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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Woo—Woo—Woo

The horn blew—once, twice, and then a third time.

One sound meant brothers returning home, two meant wildlings were approaching, but why was it still blowing?

It had been thousands of years since the Night's Watch had blown the horn three times. The meaning behind it was so obscure that most of the black brothers had forgotten. But Aegor hadn't.

When that third, piercing sound, higher and longer than the first two—split through the freezing air atop the Wall and bored into his ears, Aegor's heart sank. He was on duty at the time, having just drawn lots to stand watch. Hands trembling, he gripped the icy wall and gazed out from its northern edge.

What he saw chilled him to the bone, a sight so terrifying he wished he could forget it for the rest of his life.

Aegor woke up in a cold sweat, his back drenched.

That same nightmare haunted him again, a vision of the White Walkers, figures that should only belong in legends thousands of years old. The haunting had started the moment he joined the Night's Watch. Back then, when he was just a recruit, standing sentinel for the first time had rattled him. Even now, after becoming a full-fledged ranger, the fear lingered.

Some might find it laughable to be so troubled by ancient myths. But Aegor knew better than the others: many of the stories about the White Walkers were true.

He knew because he was a traveler—a soul displaced in time.

Aegor wasn't a man of this world. He had come from another, one far removed from this fantastical, brutal place. Yet, rather than achieving greatness, rising to power, or forming a harem as one might in stories, his journey led him to the Wall—a remote, desolate place. Here, he swore an oath not to marry, not to inherit land, not to father children. He was to be a shield that guards the realms of men, defending Westeros from the ancient dangers lurking in the Far North.

What a noble, selfless cause! A hero's ambition that transcended worlds.

If only that were the truth.

In reality, Aegor hadn't taken the black by choice.

His story began a year ago. Back then, he wasn't "Aegor" at all. He was an ordinary college graduate, living a humdrum life in another world. After finishing his degree, he'd taken a job in the quality control department of a large company—"a job slightly related to his field of study," as he often described it. It wasn't glamorous, but the pay was steady, and he lived comfortably enough.

Then one day, everything changed.

Aegor woke up shivering in the wilderness, dressed only in his pajamas. Disoriented and freezing, he wandered aimlessly through an unfamiliar landscape. For hours, he trudged without finding shelter until, at last, he stumbled upon a village.

But to his shock, the people in the village were not like him. They spoke a language he couldn't understand, and looked at him like he was an alien.

Unable to communicate and starving, Aegor resorted to stealing food, potatoes from a field and clothes to stave off the cold. He even considered taking some eggs from a chicken coop but was caught in the act by the villagers.

For his petty crime, the local official—an impatient man who looked like a farmer himself, presented him with two options: lose a hand or don the black cloak of the Night's Watch. The message was delivered with a crude display of body language.

Faced with the prospect of maiming on his very first day in this world, Aegor reluctantly chose the latter. The villagers called him "Aegor" after the nickname they had given him during his capture, and it stuck. Thus, Aegor was sent to Castle Black as a criminal, joining the ranks of the Night's Watch.

The first time he laid eyes on the Wall, it took his breath away. Its sheer size and majesty were overwhelming. The towering, 200-meter-high structure of ice loomed over the landscape like no mountain he had ever seen. In that moment, Aegor realized where he was: the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. Or maybe it was the Game of Thrones universe. He didn't have enough information to say for sure. All he knew was that he was trapped in this harsh, merciless world.

"Awake?"

Gary, his roommate, was already up, packing by the window. The older man glanced over at Aegor and shook his head. "Get ready early. Otherwise, you'll be the first one complaining about forgetting something once we're out there."

Gary was a veteran of the Night's Watch. He'd joined as a boy after losing his parents, and though he wasn't yet fifty, he had served for over forty years. The Night's Watch was his home in every sense. Despite his gruff demeanor and tendency to lecture, Gary had looked out for Aegor, helping him adjust to life in the Watch.

With a resigned sigh, Aegor climbed out of bed, shaking off the damp quilt, and began dressing for the day.

As a modern man with a college education, Aegor prided himself on his adaptability. It hadn't been easy, but in the year since he arrived in this world, he had learned to blend in. Aegor now communicated fluently with his fellow brothers of the Night's Watch.

That had been no small feat. The Common Tongue of Westeros wasn't English. It resembled English only slightly in grammar and structure, and Aegor's knowledge of the language had been no help here. The months of struggling to learn had been frustrating, but he'd managed.

After a quick breakfast with Gary, Aegor packed his gear and joined three other rangers for their patrol. Together, the group made their way to the stables, mounted their horses, and approached the tunnel leading through the Wall.

The iron gate creaked as it rose, revealing the dark, frigid passage beyond. Sir Waymar Royce, the leader of their party, entered first, his back straight and his head held high.

The tunnel was cold and silent, save for the occasional whistling of the wind. They passed through three iron gates, each heavier than the last, their way lit only by flickering torches. When they finally emerged on the other side of the Wall, the forest loomed ahead of them—a dark, endless expanse known as the Haunted Forest.

The Haunted Forest was a vital part of their patrol. Though it stretched all the way to the Land of Always Winter, the Night's Watch kept the woods closest to the Wall clear of trees. This deforested "buffer zone" prevented wildlings from using the cover of the trees to launch sneak attacks. However, with the dwindling numbers of the Night's Watch, maintaining this practice had become increasingly difficult.

Aegor glanced back at the Wall, now behind them. The massive structure seemed to weep as it melted in the summer heat, drops of water trickling down its icy face. It was a welcome sign. At least for now, the temperature was bearable, and they wouldn't have to worry about freezing during their patrol.

The horses trudged forward, their hooves crunching through the snow. The group crossed the deforested buffer zone and entered the Haunted Forest. Aegor shivered. No matter how many times he ventured into these woods, they never failed to unnerve him.

The year was 297 AC—three years before the War of the Five Kings would tear Westeros apart. In Winterfell, Eddard Stark still muttered, "Winter is coming," as he enjoyed the company of his family. Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen was still a frightened girl living under the shadow of her brother. The White Walkers, though stirring in the Far North, had yet to unleash their full terror upon the world.

For now, the realm was at peace. It wasn't the worst time to find oneself in Westeros, if you had the luxury of avoiding danger. But as a ranger of the Night's Watch, Aegor had no such luck. He couldn't simply hide behind the Wall and hope for safety.

Instead, his duty demanded that he go beyond it, facing the dangers of the Far North head-on.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

When he'd first arrived at Castle Black, Aegor had tried to prove himself as a man of intellect. He hoped to catch the attention of Lord Commander Mormont or Maester Aemon, earning a position as a steward or scribe. At the very least, he'd hoped to avoid being sent beyond the Wall.

But his plans had failed spectacularly.

No one cared about his education or wit. To the Night's Watch, he was just another recruit—a thief with no noble name or connections. He lacked the pedigree of men like Benjen Stark or Jon Snow, and so his fate was sealed.

Aegor had been assigned to the Rangers, the elite soldiers of the Watch. It was an honor most men would envy, but for him, it felt like a death sentence.

Here, he wasn't the hero of a grand tale. He was just another expendable pawn in the fight against the darkness beyond the Wall.

Chapter 2

By law, deserters from the Night's Watch are considered criminals, and all lords of the Seven Kingdoms are bound to hunt them down and execute them. This is particularly true in the North, where the Stark family and their bannermen hold a close relationship with the Night's Watch and show no mercy to deserters. For those who attempt to flee south, the journey is fraught with peril. For those who flee north to join the wildlings, their fate is equally grim, perhaps worse.

Aegor wanted to escape the black cloak and distance himself from humanity's enemies. But how could he flee north and join the wildlings? That path wasn't an option.

As for fleeing south... it was a tempting dream, but one that required careful planning and preparation. First, he would need a fast horse, ample provisions, and plain clothes to replace his black uniform. He'd need to choose the right moment to slip away and avoid all inhabited areas along his path. If he could cross the Neck and make it out of the North, his chances of success would rise dramatically.

Once in the southern regions ideally in the fertile lands of the Reach or the Riverlands, lords and common folk alike would care far less about the Night's Watch. There, he could find a small town or a safe haven that wouldn't ask too many questions, where he could start a new life.

The plan sounded simple. The reality, however, was daunting. In a feudal world with slow transportation, low mobility, and a legal system built on rigid hierarchies, his distinctly foreign appearance and lack of identity would make him stand out like a sore thumb.

It was almost impossible.

Shaking his head, Aegor pushed the thought aside. Now wasn't the time to fantasize. As the muffled crunch of horses' hooves broke through the snow, the trees thickened, blocking out the sunlight. The patrol had entered the vast boreal forest north of the Wall.

"These damned savages," Gary grumbled. "The weather's colder by the day, but they still won't stop."

"They're wildlings. They don't know when to quit," Aegor replied, brushing the snowflakes off his sleeves with an air of casual disdain.

The Night's Watch, short on manpower and supplies, had long abandoned routine patrols in favor of targeted missions. Patrols were now sent out only when there was an urgent reason. Two nights ago, the watchmen stationed atop the Wall had spotted a fire flickering several miles to the north. That was the sole reason why the commander and the chief ranger had ordered today's mission. Otherwise, the four of them would still be in Castle Black, finishing their morning drills and warming themselves by the hearth.

"Enough chatter. Spread out and move forward in a line. I don't want anyone missing even the smallest trace," said Waymar Royce, their leader, in a curt, frosty tone.

Hearing the command, Gary and Will exchanged looks and rolled their eyes behind Waymar's back. The group was arranged by age: Gary, the oldest; then Will; Aegor in the middle; and Royce, the youngest, leading from the front. This dynamic didn't sit well with the older three.

Sir Waymar Royce was a young noble from the Vale, the third son of the Lord of Runestone. He had joined the Night's Watch for one simple reason: as the third son, his chances of inheriting his family's title or lands were slim. His father had personally escorted him to the Wall, along with a wagon full of supplies. That detail alone had made him a frequent target of ridicule among the men at Castle Black. To many, it seemed that the great Sir Waymar Royce hadn't come to serve the Watch but to enjoy a vacation.

The Night's Watch had a creed: all brothers were equals, bound by their oaths. Yet here was a young, inexperienced noble suddenly promoted to a position of authority. And worse, this was Waymar's first time leading a patrol beyond the Wall. It was hardly surprising that the others didn't trust him.

But discipline was discipline. The three of them followed orders, spreading out in a line to comb the area for signs of wildling activity.

Before long, they found what they were looking for: clear signs of human presence. The snow had held firm since the day before, preserving footprints and the blackened remains of a campfire.

"They're already gone," Gary said, hesitating as he glanced at Waymar.

The Night's Watch was born in the aftermath of the Long Night, the cataclysmic winter that had lasted a generation. During that dark age, the White Walkers had nearly wiped out humanity. In the wake of the devastation, the Wall and the Night's Watch were established to protect mankind from the terrors of the far North.

For a time, joining the Night's Watch was considered the highest honor. Its ranks were filled with the best and brightest, and its entry requirements were strict. Men volunteered eagerly, drawn by a sense of duty and glory.

But that era had long passed.

As the White Walkers retreated to the Land of Always Winter and faded into obscurity, the memory of the Long Night began to dim. Generations passed, and with them, the importance of the Night's Watch began to decline.

Even so, the Watch managed to retain some degree of relevance, for the Wall served another purpose: keeping the wildlings at bay. For thousands of years, the Wall had been a shield against the free folk of the North.

That all changed with Aegon's Conquest and the rise of the Targaryen dynasty.

The Targaryens never sought to undermine the Night's Watch. In fact, the kings of Westeros respected the Black Brothers. But Aegon the Conqueror had brought dragons to Westeros, and dragons changed everything. When wildlings launched a major attack, Aegon simply mounted his dragon and scorched their forces, scattering them back to the wilderness.

It was an efficient solution, but it came at a cost. The role of the Night's Watch diminished in the eyes of the realm. Why risk lives defending the Wall when the King of Westeros could dispatch his dragons to deal with any threat?

Over time, the noble sons and knights who had once flocked to the Watch lost interest. Recruitment dwindled. Standards fell. The Night's Watch was forced to lower its entry requirements again and again, until it became what it was today: a shadow of its former self.

The oath of the Night's Watch still rang with a certain grandeur:

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

It was a stirring vow, filled with solemn promises and lofty titles. But few knew how many revisions it had undergone over the centuries or how much bitterness and resignation lay behind the words.

The dragons of House Targaryen were long gone, but the Watch's decline was irreversible. By now, the Black Brothers were little more than glorified gatekeepers. Their numbers had dwindled to fewer than a thousand, and the men could be roughly divided into three categories:

The first and largest group consisted of criminals like Aegor, men who had chosen the Wall over punishment. Thieves, poachers, rapists—these were the dregs of society, unfit to serve in the glory days of the Watch but now its main fighting force. Their only futures lay in death, either at their post or as deserters.

The second group comprised those forced into the Watch by circumstances. Bankrupt merchants, illegitimate children, disgraced nobles, or farmers who had lost their land, they joined not for glory but for survival. Many of the Watch's craftsmen and stewards came from this group, though their numbers had also dwindled.

The final and smallest group consisted of men like Waymar Royce: volunteers driven by honor, guilt, or political necessity. These men still existed, though they were few and far between. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, Chief Ranger Benjen Stark, and Maester Aemon of the Targaryen bloodline all fell into this category.

Such men often rose quickly to leadership roles. It was an unspoken rule, rooted in practicality. In a remote and frozen outpost like the Wall, leadership couldn't be left to the criminals and peasants who made up most of the Watch.

But even the noblest recruits soon found their ideals crushed beneath the weight of reality. The Wall was no grand stage for heroics; it was a frozen graveyard of broken dreams.

Sir Waymar Royce was no exception.

He'd joined the Night's Watch full of youthful zeal, inspired by its storied oath. He'd wanted to prove to his family—particularly his beloved brother that he had no designs on the family fortune. But standing here now, on the edge of the Haunted Forest, Waymar couldn't help but regret his decision.

There was no turning back. His oath had been sworn, his words spoken. Even if he fled home now, his family would never welcome him back with open arms.

His only hope was to achieve some kind of success to prove himself a capable leader. Perhaps then he could petition for leave to visit his family without being branded a failure.

Circling the site of the abandoned wildling camp, Waymar's eyes narrowed. After a moment's thought, he made his decision:

"They're not far ahead. Follow their tracks. We're going after them."

Chapter 3

Waymar determined to make a name for himself, had already made up his mind to continue the chase. His three companions, however, were less than thrilled.

Will, a former poacher with excellent tracking skills, soon reported his findings: the group they were pursuing consisted of about ten people—men, women, and children. Most likely, they were a wildling family.

The people of the Seven Kingdoms often regarded wildlings as savage, barbaric monsters, their image so fearsome that Northern parents would invoke them to frighten disobedient children. But the Night's Watch, who dealt with wildlings regularly, knew better. To the men in black, wildlings were essentially rebellious farmers, people who refused to pay taxes or labor for any lord, believing this rejection to be "freedom."

Compared to them, the Night's Watch were professional soldiers, even at their current state of decline, the Watch was still one of the largest standing armies in Westeros.

In this feudal era, noble armies were often hastily assembled when needed. Farmers set down their hoes, picked up weapons, and joined knights and lords in battle, forming armies on an ad hoc basis. But the Night's Watch was different. Their only mission was to guard the Wall, and they were always at war in some capacity. They lived off the resources provided by the Gift and the support of Northern lords, and, even in the best of times, the Watch produced nothing. While the quality of its members was often poor, the Night's Watch trained daily, making them a rare standing force. By the low standards of this world, they could still be considered an "elite."

The Rangers were the combat troops of the Watch, distinct from the stewards and craftsmen who handled logistics. Rangers didn't waste time on chores like cooking or washing clothes. Their lives revolved around training and patrolling. Compared to wildlings armed with wooden clubs and stone axes, people who spent most of their time on sheer survival—rangers were far better trained and equipped. While some wildling warriors were exceptions, most free folk avoided direct confrontation with the Night's Watch unless they held a significant numerical advantage or the element of surprise.

The small group of wildlings that Aegor and his companions pursued certainly didn't seem inclined to fight back.

Initially, the wildlings had been moving west along a path roughly parallel to the Wall. But once they realized they were being followed, they turned north in an attempt to escape. Waymar eager to prove himself, refused to let them go. The chase began: a relentless game of cat and mouse through the snow.

During the day, the rangers pressed forward on horseback, following the trail left behind by their quarry. At night, they huddled beneath thick blankets to rest. Their horses gave them an advantage, allowing them to keep close on the wildlings' trail. Over nine days, the pursuit wound its way north, veering northwest at times, before curving back again. Thanks to clear skies and no snowfall, Will never lost the trail.

By the ninth day, though, doubts began to creep in.

"Nine days, my lord," Gary grumbled.

"Is nine days a long time?" Waymar asked sharply.

"Not long," Gary replied, his tone calm but pointed. "But we only brought enough rations for a dozen days. Even if we stretch them, we might last twenty. And we still need enough to get back. If we keep going much longer..."

Waymar cut him off, a note of sarcasm creeping into his voice. "I heard from Ser Alliser Thorne that last winter, rangers survived outside the Wall for six months on just one month's rations. How do you think they managed it?"

Will and Aegor exchanged awkward glances but said nothing. Waymar's point may have been dramatic, but he'd clearly aimed it at the wrong crowd.

"If you really want to know," Gary said dryly, taking the opportunity to humiliate the young knight, "I can tell you. I was on that mission. When the food ran out, we started with horse meat and dog meat. Then we dug up grass roots, raided rat nests, and hunted anything that moved. When there was nothing left, the commander ordered us to...prepare the bodies of our dead brothers."

Waymar's face paled, but Gary continued relentlessly. "We didn't end up eating them. A storm forced us to retreat to Craster's Keep. That 'helpful' wildling who marries his own daughters let us shelter there, and we barely made it back alive. If you want to try that for yourself, I'll do my best to get everyone home. But just so you know, the Lord Commander warned us never to ask Craster for help with fewer than ten men. And horse meat isn't exactly easy to stomach."

Aegor expected Waymar to lash out in anger at Gary's insubordination, but to his surprise, the young knight remained composed. His face twitched, his pride visibly bruised, but after a few moments, he conceded.

"Fine," Waymar said finally, his voice carefully measured. "We'll call off the pursuit tomorrow. But for today—our last day—we're going to take the initiative. We'll try to capture one or two of them alive. If we succeed, we'll interrogate them and head back. If not, we return anyway."

"Take the initiative?" Will broke his silence, his nervousness plain. "But Lord Benjen only ordered us to investigate the wildlings' movements. He didn't say anything about engaging—"

"And what exactly have we learned after nine days of chasing them?" Waymar interrupted. "Capturing one of them is the fastest way to get answers. Don't you agree, Gary?"

Gary scowled but bit back any retort. As a veteran, he could mock Waymar, but he couldn't openly defy a direct order from his superior, especially one who was both a knight and a noble. "As you wish, my lord," he said reluctantly.

Waymar smirked, clearly enjoying the small victory. "Good. Will, scout ahead and report back. We'll plan our next move based on what you find."

Will shot an exasperated look at Aegor and Gary before mounting his horse and riding off. The remaining three dismounted, finding a spot between the trees to rest.

Aegor climbed onto a snow-covered rock to survey the area. The weather had grown colder with each passing day. They were now hundreds of miles north of the Wall, in territory where the temperature was significantly lower. But it wasn't the chill that unsettled him, it was the presence of Waymar Royce.

It wasn't fear of the man himself. Waymar, while arrogant, wasn't entirely intolerable. He wasn't a true villain; just a pampered young noble trying to prove himself. What worried Aegor was the story Waymar was tied to.

As a traveler from another world, Aegor's memory of A Song of Ice and Fire was frustratingly vague. He had skimmed the series and watched the show without paying close attention to the details. But one thing he remembered clearly: Waymar Royce's death.

Waymar was the first named character to die in both the novels and the show, cut down by the White Walkers in the prologue. His death wasn't just the end of his story, it was the moment that revealed the existence of Westeros's greatest threat and set the stage for everything that followed.

Aegor had no desire to become part of that introduction.

Unfortunately, he had no say in the matter. As a convict sent to the Wall, he couldn't refuse orders or choose his missions. When he learned that Waymar would be leading this patrol, he had dreaded it. But there had been no avoiding it. And so, once again, he found himself venturing into the Haunted Forest, a place named for the ghosts that undoubtedly dwelled within it.

The forest's twisted trees and endless shadows made it easy to believe in ghosts. Aegor remembered his first patrol beyond the Wall, when his mind had been haunted by half-remembered legends and plots. Every dark shadow had seemed like a White Walker lurking in the distance. Every weirwood tree, its face carved in the bark, had made his skin crawl. By the end of the first day, he'd been so terrified that he could barely stand after dismounting his horse.

He had grown used to it since then. This was his eleventh trip beyond the Wall. He had encountered wildlings twice before and had learned to temper his fear of the forest.

But something about Waymar's presence set him on edge. The dense shadows between the trees felt oppressive, as though hiding something far more dangerous than wildlings.

Aegor forced himself to dismiss the thought. Maybe the sense of unease was just his imagination, heightened by his knowledge of Waymar's grim fate. Still, one thing was certain: when they returned to Castle Black, Aegor would do whatever it took to avoid patrolling with Waymar Royce again.

He shook his head and returned to where Gary and Waymar sat. Taking a seat beneath their watchful gazes, he waited silently for Will to return.

The cold wind howled through the trees, and the horses shuffled restlessly, their breath misting in the air. Aegor kept alert, listening for any unusual sounds. Time dragged on, and nearly an hour passed before Will finally rode back into view.

"Hm?" Waymar looked up as the poacher approached, his tone haughty and dismissive. "The savages must have stopped to make camp by now. Did you find them?"

Will dismounted slowly, his face pale and shaken. His eyes darted between the others as he swallowed hard.

"You won't believe this," he stammered. "I don't even know what happened... but the savages—they're all dead."

Chapter 4

"What?"

"What!"

Two voices rang out at the same time, one sharp with disbelief, the other laced with shock.

Waymar shot Aegor a strange look before turning his full attention to Will. "What exactly did you see? Tell me everything, and don't leave out a single detail."

"The camp is about two miles away, over a small snow-covered ridge next to a stream," Will reported, his voice tense. "The fire's burned out, there's only a pile of smoldering embers left. The wildlings are scattered around it, lying in the snow. I counted eight bodies, which lines up with my earlier estimate, but I didn't see any children among them.

"They're... motionless. Not a twitch. Even the one in the tree, it's like they're frozen in place. I crept as close as I could and watched for a while. There's no blood, no signs of a fight... but no living person would lie so still."

"Living people wouldn't let their fire die out either," Gary muttered, his tone grim. "The temperature's been dropping fast these past few days. Maybe they froze to death?"

"Maybe," Will agreed with a shiver. "What do we do now, my lord?"

"If it's cold, wear more clothes," Waymar snapped. "When we left the Wall nine days ago, it was still dripping with meltwater. We've had some frost and light snow since, but it hasn't been cold enough to freeze a group of wildlings to death. And they had warm furs, good shelter from the wind and snow, and a fire to keep them alive. That's not what killed them."

Aegor felt an icy chill creep down his spine as he listened to the exchange. His thoughts raced. How could this be happening?

The situation was too familiar. Even with his patchy memory, the feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming. He knew what this was, the beginning of A Song of Ice and Fire. The ill-fated Waymar Royce leading his patrol straight into an encounter with the White Walkers.

And now, thanks to whatever cosmic joke had placed him in this world, he was here too.

"Now that the wildlings are dead," Gary said uneasily, "maybe we should head back."

"Afraid of a few corpses, Gary?" Waymar sneered. He turned back, a trace of contempt tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Dead people don't scare me," Aegor finally spoke up, his voice steady but urgent. He knew he couldn't stay silent any longer, this was life and death. If Waymar led them to that camp, they would face the White Walkers head-on. And Aegor knew that the four of them wouldn't stand a chance against those ancient monsters. "What I'm afraid of is whatever killed them."

"Just because it killed wildlings doesn't mean it can kill the Night's Watch," Waymar said confidently, though he seemed momentarily taken aback by Aegor's uncharacteristic boldness. "Besides, are you sure they're even dead? Where's your proof?"

"Will may not be a fighter, but he's no liar," Gary said, his voice heavy with doubt. "If he says they're dead, I believe him. We were ordered to investigate the wildlings, and we did. They won't trouble the Wall anymore, so—"

"Do you think the commander won't want to know what killed them?" Waymar interrupted, his tone sharp. "We'll never find out unless we see for ourselves. Mount up and take me there."

Gary's face darkened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue. But in the end, he bit back his anger and turned to retrieve his horse.

"I'm not going," Aegor said firmly.

The words hung in the cold air, his defiance startling everyone. But Aegor couldn't afford to back down, not this time. "You can call me a coward if you like, but I'm not going. I've had a bad feeling these past few days, like something's been watching us. Whatever killed those wildlings, it's not something we can handle."

"I feel the same way," Will muttered hesitantly, emboldened by Aegor's stand.

Gary glanced between them, visibly conflicted. He had the seniority to challenge Waymar's decisions, but openly defying an officer's order wasn't something he could do lightly. "It's almost dark," he suggested cautiously. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow?"

"Afraid of the dark, are you?" Waymar's face twisted with irritation. He wasn't used to being challenged, least of all by three subordinates at once. Their defiance only made him dig his heels in further. "I've made my decision. Get on your horses, we're going now. I won't say it again."

"No," Aegor said again, his voice quieter but no less firm. He turned to Gary, hoping for support from the older man. "I have a strong feeling that if we go there tonight, we'll die."

Gary hesitated, but after a moment, he shook his head. He wasn't willing to defy his superior for Aegor's sake.

Waymar narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in them. "I don't believe in your 'feelings,'" he said coldly. "But if you're that scared, fine. You can run back to the Wall, but you'll leave your weapons behind, and you're not taking a horse. If you think you can make it, go ahead. Run."

Aegor stared at him, his throat dry. Waymar's hand was resting on the hilt of his sword now, his meaning clear.

Run, and he'd be branded a deserter. No one would take him in. And even if he somehow made it back to the Wall on foot, he'd be executed for abandoning his post. But if he resisted... Waymar had the training, the bloodline, and the blade. Aegor wouldn't stand a chance against him.

His only option was to go along. Perhaps the small precautions he'd taken before would save his life.

Finally, he sighed and lowered his gaze. "Fine. Let's go."

Waymar smirked, clearly satisfied with his victory. "Good. Get on your horse. You and Will will lead the way. And don't even think about trying anything, I'll be watching you."

The four of them mounted their horses and set off. Will took the lead, with Aegor close behind him.

The snow was treacherous, a soft, thin layer concealing rocks, roots, and hidden puddles that could easily trip a horse. Aegor gripped his reins tightly with one hand, his other hand slipping into his pack. His fingers brushed against the cold, smooth surface of the obsidian dagger he'd spent so much effort acquiring.

Obsidian—also called dragonglass—was known as "frozen fire" in ancient Valyrian.

Back in Aegor's original world, it was nothing special: volcanic glass, commonly found and largely unremarkable. But in this magical realm, obsidian was said to hold unique properties. Legends claimed it could kill White Walkers, though few in the present day believed such stories.

The White Walkers had disappeared thousands of years ago, their existence reduced to myth. The only value obsidian held now was as a low-grade gemstone. Fragile and dark in color, it wasn't particularly desirable, and it fetched low prices on the market.

Still, it wasn't easy to acquire. Despite its lack of rarity, few merchants traded in it. It had taken Aegor months to track down a piece. He'd finally managed to buy a small chunk from an overseas trader at Eastwatch, paying for it with nearly all the allowances he'd earned since joining the Watch.

When he first got the obsidian, it had been a crude, forearm-sized chunk. Over the course of several weeks, he'd painstakingly carved and polished it into a rough dagger, wrapping its base in cloth to serve as a handle.

It wasn't much, but it was the only weapon he had that might give him a chance against the creatures he feared.

He had gone hungry for weeks to afford it, enduring ridicule from the other brothers for wasting his coin. They'd laughed at him then, but now, as he gripped the dagger tightly, Aegor could only hope it had all been worth it.

If this dagger saved his life, then every miserable, hungry night would have been worth the cost.

Everyone dies eventually. Some deaths are weighty, like a mountain. Others are as light as a feather.

Aegor wasn't a coward. He didn't fear death itself. But he refused to die here, in an unnamed forest beyond the Wall, with nothing to mark his grave but snow. To die alone, forgotten, with a name given to him by a group of farmers, killed by creatures the world refused to believe existed?

That was a fate he could never accept.

Chapter 5

Two miles wasn't far, but in the dense woods, progress was slow. Dusk was falling, and in the North, night descended quickly. The cloudless sky deepened into a bruised purple, the stars beginning to dot the heavens, and the moon rising pale and cold. Its light was faint, less than one-tenth of the sun's, but thanks to the snow blanketing the ground, the visibility was good enough.

"It's just ahead," Will whispered to Aegor, nervousness slipping into his voice.

"Be careful. If anything happens, run." Aegor took a deep breath, his chest tight. While Will feared the unknown dangers lurking in the dark, Aegor felt his blood pounding with a mix of dread and resolve. He knew what lay ahead. His body and mind were bracing themselves to face the natural enemy of mankind.

A lone wolf's howl echoed through the woods, distant yet clear.

Will stopped by an ancient ironwood tree, its gnarled trunk half-covered in frost, and dismounted. Aegor followed suit, the cold biting into his face like a blade. The wind whistled through the branches above, and the temperature seemed to plummet even further. Whether it was the presence of the White Walkers or just his own fears heightening his senses, Aegor couldn't tell.

If the story unfolded the way he remembered, the enemy would already be closing in.

"Something's wrong," Gary muttered.

"Really?" Waymar said mockingly. He smiled as if Gary's unease amused him.

"Can't you feel it?" Gary pressed. "Listen to the sounds in the dark."

"The wind, the rustling leaves, and wolves howling," Waymar replied dismissively. "Which of those terrifies you?"

Waymar dismounted, tying his horse to a low branch well away from the others. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, he drew his sword, the metal glinting faintly in the moonlight. "If you're scared, old man, stay here and guard the horses. Aegor, Will—come with me. We'll check the camp."

Gary scowled, clearly insulted, but didn't argue further. Instead, he began rummaging through his saddlebag. "I'll start a fire."

"Are you trying to advertise our position to the whole damn forest?" Waymar sneered. "If there's something out there, do you plan to lure it to us with your fire?"

"Some things fear fire," Gary countered stubbornly, holding up his flint and steel. "Bears. Wolves. And… other things."

Waymar snorted but didn't bother replying, turning his attention back to Will and Aegor. "Let's go."

Will took the lead, moving cautiously through the dense underbrush, with Aegor following close behind. Both men tried to step carefully, avoiding the crunch of snow beneath their boots. Waymar brought up the rear, making no effort to be quiet. His ringmail jingled softly, his boots scraped against the branches, and his cloak snagged on twigs, prompting him to mutter curses under his breath.

Every noise Waymar made sent a jolt through Aegor's already taut nerves. "This idiot." He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to turn around and silence the knight with a harsh warning. But speaking up would only make things worse, draw even more attention to their position and Aegor had no desire to challenge the arrogant noble when his life might soon depend on Waymar's cooperation.

He had no choice but to move forward, step by agonizing step, trying to ignore the tension coiling tighter in his chest.

By the time they crested the snow-covered ridge, it felt like an eternity had passed. Aegor heard Will gasp beside him.

The camp lay below, bathed in pale moonlight. The embers of a fire still smoldered, a faint wisp of smoke rising into the frigid air. Rocks and tree roots poked out from beneath the snow. A half-frozen stream glittered nearby. But there were no bodies.

The savages Will had seen earlier were gone.

"Gods bless you," Waymar muttered as he joined them. He sliced through a branch that had blocked his path and stepped up beside Aegor and Will, his sword in hand. The wind tugged at his cloak, and the moonlight outlined his figure sharply against the dark woods.

"Get down!" Will hissed, grabbing Aegor's arm and pulling him into a crouch. "Something's not right."

Waymar remained standing, smirking down at the empty clearing. "Will, it seems those dead wildlings of yours decided to get up and leave."

Will's breathing was ragged as he stared at the deserted camp. Aegor's grip tightened on the steel sword in his right hand, while his left hand clutched the obsidian dagger hidden up his sleeve. He scanned the clearing, the slope, and the darkened treeline, his eyes wide and searching. Where are they? Where will they come from?

In the TV show, the White Walker had appeared behind Waymar, taking him by surprise. The details in the book were hazier in his memory. Would it happen the same way now?

"Will, get up," Waymar ordered sharply. "There's no one here, and it's undignified to crouch like that."

Will shot Aegor a nervous glance before rising reluctantly to his feet.

"I'm not going back empty-handed on my first patrol," Waymar declared, his voice filled with stubborn resolve. "We'll climb a tree and look around. If there's a fire nearby, we'll see it."

The final moment was approaching. Aegor's pulse thundered in his ears. He leaned close to Will and whispered, "Watch the dead."

"What?" Will turned, confusion and fear on his face.

"What are you two muttering about?" Waymar snapped irritably. "Hurry up!"

Will hesitated, his gaze darting to Aegor before he turned and trudged toward a towering sentinel tree. He pulled his dagger from his belt, gripped it between his teeth, and began climbing. Snow shook loose from the branches as he ascended, his figure soon swallowed by the shadows.

Aegor stood motionless, every muscle in his body tense, every sense heightened. The silence of the clearing was oppressive.

And then he heard it.

The sound was faint, something shifting in the snow nearby, too quiet to be natural. At first, Aegor thought he might be imagining it. But no, it was real. Something was moving.

He turned sharply, raising his sword, his eyes darting across the darkened forest.

"What's wrong with you tonight?" Waymar muttered. "You're not like the others. You—"

"Shut up," Aegor snapped, his voice low but urgent. "Listen."

"What are you—" Waymar began, but then he froze. His face paled as he heard it too.

"Who's there?" Waymar called, his voice unsteady. For the first time, the arrogance had vanished from his tone. He raised his sword and turned, scanning the shadows. "Will? Do you see anything?"

There was no answer from the poacher in the tree.

The camp lay in a shallow depression, surrounded by slopes on three sides. The wind had stilled completely, leaving the air heavy with silence. The faint noises—soft steps in the snow, the rustling of unseen figures—grew closer. Yet nothing appeared in the moonlight.

Aegor's knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword. Waymar's steel weapon caught the moon's glow, a sharper gleam than the dull standard-issue blades of the Watch. It was a fine weapon, no doubt—but would it matter?

The cold intensified, seeping into Aegor's bones. He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness. And then—

It emerged.

From the far side of the clearing, a figure stepped into view. At first glance, it looked human, but only barely. It was tall and thin, its skin pale as milk, stretched tight over sharp, bony features. Its armor shimmered as it moved, shifting between black shadow, snow-white, and a deep forest green, as though reflecting the moonlight itself. Its sword, translucent and jagged, looked like a shard of ice.

Aegor spotted it immediately. His breath caught in his throat as the White Walker advanced, its steps slow and deliberate.

Waymar saw it too. He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, raising his sword with both hands. "Who are you? Stop!"

The Walker said nothing. It didn't even seem to hear him. It just kept walking, its dead, ice-blue eyes fixed on Waymar.

The wind had died, leaving only silence and the crushing weight of the cold. Aegor's pulse roared in his ears as adrenaline flooded his veins. His fingers tightened around the obsidian dagger hidden in his sleeve.

One chance. That's all he would get. The dagger was fragile, and he knew it. If Royce could hold the Walker's attention for even a moment, he might be able to strike.

"Since you won't stop," Waymar said, trying to mask his fear with bravado, "let's fight."

He stepped forward, his sword raised, cloak billowing in the windless air.

Aegor swallowed hard and followed, his steel sword ready in one hand, the obsidian dagger in the other. But before he could take another step, the world seemed to tilt beneath him.

Something unexpected happened.

Chapter 6

The second White Walker emerged silently from the shadows of a tree. It looked almost identical to the first—gaunt, pale, and terrible. He couldn't distinguish these creatures from one another. Then came the third, the fourth...

When the fifth pale figure stepped into view, Aegor's heart sank like a stone, freezing in his chest. Something was wrong. There shouldn't be this many!

Wait. Maybe there was only one White Walker who killed Waymar, but others had been present in the scene. The details were hazy, he couldn't remember perfectly but this was far worse than anything he'd expected.

There was no time to consider whether the story had deviated from the original plot or if his own memory was simply faulty. The immediate danger demanded his attention. If there had been only one or two White Walkers, Aegor might have taken his chances with the dragonglass dagger clutched in his sleeve. But five of them? Against monsters like these, his glass blade might as well be a twig.

"Be a hero for a few seconds and die here, rising again as one of the dead in this forgotten part of the Haunted Forest... Or..."

The thought flashed through his mind in less than a heartbeat. The decision was instant. Aegor turned on his heel and bolted without hesitation. Survival was all that mattered.

He shouted over his shoulder as he fled, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Don't fight! Run!"

"Coward!" Waymar's furious roar rang out behind him, followed by the whistle of steel as his sword sliced through the air. Waymar was too close to the nearest White Walker, too committed to escape now. He had no time, no space, and no desire to turn and run.

The young knight's fine steel sword crashed against the Walker's translucent blade with an ear-piercing shriek, the sound high and sharp like metal scraping against glass.

The other White Walkers didn't move. They stood still, their icy blue eyes watching the fight unfold with eerie detachment, as though the outcome was already decided. One of them turned its head, its attention snapping toward Aegor as he ran. It uttered something in a voice like nails scratching stone, a language harsh and incomprehensible. Another Walker nodded in response and began to pursue him, its weapon gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

Behind him, the clash of swords continued, sharp and discordant. Waymar's voice rose in a defiant roar: "For King Robert!"

The sound splintered into something that could only be described as a glass-shattering crack. The young knight's cry turned to a scream—raw, agonized, and short-lived.

Aegor didn't look back. He pushed himself harder, his boots pounding against the snow, lungs burning with each ragged breath.

The blood thundering in his ears drowned out everything else. Waymar's screams, the faint sound of pursuit. The White Walkers behind him weren't mere men or beasts; they were nightmares incarnate, creatures that existed only to kill, to raise the dead, to consume the living world. This wasn't a fight for survival, this was a contest of life against death, fire against ice.

The fur cloak on his back, his armor, the steel sword in his hand, all of it felt unbearably heavy as he ran. He forced himself not to throw the weapon away. Running for survival wasn't the same as fleeing in terror.

His vision blurred. Was this real? Or was it just another nightmare, like the ones that had haunted him for months? Maybe when he opened his eyes, he'd still be lying on his cot in Castle Black, drenched in sweat.

The snow concealed hidden puddles, jagged rocks, and treacherous roots. Earlier, Aegor had picked his way carefully through this same forest. Now, he couldn't afford the luxury of caution. His boot hit a rounded stone, and suddenly, the world tilted.

He fell.

The ground rushed up to meet him. His face struck snow, roots, and hard earth, the impact stinging like fire across his skin.

For a fleeting instant, as he lay sprawled in the snow, the moments of his life flashed before his eyes—childhood games, school, college, his first job, his first love. Then came the strange twist of fate that had thrown him into this world, into the Night's Watch, into this hellish forest on this cursed patrol. He was going to die here—falling, stumbling, like a fool only to rise again as part of the White Walkers' army.

