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

For a moment, it felt like the entire world echoed with the sound of that slap.

But it wasn't over yet.

Because right after the slap rang out—came the dull clang of a sword falling onto the grass.

[Clang...]

"Heh~..."

Watching Joffrey spin through the air like a top from the force of that slap, Karl couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter.

Then, with a casual nudge of his foot, he kicked Lion's Tooth off to the side.

Joffrey, who had been moments away from delivering a "grand chest-opening special" with his sword, suddenly saw everything blur before his eyes. Before he could process what had happened, he was airborne, completely out of control.

And by the time he came to, he found himself sprawled across the belly of the dead aurochs.

At this close distance, he finally saw clearly what the bloodied lump lying by the river actually was.

It was an aurochs—massive horns curling proudly from its skull, but a deep wound gaped open at its neck. Its eyes were wide and vacant, and every drop of blood had long since drained from its body.

So that's what an aurochs really looks like...

For some reason, that random thought drifted through Joffrey's dazed mind.

But as the thought surfaced, all he could do was lie there limply atop the beast's corpse, staring blankly at everything in front of him.

His ears rang so loudly, he couldn't hear anything else.

His head was spinning. Stars danced before his eyes. That buzzing sound filled his skull—and seemed to be floating farther and farther away.

He suddenly felt like his consciousness was slowly slipping from his body.

And his body… felt heavier by the second. But even so, he had no desire to move at all.

As if, right now, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

But before he could even grasp what was happening—

A voice, devilish and cold, sounded right beside his ear.

"Hey, little prince?"

"You still with us?!"

Seeing Joffrey lying face-down on the dead aurochs's belly without moving a muscle, Kal rushed over, suddenly worried that he might've slapped him to death by accident.

"Ughhh…"

Joffrey's mouth twitched open with a weak, unconscious groan—just enough to show he was still reacting to the outside world.

But that was the last response he could muster.

His pupils were beginning to dilate, slowly losing focus.

Then, little bubbles of blood started gurgling uncontrollably from his nostrils, ear canals, tear ducts, and the corners of his mouth.

As the blood seeped out from all seven orifices, his body began to twitch involuntarily—spasms wracking his limbs. His lower half gave out entirely, losing control of both bladder and bowels.

"Shit… I overdid it."

Seeing this, Kal instantly understood what had happened.

He quickly scooped Joffrey up from the aurochs's belly. The prince's pupils were now fully unfocused, his mouth hanging open, his throat making wet, choking noises as the blood flooded his airway.

Kal realized, a bit too late, that the slap he'd given was far heavier than intended.

He hadn't expected Joffrey to be this fragile. It was just a slap—and somehow, that alone had brought the so-called "Emperor of the Ages" to death's doorstep.

At this point, the poor bastard was probably seeing his great-grandmother.

"Damn it—I told myself to be civilized. But nooo, you just had to run your mouth, didn't you?!"

Staring at the barely-breathing Joffrey in his arms, Kal couldn't help but curse under his breath. Then he raised a hand—and the tips of his fingers began to glow with a faint, fluorescent green light.

Seeing that Joffrey was really about to croak, Kal, who knew he couldn't let him die just yet, had no choice but to cast his healing magic.

With two flashes of green light, the barely-conscious Joffrey—whose head had drooped and whose soul was already halfway out of his body—was forcibly snatched back from the Stranger's grasp by Kal.

And as life returned to his body, Joffrey, who had just taken a stroll at death's doorstep, still looked a little vacant.

His mind was a blur, his eyes staring blankly at Kal, who was holding him up by the collar.

Before he could say anything, a cough escaped his lips.

With that, the blood that had been clogging his throat burst forth. Only then did Joffrey's pupils—previously dilated and lifeless—slowly refocus.

Seeing that he'd pulled him back from the brink, Kal finally let out a breath of relief—but the fake smile he'd been wearing disappeared from his face.

Instead, his brow arched, the corner of his mouth lifted, and a cold smirk crept onto his face.

"You little shit."

