The little golden body was too small to be of any use to Daenerys, so it remained in the faith space for Matthew to borrow.
At present, only Matthew had a line of faith connected to the "Westeros collective consciousness," and only he could draw upon the thoughts of all living beings from that collective to nurture the little golden body.
When converting Euron, the towering golden figure that appeared in everyone's soul-vision was merely an "inflated version" of the little golden body.
It looked enormous, but in reality it was illusory and extremely fragile. The reason it could annihilate the will of the Storm God that had descended upon Euron with a single palm was mainly due to the presence of the Holy Mother, Daenerys, whose will had also descended at the scene.
Yes, it was also the first time Daenerys had projected her will onto a believer.
To put it plainly, the little golden body was just a gimmick. The real clash was between Daenerys, using seventy percent of her strength, and the Storm God, whose effort level was unknown.
In the end, the fragment of the Storm God's will that had descended was imbued with spirit and completely annihilated.
After that incident, Daenerys discovered that the little golden body had doubled in size, growing from a small glass bead into a larger one.
Whenever Matthew borrowed the little golden body, it would automatically draw the thoughts of all beings from the continent's collective consciousness sea to fill itself.
When converting the two Baratheons, the rate at which the little golden body strengthened while acting as Matthew's protective golden shield was even more astonishing. At first, its defensive power was only equivalent to a slightly thicker single layer of clothing. By evening, it was like a thick cotton quilt; the next day, like a leather jacket; and by the third day, it was as strong as leather armor.
Daenerys was delighted, but Melisandre was no longer calm.
She could see that the Holy Mother's golden body on Matthew was a faith incarnation of the Dragon Queen, and that incarnation was rapidly growing as Saint Matthew converted them.
Although Melisandre did not understand the exact reason, she could guess that she and the two Baratheons had become whetstones for both the faith incarnation and Matthew himself.
Matthew's act of sacrificing himself to convert demons was not only about creating a better world, but also a form of self-cultivation.
Meanwhile, both Melisandre and the Baratheons had flaws in their "Dao hearts." After the Battle of Winterfell, especially following Shireen's sacrifice, their states of mind had become unstable. If the stalemate continued, it would only sharpen and refine Matthew further, while their own psychological flaws would grow ever larger.
If Matthew, the Baratheons, and Melisandre were locked in the same cell, then after a year or so, one of the Baratheons would likely suffer a complete collapse in every sense: faith, outlook on life, worldview, and beliefs.
Even if Melisandre could endure, her worldview would still change.
So perhaps their decisive escape had truly cost them the chance to "turn back to the shore"?
Well, they would rather die than turn back.
The sun over Blackwater Bay shone for five days and five nights. The Dragon Queen's royal fleet dispatched over a thousand large sailing ships, transporting a total of 200,000 elderly, women, and children to Tidetop Island.
Saint Matthew led approximately 250,000 refugees and poor people capable of long marches south to Storm's End.
At this point, the King's Landing evacuation plan was declared complete. Daenerys had fulfilled her duty; she had done everything she could.
On the night Saint Matthew departed, after the seven towers of the Maiden's Holy Light in the sept were extinguished—
At the training ground south of the Great Sept of Baelor.
The coffins that once filled the space layer upon layer were now gone by ninety-nine percent, with the remainder stored in the rear warehouse.
The vast bluestone courtyard lay empty, with only the furious northern wind howling in solitude.
"Skreee—" A massive shadow flew in from the east, let out a low cry, and slowly descended.
By the time the wyvern landed steadily, a one-armed monk holding an oil lamp was already standing in the corridor beside the training ground.
"I didn't expect you to actually come." Looking at the short man sliding down from the wyvern's back, the one-armed knight Lancel's expression was unusually complicated.
"Don't be fooled just because I've become more handsome, taller, and picked up the title of a Targaryen super bastard. I'm still Tyrion, your cousin, Uncle Kevan's nephew, and Father Tywin's good son." Tyrion removed his windproof helmet and grinned.
"You bastard, you still dare call him 'father' and 'uncle'!"
As Tyrion tucked the helmet under his arm and walked toward the stone steps with a smile, a tall figure suddenly leapt out from behind a corridor pillar, roaring as he drew his sword and charged forward.
The dwarf was startled for only a moment before recognizing the man from his familiar figure and voice.
With a chuckle, he neither dodged nor avoided. With a clang, he tossed aside the helmet, gripped the handle of the axe on his back with one hand, and shouted, "Great Mighty Heavenly Dragon!"
"Buzz—" In the next instant, a golden rune lit up on his forehead. His body swelled like an inflating balloon, growing from 1.4 meters to 1.6 meters in an instant.
"Whoosh! Whoosh!" Two flashes of cold light met in midair.
"Clang!" The axe and sword collided, sending out a spray of yellow sparks.
Then, with a muffled grunt, the opponent's iron sword flew from his hand and was knocked back four or five meters, embedding two inches deep into a pillar with a thud.
"Hahaha, Jaime, I've defeated you!" the dwarf laughed excitedly.
The sword hilt was still trembling lightly in the air, yet the man who had lost his weapon quickly lowered his body, stepped diagonally forward, and swept his leg. The laughing "little giant" immediately lost his balance and stumbled forward.
"Thud!" Only with difficulty did the dwarf steady himself by planting his axe into the ground.