What a cruel joke.

A sudden crack yanked him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Aegor's eyes shot open. Barely a second had passed since his fall. The snow beneath him had cushioned the impact enough to spare him serious injury. His face throbbed, but he was alive.

A low, ominous hum caught his attention. He lifted his head just in time to see the source of the noise: an ice sword, glowing faintly with an otherworldly blue light, embedded deep in the trunk of a pine tree ahead of him.

"If I hadn't fallen..."

The thought made his blood run cold. If he hadn't tripped, that sword would have gone straight through his chest and pinned him to the tree like some macabre hunting trophy.

One moment, he'd been cursing the fall; the next, he thanked every god he could think of. The Old Gods, the Seven, the Lord of Light, the Many-Faced God, any deity willing to listen. If he lived to return to the Wall, he swore he would build statues to all of them.

But survival wasn't assured yet. Not by a long shot.

Aegor scrambled to his feet, glancing toward the tree line behind him. The White Walker stood on the ridge, its pale form outlined against the moonlit snow. It was staring at him, motionless, its voice a low hiss of frustration as though cursing its missed shot.

The figure held no weapon. It had thrown its ice sword like a javelin. It was unarmed.

For a heartbeat, Aegor's fingers tightened around his steel sword, his instincts screaming at him to fight. But common sense quickly prevailed. Even if he killed this one, there were others still out there—waiting, watching, ready to finish what this one had started.

He had no desire to die a "hero."

Aegor spared the ice sword another glance but knew he wouldn't have the strength to pull it free. He didn't waste time trying. Without another look back, he turned and bolted.

He reached the horses seconds later. Gary was already mounted, gripping the reins tightly, his face pale and anxious. "What's happening?" the older man barked. "Where are Waymar and Will?"

"White Walkers!" Aegor shouted breathlessly, seizing the reins of his horse. "Run!"

"White Walkers?" Gary repeated, his voice cracking. His wide eyes darted past Aegor, searching the treeline. "Are they, are they chasing you?"

Aegor turned instinctively, and his heart leapt into his throat. Through the dim forest, it was hard to see the Walker clearly, but the ice-blue glow of its eyes and the faint glint of moonlight on its armor were unmistakable.

The Walker lifted its hand. For the briefest moment, Aegor thought it might summon another ice sword out of thin air.

"Get down!" Aegor shouted, his voice raw. He threw himself flat against his horse's neck.

Gary followed instinctively, ducking low just as a flash of blue streaked through the air.

The ice sword whistled past, missing Gary by inches. It struck Will's horse squarely in the head, shattering bone and killing the beast instantly. The weapon still had enough force left to slam into the tree behind it with an echoing crack, splintering bark and sending a cascade of snow falling from the branches above.

The dead horse collapsed with a heavy thud. The other three horses screamed in terror, rearing up on their hind legs. Gary barely held on, his face pale with panic. The reins of Waymar's horse slipped from his grasp, and the frightened beast bolted into the night.

Neither man waited to regain their composure. Kicking their heels into their horses' flanks, they turned and fled south, the snow whipping past them as they rode for their lives.

Chapter 7

The last remaining horse collapsed to the ground. Though still breathing, it could no longer stand.

Aegor looked south toward the faint outline of the Wall and then glanced over his shoulder at the forest behind them. Finally, he sank down onto the snow, utterly spent.

Ten days had passed since that horrifying night, the night they encountered the White Walkers. For ten days and nights, Aegor and Gary had been on the run. In that time, they had slept no more than a few scattered hours. Exhaustion weighed on them like iron chains, their bodies and minds on the brink of collapse. Aegor wanted nothing more than to lie in the snow and let the weariness take him.

But the end was near. The Great Wall loomed only a few leagues to the south. They would make it, they had to make it. By tonight, they would sleep behind the safety of the Wall.

The escape hadn't been easy. Fleeing the White Walkers had been just the beginning of their troubles. Supplies were limited on patrols north of the Wall. Each member of their doomed group had carried part of what they needed. Waymar, the leader, had kept the lightest but most valuable supplies: dried meat and floss. Aegor's horse had carried blankets and spare clothes. Gary's mount had been laden with bread, and Will had brought oats for feeding the horses.

When two horses were lost, the first killed by the White Walkers and the second fleeing into the night. Aegor and Gary had been left with only half their provisions. Food, warmth, and survival were now in short supply. Horses, unlike wild animals, could not live on snow and grass alone. Without oats to sustain them, Gary's horse had faltered first, collapsing from hunger and fatigue after two days.

Aegor's mount had lasted longer, though he suspected that was only because he weighed less than Gary.

The solution had been both brutal and practical: they killed the first horse, butchered it for meat, and split the last of their bread between themselves and the remaining horse. Carrying only the barest essentials—food, weapons, and blankets, they had continued south on foot, leading the horse until it, too, finally gave out.

Now the poor beast lay gasping in the snow, its body trembling as it struggled to rise.

Gary let out a long sigh, his breath misting in the icy air. He unslung his sword and began removing the gear from the horse's back.

Aegor, leaning against a tree and catching his breath, frowned in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Ending it," Gary replied gruffly, raising his sword.

"What? You're going to kill it?" Aegor's exhaustion momentarily gave way to disbelief. "It's gotten us this far—kept us alive. It's half a day to the Wall. Even if it has to crawl, it might make it!"

Gary snorted and shook his head. "You planning to go back to Castle Black?"

"Where else would we go?" Aegor shot back, irritation flaring. He was too tired for riddles.

Gary stared at him for a long moment before speaking. "I'm heading south. Over the Wall."

"Over the Wall?" Aegor blinked, stunned. "What do you mean? You can't just... bypass the Wall. Commander Mormont would never allow that."

"The Lord Commander doesn't have eyes everywhere." Gary's voice was low but firm. "At the far western end of the Wall, there's a canyon—natural, deep, and wide. The builders of the Wall decided it was secure enough on its own, so they didn't bother extending the fortifications across it. Instead, they built a stone tower on the south side and hung an iron chain bridge across the gap. It's called West Bridge Watch."

Aegor frowned, suspicion creeping in. "And you think it's unguarded?"

"Of course not. The bridge has been sealed for years, and men from the Shadow Tower patrol it to keep the wildlings out. But that's only a problem for a large group. The two of us, traveling light? We can climb down into the canyon, cross the bottom, and scramble up the far side." Gary's expression was grim. "It's dangerous, but we can make it."

"And then what?" Aegor demanded. "Once we're south of the Wall, what's your plan?"

Gary shrugged. "Take it one step at a time."

"Take it one step at a time?" Aegor repeated, incredulous. "We're rangers. If we run, we'll be deserters. You know what happens to deserters!"

"You don't get it, kid," Gary interrupted sharply. "Waymar Royce is dead. He was a noble."

"We didn't kill him," Aegor protested weakly.

"It doesn't matter!" Gary snapped. "In the eyes of the nobles, it might as well be the same thing. A superior officer dies, and the men under him survive? The blame always rolls downhill. It doesn't matter what we say, no one will believe us. White Walkers? They'll laugh in our faces."

Aegor swallowed hard. "What do you think they'll do to us?"

Gary's lips twisted bitterly. "At best? They'll brand us cowards. At worst, they'll decide we're deserters and execute us. The Royce family will want justice for their son. His father's a lord of the Vale, one of the oldest and most powerful families in Westeros. Even the Starks have to show them respect. Do you really think Commander Mormont can protect us if the Royces demand answers?"

Aegor fell silent. He hadn't thought of that. Gary's words rang painfully true.

The Royces were a powerful family, even if their role in the larger politics of Westeros had been minimal lately. Aegor could still recall the battle in the original story when Sansa brought the Vale knights to help Jon Snow reclaim Winterfell. Most of those soldiers had come at the behest of Waymar's father, Yohn Royce. The Royce family commanded respect and power. If they wanted someone to blame for their son's death, two Night's Watch rangers would make easy targets.

Aegor didn't know if Gary was exaggerating. Although he'd been here for nearly a year, he came from a world that championed equality for all. To be honest, he had no idea just how much power and influence nobles wielded in this world. Still, he knew one thing, no matter how much the great houses were manipulated by schemers like Littlefinger and Varys, dealing with a small Night's Watch deserter would be child's play for them.

No wonder the survivors of the original patrol trio had to run.

Now the question was this: in the original story, the survivors of the patrol who crossed the Wall ended up being executed by Eddard Stark. Aegor didn't think that, as a stranger to this world with no allies or sense of direction, he could avoid that fate by tagging along with Gary. Should he return to Castle Black and face judgment, or try to flee south? To put it more simply: should he entrust his fate to the Night's Watch, or take control of it himself?

"Even if the Lord Commander spares us, we'll still be marked men. The next time there's a dangerous, suicidal mission, guess whose names will come up first?" Gary added, voicing another compelling reason to escape. "And don't forget, Benjen Stark will definitely lead men north to find out whether the White Walkers really exist. If they don't chop our heads off, you can bet we'll be dragged along as guides and cannon fodder. I've been on the Wall for forty years. I know these officers. I can predict what kind of shit they're going to pull before they even drop their pants."

Aegor couldn't argue with that. Gary had a point. In the original story, Benjen Stark did indeed lead a search party north to look for Waymar, only to disappear himself. And even if Aegor survived another patrol, he knew what came next: the Lord Commander would lead a full expedition beyond the Wall to find Benjen. Then came the wildling invasion, and after that, the White Walkers besieging the Wall.

What chance did someone like him an ordinary man who'd only just learned to ride a horse and swing a sword stand against all of that? Surviving crisis after crisis wasn't something he could count on.

There was no time to plan for the long term. He had to leave the Night's Watch as soon as possible. If nothing else, fleeing with Gary seemed like the best choice.

It was a shame, though. The horse that had carried him through life-and-death situations, that had survived the White Walkers' swords alongside him, would likely become his food on the road to desertion.

Just as he was about to make up his mind, the horse, which had been lying on the ground in exhaustion, began to grunt uneasily. It struggled to its feet as if sensing Gary's intent to end its life. The old soldier raised his sword, ready to deliver a quick blow, but suddenly froze, his expression shifting.

"What's that sound?" Gary muttered.

"Don't mess with me," Aegor said, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Gary hushed him with a sharp gesture, and the two fell completely still, straining to pick up on the subtle noises in their surroundings.

The whistling wind and the rustling of branches formed the ever-present background hum of the wilderness. Beyond that, there was nothing but their own breathing, their own heartbeats, and the uneven panting of their exhausted horse. But gradually, another sound emerged, soft at first, almost imperceptible, but growing louder and clearer with every second. It was a rhythmic thudding, dull and repetitive.

Hoofbeats.

The sound was unmistakable. Horse hooves striking thin snow. After days of travel, they'd grown familiar with that noise.

But their horse was right here, standing unsteadily beside them. So whose horse could it be?

Was it Waymar's mount, spooked and now returning? Or was it…?

Chapter 8

The sound of hooves grew louder, and soon the visitor's identity was revealed. Emerging from the trees was Will's horse, a creature killed ten days prior, its head split by an ice sword. Now, its stiff, decaying body was coated in icicles, and on its back sat a thin, pale figure.

The White Walker, the one who had pursued Aegor, had reanimated the dead horse into a wight and ascended from an ordinary White Walker to something more terrifying, a White Walker Knight. If not for his poor riding skills, he might have caught up to the two Night's Watchmen sooner, before they reached the shadow of the Wall.

Still, he was satisfied. He had finally caught up.

To the Walker, the two humans in black had demonstrated surprising endurance and determination, particularly the younger one. From his instinctive decision to turn and run at first sight of danger, to his cool judgment when his weapon slipped from his grasp, to his agility in dodging thrown ice swords and his sheer speed, it was clear this human possessed admirable qualities. Soon, though, he too would join the ranks of the dead, a loyal servant to the cold and darkness.

It was two against one, but the White Walker was unfazed. With the overwhelming advantage of strength, weapons, and power, their numbers meant little. The two humans, already physically and mentally drained, were prey in a hunt, not opponents in a fight.

The horse crashed to the ground, kicking and screaming, before staggering upright and stumbling away. Aegor drew his weapon, his gaze fixed coldly on the advancing White Walker. The burn in his lungs forced a hoarse growl from his throat, as if the sound rose not from his voice, but from somewhere deep in his soul. Fear and shock churned within him, but instead of paralyzing him, they fueled an unshakable will to survive. The White Walker had a horse, there was no outrunning this foe. It was kill or be killed.

"This ends here."

"I'll hold him off," Gary said, raising his sword. His voice was rough with determination. "Run, Aegor. Someone has to warn the others—winter is coming."

"No. I'm not running just to die tired while you get cut down," Aegor shot back. He knew Gary couldn't hold this monster off alone. "We fight here, together. Then we escape across the Wall. We'll figure it out from there. Watch his weapon, it'll shatter steel. If he throws it again…"

The Walker didn't wait for him to finish. For a few long, chilling moments, it stared at them with glowing blue eyes, its face blank and emotionless. Then, with a sudden, unnatural lurch, it spurred the dead horse forward.

"Move!"

Aegor and Gary split apart, darting into the trees. The dense forest offered some cover, forcing the White Walker to maneuver awkwardly. The two men circled through the undergrowth, dodging between trunks and branches as the mounted Walker charged again and again, unable to land a strike. Finally, with an enraged shriek, the Walker dismounted, abandoning its horse and advancing on foot.

"Go!" Gary roared, lunging forward.

"Be careful!" Aegor cried out, his heart pounding.

The sword training of the Night's Watch was simple: block, counterattack, strike. It worked well enough against wildlings, who relied more on brute strength than skill. But that kind of combat assumed the weapons could withstand a blow. Against the White Walkers, this basic truth shattered—literally.

The fight erupted in an instant, the ferocity of the confrontation obliterating any preamble. Gary had decades of experience, and his instincts were second nature. When he saw the Walker expose a weakness, he struck with everything he had.

It was a masterful blow, deceptively simple but executed with flawless precision. Gary's timing was perfect, his blade arcing toward the Walker just as it dismounted. It was the kind of strike born from forty years of battle, a culmination of every lesson learned and every fight survived. Even the Sword of the Morning himself would have had to take this attack seriously.

Gary felt it in his gut: this strike would end the battle. If by some miracle the Walker managed to block it, Gary was already ready to withdraw, adjust his stance, and swing again. Aegor would finish it off from behind. This ghostly monster would die, and they'd drag its body back to the Wall. They wouldn't have to live as deserters after all.

But that first, perfect step went horribly wrong.

Gary's sword shattered.

The sword Waymar had brought from home had only lasted a few strikes against a White Walker's ice blade. The standard weapon issued to Night's Watch soldiers was little more than crude steel, barely worthy of the name. Its strength and resilience were laughable compared to finely forged weapons. When Gary's sword clashed with the White Walker's weapon for the first time, it shattered with a loud, ringing crack, splitting cleanly in two, with shards flying in all directions.

In all his fifty years, Gary had never seen anything like it. He froze, momentarily stunned, and in that split second, the White Walker drove its ice blade through him.

"No!" Aegor's bloodshot eyes widened in horror. He was too far, just two meters away but he'd been unable to intervene. Helpless, he could only watch as his companion fell, pierced through by the ice sword. Desperation turned to fury, and he charged at the creature from behind without hesitation.

Aegor didn't have any great fondness or admiration for Gary. How could anyone truly admire a man who had served in the Night's Watch for forty years and remained nothing more than a foot soldier? It was like his own life before, when he'd worked as a site inspector on behalf of the client, visiting construction projects. He hadn't become friends with the older laborers who were still hauling bricks in their sixties, unable to read or write. There was no malice in it, no disdain for their work, it was simply the reality of different lives. With no shared perspective or common interests, how could friendship be expected?

But still… Gary had been his roommate, someone who'd shared the same roof and taken care of him when he first arrived at the Wall. More importantly, at this moment, Gary had been his last ally, his comrade-in-arms against an enemy far beyond their strength. Aegor had been counting on him. He'd had a plan, if he could bait the White Walker into making a mistake, there'd be an opening to drive the obsidian dagger he carried into the creature's body.

If all had gone well, Gary would have been there to help him escape over the Wall afterward.

Now, though, all of it was gone. The plans, the chances, they were all shattered along with Gary's sword. The last human ally he had left was struck down before the fight even began. How was he supposed to stand alone against an enemy with such inhuman power?

"Damn you—die!" Aegor roared, his voice hoarse with rage. Rational thought vanished in an instant, replaced by unfiltered madness. When hope is lost, even the most composed and cautious men will turn reckless. Fear evaporated like mist. There was nothing left to lose. He gripped his sword in his right hand and swung it at the back of the White Walker's head while, in his left, he clenched the obsidian dagger, stabbing with every ounce of strength he had. If there was no way out, he'd fight to the death. If he was going to die here, then he'd make damn sure his enemy paid for it.

The pale figure turned, its icy weapon raised to parry, its face as blank as ever. It regarded this final prey with faint disappointment. The last man it killed had been defeated in the exact same way, and yet this one attacked just as recklessly.

Did this human truly believe such a slow, telegraphed attack, a strike warped by rage and desperation could land? The sword's trajectory was clear as day, predictable enough for him to counter a dozen different ways. And the dagger in the other hand? A pitiful gesture.

The White Walker's expression twisted faintly in disdain. Its form was held together by magic; it had no weak points. A strike to the head or stomach might create some inconvenience, but even if it stood still and allowed the human to attack, it would suffer no harm.

The creature's ice sword flashed. With effortless precision, it parried Aegor's strike, shattering his blade just as it had shattered Gary's. In the opening that followed, the Walker's weapon swept across Aegor's body in a cold, final arc.

Chapter 9

The ice sword struck the human, but it didn't produce the smooth sensation of slicing through flesh as expected. Instead, with a sharp crack, it shattered into countless fragments. At the same time, the White Walker felt something warm in its lower chest. A small, burning-hot object pierced through its ice armor and embedded itself in its abdomen, where it radiated an unbearable heat, like fire consuming its very soul.

What's happening?

Even against the finest steel in the world, there shouldn't have been so much as a crack. And as for whatever had pierced its body… A creature born in the land of eternal winter, sustained by endless magic, shouldn't feel pain. Boiling lava wouldn't even scald its flesh—unless...

The magic holding its form together began to unravel, scattering like dust in the wind. The White Walker could no longer think. It dropped the remains of its ice sword, clutching at its abdomen in a futile attempt to stop the magic leaking from the wound. Frosty blue blood sprayed from the gash, hissing as it met the air and pooling around the obsidian dagger lodged in its flesh. It reached for the blade with skeletal, pale hands, but the moment its fingers touched the obsidian, smoke curled from its fingertips, and its flesh began to dissolve. Unable to remove the weapon or stop the destruction, the White Walker let out an agonized, furious scream before falling to its knees, motionless.

Aegor collapsed into the snow, his body trembling as he stared blankly at the shrinking remains of the White Walker. The first to disintegrate was the armor, a strange material now crumbling to dust. Then the pale flesh underneath began to rot and dissolve, turning sticky and grotesque, like a snowman melting in the sun. Within seconds, all that remained was a milky, glass-like skeleton, clear and polished as carved crystal. It shimmered faintly, but even this evidence of the creature's existence slowly melted, leaving nothing behind but the obsidian dagger.

The dagger lay in the snow, encased in frost, its surface so cold that the surrounding air condensed into vapor. Aegor watched as the dark blade turned pure white, blending almost seamlessly with the snow around it. It would be nearly invisible to anyone who wasn't looking closely.

It wasn't until half a minute later that Aegor realized, to his shock, that he was still alive.

His sword hand throbbed painfully, his fingers numb and bleeding from cracked knuckles. The sheer force of the White Walker's blow had been overwhelming; even if his steel sword hadn't shattered, his grip would never have held. Tentatively, he touched his shoulder with his other hand, feeling where the icy blade had struck. The fur of his coat was sliced clean through, but the clothing beneath was intact. There was no gaping wound, no blood.

His thoughts swirled in confusion before relief crashed over him like a wave. He was alive.

In the moment of that desperate, final clash, he'd expected to die alongside the White Walker. By all accounts, the icy sword and his obsidian dagger should have struck at the same time. Given the force behind the White Walker's blow, it should have cleaved his entire upper body apart. But somehow, somehow, his dagger had found its mark a fraction of a second earlier, maybe just a hair's breadth faster.

That tiny lead was the difference between life and death. The moment the obsidian pierced the White Walker, its magic failed. Its sword was no longer a weapon of supernatural power; it was nothing more than brittle ice. When it struck Aegor, it shattered into pieces, like a frozen puddle underfoot.

Had he been just a moment slower, he'd be dead, cut clean in two. If the White Walker had noticed the dagger and fought more cautiously, Aegor wouldn't have stood a chance. But none of that mattered now. He'd won. By sheer luck, coincidence, and his enemy's overconfidence, he'd survived.

The realization of how close he'd come to death finally sank in. Aegor shuddered uncontrollably, fear spreading through his chest like ice water. His legs felt weak and twitching, and for a moment, he feared he wouldn't be able to stand. If he hadn't emptied his bowels earlier, he suspected he would've pissed himself right there.

A faint groan broke the silence.

Aegor froze, then twisted to look. Gary, his fallen comradewas moving. Another faint, guttural sound followed. Aegor's heart leapt in surprise, and he crawled forward to retrieve the frost-covered obsidian dagger, along with the half-shattered steel sword. These would be enough to deal with any more wights that might still linger.

"Gary," he called out cautiously. The question on the tip of his tongue—Are you dead? sounded absurd, so he rephrased: "Are you still alive?"

Another faint groan came from the older man. Aegor couldn't make out the words, but there was enough sound and effort behind them to give him hope. He let out a long, shaky breath and sank back into the snow.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, his mind began to clear. He remembered the lore: when Jon Snow had killed a White Walker, all the wights it had raised instantly collapsed into lifeless corpses. If the same rule applied here, then this White Walker's victims wouldn't rise again.

Aegor turned his head and saw confirmation of his theory: the wight horse that the White Walker had ridden was now nothing more than a lifeless carcass sprawled in the snow. Its collapse must have happened at the exact moment the dagger struck its master, though Aegor had been too preoccupied with survival to notice.

Summoning what little strength he had left, Aegor forced himself to his feet. His instincts told him there wouldn't be any more White Walkers nearby, but he knew better than to trust instinct alone. He needed to get out of here fast. With the broken sword in one hand and the obsidian dagger in the other, he carefully approached Gary.

Gary's face was pale, his lips tinged blue from the cold, but his eyes were open, and there was still life in them.

"C-Cold…" Gary's voice was faint and broken.

Aegor scanned the area quickly. His own horse had bolted, but Gary's supplies had been left behind when they'd prepared to kill the animal earlier. Blankets, clothing, and other gear were scattered nearby. Moving quickly, Aegor pieced together a makeshift bed to keep the man warm.

After examining Gary's wound, Aegor was relieved to find it wasn't as dire as he'd feared. The White Walker's sword had cut deep, but the blow had missed any vital organs. The wound itself was small, and the freezing cold had slowed the bleeding, causing the blood to coagulate into thick clumps. However, the frostbite spreading from the wound was another problem entirely. The freezing magic that lingered on the White Walker's weapon had preserved Gary's life for now, but it would make recovery far more difficult.

Aegor glanced up at the distant silhouette of the Wall. Its gray-blue outline loomed faintly on the horizon.

Chapter 10

"So, you brought back two broken swords to prove that you and Gary weren't deserters, but heroes who killed White Walkers?" Commander Mormont stared at Aegor with a grave expression, scrutinizing him as though searching for signs of deceit.

Aegor took a deep breath and replied calmly, "I wouldn't dare call myself a hero. The truth is, I fled the battlefield ten days ago. I failed to save Ser Waymar Royce, and I didn't bring back his body. But I thought it was more important to return to the Wall with the warning about their existence than to die fighting the White Walkers in vain."

"Obsidian can indeed kill White Walkers. That much is recorded in many old legends," said Maester Aemon, his blind eyes turned toward the obsidian dagger Aegor had handed over. Despite his lack of sight, he ran his fingers along its crude edges, clearly intrigued. "If I recall correctly, you're not from Westeros. You've only recently begun learning the Common Tongue. How is it that you know these legends so well?"

"There are similar tales in my homeland," Aegor said. "Back then, I thought they were just myths. But when I came here. when I saw the Wall with my own eyes. I started to understand."

The wight horses ridden by the White Walkers still had bags of oats tied to their saddles. After killing the Walkers, Aegor had found his own terrified horse a few hundred meters away. Feeding it the oats, he rested briefly before placing the gravely injured Gary on its back and leading it southward to the Wall.

Now, Aegor sat in a warm meeting room by the fire, facing the leaders of the Night's Watch for the first time. Over the year since being conscripted into their ranks, he'd tried everything to draw the attention of these high-ranking men. Finally, he had succeeded, but as a suspected deserter.

"Maester Aemon, you're a learned man," Aegor said, his tone steady but firm. "You should know this: when legends from entirely different places tell of the same event, it often means the story is based on truth. White Walkers are real, and they've returned."

The old man nodded slightly. Though he couldn't confirm what had happened north of the Wall, at least the latter part of Aegor's statement made sense.

"Hmph." Alliser Thorne's cold sneer broke the silence. "To me, it sounds like he wounded himself to avoid punishment, found a way to break those swords, and cooked up a convenient tale to make it look like he'd fought a great battle. This one was lazy during training, always cutting corners. And now we're supposed to believe he killed a White Walker? If such creatures even exist."

Aegor didn't respond immediately. He knew Thorne wasn't singling him out unfairly. Back in his former life, Aegor had also worked as a material testing engineer—a desk job. While he wasn't completely helpless, his pampered life had made him softer than even some of the noble-born recruits, let alone the low-born men conscripted into the Night's Watch. When he first arrived at the Wall, the rigorous training had been a brutal adjustment, and his occasional slacking had left a poor impression on Thorne.

That said, Thorne's own bitterness ran deep. A Targaryen loyalist forced to take the black after the dynasty fell, he was a cynical, humorless man who delighted in berating others. Few in the Night's Watch could tolerate his condescending tone. Even if Aegor had thrown himself into the training with full effort, it was unlikely Thorne would ever think well of him.

"Ser Alliser," Aegor said after a moment, keeping his voice level. "Have you seen many broken swords in your time?"

"More fine swords than you'll ever lay eyes on," Thorne replied curtly.

"Then take a look at the broken ends of the swords I brought back," Aegor said, his tone sharpening slightly. Thorne might be his superior, but Aegor was now a Ranger, and his fate wouldn't be decided by the man's disdain alone. "Night's Watch swords are forged from steel. Steel is strong and flexible, not brittle, like glass or ice. No matter how much force is applied or how quickly a blade is broken, the fractured ends will always deform. But that isn't the case with these swords."

He gestured toward the fragments he'd laid before them. "I brought back every piece on purpose. If you reassemble them, you'll see the edges fit perfectly, almost seamlessly. Except for a few minor gaps, it's like the blades were never broken at all."

Commander Mormont frowned and leaned forward, piecing the fragments together as Aegor instructed. Sure enough, aside from a few tiny chips along the edges, the swords looked whole again—straight, sharp, and nearly flawless.

"How could this happen?" the Commander murmured, clearly unsettled.

Aegor hesitated. He understood the science behind the phenomenon: low temperatures weaken the bonds between metal atoms, increasing brittleness. But there was no way to explain such concepts to these men, none of whom had ever studied physics. And in this world, full of magic and mysteries beyond reason, who could say what rules truly applied?

"Legends say White Walkers use ice magic," Aegor explained, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe their sorcery froze the steel, causing it to crack. I don't know the exact reason. But I swear, no matter who you ask or what tests you run, you won't find a way to replicate this. Lord Commander, take these swords to the blacksmiths of Castle Black. If any of them can break a steel blade in the same way, then you're free to call me a liar and a deserter."

Donal Noye, the one-armed blacksmith of Castle Black, a man with a storied past. Once a private blacksmith and soldier in service to House Baratheon, he had joined the Night's Watch after losing an arm during the Siege of Storm's End. Before that, he had followed Stannis Baratheon across the Seven Kingdoms, eaten the finest food, bedded women from all corners of Westeros, and fought in countless battles. It was said that the warhammer Robert Baratheon used to kill Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident was forged by his hands. In the original story, Donal Noye would later sacrifice his life in the tunnels under the Wall, battling the giant king Mag the Mighty during the wildling assault on Castle Black. Truly, he was a legendary figure.

Compared to a man like that, Aegor had little to his name. Other than the fact that he had just killed a White Walker, there was nothing worth praising about his past. However, before he found himself in this world, he had worked as a material testing engineer. Right next to his office had been an array of metal performance testing machines, including impact testers. When it came to forging iron, he couldn't hold a candle to Donal Noye. But in terms of theoretical knowledge about metal properties, no blacksmith in this world, no matter how skilled, could rival him.

To make a steel sword brittle enough to break like those he brought back, the temperature would have to drop to at least -200 degrees Celsius. Even in the modern world Aegor had left behind, achieving such conditions required highly specialized and expensive equipment. Medieval blacksmiths could easily reach temperatures of 200 or even 2,000 degrees but below zero? That was beyond their capabilities. It would be easier to capture a White Walker and force it to demonstrate its ice magic firsthand.

Aegor's calm expression and confident tone had a visible effect on the Night's Watch officers seated behind the long table. These men, most of whom came from noble backgrounds, seemed to sense that Aegor was no ordinary soldier from some forgotten corner of the realm. He carried himself with an air of knowledge and conviction, one that even the so-called "nobility" could not shake.

"I've sent someone to examine Gary's wound," Maester Aemon finally broke the silence. "It's strange. The wound was made by a sharp weapon, but it shows clear signs of severe frostbite. Yet the frostbite is contained to a very small area, both inside and around the wound itself. It took several men half a day to remove all the necrotic tissue. I don't know if Donal could break a steel sword in the way you described, but I know that I could not create a wound like this."

Among the senior officers present, Maester Aemon was the first to openly express his belief in Aegor's account. Aegor remained composed, though relief swept over him. No matter the time or place, it was always easier to reason with learned and insightful individuals. His life, it seemed, had a chance of being spared.

Commander Mormont turned his attention to the chief ranger seated silently beside him. "Benjen, this man is under your command. What do you think?"

Benjen Stark, the leader of the rangers and the only Stark in the Night's Watch, raised his head. Thin but sharp-eyed, he had been quietly studying the evidence Aegor had brought back. Now, called upon by the Lord Commander, it was time for him to speak.

"We are the Night's Watch," Benjen began, his voice steady. "We guard the northernmost reaches of the kingdom. Yet when it comes to the vast unknown lands beyond the Wall, we know little more than the southerners do." His expression darkened slightly. "I've never seen a White Walker myself, but I would not dare claim that they don't exist. Seeing is believing. In a few days, I will personally lead an elite patrol north to investigate the claims made by Ser Aegor. But for now..."

Aegor held his breath as Benjen paused, awaiting his judgment.

"The most pressing matter at hand is to inform Waymar Royce's family of his disappearance and provide them with an explanation," Benjen continued. "As for Aegor, he will be placed in solitary confinement for the time being. When I patrol north, he will lead the way. Whether or not his words are true, he will have the chance to prove them with his actions."

As expected, Gary had been right, Aegor would end up leading the way.

Two brothers escorted him out of the meeting room, his mind already racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. Just before the door closed behind him, he caught the tail end of a conversation between Maester Aemon and Benjen Stark.

"Before you lead a patrol north, there is something else that requires your attention," Aemon said. "The raven brought word—Jon Arryn is dead, and the king is on his way north. Lord Eddard has requested that you return to Winterfell to meet him."

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

What a coincidence?

Of course, Aegor knew exactly what Maester Aemon was referring to. The death of Jon Arryn marked the beginning of the main storyline. It was an important moment, a pivotal turning point in the grand scheme of things. But right now, he didn't have the energy to think about such matters. Nearly ten days and nights of fleeing had left him utterly drained, physically and mentally. Although he had managed to hold his own during his interrogation by several high-ranking members of the Night's Watch, his composure had come at the cost of what little strength and clarity he had left. By the time it was over, it felt as though the last bit of his brainpower had evaporated. Supported by two rangers, he barely made it to the confinement room before collapsing onto the bed and falling into a deep sleep.

The so-called "confinement," which was more akin to semi-imprisonment, lasted several days. For most, such a punishment would have been a torment, but for Aegor, it was a blessing. He spent his days eating and sleeping, not even required to participate in training. It was an unintentional respite, one that allowed him to rest for hours on end and finally regain his strength.

But after he had rested enough, it was time to confront the issues weighing on his mind—his future, his fate.

Littlefinger had killed the previous Hand of the King. During the King's impending tour of the North, Robert would invite the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, to take on the role... and from there, the Game of Thrones would begin.

But what did all this have to do with him, a member of the Night's Watch? Practically nothing. The only connection was that the late Jon Arryn had been the Lord of the Eyrie, the Warden of the East, ruler of the Vale, and liege lord of the Royce family, Waymar Royce's family. How would "Bronze Yohn" Royce react when news of his lord's death and his son's disappearance reached him? Perhaps, if he was lucky, Yohn would be too preoccupied to pursue the man who "killed" his son. Perhaps he would simply let the matter go.

Aegor laughed bitterly to himself. Pinning his hopes on someone's indifference or mercy was a gamble and a stupid one at that. This was a cruel world, and such gambles rarely paid off.

The wrath of the Royce family, however, was far removed from his immediate concerns. Aegor had more pressing problems to deal with. Benjen Stark had been recalled to Winterfell by his older brother to attend a feast welcoming the king. When Benjen returned to the Wall, he would inevitably lead a ranging party north in search of the White Walkers and Waymar. As the one appointed by the chief ranger to act as a guide, Aegor had little doubt that his fate would mirror that of the ill-fated rangers in the original timeline, either dead in the snow or turned into a living corpse, much like Benjen himself.

Neither option was acceptable.

He had to act.

Through a conversation with the black brother who delivered his meals, Aegor learned that Gary had finally woken from his coma. He decided to visit him after lunch. If he could get a moment alone, he might be able to ask Gary about a way to cross the canyon. True, his current restrictions meant he couldn't access the stables or leave the camp, but walking around Castle Black was still allowed.

But before he could put this plan into action, he was summoned by the Night's Watch leadership.

"Are we setting off already?" Aegor thought nervously as he entered the meeting room. The scene inside was eerily similar to the one during his interrogation. The only difference was that someone unexpected was seated in the interrogation chair.

"Will? You're alive!?"

"Aegor!" The man turned to him, his voice full of surprise. The speaker, however, looked haggard. When Aegor and Gary had fled, they'd taken the only two horses left. Waymar's warhorse had returned to Castle Black earlier, but without a mount or supplies, Will had been forced to make his way back on foot. The journey had taken longer and been far more grueling. If not for his survival skills as a former poacher and his ability to evade the White Walkers, he would never have made it back alive.

Will, who had never been robust to begin with, now looked like a shadow of his former self. His thin frame seemed barely able to support him, and half a bowl of porridge sat untouched on the table in front of him. He drank from it with trembling hands, his movements slow and unsteady. "The Seven bless you," he rasped. "If it weren't for you, I'd be dead!"

"What?" Aegor was confused. Will had survived because of his own resourcefulness. What did it have to do with him?

"That day, I was hiding in a tree. I saw Ser Waymar cut down by those creatures—those ghosts. I stayed in the tree for a long time after they left, too afraid to come down. When I finally did, I went to look for something I could take back as proof... but then he—Ser Waymar—he stood back up. His body was mangled, his wounds terrible, but his eyes... they were glowing blue. He reached out, trying to strangle me. It was... it was horrifying. If you hadn't told me to be careful of the dead, I'd never have reacted in time!"

Aegor was stunned. So that was how it had happened. The words he had spoken in desperation, almost as an afterthought, had saved Will's life. He had never imagined they would prove so crucial. But what was the point of calling him here now?

He glanced around the room and noticed something on the table in front of the senior members of the Night's Watch.

It was Waymar Royce's sword.

The blade, once made of fine steel, was now shattered. Only the hilt, the tip of the sword, and a small portion of the base remained intact. The rest of the blade had been splintered into countless fragments, as though struck by lightning. Despite his ordeal, Will had somehow managed to recover most of the pieces and bring them back to Castle Black after his long, harrowing journey.

The shattered sword had been reassembled as best as it could, the pieces laid out like a puzzle. The breaks were clean, the fragments fitting together almost seamlessly, as if the weapon had been smashed all at once by some unimaginable force.

This, Aegor realized, was powerful evidence. The sword's condition, coupled with Will's testimony, could turn things around, for both of them.

"Take Will to rest," Benjen Stark, who had been sitting silently, finally spoke. "Don't let him eat too much at once. A starving man doesn't know when he's full. Rest is what he needs most."

Two black brothers helped Will to his feet and escorted him from the room. As he left, Will called out to Aegor, still asking how he had known about the dead rising again. Once the room was quiet again, Benjen gestured for Aegor to sit.

"What Will said aligns with what you and Gary reported," Commander Mormont began gravely. "Judging by his condition, I don't think you three colluded to fabricate this story."

Mormont's tone softened slightly. "I now have reason to believe that there is indeed a strange and dangerous enemy north of the Wall. Perhaps it's the White Walkers or something worse."

It wasn't just Will's words that had swayed the leadership. During Aegor's confinement, the Night's Watch blacksmiths had conducted experiments, trying to replicate the damage to the shattered sword. No one had been able to mimic the effect, proving that Waymar's weapon had been destroyed by something beyond human capability.

"I'll be leaving for Winterfell soon," Benjen continued. "You'll come with me. You'll report your experiences directly to the Lord of Winterfell. Bring Gary and Will as well, along with the broken swords. Prepare a clear and concise version of events. My brother will be busy with King Robert's arrival, so you'll need to make your case quickly."

Maester Aemon nodded. "Don't overthink it. You did well when reporting to us, just do the same when speaking to Eddard Stark."

"I understand," Aegor replied, suppressing the excitement rising within him. "I'll prepare right away."

Chapter 12

Regardless of the reasons why Benjen originally joined the Night's Watch, Aegor had to admit that he was, without question, a dedicated chief ranger. The lean and hardened man had received word from a raven that the king was expected to arrive in the North within three weeks. Knowing that the journey from Castle Black to Winterfell would take no more than two weeks, Benjen busied himself for several days overseeing defense patrol arrangements before finally preparing to leave. Fortunately, Will had managed to return to the Wall just in time to corroborate Aegor's story. This shifted Benjen's plans; he decided to take Aegor along to Winterfell to report to the Warden of the North.

Aegor couldn't help but feel thankful that not everyone sought personal comfort the way he did. If it had been him in Benjen's place, receiving an invitation from a brother who happened to be the Lord of Winterfell, he would have packed his bags and headed south the same day. Compared to the Wall, even Winterfell known by southerners for being cold and gloomy seemed like paradise.

Some people, Aegor thought, are so noble that their sense of duty is beyond the understanding of ordinary folk. He didn't presume to judge others by his own standards just because he couldn't relate to them. He genuinely admired Benjen's honor and commitment to his duty, but Aegor himself had no such ties. He wasn't born or raised in the North, and he didn't have a brother who ruled as the Warden of the North. To him, this land was as foreign as its customs. It felt akin to being conscripted into a war with no allegiance to either side, forced to swear oaths under the threat of mutilation, and expected to live and die for a cause he didn't believe in.

