Chapter 147: Contract Reached
The hall of Rain House City was undamaged.
Bathed in the rich Light Magic Energy, the hall was even more magnificent and brilliant than usual, like a palace where victors gathered.
But the atmosphere was clearly not so relaxed and joyful.
Outside the hall.
Soldiers who had landed in the city were still searching everywhere, calls for help rising and falling, occasionally mixed with screams and wails.
Inside the hall.
Joffrey sat high on the throne.
A crowd of generals and courtiers stood below the steps in the hall, divided left and right, silent, only casting their gazes towards the mother and son in the center of the hall.
Bran Stark, wearing chainmail and hardened leather armor, with a Six-Pointed Star cloak pinned on, performed his duties as an attendant, bringing wine to the seated Joffrey, his eyes also unable to resist glancing down at the mother and son below.
This war was different from what Bran had imagined.
Cavalry charges were nowhere to be seen, and sword duels were almost nonexistent, only the roar of Ship Cannons filled with terrifying and mysterious power.
Bran's expectations had been dashed.
But looking at it from another perspective, this scene was even more shocking than his original imagination, possessing an indescribable, strange charm, more captivating than tower landscapes and the clash of Swords.
Knights, Magic, Magic Knights.
Bran knew he had climbed a much taller tower and seen a much more distant world.
That world was full of the unknown and the magical, with endless treasures waiting to be explored, and countless stories and legends waiting to be created.
Bran certainly wouldn't back down.
He even settled on a cooler dream: to become a Kingsguard with the most stories, to forge a name as a mighty Magic Knight, one louder than "Dragonrider."
On the Warship, Bran firmly believed this.
However.
The things Bran saw and heard after entering Rain House City added a touch of melancholy.
Cracked stones and explosions that shook Castles were not all that the Ship Cannons had created; there were more scenes that people didn't want to recall.
Bran was not a child who had never seen blood.
His father's greatsword, "Ice," as dark as black smoke, swung down, the head of a deserter from The Night's Watch rolled, and a gush of blood splattered on the snow, as crimson as a summer red grape wine. And Bran watched without blinking, staring directly at the bloodstain.
Sparring training, riding and archery, history stories, all aspects of daily life were teaching him what combat and death were, teaching him to understand and accept, to dedicate and sacrifice.
Bran knew very well that war killed people, many, many people.
People would fight for their sworn Liege Lord, for the beliefs in their hearts, for the King and faith, for family and kin.
Death was indeed to be feared, but people always had to be brave and pick up their Swords.
This was humanity.
Stories were born from war, history was created in Swords, and families flourished in war.
But Bran had just learned that when Ship Cannons roared, Castles and Warriors shattered together, shattering so ugly, so without dignity.
War had changed.
Castles were no longer impregnable fortresses, the terrible obstacles described at length in countless wars and epics, but rather graveyards for Soldiers and targets for Ship Cannons.
The Castles should weep for this.
Knights no longer fell toughly and regretfully with Longswords in hand, but were a mixture of steel and flesh, a pile of mottled red earth, showing no emotion.
Such a death was undoubtedly the most terrifying, wasn't it?
Bran even thought of Winterfell, wondering how many such attacks Winterfell and its tenacious defenders could withstand.
Fortunately, it was just a hypothesis. Winterfell was not an enemy of Ship Cannons, and Sansa was still going to marry King Joffrey.
Rain House City was just too unlucky, House Wylde.
Bran recalled the heraldry taught by Maester Luwin, House Wylde, a blue-green great whirlpool on a gold background, their words "We Command the Wind and the Rain."
Unfortunately, what came this time was not ordinary wind and rain, but an unprecedented great flood.
Bran looked at the mother and son in the hall with pity.
Joffrey turned to The Hound and asked, "Sandor, the late Earl Wylde had no children?"
The Hound glanced outside the hall, "They're all dead."
Governor Gorman Wylde added, "Besides my cousin's family, the first in line of succession is Young Rychard."
Gorman looked at the young boy in the woman's arms in the hall, his voice fluctuating slightly.
"Young Rychard's father perished in the previous bombardment."
"Fortunately, Lady Ayanna Valping is safe and sound. With his Mother's careful care, Young Rychard will surely become a qualified Lord and serve Your Majesty wholeheartedly."
The woman in the hall bowed respectfully, her movements just right, without a trace of resentment on her face.
Joffrey knew that the first step today had to be taken steadily and cautiously, otherwise it would inevitably cause more intense chaos and resistance.
Governor.
Gorman is from the main lineage of House Wylde. If he hadn't joined the Kingsguard, he would have inherited the title of Earl himself.
Using him as the first governor of Rain House City wouldn't cause too much protest.
Similarly, House Valping, from which Ayanna Valping hails, is far away in the Riverlands and has almost no influence on Rain House City.
For an orphaned mother and son, who were also rebels who stubbornly resisted, not being stripped of everything and still being able to inherit titles and wealth was already incredibly fortunate. How could they dare to demand the power to rule?
At least until Rychard comes of age, this mother and son would absolutely not dare to raise any objections.
Five years would be enough for Joffrey to achieve his goal.
Only a ritual was needed.
Joffrey looked down at the simply dressed Ayanna Valping, "Lady Ayanna, do you agree to Ser Gorman temporarily holding the title of 'Governor' and acting on behalf of House Wylde in governing Rain House City?"
Ayanna Valping replied respectfully, "It is an honor for Young Rychard and Rain House City to have such a good man as Ser Gorman to preside over affairs."
Joffrey nodded faintly, "Very good. House Wylde can live in peace, and Rain House City can continue to operate, fulfill the contract, and assist in quelling the rebellion. I am relieved."
This was Joffrey's plan.
Generational noble families would only enjoy wealth and prosperity, while governors would be directly appointed by the Royal Family, executing decrees and educating the people.
Of course, in the short term, this would only be a plan.
Considering the backlash from old forces and the large number of elite talents among the nobility, the new governors would primarily be appointed from various liege lord families.
But there would still be the most important change:
The rulers would no longer be determined internally by each family, but would be guided by the will of the Throne!
"Earl Rychard Wylde."
Joffrey beckoned to the eleven-year-old boy, "Come forward, accept the enfeoffment, swear allegiance, and pass down the legacy of House Wylde."
Ayanna Valping encouraged her stunned son with a gentle gaze.
Rychard walked forward alone, step by step, until he stood before the King. He knelt on one knee and, imitating the oaths he had seen and heard before, swore the contract.
Joffrey placed one hand on his head and kept it there for a long time before releasing it.
"Contract achieved."
Chapter 147 was reviewed, please forgive me.
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