Upon returning to the Red Keep, Lancelot placed a seven-faced idol in the most prominent spot in his room.
This had been given to him by the High Sparrow. It was said that in his youth, the High Sparrow had traveled to Essos and befriended an Andal. When they parted ways, his friend had gifted him this object.
"The glory of the Seven will manifest in the future. When that time comes, give this to the hero destined for it," the Andal had said.
"This thing doesn't seem ordinary. I need to appraise it!"
Lancelot spent one hundred Popularity Points, intending to see what this idol really was.
"Object is too unique. Insufficient Popularity Points for successful appraisal!"
"What?"
Lancelot was shocked. This was the first time the Appraisal System had given him such a prompt.
"Then use all the Popularity Points I currently have!" Lancelot declared. He had three hundred points left. He didn't know if it would be enough.
Popularity Points mainly came from people's emotional fluctuations; the greater the fluctuation, the more points provided.
Many people had given Lancelot a huge amount of points initially, but over time, they grew accustomed to his deeds and his persona. It became commonplace, so they no longer generated massive amounts of points.
"Popularity Points too low to accurately appraise all data of the target. Continue?" the Appraisal System prompted.
"Continue!" Lancelot said.
"Appraising..."
"Item Name: Statue of the Seven"
"Function: Grants power to the one chosen by the Seven."
"That's it?" Lancelot asked.
The system did not respond.
"Hello? Hello!" Lancelot called out twice, but received no answer.
"How do I use it? System, give me a hint?"
"Host, please explore autonomously!" With that, the system went silent again.
"Explore autonomously, huh? Don't blame me then!"
Lancelot placed the idol, made of unknown material, directly over a Wildfire flame to roast it, but found that even Wildfire couldn't burn it.
It only formed a layer of black soot on the surface. Once wiped clean, it was the same idol as before.
"Looks like I'm not the chosen one. Might as well throw it away!"
Lancelot picked up the idol, intending to toss it.
But he found it seemed to be stuck to his hand.
"Huh? What's going on? It was fine a moment ago. Why is it stuck to my hand now?"
After contemplating for a moment, Lancelot said to the idol, "I won't throw you away. Get off my hand!"
The idol instantly dropped, landing on the floor.
Lancelot picked it up again. He carefully examined the carved faces on each side.
"The faces of the Seven seem to be getting blurrier! Makes sense. Humans don't know what gods look like anyway! Who knows their true forms? The artisan certainly didn't."
"I'll keep this thing! Might be useful later," Lancelot decided.
Lancelot continued his alchemy. As his technique matured, his speed increased significantly.
"At this rate, in three months, I'll have successfully transmuted all three million Golden Lion coins. I really am a genius!" Lancelot praised himself.
Over the next few days, the Tourney of the Hand officially began, with lords from all over gathering together.
This time, King Robert personally participated in the melee, and Prince Joffrey entered the archery contest.
Lancelot, however, did not participate because he knew the inside scoop: there was no prize money for the archery champion, the winner of the melee, or the jousting champion.
But they would receive a different honor: becoming a hero.
The champions of archery, melee, and jousting—three individuals—would earn the honor of killing a wight.
The wight was the one Lancelot had sealed in the black coffin: Ser Waymar Royce.
While Lancelot was doing alchemy in the Red Keep, Arya dragged him out to a certain place one day.
The Dragonpit. This was where House Targaryen once kept their dragons, though the dragons were long gone. There were, however, plenty of dragon bones.
"Why did you bring me here?" Lancelot asked. In front of him were Arya and her wolf, Nymeria.
Hrakkar followed behind like a guardian deity.
"While I was chasing cats here, I overheard a conversation between two people," Arya said.
Lancelot raised an eyebrow. It seemed things had taken a turn.
"Which two people? And why were you chasing cats?" Lancelot asked.
"I don't know who they were. One of them had an accent that didn't sound Westerosi; it sounded like they were from Essos," she said.
"And I couldn't understand what they were saying. It didn't seem to be the Common Tongue of Westeros."
"So you didn't learn anything?"
"That's right. And I lost the cat! Syrio said if I caught that cat, he would teach me other sword techniques—the Water Dance, the Braavosi style. Not the knight's sword, the steel sword."
Arya spoke with a mix of frustration and anticipation.
"So, you brought me here to have Hrakkar attract that cat for you?" Lancelot asked.
"Exactly. A lion is the king of beasts and a feline too. Other cats will definitely listen to him," Arya said.
"Lancelot, please help me!" Arya tugged on Lancelot's arm.
"If you do, I'll take you to meet Syrio and have him teach you the Water Dance too."
Lancelot had never learned the Water Dance, but he had seen it. That elegant fighting style, while unsuited for battlefield slaughter, was excellent for performance.
"Alright, I'll help you this once! Hrakkar, use Lion's Roar. Summon all the cats here!"
Hrakkar threw his head back and opened his massive jaws. A low, rumbling roar emanated from his throat.
It shook the dust inside the Dragonpit.
Not far ahead, something seemed to emerge from the thick dust.
Then a cat walked past it.
Followed by a second, a third... hundreds of cats arrived. Like pilgrims, they prostrated themselves at Hrakkar's feet.
"The cat you need is among them. Find it yourself, Arya!" Lancelot said, then walked forward, Nymeria trotting beside him.
"Uh! What is this wolf doing?" Lancelot looked puzzled at Nymeria accompanying him.
Nymeria dug something out of the dust with her paws. It looked like a sword. She gripped the hilt in her mouth, brought it to Lancelot, set it down, sat, and wagged her tail. Like a Samoyed.
"Uh! Good girl!" Lancelot patted her head.
Though he didn't understand why Nymeria was sucking up to him.
Picking up the sword from the ground, he saw the hilt was ruined, but the blade had no rust or cracks.
After wiping the dust from the blade, Lancelot discovered complex patterns and a dark luster on the steel.
"A sword like this... it looks like Valyrian steel! But there's no name on it, so I don't know if it's real."
Lancelot then drew his own Rose Sword and struck the suspected Valyrian steel blade. Sparks flew, but neither blade showed a notch.