He had no illusions about his own character. He wasn't noble or selfless, and no grandiose, poetic oath could change that. Aegor simply couldn't accept such a fate.

Even if he stripped away any personal motives, he believed that with his knowledge and understanding of the world, he could contribute far more elsewhere than by being confined to the Wall, battling White Walkers until his dying breath.

Opportunities, after all, came to those who were prepared. Will, who had witnessed Waymar's death firsthand from the safety of a tree, might have seemed like the more obvious choice to accompany Benjen to Winterfell. But the chief ranger had chosen Aegor without hesitation. Part of the reason was that Will was still too weak to make the journey. But more likely, it was because Will wasn't "presentable." Compared to the skittish poacher who stuttered and spoke with a thick accent, Aegor was articulate, clear-minded, and composed—qualities far more suitable for addressing the Lord of Winterfell.

Besides, rumors were swirling that Will had been left deeply shaken, perhaps even mentally unhinged, by his encounter with the White Walkers.

They departed in the afternoon. To save time, they planned to take the Kingsroad, passing through the Wolfswood directly to Winterfell. They wouldn't stop at Last Hearth or Deepwood Motte. As with patrols beyond the Wall, they carried enough provisions to sustain them, though for ease of travel, they each brought two horses.

Snow fell lightly from the sky as the two of them rode out through the gates of Castle Black. Though the road they followed was technically part of the Kingsroad, it bore little resemblance to the grand highway farther south. Here, it was barely wider than a forest trail. The true Kingsroad began at King's Landing and ended at Winterfell; the northernmost stretch they rode on was little more than a nominal extension.

They rode south in silence and soon approached Mole's Town. Cresting a gentle slope, Aegor couldn't resist glancing back.

Castle Black stood on the southern side of the Wall, where its icy shadow did not fall. The Wall itself, despite its immense height, didn't dominate daily life for the Night's Watch, it was easy enough to ignore its presence. Aegor, for one, had quickly learned to avoid craning his neck to look up at it. But no amount of willful ignorance could make the Wall disappear. It stood there, towering and immutable, as if it had existed since the dawn of time and would endure until the end of the world.

Now, as they moved farther away, the Wall's full outline came into view. What had once loomed above him like an insurmountable barrier had become a distant, gray-blue expanse stretching endlessly along the northern horizon. It extended east and west, fading into the cold mist until it disappeared entirely.

From a distance, its scale was even more awe-inspiring. It was the largest structure ever built by man in this world, the tallest and most formidable creation in Westeros. The towers and barracks of the Night's Watch at its base seemed like mere children's toys scattered in the snow. The men in black patrolling below looked no larger than ants.

In Aegor's old world, such a place would have been a prime tourist destination. Visitors would flock to it for a chance to marvel at its grandeur, to take a break from the chaos of city life, to bask in the quiet majesty of nature. People would stand atop the Wall, gazing out at the vast Haunted Forest below, describing it as "spiritual" or "soul-cleansing." It would have been a perfect retreat for urbanites desperate to escape the grind.

But here, the existence of the White Walkers changed the Wall's purpose entirely. It wasn't a tourist attraction; it was a last bastion, a military fortification standing against humanity's annihilation. It was the frontline of a war for survival.

This trip to Winterfell, Aegor realized, might be his last chance to escape before the next patrol beyond the Wall. If fate allowed, he hoped never to return.

"Aegor," Benjen's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're a stranger here. I know you're resentful about being forced to serve on the Wall, but let me give you some advice: don't even think about running. Many have tried, and the cost of desertion is always heavy."

"I understand," Aegor replied quickly, alarmed that his thoughts had been so transparent. "I've sworn a sacred oath. I'll fulfill my duty until the end of my life. Where I come from, the culture is different, but the value placed on keeping one's word is no less important."

"Good." Benjen nodded, letting the matter drop. "My brother, Eddard Stark, is a practical man, very much a northerner. He doesn't care for excessive ceremony, but he is still the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. The Stark bloodline is ancient, and their legacy is long. There are certain courtesies and taboos you must observe when addressing him. I'll explain them to you now. Forgetting them won't cost you your head, but it would still be impolite."

"Understood." Aegor nodded earnestly. He cast one last look at the Wall, his expression complicated, before turning his attention to Benjen's words.

They traveled by day and rested by night, passing Mole's Town and the ruins of Queen's Crown. As they moved farther south, the land grew more populated. Though the Night's Watch was granted the Gift, an expanse of land north of the Wolfswood, meant to provide taxes and resources to support the Watch, its population had dwindled over the years. Frequent wildling raids, coupled with the Watch's declining strength, had driven most of the Gift's inhabitants south, seeking safety under the protection of northern lords. Now, only a few villages near the Watch's strongholds remained.

Ironically, the abandonment of the Gift had made the North safer. The uninhabited land, combined with the Wall itself, created a double barrier. Few wildlings were willing to risk crossing the Wall and then starving in the desolate Gift just to raid villages under the protection of houses like Umber or Karstark. With such raids becoming less profitable, fewer wildlings attempted them. Many northern lords credited the Night's Watch for this improvement, and they continued to provide food, clothing, and supplies to support the brothers in black.

The journey to Winterfell was uneventful for Aegor and Benjen, save for a brief encounter with a group of wildlings fleeing south. Upon spotting the two men in black cloaks, the wildlings quickly retreated into the forest. Unlike Waymar, Benjen had no interest in pursuing them. He let them go without incident.

As the road widened, they crossed a stone bridge spanning a swift river. Farms and settlements began to appear, clusters of homes forming around sturdy stone walls and timber beams. The road grew busier with travelers and merchants. Nights were no longer spent camping in the wilderness.

Two weeks later, as Benjen had predicted, they arrived at Winterfell.

Chapter 13

Winterfell is not a city, but a castle. Its purpose, much like the Red Keep in King's Landing, is to serve as a fortress and provide shelter for its lord and his family. It lacks any urban functions and has no "citizens" in the traditional sense. According to legend, it was built by Brandon the Builder with the aid of giants. As a noble stronghold, Winterfell is undeniably impressive, but when compared to another structure said to have been built by the same man—the Wall—it pales in scale and grandeur.

Excluding the surrounding villages and the winter town, which lay temporarily abandoned during the warmer months, the area enclosed by Winterfell's high stone walls spans less than 100 acres, with a portion of that space taken up by the Godswood. The permanent residents within the castle walls amount to only a few hundred, consisting mostly of followers, servants, and their families, all of whom serve the Stark household. Despite this, Winterfell commands the largest standing force in the North, second only to the Night's Watch.

For someone like Aegor, who had stood watch on the Wall and survived encounters with White Walkers in the Haunted Forest, there weren't many things in the world that could still inspire fear. When he first laid eyes on Winterfell, his initial reaction wasn't awe or admiration, but surprise: This small place is the political center of the North and the home of so many key figures in this world's history? It was no wonder, he thought, that even the king constantly struggled to manage his realm.

But the longer he considered it, the more Aegor found himself subconsciously comparing Winterfell to the Wall. And when placed next to that towering expanse of ice, nothing else in this world could truly be called "big."

It was late when Aegor and Benjen arrived at Winterfell. Aegor, lost in his thoughts, followed the chief ranger through the castle gates.

"Welcome home, Lord Benjen," said a guard who had clearly served the Stark family for many years. Taking the reins of the ranger's horse, he continued, "I'll arrange accommodations and a bath for you right away."

"No need for that," Benjen replied. "Where is my brother?"

"My lord just finished receiving the king. He's likely still busy in the main keep now… but I can't say for sure."

"The king is here already?" Benjen frowned. "Damn, I thought I'd arrived two days early. At least I didn't miss the dinner. Go on, then. I'll find him myself."

"Yes, my lord."

Winterfell was teeming with activity. The large parade grounds were packed with horses, wagons, chests, and bustling servants. King Robert Baratheon had brought hundreds of escorts on his journey north, and Queen Cersei and Princess Myrcella had brought even more luggage. With no room to house all the guests, many of them had been diverted to the nearby winter town for lodging. At the moment, the castle gates were a flurry of motion, with people constantly coming and going.

Benjen led Aegor through the winding, uneven corridors of the castle, eventually reaching the main keep where the Stark family resided. After a brief exchange with the household staff, they entered and found Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, in his study. The Warden of the North was taking a brief respite from his duties, issuing instructions to servants regarding the arrangements for his royal guests.

"Benjen!" Eddard's face lit up with a genuine smile when he saw his younger brother. Standing, he waved the servants away before striding forward to embrace him. "How is life on the Wall? Still as hard as ever?"

"I've grown used to it." Benjen returned the hug briefly before stepping back. "But there have been troubling events beyond the Wall recently. I thought it necessary to bring this directly to the Warden of the North."

"Yes, the wildlings. I've read your letters." Eddard sighed, running a hand through his dark brown hair. Though his long face resembled Benjen's, there was a gravity about him, a quiet authority befitting his role as lord. Even when he smiled, his demeanor was solemn and composed, a ruler through and through. To Aegor, he was the first person he'd met in this world who truly carried the bearing of a leader. "But you don't know how much trouble I've had dealing with Robert today. He's grown as fat as a pig!"

He gave his brother a wry smile but quickly added, "Can we talk after the welcome feast tonight? It's been an exhausting day."

"No, we need to talk now," Benjen said, shaking his head. His tone was serious. "What I have to tell you is more important than the banquet, the king, the queen, or anything else."

Eddard's expression darkened at his brother's tone. Putting aside his complaints, he turned to Aegor, who had been waiting silently by the door. "And who is this?"

"This is one of my rangers. He will explain what happened," Benjen said, gesturing for Aegor to step forward.

Eddard's sharp gray eyes studied Aegor. "Your name, friend?"

"Your lordship may call me Aegor," he replied respectfully. "I'm not from Westeros, and I don't have a surname in the fashion of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Not from Westeros?" Eddard's curiosity was piqued. He turned to Benjen, silently seeking an explanation.

"Aegor comes from an unknown continent far west of Westeros," Benjen explained. "He encountered a White Walker while patrolling beyond the Wall with Waymar Royce and managed to return to warn us."

"White Walkers?" Eddard's face grew grim, his gaze shifting back to Aegor.

It was clear he didn't believe in the existence of White Walkers. To him, Waymar's disappearance was more likely the result of a wildling ambush. Yohn Royce, Waymar's father and a key vassal of Jon Arryn, had passed through Winterfell while escorting his son to the Wall. During their meeting, Yohn had made it clear he expected Eddard to look out for his son. Although it wasn't Eddard's responsibility as Lord of Winterfell to account for the fate of a Night's Watch ranger, the situation left him feeling uneasy, almost as if he had failed to honor his promise.

"Wait a moment," Eddard said, his tone shifting to one of suspicion. "If I'm not mistaken, you were one of the three rangers Waymar took beyond the Wall. If White Walkers killed your leader, why did they let you and the other man escape?" His voice hardened. "And according to the rules of the Night's Watch, what is the punishment for desertion?"

"They didn't let us escape," Aegor replied calmly, despite the growing tension. "We fled, barely surviving the ordeal. And as we neared the Wall, the other ranger and I managed to kill one of the White Walkers that pursued us."

"Where's the body?"

"When White Walkers die, their bodies disintegrate, leaving no remains," Aegor explained. He knew this sounded unconvincing, so he quickly added, "But I've brought other evidence."

"Show me," Eddard said, his skepticism evident. He exhaled lightly, gestured for Aegor to proceed, and sat at his desk.

Aegor moved quickly, retrieving the items he had brought from Castle Black. Inside his pack were three broken swords, carefully wrapped in puncture-proof leather, as well as an obsidian dagger. He laid them out on the table, piecing together the shattered blades one by one. Waymar's sword, in particular, had been broken so thoroughly that it took several minutes to arrange.

Eddard frowned as he watched, though he waited patiently for Aegor to finish before asking, "Three broken swords and a black dagger. What are they supposed to mean?"

"The broken swords belonged to three rangers who fought against the White Walkers," Aegor explained steadily. "Waymar died in battle. Gary was gravely injured and remains in Castle Black recovering. I am the only one fortunate enough to have survived." He picked up the dagger, holding it out for Eddard to inspect. "And this is the obsidian weapon that killed one of the White Walkers."

"So all three swords were broken during the fight?" Eddard asked, his brow furrowing. "How do I know they weren't just broken by you?"

"Please examine the edges closely, your lordship," Aegor replied, gesturing to the shattered blades. "The damage is unlike anything caused by normal wear or combat."

Eddard leaned closer, studying the pieces with a practiced eye. He had seen countless broken swords over the years, but none like these. Picking up a fragment of Waymar's blade, he tapped it against the table, confirming it was real steel.

"What caused this?" he finally asked.

"Ice," Aegor said simply. "Or rather, the ice magic wielded by the White Walkers. Their weapons appear to be made of ice, and they can shatter steel on contact."

Aegor then recounted the events beyond the Wall, refining the explanation he had given to Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon. This time, he spoke with greater clarity and confidence, his body and mind fully recovered after days of rest. His explanation was precise, his tone measured, and his details persuasive.

He described how the steel swords had shattered in moments against the White Walkers' weapons, then recounted the desperate escape back to the Wall and the lucky blow that felled one of their pursuers. He omitted nothing essential, keeping his narrative clear and concise.

Eddard listened in silence, his hand supporting his chin as his sharp gray eyes bore into Aegor. Once Aegor finished, Eddard lowered his hand, his thoughtful gaze shifting to his brother.

Benjen observed Eddard carefully, sensing that his brother was still reluctant to fully accept the existence of White Walkers. But that hesitation was not surprising, Benjen himself had only secondhand reports to rely on, and while he trusted Aegor, he had no firsthand proof to offer.

"The Shadow Tower has also reported sightings of White Walkers," Benjen said, making one last effort. "And Castle Black's rangers, as well as those from Eastwatch, have witnessed signs of wildlings migrating in massive numbers. Villages north of the Wall are being abandoned, their people fleeing something." His voice grew more insistent. "All signs point to a new and deadly threat gathering in the far North. And you know the state of the Night's Watch, we're stretched thin and struggling to hold the Wall as it is. We need aid, and we need it now."

Eddard exhaled deeply. "I'll inform my men to let you take prisoners from the dungeons," he said after a moment, his tone cool.

"What the Night's Watch needs now is not just a handful of criminals or untrained recruits!" Benjen interrupted, his voice sharp. "Do you expect a band of barely disciplined convicts to defend the Seven Kingdoms? They're barely capable of maintaining order during peaceful times, let alone against the current dangers." He stepped forward, his frustration clear. "I didn't bring Aegor here to repeat the same tired requests as other brothers of the Watch. This is bigger than that."

Silence filled the room as Benjen's words hung in the air. Eddard sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the obsidian dagger in his hand. He turned it over slowly, his brow furrowed in thought.

Chapter 14

In Aegor's original world, the trajectory of civilization followed a spiral of progress, although there were moments of stagnation and regression, the general trend was one of upward development. But here, in Westeros, the situation was different.

Social advancement depended on productivity, which, in turn, relied heavily on population in an era of limited technological development. But feeding a population required resources, and the irregular, punishing climate of this world made resources scarce. The constant wars fought over these limited resources only worsened the problem, further destabilizing production. During a long summer, civilization might find a moment to flourish, but even a slightly extended winter could send it spiraling backward. This created a vicious cycle: humanity needed people to advance, but the fragility of life made progress painfully slow; stagnation and underdevelopment made further progress even harder to achieve. In this context, it wasn't surprising that Westeros's level of social development lagged so far behind its ancient history.

Aegor wasn't entirely sure how much of the "tens of thousands of years" of history from the Dawn Age was factual, but he knew one thing: in this feudal society, especially in the sparsely populated North, armies couldn't be mobilized quickly.

"I'll contact the lords and request that they each send a few hundred men in proportion to their population to support the Wall," Eddard Stark said at last, sighing deeply. Despite his brother's earlier harshness, Eddard did not take offense, he knew Benjen's bluntness came from concern, not disrespect. Shaking his head, he added, "But it's the height of the farming season, so don't expect me to raise significant numbers quickly. However, give me a detailed list of supplies, and I'll see what I can provide."

"As for the king, give me some time. I'll speak to him myself."

Eddard leaned back in his chair, his face shadowed with worry. "When I spoke with Robert in the crypt earlier, I mentioned the Wall's need for support. Unfortunately, he's preoccupied. Tensions in King's Landing have him on edge, and he's come here looking for my help. He's in no position to worry about the Wall right now."

"If the Wall falls," Benjen said bluntly, "the North will be the first to suffer. Even if you help Robert stabilize King's Landing, it won't matter. Think about the consequences."

Benjen's tone softened slightly as he continued. "We don't urgently need conventional supplies right now. Those can be arranged over time. But there is one thing we do need—obsidian. And not just a small amount. The Night's Watch requires a large stockpile, and quickly. Unfortunately, obsidian is rare and expensive, mostly sold as decorative pieces in the market. We need it as a weapon, not an ornament."

"I read somewhere that Dragonstone has massive reserves of obsidian," Aegor interjected. "If we could arrange to mine it, it would be more than enough for our needs."

Eddard nodded thoughtfully but remained skeptical of the Night's Watch's claims about obsidian's effectiveness against White Walkers. Still, he had already refused so many requests that he felt obligated to act. "I'll write to Stannis about this. Perhaps he can help arrange something."

Eddard turned his gaze to the window, where the dim light of evening was settling over Winterfell. "It's getting late. You two should bathe and change for the dinner. Robert is an old friend, yes, but he is also the king. If you're too casual in his presence, even if he doesn't mind, it might give others an excuse to criticize him or me."

Benjen nodded, and the two Night's Watchmen excused themselves. As they left the room, Aegor followed Benjen through the winding corridors of the castle. Despite his allegiance to the Night's Watch, Benjen was still a Stark, and the room he had grown up in as a child remained his to use. To Aegor's surprise, Benjen had also arranged for him to have a small room in Winterfell.

Given how crowded the castle was, Aegor would have expected someone of his rank, a lowly ranger of the Night's Watch—to be assigned to a bunk bed in one of the inns outside the castle walls. That he had been given accommodation within Winterfell itself felt more like a precaution against him escaping than a privilege.

As these thoughts churned in his mind, Aegor and Benjen turned a corner and encountered a young man heading straight toward them.

"Uncle Benjen!"

"Jon." Benjen smiled, his expression softening into something almost paternal. "You've grown taller again."

The young man was lean, with a long face and dark brown hair that matched Benjen's. Aegor didn't immediately recognize him; the boy looked different from his depiction in the show. But the tone of their conversation gave it away, this was Jon Snow, the bastard of Eddard Stark. Of course, Aegor knew Jon's true parentage: he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

As significant as Jon's identity was, something else captured Aegor's attention: the small, snow-white direwolf standing by Jon's side. Its crimson eyes gazed up at him, curious but not hostile.

What the hell is going on? Aegor thought, his mind racing. Because of me, the deserters who would have been executed at the start of the original story—Gary and Will—never crossed the Wall. That means the Starks wouldn't have encountered the dead direwolf and her pups on their way back from the execution ground. So how did this damn little direwolf end up with Jon Snow?

"If I'm not mistaken," Benjen said, noticing the wolf, "this little fellow is a direwolf. They don't come south of the Wall. Where did it come from?"

"The villagers found its mother dead on a path outside Winterfell," Jon replied. "Jory went to investigate and brought back a litter of six pups..."

The uncle and nephew spoke casually, but Aegor was reeling. The sight of the direwolf made him question everything he thought he understood. The wolf's presence meant one of two things: either his actions had less influence on this world's events than he thought, or some larger force was actively working to maintain the story's original trajectory.

While the pup at Jon's side was small and unassuming, its very existence unnerved Aegor. The more he thought about it, the more he began to question whether his attempts to change the future of this world were truly within his control.

Sure, he had made small changes, Gary was still alive, and Will had survived but these were minor characters, nobodies in the grand scheme of things. Whether they lived or died had little impact on the broader narrative of Westeros. But what about Benjen Stark?

Benjen was a significant figure, one of the key players in the early events of the story. If some unseen force was working to preserve the original timeline, was Benjen doomed to meet the same fate during his next ranging mission, turning into a half-dead servant of the White Walkers? And if that was the case, what were Aegor's chances of surviving the mission himself?

The more he thought about it, the worse his outlook seemed. If this world truly operated under some predestined narrative, his very presence, an outsider who had already altered events might make him a target.

I need to find a way out, he thought grimly.

"What are you daydreaming about? Let's go." Benjen's voice pulled him back to reality. The chief ranger clapped him on the shoulder, gesturing for him to follow. "Take a bath and change your clothes. You'll need to be ready for the dinner."

"I'm joining too?" Aegor asked, surprised.

"Of course. There are only two of us here in Winterfell right now," Benjen said with a faint smile. "Even if the whole Night's Watch were here, they'd still be treated as honored guests. Enjoy it while you can. Only in the North does the Night's Watch still get the respect it deserves."

Chapter 15

After drying himself off, Aegor picked up the clothes left by the servants. They were the characteristic all-black of the Night's Watch, but these were made of velvet, clearly not the standard issue uniforms of the Wall. The texture and workmanship were leagues above the coarse, practical clothing typically worn by the brothers. When he slipped them on and the soft fabric brushed against his skin, the sensation was so luxurious that he nearly sighed aloud. They weren't tailored for him, though; judging by the size, they were likely brought along by Benjen Stark.

Traveling on official business with a leader certainly has its perks, Aegor thought with a wry smile.

It wasn't as though he had never worn fine clothes before. Back in his previous life, his family hadn't been wealthy, but they were comfortable. They had a home, a car, and his mother owned a small clothing store. She was a skilled tailor, and growing up, he'd taken good clothes for granted. Anything he pulled out of his wardrobe was well-made and affordable. But that life felt like it belonged to another person, another era. Now, having struggled just to survive in this world, the simple comfort of good clothing felt like a luxury. Among the countless transmigrators in fiction, he thought bitterly, he must surely rank among the most pitiful.

Winterfell, warmed by its underground hot springs, circulated heat through its walls. Even in a room without a fireplace, the temperature was comfortably higher than the freezing outdoors. After his bath, Aegor relaxed in a chair, the heat lulling him into a rare sense of ease. For a brief moment, he didn't want to move a finger. But the evening's obligations called. Pulling himself together, he dressed and left the room.

The Night's Watch, though formally treated as "honored guests" at Winterfell, were far from being the center of attention. With the king's entourage present, Aegor was little more than an afterthought. Following the brisk instructions of the servants, he made his way to the banquet hall and found his assigned seat at a table tucked into a far corner.

The hall was alive with activity. The savory aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air. Banners from various houses adorned the gray stone walls, the direwolf of House Stark, the crowned stag of House Baratheon, and the roaring lion of House Lannister. A singer played the harp, his voice weaving a ballad that Aegor could barely make out over the din, partly because of his shaky grasp of the Common Tongue and partly because he was seated at the far end of the hall.

Jon Snow sat at the same table as Aegor. As a bastard, Jon's social standing at the king's dinner was not much better than that of a Night's Watchman. Whether his father was Rhaegar Targaryen or Eddard Stark, Jon was still illegitimate in the eyes of Westerosi society. Like Aegor, his inclusion at the banquet was purely ceremonial, he was allowed to sit, but only at the lowest tier of the hierarchy. Such was the cold reality of the feudal world.

Yet Jon didn't seem troubled by his status. He appeared relaxed, sometimes sneaking pieces of food to the direwolf pup hiding beneath the table, other times eagerly peppering Aegor with questions about the Night's Watch. His youthful enthusiasm and optimism were almost enviable.

Their table was shared by other young servants and attendants. Some served House Stark, others the royal family, and still others came from Lannisport or Casterly Rock. Despite their differing allegiances, these boys shared no deep-seated feuds or grudges. They sat shoulder to shoulder, sipping fine wine and swapping stories in easy camaraderie.

Jon's interest in the Night's Watch seemed infectious. As Aegor answered his questions, more and more of their tablemates began to lean in, setting aside their utensils and cups to listen.

"Do giants really exist?"

"Do the people north of the Wall actually sleep with goats?"

"I heard the wildlings eat their own children when food runs out!"

Aegor chose his words carefully. He avoided mentioning White Walkers, knowing that such claims would only earn him ridicule. Instead, he picked out the more colorful and entertaining stories from his time at the Wall, turning them into lively conversation starters.

Although Aegor was in his twenties, his youthful appearance helped him blend in easily with the teenagers around him. At the same time, his age and experiences gave him a quiet maturity that the others instinctively respected. Back in his previous life, he hadn't been particularly smooth-talking or charismatic. But here, in this world where strength and bloodlines dominated social standing, his knowledge and demeanor made him seem almost worldly by comparison. Drawing on bits of pop psychology he had read before crossing over, he found it easy to endear himself to the group.

Within a short time, Aegor had become the center of attention at his table. The boys surrounded him, raising their cups in toasts and peppering him with questions. Even those seated at neighboring tables began shifting their benches closer to listen in on his stories.

"Things aren't peaceful at the Wall these days," Aegor said after regaling them with enough amusing anecdotes to loosen their tongues and win their trust. He let his voice grow more serious, steering the conversation toward a topic that mattered. "The weather is growing colder by the day. One hundred thousand wildlings, led by the King Beyond the Wall, are gathering to breach the Wall and head south. To them, the Wall is the dividing line between life and death, crossing it is their only chance of surviving the winter.

"And that's not all. Rangers have reported sightings of strange, humanoid creatures in the Haunted Forest… figures that match the old stories of White Walkers. This year, several brothers have gone missing while patrolling north."

The boys listened with wide eyes, some visibly skeptical, others nervously amazed. Though his words were aimed at them, Aegor's true intention lay elsewhere. He knew these boys had no real power. But behind every servant stood a knight or lord. Jon Snow was close to the Starks, and the young attendants of other houses served those who controlled the resources of Westeros. By spreading word of the Night's Watch's plight through these channels, Aegor hoped to plant seeds of support that might eventually reach the ears of those in power.

The leaders of the Night's Watch were capable men, but they were constrained by their era. Raised in a world where swords decided disputes and the written word was secondary, they had little grasp of the concept of "public opinion." Aegor, with his outsider's perspective, saw the potential to use it to benefit the Watch and by extension, himself. After all, in this brutal world, survival often depended on collective strength. If the Night's Watch grew stronger, his chances of living through his time on the Wall would grow with it.

"One hundred thousand wildlings?" one boy repeated, incredulous. Others exchanged nervous glances.

"Can the Night's Watch stop them?"

"That's a good question," Aegor replied, grimacing as he drank the last of his wine. "The truth is, not all of those one hundred thousand are soldiers. There are children, the elderly, families traveling with livestock. At most, there are ten thousand who can fight.

"But the problem isn't their strength, it's our weakness. The Wall is massive, and the Watch doesn't have enough men to defend it all. If the wildlings choose to cross at an unguarded stretch, they could attack from inside and out. It would stretch us to the breaking point."

"What will you do, then?" another boy asked, his voice tinged with unease.

Aegor smiled bitterly. "That's exactly what the Chief Ranger came to discuss with the Warden of the North."

The boys began firing more questions at him, but their chatter abruptly quieted when the true stars of the banquet began to arrive.

Chapter 16

The noise in the hall quickly faded, and all eyes turned to the entrance as the guard escorted the Queen into the hall.

Before crossing into this world, Aegor had come across a saying: the Game of Thrones production team had limited funds and couldn't afford actors who combined youth, beauty, and acting skill, so they prioritized the latter. The result was that many characters in the series appeared older or less attractive than described in the books, while some supporting roles turned out stunningly beautiful. Seeing the queen in person, Aegor couldn't help but feel this sentiment confirmed.

The woman before him was far younger and more radiant than the Cersei he had seen on TV. She exuded charm and grace, her long golden hair shining under the light. A gem-studded crown rested on her head, complementing her bright blue eyes with emerald inlays. She wore an innocent smile as she entered, not sparing a glance for the Northern Guard beside her. If one didn't already know the depths of her scheming nature, who could imagine such a beautiful exterior concealed a heart as ruthless and venomous as hers?

Following closely behind was the king, arm-in-arm with Lady Stark, who also appeared much younger than her on-screen counterpart. The king had the ruddy complexion and thick beard Aegor had expected, but he was far taller than imagined, a towering figure of both fat and muscle.

Next came the Stark and Baratheon children. Aegor barely spared them a glance. They looked somewhat different from their depictions in the show, but he wasn't inclined to spend time identifying each one. With everyone distracted by the arrivals, he finally had the chance to sample the fish on the table. Since acquiring the obsidian dagger that had saved his life, he hadn't had the opportunity to eat anything better than the bland rations served in the Night's Watch canteen.

The two Lannister brothers followed the children. Jaime Lannister entered in striking contrast to the others. Tall, handsome, and imposing, he wore a red silk tunic, black high boots, and a satin cloak draped over his shoulders. He carried himself with such regal confidence that he looked more like a king than the man at the head of the hall. The dwarf walking beside him, however, was the one who truly caught Aegor's attention.

Tyrion Lannister was unmistakable. Among the characters in this world, he was one of the few Aegor could identify without the aid of costumes or house sigils. It wasn't just his stature that made him stand out, it was the intelligence and wit lurking behind his sharp features.

This man, Aegor thought, is probably the most worth befriending in the entire story of Game of Thrones. If he could get close to Tyrion, perhaps there was a way to escape the Night's Watch without risking desertion or execution. The dwarf had connections, influence, and a pragmatic mind. But as quickly as the idea came, reality reasserted itself. Aegor was just a lowly ranger. How could someone like him approach a Lannister, let alone forge a relationship?

Lost in thought, he watched as the Lannister brothers passed by, heading for the more prominent seats reserved for their family.

The final arrivals were Benjen Stark and Theon Greyjoy, the young ward of the Lord of Winterfell. After they took their seats, the hall erupted in a flurry of toasts and polite congratulations, and the feast officially began.

Jon Snow and the younger servants at the table still wanted to hear more of Aegor's tales about patrolling the Wall and encountering wildlings, but Aegor had grown disinterested. "I've told enough of my stories," he said, deflecting their attention. "How about you tell me yours? I've never been south of the Neck since coming to Westeros. Who can introduce me to life in the south?"

The good thing about spending time with this group of youthful, relatively innocent boys was how quickly they warmed up after a few drinks. Under the influence of wine, one of the Lannister servants launched into a dramatic tale of accompanying his knight on a wild adventure outside King's Landing.

Beneath the table, Jon's direwolf pup gnawed contentedly on a bone, oblivious to the lively chatter above. On stage, Jon listened intently to the other boys as they swapped tales of war, hunts, and scandalous escapades. Aegor, however, had already drifted into his own thoughts.

"Jon, how are you tonight?" a familiar voice interrupted. Benjen had left his seat to check on his neglected nephew.

"Very well," Jon replied brightly. "Uncle, I heard from Aegor that the Night's Watch is in desperate need of men. When you leave, take me with you."

The servant who had been recounting his daring exploits fell silent, scooting aside to make room for Benjen. The chief ranger sat down, took Jon's glass, and examined it. "Summerwine," he said after a sip. "Nothing tastes as sweet. How many glasses have you had tonight, Jon?"

"I'm not drunk," Jon replied quickly.

"I never said you were," Benjen said with a slight smile, setting the glass down. He glanced toward the high table where his brothers sat before turning back to his nephew. "To be honest, the Wall does need young men like you right now."

Jon's face lit up with pride. "I'm a better swordsman than anyone I've ever trained with. Hullen says I'm one of the best riders in Winterfell."

"Good."

"You agree?" Jon said, excitement creeping into his voice. "If you tell Father, I know he'll agree, too."

Benjen's gaze shifted to Aegor, who shrugged, silently assuring him he hadn't encouraged Jon in this. Turning back to Jon, Benjen said carefully, "Jon, the Wall is a hard place for a boy."

"I'm almost a man," Jon countered. "I'll be fifteen on my next nameday. Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than trueborn children."

"That's true," Benjen conceded with a small smile. He poured himself more wine and drank deeply.

"Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne," Jon added confidently.

Benjen shook his head. "That campaign lasted an entire summer, and Daeron lost ten thousand men to conquer Dorne and another fifty thousand to hold it. Someone should have told him that war is no game. And let's not forget, Daeron Targaryen died at eighteen. You haven't forgotten that part, have you?"

"I haven't," Jon said, his cheeks reddening, whether from embarrassment or the wine. Straightening his back, he lifted his chin. "Uncle, I've made up my mind. I want to serve in the Night's Watch."

The table fell silent. Some of the boys, envious of Aegor's adventurous tales, had daydreamed about joining the Watch themselves. But none had made a decision as serious as Jon's. Most of the servants, though of modest birth, were still legitimate heirs to their families. Jon, on the other hand, seemed increasingly alienated from his siblings as he grew older, leaving him without a place to belong.

Benjen smiled faintly. "Jon, you must understand: the Night's Watch is for men who have no ties to family. We take no wives, father no children. Our duty is our wife, and honor our mistress."

"A bastard has no honor," Jon said firmly. "I'm ready to take the oath."

"You're only fourteen," Benjen replied gently. "Before you've been with a woman, you can't truly understand what you're giving up."

"I don't care about women!" Jon snapped, his frustration boiling over.

"If you knew, you might care," Benjen said kindly. "If you truly understood what the oath costs, you wouldn't be so eager to take it."

"I'm not your child!" Jon shouted.

"It's a pity you're not," Benjen said, rising from the bench. He patted Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own. Then we'll talk."

"I'll never father a bastard!" Jon's eyes burned with anger as he spat the words. He didn't seem to notice the hall falling silent around him. His voice, steady and filled with resolve, carried across the room. "Never!"

Everyone stared at Jon, the tension thick in the air. With tears threatening to spill from his eyes, Jon stood abruptly. "Excuse me," he said stiffly. Then, before anyone could stop him, he turned and stormed out of the hall. On his way out, he collided with a serving girl, knocking over a bottle of wine. Laughter erupted in his wake, but Jon didn't look back. He shoved aside a yellow-robed servant who tried to help him and disappeared into the night, the direwolf pup close on his heels.

Aegor sighed, almost covering his face in frustration. He finally understood what it meant to be naive. Here he was, wracking his brain for ways to escape the Night's Watch, while a boy barely old enough to shave was clamoring to join.

Benjen's gentle warnings had been clear enough, he had tried to tell Jon that joining the Watch meant sacrificing everything for a lonely life of service. But Jon, too young and idealistic, had taken his uncle's words as a slight, an insult to his pride.

You're embarrassing yourself, Jon, Aegor thought with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Still, a flicker of guilt tugged at him. He suddenly remembered something and stood up. "I'll go check on him."

"Leave him be," Benjen said, waving dismissively. "Let him cool off." But after a moment of hesitation, the chief ranger changed his mind. "Forget it… Go on, then. Just make sure the drunken fool doesn't hurt himself."

Chapter 17

Aegor left the music and dancing behind as he stepped out into the courtyard. The cold wind hit his face, and the quiet of the night settled over him. The guards on the battlements above tightened their cloaks against the chill, their forms barely visible in the dim light. He scanned the area and quickly spotted Jon's figure, walking alone.

"Boy," an unfamiliar voice called out. Aegor couldn't immediately see the speaker, but he knew his memory hadn't failed him. This was the right spot. "Is that thing with you a wolf?"

"It's a direwolf. His name is Ghost," Jon replied, turning toward the voice. He wiped at his face hastily, clearly not wanting anyone to see his tears. When he spotted Aegor stepping outside, Jon quickly turned away. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be inside at the dinner?"

Aegor moved around a stone pillar near the door and followed Jon's gaze, finally spotting the speaker. Tyrion Lannister was sitting on a protruding ledge above the hall's front entrance, gazing down at them. The dwarf was so still he might have passed for a statue if he hadn't spoken.

"It's too hot and too noisy in there, and I've had too much wine," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I learned long ago it's impolite to vomit on one's brother. May I take a closer look at your wolf?"

Jon hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Can you get down from there on your own, or should I fetch a ladder?"

"A ladder?" Tyrion scoffed, his tone mocking but good-natured. "What do you take me for?" With that, he leaned back, flipped into the air, and landed lightly on his hands before springing upright in a nimble backflip.

The direwolf flinched, taking a few cautious steps back, and even Aegor had to admit that Tyrion's agility was impressive, especially given his stature.

Dusting himself off with a laugh, Tyrion said, "I think I may have startled your little wolf. My apologies."

"He's not frightened," Jon replied quickly, kneeling to beckon the wolf. "Ghost, come here. Come on, boy."

The direwolf padded over to Jon, nuzzling his cheek affectionately but keeping wary red eyes on Tyrion. When the dwarf extended a hand to pet him, Ghost bared his teeth in a silent growl, pulling back slightly.

"Not exactly friendly, is he?" Tyrion remarked dryly.

"Ghost, sit," Jon commanded firmly. The direwolf obeyed, lowering himself to the ground. "Stay." He glanced up at Tyrion. "You can touch him now. He won't move unless I say so. I'm training him."

"I see." Tyrion crouched and tentatively reached out, scratching behind the direwolf's ears. "Good boy," he murmured.

Aegor stood nearby, searching for a way to interrupt and draw the dwarf's attention without appearing rude. He saw his chance when Tyrion stopped speaking, momentarily focused on stroking Ghost's snowy fur. "Jon," Aegor began, "I don't know if I can call you that, but I must tell you, your uncle doesn't want you to join the Watch. He's doing it for your own good."

"For my own good?" Jon's anger flared again. "If he cared about my good, he wouldn't have let me be born at all!"

"Ah," Tyrion said, tilting his head as understanding dawned. He straightened, his sharp eyes studying Jon. "So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. You want to join the Night's Watch, but Benjen Stark has refused?"

Tyrion's quick deduction was spot on, and the accuracy of his words only worsened Jon's mood. The boy's jaw tightened, and he stood abruptly. Ghost pulled back from Tyrion at the same time, clearly sensing his master's agitation.

"If I offended you, I apologize," Tyrion said quickly, his voice measured. "But why? Isn't the Wall a place that values ability over birth? A good place to… well, to put bastards?"

"When you've seen one hundred thousand wildlings camped beneath tents, preparing to attack the Wall, giants that can tear a man in half with their bare hands, or pale White Walkers cutting down your comrades with ice blades… When you've seen the dead rise again to kill the living, then you'll stop thinking it's a good place."

"An intriguing introduction," Tyrion replied with a faint smile. Turning to Aegor, he added, "First of all, let me say that I respect the Night's Watch and admire your sacrifices to defend the kingdom. Truly, I do. Although I'll never take your oath myself, I can appreciate your dedication."

The dwarf's expression grew thoughtful. "That said, I don't believe in those old stories—giants, wights, White Walkers… myths, nothing more. The wildlings are no different from us, save for the fact that they happened to end up on the wrong side of the Wall."

"Have you ever seen the Wall, Lord Tyrion?" Aegor asked, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation. "It is the greatest structure ever built by men."

"A fact universally acknowledged," Tyrion said with a shrug. "Not only the largest, but also the most useless."

