Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 374 374: The Beginning of the Last War

The king's first child was a boy—a prince.

He was born under the witness of the Children of the Forest, beings that existed only in legend and had vanished from the world for a thousand years.

He was born under the witness of dragons—and of the divine hound.

He was also born under the witness of the great King Kal El, His Majesty, the incarnation of the Seven as the Eighth God.

At midday, the sun stood high and blazing in the sky.

Since the end of autumn, when the long winter arrived, the Crownlands had been shrouded in rain and cloud. Yet on this day, a rare clear sky appeared.

And at the very height of the sunlight's brilliance, a rainbow stretched from east to west, arching high above King's Landing.

A descendant of House El, a prince born beneath the blazing sun and rainbow, the rightful heir to the Golden Throne.

Kal held his child in his arms, stepping out from behind the curtains together with his wife, Queen Sansa, and came before the assembled lords and ministers.

No one paid mind to the fact that Queen Sansa Stark showed none of the weakness a woman ought to have after childbirth. Every gaze present was fixed upon the infant in the king's arms.

A small child, his skin wrinkled, yet crowned with a head of thick black hair.

Tyrion was the first to step forward. His eyes shone with delight as he looked upon the boy in Kal's arms. Careful and cautious, he observed him for a moment before lifting his head to ask: "Your Majesty, what shall the child be called?"

"Sansa, do you have a suggestion?"

Kal paused slightly at the question. He had not given it much thought, so he turned his head toward his queen.

As the mother, she naturally had the right to name her child—to place within that name a mother's hopes for her newborn.

Sansa had not expected Kal to ask her this, nor to seek her opinion on such a matter.

She thought for a moment, then looked at the many pairs of eyes now fixed upon her.

To say she had never considered what name to give her first child would be false.

But Sansa was not foolish—only once naïve. The past two years had tempered her.

Under those gazes, she gently shook her head and smiled.

"Your Majesty, he is your first child, your son—and a prince of House El."

"I see," Kal said.

He did not like mixing politics into such matters—but reality was often like this.

He was not only a husband and a father—he was also the ruler of a realm.

"Then let him be called… Clark."

Kal tilted his head, as though amused by something.

"A son of House El—Prince Clark El."

In Westeros, the naming day is equivalent to what would be called a "birthday" in another life.

A child receives a name at birth, and from that moment, all reckon their age.

To celebrate Prince Clark El's naming day, the entire city of King's Landing rejoiced for three days.

The great King Kal El, His Majesty, decreed generously that during the celebrations, every person could freely attend the feasts set throughout the city.

The feasts welcomed all, regardless of who they were or what their status had been.

So long as they took a seat at the table, they became, in that moment, guests of King Kal—treated as equals.

This grand flowing banquet lasted for three days and nights without pause.

Had the northern campaign not been imminent, an even greater celebration—a grand tournament held in honor of Prince Clark El's birth—would have followed.

"When I return in triumph, I will make it up to him."

"I will give him the Long Summer as his gift."

"The Second Grand Tournament of Victory… will surely be most interesting."

…

"By my reckoning, Margaery Tyrell is close to her time as well. What do you intend to do?"

"You know how frightening a woman's jealousy can be~"

Back at Castle Black, Kal now stood atop the Wall, surveying the vast construction works beyond it.

Dark masses of people moved across the pale world of snow, a stark contrast—tearing open a territory of life within that "perfect" frozen expanse.

Hearing the witch's words, Kal brushed the snow from his cloak and turned to look at Erevi.

"I doubt that is all you wished to say about Margaery Tyrell… my dear."

A teasing smile curved his lips as he looked at the dark elf, who appeared outwardly calm and indifferent.

He drew her into his arms, gently placing a hand upon her abdomen—where another child of theirs was growing.

"The king's wives are not few," he said. "And here, I need not compromise with any Faith—or anyone."

"My will is law—and doctrine."

Jealousy seemed to be something women were born with.

Even a dark elf witch—one destined to live long, who had already lived for ages and seen much—was no exception.

Kal could almost feel the jealousy in the biting wind.

Clearly, the significance of his first child's birth had made Erevi care more deeply about the child in her own womb.

This world… was not the same as the one before.

Erevi leaned into Kal's embrace.

"Royal consort? I wonder where you came up with such a term. But if you married me… what would you call me?"

"Erevi, your consort?"

Kal laughed.

He could feel that Erevi was becoming more… human.

When she had first arrived in this world, she carried an air of lofty detachment. Beneath it lay something closer to confusion.

Kal could understand that feeling—the terror of sudden awakening, when the world becomes clear in an instant, and the boundary between falsehood and truth is laid bare.

If a person were to discover that their world was nothing more than a constructed illusion, like some grand deception, very few could respond with calm detachment.

"No," Kal said softly, pulling her closer.

"I would call you… Royal Noble Consort Erevi. What do you think?"

He held her tightly, his voice low as he whispered by her ear.

Erevi instinctively drew her neck in slightly, forcing herself to steady her spirits. "What difference does that make?"

"In my eyes, there is no difference between any of you."

Feeling the sincerity in Kal's words, Erevi could not help but laugh, her voice carrying lightly in the cold wind.

She would not stoop to feeling jealous over a human girl not yet twenty years of age. What she truly cared about was the attention of the man behind her.

