Coronation?
The moment the High Septon uttered that word, Samwell Caesar was filled with seething anger.
According to their prior agreement, his visit to the Great Sept of Baelor was merely to receive the blessing of the Seven—not to be crowned.
Yet, in front of the gathered nobility and the citizens of King's Landing, the High Septon had taken it upon himself to conduct a coronation alongside the blessing.
Though the ceremony lacked the physical crowning, the very mention of a coronation was enough to enrage Samwell.
After all, he did not need the church's permission to become King of the Seven Kingdoms.
But at this moment, Samwell had no time to be angry, because he suddenly discovered that there were changes in his attribute panel.
His attribute panel had changed.
His title, previously listed as Storm King, had now updated to King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Even more astonishing, his free attribute points had increased by 50!
When he had first ascended the Iron Throne, Samwell had been puzzled by the lack of activity on his attribute panel. He had assumed that becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms was merely an extension of his existing title as Storm King, offering no fundamental shift. But now, after this unexpected coronation at the Great Sept of Baelor, the attribute panel finally reacted.
Samwell didn't know whether to rage at the High Septon for his audacity or thank him for inadvertently doing him a massive favor.
The nature of his attribute panel had always been a mystery to him. What criteria did it use to recognize changes in status?
For instance, when he was first knighted by Margaery Tyrell, the panel had responded, despite him being utterly powerless at the time.
Similarly, when he was appointed a baron, his castle hadn't even been constructed—yet Mace Tyrell's decree was enough to trigger a change in the panel.
Later, after capturing Storm's End, the panel remained silent until Mace Tyrell officially acknowledged him as the Lord of Storm's End.
These patterns suggested that recognition by higher authorities was the key.
However, during the blood-drenched chaos of his self-coronation on Bloodstone Island—where the Stormland nobles had rallied around him—the panel had also reacted.
Did that mean support from subordinates was equally significant?
If so, why hadn't the attribute panel changed when Samwell captured King's Landing, ascended the Iron Throne, and forced the Seven Kingdoms' lords to kneel?
Could the High Septon's coronation truly be a necessary condition? Or was the Seven's acknowledgment required?
Samwell lifted his gaze, his eyes sweeping across the statues of the Seven.
He sensed no divine presence emanating from them.
Unlike the fervent Red God, the enigmatic Old Gods, the restless deities of Valyria, or the chilling Cold God poised to unleash terror, the Seven—ostensibly the most widely worshipped in Westeros—seemed utterly inert, as if they didn't exist at all.
Samwell had long suspected that the Seven were no more than fictional constructs, invented by the Andals to unify their faith and consolidate power.
But perhaps there was more to it.
Samwell realized that as he ascended to the pinnacle of mortal power, he would inevitably become entangled in the schemes and rivalries of the gods.
The Targaryen madness—was it truly genetic?
What of the prophetic "dragon dreams"? Were they merely visions, or did they harbor sinister intent?
And then there were the White Walkers, whose approach heralded unspeakable horrors. No one knew the full extent of their terror.
At such a juncture, the fifty free attribute points were naturally extremely important, so important enough to make the High Septon's overreach seem trivial.
What Samwell is more concerned about now is where these free attribute points should be added.
As attribute points could not be divided, he had to choose between Strength, Agility, and Spirit.
For Samwell, the choice was clear: Spirit.
He knew that Spirit was the attribute that distinguished mortals from gods, the key to understanding the deepest secrets of the world.
Strength and Agility could make him invincible among men, but Spirit was the ladder to transcendence.
Without hesitation, Samwell allocated all 50 points to Spirit.
The attribute panel rippled like water, and his Spirit increased from 42.78 to 92.78.
In that instant, Samwell felt as though he had been separated from the physical world.
Though his body remained rooted, his consciousness soared skyward.
From this elevated vantage point, the entirety of King's Landing lay bare before him.
Every detail, from the ants crawling in shadows to the dragons soaring in the sky, from the impoverished denizens of Flea Bottom to the noble lords within the Sept, was laid out like an open book.
The lives of millions within the city seemed to be under his control, subject to his will.
For a fleeting moment, Samwell felt like a god.
But then, an overwhelming terror enveloped him like storm clouds blotting out the sun.
Rigid with dread, Samwell looked upward.
In the endless expanse of the heavens, chaotic elements surged like an untamed sea, threatening to devour all.
Compelled by forces beyond his control, he drifted closer to this celestial ocean, like a moth to a flame.
Just as his consciousness was about to be consumed by the roiling elemental waves, a thunderous dragon roar jolted him awake.
Samwell found himself back on the white dragon's back, plummeting earthward.
His body trembled as cold sweat drenched his back.
Turning to glance again at the elemental ocean, he felt a profound sense of insignificance.
The illusion of omnipotence evaporated, replaced by the humbling realization of his mortal limitations.
The white dragon dove sharply, landing atop the dome of the Great Sept.
Samwell's consciousness reentered his body.
Was that an out-of-body experience?
Reintegrating with his physical form, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief and safety, as though warmed by a gentle spring.
The terrifying ocean seemed to retreat to the edges of his awareness, replaced by an exhilarating sensation of mastery.
Golden motes of light shimmered around him, tiny flame-like sprites that danced in reverence.
His eyes turned dark gold, glowing with an ethereal brilliance.
Black strands of his hair turned gold, spreading from the roots until his entire head gleamed like sunlight. His once-average features transformed, becoming so impossibly handsome that mere mortals dared not look at him directly.
He radiated like a blazing sun, too magnificent to behold.
The gathered nobles in the prayer hall stared in stunned silence.
To them, Samwell emanated an indescribable aura of divinity, compelling them to bow in reverence.
One by one, they knelt before him, their foreheads pressed to the floor.
The High Septon, closest to Samwell, bore the full brunt of his presence.
His frail frame, clad in coarse robes, trembled uncontrollably. Blood poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
With a thud, the High Septon collapsed at Samwell's feet.
"I have sinned!" he screamed hoarsely.
It was as if he had glimpsed some unfathomable horror.
"Save me, O Seven!" He clawed at his own eyes, gouging them out.
"Save me!" He shattered his teeth with his fists.
"Save—" His scream turned into a torrent of orange flames erupting from his mouth.
His skin blistered and split, and his body ignited, burning from within.
The High Septon's body was reduced to ashes, yet the hall remained eerily silent.
No one screamed. No one moved to help.
Everyone knelt, their foreheads pressed to the floor, as if before a god.
Samwell alone stood, watching the High Septon disintegrate.
In his eyes, golden flames danced.
(End of Chapter)