"The most useless building?" Aegor resisted the urge to scoff. While Tyrion seemed approachable and intelligent, the vast gulf between their social statuses made him cautious. He couldn't afford to offend a Lannister, especially not on their first meeting. "My lord, do you know how large the Wall truly is?"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "One hundred leagues long, seven hundred feet high, and wide enough at the top for twelve armored knights to ride side by side. As for its width, I'm afraid I don't know."

Aegor nodded approvingly. "Your information is correct. But I doubt you've ever seen a structure seven hundred feet tall or a wall one hundred leagues long. The towers of Oldtown may be tall, but they're nothing compared to the Wall. If you ever have the chance, you should see it for yourself. If not, I can offer you a clearer perspective."

He continued, his voice calm but deliberate. "The Wall is seven hundred feet high and roughly seventy feet wide, about one-tenth its height. By comparison, Winterfell's inner wall is one hundred feet tall and ten feet thick. Now, my lord, you are a clever man. Can you calculate what that means in terms of materials?"

Tyrion frowned thoughtfully, clearly not accustomed to being stumped. After a moment, he said, "It means the Wall requires seven times the height and seven times the thickness of Winterfell's wall. That's forty-nine times the materials."

"Exactly." Aegor allowed a small, respectful smile. "Now consider this: the Wall is one hundred leagues long. If we dismantled it and rebuilt it to match the height and thickness of Winterfell's walls, the Wall would stretch for five thousand leagues. That's enough to surround the North or separate the entire Kingsroad from King's Landing to Winterfell. Its weight exceeds the combined walls of every city in Westeros."

"But the Wall is made of ice," Tyrion countered. "Winterfell's walls are stone."

"The weight of the same volume of stone is about twice that of ice," Aegor explained, "but considering the difference in construction difficulty and the workload required to build a wall that's 700 feet high versus one that's 100 feet high, I'd say it balances out." He quickly brought the discussion back to his intended point. "Just now, my lord, you said that the only difference between the wildlings and us is that they ended up on the north side of the Wall. I agree. Borrowing your logic, could I not also say that the difference between northerners and southerners is merely that they live on opposite sides of the Neck?"

"Most people in the North have the blood of our ancestors flowing in their veins," Jon interrupted, his earlier grievance forgotten as he latched onto the conversation. He had been silent for a long time, feeling somewhat out of his depth, but now he seized the opportunity to speak.

"'The First Men' refers to the humans who first arrived in Westeros," Tyrion corrected patiently. "They are not a separate race, nor are they older than anyone else in a meaningful sense. From a racial perspective, the First Men are quite similar to the Andals or the Rhoynar, with no fundamental differences. So, 'the blood of the First Men' isn't particularly significant. It's more of a cultural heritage and belief than an actual bloodline."

"I agree," Aegor chimed in, nodding. "Lord Tyrion, I've read that the Wall wasn't built in a single generation. Eight thousand years ago, Brandon the Builder, only laid the stone foundations of Winterfell and began the Wall. Its current height of 700 feet was achieved over decades, possibly centuries, as thousands of Night's Watch craftsmen gradually piled up enormous blocks of ice cut from the Haunted Forest's frozen lakes."

"Isn't the Wall made entirely of ice?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I must have skimmed that part of the histories… though it does make sense."

"It matters little what it's made of," Aegor said with a dismissive wave. "I'm no military strategist, but even I can see that if a fortification of that size were built along the Neck, the southern lords wouldn't pose any threat to the North. But instead, the builders chose to erect it at the northernmost edge of the realm. Even if the first generation of Wall builders had lost their minds, what compelled their descendants to continue expanding and maintaining the structure for thousands of years? Are we to believe every single one of them was insane, or is there another explanation?"

"Hmm…" Tyrion murmured thoughtfully, stroking his chin.

"And another thing," Aegor continued, pressing his point while he had the dwarf's attention. "At the peak of its strength, the Night's Watch stationed more than 5,000 soldiers at Castle Black alone, with over 10,000 combat-ready troops in the entire legion not even counting the servants and attendants. This was 8,000 years ago, when the population on both sides of the Wall was far smaller than it is today. The wildlings' numbers at the time may not even have matched the Watch's. So, why did the North devote such immense resources to building and maintaining the Wall, while also supporting such a large standing army to guard it?"

Chapter 18

"Fear," Aegor concluded, his tone grave. "The greatest fortifications and standing armies were built to confront the most terrifying of enemies. It was fear that drove our ancestors thousands of years ago to construct walls as high as these and to sustain an army of over ten thousand men, soldiers who neither produced anything nor were mobilized for daily affairs. There is no other reasonable explanation."

"Well, you make a valid point," Tyrion admitted candidly. "But, forgive me for being insistent, I simply cannot believe in the existence of legendary monsters until I see one with my own eyes."

"It's your right not to believe," Aegor said with a shrug, clearly unbothered. He wasn't trying to convince Tyrion of the existence of the White Walkers. "In truth, I didn't believe it myself, until the day I faced a White Walker in battle. I watched as it shattered the steel sword in my hand with its ice blade as if the sword were made of fragile glass."

"Until just now, I thought you were merely the Night's Watch's accountant. How does someone like you end up fighting White Walkers?" Tyrion asked curiously. "Are you a ranger, or do you hold some other post?"

"Ranger," Aegor replied, nodding. Then his gaze shifted to Jon. "Young man, do you want to know why your uncle doesn't support you joining the Night's Watch? Come with me and see the steel sword that was shattered by the White Walker. You'll soon understand how utterly powerless swordsmanship and skills are against such an enemy."

Without hesitation, Jon followed Aegor, curiosity written across his face. Tyrion hesitated for a moment but eventually trailed behind them. Aegor felt a small sense of relief, his real intention wasn't just to show Jon the broken blade, but to find a pretext to get closer to Tyrion and discuss a matter of interest.

Aegor led them to the room Benjen had arranged for them. Inside, the Night's Watchman presented the evidence he had brought back from the Wall to Winterfell, which was meant to be shown to Eddard Stark in a plea for aid. He laid it all out on a small wooden table for his two guests to examine.

"The sword that belonged to Waymar Royce was more severely damaged, so it was left to your father, Lord Benjen, to be passed on to the victim's family—the Earl of Runestone," Aegor explained as he placed several broken swords on the table. "The ones you see here belonged to me and my comrade, Gary."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "The version I heard was that Waymar Royce went missing on patrol and is confirmed dead."

"I saw him fighting the White Walkers with my own eyes," Aegor lied, his expression calm. In truth, he had only heard about it, but the fact remained, Waymar was dead. "Originally, my fellow ranger and I were destined to die as well, but a dragonglass dagger saved our lives. That black shard you see there, I made it myself. If you're curious, you can place the broken swords together and take a closer look. Not many people get to see a steel blade frozen and cracked by ice magic."

Jon, being young and eager, quickly leaned in to inspect the shards. Tyrion, on the other hand, showed little interest in broken weapons. With his hands clasped behind his back, he strolled leisurely around the room. Not spotting any wine jugs or goblets, he returned to Aegor and looked up at him.

"Your name is Aegor? Aegor what?"

Aegor chuckled inwardly, relieved at the chance to keep the conversation going. "That's not my real name. It's just a nickname given to me by some Westerosi farmers. I don't even know what it means." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I don't have a proper surname like most people. Where I come from, names are... a little different."

"I thought you looked a bit different. You're not from Westeros. Where are you from? Essos? The Summer Isles? Surely not Sothoryos?" Tyrion speculated.

"None of those," Aegor replied. "I come from a land your people call Tsena, a continent far west beyond the Sunset Sea. In my language, Tsena means 'Middle-earth.' For thousands of years, we've believed our land is the center of the world, surrounded by nothing but endless ocean and scattered islands."

"Tsena, huh?" Tyrion's initial intent was to indulge his curiosity about the Night's Watchman, but Aegor's unexpected answer piqued his interest. "I've never heard of this place. How did you come to Westeros and end up as a Night's Watchman?"

"That's a long story," Aegor said, sensing that things were progressing smoothly. Tyrion was clearly hooked. Now, Aegor needed to steer the conversation carefully. "Our scholars studied the stars, made calculations, and reached a conclusion: the world is a sphere. They theorized that if a ship sailed far enough in one direction, it would eventually return to the starting point. To prove this, the ruler of Tsena ordered a fleet to undertake long-distance exploration. We built several sturdy steel ships and sent them sailing north, south, east, and west."

"Steel ships? That's impossible," Tyrion interrupted, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

"Does an iron bowl sink when placed in water?" Aegor countered. "A steel ship works on the same principle. What determines whether a ship floats is displacement, not the material it's made from. Tsena's technology is far ahead of Westeros's. I could explain it in detail if you're interested."

"Iron bowls... displacement..." Tyrion muttered, his sharp mind quickly grasping the concept. But soon, another question arose. "Still, how do you build an iron bowl large enough to carry people? Wouldn't it sink the moment there's a leak?"

"We use a technique called welding," Aegor explained. "It melts the joints between steel plates, fusing them into a single piece. I'm not an expert, so I can't give you the finer details, but that's the general idea."

"Fascinating," Tyrion admitted, his mind clearly racing as he visualized the process. "Alright, go on with your story."

"As a known adventurer, I couldn't resist joining such an extraordinary expedition. After donating a considerable amount of money to the project, I secured a cabin on one of the ships and set sail with the fleet heading east. After several months at sea, we finally reached Westeros."

"I haven't heard of any foreign ships landing on the Sunset Sea. Where's your ship now?" Tyrion asked.

"It sank," Aegor admitted with a rueful sigh. "We encountered a storm while searching for a place to land. Although our steel ship was designed to withstand storms, a monstrous wave hurled it onto a reef. As you suspected, steel ships are strong but sink faster than anything once breached. I was lucky to survive, as I happened to be on deck admiring the waves. After drifting for several days, I eventually made it ashore."

"And after that?" Tyrion pressed. "Have the northerners gone mad, arresting every stray foreigner and sending them to the Wall?"

"I was starving when I reached land. The first thing I did was search for food. Unfortunately, I came across a village where no one understood me and refused to help. Left with no choice, I decided to take what I needed. Clearly, theft isn't my strong suit, I was caught almost immediately." Aegor gave a self-mocking laugh. "The magistrate gave me a choice: lose a hand or take the black. So, here I am."

"You mean to say," Tyrion's eyes widened in disbelief, "you're the first man from Tsena to reach Westeros, and you ended up as a conscript of the Night's Watch?"

"That's one way to put it," Aegor said with a shrug.

"This," Tyrion said, his tone laced with incredulity, "is the most absurd story I've heard all year. If I had to choose, I think I'd sooner believe in the existence of White Walkers."

Chapter 19

Aegor was indeed making things up, but his lies weren't entirely baseless. The original Author once mentioned that the world of Westeros is situated on a spherical planet, slightly larger than Earth, with a greater landmass. Aegor had personally verified this after arriving here. Based on the air pressure and gravity he could feel, the planetary environment of this world was strikingly similar to Earth's. If Martin's original setting held true in this reality—namely that "the land area of the world is larger than Earth's"—then it was entirely plausible that there might be land or significant islands in the vast ocean west of Westeros.

Of course, no one would believe him if he claimed to be a transmigrator. Instead, his greatest assets for survival were his knowledge of the plot and understanding of the key players. These two secrets, however, could never be shared. Therefore, the mysterious "Sunset Sea" to the west of Westeros, an expanse unknown to most of its inhabitants, became a perfect fabrication for his supposed homeland.

It's worth noting that Aegor's claim of coming from across the ocean wasn't a spur-of-the-moment invention. It was a story he'd already used when introducing himself to the brothers of the Night's Watch. Its biggest advantage? No one could ever disprove it. And whenever he needed to add more details to his backstory, he could chalk it up to cultural or linguistic differences, leaving plenty of room to improvise.

The idea of being part of a globe-spanning voyage was something Aegor had come up with on the fly during the dinner party. Though improvised, it wasn't entirely random, the inspiration behind it was obvious. The goal of spinning such a tale was also clear: by catering to Tyrion's curiosity and interests, Aegor could make an impression on a core member of House Lannister. If all went well, he could use this as a stepping stone to escape the constraints of the Night's Watch.

For a man like Tyrion, a noble dwarf with great ambitions and a thirst for knowledge about the wider world, how many people could be more intriguing than an alleged explorer from an undiscovered continent? By claiming to have funded his own daring journey, Aegor hoped to present himself as someone of substance rather than a mere commoner in black robes.

After over a year of adapting to this world, Aegor had come to understand one thing: in Westeros, your origins largely determined how others treated you. Slightly elevating his status when interacting with people was always a good strategy. Making subtle comments to imply that he was wealthy and free-spirited, rather than directly claiming noble birth, made the lie more believable.

This disguise not only helped reduce the distance created by social class but also provided a plausible explanation for his appearance and the breadth of his knowledge, which far exceeded that of the average person around him. It was, in essence, a two-for-one solution.

Aegor didn't particularly enjoy lying, boasting, or pretending to be something he wasn't. But for the sake of his survival, he was willing to deceive the world if it meant staying alive.

While Aegor schemed to present himself in the best possible light, the bastard Jon Snow was busy piecing together the broken sword fragments and had already noticed something peculiar.

"This break is strange," Jon muttered as he tried to reassemble the shattered blade. He frowned, struggling to articulate what felt wrong. "If a steel weapon breaks, it shouldn't look like this."

"Exactly," Aegor interjected, finishing the thought Jon was trying to express. "Normally, you'd see some deformation or bending at the break. But here, the fracture occurred precisely where the sword collided with the White Walker's weapon. Under the effects of ice magic, the steel lost its toughness, becoming brittle, more fragile than cast iron. It couldn't withstand the impact and broke cleanly in two."

Jon stared at the two broken swords laid out before him, his expression darkening as he finally grasped the weight of his uncle Benjen's warnings.

"This is absurd!" Tyrion scoffed. He wasn't interested in broken swords or their mysteries, and he certainly didn't care how steel behaved under ice magic. What truly captured his attention was Aegor's supposed origin. While Tyrion wasn't entirely convinced by the tale, something about Aegor's explanation felt genuine enough to him. He couldn't help but voice his outrage: "You claim to hail from a continent unknown to us, which should make you one of the most important visitors to Westeros in a thousand years. And yet, the moment you arrived, a bunch of northerners arrested you and sent you to the Wall? Are you really willing to stay in this frozen wasteland for the rest of your life?"

"Of course I'm not willing," Aegor admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "But what choice do I have?"

"I'll help you leave," Tyrion said without hesitation.

Aegor nearly choked on his own saliva. This was exactly what he wanted, but the offer had come far more quickly and easily than he'd expected. Could it be that he was finally catching a break after all the hardships he'd endured?

"Uh... Thank you for your kindness, my lord, but as far as I know, has there ever been a case in Westeros of someone leaving the Night's Watch and returning to a normal life?"

"Not officially," Tyrion admitted, shrugging. "Once you take the oath, you either serve for life or you're branded a deserter. There's no third option. But I didn't say I'd help you leave the Watch, I said I'd help you leave the Wall."

"What's the difference?"

"Let me tell you a story," Tyrion began. "There was once a nobleman who backed the wrong side in a political struggle. After his faction lost power, he was forced to join the Night's Watch. A few years later, the man he supported reclaimed the throne. That nobleman, now a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, returned to his family's castle under the pretense of collecting supplies for the Watch. He lived out his days in comfort, feasting, enjoying women, and never returning to the Wall until his death."

"What are you talking about?" Jon finally looked up from the shattered sword, catching only part of their conversation. "A Night's Watchman who doesn't guard the Wall? How can someone just ignore their oath like that?"

"It's not as simple as it sounds," Tyrion explained. "If the Lord Commander declares a brother a deserter, every lord and noble on the continent is obligated to hunt him down. But this man wasn't declared a deserter. Officially, he remained a 'collector of supplies' for the Watch. The arrangement was beneficial for both sides."

"I see," Aegor murmured, the pieces clicking into place. He hadn't considered this approach before, but it made perfect sense. "I suppose this nobleman didn't 'collect' supplies through donations, did he?"

"Of course not," Tyrion smirked. "This kind of arrangement requires two things: thick skin and deep pockets. The man provided the Watch with enough resources to feed and supply its soldiers. Compared to that, one man's service at the Wall was insignificant."

Aegor fell silent, stroking his chin in thought. The first requirement—thick skin—was no problem for him. But as for deep pockets? He had nothing. Compared to even the lowliest servant in Winterfell, his financial situation was laughable. How could he afford to "buy" his way out of the Watch?

There was one man in Westeros who could afford such an expense: Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. If Tyrion's father was willing to help, Aegor's problem could be solved in an instant. But this was only their first meeting. How could he possibly make such a request?

"Why haven't I heard this story before?" Jon asked suspiciously. "Besides, the Night's Watch is supposed to be independent of the Seven Kingdoms. Even the king has no authority to interfere in its affairs."

"You haven't heard of it because it's not a Northern tale, and the man in question wasn't anyone significant," Tyrion replied. "As for the king's authority... you're still young. When you grow up, you'll realize that anyone strong enough can interfere in anything they want."

Jon flushed, struggling to find a retort, but the truth in Tyrion's words left him silent.

"I can help you with the first ransom," Tyrion said, turning back to Aegor. "But you'll need to figure out the rest on your own. And I have one condition: you'll need to tell me more about Tsena's advanced technology and customs."

"Thank you, my lord!" Aegor's gratitude was genuine. Though the situation felt almost too good to be true, he had taken the right gamble after all.

"But he's sworn to the Night's Watch!" Jon protested, momentarily forgetting the broken sword on the table. "How can he just leave?"

"So tell me, boy," Tyrion countered with a sharp grin, "does it seem fair that an explorer from the far side of the world, the first Tsenaar to set foot in Westeros, should spend the rest of his life freezing at the Wall because he took a few potatoes to survive a shipwreck?"

Jon sighed, looking conflicted. "Fine. Do what you want. I'll pretend I didn't hear this conversation."

"Thank you, but this isn't about desertion," Tyrion said calmly. "Even if you told your father or the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch about this conversation, they couldn't do anything to me. This isn't some clandestine plot, it's an open secret. When you're older, you'll understand."

Jon looked frustrated at being dismissed as a child but didn't respond. His attention drifted back to the broken swords on the table. After a moment of silence, he straightened his back and declared, "I've decided, I'm joining the Night's Watch."

"Before making life-altering decisions, it's best to calm down and think," Tyrion said, raising an eyebrow at Jon's sudden declaration. "That said, I understand your reasoning. The wildlings are gathering under their King-Beyond-the-Wall, and the White Walkers lurk in the shadows with their ice magic. While everyone else runs from danger, the boldest among us walk straight toward it, seeking fame and glory."

"I'm not doing this for fame and glory!" Jon shot back, his face reddening with emotion. His gaze hardened as he turned to the shattered weapons. "I just want to protect my family and the millions of people in the North from the threats that come from beyond the Wall."

"Touching," Tyrion said with a slight smirk, but his voice carried no sarcasm this time. He turned to Aegor. "It's settled then. I've decided to visit the Wall myself. They call it one of the nine man-made wonders of the world, and I'd be a fool not to see it for myself. By the way, I'll also be able to verify whether this story of yours holds any truth. Perhaps we'll travel together."

Chapter 20

Robert Baratheon was not a good king. Few in the Seven Kingdoms or at court would argue otherwise. Although he had everything a man could want and lived a life of indulgence and excess, Robert was keenly aware of one thing: he neither liked nor trusted the Lannisters. His old Hand of the King and adoptive father were both dead, leaving him uninterested in ruling and focused solely on pleasure. Yet even in his neglect of governance, he understood one fundamental truth: he could not allow the entire realm to fall into the hands of his queen's family.

A kingdom's centers of power needed balance.

And so, Robert thought of his old friend Eddard Stark, whom he had left behind in the North.

However, inviting the Warden of the North to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King was no simple matter.

The society of Westeros functioned under a feudal system that, while familiar in some ways, was unique in others. But there was one glaring problem—

Of the eight great families currently ruling the nine regions of Westeros, none of them, aside from Robert's own, owed their rise to the dynasty that now sat on the Iron Throne.

The rebellion that toppled the Targaryen dynasty and placed Robert on the throne had been branded "The Usurper's War" precisely because of this dynamic. The Baratheons had not so much changed the structure of the monarchy as they had replaced the Targaryens at its pinnacle. The realm itself remained much the same as it had been ever since Aegon the Conqueror first subdued the Seven Kingdoms.

The histories of Westeros made this clear. The Starks of the North, the Lannisters of the West, the Arryns of the Vale, and the Martells of Dorne had been kings in their own right before Aegon's conquest. They were rulers in both name and fact, recognized by their vassals and wielding unquestioned authority over their domains. After Aegon's dragons subdued them, these great houses simply gave up their royal titles, swore fealty to the Iron Throne, and continued to govern their lands largely as they always had.

Meanwhile, the Tullys of the Riverlands, the Tyrells of the Reach, and the Greyjoys of the Iron Islands had been elevated during the conquest. These families had risen from powerful vassals of the defeated kings of their regions to become lords paramount in their own right. They owed their status to their timely submission to Aegon and his dragons.

As for the Baratheons, they had been brought into the ranks of the great houses only because their founder, Orys Baratheon, had been Aegon's loyal general during the conquest. Even Orys had faced significant challenges in securing his rule over the Stormlands. He had to seize Storm's End, marry the daughter of the deposed Storm King, and adopt her family's sigil, words, and traditions to stabilize his position.

Aegon's victories, while decisive, relied heavily on his dragons as weapons of mass destruction. He subdued the Seven Kingdoms but lacked the infrastructure or resources to fully integrate them into a centralized state. He settled for feudal allegiances, allowing the great houses to maintain their autonomy as long as they recognized his sovereignty.

This compromise was born of necessity, not choice. The harsh climate and geography of Westeros, combined with its primitive technology, sparse population, and underdeveloped transportation networks, made centralized governance impossible. Without a strong standing army or reliable communication, royal authority could only stretch so far. The farther a region was from the king's seat of power, the more likely it was to ignore his commands.

This is why the concept of "eradicating the roots" rarely appeared in Westerosi politics. Even if a ruling family was overthrown, the victors still had to appoint local leaders to maintain order. Attempts to replace entrenched nobles with appointed officials often resulted in those officials turning into independent warlords, defying royal authority.

Anyone who sought to break this status quo faced immense resistance, illustrating how "backward productivity constrains political development."

Three hundred years after Aegon's conquest, little had changed. The Targaryens had been replaced by the Baratheons, but the fundamental structure of the realm remained intact. Robert, as the head of the youngest and least established of the great houses, ruled from an unstable foundation. After the rebellion, he neither created new loyalist families nor possessed a weapon as devastating as dragons to consolidate his power. As a result, Robert sat on the Iron Throne but struggled to command the respect or authority needed to rule the Seven Kingdoms effectively.

It was little wonder he turned to drinking and hunting to distract himself.

Robert's predicament was a textbook case of "easier to seize a throne than to hold it." To secure his reign, he married Cersei Lannister, daughter of the wealthiest and most powerful family in the realm, despite his personal dislike of her. He relied on his foster father, Jon Arryn, as Hand of the King, and strengthened alliances with the Stark and Tully families through marriage and friendship. These relationships formed a coalition of five houses—Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Arryn, and Tully—that kept the remaining great houses, the Tyrells, Martells, and Greyjoys, in check.

This lengthy explanation serves one purpose: to clarify that the man sitting on the Iron Throne is king in title only. His actual authority depends entirely on his ability to outmaneuver and overpower the other great houses. When strong, he is the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm. When weak, he is merely another lord among equals and may even become a target for rebellion or invasion.

Robert couldn't simply issue a royal decree to summon Eddard Stark to King's Landing. Eddard was the ruler of the North in all but name, and their relationship was one of brothers-in-arms, not king and vassal. Instead, Robert had to visit Winterfell personally. Not only did he need to persuade Eddard to become his Hand, but he also aimed to propose a marriage alliance between their families. This would ensure that the coalition of the five houses remained intact even after Robert's death, giving the Baratheons a chance at longevity.

Though Robert was an indulgent and flawed ruler, his noble upbringing and grasp of political strategy were not entirely lacking. For this reason, he had come to Winterfell and intended to stay for a while.

Whether it was Gary and Will, low-ranking members of the Night's Watch, or men of higher status like Waymar Royce, Benjen Stark, and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont or even the king, queen, and the Baratheons, Starks, and Lannisters he had met since arriving at Winterfell all were different from how Aegor remembered them from the screen before his arrival in this world. This made it clear to him that he had not stepped into a fictional show, but a living, breathing reality.

Fortunately, the recorded history, plot developments, and character personalities he had encountered so far still aligned closely with the stories he knew. This familiarity was his greatest advantage, allowing him to prepare and adapt his behavior when dealing with key figures.

It's worth noting that the two people who had visited his room tonight were among the most important players in this world. Tyrion Lannister and Jon Snow were unquestionably pivotal characters. Judging by the original story, their development, and the sheer amount of time dedicated to their narratives, they stood at the forefront of the series, surpassing even Daenerys Targaryen in prominence.

As such, Aegor had spent considerable time studying their personalities, growth arcs, and motivations before being transported to this world. His understanding of their characters, shaped by countless analyses, was likely deeper than their own self-awareness.

Jon's decision to join the Night's Watch early, spurred by the evidence of White Walkers, was an unexpected development but ultimately harmless. For now, Jon was still just a boy with limited influence. On the other hand, Tyrion, with his noble lineage and sharp intellect, already wielded considerable power. And now, Aegor had secured the dwarf's promise of help. While it was merely a verbal agreement, Aegor's knowledge of Tyrion's character made him confident enough to place some trust in it.

Still, the situation wasn't so simple. Tyrion, for all his intelligence and status, was not the king nor the true head of House Lannister. His power and resources ultimately depended on his father, Tywin Lannister, who had excluded Tyrion from the family's core political affairs. Even if Tyrion sincerely wanted to help, there was no guarantee of success.

Moreover, according to the original plot, Tyrion himself would soon face obstacles preventing his return to the West or King's Landing.

Before Aegor could fully rely on Tyrion's aid, he would have to carefully plan his next steps.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21
If something must be done, the first step is to figure out what should happen next. How many major events tied to the main storyline were set to unfold during the king's stay in Winterfell?

Searching his memory, Aegor tried to recall the sequence of events.

In the far North, beyond the Wall, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, was rallying the wildlings. They had gathered in the Frostfangs, attempting to use the rugged terrain to hold off the White Walkers. When that strategy failed, they began planning their migration south. Aegor hoped to avoid being involved in that mess. Thousands of miles away, across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen—still a young girl—was being sold to Khal Drogo by her brother Viserys and the magister Illyrio. The preparations for her wedding were already underway, a situation far beyond Aegor's reach.

In Winterfell, Lord and Lady Stark were soon to receive a secret letter from Lysa Arryn, widow of the late Jon Arryn, accusing the Lannisters of murdering her husband. That, too, seemed unrelated to Aegor, who was simply a ranger of the Night's Watch.

Compared to these monumental events, the "accidental fall" of a mischievous young Stark boy while climbing the walls of Winterfell seemed like a trivial episode. Yet, this minor incident was directly tied to Aegor's immediate future. Bran Stark's fall would lead to a cascade of events. Littlefinger would use the incident to spread lies, framing Tyrion Lannister as the one responsible. On his journey back from the Wall, Tyrion would be arrested by Catelyn Stark in public and taken to the Eyrie, where he would barely escape death.

These episodes, which seemed thrilling on page or screen, carried a level of danger in real life that rivaled even the threat of White Walkers. Aegor had no intention of getting swept into that storm. All he wanted was to leave the Wall safely with Tyrion's help.

From a knight in Robert Baratheon's retinue whom he had met during dinner, Aegor learned that the king and his entourage would be staying in Winterfell for half a month. Robert and Eddard, reunited after many years, would spend their time reminiscing and discussing matters of importance. As Benjen Stark was the Lord of Winterfell's brother and an important member of the family, he would need to accompany his brother and the king out of respect and courtesy.

This was excellent news for Aegor. With only two Night's Watch brothers currently in Winterfell, and the senior ranger occupied, no one, not even high-ranking nobles had the authority to interfere with Aegor's daily activities.

This meant Aegor would have half a month to himself, enough time to focus on what mattered.

Initially, he had planned to use this time to scout the terrain, gather intelligence, and plan his escape. But now that he had secured Tyrion's promise of assistance, his priorities shifted. His new goal was to ensure Tyrion's journey south went as smoothly as possible.

The tragedy that hadn't yet happened could still be prevented at its source.

---

As a guest of Winterfell, Aegor enjoyed his time. With no one watching over him or assigning him tasks, he spent his days wandering the castle, chatting with anyone willing to talk, and learning more about the world. At night, he returned to his room to read about the history of Westeros and its great families. Occasionally, he made up elaborate stories to satisfy Tyrion's curiosity about the "technology and culture" of his supposed homeland, Tsena. His days were full and productive.

After several days of observation and investigation, Aegor identified the location where the next key event would likely take place: the First Keep.

Winterfell was indeed constructed by Brandon the Builder, but in its earliest days, it lacked walls. Historical accounts suggested that the Stark family initially relied on fortresses and watchtowers for defense.

The northeast corner of Winterfell still retained two such structures: a ruined tower and the First Keep.

---

The ruined tower, once the tallest structure in Winterfell, had been struck by lightning over a century ago. The subsequent fire caused the tower to collapse inward. By then, Winterfell's outer walls had already been built, and the Stark family had firmly established themselves as the leading house of the North. Thus, the ruined tower was never repaired. Situated beside the high walls, near the old inner courtyard flanked by the mausoleum and guardhouse, the area was secluded and rarely visited. The tower's height and climbable structure made it a plausible site for the infamous incident in which Jaime Lannister pushed Bran Stark after being caught with Cersei.

However, Aegor's investigation revealed that the stairs leading to the upper floors of the ruined tower were completely destroyed, making it inaccessible.

Confused and unable to find another abandoned tower, Aegor turned his attention to the First Keep.

The First Keep was a round, squat fortress adjacent to the ruined tower. Though dilapidated, it remained structurally intact due to its sturdier construction. Upon climbing to its upper levels and looking down, Aegor had an epiphany. He had initially dismissed the First Keep as too short, partly because of its wide, squat design and partly because it was overshadowed by the towering, ruined structure next to it. However, when judged on its own, the First Keep's height, four or five stories was more than sufficient to cause severe injury, if not death, from a fall.

How could he prevent the plot from unfolding without drawing dangerous attention to himself? Standing in the weed-filled courtyard beneath the ruined tower and First Keep, Aegor pondered his options.

Exposing Cersei and Jaime's relationship? Even if Aegor had the courage, he didn't have the means. The story of A Song of Ice and Fire could be summarized in one brutal truth:

"All men die, but the ones who stand out die faster."

Even someone as cunning and manipulative as Littlefinger met a swift end the moment he stepped out of the shadows and into the spotlight. Why would Aegor willingly paint a target on his back by meddling in such a dangerous affair?

Moreover, exposing Cersei and Jaime would jeopardize Tyrion, who was about to help him escape the Wall. If their incestuous relationship were revealed, Robert would undoubtedly erupt in fury at being cuckolded. The Lannisters would face the same fate as the Targaryens, becoming public enemies of the realm. In such a scenario, Tyrion's ability to assist Aegor or even ensure his own survival would vanish entirely.

Targeting Cersei and Jaime was out of the question. But what about Bran? Could Aegor dissuade the boy from climbing the walls?

On paper, this seemed like the simplest solution. But in reality, would a lowly ranger sent to the Wall for theft have the authority to lecture a noble son of House Stark? Even if he managed to speak with Bran, what could he say to change the boy's behavior?

Should he try anyway?

---

Days passed without progress. Aegor grew closer to Tyrion, and Jon at least acknowledged him with a nod when they crossed paths. But aside from these two, Aegor had no success interacting with any of Winterfell's key figures. The stark differences in their social status made it nearly impossible for him to even meet the story's main players, let alone form relationships with them.

This sobering reality reminded Aegor of his place in the world. He was, for now, a minor character.

Still, Aegor was an optimist. After some frustration, he found solace in his current progress. If not for his quick thinking and willingness to engage Tyrion at that fateful dinner, he might not have gotten this far. With his primary goal—escaping the Wall—within reach, he decided not to push his luck by meddling further in the plot.

---

With a clearer mind, Aegor spent another leisurely day enjoying his freedom. He admired the southern maids working in Winterfell and watched the young nobles and servants sparring with blunt swords in the training yard.

After some thought, he devised a new plan: if he couldn't influence the people involved, perhaps he could focus on their surroundings.

If he couldn't stop Bran from climbing or prevent the Lannister twins from their rendezvous, then maybe he could ensure they never crossed paths in the first place.

---

The next day, Aegor resumed his daily training, but instead of using the main training yard, he relocated to the abandoned courtyard beneath the ruined tower and First Keep. He brought along a borrowed scarecrow, a worn archery target, and a chair from his room.

Every day, Aegor practiced his swordsmanship on the scarecrow for an hour, shot arrows for another hour, and then sat down to read for a couple of hours. In this way, he spent half the daylight hours occupying the space beneath the tower, making it an inconvenient spot for any secret rendezvous.

The hope was simple: by preemptively occupying the area, he could deter Cersei and Jaime from using it as their meeting place. As guests in Winterfell, they would be unlikely to confront him directly.

As for the long-term consequences of preventing Bran's fall? Aegor couldn't afford to worry about that right now. His survival and escape from the Wall were his top priorities. Everything else could wait.

Chapter 22

The broken bricks and stones from the abandoned watchtower were scattered across the ground of the old inner courtyard. Winterfell had seen a summer snow not long ago, and while most of it had melted, faint traces of white lingered on the rubble.

The risk of being struck by falling debris was the primary reason the castle's residents rarely ventured into this part of Winterfell. Neglected for years, the courtyard was overgrown with weeds that reached from ankle to knee height, and a few scraggly shrubs struggled to grow amidst the ruins.

Aegor had spent considerable effort clearing the area so he could train there daily. He had painstakingly removed weeds and moved scattered bricks and stones out of the way.

His black Night's Watch cloak served as both an unmistakable badge of identity and a kind of protective charm. The North held the Night's Watch in high regard, and Benjen Stark's act of bringing Aegor to Winterfell for a feast had cemented the image of him as the First Ranger's trusted companion. This made it easier for Aegor to execute his plan. Though the castle servants were curious about why he chose such a desolate corner for practice, none objected, and some even offered assistance.

It wasn't long before Aegor claimed the abandoned yard for himself—a small, neglected piece of Winterfell where he could train in peace.

He had considered sealing off the stairs leading to the First Keep with stones and debris to eliminate the problem at its source. However, as a mere guest, he ultimately lacked the authority to alter the Stark family's castle and reluctantly abandoned the idea.

---

The king's stay in Winterfell was nearing its end. Early this morning, Robert had led a hunting party into the Wolfwood west of Winterfell, hoping to bag a wild boar or bear to serve at the feast marking his last night in the North. The prince accompanied him, as did all the adult men of House Stark, including Robb. However, the queen had remained in Winterfell, and her brother Jaime had opted to stay behind as well, choosing to spend time with her rather than join the hunt.

For the Lannister siblings, this was the perfect opportunity for a private rendezvous.

For Aegor, it was a day of mounting tension. After watching Benjen depart with the hunting party, Aegor rushed to the yard he had claimed. He resolved to remain there until the hunting team returned, ensuring the Lannisters had no opportunity to meet in secret.

Of course, he couldn't just sit idly by, so he began his usual sword training.

---

The sun climbed higher, and the temperature steadily rose. Aegor had already completed a set of cutting drills on the scarecrow and was transitioning to archery practice when an unexpected voice interrupted him.

"If I'm not mistaken," a deep, magnetic male voice spoke from behind, its tone casual yet brimming with energy, "you're the Night's Watchman who crossed the Sunset Sea to Westeros, was caught by the Wall's patrols, and supposedly killed a White Walker?"

Aegor turned, startled. "Your Grace—! Good morning. Yes, that's me..."

Standing before him was Jaime Lannister, with Queen Cersei at his side. While Jaime acknowledged Aegor with a polite nod, Cersei barely spared him a glance, her expression cold and aloof. She clearly had no intention of conversing with someone she considered so far beneath her.

Aegor's mind raced. Jaime and Tyrion were close brothers, so it wasn't surprising that the Kingslayer had heard of Aegor's supposed feats. But why would Jaime go out of his way to speak with him? And why had he brought the queen along? Aegor's heart sank as he pieced it together: They're scouting for a place to meet in secret.

While Aegor held no personal animosity toward Jaime, their positions were now at odds. Seeing the siblings together, he couldn't help but curse them inwardly.

Though he cursed them in his thoughts, Aegor's face betrayed none of it. Instead, he quickly adopted a look of humility and deference. Jaime might be manageable, but Cersei was another matter entirely. Unlike her brothers, she was vindictive, arrogant, and entirely capable of abusing her power. In a world as dangerous as this, one could not afford to offend someone like her, a person who would act without restraint or consequence.

"Your archery isn't bad," Jaime remarked, his eyes scanning the arrows embedded in the straw target. A mischievous grin spread across his face. "Hand me the bow."

---

Back at the Wall, Aegor had once toyed with the idea of crafting dragonglass-tipped arrows from leftover shards after forging obsidian daggers. He'd hoped these "dragonglass arrows" might allow him to kill White Walkers from a distance.

But the plan was far from simple. Arrows, like ammunition in a modern army, were closely monitored by the Night's Watch. Stored in the armory, they were issued only with strict documentation, and any unused arrows had to be returned. Losing even a single arrow outside of wartime came with harsh penalties. Unsurprisingly, soldiers were forbidden from modifying or tampering with them.

When his comrade Gary discovered Aegor tinkering with arrowheads, he had not only reprimanded him but also forbidden him from continuing. The reasoning was simple: if Aegor were caught, he'd face severe punishment. Unlike a dagger, which could be easily concealed, modified arrows were too conspicuous. Reluctantly, Aegor abandoned the project, which was why he'd been forced to rely on a dagger when facing the White Walkers.

Despite this setback, Aegor continued practicing archery. Encounters with White Walkers were rare, but wildlings were a constant threat. As someone who valued his life highly, Aegor naturally preferred long-range combat over the risks of close-quarters fighting. His dedication to archery meant his skills with a bow were far superior to his swordsmanship.

---

While Aegor's skills were better than most Night's Watchmen, they weren't remarkable enough to warrant praise—or interest—from someone like Jaime Lannister, one of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms.

What is this guy playing at?

Suspicious but compliant, Aegor handed over the bow.

Jaime accepted it, testing its weight and flexing the string with practiced ease. He selected an arrow, adjusted his stance, and took aim at the target.

This was the closest Aegor had ever been to the Lannister siblings. Despite himself, he couldn't help but observe them. Jaime was tall and striking, his handsome face exuding an effortless confidence as he focused on the target. Beside him, Cersei's figure was as elegant as it was alluring, her cold beauty undiminished even by the impatient scowl on her face. Though a mother of three, she retained the air of a woman in her prime. In any world whether Westeros or Aegor's own, these two would have been regarded as stunningly attractive, the kind of people whose appearance alone could turn heads.

Their beauty, however, did nothing to excuse their relationship.

