Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web

Chapter 182: Riddle

The doors of the Red Keep's throne room were tightly shut.

Scarlet rays of light poured down from the long red lead windows behind the throne, while golden sunlight radiated from the dragon crystal orb in front of it.

Red and gold contended for dominance in the center of the Iron Throne, their boundaries clearly defined.

If someone stood in the hall and looked up at the Iron Throne, everything in sight would seem simple and hazy. All the scenery in front of the Iron Throne emanated dazzling golden light, while behind it was a field of scarlet.

Just like the gold and red banners covering the high walls, noble as gold, intimidating as blood.

"Look, look, listen, listen...

Cheep, cheep~

The little bird dances its wings and sings...

Wah, wah~

The little bird shakes its head and sings...

......"

The deep, vast hall was desolate and empty, with only a sticky, sorrowful voice sighing softly.

"Littlefinger" Petyr stared coldly at the self-pitying Varys, utterly weary of the Spider's whispers.

To have his limbs severed and placed on either side of the Iron Throne was already a great humiliation and torment, and now he had to endure the Spider's gloomy murmurs and terrifying singing every day?!

Littlefinger was almost at the point of wanting to kill himself.

"Spider, have you finished the tasks His Majesty bestowed? Do you still have the leisure to sing your wretched little tunes!"

Littlefinger preferred to spend his time on the tasks assigned by the light screen; at least there, he could use his brains and knowledge to temporarily forget his miserable reality.

Varys sighed sorrowfully, "How could I finish? How could anyone finish?"

Of course, Littlefinger knew that the tasks would never end; he just didn't want to hear Varys's broken songs anymore, especially today.

"Spider, how many tasks have you done today?"

He could only choose to waste his breath and talk nonsense with Varys. At least that wouldn't make him want to die.

Varys's mood did not improve in the slightest, "How many tasks? You should ask me if it's dozens or hundreds. Now that the throne room is completely empty, with no one to disturb us, isn't this all we can do?"

The throne room is empty. Hearing this fact from Varys again, Littlefinger's mood worsened.

Before that monster Joffrey left, this throne room was still lively, with petitioning crowds arriving every day, Cersei was a frequent visitor to the Iron Throne, and Little Demon would occasionally sit on it as well.

Littlefinger was then able to learn many new things, observe the two Lannisters up close, and hope to find a way to escape his predicament.

At that time, Varys also had no chance to vent his emotions wantonly, and Littlefinger's ears were much quieter.

But Joffrey was gone.

Littlefinger had only just relaxed for half a day when he realized that this matter had a much greater impact on him than he had imagined.

The throne room is empty.

Cersei never sat on the Iron Throne to handle petitions again, Tyrion's face and voice only appeared on the light screen, and even the doors of the throne room were routinely closed.

After that, all that accompanied the two of them through their difficult days was the empty, silent hall.

If it weren't for the servants who came to deliver food and clean on time, Littlefinger would have thought that he and the throne room had been completely forgotten.

But this was already unbearable enough.

Hateful!

If he didn't know that the divine grace had the eerie ability to monitor everyone's words and deeds, he probably wouldn't have been able to hide all his resentment and curses in his heart, but would have shouted them out loud.

How ironic, now that he calls that monster, he still has to respectfully call him "Your Majesty."

"Spider, focus on your work, His Majesty will see our repentance." Littlefinger struggled to raise his head, trying to peer at the mountain-like Iron Throne beside him.

The light was blinding, he couldn't see clearly.

But he knew, "His Majesty is on the throne. Always, always."

"No need to tell me."

Varys raised his head to look up, squinted his eyes, then lowered his head dejectedly, "But, I can't see."

A hundred pieces of advice for a hand or foot, two hundred for a man's dignity. Varys still remembered the promise he heard that night.

Will Joffrey fulfill his promise? Or has he forgotten it long ago...

"Varys."

The third person's voice echoed leisurely, Littlefinger and Varys trembled at the same time, then hurriedly squeezed out thick smiles and respect.

"Welcome, Your Majesty!"

On the Iron Throne, Joffrey twisted his wrist, mobilizing his muscles, and gradually meshed with this newly entered prosthetic body, until he felt as if he were still in his true body.

"It's only been a few days, and your relationship has improved quite a bit."

Joffrey smiled playfully.

"What, are you talking about me behind my back?"

Littlefinger and Varys immediately shook their heads frantically to deny it, "Absolutely not, please, Your Majesty, investigate!"

"With His Majesty's wisdom and martial prowess, how dare a lowly person presumptuously slander him! ?"

"Yes, yes, ... ..."

Of course, Joffrey knew that they wouldn't dare. He was just teasing them a little, listening to the two toys' careful flattery and excuses, to adjust the cold atmosphere.

He sensed that several attendees were on their way, expected in a few minutes.

That is to say, there were still a few minutes to do nothing.

He looked around bored.

Varys's flattering smile inexplicably reminded him of a famous scene from the original work.

"I have a riddle."

Joffrey smiled faintly, "You two can guess carefully. If the answer satisfies me, you can directly obtain amnesty and restore your wholeness."

Even knowing that it was unlikely to come true, a glimmer of hope still ignited in their eyes.

Joffrey slowly narrated, "Three people of high status are sitting in a room, one is a king, one is a clergyman, and the last is a rich man."

Littlefinger immediately noticed the three keywords.

"There is a mercenary standing between them."

Hearing this, Varys's expression gradually froze, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

What a familiar riddle!

"Each of the eminent people orders him to kill the other two."

"Who will die, and who will live?"

The words gradually dissipated in the empty space, eventually leaving only hurried or drawn-out breathing.

Littlefinger looked at Varys, sensing something from his unusual reaction, "Varys, it seems you have the answer. Let you go first this time."

Varys didn't bother to pay attention to Littlefinger.

He only had one thought in his mind: What is the real intention of the king in asking this riddle?

Of course, Varys knew this riddle.

This was still the riddle he had obtained while wandering around the continent of Essos. Was it heard from someone? Dreamed of? Thought of himself? He couldn't remember anymore.

But he knew the answer.

Who will the king, clergyman, and rich man kill? It depends on what the mercenary believes and for whom he is willing to wield his sword.

Everything depends on the person holding the sword.

The king's authority, the clergyman's faith, and the rich man's gold coins do not possess real power.

Power exists in people's hearts. What people believe is power is power, no more and no less. Varys understood this point and was equally good at and obsessed with manipulating people's hearts.

But.

Varys raised his head, golden light shining on the high king. The king's face was blurred, behind him was a deep scarlet.

What answer does King Joffrey believe?

Asking this riddle on purpose, it is expected that it will not be the original answer.

Varys could only guess the king's intentions, "The supreme king is the master of everything in the world. The mercenary will kill the clergyman and the rich man and submit to the king."

Joffrey was noncommittal, "Petyr, what is your answer?"

Littlefinger's mind raced. At this moment, the sound of wood and iron moving, "kakaka," suddenly sounded beside him.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye.

The door was pushed open by the guards outside the hall, and several figures gradually approached.

Warm reminder: The website is about to be revised, which may cause the loss of reading progress. Please save "Bookshelf" and "Reading Record" in time (it is recommended to save screenshots). We apologize for the inconvenience!