But in the next moment, he felt a powerful force surge from behind, and with a thump, he was knocked flat onto the ground.
Jaime had nimbly circled behind him and delivered a heavy kick to his back.
After knocking the dwarf down, Jaime stepped forward, straddled his lower back, and pressed a dagger against his neck with his left hand, sneering, "Defeat me? Dream on! So what if you're strong? Your combat skills are terrible."
"Sigh, that was reckless. The factors determining victory in a duel aren't just strength, but also swordsmanship and agility," Tyrion sighed. The golden rune on his forehead dimmed, and his body shrank like a deflated bladder.
"But I haven't lost." He struggled to turn over, still lying on the ground but now facing Jaime.
Jaime sat on his abdomen, the dagger still in hand.
"You haven't lost? Try me."
The cold blade sent a shiver across his skin.
"My life-saving sorcery is a bit disgusting. I'm afraid it might scare you," the dwarf said with a bitter smile.
"You've already scared me," Jaime said, examining his face with uncertainty. "Were you really cursed by a forest witch as a child?"
"How is it? Handsome enough?" Tyrion winked.
Jaime sneered, sliding the dagger from his neck to his cheek. "Perhaps I should peel off your face and see if there's another deformed ugly face underneath. Or I could dig out your heart and see if it's cursed too."
"I killed Father, but Uncle Kevan's death truly had nothing to do with me," Tyrion sighed.
"If not you, then who?" Lancel asked as he stepped down the stairs, looking at him suspiciously.
Seeing Jaime's expression also full of disbelief, Tyrion snapped, "Are you two idiots? In that situation, who benefited the most from Uncle Kevan's death?"
"When the lions suffer, the Targaryens rejoice. And you're a Targaryen wearing a lion's skin," Jaime said gloomily.
"You'd rather believe I'm a demon than believe she's a beast?"
"You are a beast. If you could kill your own father, killing your uncle would be nothing," Jaime said coldly.
"I pulled the trigger only because our father was also a beast. After what he did to me, wasn't killing him justified?
"But what did Uncle Kevan ever do to me? If the Targaryens really wanted to harm the lions, they wouldn't need assassination schemes. They could just ride dragons and burn everything."
As he spoke, Tyrion reached out and pushed hard against Jaime's chest.
It didn't move.
"Why are you sitting on me? I may be more handsome now, but I don't resemble our prostitute sister at all!" the dwarf joked, thrusting his hips.
Jaime pressed down harder with his weight, tapping Tyrion's handsome face lightly with the dagger. "Behave. If you don't explain everything clearly today, don't think you're leaving here unharmed."
"Oh? You really think you've got me cornered, Tysha!"
"Skreee—" The wyvern, which had been crouching silently like a statue, flicked its tail lightly, sending Jaime tumbling several times.
As easily as sweeping feathers with a broom.
"Good girl," the dwarf said, climbing up and patting the wyvern's waist-high tail with a smile.
"You informed him and set up an ambush for me?" he asked, turning to Lancel.
"Jaime can find me, but I can't find him," the one-armed knight replied.
"Where have you been lately? The White Walkers are about to march south. Why haven't you returned to Casterly Rock to oversee the defenses?"
After asking, Tyrion waved his hand absentmindedly and laughed at himself. "I'm such a fool. If you're staying in King's Landing, who else could it be for?"
Jaime had taken a hard fall. After catching his breath, he slowly pushed himself up.
"Cersei would never murder her own uncle!" he roared.
"How long has it been since you last saw her? Half a year? A year? A year and a half? Almost two years, right?"
"What nonsense are you talking about?" A trace of embarrassment flashed in Jaime's eyes.
"Bastard!" With bloodshot eyes, Jaime roared again and lunged at Tyrion.
This time, Tyrion didn't try to defeat his brother with brute force. He stepped back lightly and gestured toward Lancel with his right hand.
"Boom!" The oil lamp's flame stretched sideways into a one-zhang-long, arm-thick barrier, blocking Jaime's path.
"Calm down. It's been years since we last met. Why are you so irritable? Been holding it in too long?" the dwarf jeered.
"That's magic," Jaime said. Though his anger had not vanished, he had calmed down. "You've become a fire sorcerer? As expected of true dragon blood."
"Well, true dragon blood is indeed superior to lions," Tyrion shot back.
"I don't want to argue with you, and don't think I'm in the wrong. Let me tell you, when it comes to you, I have nothing to feel guilty about.
"You killed my father, I killed your father. We both had our reasons. We're brothers, so let's call it even."
Lancel's lips twitched.
Jaime's cheek muscles twitched a few times. "You once said the Mad King deserved to die, and that I did the right thing."
"I did say that," Tyrion nodded, then added, "but you also taught me that anyone who touches my woman should pay with their life.
"You know better than I do what Father did to Tysha. In that situation, after you told me the truth, how could I endure it? Especially when I found Shae in his bed."
"When did I ever teach you that?" Jaime asked.
"You taught me through your actions. If someone did that to Cersei, how would you react?"
Jaime fell silent.
After a long while, he said, "You're right. I cannot tolerate you insulting her."
"Insulting her? Are you out of your mind? Calling her a whore is just stating a fact." Tyrion pointed at Lancel. "Ask our pious cousin here how many men the sinner Cersei has had."
Lancel regretted not leaving earlier.
(End of Chapter)
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