."
He came to the head of the long table, pulled out the chair where the High Septon usually sat, and sat down leisurely, scanning all the Archseptons: "We sleep with sin every day. Hunger is a sin, disease is a sin, and being born into this filthy mortal world is a sin in itself."
His attitude made the old Archsepton narrow his eyes slightly as he questioned: "What do you want?"
"The Seven have given us a revelation."
High Sparrow straightened up. The candlelight illuminated his face from below, making his gaunt features look more and more like a saint from the doctrines.
"This Faith has rotted to the marrow. What it needs is not just reform, but... purification."
"And purification shall begin tonight."
As soon as these words were spoken, the Faith Protectors roared in unison, striking their weapons against the floor.
Thump, thump, thump.
The rhythm was slow and heavy, like the drumbeats at a funeral.
Surrounded by this momentum, a younger Archsepton pointed at him tremblingly: "You... you want to be the High Septon?"
"It is not a 'want'."
High Sparrow corrected him, his eyes fixed on the luxurious seven-pointed star necklace around the old Archsepton's neck: "It is the will of the Seven!"
"Through the cries of the poor, the groans of the sick, and the deaths of infants, He has conveyed His will to me—it is time for someone who truly understands sin and punishment to take charge of this Faith."
After these words, the Archseptons fell silent for a long time.
The old Archsepton's eyes swept over the surrounding Faith Protectors, over their crude but lethal weapons, and finally settled back on High Sparrow's face.
"I have heard of you, High Sparrow."
He spoke, slowly taking off the seven-pointed star necklace from his neck and placing it on the ebony table.
"You preach among the poor, humiliate women with shameful rituals, and fool the masses with so-called 'gifts'."
"You say man is born in sin, so are you... also sin itself?"
After he finished speaking, there was a moment of silence in the hall, followed by a burst of violent rebukes from the fanatical Faith Protectors.
High Sparrow was the leader in their hearts. They would never allow anyone to insult him, not even an Archsepton!
"Stop!"
Just as the crowd was filled with righteous indignation, clamoring to cut the old Archsepton into pieces, High Sparrow signaled for them to be quiet.
Then, looking at the old Archsepton's wrinkled face, he smiled.
"You don't understand, Septon."
He spoke softly: "Those are not sins, they are medicine. Just as a doctor uses a red-hot knife to cut away rotten flesh, the patient will scream and curse, but that is to save his life."
"The pain I give is to save their souls."
"And atonement requires blood and tears, public humiliation, physical pain, and complete self-denial!"
"That's right, man is born in sin; the filth begins in the womb. And I have washed my sins clean through decades of asceticism!"
At this point, High Sparrow looked around at the nineteen high-ranking members of the Faith, his tone brook no opposition: "Now, right here, in the name of the Seven, elect me as the new High Septon."
"You can choose to refuse, but if you do, I will see it as the Seven's final test for you—one that you have failed."
"And the losers..."
" "
Before he could finish his sentence, the weapons in the hands of the Faith Protectors were raised another inch, poised to strike.
Seeing the seven Archseptons looking at each other, a look of triumph flashed in High Sparrow's eyes.
But just then.
A sharp whistling sound of something cutting through the air rang out.
Pffft!
An arrow accurately pierced the chest of the Faith Protector closest to the old Archsepton. The man looked down at the trembling fletching on his chest, opened his mouth, and then fell straight down.
This...
High Sparrow's pupils constricted violently, but before anyone could react, there was a second arrow, a third, a fourth...
In a short instant, arrows fell like rain.
They were all military-grade crossbow bolts. The Faith Protectors had no armor for protection and fell in heaps!
"Ambush!" someone screamed, and the crowd began to panic.
But they had almost no training and couldn't even manage to dodge. Screams and the sound of bodies hitting the floor blended together.
After a volley of shots, something even more incredible happened.
The twelve "High Septonss" standing there, along with the six Archseptons besides the old one, suddenly tore off their robes, revealing bright red armor underneath!
Under the glow of the firelight, the golden lions on their chests shone brilliantly!
Lannister!
High Sparrow was dumbfounded, completely losing the ability to think. He sat numbly in the High Septon's seat, watching the knights draw weapons from under the long table and hack at his Faith Protectors!
Their movements were uniform, simple, and efficient—obviously elite. The Faith Protectors, who had almost never been trained, couldn't even last a single round under the blades!
Occasionally, there were those with commendable courage, but they were completely unable to pierce their weapons through the opponent's thick armor.
Then, all the doors of the Sept opened simultaneously, and countless soldiers wearing chainmail and Gold Cloaks flooded in!
Fake...
It was all fake!
Only now did High Sparrow understand.
The election was fake.
The Archseptons were fake.
The intelligence was fake.
The only thing that was real was this trap... specifically prepared for him!
High Sparrow stood up excitedly but felt a wave of dizziness. He had to hold onto the ebony table to keep from falling.
Around him, the battle... or rather, the massacre, was nearing its end.
One hundred and twenty Faith Protectors were powerless against the fully armed Lannister knights and Gold Cloaks, falling in swathes like wheat.
In the end, fewer than twenty remained alive, forced into a corner to beg for mercy.
And he stood in the middle of a pool of blood like a fool.
"Why..."
" "
He murmured, completely unable to accept this cruel reality: "Impossible... absolutely impossible..."
"Nothing is impossible."
Just then, a voice came from the doorway.
High Sparrow looked up and saw a man wearing a black robe strolling in through the Sept doors. He walked at a leisurely pace, as if he were wandering through his own garden or living room.
He was fiddling with a Gold Dragon in his hand. As he walked past the corpses and blood, he carefully avoided the puddles, as if he didn't want to get his boots dirty.
High Sparrow's lips were trembling.
He wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
"You played with people's hearts, twisted the doctrines, and barged into this game of thrones. You thought you were climbing a peak, but in fact, you haven't even touched the foot of the mountain."
The crowd automatically parted. Corleone stepped toward High Sparrow one step at a time. Looking into his hollow eyes, he grinned: "As a cobbler's son, Maros, I have to say you've done well enough. But it's a pity."
"In this game of thrones, the only thing you can do is..."
" "
"Shine my boots!"