---

The first arrow flew with a dull thud, striking the target only a few inches from the center. The arrow's shaft quivered as it came to rest.

Not bad.

From a soldier's perspective, Aegor had to admit Jaime's technique was impeccable. Every movement, from drawing the bow to releasing the string, had been executed with seamless precision. Judging by his composed demeanor, Jaime hadn't even exerted himself fully. His skill and strength were clearly worthy of a Kingsguard.

Jaime, however, seemed dissatisfied. Muttering under his breath, he nocked a second arrow. This one struck dead center, landing right next to the arrow Aegor had shot earlier during his practice.

"Tsk," Jaime clicked his tongue in mock frustration. Without hesitation, he reached for a third arrow.

"How long are you planning to stand here shooting arrows?" Cersei's voice was icy, cutting through the moment. "Surely Casterly Rock's training grounds are big enough, or has the White Sword Tower run out of bows?"

"Heh. My apologies, dear sister," Jaime replied with a shrug, turning to flash her an insincere smile. "One more, I promise."

With that, he loosed the third arrow. This time, it struck the very center of the target, splitting the wooden pole beneath the cloth covering.

"Not bad." Jaime handed the bow back to Aegor with a playful grin. "Keep practicing, Night's Watchman. Knowing there are skilled men like you guarding the realm makes it easier for me to sleep at night."

"It's my duty," Aegor replied stiffly, choosing his words carefully. After a brief pause, he added a polite compliment: "Your Excellency's archery is excellent."

Though Jaime's skill far outstripped his own, Aegor had no interest in evaluating or befriending the Kingslayer. What he wanted was for these two to leave his carefully-occupied yard and find somewhere else for their schemes.

But instead, Jaime's gaze drifted toward the ruined tower.

"What's wrong with that tower?" he asked, his tone casual but curious. "Why does it look so dilapidated and neglected?"

Chapter 23

"That used to be a watchtower in Winterfell. I heard it was struck by lightning and burned down over a hundred years ago. After that, it was abandoned." Aegor's heart skipped a beat, but he quickly steadied himself and replied honestly. He didn't dare to fabricate anything that anyone in Winterfell could easily confirm. "I went inside once. It's filthy, chaotic, and the staircase has completely collapsed."

"It deserves to be abandoned. Winterfell doesn't need a watchtower," Cersei said, casting a scornful glance in the direction of the ruined tower, a faint sneer playing on her lips. "Who in their right mind would lead an army to attack and capture such a cold, miserable castle?"

"Don't say that. For some wolves, no amount of gold or silver can compare to their own den," Jaime shrugged and laughed. "But honestly, what's the point of that fortress?"

Aegor pretended not to catch the Lannister siblings' thinly veiled disdain for the Starks and reluctantly introduced the First Keep to Jaime. After hearing him out, Jaime nodded without much reaction and casually asked, "Brother of the Night's Watch, why are you training here? Isn't the Winterfell training ground just nearby?"

"I… prefer to be alone," Aegor stammered, unsure of how to explain. Feeling awkward, he hurriedly added, "It's too noisy there. It affects my concentration."

"Is that so? Then I hope the wildlings you meet in the future are gentlemen and ladies who also prefer peace and quiet," Jaime said, his lips curling into a mocking smile. It was clear he didn't believe Aegor's reasoning. "Dearest sister, shall we go in and take a look?"

"Here?" Cersei frowned, glancing up at the crumbling old tower.

---

What's going on?

Why can't I change the course of events even though I'm here?

Are these two really so bold as to completely ignore my presence and carry out their schemes here?

Aegor felt like an invisible hand was tightening around his throat, leaving him breathless. "My lord… it's filthy and abandoned inside. There's nothing but rats and spiders."

"I don't expect to find anything of value. I'm just curious," Jaime replied with an easy confidence, turning to glance at his sister. "Sister, if you aren't afraid of mice and spiders, why not join me for a look? Who knows? We might find some hidden Stark family heirloom tucked away in a corner."

Cersei and Jaime exchanged a glance. Though Cersei hesitated outwardly, deep down, she was intrigued. The idea of sneaking into an old, dilapidated tower with her beloved brother had a certain allure.

"You're not young anymore, and you still want to play adventurer?" She frowned, feigning disapproval. "Fine, do as you wish. Just don't do anything reckless."

"That's called staying young at heart. A queen who frowns all day will only age faster. Come along." Jaime began walking toward the First Keep. Before he left, he gave Aegor a light pat on the shoulder. "Brother of the Night's Watch, keep practicing. Her Majesty and I will just take a quick look. We'll try not to disturb you."

What else could Aegor do? Jaime hadn't asked for permission; he had merely informed him. The bond between the Lannister siblings was well-known—close to the point of infamy. It wasn't Aegor's place, as a mere Night's Watch recruit, to intervene. If he didn't know the plot, who could have guessed what the two of them might do once they entered the First Keep?

All he could do was nod reluctantly and watch the siblings disappear into the tower.

---

What should I do?

Aegor was at a loss. It had been a long time since he felt so insignificant, so utterly powerless.

Confronting them head-on was out of the question. Following them inside to interrupt their "exploration" might only make things worse. Jaime's words about continuing his training echoed in his mind, and Aegor could only imagine how things might play out if he tried to insist on tagging along. If he got thrown from the tower instead of Bran, that would be a truly pathetic way to go.

And then there was the bigger picture—his future at the Wall. He needed Tyrion's help to leave, but offending the two most powerful Lannisters would doom that plan. Who knew what fate might await him if he alienated them now?

Countless ideas swirled through his mind, but one by one, he dismissed them. Finally, he decided to do what Jaime had suggested, stay and keep practicing.

At least this way, he could keep watch for the couple while also ensuring that no curious child showed up to climb the tower.

It wasn't possible to stop the queen and a Kingsguard from "visiting" the First Keep, but he could certainly stop a young boy from getting involved. Even if Eddard Stark and his wife found out, surely they wouldn't blame him for that.

The plan wasn't completely derailed yet. Gritting his teeth, Aegor walked over to retrieve his arrows. He pulled them from the target, placed them back in his quiver, and returned to continue practicing.

…

Aegor fired arrow after arrow, each shot releasing a bit of his pent-up frustration. Surprisingly, his focus improved under the pressure, and more than half of his shots hit the target's vital area. His accuracy was far better than usual.

Before long, his quiver was empty. Drawing a bow repeatedly was exhausting, and Aegor's arms throbbed with fatigue. Shaking out the soreness, he wandered to a nearby chair, intending to sit down and read for a bit.

"You shoot really well."

The sudden voice startled him so badly that he nearly jumped out of his skin. Spinning around, Aegor looked up—and there he was.

Bran Stark, the second son of Eddard Stark, stood before him. The boy had chestnut hair, blue eyes, and a youthful face that seemed to glow with vitality. Despite his young age, Bran already had the kind of charm that made him the darling of Winterfell's womenfolk.

At this moment, the boy, adored by everyone in Winterfell, was perched on the wall of the old inner courtyard, swinging his legs as he looked down at the Night's Watch recruit. "No matter how much I practice, I can't get any better. Even Arya can shoot straighter than me."

When had this damn kid climbed up there?

Aegor had no enemies in this world, and there were no White Walkers suddenly roaming Winterfell. He had been so focused on the entrance while practicing in the courtyard that he hadn't thought to keep an eye on the rooftops. Under the cover of the constant wind sweeping through the towers and buildings, Bran must have snuck up without a sound.

Aegor's heart sank as realization dawned. He had made a grave error.

He had occupied the training yard by the only entrance leading from the old inner courtyard to the Godswood, assuming Bran would have to pass by him if the boy tried to climb the ruined tower or head toward the First Keep. His plan had been simple: intercept Bran, stop him using the advantage of being an adult, or at least shout loud enough to alert the Lannister siblings hiding in the tower. Either way, he'd have things under control.

But Winterfell wasn't just any castle. It was a sprawling, ancient fortress that had grown organically over generations. Fathers built towers; sons added walls; grandsons constructed extensions. The result was a labyrinth of buildings, courtyards, and passageways, twisting together like the branches and roots of an enormous stone tree. For a nimble climber like Bran, the interlocking rooftops and walls were an endless playground, providing routes that bypassed the ground entirely.

Bran hadn't used the entrance to the courtyard at all. He had scaled the wall from somewhere else.

A strong sense of foreboding gripped Aegor. He stared up at the boy, forcing his voice to remain calm. "You'll get better as you grow up, Bran. Once your arms are stronger, you'll be able to shoot more accurately. But what are you doing up there?"

"Just playing. I haven't climbed the walls in a long time," Bran replied, smiling down at him. "I'm leaving for King's Landing with Father tomorrow, and I might not be back for years. This could be my last chance to climb."

Aegor glanced at the height of the wall, at least three meters. If Bran fell, there was no way he could catch him in time. Suppressing his growing panic, he tried to reason with the boy.

"It's dangerous up there. Come down, and I'll teach you archery instead."

"No need. I'll have plenty of time to learn in King's Landing," Bran said, still swinging his legs. "I heard the targets there are more than ten times the size of the ones at Winterfell. It'll be impossible to miss!"

"That's ridiculous. You can't become a sharpshooter by aiming at something that big," Aegor shot back, swallowing nervously. Then he noticed something even more alarming. "Why are you barefoot?"

"It's easier to climb barefoot. You don't make any noise when you're walking over the guardhouse roof without shoes," Bran said, clearly pleased with himself. He stood up on the narrow wall, balancing with his arms outstretched, while Aegor instinctively reached out as though he could catch him.

Bran began walking along the top of the wall toward the guardhouse. "I'm heading to the top of the ruined tower to feed the crows. You keep practicing."

Feed the crows? Are you kidding me? Aegor's anger flared. His concern for Bran overrode any deference he might have shown to the boy's rank. Forgetting their difference in status, he chased after him along the wall, shouting, "Bran, get down right now! It's too dangerous up there. If you don't take care of yourself, have you thought about how upset your parents will be?"

"I've never fallen," Bran replied without turning around. "Father says it's fine for me to climb. You'd never understand how beautiful it is up here unless you see it for yourself. Robb might inherit Winterfell, but I'm the only one who's seen all the rooftops within the walls and the hills beyond."

"Risking your life for a view—what's the point of that?"

"You're boring in black, you know that?" Bran said dismissively, snorting as he picked up his pace. "I can't explain it to you. I'm leaving now."

Without looking back, Bran jogged along the top of the wall toward the guardhouse, his obvious enjoyment of the danger only making Aegor more anxious.

Abandoning his bow and arrows, Aegor ran out of the courtyard and circled around to the guardhouse. Just as he reached the area, two guards emerged fully armed. Seizing the opportunity, Aegor hurried toward them like a man grasping at a lifeline.

"Your young lord is running across the roof! Why aren't you doing anything about it?" he demanded.

The guards exchanged startled glances and then looked up. Sure enough, they spotted Bran scampering barefoot toward the First Keep.

"Don't worry about it," one of the guards said with a shake of his head.

"Lady Stark told us to chase him down whenever we saw him climbing," the second guard explained with a sigh. "But the more we shout or chase him, the faster he runs. He thinks it's a game."

"We can't catch him anyway," the first guard added with a shrug. "It's terrifying watching him up there, but it's happened so many times now that Jory told us not to bother anymore. I think the orders came from the lord himself."

"So, brother of the Night's Watch," the second guard said with a chuckle, "life at the Wall must be hard enough. Relax and don't trouble yourself with our young master."

The guards walked away, leaving Aegor standing there, helpless.

He watched as Bran ran along the rooftops, leaping lightly to the First Keep, his small figure quickly disappearing behind the guardhouse.

Aegor clenched his fists and stamped his foot in frustration before hurrying back to the passageway leading to the old inner courtyard. His plan had gone completely off the rails, but as long as he could find a way to warn the Lannister siblings in time, there was still hope to salvage the situation.

Chapter 24

"After all this searching, this is the 'good place' you found?"

"My dear sister, we've walked through every corner of Winterfell. This is the only spot without prying eyes."

"But there's someone downstairs! He saw us, and you even spoke to him! Are you sure he's really going to stay down there and not come snooping around?"

"Don't be afraid. If he dares to come up here, I'll break his neck." Jaime pulled Cersei closer, grinning mischievously. "Besides, isn't it thrilling to have a Night's Watchman keeping 'watch' over our good deeds?"

"This place is filthy!"

"Take off your leather cloak, spread it on the ground… Come now, stop fussing."

"Let me go, you fool!"

Cersei struggled in Jaime's grasp, but she couldn't escape. He held her firmly, as effortlessly as if she were a child.

"You keep acting like this, and one day, you'll bring about your own end!"

"Maybe," Jaime said casually, still smirking. "My dear sister is so charming, after all. But we're all going to die someday, so why not enjoy life while we can?"

"Spare me your nonsense!"

"Alright, enough talking. Since you're so worried about the man in black downstairs, let's have a look at him."

"What are you doing?" Cersei was shocked as Jaime nudged her toward the window. "You're insane!"

"Relax. He can't see us."

The two made their way to the small, dusty window. From the old inner courtyard below, they could see the Night's Watchman practicing his archery, focused on shooting arrows at the target. He didn't look up once, nor did he show any intention of entering the First Keep.

The window was narrow, built for defense rather than visibility. Even if Aegor were to glance up, he'd only see the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms looking down at him, with Jaime Lannister standing behind her. Their bodies, hidden below the neck by the windowsill, betrayed no hint of what they might be doing.

---

"Feel better now?"

"You're such a bastard." Cersei's voice was sharp, but there was an undeniable glint of excitement in her eyes. Even so, she hadn't come here today solely for this dangerous game with her brother. "Stop thinking about these things all the time. Let me ask you, do you know if Stark agreed to Robert's offer?"

"Do I need to ask?" Jaime replied with a smirk, his movements undeterred. "Knowing our king, if Stark had refused, do you think Robert would still be here, hunting merrily in the woods after more than ten days? Of course Stark agreed. Soon enough, we'll have a pure Northerner sitting on the Small Council."

"I don't like this," Cersei muttered, her face clouded with irritation. "You should be the Hand of the King."

"Spare me," Jaime said with a dry laugh. "I don't want that miserable job. There are far more enjoyable things I'd rather be doing."

"Can't you see the danger in this?" Cersei snapped, shoving Jaime's chest in frustration. She barely budged him. "Robert treats Stark like a brother!"

"Like a brother? If I recall, Robert doesn't even treat his real brothers well." Jaime's lips curled into a mocking smile. "But then, who could blame him? A brother like Stannis would sour anyone's mood."

"Don't be an idiot. Stannis and Renly are one thing. Eddard Stark is another. Robert listens to him, does whatever he says! Those two are insufferable. If I'd known this would happen, I would've insisted Robert name you Hand instead. I honestly thought Stark would refuse."

"Why do you hate Stark so much?" Jaime asked, casually unbuttoning his cloak. For convenience, he hadn't worn his Kingsguard armor today. "I don't like wolves either, but I'll take this over the alternatives. God knows who Robert might have chosen if Stark refused—Stannis, Littlefinger? I'd much rather deal with a man bound by honor than an ambitious snake with no limits."

"We need to keep a close eye on him," Cersei said firmly.

"You go ahead," Jaime replied, clearly uninterested. "I'd much rather keep my eyes on you."

"Be serious!"

Their exchange was interrupted by a sudden noise outside the window.

"What's that?" Cersei pushed Jaime away and leaned closer to the window, her expression alert.

"What now?" Jaime asked irritably, joining her.

Below, in the old inner courtyard, the Night's Watchman was still there. But now, a child was sitting on the wall beside him. Judging by the boy's Stark features, he had to be one of Eddard's sons, though Jaime couldn't remember his name.

The Night's Watchman seemed to be shouting at the boy, gesturing for him to climb down. However, the boy ignored him. Instead, he stood up, stretched his arms out, and began walking along the narrow wall like a tightrope. After a moment, the Watchman gave up shouting and left the yard, likely circling around to try to reach the boy from another angle.

"They're gone. Feel better now?" Jaime asked, turning back to Cersei.

"Feel better?" Cersei's voice was tense. She pulled away from the window, her expression dark. "How can I feel better? Eddard Stark has never involved himself in southern affairs before. Mark my words, he's coming for us. Why else would he leave the North, his base of power?"

"You're overthinking this. You feel guilty, so now you're imagining threats where there are none." Jaime's tone was light, almost dismissive. "There are countless reasons why Stark might leave the North—duty, honor, his love for Robert. Maybe he wants to go down in history as a great Hand of the King. Maybe he had a spat with his wife. Or maybe he just wants to escape the cold for a while and enjoy some southern sunshine."

"His wife is Lysa Arryn's sister," Cersei countered. "It's lucky that woman didn't come here with her accusations."

"You're giving her too much credit. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow."

Cersei glared at him. "That cow slept with Jon Arryn."

"And a cow is still a cow, no matter who she sleeps with," Jaime retorted with disdain. "If she really had something to say, she would've run to Robert before fleeing King's Landing."

"You think she's stupid? The only reason she didn't is because Robert agreed to send her son to Casterly Rock as a ward. She knows her boy is a hostage. But now that she's back in the Eyrie, she'll feel emboldened."

"All mothers are the same. Having children burns their brains. You're all crazy." Jaime's lips twisted into a bitter smile, as though cursing the very concept of motherhood. "No matter what she knows or thinks she knows, she doesn't have any real proof. Does she?"

"Tell me, Jaime—what proof do you think Robert would need? He doesn't love me at all!"

"Sister, whose fault is that?"

"You're as blind as Robert!"

"If by blind, you mean I agree with him, then yes." Jaime's tone grew cold. "In my eyes, Eddard Stark is a man who would rather die than betray the king."

"He's already betrayed one king," Cersei snapped. "Or have you forgotten? I don't deny his loyalty to Robert, but what happens if Robert dies and Joffrey takes the throne? The sooner Robert dies, the safer we'll be. My husband grows more erratic every day, and having Stark by his side only makes things worse. He's still in love with that dead sixteen-year-old sister of his. Who's to say he won't cast me aside for some new Lyanna?"

"Stop worrying about the future and enjoy the moment in front of you," Jaime said smoothly, pulling her close again.

"Don't talk to me like that!"

The room fell silent, broken only by the faint sound of shouting from the courtyard below.

"My dear sister, I'm tired of this conversation." Jaime's voice grew husky as he pressed Cersei against the wall.

"Damn it, the walls are cold—"

"Jaime, stop! Go see what's happening out there!" Cersei pushed him away in a panic, her nerves suddenly on edge.

"Gods damn it," Jaime muttered, stalking to the window. If the Night's Watchman was causing trouble, Jaime vowed he'd deal with him later.

But what he saw made his blood run cold.

Below, the man in black was waving frantically, shouting, "Come down quickly, it's too dangerous!"

Jaime's confusion turned to alarm as he realized the words weren't directed at him. Following the Watchman's gaze, Jaime spotted the boy, climbing the outer wall of the First Keep, swinging precariously from one gargoyle to the next.

"Get down now!" Jaime shouted.

The boy turned, startled by Jaime's sudden appearance in the window. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Then the boy lost his balance and his hands failed to grasp anything. With a terrified scream, he plummeted from the wall of the First Keep.

"Gods—"

Jaime's mouth hung open as he stared, frozen in place. He had not expected things to escalate so quickly, nor had he intended for the boy to fall. For a split second, he considered reaching out to grab him, but it was far too late.

The child's small, fragile form crashed to the ground below. Jaime stood at the window, still as stone, his expression blank.

In that moment, the boy's name surfaced in his mind.

Chapter 25

"What happened?" Cersei's voice was sharp, her wide eyes betraying her panic as she heard the boy's scream.

"He fell," Jaime said abruptly, turning from the window. He grabbed his windbreaker and hastily threw it on. "Hurry, we need to get down there."

"Who fell?"

"Bran Stark—Eddard's second son!"

"Damn it," Cersei hissed, her face pale. "Did he see us?"

"No, but we can't take any chances. Move! I'll get to the Night's Watchman first."

---

Half a minute earlier, when Aegor had separated from two passing guards and returned to the old inner courtyard, Bran was already climbing. The boy had made his way from the roof of the guardhouse to the outer wall of the First Keep and was shimmying horizontally toward the ruined tower along his usual "route."

Aegor knew he couldn't stop Bran directly, so he resorted to shouting loudly. He didn't expect Bran to obey but hoped his voice would alert the pair in the First Keep to respond in time.

The first part of his plan worked, Jaime had indeed appeared at the window. But things took an unexpected and disastrous turn. Aegor, standing in the courtyard below, saw it clearly: Jaime hadn't pushed Bran. Instead, the sudden appearance of the Kingslayer at the window startled the boy, and in his panic, Bran lost his grip and fell.

The dull thud of Bran's body hitting the ground echoed in the courtyard. The boy now lay sprawled on the dirt, his eyes closed, completely still. A scattering of bright yellow corn kernels from his pocket, the feed he had intended to bring to the crows in the ruined tower lay around him, starkly contrasting with the lifeless form of the boy.

Aegor stared at Bran's small, motionless body, his thoughts a chaotic mess. His first instinct was to shout for help, but the Lannister siblings were still in the First Keep. If their affair was exposed during the rescue, Aegor's carefully laid plans to leave the Wall would collapse.

Even worse, he now found himself entangled in the incident. Aegor had been shouting at Bran moments before the fall. Would he be blamed for distracting the boy, or would the fault lie with Jaime for scaring him?

The situation spiraled further in his mind. A Night's Watchman being held responsible for the fall of Bran Stark, the nephew of the First Ranger and the son of Lord Eddard Stark, how could Aegor hope to escape such a scandal unscathed? The consequences would be disastrous.

Aegor shuddered at the thought.

---

Footsteps broke through his haze of panic. Jaime emerged from the entrance of the First Keep at a dead sprint, reaching Bran's side in seconds. He knelt beside the boy, checking his breathing and heartbeat. After a tense moment, Jaime stood, his expression no longer casual and cocky. His eyes now gleamed with something cold and dangerous.

The Kingslayer turned on Aegor, grabbing him by the collar. If not for the height difference, Jaime might have lifted him off the ground entirely. His voice trembled with urgency. "Tyrion said you were the smartest soldier he's ever met. So listen carefully, you saw him fall on his own. Understand? That's what happened. That's the truth—for both your sake and mine. Got it?"

Aegor, though startled, quickly pieced it together. Jaime's meaning was clear: there were no witnesses to the event other than the two of them. If they agreed that Bran had fallen on his own, they wouldn't need to worry about who was truly at fault—at least, not until Bran woke up.

But Aegor wasn't about to shoulder the blame alone. He met Jaime's gaze and replied evenly, "I understand… Yes, he fell on his own. But let's be honest—who's going to believe the word of a lowly Night's Watchman like me?"

Jaime's eyes narrowed. He hesitated for a moment, then relented with a begrudging nod. "Fine. I'll testify for you. But you keep me—and her—out of this. Understood?"

"Of course. Her Majesty has nothing to do with this."

Jaime's lips tightened, but he seemed satisfied. On an ordinary day, Jaime Lannister wouldn't have spared Aegor a second glance. But today was different. Circumstance had forced them into an uneasy partnership, first Jaime's ill-fated encounter with Aegor while scouting for privacy, and now their shared involvement in Bran Stark's fall.

After a brief but tense exchange to align their testimonies, Jaime straightened and stepped away. Moments later, Cersei appeared, emerging from the First Keep with an anxious expression. Aegor nodded silently and left the courtyard to call for help.

---

Winterfell descended into chaos, the likes of which hadn't been seen since Robert's Rebellion.

Guards scrambled to carry Bran's unconscious body to the main castle on a stretcher. Lady Stark and Maester Luwin were summoned immediately, along with a physician who had accompanied the king's party from King's Landing. Every person in Winterfell with even a semblance of medical knowledge was enlisted in the effort to save the boy.

The rescue efforts continued uninterrupted until the king's hunting party returned that evening.

---

That night, Bran's direwolf howled outside the window of his room. The mournful cries echoed across Winterfell, as though the wolf were calling for its fallen master.

Aegor lay awake in his room, tossing and turning.

Bran's penchant for climbing walls was well known to everyone in Winterfell. Nearly every resident of the castle had worried about the boy's recklessness at some point. To them, this fall was a tragic but foreseeable accident, a direct consequence of his climbing obsession.

For Aegor, though, it was a nightmare.

No one immediately suspected him of wrongdoing. He was just the Night's Watchman who had stumbled upon the scene. It wasn't until Eddard Stark returned to Winterfell that the Lord of the North summoned Aegor to ask for details.

Aegor stuck to the agreed story, recounting how Bran had fallen on his own. Fortunately, the two guards who had seen Aegor earlier, as well as Jaime Lannister, corroborated his version of events. Lord Stark, after a long moment of contemplation, dismissed Aegor with a wave, his brow furrowed in thought.

While it seemed that Aegor had avoided suspicion, the incident left him deeply shaken.

---

Bran's fall had shaken more than just Winterfell, it had shaken Aegor's entire worldview.

He prided himself on his materialist perspective, believing that everything, no matter how strange or magical could ultimately be explained through science and logic. Whether it was the White Walkers' sorcery or the Lord of Light's miracles, Aegor assumed there were underlying systems of rules governing these phenomena. With enough time and knowledge, he believed he could understand and perhaps even harness these forces.

But despite all his efforts to interfere with the timeline, Bran had fallen at the same time, in the same place, and under nearly the same circumstances as in the original story. Was it coincidence, or was there some unseen force compelling events to align with the original narrative?

Aegor forced himself to stop dwelling on such existential questions. He had more immediate problems.

Though he had escaped suspicion for now, he remained deeply entangled in the plot. If the timeline continued as he remembered, an assassin would soon attempt to kill Bran in his bed. When that happened, the Stark family would undoubtedly revisit the circumstances of Bran's fall.

And when they did, Aegor—the Night's Watchman who had been training in the secluded old courtyard and was the first to discover Bran's accident would certainly come under scrutiny. By that time, Aegor might already be far from the Wall, traveling south with Tyrion. But even if Tyrion had no connection to Bran's fall or the assassination attempt, his Lannister name would cast a long shadow.

If the Starks decided that Aegor was a Lannister collaborator, his fate would be sealed. The North's reach extended far, and it would be a simple matter for Eddard Stark to demand that the Night's Watch recall Aegor or even declare him a deserter.

On the other side, the Lannisters posed an equal, if not greater, threat. Cersei's vindictiveness was well known. A Night's Watchman who might have discovered her secret and refused to take the blame for Bran's fall was a liability she wouldn't hesitate to eliminate.

Aegor was caught between two powerful forces, neither of which he could afford to antagonize.

He clenched his fists in frustration.

"I wanted to stay detached from this mess, and the first time I interfered, everything went wrong," he thought bitterly. "If I'd known this would happen, I would've stayed far away."

But self-pity wouldn't solve his problems.

Now that things had come to this, Aegor knew he needed a plan. He had to find a way to escape the web of suspicion tightening around him. But what could he do to break free from this precarious situation?

Chapter Text

Chapter 26
It was easy to assume things would go as planned. Aegor had learned this the hard way, making the same mistake over and over since arriving in this world.

Whether it was his initial encounter with the White Walkers, where he underestimated their numbers and nearly lost his life or his attempt to interfere with a critical plot point only to fail and land himself in trouble, the root cause was the same: misplaced confidence in his assumptions. He had believed that Jaime and Cersei wouldn't dare meet in the First Keep while he was in the old inner courtyard. He had assumed Bran would stop climbing before reaching the danger zone. Both assumptions had been proven disastrously wrong, culminating in a tragedy that seemed unavoidable.

After spending most of the night racking his brain, Aegor was no closer to a solution. He had failed to devise a plan to escape the growing danger or to resolve the predicament he found himself in. Exhausted both mentally and physically, he eventually forced himself to close his eyes and, without realizing it, drifted into a restless sleep.

---

Sleep, as always, brought some clarity. When the first rays of morning light filtered through the small lattice window of his room, Aegor opened his eyes. For a full minute, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind blank. Then, suddenly, a bold idea struck him.

If there was no way to stay out of the plot, why not dive into it?

---

The previous night, Aegor had spent hours agonizing over two conflicting goals: saving Bran from the assassination attempt or distancing himself from the event altogether if it happened. Neither effort had yielded a solution. And the reason was simple: Aegor had unknowingly imposed a severe limitation on himself, he was trying to avoid personal involvement at all costs.

Who had ordered the assassin armed with a Valyrian steel dagger to kill Bran? The original author had left this question deliberately vague, and even the screen adaptation provided no clear answer. Before Aegor's arrival in this world, fans had debated endlessly in online forums, pointing fingers at various suspects. Some believed it was Cersei, seeking to silence a potential witness. Others thought Joffrey acted out of spite after being humiliated by Tyrion. Some even argued it was Littlefinger, sowing chaos to serve his ambitions. Each theory had its own supporting evidence, leaving no definitive answer.

How could Aegor hope to prevent an assassination when he didn't even know who the assassin was, who sent them, or when they would strike?

Stopping the assassination quietly seemed nearly impossible. And as for distancing himself afterward? That was equally futile. Everyone knew he had been training in the old inner courtyard, and it was common knowledge that he had been the first to discover Bran's fall. Whether or not he was directly responsible, Aegor was undeniably connected to the incident.

With so many obstacles in his path, trying to tiptoe around the issue and hope it resolved itself was wishful thinking.

In that case, why not face it head-on?

---

Though Aegor preferred to avoid trouble, he wasn't one to back down once trouble found him. If he couldn't clear his name or stop the assassination alone, then he would abandon his self-imposed restrictions and force a resolution.

What if he took the simplest, most direct approach? What if he told the Stark family that Bran's life was in danger?

Initially, Aegor considered leaving an anonymous note, but the risk of being implicated remained. If the assassination occurred, suspicion would still fall on him. The safest course of action was to position himself as an innocent messenger, someone who brought the warning to the Starks.

He would deliver the news personally.

---

Choosing the right person to inform was critical. Aegor first thought of Jon Snow, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Jon, though well-meaning, was too young and lacked the authority to act decisively. That left only one Stark family member whom Aegor knew personally and had access to: Benjen Stark, his superior and the Chief Ranger of the Night's Watch.

As for who to accuse, Aegor settled on Joffrey. Among the potential suspects, the prince's name was the most plausible and least likely to backfire on him. Joffrey had been suspected by Tyrion in the original story, and his Baratheon name made him a natural lightning rod for the Stark family's wrath.

Eddard Stark would never act recklessly against the son of his oldest friend, King Robert. Even if he were furious, his response would be calculated. And if Eddard focused on Joffrey, Tyrion would be left out of the fray, allowing Aegor to leave the Wall without additional complications.

If some mysterious force was indeed steering the events of this world to follow their original course, Aegor was ready to challenge it. This time, he would intervene directly and see how far fate or whatever force governed this world would go to resist him.

---

Bran's fall had delayed the king's plans to return to King's Landing. Robert had intended to take Eddard south to serve as Hand of the King, but with Bran's life hanging by a thread, he chose to remain in Winterfell to support his friend.

Aegor waited patiently, biding his time for a full day before seeking out Benjen Stark.

When Aegor finally entered his superior's chamber, Benjen looked tired and preoccupied. The delay in reinforcements for the Wall and the accident involving his nephew had clearly taken their toll.

"Is something wrong?" Benjen asked, his voice weary.

"Sir, there's something I don't know if I should tell you..."

"If you've stepped through that door, you've already decided. Speak quickly."

"This matter involves someone important," Aegor said cautiously. "I'll need your assurance that my safety will be guaranteed."

Benjen frowned, eyeing Aegor with suspicion. After a moment, he nodded impatiently. "I'll ensure your safety. Now speak."

"It's about your nephew, Bran," Aegor began, carefully choosing his words. "On the day of his fall, I was practicing archery not far from the First Keep. Ser Jaime and I were competing. I didn't think much of it at the time, but this morning, I overheard something concerning."

"Go on."

"I overheard Prince Joffrey speaking with an armored knight I didn't recognize," Aegor continued, feigning unease. "The knight said Bran would never walk again and that it might be kinder to end his suffering."

Benjen's frown deepened. While the sentiment was harsh, it wasn't unheard of in this world, where the lives of the disabled were often filled with hardship. Still, voicing such an idea aloud was a grave insult to the Stark family.

"The prince agreed," Aegor added, his tone grave. "But it didn't end there. Joffrey then said he planned to show Bran 'mercy.' His exact words were, 'Learn from the people of Braavos and grant the Stark boy deliverance.'"

Benjen stiffened. "And?"

"The prince then displayed a dagger," Aegor said. "I didn't see it clearly, but I heard him describe it. He said it was Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone handle, and that it was 'worthy of a Stark.'"

Benjen's expression turned grim. "And after that?"

"They walked away, so I couldn't hear the rest," Aegor said, lowering his voice. "But I'm certain I heard the prince instruct the knight to hire a sellsword to do the deed."

After a long silence, Benjen stared hard at Aegor. "Do you understand the weight of what you're saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"To accuse the future king of treason without proof is to risk your life for nothing."

"I know, sir. That's why I came to you first. Even if it's just a precaution, posting an extra guard outside Bran's room would do no harm."

Benjen was silent, deep in thought. After a moment, he said, "Go back to your quarters. And remember, tell no one else about this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Aegor replied, bowing and leaving the room.

Chapter 27
Aegor quietly returned to his room under the cover of darkness, his heart unable to settle.

This was a colossal gamble, a desperate attempt to rectify his blunder in trying to prevent Bran from falling and to mitigate the troubles he might face when leaving the Wall in the future. It felt like one lie was being patched with another, and while it might hold for now, the risks down the line were no less terrifying than facing the White Walkers. If the truth came to light, as a lowly soldier who had dared to slander a prince, he would undoubtedly face the executioner's blade.

Just as Littlefinger had falsely implicated Tyrion by claiming the dagger used to attack Bran was his, Aegor was now betting that the Starks would react with level-headedness rather than unleashing a storm of fury upon discovering the situation. However, unlike Petyr Baelish, who thrived in chaos to secure power, Aegor's lies were born of necessity. He needed to stabilize the situation long enough to slip away from the Wall, survive, and slowly find a way to shed his Night's Watch identity.

His deep familiarity with the story and its characters gave him confidence, a sense that the odds were in his favor. But no matter how sure he felt, the fact remained that he was risking his life. Now that he had done all he could, whether he lived or died depended entirely on the decisions of those in power.

If he could choose his fate, he would never again want to gamble with his life just to secure his survival.

---
Bran remained unconscious, just as in the original events. His family grieved deeply, but for the other residents of Winterfell, especially the hundreds of guests from King's Landing—life had to carry on. Aegor waited for a quiet moment, then returned the scarecrow and other training equipment from the old inner courtyard to the storage room. In the days that followed, he kept to his quarters, preparing for the day of departure.

Four days later, a servant brought word from Benjen Stark: they would set out the next morning, departing alongside the king and the newly appointed Hand of the King, returning to the Wall.

The morning came with a light dusting of snow in the air. Reluctantly, Aegor left his small room in the guest house. The warmth and soft bed had made it feel like a haven compared to the freezing misery of the Wall. After a quick breakfast, he made his way to the parade ground to wait.

The king was likely still in bed, and neither the Lord of Winterfell nor the First Ranger had arrived. For now, it was only the younger generation and lower-ranking attendants gathering early to prepare for the departure.

It had been five days since Bran's fall, and no one had summoned Aegor for questioning or to confront anyone. This absence of scrutiny was a relief. What reassured him even more was that his intervention had worked: the guards posted at Bran's door had been doubled, both day and night. His daring gamble had paid off—at least partially. Now, as long as the assassin failed to strike again, and Tyrion managed to persuade the Night's Watch leaders to let him leave the Wall as a "supply collector," he might finally have his way out.

He could only hope everything went as planned.

The king's entourage began to gather, followed shortly by Jon Snow. The boy greeted Aegor warmly. Jon had made up his mind to join the Night's Watch and follow his Uncle Benjen to the Wall. To him, Aegor was now both a comrade and a senior, a future brother in black. Even though he knew Aegor was desperate to leave the Night's Watch, Jon instinctively wanted to befriend him.

"Morning," Aegor greeted the boy with a nod. "When I was your age, getting up before dawn was impossible."

Jon grinned. "Starting today, Uncle Benjen is my superior. Ser Rodrik told me I need to make a good impression."

"Well, from someone who's been around a while, I'll tell you this: in a few years, you'll realize that sometimes performing well is more important than actually doing well."

Jon tilted his head in confusion. "Performing well? Isn't that the same as doing well?"

"Sometimes it is. But more often than not, there's a big difference."

The two chatted idly as they strolled through the yard, eventually finding themselves at the blacksmith's shop on the south end of the parade ground. Jon stopped to collect a slender, finely crafted rapier he had commissioned—a gift for Arya.

"A small sword like that? Is it for a girl?" Aegor asked, though he already knew the answer.

Jon carefully inspected the blade, wiping it clean. "Yes, but don't tell anyone. And I won't tell anyone about your... chat with the Imp."

"Deal," Aegor replied with a faint smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Hey, boy!" a cheerful voice called out from behind. Jaime Lannister approached, his smile as dazzling as ever. Unlike others who seemed weighed down by Bran's fall, Jaime looked positively delighted to be leaving Winterfell, a place he clearly found stifling.

"You're heading to the Wall today?"

"Yes, Ser Jaime..."

"Then do me a favor and pass my regards to the Night's Watch. It's good to know there are men like you guarding the realm, keeping the wildlings, White Walkers, and other monsters at bay. Thank you for your service." He extended his hand toward Jon, who hesitated before shaking it.

Jaime then turned to Aegor and offered his hand. "And you, White Walker Slayer, make sure to kill as many of those icy bastards as you can. Don't let them through the Wall."

"At your service," Aegor replied stiffly, shaking Jaime's hand. The knight's grip tightened painfully, forcing Aegor to match his strength just to avoid wincing.

"Safe travels," Jaime said casually, releasing his grip and striding off without a backward glance.

Jon frowned as he watched Jaime leave. "What did he mean by that?"

"What else could it mean?" Aegor shrugged, though he understood perfectly well. Jaime's little show of strength had been a subtle warning to keep his mouth shut. Still, with everything else on his mind, Aegor couldn't be bothered to care about the Kingslayer's theatrics. "Southern nobles like him have too much time on their hands and end up acting a bit... eccentric."

Jon nodded thoughtfully before turning to collect the small sword from the blacksmith. "I need to go say goodbye to my brothers and sisters. See you later."

"Go on."

As Jon walked off, Aegor watched him go. The boy had spent his entire life in Winterfell, so leaving wasn't easy for him. Aegor, by contrast, had no family or friends in this city or anywhere else, for that matter. He wandered aimlessly for a while before being flagged down by Tyrion, who had arrived late.

Sitting on the railing at the edge of the parade ground, the two chatted about Aegor's homeland while watching the royal caravan prepare to depart.

Though the sun remained hidden behind clouds, the morning grew steadily brighter. Around nine o'clock, the two most important figures, King Robert and Lord Eddard Stark finally appeared. Their departure was swift and resolute, with heartfelt goodbyes exchanged before they mounted their horses and rode out of Winterfell through the Hunter's Gate.

At the first fork in the road, the king's party turned south, heading toward King's Landing. Meanwhile, Aegor, Benjen, Jon, Tyrion, and his guards turned north, bound for the Wall.