After all, that girl with the auburn hair could accompany Kal for at most a hundred years—while she would remain, forever.

Kal was her origin—the heavenly father who had created her life and existence—and also her sole reliance.

No matter how real this world might be, nor how false the other had been, Erevi—now in this world—could not help but feel that drifting loneliness.

And that feeling… could only be soothed by the man behind her.

It so happened that between her and him, there now existed the closest of bonds—the child in her womb had become that anchor.

At the very top of the Wall, after sharing a brief moment of warmth amid the wind and snow, Erevi lowered her gaze to the assembled forces and the works below. After a long silence, she spoke. "So this is also why you insist on waging this war?"

She had never asked Kal this question before. Yet at times, she had wondered why he pursued an enemy so relentlessly—one that had already chosen to withdraw, and even signaled a willingness for peace.

But now, she seemed to understand part of the answer.

From their brief clashes before, both humanity and the Others had come to a rough understanding of one another.

The Others' withdrawal into hiding—and even their tolerance of Kal bringing the wildlings south of the Wall—could hardly not be seen as a gesture of goodwill.

Since that encounter, the Others had not launched a single new attack upon humanity.

Even the assaults once expected during the evacuation of the wildlings had never come.

All in all, under such circumstances, it would not be wrong to say that the Others had abandoned this "opportunity."

For beings that had waited eight thousand years, waiting a while longer could hardly be said to test their patience.

The game of the gods was measured in centuries.

The rise and fall of a single life—or even a generation—was of no consequence to them.

But…

His Majesty, Kal El, would not allow it.

He had no need for an intermission—no intention of tacitly accepting this well-timed "pause."

In this bout, there must be a victor.

And so, Kal still chose to act—strong and decisive—launching this expedition.

"The Long Summer is a gift for Clark," Kal said. "I only hope he will be a king in an age of peace."

"But at the same time, the Long Summer is a gift for all mankind. It is something they have been owed for thousands of years."

"In the end, every generation has its Long Night. If we do not fight it, those who come after us will."

"This is a war that spans ages. It can end only with one victor."

"So if that is the case… why not end the bloodshed here?"

"Leave the summer to them. Do not waste lives on needless sacrifice. I believe those who come after us will build a future more glorious still."

"Each generation has its Long Night. This is ours—and it ends here."

"We…"

…

"Shall claim the final victory!!!"

Kal personally presided over the oath-taking ceremony for the northern campaign. With a cup of strong wine downed, an army nearing one hundred thousand split into six columns and marched simultaneously into the lands beyond the Wall—the forbidden realm of life.

That land, untouched, unexplored, desolate beyond measure, was about to be conquered.

Of the six armies, two forces totaling thirty thousand men advanced westward.

Carrying vast supplies, they would sail across the Bay of Ice, then divide into two groups and land along the frozen shores east of the Frozen Shore, setting foot upon the land of eternal winter.

Given the dangers of unknown enemies, these forces would focus on holding ground rather than probing forward—advancing step by step, steady and firm.

They were both bait—and the main force—meant to compel the Others to choose whether to respond to this army that dared set foot upon their lands.

For Kal, who had long since placed numerous roadstones beyond the Wall, he possessed ample confidence in employing such a strategy.

The remaining four armies would proceed as follows:

One force of ten thousand would sail from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, pass around the Bay of Seals, and make directly for Hardhome.

Then came the main host—thirty thousand strong—personally led by Kal, along with two additional land forces totaling roughly thirty thousand. These armies would cross the Wall directly and advance in a sweeping campaign, clearing out the land like a plow through a field.

From the lands south of Thenn, using the source of the Milkwater as a base, to the Frostfangs and the Haunted Forest—these regions would all require immense manpower and resources to eliminate their dangers.

That was the purpose of the main force.

Forward, forward, forward!!!

Until all these lands became the domain of mankind.

Of course, to achieve what Kal envisioned—especially within such a frozen wasteland—the manpower and resources required would be immeasurable.

Fortunately, this was precisely the one thing Kal did not fear.

Since arriving in this world, through all these years, the one card he had never revealed… was that he possessed an entire world.

At the same time, it was also the "weakness" he had deliberately allowed others to glimpse.

Naturally, Kal would never expose it so plainly.

Thus, the logistics sustaining an army of one hundred thousand were supported by a dual military-civilian supply line—mobilized together and laid out over nearly two years.

Nearly four hundred thousand people formed the backbone of this effort—giving Kal the confidence to deploy a hundred-thousand-strong army for this expedition.

Even so, such a campaign could never be completed overnight.

Kal was not concerned.

Those who should be concerned were not him.

Even if they advanced only one hundred meters a day, he had the confidence to drag this war out indefinitely.

Winter would take at least three more years to threaten the south.

And within the Seven Kingdoms—already largely unified under his rule, with even Dorne brought beneath his banner—Kal held sufficient control to concentrate all strength upon this front.

Three years… would be enough.

And if, during this time, anyone sought to challenge him—he would welcome it.

Because that would spare him the trouble of finding justification for further reforms.

If a pretext were handed to him, not using it would be foolish.

In the end, for Kal, this campaign against the Others brought nothing but benefit.

Every disadvantage… had been shifted onto the Seven Kingdoms.

That—was the purpose he had never revealed.

He had said it himself:

This was a gift for all the people of Westeros.

Just not for the nobles.