chapter 3 time flies

It's been three years. The first two were spent helplessly pissing and shitting myself, depending on a maid to clean me up. Thankfully, I outgrew that when my body started growing faster than it should for a normal child at least—by the time I was three, I was already the size of my father. This body, as frightening as it is, has been a blessing. My monstrous growth shouldn't be possible for any normal child, but it saved me. My grandfather wasted no time in starting my training, molding my mind while I was still young. It gave me the perfect excuse to "learn" how to read and speak without raising suspicion.

When I finally spoke my first true words, my father celebrated with a feast—meat, women, and wine. It would've been amusing if my body were more developed. But at three years old, I was only a spectator to his excess. My body may not be growing in all places, but my mind knows patience. I have time.

By now, I'm far too big for a crib. My grandfather sent a king-sized bed for me, not wanting to slow my growth. In this bed, I spend nights learning the history of Westeros, sifting through the limited knowledge the Rock has at least by my last worlds standards. Hygiene, nutrition, even basic health—what I know from my past life would have these people living past 40. But war and ignorance claim most before then either ways and i dont want this world to change i want to be king where i can do what i want in my last life the president had to follow the laws but not here.

I recently learned that Joffrey turned two, making it ten years before the events that will shake Westeros. For now, I'm stuck waiting, but not for long. My father stands at 4'5", and I am quickly passing him. Once I hit five feet, the real training begins thats what grandfather said.

---

Three months later

It didn't take long. A week ago, I started openly working out. In private, I've been pushing my body for much longer—push-ups, squats, running until I collapse from exhaustion. This body is nothing short of a miracle, and it's developing fast. However, there are still limitations—my body may be maturing, but I remain too young to take full advantage of it.

My grandfather has sent Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, to be my trainer. He believes this is what I need—a giant to mold another giant. The man rarely speaks, more grunts than words, but his brutality speaks volumes. On the first day, he beat me down without mercy. I might not look like a baby, but at three years old, I still am one. Yet, by the next day, I had healed, shocking everyone—except my grandfather. He seemed pleased, a twisted grin of satisfaction on his face. I have no doubt that my training from now on will only become more torturous.

---

Three weeks later

I was right. Every day, the Mountain crushes me with his fists, and no matter how much I fight back, I can't lay a hand on him. My body might be gifted, but he's still a mountain—seven feet tall and 400 pounds of pure muscle. He doesn't hold back, and the more I heal, the harder he hits. It's as though my recovery only fuels his desire to break me, likely under the watchful eye of my grandfather.

I hate him for it, but I won't break. I won't stop. Someday, I'll be strong enough to kill this bastard, but for now, I can only take the blows.

---

After hours of beatings, I stumble out of the training yard, bruised but unbroken.

"Stop," my grandfather's voice calls out.

I turn to face him, standing tall despite the pain.

"Tell me, boy," he says, eyes cold, "can you kill a man?"

"Yes," I respond without hesitation.

"Good. Follow me."

He leads me to the dungeons, where three men are bound and gagged. He hands me a blade, watching for my reaction. I take it, glance at the men, and throw the weapon aside.

"Disappointing," he mutters, his face hardening.

But I meet his gaze with my own icy stare. "I don't need a blade for weaklings."

Without hesitation, I walk up to each of the men and snap their necks, one by one. They never stood a chance.

I turn back to my grandfather, who nods approvingly. "From tomorrow, your sword training, horse riding, and archery will begin. Your new instructors will arrive in the morning."

"As you wish, Grandfather."

"Go. Wash yourself."

"As you command."

---

Back in my chambers, a maid runs a bath. As I prepare to step in, my father enters, his face unusually serious.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern in his voice.

"You knew?" I ask, surprised.

"It was my idea."

"Why?"

He looks at me, tears welling up in his eyes. "Ever since you devoured that first book, I knew. You're not just smart—you're a genius, far beyond your years. I want you to be the greatest this house has ever seen, but more than that, I want you to survive. Maybe I'm the worst father in the world, making my own son kill at three years old. But the world out there won't hesitate to kill you. I need you to be strong."

His voice cracks, his tears flowing freely now. "I need you to live."

I stand, towering over him. "I won't hesitate, Father. I will reclaim our birthright. Even if the world sees me as a monster, I will do whatever it takes to win."

He looks into my eyes, searching for something. "My giant bear," he whispers. "Even if the world calls you a demon, you will always be my son."

I smile, my heart steady. "That's all I'll ever need, Father."