Thus ended Aegor's eventful two weeks in Winterfell, a time filled with danger, indulgence, and unexpected twists. Ahead lay the Wall, still looming as an unyielding fortress, and beyond it, the growing army of the dead, waiting in silence.

Chapter 28
Unlike the journey south to Winterfell over a month ago, where he experienced warmer temperatures and livelier roads bustling with travelers, Aegor now faced the grueling realities of returning north. With each passing day, the air grew colder, the roads narrower, and human settlements fewer and farther between. Three days after leaving Winterfell, farmland and villages vanished entirely, replaced by the desolation of the lands beyond the jurisdiction of the Northern lords. The trees of the Wolfswood grew denser, their dark branches creating an eerie, shadowed canopy, and the King's Road became little more than a forest trail.

The mountains loomed to the west, while the road curved northeast. The chill in the air became sharper, biting through their tightly wrapped sheepskin cloaks. At night, the temperature dropped below freezing, and whenever the northern wind swept through, it felt like a blade cutting through to their skin. To make matters worse, the mournful howls of wolves echoed from deep within the forest. Jon's direwolf, Ghost, would prick up his ears at the sound but never howled back.

A week into their journey, the group reached a wooden manor at the edge of the Wolfswood, where they encountered Yoren, a recruiter for the Night's Watch.

The so-called "Ravens" were Night's Watch officers tasked with traveling the realm to recruit criminals, exiles, and the desperate for the Wall. To the wildlings, who feared and hated the Night's Watch, they were nicknamed "crows." Yoren looked every inch the part, with his rough features hidden beneath a thick, unkempt beard that could terrify a child at first glance. He was no kindly emissary, his hardened demeanor and fierce expression made it clear he was a man to be reckoned with. Yoren had brought with him two ragged boys from the Fingers.

"Rapists," Yoren grunted in explanation, nodding to the two recruits. Even though he was an officer, there was no trace of politeness in his tone. The North had its own brutal form of justice, where crimes were met with mutilation or death: hands cut off for theft, tongues removed for slander, and heads taken for treason. For these boys, the choice had likely been between becoming eunuchs or taking the black. It was no surprise they had chosen the Wall.

With their addition, the group now consisted of nine people and a wolf.

Jon Snow, who had grown quieter and more withdrawn since their departure, kept stealing glances at Yoren and his two sullen recruits. The boy's expression grew more conflicted with each passing day. Aegor could see that Jon was struggling with the reality of the Night's Watch. Up until now, Jon had only known his Uncle Benjen and Aegor, two men who, to him, seemed honorable and capable. The sight of Yoren and the new recruits had clearly shattered whatever idealized image Jon had of the brotherhood.

Aegor understood what the boy was going through. Jon had chosen—or, more accurately, been forced by his illegitimate status to walk a difficult path. The truth of what it meant to be a member of the Night's Watch was now sinking in, and Aegor couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the boy's disillusionment.

---
Tyrion, as always, was of little help when it came to setting up or breaking camp. His short stature and limp made physical labor difficult, and he wasn't one to push himself unnecessarily. Instead, the dwarf would wrap himself in his furs, find a quiet corner, and bury himself in a book, a wineskin always within reach, while the others pitched tents, tended to the horses, and built fires.

That evening, after the camp had been set up, Aegor found Tyrion seated at the edge of the camp, reading as usual.

"What are you reading this time?"

"A book about dragons," Tyrion replied, lifting it briefly to show the cover. "I borrowed it from Winterfell's library with Lord Stark's permission. I'll return it after I've finished. Today, I'm reading about the Battle of the Field of Fire."

"What's that?"

"It was one of the battles during Aegon's Conquest," Tyrion explained, lowering the book to rest on his knees. "King Loren Lannister of the Rock and King Mern Gardener of the Reach joined forces to resist the Targaryen invasion. Their combined armies included 600 lords, 5,000 knights, and over 50,000 infantry and mercenaries. The Targaryen forces, on the other hand, were barely one-fifth of that size, and most of them were former enemies who had recently bent the knee, so loyalty was questionable."

Tyrion paused, glancing at Aegor. Knowing that the man struggled with reading the local language, he continued, summarizing the events. "The two armies met on a fertile plain by the river. The coalition forces charged, and the Targaryen troops scattered in retreat. For a moment, it seemed like the conquest was at an end… but then Aegon and his sisters entered the fray with their dragons."

Aegor nodded knowingly. "Let me guess: the dragons turned the tide instantly. Everyone in Westeros knows that story."

"Indeed," Tyrion agreed. "But this was the only time in history that all three dragons—Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion were unleashed on a single battlefield. More soldiers died to dragonfire that day than in all the other battles of the Conquest combined. After the devastation of the Field of Fire and the Burning of Harrenhal, the remaining kings realized that resistance was futile. The Starks of the North and the Arryns of the Vale surrendered without a fight, and the Seven Kingdoms were soon united—or, well, six kingdoms were."

"A battle like that doesn't leave much room for military strategy, does it? The dragons made it a slaughter."

"Of course," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I'm not reading it for tactical insights. It's simply fascinating. Did you know that the Gardener line was completely extinguished that day? The Tyrells only rose to power because they surrendered early. As for my ancestors, thank the gods they were wise enough to kneel when they did. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, recounting this history."

Aegor realized then that one of the defeated armies in that battle had been led by the Lannisters. No wonder Tyrion seemed so interested in the story, it was personal.

Before Aegor could respond, Jon approached. His face was still sullen, and he seemed eager for distraction. "Reading again?" he asked, clearly directing the question at Tyrion.

"Is there something wrong with reading?" Aegor asked before Tyrion could reply. "Jon, how old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"And you're taller and stronger than many boys who are twenty. Do you know why that is?"

"Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children," Jon replied, his tone defensive.

Aegor snorted. "And you believed that nonsense? Tell me, who's older—you or Robb?"

"We're the same age," Jon admitted, though his expression soured. "I don't know my exact birthday, but Robb is probably a little older."

"You're the same age, yet Robb's taller than you. So much for that theory about bastards." Aegor smirked. "The truth is, Jon, you're taller and stronger than most boys your age because you eat better than almost anyone else in the North. Farmer's children don't get proper nutrition during their most critical years. They'll never grow to your height, but you've had meat, fish, and vegetables at nearly every meal and don't forget those fancy Winterfell-grown greens."

Jon bristled. "My father makes sure no one in the North goes hungry!"

"There's a difference between eating enough and eating well. You've been fed like a noble, Jon, and that's why you're strong. The same logic applies to reading. Every book you read becomes part of who you are just like every meal you eat becomes part of your body."

Jon frowned, considering this. "I suppose that makes sense… but why does that matter?"

"Because knowledge, like food, makes you stronger," Aegor replied. "The body, the mind, and the people you surround yourself with—that's everything you have. So why not feed your mind as well as your body?"

Jon blinked, seemingly unsure how to respond, while Tyrion gave Aegor a sly grin. "Aegor," he said, "you're full of surprises. One minute you're a soldier, the next a philosopher."

Aegor smiled back. "Why can't I be both?"

Jon was still young, and while Aegor's words had made an impression, the boy clearly wasn't ready to embrace such a mindset fully. "Dinner should be ready by now," Jon said, glancing toward the campfire.

"Let's go," Aegor agreed. "We've still got some wine from King's Landing left, let's hope there's enough meat to go with it."

Back at the camp, the mood was lively. The group had built shelters against an old wall, the horses were fed, and Yoren sat on a rock, skinning a fresh kill. The rich aroma of soup filled the air. Tyrion limped over to Maurice, who was stirring the pot, tasted the soup, and handed the ladle back.

"More pepper," the dwarf muttered.

Aegor sat down at the makeshift dining area, ready to enjoy his meal. But before he could take a bite, a sudden whistling sound cut through the air. Arrows struck the ground and even pierced the cooking pot.

"Enemy attack!" Yoren roared, dropping the animal he'd been skinning and drawing his sword.

Chapter 29
Aegor was stunned, completely and utterly stunned. It was even more shocking than when he had seen Bran fall from the tower in the novel or the series. This event wasn't supposed to happen. He racked his brain trying to recall if Benjen had encountered any such attack while returning to the Wall from Winterfell.

Was it deliberate? Did Jaime and Cersei send someone to assassinate him? Or had the Starks discovered the truth about him and dispatched men to capture him?

No, it didn't make sense.

Aegor only froze for a second before his instincts as a soldier kicked in. With a sharp clang, he drew his steel sword and moved to guard Tyrion before his two Lannister guards could even react. This short Lannister was his best ticket out of the Wall. He shouted, "My lord, hide quickly!"

"Benjen, get out here! I'll cover you!" yelled a recruit, who was struck by an arrow in the shoulder and collapsed, screaming in pain.

Yoren shoved a skinning knife into the hands of another terrified recruit and bellowed, "If you don't want to die, stick with me!"

The flap of the tent flew open, and Benjen Stark emerged, weapon in hand. Shadows charged out of the surrounding darkness with fierce cries. Arrows and rocks flew sporadically through the air. Benjen quickly assessed the attackers and barked, "It's wildlings! To the horses—no, it's too late! Everyone fall back to the stone wall and prepare to fight!"

Tyrion's two guards instinctively obeyed Benjen's command, abandoning any thought of waiting for orders from their panicked lord. The group of nine huddled against the old stone wall beside the tent. They formed a defensive circle, with a wounded recruit and Tyrion protected in the center. Faces grim and tense, they prepared to meet the wildlings head-on.

"Aren't the wildlings supposed to stay north of the Wall?" Tyrion crouched behind Aegor and Jon Snow, cowering with no trace of noble dignity.

Aegor, after identifying the enemy, felt a wave of relief. Jon, however, was practically buzzing with excitement at the chance to prove himself. The two Lannister guards, despite their full armor, appeared less than competent. Only one of them seemed to have any real combat experience.

"No one told me the North was this dangerous!" Tyrion complained.

"Small bands of wildlings sometimes cross the Wall," Aegor replied, "but they rarely venture this deep into the Wolfswood—"

"Do you have anything I can use as a weapon?" Tyrion interrupted, his voice rising. "I don't even have a knife to defend myself!"

"No time for that!" Jon hissed. "They're coming!"

There were no banners or war cries, no drums or horns. The wildlings charged at them with crude weapons—sticks, stone-tipped spears, and dull axes. Aegor didn't see a single proper blade among them.

One of Tyrion's guards let loose an arrow, striking a shadowy figure and sending him stumbling back with a scream. But despite their ragged appearance and poor armaments, the wildlings' boldness in attacking such a small, well-armed group baffled Aegor.

Before he could dwell on it, the attackers were upon them. The wildlings were as bedraggled as they seemed, emaciated figures clad in scraps of mismatched leather and ill-fitting armor. Most had no helmets, and their weapons were laughable.

The Night's Watch braced for a bloody battle. But within moments, Aegor realized something was off. The wildlings weren't pressing their attack. They stopped two meters short, yelling and brandishing their weapons as if trying to intimidate rather than kill.

Some wildlings, women among them, darted past the skirmish and began looting the camp. A woman even snatched up the half-skinned squirrel Yoren had been preparing.

Jon surged forward, eager to prove himself. His strikes landed on a wildling's wooden shield, leaving only shallow cuts. Benjen quickly called him back, unwilling to risk his nephew in the chaotic melee.

The wildlings weren't fighting to kill. They were here for supplies.

As the two sides clashed, it became apparent that the wildlings' true objective lay elsewhere. Yoren was the first to notice. He shouted, "They're after the horses!"

Benjen whirled around and spotted wildlings cutting the ropes tethering the horses. His face darkened with fury. Horses were more precious than gold to the Night's Watch. "Stop them!" he roared.

Aegor and Yoren responded immediately, charging forward with Benjen to scatter the disorganized wildlings. Jon and one of the Lannister guards, a man named Jack, followed closely behind. The tide of the skirmish shifted. Benjen felled one wildling in a single swing, and the rest broke and fled, scattering like frightened animals.

Some threw down their weapons as they vanished into the darkness. Aegor had seen this scene before. Wildlings often fled this way when pursued by rangers. Only those foolish enough to resist met steel and death.

"Don't pursue!" Benjen's voice rang out. "Secure the horses!"

Three Night's Watchmen charged toward the horses. The wildlings had already cut many of the ropes, and several horses were being driven or ridden away. The sight enraged Aegor. These horses were donations from Northern lords, and as members of the Night's Watch, they might one day rely on them to survive beyond the Wall.

As the men approached, the nearest horse thief shouted a warning to his companions before fleeing into the woods. The rest followed, abandoning the remaining horses in their haste.

Back at the camp, chaos reigned. The iron pot of broth had been shot through, spilling its contents into the dirt. Loaves of bread were gone, the dead squirrel had been stolen, and even an iron spoon was missing. Small, insignificant items had been taken, leaving the camp in disarray.

"Why did they take my book?" Tyrion raged, his voice shrill with indignation. "A book! Do wildlings even know how to read? I borrowed that from the Winterfell library!"

"They probably don't know what a book is," Aegor replied dryly. "It's square, so they grabbed it. Odds are they'll use it for kindling or to wipe their asses."

Yoren, his face stormy, growled, "Eight horses are gone."

"Which means we still have fourteen," Benjen said, though his tone was grim. With only three men armed and trained to fight, chasing the wildlings into the woods would be too dangerous. There could be an ambush waiting. After a moment of deliberation, he sighed and shook his head. "No, we won't chase them."

The attack ended as abruptly as it began.

For Aegor, this was his fourth encounter with wildlings since joining the Night's Watch. But it was the first time he had been on the defensive. Like the previous encounters, the Night's Watch suffered no fatalities.

The disparity in skill and discipline between trained soldiers and desperate peasants was as vast as the gap between wolves and sheep. Theoretically, the wildlings could have overwhelmed them with numbers, but fear and disorganization made them easy to rout.

The final toll was three wildlings dead and no losses among the Night's Watch, save for a recruit wounded by a crude arrow. The injury was shallow, thanks to the poor quality of the arrowhead.

For Jon, Tyrion, and the Lannister guards, it was a triumphant victory. For Aegor, it was a reminder of how precarious survival was in the North. But for Benjen, it was a humiliation. Nearly one-tenth of Castle Black's horses had been stolen by wildlings, a loss far greater than any material goods.

Yet the attack signaled something far more troubling. The wildlings were fleeing south, and the situation beyond the Wall was worsening. A patrol would need to be sent soon to uncover the truth.

Chapter 30
Benjen gave a firm order to gather the remaining horses closer to the tent. He then took Aegor and Yoren to set up traps and alarm mechanisms among the surrounding trees to guard against another ambush. After organizing a rotation for night sentry duty, he allowed everyone to move about freely before focusing on preparing dinner again.

"What did I just witness? One moment you're quoting philosophers, and the next you're a proper warrior," Tyrion said, drinking what little broth was left in the pot. Though he tried to keep his tone light, his voice still carried the lingering shock of the attack. Protected by Aegor during the skirmish, the dwarf now regarded the Night's Watchman with a mix of gratitude and confusion. "I never believed that the Night's Watch were the most elite force in the Seven Kingdoms, but now... now I'm beginning to wonder if you really did kill a White Walker."

In any fight against wildlings, even a ragtag group of soldiers could seem like elite warriors, Aegor thought to himself with a wry smile. But he knew better than to diminish the prestige of the Night's Watch in front of an outsider. "Well, thank you for the compliment, but I wasn't lying to you."

"Call me Tyrion," the dwarf said, leaning back slightly. "I owe you a debt for your help today. I'll do my best to honor our agreement."

"Thank you, Tyrion... cough," Aegor replied, his voice stiff. After spending so much time adapting to the formalities and rigid hierarchy of Westeros, being addressed so informally caught him off guard.

The incident had begun and ended in mere moments. Aegor had no idea how Tyrion perceived his actions during the attack, but he was keenly aware that he hadn't done anything particularly remarkable.

The truly brave and capable wildlings had already gathered under Mance Rayder's banner, preparing for the harsh winter atop the Frostfangs and devising ways to confront the White Walkers. The wildlings who had attacked them were nothing more than stragglers, weak even by wildling standards. Any trained soldier could have won that fight, provided they weren't struck down by the initial volley of arrows.

Forming a defensive line and charging to drive the wildlings off was simply following Benjen's orders and executing them with precision. Any other ranger could have done the same.

The only unique thing Aegor had done was shield Tyrion during the chaos and that had been entirely deliberate. After all, Tyrion was his key to escaping the Wall. But even without his intervention, the wildlings' crude and scattered attacks wouldn't have posed any real danger to the dwarf. Perhaps it was this small, subconscious act of protection that left such an impression on Tyrion.

Still, Aegor saw no reason to clarify the situation. Tyrion was likely experiencing his first real battle and had let his imagination inflate the bravery and skill of those who protected him. Since this misunderstanding worked in Aegor's favor, there was no harm in leaving it uncorrected.

"Why were the wildlings here?" Jon asked, his voice tinged with both excitement and unease. He had killed an enemy for the first time in his life, and the mix of guilt and adrenaline still colored his face a deep red. He seemed unable to calm himself. "Back at Winterfell, we rarely heard of wildlings coming this far south."

"It's true that it hasn't happened often," Aegor replied seriously. "Crossing the Wall is incredibly dangerous. If they just wanted to survive, they could've made do with the resources in the Wolfswood. But these wildlings... they're not just looking for food. They're trying to get further south to find a place to wait out the winter and escape the White Walkers.

"But without proper transportation or supplies, they have no chance of avoiding the patrols of the northern lords, let alone making it as far as the Neck. That's why they're desperate enough to attack us. Even if they fail, they'll likely target the nearest villages next."

"White Walkers," muttered one of Tyrion's guards, shivering visibly. "Aren't those just old stories? Monsters from legend? You don't mean to say they're real?"

On any normal day, no one would take talk of White Walkers seriously. But fresh off the tension of the skirmish, and surrounded by the eerie, shifting shadows of the forest, the guard's nerves were clearly frayed. The cold wind rustled the trees, adding to the sense of unease.

"Don't worry," Jon said with sudden enthusiasm. "This guy killed one before." There was a hint of pride in his voice, as if knowing Aegor personally lent him some kind of reflected glory. "If one of those ghostly things shows up... Aegor, you still have that obsidian dagger, right?"

"Of course," Aegor replied, patting his bag with a grin. "Don't worry. Even if the White Walkers could get past the Wall, which they can't, I'd just take them down one by one."

Although he sounded confident, Aegor wasn't nearly as calm as he appeared. He couldn't shake the thought of what was happening north of the Wall at this very moment. The lands beyond the Wall had likely become a frozen wasteland of death, with scattered wildlings either fleeing south or joining the army of the dead.

The thought unsettled him deeply. Even though he had resolved to leave the Wall and avoid a direct confrontation with the White Walkers, he couldn't escape the reality that he was still part of this world. If the Wall were breached and the Seven Kingdoms fell under attack, what would a time traveler with no allies or powerful backing do? Escape to another continent? Even that would be an uncertain and perilous journey.

Dinner, which had been interrupted by the wildling attack, was eventually finished without further incident. No one felt tired enough to sleep, so the group lingered for a while, chatting quietly. Eventually, Benjen emerged from his tent, his face stern as he addressed the group.

"Stop talking and get some rest. Up until now, we've been able to camp in relatively secure areas. But the terrain ahead is flat and barren, offering no protection. If we continue at our current pace, we'll need three more days of travel and two nights in the open. That's far too dangerous." He paused, letting his words sink in. "After careful consideration, I've decided to start a forced march at dawn. We won't camp at night. We'll push the horses to their limits and try to reach Castle Black within a day and a half."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Aegor, however, couldn't help but notice how the plot seemed to be subtly shifting. This wildling attack wasn't part of the original timeline, and he couldn't help but wonder if his presence, the metaphorical butterfly had caused the ripple. Perhaps his actions had altered the group's route, or perhaps the wildlings who should have been killed by the White Walker he had slain had attacked them instead.

Either way, things were different now. One unexpected attack could lead to another. While the wildlings themselves weren't particularly threatening, their arrows and stones could still kill.

"All right, then," Aegor said, standing up. "You all head inside and get some rest. Jack and I will take the first watch. Leave your things here—we'll clean up."

The others quickly obeyed, and soon the camp was quiet. As Tyrion passed by, he patted Aegor on the shoulder. "Well then, be careful, the both of you."

The first half of the night passed uneventfully. When it was Jon and Morce's turn to take over the watch, Aegor and Jack finally got some rest.

At sunrise, the group rose early, packed up their tents and supplies, and saddled the horses for the forced march north.

The weather had worsened. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and snow now blanketed the ground. For Aegor, accustomed to grueling ranger missions and his harrowing Ten Days of Escape, the forced march was nothing unusual. But the rest of the group wasn't as hardened.

After traveling over a hundred leagues in a little more than a day, Tyrion and his two guards looked utterly miserable. By the time they passed through the gates of Castle Black, they could barely dismount their horses. Their legs trembled beneath them, and they stumbled like newborn calves, as though they'd forgotten how to walk.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31
The clanging of swords echoed through the courtyard, marking just another ordinary day at Castle Black.

Commander Mormont had resisted the Royce family's demands to punish the three surviving patrol members. Now, these men, who had escaped the blades of the White Walkers, were no longer under suspicion of desertion and could move freely within Castle Black.

On the balcony overlooking the courtyard, Aegor and Tyrion stood leaning against the railings, watching the new recruits train below. The scene reminded Aegor of standing on a college campus, observing younger students during their first military drills.

Unfortunately, there was little to admire among these new recruits—not a single woman among them, nor even many handsome men.

In the center of the yard, Jon stood out, clad in a black wool sweater layered beneath a leather vest and chainmail. He wielded a training sword with practiced ease, sparring with an opponent.

This training batch was the largest in Castle Black's history, with nearly twenty recruits, most aged between fourteen and eighteen. Even among such a group, none could match Jon's skill. Some recruits were agile but timid, like Will, while others fumbled with their swords like children handling daggers. One was so weak he could barely swing his weapon. Most of them, however, were slow and clumsy.

Jon, in comparison, was a tiger among sheep. In just a few minutes, he had defeated four recruits in succession. With a well-timed feint, he disarmed a fifth—a thick-necked recruit, then pushed away the man's sword and struck his abdomen with an elbow. The recruit staggered, lost his balance, and fell heavily into the snow, his dull-edged blade slipping from his grip.

Aegor had to admit that Jon's swordsmanship was every bit as impressive as the boy claimed. Even if Aegor, a "veteran" with a year's service and nearly a decade of experience over Jon, were to duel him, the best outcome he could hope for would be a draw through sheer defensive effort.

The training session came to a halt when the recruit instructor, Alliser Thorne, intervened. Thorne, a former knight who had been exiled to the Wall after backing the losing side in Robert's Rebellion, clearly harbored no affection for Jon Snow, the bastard son of the rebellion's victor. Though Aegor and Tyrion couldn't make out the exact words exchanged between Thorne and Jon, it was obvious the conversation was far from friendly. Jon's face darkened with anger.

"That boy's got talent," Tyrion remarked, shifting uncomfortably. The days of riding had left him sore, and standing was the only position that didn't aggravate the pain. "But for someone who's supposed to be making friends among his new brothers, he's being a little too harsh."

"If he keeps this up, he'll find it hard to get along in the Watch. Someone ought to talk some sense into him."

"You're surprisingly compassionate."

"I can't help it," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I've always had a soft spot for bastards, cripples, and outcasts—anyone dealt a bad hand by the gods."

Aegor smirked. "So, I'm an outcast too, lucky enough to end up on your list. Should I consider myself fortunate or cursed?"

"Hmm… Excellent question. You've got me stumped."

As the days passed, Aegor found himself growing more at ease around Tyrion. The Lannister dwarf had an uncanny charm. Despite his noble lineage, he didn't exude arrogance or condescension. Not being insufferable was, in itself, a rare skill—one that highlighted his intelligence.

At that moment, Tyrion gestured toward the yard. "How are things progressing with the rangers?"

"The Chief Ranger is already preparing for the next patrol. I'll be leading the way," Aegor replied, his tone deliberately nonchalant, though inwardly he felt a gnawing anxiety. "How long do you plan to stay at the Wall?"

"I can stay as long as I like. It's not as if I have a kingdom to govern," Tyrion said with a shrug. "How long does a patrol usually take?"

"Anywhere from one or two months to half a year," Aegor replied.

"That's unfortunate. I was hoping you'd catch a White Walker and bring it back for me to see. You know, to prove you weren't exaggerating." Tyrion's expression was one of exaggerated regret. "I came here mainly to see the legendary Wall, climb to the top, and piss off the edge of the world. But I can't stay here for that long."

Catch a White Walker? Aegor couldn't help but feel the absurdity of the suggestion. The collection of dragonglass weapons had only just begun. At present, the amount of obsidian available wasn't even enough to properly outfit a patrol team. And despite its usefulness against White Walkers, dragonglass was brittle—too fragile to be wielded like conventional weapons such as Valyrian steel.

Dragonglass weapons weren't a solution to decisively turn the tide; at best, they gave humanity a faint chance of survival against the White Walkers. With no preparations and no real strategy, returning alive from beyond the Wall would already be a miracle. Catching a White Walker alive? That wasn't even worth considering.

The Night's Watch was far from ready to deal with the threat of White Walkers, but the stubbornness of the Stark bloodline clearly ran deep. Benjen Stark refused to delay or cancel the patrol, no matter how Aegor tried to dissuade him.

"My lord, it might be possible to capture a wight," Aegor said, choosing his words carefully. "But a White Walker... Forgive us, that's far beyond our ability. This patrol led by Ser Benjen is meant to verify the truth of the White Walkers' existence. If he returns with evidence, then perhaps the Night's Watch can plan a larger operation to prove the threat to the rest of the world..."

Joining this patrol would almost certainly be a death sentence. Avoiding the mission was the only way to survive. Yet, no matter how dire the circumstances, Aegor couldn't afford to push Tyrion too hard. The dwarf, after all, was a true Lannister and a highborn noble. Tyrion had already promised to help him, any further pleading might come across as desperate or disrespectful.

"Relax," Tyrion interrupted, brushing off the explanation with a casual wave of his hand. "It was just a joke. I'm willing to take you away from the Wall, but not because you've killed some ridiculous magical creature. No need to explain yourself."

Tyrion shrugged again. "I'll go talk to your commander and arrange it. Oh, and stop calling me 'my lord.'"

"Alright, Tyrion," Aegor replied, exhaling in relief. He gave the dwarf a grateful smile. "I'll wait for your good news."

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you," Tyrion said as he shuffled away toward the commander's office, his short legs carrying him in a brisk, awkward gait. A few steps later, he paused, turned back, and waved a hand dismissively. "Find a place to sit down. No need to stand around waiting for me here."

And with that, the dwarf disappeared into the corridors of Castle Black.

Chapter 32
"Tyrion." The Lord Commander nodded at the dwarf seated across from him. As the former Lord of Bear Island and a man of considerable standing in the North, Jeor Mormont had the right to address him directly by name. "Are you enjoying your stay at the Wall?"

"Thank you for asking, Lord Commander. Apart from my numb backside and the delightful chill that keeps me shivering at night, everything's been splendid," Tyrion replied, settling himself into the chair with a faint smile. "Though I must say, being ambushed by a group of wildlings on the way was a unique and thrilling experience. One I could've happily done without."

"The failure to stop wildlings beyond the Wall lies with the Night's Watch. Please accept our apologies," Mormont said, his tone somber.

"Very well, I forgive you," Tyrion said with a shrug, shifting uncomfortably to ease the pressure on his sore behind. "I've taken some time to familiarize myself with the state of the Night's Watch over the past few days, and I must admit, I can't find it in me to criticize you too harshly. But—if I'm being honest—no matter how short-handed you are, it's still your responsibility to keep the wildlings at bay. This time, Benjen and his men kept me safe, but what happens when wildlings slip past you again? If they strike deeper into the North, attack Umber, Karstark, or even harm the Stark family or their bannermen, it would create chaos. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," Mormont admitted with a deep frown. "The wildlings climb over the Wall near the unmanned gaps between our fortresses, row across the Bay of Seals past our two pitiful patrol boats, and slip through the foothills near the Shadow Tower. The Night's Watch tries to intercept them, but we are stretched too thin to cover every weakness. I've already instructed Maester Aemon to send word to the lords of the North, and Lord Stark has agreed to raise temporary forces for our use. The problem is, I don't know how long it will take for those forces to be gathered and sent."

"Lord Stark is a good man," Tyrion said, his expression tinged with regret. "But even the best of men cannot halt the decline of the Night's Watch. It pains me to see this once-proud shield of humanity reduced to such a sorry state." He paused, then continued with a slight smirk, "That's why I've decided to provide funding to the Night's Watch."

"Ah?"

Even Jeor Mormont, a man known for his composure, blinked in surprise at the declaration. The population of the Gift and New Gift under the Watch's control barely exceeded 10,000, far too small to sustain the nearly 1,000 members of the Night's Watch. Over the years, financial aid had quietly become the Black Brothers' main source of food, wages, and supplies.

As Lord Commander, Mormont was no stranger to soliciting support from nobles, and he had been considering how best to appeal to Tyrion Lannister for aid. That the Lannister dwarf would volunteer assistance without prompting caught him completely off guard. So much so that, in his excitement, he adjusted his tone immediately: "That... That is most generous of you, my lord. The Night's Watch will be forever grateful for your kindness and your consideration of the greater good!"

"Hold on," Tyrion said, raising a hand. "There's a condition attached—I want to nominate someone to accompany me to King's Landing to receive this 'funding.'"

"Who?"

"Aegor. The ranger you sent to Winterfell not long ago."

"That's a reasonable request," Mormont replied, quickly regaining his composure. He studied Tyrion for a long moment before speaking again, his tone cautious. "But the rangers are short of men as it is. He will need to return as soon as possible."

"I haven't finished yet," Tyrion said quickly, noting the way Mormont's sharp gaze seemed to cut right through him. As expected of the former Lord of Bear Island, Tyrion thought, and hurried to clarify. "He won't just accept my funding and then return. He must also remain in King's Landing to continue securing food and supplies for the Night's Watch."

Mormont fell silent for a moment before responding carefully. "Tyrion, the vows of the Night's Watch are for life. No one joins and then leaves."

"I understand and respect that tradition," Tyrion said smoothly, leaning forward. "But he would still be serving the Night's Watch. His station would simply shift to King's Landing, where he could act as a supply collector, ensuring ongoing support for the Wall. King's Landing is the largest city in Westeros, teeming with lords and merchants. Securing additional funds and resources would be far easier there than it is here."

Mormont shook his head. "Tyrion, I won't pretend to understand why you're so determined to help this man, but let me speak plainly. The Night's Watch lacks many things—food, funding, and equipment—but what we lack most is manpower. Yes, our resources are stretched thin, but we could scrape by for months by rationing supplies or relying on the Northern lords. Starvation is not an immediate threat.

"But people," Mormont continued, his voice heavy with frustration, "are another matter. We have fewer than a thousand brothers left: 600 here at Castle Black, 200 at the Shadow Tower, and even fewer at Eastwatch. Of those, less than a third are capable fighters. The Wall is 300 miles long. If an attack came, I'd be able to station only three men per mile. Think about that, Tyrion."

"Three and a third," Tyrion quipped with a yawn. "Not even that, if we're being precise. And let's not pretend they'd all be needed. I doubt your enemies will bother attacking every mile of the Wall. Besides, King's Landing has a population of half a million. Pull a few from the slums and send them here, they'd fill those empty towers in no time. Don't you already have crows like Yoren roaming around Westeros recruiting? Why can't Aegor do the same?"

"This is different," Mormont countered, his voice firm. "The crows who roam are veterans—men who've grown old in service. Their best fighting days are behind them, and sending them south is the only way to make use of what strength they have left. They've taken root here and have nowhere else to go. Even then, we calculate their travel costs and ensure they can't linger too long after completing their missions.

"But Aegor is not the same. He's young, strong, and intelligent, exactly the kind of man we desperately need here. If I let him go, I might never get him back, even if I sent men to drag him back. And," Mormont added with a grumble, "the Night's Watch already has plenty of boys from the slums. The men we receive these days are stable hands, thieves, and rapists. Yes, they make up the numbers, but we're sorely lacking in men capable of training, managing, or even leading them. Right now, there are fewer than thirty men at the Wall who can read, let alone think strategically or plan operations.

"Frankly, Lord Tyrion," he continued, his voice tinged with exasperation, "I'd rather ask you to stay at Castle Black to help us than to send Aegor away."

"You give me far too much credit," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "But if you don't mind, I'd be happy to send all the dwarves in Westeros to join the Watch."

The joke fell flat. Mormont's stern expression didn't waver. He shook his head. "Forgive me, Tyrion, but I can't accept your proposal. I won't force you to provide financial support, but please don't ask me to let him leave again."

---

Damn it, why couldn't this old man be a little slower, a little easier to fool? Tyrion cursed inwardly. Jeor Mormont was far too sharp for Tyrion's liking. And while the dwarf prided himself on keeping his promises, he hated the thought of letting down a friend. After a moment's thought, he decided to play his last card.

"Commander," Tyrion said, his tone growing serious, "let me put it this way: I swear on the honor of the Lannister name that Aegor will not desert. If you lose a capable soldier because of me, I will personally compensate you with a dozen replacements not thieves or rapists, but men I will train, discipline, and prepare for you. What do you say to that?"

Mormont let out a heavy sigh, his frustration evident. His earlier refusal had been firm, yet Tyrion persisted, bringing up his family's honor—a veiled reminder of the Lannisters' influence. The subtext was clear: I am taking this man with me, so grant me this favor.

Mormont understood the implication all too well. Refusing Tyrion now would mean offending a powerful ally.

Chapter 33
What does it mean to offend the Lannisters?

There is a well-known song in Westeros, sung from the courts of kings to the firesides of peasants. It is called The Rains of Castamere, also infamously known as Tywin's Curse.

The song recounts the complete annihilation of House Reyne, a once-proud Westerlands family. They shared the lion sigil with House Lannister, built their wealth on gold mines, and rivaled Tywin Lannister in power and prestige. But they made the grave mistake of defying Tywin before he became Hand of the King. In one decisive battle, House Reyne was wiped out—lords, soldiers, servants, even distant relations were slaughtered or vanished without a trace. Today, most people don't even remember that House Reyne ever existed.

"Massacre of a house and destruction of a legacy" is a concept almost unheard of in Westeros outside of stories about the Targaryens, who once wielded dragons to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. While legally, lords hold the authority to punish vassals in such ways, in the three centuries since Aegon's Conquest, only the Lannisters have executed such ruthless justice.

This act solidified the Lannisters' rule over the Westerlands and cemented their fearsome reputation across the continent. Even Aerys Targaryen, later called the "Mad King," was impressed by Tywin's ruthlessness and brought him to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King.

And Tywin, as history would prove, was indeed more than capable of governing the Seven Kingdoms.

The fear inspired by Tywin's methods lingered long after. When the Farman family of Faircastle resisted their lord's control, Tywin sent a harpist to their hall to play The Rains of Castamere. That alone was enough to make them surrender. When the Freys orchestrated the Red Wedding, they used the song as a signal to begin the massacre, bringing an end to Robb Stark's rebellion. At King Joffrey's wedding feast, the same song was played repeatedly at the suggestion of Olenna Tyrell—a subtle, but grimly prophetic touch, given the fate that awaited the young king.

Even at the Siege of Riverrun, when Jaime Lannister had The Rains of Castamere played outside the castle walls, it was enough to make Edmure Tully surrender without a fight.

This song holds a terrifying power, and that power is backed by the Lannisters' wealth and ruthless will.

---

In short, the Lannisters are not to be trifled with.

But is there anyone in Westeros who isn't afraid of the Lannisters? Of course. Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, for one.

The Night's Watch was far removed from the power games of the South. No matter how fearsome or wealthy House Lannister might be, they could not send their forces to the Wall. The Rains of Castamere? At the Wall, the only thing falling was snow, and the bitter cold would freeze the strings of any harp long before a song could be played.

Even if Tywin himself had made the request, Mormont might not have cared, much less for Tyrion, whom he regarded as little more than a clever, insistent meddler. Still, while Mormont was unafraid of the Lannisters, he had no reason to provoke them unnecessarily. He wasn't in the habit of picking fights just to prove a point. Instead, the grizzled old commander scratched his head and thought of a compromise.

"It's not that I don't want to honor your request, my lord," Mormont said carefully, choosing his words with a touch of politeness. He had decided to pass the decision to others. "But Aegor is a ranger. His transfer must first be approved by his direct superior. Besides, Maester Aemon has already made a special request for him as well."

With that, Mormont turned to his steward and ordered, "Go fetch the Chief Ranger and the Maester."

If there was any combination less intimidated by the Lannisters than Mormont, it would be Benjen Stark, a Stark in his prime with the weight of his family name, and Maester Aemon, a man who had lived long enough to see his own Targaryen relatives wiped out.

Mormont allowed himself a moment of silent satisfaction at his cleverness, though Tyrion looked as though he might explode with frustration. The former Lord of Bear Island might look blunt and straightforward, but there was a sly cunning in his approach.

The summons didn't take long. The Black Brothers' quarters were small, and soon Benjen Stark and Maester Aemon entered the room. After Mormont explained the funding proposal and Tyrion's request, Benjen's expression turned stony.

"Lannister," Benjen said coldly, his tone sharper than his glare. "I don't care how your southern noble games and power plays work. But let me warn you: if you're thinking of poaching men from the Night's Watch, you've come to the wrong place."

"Poaching?" Tyrion was stunned. He prided himself on his sharp wit, but for once, he was caught off guard. "You think I'm trying to recruit him for myself? If I were king, I'd make Aegor Hand of the King! The Seven Kingdoms would benefit from his talents far more than the Wall ever could!"

"You'd make him Hand of the King, would you?" Benjen sneered. "And yet here you are, trying to drag him away from his sworn duty so he can run errands in King's Landing."

"Calm down, Lord Tyrion," Maester Aemon interjected gently. "It's true we didn't fully recognize Aegor's abilities before. But now that we've seen them, we will do our best to make use of his talents. In fact, I've already discussed with Benjen that after this patrol, I plan to bring Aegor into my service. There are tasks here that an illiterate man cannot do."

"Illiterate tasks?" Tyrion scoffed. "Do you mean reading letters and balancing ledgers? Counting rations? Forgive me, Maester, but Aegor is capable of far more than clerical work!"

"With all due respect, Lannister," Benjen said with icy disdain, "he is a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. In life, he fights for the Watch. In death, he is its ghost. No matter how talented he may be, his duty is to the Wall."

Tyrion was momentarily at a loss for words. But the dwarf was never one to give up easily. Inspiration struck, and he smiled slyly. "How can it have nothing to do with me? If the White Walkers you're so concerned about truly exist, then they threaten the entire realm. I may be a dwarf, but I'm still human. Strengthening the Night's Watch helps all of us."

"Strengthening the Watch by stealing away its best men?" Benjen snapped.

"I'm not stealing him," Tyrion shot back. "I'm sending him to where he can do the most good! Do you know why the Night's Watch has fallen so far?"

Benjen raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Enlighten me."