"Go to hell!"

Maybe he was pissed that Joffrey had forced him to waste mana casting healing magic twice, or maybe he was just annoyed that this bastard was so damn fragile he hadn't gotten to beat him properly.

Either way, the moment Kal confirmed he was still alive, still fuming, he grabbed Joffrey by the collar and slapped him twice across the face—left and right.

[Smack! Smack!]

This time, though, Kal deliberately held back. He didn't actually slap Joffrey hard enough to send his head flying into the Trident.

Joffrey, who had just finished his little stroll around the Stranger's temple doors and returned, still hadn't figured out what the hell was going on. Before he could even process it—two more slaps from Kal jolted him out of his daze.

He didn't even get a chance to speak. All he could feel was his face gradually going numb… and swelling.

And on top of that, there was a salty taste in his mouth, along with something hard and pebble-like rolling around inside.

"Ptooey~!"

Startled by the foreign sensation, Joffrey reflexively opened his mouth and spat.

A few shards of broken teeth, wrapped in sticky, blood-red spit, flew out from his mouth and landed on the ground.

Staring at the pieces he had just spat out—and that bright, piercing red—Joffrey froze, eyes wide, his whole body going numb from fear.

"I... this... what...?"

Joffrey's head was visibly swollen after those two slaps. Blood mixed with saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.

He tried to say something, but only garbled sounds came out.

And when Kal saw that this little bastard had actually spit teeth and bloody spit onto him, his brows furrowed. Without a second thought, he flung the disbelieving Joffrey to the ground.

With no time to brace himself, Joffrey hit the ground with a thud and a cry.

Lying there, he instinctively held his face, eyes still dazed as he stared up at Kal.

It was as if he was just now realizing that this lowborn bastard really had dared to lay hands on him.

"You… what did you do to me?!"

Now that he was hurting and bleeding, Joffrey stared at Kal with a look of fear and panic.

He lay sprawled on the ground, howling like a frightened little dog.

As if only by doing this could he feel the tiniest shred of safety.

His eyes were bloodshot, his body caked in mud, utterly filthy—no longer bearing the lofty appearance of a prince.

Mud and blood smeared together with no distinction. Dragged down from his once-glorious pedestal, he was now no different from a maggot squirming in a cesspit.

And so, the prince broke down.

"No… don't kill me, don't kill me!"

His head was so swollen it looked like a pig's, and his words came out slurred and unclear.

But that didn't stop him from crying out with all his might—his voice torn with panic, tears and mucus gushing uncontrollably down his face.

Then, driven by pure instinct, he scrambled clumsily across the ground on all fours, frantically trying to put distance between himself and Kal.

But after just two crawls, Joffrey suddenly froze.

The next second, he lifted his head and looked back toward the direction he'd come from—then shouted at the top of his lungs without hesitation.

"Hound! Save me! Save me, now!"

"You damn bastard! How dare you not protect me?! How dare you let this happen?!"

"I'll have your head chopped off! I'll have your hands hacked to pieces and thrown into the brazier to burn!"

Suddenly remembering that he actually had a bodyguard—Sandor Clegane, the Hound, handpicked by his mother—Joffrey didn't even stop to wipe away the tears on his face. He screamed desperately for help, mixing threats in between gasps.

But true to his nature, once he was done barking at the Hound, he immediately turned back, his face twisted with rage, voice hoarse and feral as he pointed straight at Kal.

"I want you to kill that filthy bastard! Kill that lowborn son of a whore and skin him alive so I can walk on his hide!"

But as his voice echoed outward, the only response he received… was silence.

There was no answer.

Joffrey instinctively stopped crawling, then turned his head and carefully looked back in the direction he had come from.

Then he saw it—the Hound, who had always loyally guarded him, now lay motionless on a rug, completely unresponsive to his cries.

As if he were dead.

Joffrey, who had just been begging for his life and shouting for Kal to be killed, abruptly fell silent—like a duck suddenly choked at the neck, his shrill cries cut off in an instant.

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