After Mufasa returned to The Red Keep, he placed a Seven-Faced Statue in the most conspicuous spot of his room.
It was given to him by the High Sparrow, who said that when he was young he traveled to Essos and met an Andal person; they became friends, and when the High Sparrow departed, his friend gave him this item.
"The glory of the Seven Gods will appear in the future; when that time comes, hand this to the destined hero," the Andal said.
"This thing doesn't seem ordinary; it needs to be identified!"
Mufasa spent one hundred Popularity Points to try to find out what this statue actually is.
"The item is too special; a small amount of Popularity Points is insufficient for successful identification!"
"What?"
Mufasa was startled; it was his first time encountering the identification system giving a prompt on its own.
"Then use all the Popularity Points I currently have!" Mufasa said. He still had three hundred points, unsure if it would be enough.
Popularity Points come mainly from the emotional fluctuations in people's hearts; the greater the fluctuation, the more points are provided.
Many people initially gave Mufasa a large amount of Popularity Points, but over time they grew accustomed to his actions and regarded him as ordinary, so they could no longer supply many points.
"Popularity Points are insufficient to accurately identify all data of the target. Continue?" the identification system prompted.
"Continue!" Mufasa replied.
"Identifying!"
"Item Name: Seven Gods Statue"
"Function: Grants power to the person chosen by the Seven Gods."
"That's it?" Mufasa asked.
The system fell silent.
"Hey! Hey!" Mufasa called twice, but still received no response.
"How do I use it? Could the system give a hint?"
"Please, host, explore on your own!" the system said before crashing again.
"Explore on my own, huh? Don't blame me!"
Mufasa placed the mysterious-material statue onto wildfire to roast it, only to discover that even wildfire could not burn it.
It merely formed a thin layer of black ash on its surface; after wiping the ash clean, it remained the same statue.
"Looks like I'm not the one he chose; I'll just discard it!"
Mufasa picked up the statue, ready to throw it away.
But he found that it seemed to be stuck to his hand.
"Huh, what's happening? It was fine a moment ago, now why is it stuck to my hand?"
After pondering briefly, Mufasa said to the statue, "I won't throw you away; just come off my hand!"
The statue instantly fell, landing on the ground.
Mufasa picked it up again and examined each face of the statue carefully.
"It seems the Seven Gods' faces are becoming increasingly vague! No wonder—humans can never truly know the appearance of gods… What do they actually look like? The craftsmen certainly don't know."
"Keep this thing! It might be useful later," Mufasa said.
Mufasa resumed his alchemy; as his technique matured, his speed increased considerably.
"At this rate, in three months I'll have refined all three million gold lion coins. I really am a genius!" Mufasa bragged.
In the following days, the Tourney officially began, gathering lords from across the lands.
Only then did King Robert himself join the team competition, and Prince Joffrey entered the archery contest.
Mufasa didn't participate, because he knew the inside story: the archery champion, the final team victor, and the lance champion all received no prize money.
But they did have another honor: becoming a hero.
The archery champion, the team champion, and the lance champion each earned the honor of slaying a corpse ghost.
The corpse ghost is the one Mufasa sealed in a black coffin: Ser Waymar Royce.
One day while alchemizing in The Red Keep, Mufasa was taken by Arya to a certain place.
The Dragon Lair, once a place where the Targaryen Family raised dragons, though the dragons are long gone. There are plenty of dragon bones, however.
"Why did you bring me here?" Mufasa asked. In front of him stood Arya, along with her wolf Nymeria.
Heraka followed the group like a guardian deity.
"I was catching cats here when I overheard a conversation between two people," Arya said.
Mufasa raised an eyebrow, sensing a turn in events.
"Which two people, and why were you catching cats?" Mufasa asked.
"I don't know; one of those people spoke with an accent that didn't sound Westerosi, seemed to be from the continent of Essos," she said.
"And I couldn't understand them; they weren't speaking the common tongue of Westeros."
"So you didn't learn anything at all?"
"Exactly. I even lost that cat. Cilio said that if I catch the cat, he can teach me other sword techniques—the Water Sword, the Dancer's Sword—not the Knight's Sword or the Steel Sword."
Arya first sounded troubled, then hopeful.
"So you brought me here to have Heraka lure that cat over?" Mufasa asked.
"Exactly. The lion is the king of beasts, a feline; other cats will surely obey him," Arya said.
"Mufasa, please help me!" Arya tugged at Mufasa's arm.
"When the time comes, I'll take you to meet Cilio and have him teach you Water Dancer's sword technique, okay?"
Mufasa had never studied Water Dancer's sword technique, but he had seen it; its elegant combat style isn't suited for battlefield brawls, yet it's perfect for performances.
"Alright, I'll help you once! Heraka, use Lions Roar Skill to gather all the cats here!"
Heraka lowered his head, opened his massive jaws, and a deep lion's roar resonated from his throat.
It rattled the dust inside the Dragon Lair.
Not far ahead, within the thick dust, something seemed to emerge.
Then a cat passed by it.
Soon after came a second, a third, and hundreds of cats arrived, crawling at Heraka' feet as if on a pilgrimage.
"The cat you need is that one; Arya, go find it yourself!" Mufasa said, then walked forward, with Nymeria alongside him.
"Uh! What's this wolf up to?" Mufasa asked, puzzled, looking at Nymeria walking with him.
Nymeria clawed a object out of the dust; it appeared to be a sword. She bit the hilt with her mouth, came to Mufasa's side, placed the sword down, crouched, then wagged her tail like a Samoyed.
"Uh! Good job!" Mufasa patted her dog head.
Although he didn't understand why Nymeria was being so affectionate.
He picked up the sword from the ground; the hilt was damaged, but the blade showed no rust or cracks.
He brushed off the dust, noticing the intricate patterns and a dim sheen on the blade.
"This kind of sword looks like a valyrian steel sword! But there's no name on it, and I'm not sure if it's genuine."
Mufasa immediately drew his Rose Sword and slashed the suspected valyrian steel sword, causing sparks.
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