"Because you've isolated yourselves," Tyrion replied, his voice rising with passion. "You cling to traditions, refusing to adapt, refusing to connect with the rest of the realm. The world has changed, but the Watch hasn't. No wonder it's in decline."

Benjen opened his mouth to retort, but Maester Aemon held up a hand. "Tyrion, there is wisdom in what you say. But we are stretched too thin as it is. Losing Aegor would only make our situation worse."

"And clinging to him as you are now will only hasten your decline," Tyrion countered. "The Night's Watch needs to adapt, or it will vanish. Maester, you're the wisest man here. Surely you can see this makes sense?"

Tyrion leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "With Aegor in King's Landing, the resources and allies he could secure for the Watch would far outweigh anything he could accomplish trudging through snow or sorting ledgers."

Chapter 34
The tension in the room was palpable, a silent battle of wills between Tyrion and Benjen. The air felt thick, almost combustible. Thankfully, Tyrion wasn't the sort to escalate into physical confrontation, and Benjen Stark, despite his simmering anger, wasn't going to throw the first punch either.

It was Maester Aemon who finally raised his hand, signaling for the two men to stop arguing. The old maester's blind eyes turned toward Mormont, who had been quietly observing the heated exchange. "Lord Commander," Aemon began calmly, "Dragonstone has sent a reply. They've granted us permission to send people to mine dragonglass."

Mormont raised his eyebrows. "Over there? Surely we can just send a few workers?" But then something clicked in his mind, and his tone shifted. "Wait… you mean?"

The blind maester nodded knowingly. "Dragonstone is quite close to King's Landing. Since Lord Tyrion speaks so highly of Aegor's abilities, why not give the young man a chance to prove himself? He crossed the Narrow Sea to come here and became a brother of the Night's Watch for something as trivial as stealing a few potatoes to stave off hunger. If he finally has a chance to leave, but we deny him that, I doubt he'll ever truly accept his place here. Even if he stays, his heart won't be in it."

Tyrion silently applauded Aemon's words, nodding along with enthusiasm. He turned expectantly toward Mormont, waiting for the commander's decision.

"If you see it that way, I have no objection," Mormont finally said, his respect for Aemon evident in his tone. He turned to Benjen, passing the decision onto the Chief Ranger. "Ask Stark if he's willing to let him go."

The weight of the decision shifted to Benjen Stark once more. The ranger's jaw tightened. He had no desire to let this clever Lannister get his way, but neither did he want to openly oppose Maester Aemon. After a moment, he voiced his hesitation. "And what happens if he doesn't come back? Who will take responsibility for that?"

"Me," Tyrion answered without hesitation. "If he fails the mission or doesn't make a significant contribution to the Night's Watch after leaving, you can recall him. If he deserts, you can hold me accountable."

Benjen's eyes narrowed. "Hold you accountable? Will you come to the Wall to replace him? Or will you send Lannister soldiers to fill the gap? Neither option seems likely. Instead of playing these word games, why not give us something tangible? The Lannisters are the richest family in Westeros, after all. Surely a little more generosity wouldn't hurt, especially since the Night's Watch protects the entire realm."

Tyrion sighed heavily, recognizing this as a calculated blow to his pride and his purse. He gritted his teeth, knowing he was about to take a loss. "Ah, and here I thought Starks cared little for material possessions," he muttered, forcing a tight smile. "Fine. Since it's for the sake of humanity, I won't be stingy. Let's discuss the specifics of my funding for the Watch, as well as the details of Aegor's responsibilities after leaving the Wall."

---

While the negotiations continued inside, Aegor, standing some distance away, kept his gaze fixed on the commander's office.

The arrival of the Chief Ranger and Maester Aemon shortly after Tyrion entered had not gone unnoticed. It was clear that something significant was being discussed. The sight made Aegor uneasy, though he forced himself to stay calm. If he had to put the feeling into words, it was like waiting outside a birthing chamber, wondering if the outcome would bring life—or death.

The outcome of this discussion would determine everything. If Tyrion succeeded, Aegor would be leaving the Wall, leaving the confines of the Night's Watch, and stepping into the vast, opportunity-filled world of Westeros. If he failed, Aegor would resign himself to a life of patrols, snow, and survival. Even if he rose through the ranks—from ranger to squad leader, to possibly Chief Ranger—he would still be shackled to the Wall, forever facing danger and death. For a man with memories of another life, such a fate was unthinkable.

But leaving… If he left, the world would open before him. The label of the Night's Watch might remain, but life was what you made of it. Determination could overcome any obstacle.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened again. This time, the steward left the room and returned with two additional officers: Bowen Marsh, the First Steward, and Othell Yarwyck, the Chief Builder. Aegor's heart leapt.

It's settled, he thought with growing excitement. Marsh and Yarwyck didn't concern themselves with anything unrelated to their respective duties. The fact that they had been called in likely meant the negotiations had moved to specifics, discussing resources and supplies rather than arguments over principle. In other words, bargaining over the "price" of his departure.

If nothing unexpected happened, the decision would be finalized soon. It wouldn't do to stand around any longer, so Aegor turned back toward the meeting hall and found a seat. There was nothing more to do but wait.

---

The waiting ended after what felt like hours. The wooden door creaked open again, but this time, it wasn't Tyrion who emerged. It was Benjen Stark.

The Chief Ranger's expression was unreadable as he stood in the doorway for a moment, then addressed Aegor curtly. "Aegor, you won't be joining the next patrol. The Lord Commander has assigned you to a more important mission. Prepare yourself to leave with Lannister once he's finished touring the Wall."

Aegor stood quickly, suppressing the grin threatening to break across his face. Though he'd been expecting this outcome, hearing it confirmed sent a thrill of relief through him. "As you command," he replied, trying to keep his tone measured. "But I was supposed to lead the patrol. Now I'm leaving?"

---

What's there to pretend about? Benjen thought, his inner irritation barely masked. He wasn't blind—he knew exactly what had happened. Tyrion Lannister, for whatever reason, had taken a liking to Aegor. The dwarf had gone out of his way to secure this "mission" as a convenient excuse to remove him from the Wall. And Aegor, the supposed beneficiary, was hardly innocent in the matter.

Benjen had no doubt the boy had struck some kind of deal with Tyrion, manipulating the situation to his advantage. It was impressive, in a way. Despite his low rank, Aegor had managed to befriend one of the most cunning men in Westeros and convince him to intervene.

"When it comes to leading patrols, Will is just as capable as you," Benjen said, his tone neutral. Though he wasn't happy about the situation, he didn't hold any personal resentment toward Aegor. The young ranger had done what anyone in his position would do. "You're a clever man. You've found your way off the Wall, and I have no reason to stop you. Just focus on your new mission, complete it well, and don't look back."

Aegor's face flushed slightly, knowing Benjen had likely seen through him. Still, there was no point in denying it. He nodded respectfully. "As you command."

Satisfied with the response, Benjen gave him one last appraising look before turning and walking away.

Chapter 35
After Benjen left, Aegor exited the room, eager to find Tyrion.

Aegor was not a man to rely solely on the goodwill of others. Instead, he used half-truths to pique Tyrion's interest and leave an impression. It was a calculated move, a carefully orchestrated performance. But the process—from Tyrion suggesting a workable plan to leave the Wall, to him speaking briefly with the Lord Commander and securing approval—was not due to Aegor's eloquence or Tyrion being gullible.

The truth was simple: Tyrion's intelligence and social acumen were sharp enough to discern from a few casual words that Aegor wanted out of the patrol, and he had the generosity to help make it happen.

Sometimes Aegor couldn't help but wonder: was Tyrion motivated by curiosity, intrigued by the fabricated story Aegor had told, or was he simply... willing to help a poor soul in trouble?

Ultimately, Tyrion's intentions didn't matter. What mattered was that he had extended a helping hand. This timely act of kindness might very well save Aegor's life and alter his future entirely. Such a favor was one that could only be repaid with a lifetime of loyalty and friendship.

But friendship and loyalty couldn't replace the importance of thanking someone in person. Aegor stepped outside, scanning the surroundings until he quickly spotted his target. A dwarf stood out easily in Castle Black, a place filled with tall men clad in black.

"Thank you, Tyrion. I knew you'd succeed!" Aegor called out.

"Of course. Who could stop the infamous little devil of House Lannister?" Tyrion said smugly, tilting his chin upward. Then he added with a smirk, "Though I must say, I finally understand just how poor the Starks truly are."

"What do you mean?" Aegor asked, puzzled.

"It didn't take much to convince the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon, but Benjen Stark had to 'discuss' funding with me in the end," Tyrion explained with a laugh. "I expected to be fleeced. At worst, I figured I'd borrow some gold from my brother when I got back to King's Landing. But the amount he proposed? It nearly made me laugh out loud."

"Was it that little?"

"Not too little," Tyrion said, shrugging. "It was about the same as a few months' pocket money for me. In fact, it was slightly less than what I'd already planned to offer. But his expression, so grave as if he were asking for an outrageous sum, was amusing." He grinned. "I pretended to be shocked, bargained with the steward and the craftsman he brought in, and 'reluctantly' agreed. And here we are—"

Aegor couldn't help but wonder: A few months' pocket money? Was it two or three months? Or perhaps eight or nine? Either Tyrion was exaggerating, or the Lannisters really were as wealthy as the songs claimed. Regardless, for Aegor, who had less than a single gold dragon to his name, it was an unimaginable fortune. Just as Aegor was waiting for Tyrion to elaborate, the dwarf suddenly raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and motioned for him to follow.

What kind of secret requires such discretion in Castle Black, where a shout could reach half the fort? Aegor's curiosity was piqued, but he followed without question.

They crossed the training yard in the heart of Castle Black, heading toward the armory, where they found Jon Snow—and a group of recruits.

It wasn't hard to guess what had transpired. A bunch of young men who had been humiliated by Jon during training had ganged up on him, cornering him inside. Tyrion must have stumbled upon the situation while leaving the Lord Commander's quarters and intervened. Aegorvaguely remembered something like this happening but couldn't recall the exact timing.

Seeing the recruits surrounding Jon, Aegor frowned. He stepped aside to clear the doorway and nodded sharply. "Out."

Whether it was the authority Aegor carried as a more experienced recruit, or the fear of Tyrion's Lannister name, the young men hesitated, muttered curses under their breath, and retreated—though they made sure to give Aegor a wide berth on their way out.

"What's going on?" Aegor asked. He had initially sought out Tyrion to thank him and discuss their departure from the Wall, but now that Jon was involved, it felt inappropriate to add salt to his wounds.

"Nothing," Jon muttered, turning away as he packed up his practice gear. He sniffed, trying to hold back tears. Peeling off his armor, leather coat, and sweat-soaked wool shirt, he changed into a rough black tunic. His mind drifted to Winterfell and his family—Robb, Arya, Bran, even Sansa, who had always been distant.

No one had warned Jon about the true state of the Night's Watch. Only Tyrion and Aegor had mentioned it briefly, but at the time, he'd been too focused on proving himself. He had dreamed of fighting alongside the rangers, defending the realm from the ancient enemy and earning glory to show he was no less worthy than any trueborn son. Yet here, survival itself was a daily struggle.

Did Father know what it was really like here? As Warden of the North, he must have known. But when Jon asked to join the Night's Watch, Eddard Stark had agreed without hesitation. That thought stung. Was his father's past kindness just a façade? Deep down, did he hate his illegitimate son?

"No wonder," Jon said quietly, his voice filled with bitterness. "No wonder you're so desperate to leave this wretched place... It's so cold here."

"Yes, it's cold," Aegor replied. Cold, harsh, and merciless. He suppressed a wry smile. No matter how strong or mature Jon appeared, he was still a boy. "But look at it this way—I got lucky. Someone kind came along and offered me a chance to leave. If they call me back, I'll have no choice but to return. But you… you can leave whenever you want, so long as you haven't sworn the oath. You could go back to Winterfell and never set foot here again."

Jon didn't respond. The idea of returning home was tempting, but Winterfell wasn't the sanctuary it once was. With his father in King's Landing, Lady Stark ruled Winterfell, and her disdain for Jon was no secret. Even with better food and warmer beds, life there might still be more miserable than here.

Jon felt trapped. Staying at the Wall was a matter of honor, but it also meant enduring endless suffering. Just like Tyrion, who had been "fleeced" earlier in the Commander's office, Jon was making the same choice: suffering for the sake of pride.

"If you decide to stay, you'll need to figure out how to fit in here," Aegorsaid. "Once you take the black, this place will be your home for the rest of your life. And that life could be long or short—it's entirely up to you. But if you keep using the sword skills Ser Rodrik taught you to humiliate farmhands, blacksmiths, and orphans, someone will eventually put a blade in your back."

"I saw your fight this morning," Tyrion chimed in, stepping closer. "That wasn't sparring. If those had been real swords, you'd have killed them a dozen times over. Do you think it's an accomplishment to humiliate recruits who've never held a blade before? Is that why you joined the Night's Watch—to feel superior?"

Jon's face turned red. He had taken pride in his victories, even if they were against untrained opponents.

"He's a smart boy," Aegor said, defusing Tyrion's harsh tone. "He knows what he needs to know. He's just shaken by all this." Aegor softened his voice, showing empathy. "Jon, let's not sugarcoat it. You came here because you wanted to do something meaningful, but have you ever considered this? If the Wall were a place where you could achieve greatness and live comfortably, why would they struggle to find recruits?"

"I—" Jon faltered. Aegos's words stung because they were true. He needed reassurance, but Aegor only offered harsh truths.

"In my homeland, there's an old saying: before the gods entrust someone with great responsibility, they first make him suffer and struggle so that he becomes stronger."

The words sounded foreign to Jon, but they struck a chord. Aegor omitted the rest of the saying—something about gaining rewards after enduring hardship. It felt out of place in this grim fortress.

Jon, however, interrupted bitterly, "That's easy for you to say. Why don't you stay and suffer with me, then?"

"I'm not a bastard," Aegor replied bluntly. "I'm my family's only son. I don't need to prove anything. All I have to do is return home safely, and I'll inherit the family estate. But you… you don't have that luxury. It's not fair, Jon. It's not your fault you're a bastard, it's your father's. But in this cruel world, you're the one paying the price."

His tone softened again. "If you're feeling lost, let me offer you some advice."

Jon raised his head, waiting.

"What do you think is the greatest achievement a Night's Watchman can accomplish?"

"Defending the realm," Jon replied. "Protecting the Seven Kingdoms."

"No," Aegor said, shaking his head. "That's just the bare minimum. The greatest achievement would be to destroy the White Walkers"

Chapter Text

Chapter 36

"What?" Jon asked, unable to keep up with Aegor's train of thought.

"We, the Night's Watch, exist to combat the wildlings and the threat of the White Walkers. Now think about it: what's better—endlessly maintaining a defensive stance, or eliminating the threat at its root?"

Jon's eyes widened as the meaning behind Aegor's words became clear.

"Imagine," Aegor continued, "if someone could lead the Night's Watch to completely wipe out both the wildlings and the White Walkers, eliminating every threat north of the Wall. Would this Wall, or even the Night's Watch itself, still need to exist? Think about it, Jon: after the Watch's mission is complete, every brother would finally be able to declare, 'My watch has ended.' This tradition of service lasting until death has gone on for thousands of years. Why hasn't anyone stood up to end the threat once and for all? Why hasn't anyone proudly proclaimed, 'Our watch ends here'?" Aegor fixed Jon with a steady gaze. "Imagine disbanding the Night's Watch, returning to a world of warmth and light, and being celebrated as a greater hero than Azor Ahai. Wouldn't that be something?"

"This... how could that be possible?" Jon asked, his eyes wide, his voice almost trembling. "How could anyone achieve that?"

"White Walkers are humanity's enemy," Aegor said flatly. "There's no reason to show them mercy. Kill every last one of them. If possible, push further into the Land of Always Winter, find their nests, or the source of their power, and destroy them completely. End it at the root." Aegor gestured sharply, mimicking a killing strike. "As for the wildlings, Tyrion's right. They're just people living north of the Wall, yearning for freedom. I admire their spirit, but true freedom doesn't exist. Use whatever means are necessary to make them understand that and bring them to heel."

The room grew quieter. Jon wasn't the only one captivated; even Tyrion, standing beside them, didn't interrupt. The dwarf watched Aegor closely, fascinated by the boldness of his words. For all his sarcasm and cynicism, Tyrion found himself respecting this adventurer from across the sea.

Aegor pressed on. "The Night's Watch doesn't produce anything. It exists solely to maintain the Wall, a massive, nearly useless structure in peaceful times. Thousands of men in black are fed, clothed, and armed at a staggering cost. Now imagine: if the White Walkers were destroyed and the wildlings subdued, hundreds of men would no longer be tied to the Wall. Tens of thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of wildlings could become productive members of the North. Think of how that would transform the North's standing among the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon stiffened. Growing up as a Stark, he had always been aware of the North's tenuous position—a vast, cold land with sparse resources, struggling to hold its place among wealthier, more populous kingdoms. If what Aegor described could come true... his father might finally regard him with pride. Even Lady Stark's disdain might soften.

"But none of this can be achieved as just a soldier," Aegor said suddenly, his voice cutting through Jon's daydreams. His sharp tone snapped Jon back to reality. "You'll need to climb to a position of real influence within the Watch. The position of Lord Commander is ideal. And the Watch uses an election system, Jon. If you act like a sulking child or gloat over beating a few untrained recruits, you'll never gain allies or the respect of your brothers. Without that, you'll never rise to power, let alone accomplish anything meaningful."

"I… I never wanted to be Lord Commander," Jon stammered.

"Really?" Aegor's tone softened. "A soldier who doesn't aspire to command isn't a good soldier. From a personal standpoint, you're the son of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. You shouldn't settle for mediocrity. And from a moral perspective, only by wielding power can you make the world a better place. Power, Jon, belongs in the hands of those with the vision and ability to use it wisely. This isn't ambition for ambition's sake. It's about responsibility."

Jon fell silent. Aegor's words rang in his ears, reverberating with a clarity that left him speechless. Tyrion, for his part, smirked faintly, as though remembering something, but said nothing.

"If you've already decided to leave the Watch before taking the oath, even if it means being mocked as a bastard and a coward, then we'll leave together in two days," Aegor said, his voice steady. "If you've decided to remain a soldier for the rest of your life, forget everything I've just said. But if you're still unsure, lie in bed tonight and think about it."

---

"You're quite the dreamer," Tyrion remarked, grinning as they exited the armory. "The boy's eyes were practically shining back there. A greater hero than Azor Ahai, eh? You have quite the talent for painting grand pictures."

"I hope he succeeds," Aegor replied. "Imagine it. I'd be slogging away in King's Landing, scraping together supplies for the Watch, expecting a dull, thankless life. Then one day—poof!" Aegor made a dramatic gesture, mimicking an explosion. "The Night's Watch completes its mission and disbands, and I'm free. Wouldn't that be a miracle? A fantasy, perhaps, but isn't it worth dreaming?"

"Hahaha," Tyrion chuckled. He appreciated the humor. Aegor's unorthodox way of thinking was refreshing, even entertaining. In a world full of sycophants or enemies, Tyrion found himself genuinely enjoying this man's company. "You know, sometimes I wonder: was I also fooled by your silver tongue? Did you trick me into helping you leave the Wall?"

"If I said yes, would you kill me?"

"Of course not. I'd bring you before my father and have you convince him why he should name a dwarf his heir. See if your silver tongue could win me Casterly Rock."

"That might be tricky," Aegor said thoughtfully. "But from what I know of Westerosi laws and customs, you are the rightful heir to Casterly Rock."

"Forget it," Tyrion said, his tone suddenly bitter. "He'd give it to my sister before he'd give it to me."

"If he won't give it to you, why not take it yourself?"

"This isn't a crown we're talking about. It's not 'winner takes all.'" Tyrion's smile turned wry. "Be careful with that kind of talk, Aegor. It might get you killed."

"Fair enough," Aegor replied, steering the conversation away from treason. "So, tell me about your meeting with the Lord Commander. Aside from Benjen Stark giving you a hard time, did anything else cause trouble?"

"Trouble?" Tyrion wrapped his cloak tighter against the cold. "I'm the queen's brother. No one dares give me much trouble—except your friend, Benjen. He's not overly fond of Lannisters, but he didn't object to my plans outright. The Lord Commander was thrilled at the idea of receiving supplies, though he frowned when I mentioned my conditions."

"What conditions?"

"Nothing too demanding. Maester Aemon was reasonable enough to agree after some persuasion. As for Benjen… well, let's just say he doesn't trust me, but he couldn't refuse the offer outright. In the end, we came to a 'friendly' agreement. Everyone has a price, Aegor. Be thankful yours wasn't too high."

Aegor feigned a look of sorrow. "Should I be grateful that I'm worthless?"

"Quite the sweet dilemma, isn't it?" Tyrion's smirk returned. "You know my brother's most infamous nickname, don't you?"

"Everyone does. The Kingslayer."

"You answered quickly, and rightly so," Tyrion said, his tone growing somber. "After the Rebellion, Eddard Stark insisted that Jaime take the black. Back then, the Baratheons, Starks, Tullys, and Arryns had formed an unbreakable alliance. The Targaryens were dead, the Tyrells defeated, and the Martells despised us after my father's men butchered Princess Elia. If Robert had agreed to send Jaime to the Wall, what would my family have done?"

"Your family couldn't have stood against the other great houses, especially after their victory in the Rebellion. Even Tywin Lannister would have been forced to comply."

"Exactly. Thankfully, Robert refused. If he'd agreed, I doubt all the gold in Casterly Rock would've been enough to ransom my brother. Sometimes, being too valuable isn't a blessing." Tyrion gave Aegor a sharp look. "So, enjoy being worthless while you can. Because after what I'm about to tell you, you may not feel that way anymore."

Chapter 37

Aegor raised an eyebrow. "Bad news? I can't think of anything right now that would make me unhappy."

"It's not bad news," the dwarf replied with a sly grin. "I managed to convince the Night's Watch leadership to let you head back to King's Landing with me as a so-called 'supply collector.' But—well, in the process, I may have bragged about you a little. Maester Aemon has decided to give you a chance to show off your abilities. So, aside from the task I mentioned earlier, you've been saddled with a few extra responsibilities."

No matter how many responsibilities there were, they were preferable to patrolling beyond the Wall, especially when those patrols were aimed at tracking down White Walkers. Aegor wasn't particularly moved but was curious nonetheless. "Such as?"

"Yoren will also be heading south in a few days," Tyrion said, picking up his pace to fend off the cold. "He'll be tasked with recruiting fresh blood in King's Landing for the Wall. I've decided to go along with him. As for you—Commander Mormont wants Yoren to bring the first group of recruits back to the Wall, then turn right around and head south for a second group. In the meantime, you'll also be recruiting for the Night's Watch."

The "Wandering Crows," who officially acted as recruiters for the Night's Watch, had a reputation for being little more than scavengers. Men like Yoren rarely sought out volunteers. Instead, they roamed from one noble's dungeon to the next, asking for permission to pluck prisoners for the Wall. At best, they might trawl the slums to see if any starving souls were desperate enough to enlist.

Before Aegor had been dragged into this world, he had been an engineer. His work relied on technical skills and qualifications, not networking or charm. He had no experience hosting social events or wining and dining clients. Recruiting soldiers? Hardly a skill he'd developed.

But apparently, the way he'd handled himself during the desertion incident had left an impression. The leadership, used to dealing with criminals and vagabonds, seemed to think his competence extended to everything.

Still, how hard could it be? Even if he bungled the job, could he really do worse than Yoren? Aegor sighed. "What else?"

"Dragonstone has agreed to let the Night's Watch mine obsidian on the island. They'll provide access and basic support, but the rest is up to us," Tyrion continued. "And guess what? Commander Mormont has decided you're in charge of this operation as well."

"Dragonstone and King's Landing are separated only by Blackwater Bay," Aegor muttered, inhaling sharply. "So not only do I have to collect food, supplies, and men for the Watch, but I'm also responsible for managing a mining operation? Do they think I have three heads and six arms? How much manpower and funding am I being given?"

"Ah, about that…" Tyrion smirked. "The Night's Watch is strapped for resources. There's no funding available. As for manpower, Mormont plans to request workers from northern families, but you'll need to organize the mining effort and—well—front the costs for tools and equipment. The Watch will 'try' to reimburse you later. On the bright side, the Night's Watch fleet is at your disposal."

Aegor didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Eastwatch did indeed have a "fleet," but its size was laughable. Two thin rowing vessels, the Storm Crow and the Claw, were tasked with patrolling Seal Bay for smugglers selling weapons to wildlings. A larger transport ship, the Blackbird, occasionally sailed to the Free Cities for trade. Altogether, the fleet's crew and port staff numbered fewer than two hundred.

So "at his disposal" essentially meant he'd be using the ships to haul obsidian back to the Wall.

The mining itself wasn't the problem; he could always consult a mine owner for advice. But how in the world was he supposed to advance the funds? He was as broke as they came. And until the North provided workers, he might as well grab a pickaxe and start digging himself. Without tools or funds, he'd have to rely on Tyrion to bear the financial burden yet again.

Just moments ago, Aegor had felt a flicker of gratitude for the leadership's willingness to let him leave the Wall. Now, he was drowning in the avalanche of responsibilities they'd dumped on him. Freedom, it seemed, came with a steep price.

"Since I'm involved, I'll help you figure something out," Tyrion offered.

"Tyrion…" Aegor hesitated, a touch of guilt creeping into his voice. "I'm sorry to keep costing you money."

"Cost me money? You think I'll just hand over the funds?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with mockery. "If I front the costs, your commander will undoubtedly refuse to pay me back. Do you think a Lannister would stoop to chasing after such petty debts?"

Aegor blinked in confusion.

"Here's what I'll do," Tyrion said with a wicked grin. "I'll introduce you to some blacksmiths and wealthy merchants in the mining business. They'll provide tools, supplies, and advice—on credit. Then they can deal directly with Mormont to collect payment. Let's see if your commander dares tarnish the reputation of the Night's Watch over a few coins."

Aegor's eyes lit up. It was a clever move, shifting the financial risk away from himself and Tyrion. "I see your point. Thank you for the help."

"Don't thank me just yet. There's one final task," Tyrion added, his expression taking on a sadistic glee as Aegor's shoulders sagged. "You need to improve the reputation of the Night's Watch among the nobles and common folk south of the Neck. Congratulations! You're now the Night's Watch's envoy, recruiter, mining overseer, and public relations officer. Rather than thanking me, you might want to start brainstorming how to pull all of this off."

Under Tyrion's amused gaze, Aegor pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths of icy air to steady himself. The urge to abandon all of this and remain a simple ranger at Castle Black was almost overwhelming.

It was clear the Night's Watch leadership wasn't about to let him leave without piling on as many obstacles as possible. The idea that he could simply pay a ransom, walk away from his vows, and live a peaceful life was laughable.

Each of these tasks—obvious tests of his resolve—was designed to give the officers back at the Wall leverage over him. Should he fail any one of them, they'd have the perfect excuse to recall him.

A year ago, he had done everything he could to get the attention of the higher-ups. Now that he finally had it, he was finding it more trouble than it was worth. The irony was not lost on him.

Was it even possible to juggle all these responsibilities?

Not on his own. These tasks were far beyond the capabilities of a single person. While knowing the characters and events of this world gave him some advantages, it wasn't a magical solution. Without external support, he wouldn't get far. And right now, his only reliable ally was Tyrion.

The question was: how long could he keep leaning on the Lannister without feeling like a parasite?

Chapter 38

Aegor had to admit that Tyrion was right. He really couldn't bring himself to feel happy right now. The excitement he had felt upon learning that he would be leaving the Wall had all but faded. The weight of the many tasks that lay ahead dulled his mood. There was no room left for laughter, teasing, or even the occasional sharp remark. As he and Tyrion walked back to their quarters, they discussed the schedule for his departure and a few other details. Even his footsteps felt heavier than usual.

Aegor's attention was drawn to a tall, rough-looking member of the Night's Watch heading toward him, carrying a large sack slung over his shoulder.

"Oser, what's in the bag?" Aegor asked.

"Supplies. Lord Benjen has decided to head north tomorrow morning to search for Waymar Royce, the wildlings, and any other strange happenings—assuming they're even real." Oser, an experienced ranger, stopped and adjusted the weight of the sack, eyeing Aegor up and down with a faint smirk, as though seeing him properly for the first time. "Huh. The so-called White Walker slayer, reduced to running errands for supplies. Ready to head off to King's Landing to live the good life?"

"You wouldn't believe how many assignments I've been saddled with," Aegor replied with a wry smile. Among the black brothers, let alone outsiders like Tyrion, there were still many who didn't believe in the existence of White Walkers. They dismissed it as nonsense, thinking that the Lord Commander and Benjen Stark were mad to take the words of a few deserters seriously. But now that Benjen had made his plans clear, there was no need to keep secrets. "Of course, compared to your mission—wandering the wilderness looking for White Walkers—it does sound like an easy job. Speaking of which, how are the special weapons coming along?"

"Valyrian steel," Oser said flatly. "There's only one Valyrian steel weapon in the entire Castle Black, and that's the Commander's sword. Benjen refused his offer to lend it to him. We've managed to gather some obsidian—dragonglass. We made three spearheads and a dozen arrows. If what you've said about the numbers is true, that should suffice."

"I can only swear that I've seen five White Walkers with my own eyes, but there's no way there are only five in existence. They're like lords or princes. They roam in small groups, harvesting wildling lives and stealing babies to strengthen their army of the dead. When the Haunted Forest is devoid of life, and they've amassed enough strength to assault the Wall, they'll rally together."

Aegor put aside his thoughts about his assignments and turned serious. His duties as a ranger—or rather, his role as a jack-of-all-trades—dictated that he should do his job well. Whatever his personal conflicts, he didn't want his comrades to march into danger unprepared. Self-interest aside, a devastating defeat for the Night's Watch would mean a heavier burden on everyone, including himself. Supplies would dwindle, and more would be demanded of the remaining brothers.

In short, their survival was tied to his own.

"There's something else you need to remember. White Walkers aren't mindless beasts; they're intelligent beings. Killing one of them will have alerted the others. Even with obsidian weapons, you'll need to stay vigilant."

Oser yawned, clearly unimpressed. "Tell that to Benjen. I'm just a soldier. I follow orders. The rest isn't my concern."

"I've already told him," Aegor said, trying to keep his tone measured. "But this is the kind of thing where the more people know, the better. One more thing, if anyone dies on the road or you come across a corpse, you must burn it. Fire works on the wights, but it won't kill a White Walker."

"Got it. Burn the corpses, use dragonglass, and pray to whatever gods will listen. Anything else?" Oser grumbled. "I'm not good with details. Now, if you'll excuse me…" The ranger waved him off irritably and marched away without looking back, the sack bouncing on his shoulder.

---

"I'm used to your bluntness," Tyrion said with a smirk as he watched Oser disappear down the corridor. "I never thought I'd see you being so… long-winded. You almost made me believe in these White Walkers of yours."

Aegor forced a small smile. There was no point in trying to convince Tyrion. The man was a skeptic by nature, and Aegor didn't have the energy for an argument.

No matter how he justified his actions, the truth remained: he was abandoning his post and leaving the Wall behind. He was using his knowledge—his "insider information"—to escape danger.

Benjen Stark, on the other hand, was about to lead seven rangers into the unknown, searching for evidence of an ancient enemy that most believed to be a myth. Each of them was a seasoned fighter, yet without Valyrian steel, they would face an enemy with superior strength, deadly weapons, and the element of surprise. Even armed with dragonglass, they were walking into a death trap.

By rights, Aegor should have been among them. His absence would increase the risks for the others, even if only by a fraction. If Will, one of the rangers replacing him, died during the mission, it would be hard to ignore the guilt of having shifted that burden onto someone else.

But guilt alone wasn't enough to change his mind. He wasn't a hero, nor was he foolish enough to throw himself into a doomed expedition.

"What's wrong?" Tyrion asked, noticing his companion's heavy expression.

"Nothing," Aegor replied lightly, forcing himself to sound indifferent. "I guess I'm just too honest for my own good."

Honest? Hardly. It felt more like cowardice. Yet saying anything more would feel like cursing his comrades to their deaths. He'd learned his lesson from Bran's fall: some things were beyond his power to change. Until he had the status and authority to make a difference, words meant little. "I suppose I'm just feeling a bit sentimental. Leaving the Wall is harder than I expected."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Sentimental? If I recall correctly, you didn't come here by choice."

"No, but it wasn't the Night's Watch who brought me here," Aegor said with a shake of his head. "Since I've been here, I've had the same treatment as everyone else. Food, shelter, even a bit of coin. It's not much, but it's fair. A nobleman I'd never met condemned me to this place, but the Night's Watch… they didn't treat me unfairly. Do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so. You don't hate them."

"Exactly."

Aegor fell silent, watching the black brothers busy themselves with preparations for the next day's patrol. His irritation over the daunting assignments faded. Compared to the rangers heading north, his burdens seemed trivial. Not only was he avoiding this dangerous expedition, but his journey to King's Landing would also keep him far from Mormont's inevitable decision to launch a larger search-and-rescue mission if Benjen's party failed to return.

For all his complaints, Aegor realized he was lucky. A few extra responsibilities were a small price to pay for survival.

He'd once told Jon that hardships were a test, a way for the gods to prepare those they deemed capable. Now, he found himself in need of the same advice. If he didn't push himself, how would he know what he was capable of?

Before crossing over into this world, Aegor had been cushioned by the privileges of modern life. He had never truly struggled. Here, equality in misery meant there was no easy path, but it also meant that every achievement would be earned.

The days of coasting were over. From now on, his success—or failure—would depend entirely on his own decisions. As a recruiter, a resource manager, and an emissary, he would rise to the challenge. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Chapter 39

"Aegor, why didn't you go?" Will grabbed him by the arm, his eyes wide with panic. "Are the men going out on patrol this time going to die? Is that what's going to happen?"

It was just before dawn, and most of the Night's Watch were still deep in sleep. Only Aegor had risen early, wanting to see off the rangers who were about to head beyond the Wall in search of the White Walkers. He was supposed to be among them.

Faced with Will's panicked questioning, which was dangerously close to the truth, Aegor was left speechless. He could only grip his companion's hand tightly and say, "Don't let your imagination run wild. I was just assigned to another task."

"No! It must be like this! It has to be!" Ever since Aegor's warning had saved Will's life, the poacher had developed a near-superstitious trust in him. Now, learning that Aegor would not be joining the patrol, and seeing the unease in his expression, an ominous premonition swept through Will's mind. Fear overwhelmed him, and he shouted out, "Lord Benjen! This patrol—no one's coming back! The White Walkers are waiting for us in the Haunted Forest! We can't leave the Wall!"

"What nonsense is this?" Benjen's voice cut sharply through the early morning air. He stood just a few paces away, already saddling his horse. His piercing gaze bore down on Will as he secured his pack of provisions to the saddle. "Do you have any idea what kind of pressure the Lord Commander endured to convince the realm that you three deserters were telling the truth? Enough of this. Get your things and mount your horse. We're leaving now."

Aegor knew he'd made a mistake, allowing his unease to show, and he quickly recovered. Plastering on a calm, confident expression, he pulled Will aside. Stuffing an obsidian dagger into the poacher's trembling hands, he said in a firm tone, "Keep this safe. Be careful. You'll come back." It was a lie, but one meant to comfort.

---

Aegor woke with a start.

Since his terrifying encounter with the White Walkers—their pursuit, the harrowing battle, and the moment he managed to kill one—he had come to understand these ancient enemies of mankind in a way few others did. Perhaps because of that, the nightmares that had once plagued him had vanished entirely.

Instead, his dreams were now haunted by a different scene: Benjen, Will, and the other elite rangers mounting their horses and disappearing into the darkness of the Wall's tunnel, heading north on what was likely a doomed mission. The memory of Will's nervous, desperate expression before being scolded into silence by Benjen lingered in Aegor's mind, clear as day.

Benjen had gone north to confirm the existence of the White Walkers. Will, however, was being forced to confront his nightmares again—the horror of creatures he had already barely survived. Aegor imagined the fear must weigh even more heavily on him than it did on the others.

Where were they now? Had they found any sign of the White Walkers? Were they… still alive?

The warmth of the room, heated by the hot spring water flowing beneath Winterfell, should have been comforting. But Aegor sat motionless in the soft bedding, feeling as if a heavy weight pinned him down.

This was one of the guest rooms in Winterfell. A few days after Benjen's patrol had set out, Aegor had joined Tyrion and his party in leaving the Wall. During their journey south, they had been attacked by wildlings. In response, Commander Mormont had "generously" assigned ten rangers to escort the group, ensuring the safety of the queen's brother and a vital source of future support for the Night's Watch. They had arrived in Winterfell the previous evening, where accommodations had been arranged for them.

The room Aegor now occupied was far more spacious and comfortable than the one he had been given on his first visit. But this wasn't home, and the unfamiliar surroundings did little to ease his thoughts. Finally, after lying in bed in a daze for what felt like an eternity, he got up, dressed, and stepped out into the cold morning air.

The chill hit him immediately. Outside, the world felt quiet, almost dreamlike. The parade ground was nearly empty, save for a few Winterfell guards going through their drills. The departure of the king and his entourage had taken Lord Stark, his two daughters, and more than a quarter of Winterfell's guards and servants. The castle had not been this empty since the last war.

As a result, the butler who greeted Aegor, Tyrion, Yoren, and their small escort had been able to easily arrange a private room for each of them.

But they would only enjoy these accommodations for a single day. Tomorrow, they would continue their journey south. In the south, the words "Night's Watch" carried no respect—only disdain.

Before leaving, however, Aegor had something important to confirm.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, stopping a passing servant. "There's something I'd like to ask you—"

"I'm not a lady, sir," the maid replied respectfully, cutting him off. "Just tell me what you need to know."

Aegor gave her a small smile. "It's nothing serious. I just wanted to ask—when Lord Bran fell, I was the one who found him first. How is he now?"

"He's awake," the maid said, though her tone turned somber. "But he's not doing well. His head… it seems like something's wrong. He can't remember a lot of things."

"Hmm..." Aegor frowned. It was still in line with the original events. "And while I was gone? Did anything unusual happen?"

"Unusual? Plenty of things. What are you asking about specifically?" The maid tilted her head thoughtfully. "The most notable thing was probably the fire in the library tower. Such a shame—so many books lost."

The fire. Aegor's heart skipped a beat, and his voice came out sharper than he intended. "And Lady Stark? Is she all right?"

The maid gave him a puzzled look. What did the Lady of Winterfell have to do with a black-clad member of the Night's Watch? If she didn't know her mistress better, she might have suspected some sort of secret relationship. "She's fine. She doesn't read much, so the fire didn't affect her. She spent all her time crying and staying by young Master Bran's side. Now that the boy's awake, she's doing much better."

"She's still in Winterfell, then?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?" The maid's frown deepened.

Aegor studied her face and found no sign of deceit or hesitation. The confirmation came more easily than he'd expected, and the weight on his chest lifted. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. His small intervention, his risk in deviating from the original events had worked. There was no "higher power" forcing events back on track. The timeline had shifted. He no longer had to worry about Catelyn Tully intercepting Tyrion on the road.

"Thank you. That's all I needed."

"You're welcome. Breakfast is ready, by the way. You can head to the hall to eat," the maid said, still baffled by his odd questions and changing expressions. She gave him a polite nod before hurrying away.

One of Aegor's two major concerns had been resolved. Now, all that remained was figuring out how to tackle the tasks ahead. Though he still hadn't come up with a solid plan, he had a rough idea of how to approach things in the short term. Feeling lighter than before, he went to wash up and have breakfast.

On his way back to his room, a guard approached him.

"Brother of the Night's Watch," the man called.

"What is it?"

"The Lord of Winterfell is receiving guests in the hall. Please follow me."

Chapter 40

The contrast to the king's feast held in this room not long ago was striking. Now, with many of the long tables and benches removed, the hall that had once felt crowded and narrow seemed spacious. When Aegor entered, led by the guards, he found that most of the attendees were already present.

A row of guards stood stationed by the walls. Robb Stark sat in the high seat that once belonged to his father. To his right and left were Maester Luwin and Lady Catelyn, respectively. Robb, seated in the center, exuded the air of a young lord, his youthful face beginning to show traces of the authority he would one day wield.

Aegor's earlier questions to the maid before breakfast had been unnecessary; Lady Stark was right here, sitting in front of him. Compared to the last time he had seen her, she seemed to have aged twenty years. Her haggard face bore a resemblance to her older appearance in the television adaptation of this world. She looked only slightly younger than Maester Luwin seated beside her. Yet, despite her weariness, this was undeniably the real Catelyn Stark.

Aegor noted the implications of her presence. Catelyn hadn't gone to King's Landing, hadn't encountered Littlefinger, and hadn't been deceived about the dagger. This meant he didn't have to worry about helping Tyrion avoid conflicts with her on the way south.

In the middle of the hall stood the other Night's Watchmen who had arrived earlier, along with Tyrion and his entourage. Aegor quietly joined Yoren and the black-clad brothers, blending into their ranks. Once he was in place, Robb spoke.

"Welcome. I was occupied with duties last night and wasn't able to greet you personally. I hope I haven't failed in extending proper hospitality," Robb said, his tone formal yet slightly awkward. It was clear he was speaking as a host for the first time in his young life. His words lacked polish, as though they had been hastily memorized, but his effort was evident.

Aegor's attention was drawn to Robb's demeanor. The boy had not unsheathed his sword, nor did he address Tyrion with hostility. It was a subtle but significant departure from the original course of events. Aegor knew this change was tied to his own actions, and the realization made him feel more entangled in the unfolding plot.

"You're too kind," Tyrion said with a sigh. "So, when will your brother arrive?"

At that moment, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. A large figure entered—Hodor, carrying Bran Stark.

"Oh, the boy survived after all," Tyrion remarked, turning to look at Bran. Cradled in Hodor's arms, the young Stark still managed to tower over the dwarf. "I must say, you Starks have remarkable luck."

"Northerners must be tough to survive," Robb responded evenly. Though his tone held no hostility, it was far less brash than in the original events. "Hodor, bring my brother here."

"Hodor," the giant replied cheerfully, trotting forward. He gently set Bran down near the high seat where the rulers of House Stark traditionally sat. The boy gripped the chair's arms as he settled into the seat, his useless legs dangling in the air. The chair's grandeur made him look smaller than he was.

"Lord Tyrion, you wanted to see my brother. He's here now," Robb said.

"Bran, I hear you were quite skilled at climbing," Tyrion began, studying the boy intently. "Tell me, how did you fall that day?"

Aegor felt his heart race. If Bran mentioned Jaime Lannister, or worse, if he implicated the "noisy" Night's Watchman who had been on the tower that day, it would lead to trouble.

But Bran's response was a relief. "I don't know. There's no way I could have fallen."

"The boy remembers nothing of the fall or the events leading up to it," Maester Luwin added softly.

"How peculiar," Tyrion remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"My lord, Bran is still weak and needs his rest," Lady Stark interjected. Her voice was soft, almost fragile, as though she barely had the energy to maintain politeness. "If there's nothing urgent, please allow him to return to his chambers."

"I have a gift for him," Tyrion said, nodding toward her before turning back to Bran. "How would you like to ride, boy?"

Maester Luwin sighed. "My lord, the boy's legs are no longer functional. He cannot ride a horse."

"Rubbish," Tyrion said bluntly. "With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I'm not a cripple!" Bran's voice was sharp, defensive.

"Then I'm not a dwarf," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "I'm sure my father would be thrilled to hear that."

Catelyn and Robb looked displeased, but Theon Greyjoy chuckled. Maester Luwin, ever patient, asked, "What sort of horse and saddle are you referring to, my lord?"

"A clever horse," Tyrion explained. "The boy can't guide his mount with his legs, so the horse must respond to reins and voice commands. I suggest an untrained yearling. That way, you don't have to retrain a seasoned horse." He pulled a rolled parchment from his belt. "Give this to your saddler. He'll know what to do."

Maester Luwin took the parchment with curiosity, unrolling it to examine the detailed drawings and notes. "I see. You've laid it out very clearly. Yes… this could work. I should have thought of this myself."

---

Aegor stood among the Night's Watchmen, silently observing this familiar yet altered scene. He prayed that the interaction would end quickly. His only wish was for everything to proceed smoothly until they could depart southward, uninterrupted.

"Can I really ride a horse?" Bran asked, his voice filled with hesitant hope.

"Of course," Tyrion assured him. "And I promise you, boy, when you're on a horse, you're as tall as anyone else."

"Thank you for your kindness, my lord," Lady Stark said, forcing a polite smile as she looked at her son's happiness. "If you'll stay for lunch or dinner, we would be honored to host you."

"You're too kind, Lady Stark," Tyrion replied, bowing slightly. "But I've had my fill of Northern hospitality. I'd prefer the atmosphere of an inn in Winter Town over the formality of the castle." He turned to the Night's Watchmen. "Aegor, Yoren, we'll head south at dawn tomorrow. You'll find me on the road."

With that, Tyrion exited the hall, his guards following close behind.

The remaining members of the Night's Watch, along with the dozen rangers who had escorted Tyrion back, lingered briefly. Despite the reduced numbers, their presence kept the hall from feeling too empty. Robb addressed them with some hesitation.

"Brothers of the Night's Watch, you are always welcome in Winterfell. If you need anything, let the servants know, and we will do our best to assist you. I also hope to have the honor of dining with you tonight."

Though his words were formal and slightly awkward, the Night's Watchmen didn't seem to mind. After thanking him for his hospitality, they departed, led out by a ranger.

As Aegor followed the group, a guard stopped him. "Aegor?"

"Yes?"

"The young lord wishes to speak with you. Please follow me."

Aegor froze. What could Robb Stark possibly want? Had he somehow been caught in his lies about Bran's fall or Joffrey's plot to kill the boy?

He felt a pang of guilt. Though he hadn't acted with malice, he knew there would be no reasoning with the Starks if they discovered the truth. Either revelation could derail everything he had worked for.

Feeling uneasy and powerless, Aegor followed the guard into a small room in the northern wing of the hall. Inside were a table, two chairs, and Robb Stark, waiting for him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 41

At the signal from the new Lord of Winterfell, the guard turned and left, shutting the door behind him. The room was now silent, leaving Aegor alone with Robb Stark. This one-on-one situation eased some of Aegor's nerves, if there had been any hostility or accusations, this wouldn't be the way to handle it.

Robb gestured for Aegor to sit down. "Friend, were you the one who discovered my brother falling from the tower that day?"

The word friend was enough to make Aegor exhale in relief. The Starks were not known for subtlety when it came to their feelings about others; they wore their likes and dislikes openly. Aegor nodded and replied, "I'm ashamed to admit it, my lord. I could have stopped young Bran from attempting such a dangerous climb, but I failed."

"As his brother, I know Bran's stubbornness better than anyone," Robb said, sighing like someone much older than his years. "When he sets his mind on something, no one can talk him down. It's partly our fault, we've spoiled him too much."

Robb's tone carried the weight of responsibility, and Aegor silently agreed. Bran had been spoiled. From what Aegor had learned in conversations with the guards, the Stark family had tried various ways to dissuade Bran from climbing, but none of them worked. Eventually, even Eddard Stark had resigned himself to the boy's reckless habit, allowing it to continue.

Bran's fall was undeniably influenced by Jaime Lannister's actions—and to a degree, Aegor's own interference—but from a modern perspective, wasn't there some accountability on the part of his parents? Poor education, lack of proper supervision, didn't it all add up? To put it bluntly, if you never fall, that's your luck, but if you do, then you've brought it on yourself. And for a child who can't grasp the consequences, isn't a firm hand sometimes necessary?

Aegor's own childhood had been full of such lessons. He'd been beaten for sneaking off to swim in the river alone, for stealing money to buy snacks, and for skipping school to visit the arcade. As an adult, he felt gratitude rather than resentment toward his parents. As long as discipline was measured and accompanied by an explanation, it wasn't something to be feared.

Such idle thoughts ran through Aegor's mind, but he kept his expression neutral. As a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, he had no right to lecture the heir of Winterfell. So, he simply waited for Robb to continue.

"Let's not dwell on what's already happened," Robb said finally. "Thanks to your warning, my brother escaped danger a second time."

"My warning?" Aegor's expression turned serious. "The assassin… he acted?"

"Not long after you left Winterfell, one night, the library tower caught fire. Most of the castle was busy fighting the blaze, but the guards my father had stationed inside and outside Bran's room didn't abandon their posts."

"And the assassin still made a move under those conditions?"

"No," Robb said, shaking his head. "He approached, saw the guards at the door, and turned back. The guards suspected it was a trick and didn't pursue him immediately. But Winterfell is a small place, and everyone here knows one another. It didn't take long to track him down."

Aegor felt a strange mix of emotions. The assassin had been caught. Despite all the time he had spent trying to alter the course of events—only to be thwarted at nearly every turn—it was ultimately a whispered warning to Benjen that had achieved the desired result. The threat to Tyrion, and by extension himself, had been neutralized.

All his effort had been outdone by a single lie. Was this irony, or just the absurd nature of reality?

"Was he interrogated?" Aegor asked cautiously.

"He resisted capture and was killed," Robb said grimly. "We couldn't risk taking him alive. Once we knew who sent him, his fate was sealed."

"That's… understandable," Aegor said, nodding. A small wave of relief washed over him. If the assassin had been caught alive and his confession hadn't implicated Joffrey, it would have caused more problems than it solved.

"Uncle Benjen says you're a clever man," Robb continued, his tone more solemn. "So I trust you understand that this assassin had to disappear, and this matter must remain a secret. Most people in Winterfell know nothing of what happened. Out of respect for your role in uncovering this threat, I've decided to share the truth with you, but I expect you to keep it to yourself."

"Understood," Aegor replied immediately.

In this world, there was no such thing as "equal justice under the law." Even if the assassin had been sent by Joffrey, the Stark family had little recourse. Short of open war, any accusations against the crown prince would only result in denials and excuses. At most, Robert Baratheon might scold his son.

If this had been a time of peace, the Starks could have sought retribution. Given Eddard's long friendship with Robert, they might have even had the upper hand. But with Eddard preparing to leave for King's Landing and the family reeling from revelations about the Lannisters' involvement in Jon Arryn's death, the Starks couldn't afford to alienate their Baratheon allies.

The Stark family could only swallow the matter in silence.

"Here, take this." Robb pulled a leather pouch from behind the table and handed it to Aegor.

Aegor accepted the bag, its weight and the metallic sound within making its contents easy to guess. His brow furrowed as unease flickered across his face. "What is this?"

"What we found in the assassin's hiding place. It should be the payment he received from his employer," Robb replied, his expression dark with anger. "My brother's life was worth only this pitiful amount of coin."

"This might have just been the deposit," Aegor murmured. "The rest would've been paid after the deed was done. But why give it to me?"

"You're heading to King's Landing on behalf of the Night's Watch. That journey won't be cheap," Robb said plainly. "I added a gold dragon to the assassin's bounty for my brother, and I hope you can use it."

Holding the heavy pouch, Aegor hesitated. His first instinct was to refuse it outright, just as he had turned down red envelopes in the past before he'd found himself in this world. But this wasn't the modern world he had once known. The customs and expectations here were different—this was a gift from a great noble, and he couldn't afford to reject it.

Moreover, he truly needed the money. Aegor hadn't left the Wall willingly, nor had Commander Mormont provided any funding for his trip south. After all, he was a ranger, a man expected to fight on the front lines, not wander the South on "missions." Being penniless and reliant on Tyrion to pay for his meals and lodging had been a bitter and humiliating experience.

"Thank you, my lord," Aegor said, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

"Keep it," Robb said firmly. "And thank you again for what you did for my brother. Just remember what we talked about—this must remain a secret. That's all. See you at dinner."

---

"The North respects the Night's Watch."

Aegor had heard those words countless times from his fellow brothers, but he hadn't truly understood their meaning until his second visit to Winterfell, after Robert Baratheon and his entourage had left.

The new, young Lord of Winterfell—Robb Stark—actually chose to dine at the same table as the twelve Night's Watchmen who were visiting.

From Yoren, Aegor learned that Robb's actions weren't meant to set a precedent, nor were they driven by gratitude for Aegor's role in saving Bran. Rather, this practice followed a tradition established by Eddard Stark himself.

Before leaving for King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King, Eddard had made it a point to personally greet every Night's Watchman who came to Winterfell, without exception. If they were deserters or oathbreakers, he would dispense justice with his sword and the guillotine himself. But if they were brothers of the Watch carrying out their duties, he ensured they were given warm meals and good wine, dining with them at the same table. He would listen to their reports about the Wall directly, treating the Watch's concerns with the respect they deserved.

---

Strictly speaking, Aegor and Benjen's previous visit to Winterfell had been overshadowed by the king's arrival. It had been an unusual situation, and the Watch's brothers had been given little notice or priority.

But such courtesy and respect for the Night's Watch could only be found in the North. Once they left Winterfell, things would change.

The ten rangers who had escorted them remained at Winterfell for just one day before heading back north to the Wall. Meanwhile, Aegor, Yoren, and Tyrion, along with his party, began their journey south. This time, they traveled at a leisurely pace, though Aegor knew all too well that life would be very different once they crossed into the southern regions.

Chapter 42

For over a decade, Eddard Stark's unwavering respect for the Night's Watch had set an example in the North. This tradition had fostered a culture of friendship and honor toward the men in black, but as Aegor and Yoren continued their journey south, it became clear how isolated this sentiment was.

The farther south they traveled, the warmer the weather became, but the colder the reception from the people they encountered. By the time they passed Moat Cailin and approached the Neck, the attitudes of the villagers, settlers, and minor lords they met had become indifferent, almost perfunctory. After crossing into the riverlands, Aegor noticed that people paid no attention at all to the black clothes of the Night's Watch. As they moved even farther south, that indifference turned to disdain. The respect and warmth they had experienced in the North seemed like a distant memory.

Yet neither Aegor nor Yoren was particularly bothered by the shift in attitude. Both men were seasoned adults. Yoren, having traveled far and wide in service of the Watch, was used to the varying levels of respect—or lack thereof—shown to the black brothers across the Seven Kingdoms. Aegor, meanwhile, had braced himself for this reality long before setting out. If wearing the black cloak brought universal respect, the Watch wouldn't need to scour the realm for recruits to fill its ranks.

For Aegor, the journey south only reinforced his long-term goal: to find a way to shed the black cloak entirely. The cold stares and dismissive attitudes served as a constant reminder of his current status and of the motivation he needed to change it. However, one thing did trouble him: the task of improving the image of the Night's Watch seemed more daunting than ever.

---

No road stretches endlessly, and after nearly a month of traveling with Tyrion, their destination finally came into view. The journey had been filled with good food, leisurely sightseeing, and ample time for Aegor to reflect. Now, as the towering walls of King's Landing appeared in the distance, all his lingering worries melted away.

Aegor had been confident since leaving Winterfell that Catelyn's absence from the road meant their journey would remain uninterrupted. Still, it wasn't until they actually reached King's Landing without incident that he allowed himself to fully relax. The twists and turns surrounding the Winterfell incident were finally behind him.

This successful deviation from the original story held greater significance for Aegor than it might for others. It proved to him that the major events of this world—the plot of A Song of Ice and Fire—could be changed. With enough willpower and decisive action, anything was possible.

King's Landing, the largest city in Westeros and the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, loomed ahead. Overlooking Blackwater Bay, it was the seat of the Iron Throne and the Red Keep, the landing site of Aegon the Conqueror, and the center of the continent's politics, economy, and culture.

Now, a world traveler had arrived, one determined to alter the course of the future.

---

All the anxiety Aegor had carried during the journey evaporated, replaced by a bubbling excitement that threatened to overwhelm him. If not for his self-control, he might have galloped ahead on the King's Road like a man possessed.

A few miles outside the city walls, clusters of huts and tents began to line the roadside, marking the outskirts of civilization. With these came an unmistakable stench carried on the wind.

"Ah, the smell of King's Landing," Tyrion remarked, his tone light and amused as he rode alongside Aegor. "I've missed it. After months of fresh air in the North, it's almost comforting to return to this."

Aegor had heard tales of the city's infamous stench long before finding himself in this world, but nothing could have prepared him for it. The smell reached them even at this distance, and he couldn't help but wonder how much worse it would be within the city walls. By comparison, the icy air of the Wall—though harsh—was refreshingly clean.

"How can the capital of the Seven Kingdoms smell this foul?" Aegor asked, wrinkling his nose. "Don't they clean the sewers or take care of the garbage?"

"Oh, we have sewers, and garbage is cleared," Tyrion said, smirking. "But there's never enough manpower to keep up. First, we ensure the nobles' quarters are clean, then the wealthier districts. As for the poorer areas, well, they're left to fend for themselves. There are nearly 500,000 people crammed within the city walls. Imagine how much waste they produce every day."

Aegor frowned. "If manpower is the issue, why not hire more workers? There are so many poor souls outside the city who would gladly work for a meal and a few copper coins."

Tyrion chuckled. "A simple solution, but who do you suggest pays for it? Our dear king is already drowning in debt to the Iron Bank and to my father. There's no money for such noble endeavors."

Aegor sighed. "How can he stand the stench of his own capital?"

"The Red Keep sits atop Aegon's High Hill," Tyrion explained with a dry laugh. "The wind carries away the worst of the smell. The nobles up there don't have to worry about such things."

"Of course," Aegor muttered, shaking his head in resignation. He had no clever retort. Even with his knowledge of modern systems, he couldn't fix a city whose rulers saw no need to improve. Besides, his own list of priorities was already overwhelming. The smell of King's Landing was the least of his concerns.

As they continued along the road, the gates of the city grew closer. The northwest entrance, the Gate of the Gods, was teeming with life. A chaotic crowd of people, animals, and carts jostled for space. Among them were knights and free riders, bards strumming harps or beating drums, and merchants with carts piled high with goods—hops, corn, barrels of honey. Craftsmen, farmers, and prostitutes mingled in the throng, creating a scene as vibrant as it was disorderly.

Dozens of gold-cloaked City Watch guards struggled to maintain order amidst the surge of bodies. The gate was loud, congested, and overwhelming, but it was undeniably alive.

"The Hand's tourney," Yoren sneered. Born and raised in the North, he understood Lord Eddard Stark's temperament better than most people in Westeros. "The Hand must hate this tourney."

"The tourney itself isn't a bad idea. Events like these bring some prosperity to the kingdom," Tyrion remarked, his voice low but laced with sarcasm. "The nobles use it to show off and chase glory, the common folk get to join in the festivities and forget their hardships for a while, and the merchants make a tidy profit. The problem lies with our good king. He holds these tourneys far too often. There's one for festivals, one for the prince's naming day, one for the new Hand taking office, and another just because he's in a good mood. No registration fees, no entry fees—participants and spectators are all thrilled, but the organizers are buried in debt. And, of course, he borrows the money in the name of the Iron Throne instead of his own. Tsk tsk. I don't know whether to call him clever or..."

Tyrion trailed off with a smirk, leaving the thought unfinished.

The group discussed the recently concluded tourney as they rode through the bustling streets of King's Landing, drawing closer to the city's center.

The stench, much stronger now than it had been outside the walls, was unavoidable. Yet the human mind was remarkably adaptable, and within a few minutes, they began to tolerate it. It wasn't that their noses stopped working; their brains simply chose to ignore the foul odors and focus on other things.

---

"My backside has endured enough punishment these past two months. Let's find a place to settle down first and then think about what comes next," Tyrion said, changing the subject. "I know a decent inn, halfway up the slope of Rhaenys' Hill. The elevation makes the air fresher than most parts of King's Landing. You'll appreciate it."

"Don't you live in the Red Keep?" Aegor asked, surprised. Tyrion was the Queen's younger brother, after all. Even if his relationship with Cersei wasn't particularly warm, he should still have the privilege of staying in the royal castle—or at the very least, in the noble district below it.

"The Red Keep is too far from my favorite brothel," the dwarf replied with a mischievous grin. "And I can't stomach being surrounded by schemers, fools, and the ambitious every waking moment."

"My lord, you've already spent a great deal of coin on this journey. Let us handle the matter of accommodations ourselves," Yoren interjected. He was unaware of the private discussions and deals Tyrion had made with the higher-ups of the Night's Watch. As far as Yoren was concerned, Aegor had been sent to King's Landing purely to gather supplies. Relying so heavily on Tyrion's generosity made him uneasy.

"Seven gods, have mercy on a poor, wretched dwarf like me!" Tyrion exclaimed in mock outrage, shaking his head in exaggerated exasperation. "Do you expect me to ride halfway across the city whenever I feel like chatting with my two favorite brothers of the Night's Watch? Don't argue. Come with me."

Chapter 43

Since Tyrion had insisted, the two Night's Watchmen stopped arguing and followed the Lannister party along the main roads of King's Landing. They passed through Shoemaker Square and the Central Square before veering left and continuing up the gentle incline of Nun Street. Slowly, they climbed toward the top of Rhaenys' Hill, the smallest of the three hills encircled by the city walls.

As they ascended, the scenery changed noticeably. The streets became wider and cleaner. The people they passed were better dressed, moving with an air of leisure and refinement. Shops selling luxury goods—trinkets, jewelry, and finely tailored clothing—began to appear on either side of the road.

Aegor quickly realized this was one of the wealthier districts of King's Landing. If he were to stay here for any length of time, it would undoubtedly be an expense far beyond his means. At last, the group stopped outside an inn called the Albatross.

After dismounting, Aegor looked around and noticed that their position on the hill offered a clear advantage. They were higher than most parts of the city, far above the crowded and filthy streets below. The elevation greatly reduced the stench of the city while still allowing for convenient travel and activity. It was a prime location.

"Four rooms, please," Tyrion called out as he entered the inn. "One for myself and my two friends in black, and one for my servants. Make sure they're connected."

The innkeeper clearly recognized Tyrion and greeted him with enthusiasm. Servants quickly appeared to take their horses and luggage while the innkeeper personally led the group to the second floor.

The interior of the inn was well-decorated, far better than even the main hall of Winterfell. It was evident that this was an establishment catering to wealthier clientele.

Before parting ways to enter their rooms, Tyrion turned to the two Night's Watchmen with some parting advice. "You're representatives of the Night's Watch here, so you'll need to dress the part. There are shops on Sister Street nearby that sell both ready-made and custom clothing. I suggest you take the time to buy something appropriate."

He paused, then added with a grin, "Oh, and if you head out, turn right. When you can see the hole in the top of the dragon's lair clearly, take a left. That'll take you to Silk Street. Half the brothels in King's Landing are there. Mention my name, and even if you're short on coin, you'll find yourselves well taken care of. If you're too shy to go on your own, let me know, I'd be happy to take you another day. But for now, I need to rest my poor, tortured backside. Sleeping on my stomach might be my only option tonight. See you later."

---

To be honest, Aegor was tempted. He was a normal, healthy man with his own needs, and it had been over a year and a half since he'd come to this world. During that time, he hadn't so much as touched a woman. The idea of visiting a brothel in King's Landing, where the women were far more refined than the part-time village girls near Castle Black, was an appealing thought.

But the moment passed quickly. He owed Tyrion far too many favors already, and he carried the weight of significant responsibilities. The idea of using someone else's money for something so indulgent made him uncomfortable.

Instead, Aegor entered his modest room, set his belongings aside, and left briefly to request pen and paper from the innkeeper. Returning to the small table by the window, he sat down to reflect.

King's Landing was undoubtedly a dangerous place, but as long as he avoided becoming entangled in the political machinations of the capital, he believed he could keep himself safe for the time being. Still, his long-term survival depended on careful planning—if he wanted to avoid being recalled to the Wall, he needed a strategy.

---

Staring out at the bustling streets below, Aegor allowed himself a few moments to adjust his thoughts before beginning to write. He listed his tasks on the paper in front of him:

Collecting Supplies

Recruiting Personnel

Mining Dragonglass

Improving the Image of the Night's Watch

When he had first received these tasks, Aegor had been overwhelmed, unsure of where to even begin. But during the long journey south, with plenty of time to think and discuss matters with Tyrion, he had begun to form a clearer picture. Now, he felt confident enough to put his plans into writing before the chaos of the coming days blurred his focus.

The first thing he and Tyrion had agreed on was that "improving the image of the Night's Watch" was practically meaningless. In a world where communication was so limited, the opinions of the South about the Watch mattered little. Could the Watch even afford to send people to conduct surveys or gauge public perception? Hardly.

The reality was that this task was more about appearances. Whether or not Aegor actually succeeded in "improving the image" of the Watch, it would be difficult for anyone to measure his progress. In truth, its only real purpose was to serve as a safety net—an excuse he could use if he succeeded in completing the other tasks but still faced the risk of being recalled to the Wall.

With that in mind, Aegor crossed out the fourth task with his pen.

---

That left three tasks, all of which had to be approached seriously.

But what defined "completion" for these tasks? Aegor saw room for flexibility. For instance, when Yoren next came south from the Wall, Aegor couldn't afford to tell him he hadn't recruited anyone. Similarly, he couldn't let months pass without sending supplies north or allow the Night's Watch's ships to arrive at Dragonstone only to find that the mining of dragonglass hadn't even begun.

Any of those failures would result in his immediate recall, with no room for negotiation.

However, as long as he could show some progress—provide a few recruits, deliver a modest amount of supplies, or even a small cache of dragonglass—there would be room for maneuvering. The specifics of how much was "enough" remained deliberately vague, giving him opportunities to manage expectations while buying himself more time.

It couldn't be too little—not for long, at least. If he couldn't deliver anything substantial, who would let him live freely outside the Wall? The Night's Watch might tolerate an underperformer for a while, but sooner or later, he'd be recalled and sent right back to the cold and danger of the Wall.

But giving too much was equally dangerous. People's appetites grew with what they were offered, and the same went for organizations. If Aegor recruited too many men, the Night's Watch would expand and with that expansion would come an even greater need for supplies. Winter was approaching, and the lords of the North would inevitably be forced to cut back their contributions to the Wall. Supplies would dwindle, and the gap between what the Watch needed and what they could get would only widen.

If Aegor created the impression that he could fulfill the Watch's every need—providing endless supplies, recruits, and resources, he'd be setting himself up for disaster.

The truth was that the productivity of this world was limited. Outside of air, water, and land, there were no abundant resources to draw upon. Even if Aegor somehow convinced the wealthiest nobles in King's Landing to pour all their wealth into supporting the Night's Watch, it still wouldn't be enough to fill the void.

The ideal strategy, then, was to keep his contributions at a level that left the Watch's leadership "not very satisfied, but not dissatisfied enough to turn against him or recall him." By keeping expectations low, he'd ensure that when the Wall inevitably demanded more men and supplies, they'd be starting from a lower baseline. This would give him more room to maneuver in the future.

Finding that balance—where the safety line was—was something Aegor would have to figure out for himself.

---

With that in mind, he finalized his approach and outlined his itinerary. First, he would handle the matter of Tyrion's "funding"—or more accurately, his "ransom"—and ensure it was sent to the Wall as a gesture of good faith. Afterward, he'd travel to Dragonstone to conduct the initial survey and groundwork for obsidian mining. Only after those two matters were settled would he return to King's Landing to focus on recruitment and gathering supplies.

---

Once his itinerary was set, Aegor hesitated for a moment. Then, at the bottom of the page, he added two lines in English, a language no one in this world could understand:

Take off the black clothes.
Find a way home.

---

Trying to complete the tasks assigned by Mormont was only a means to an end a way to buy time. And the purpose of buying time was clear: finding a way to escape the Night's Watch. He had once hoped that Tyrion might be able to help him achieve that goal, but it had quickly become apparent that even leaving the Wall legally required overcoming enormous obstacles. Removing the mark of his identity as a sworn brother of the Watch, though? That was an entirely different challenge, and one no one else could solve for him.

Not only that, but Aegor never let himself forget that he didn't belong in this world. If it was possible, he wanted to find out why he had ended up here and more importantly, if there was a way to return to his original world.

Chapter 44

Before his journey to this world, Aegor had followed a simple principle at work: do your job well, but nothing beyond what's required. He avoided taking on tasks outside his responsibilities or allowing anything to cut into his personal time, including overtime. The reason was straightforward—his financial security, broad horizons, and wide social circle gave him access to opportunities far beyond the office.

For him, work was simply a way to avoid idleness and a sedentary life. His earnings from gaming and stock trading dwarfed his salary, so why bother with office politics or pretending to be a diligent worker just to win a boss's favor?

But now, things were different. The Night's Watch didn't pay him, but they held power over his life and death. If he displeased them, they could easily recall him to the Wall, assign him to patrols beyond the Wall, or even brand him a deserter. Survival would be the least of his concerns in such scenarios, he'd be lucky to escape with his skin intact.

Under the weight of this invisible but ever-present threat, Aegor decided to begin working immediately, despite his physical and mental exhaustion.

Tyrion had announced his intent to rest, and Aegor resolved to take advantage of the time. Tyrion might be a noble and a benefactor, but there was something Aegor needed something Tyrion couldn't provide. That meant visiting the only northerner in the royal court: Eddard Stark.

---

"Knock, knock." Aegor rapped on the door to the next room.

Yoren opened it, wearing only shorts after taking advantage of the inn's bathhouse to wash off the sweat and grime of their journey. The heat of King's Landing had left him flushed. "What is it?"

"I'm heading to see the Hand of the King. Do you want to come with me?"

"Now? You don't want to rest first?"

Yoren had traveled south with funds meant for the Night's Watch, but all their food and lodging expenses had been covered by Tyrion Lannister along the way. His purse was still untouched, and he wasn't in any rush to leave King's Landing.

"A Stark is the Hand of the King. There won't be a better opportunity for the Night's Watch to get things done," Aegor said firmly. "I have too much work ahead of me to waste time. If you don't want to join me, I'll wait a few days before going alone. Lord Eddard values the Watch, but it's best not to trouble him unnecessarily."

Yoren sighed and scratched his beard. "Fine, fine. Give me a moment to get dressed."

---

The temperature difference between King's Landing and the Wall was staggering, nearly sixty degrees. The Wall was a place of frostbite and biting winds; here, the heat was oppressive, clinging to their skin like a second layer. For Yoren, "getting dressed" meant little more than throwing on a coarse black coat and pulling on a pair of outer pants, yet even this was enough to make both men sweat as they left the inn.

They retrieved their still-saddled horses from the stable and set off toward the Red Keep.

The route was simple enough to follow without needing directions. Aegon's High Hill, where the royal fortress stood, dominated the southeastern corner of King's Landing. The hill's height dwarfed the surrounding terrain, including Visenya's Hill and Rhaenys' Hill. From almost anywhere in the city, the Red Keep's towering walls and spires could be seen rising above the landscape, like the seat of a god surveying its domain.

Aegor couldn't help but admire Aegon the Conqueror's choice of location. The Red Keep truly looked like the residence of a ruler.

After riding for a while, Aegor slowed his pace.

"What's wrong?" Yoren asked.

"We should tidy up before meeting the Hand," Aegor said, glancing at Yoren's appearance.

Yoren shook his head, his tone that of a veteran schooling a junior. "Believe me, lad, the Hand of the King won't give us more men or supplies just because we've cleaned ourselves up."

Eddard Stark might not care about the appearance of the Night's Watchmen requesting his help, but the people and nobles of King's Landing certainly would. Aegor wasn't particularly concerned with his task of "improving the image of the Night's Watch," but even so, the idea of appearing in public with a scruffy and disheveled companion was something he couldn't stomach.

Aegor understood how critical first impressions could be, and the lasting impact they might have on improving the overall image of the Night's Watch. But trying to explain such concepts to someone as rough and pragmatic as Yoren would be an exercise in futility. Instead, he chose a more direct and effective approach.

"You've got that huge beard and are wearing a greasy coat. Don't you feel hot?"

"Well… I've been living like this for years. I'm used to it," Yoren replied gruffly.

"Don't worry about it—I'll cover the costs."

---

The bag Robb had given Aegor contained a gold dragon and ninety silver stags.

Aegor now had the equivalent of over 3000 dollars, a significant fortune in a world of low productivity. Of course, he couldn't spend recklessly, but if used wisely, it would be enough to sustain him for well over ten months.

Still, as a Night's Watchman with no steady income, Aegor wasn't about to waste money in the wealthy district of King's Landing. Instead, he deliberately ventured into a more modest part of the city to find the shops he needed.

Their first stop was a barbershop. Aegor instructed the barber to cut both his and Yoren's hair short, shave their beards, and wash their hair, leaving them looking refreshed and presentable.

The transformation cost him a silver stag, with a few copper pennies given as change. Afterward, Aegor led Yoren to a nearby clothing shop.

"Two light and breathable black robes," Aegor said to the shopkeeper. "Pure black is preferred, but if you don't have that, make sure there are no bright patterns or decorations."

"Pure black?" The shopkeeper's face took on a solemn expression. "I'm sorry, has someone in your family passed away?"

"No one's died. We're Night's Watchmen," Aegor replied curtly.

"Night's Watch?" The shopkeeper's eyes widened slightly. "Ah, no offense meant, it's just my first time serving a customer from the Wall. It's a bit unusual." Realizing that his reaction might lose him business, the man quickly plastered on a polite smile. "Please wait a moment. I'll see what I can find."

Aegor remained patient.

In Westerosi custom, pure black clothing was typically reserved for mourning. It was rare for a general clothing store to carry black garments, and Aegor couldn't fault the shopkeeper for the delay. He also couldn't help but feel the weight of his uniform. One of his long-term goals was to leave the Night's Watch, and no one in this world hated wearing black as much as he did. But for now, he had no choice.

He was about to meet Eddard Stark, a man known for his stern northern values. The best way to handle someone like him was to project the image of a loyal and dedicated Night's Watchman.

After an extended search, the shopkeeper finally produced two nearly pure black robes from a dusty corner of his inventory. At Aegor's request, the man sewed over some visible white stripes to make the robes completely black. Each robe cost two silver stags. Additionally, Aegor ordered several more plain black garments for future use.

At Castle Black, he had been forced to wear the same clothes for months on end due to the limited conditions. But now that he was in King's Landing, he refused to endure such discomfort again.

With their new clothes on, Aegor and Yoren mounted their horses once more. As they rode through the streets, Aegor couldn't help but glance at Yoren, who now looked clean and almost unrecognizable.

"Improving the image of the Night's Watch," Aegor muttered to himself with a wry smile. The task he had mentally dismissed as meaningless had somehow become the first thing he had acted on.

---

When they reached the entrance of the Red Keep, Aegor and Yoren explained their purpose to the gold-cloaked guards at the gate. After a brief wait for confirmation, they were permitted to enter and were guided toward the Tower of the Hand.

Closer to the tower, they encountered guards from Winterfell, familiar faces who recognized the black cloaks of the Night's Watch. Respectful of their purpose, the northern guards offered no resistance and quickly granted them entry.

Moments later, Aegor and Yoren stood before Eddard Stark, the new Hand of the King. It had been two months since they had last met at Winterfell.

Chapter 45

"Good afternoon, brothers of the Night's Watch. How can I help you?"

Eddard Stark, now Hand of the King, remained as courteous as ever. Aegor had come to understand that this politeness wasn't a façade. Knowing this gave him confidence as he prepared to present his request.

"My lord," Aegor began steadily, "a hundred thousand wildlings are gathering north of the Wall, and the smaller groups that have crossed it are already causing trouble in the North. By order of Lord Commander Mormont, we've come to King's Landing to seek aid from the Iron Throne."

Yoren coughed lightly and interjected. "I'm here to recruit men for the Wall, my lord. Normally, I'd wait for the king to hold court, explain our needs, and see if the dungeons have any scum they'd like to be rid of. But this lad insisted we come directly to you, so here we are."

Yoren's casual use of "Aegor" seemed to jog something in Eddard's memory. His gaze shifted to Aegor, and recognition dawned in his eyes. The young ranger's distinctive features made it impossible to forget their first meeting.

"You were right to come to me," Eddard said, his tone carrying layers of meaning. "If you waited for an audience with the king, you might still be waiting when winter arrives." He paused, studying Aegor. "So, Aegor… why are you here?"

The double meaning in the Hand's question was not lost on Aegor. Eddard no longer bore any ill will toward him, but the events surrounding Bran's fall and Joffrey's subsequent assassination attempt were clearly still fresh in the lord's mind. Aegor knew that any mention of those events could cause chaos—for the Starks, for the Night's Watch, and for himself.

"I've been tasked with collecting supplies and equipment, recruiting new men, and organizing the mining of dragonglass on Dragonstone, my lord," Aegor replied calmly, his tone steady. "These tasks require someone who can read, calculate, and make plans. That's why I was sent here."

---

Eddard Stark was a man of rules and honor, someone who valued tradition and legal authority. He would never tolerate something as underhanded as "paying a ransom to let a member of the Night's Watch leave the Wall." Aegor knew this well. The leaders of the Watch—Jeor Mormont, Maester Aemon, and Benjen Stark—would never have told Eddard about the deal with Tyrion Lannister.

This was Aegor's greatest advantage. Only Mormont, Aemon, Benjen, and Tyrion knew the full truth of why he had come to King's Landing. Even the stewards and craftsmen at the Wall believed Tyrion's funding was merely financial aid for the Night's Watch. As far as everyone else in Westeros was concerned, Aegor was an official representative of the Watch, sent south to secure critical resources.

While this identity might not win him respect among the nobles of King's Landing, it ensured he wouldn't be ignored. The Night's Watch, though diminished, remained an independent force protected by the Iron Throne. Legally, it stood on the same level as the great lords of Westeros.

---

"Collecting supplies, recruiting men, and mining dragonglass on Dragonstone?" Eddard repeated, his voice thoughtful. For a moment, a faint smile softened his stern features. "You have quite the burden on your shoulders. How many men has Jeor Mormont sent to assist you?"

"The Night's Watch is short of manpower, my lord," Aegor explained. "It's just the two of us for now, and Yoren will soon return to the Wall with any new recruits he finds. After that, I'll be alone in King's Landing. But Lord Commander Mormont has given me the authority to act at my own discretion and decide how best to complete my tasks."

As he spoke, Aegor placed a parchment on the table—a certificate signed and sealed by Jeor Mormont himself. He silently thanked Tyrion for insisting on this document. Without it, convincing anyone of his legitimacy would have been far more difficult.

Eddard unfolded the parchment but didn't read it in detail. A quick glance at Mormont's signature and the seal of the Night's Watch was enough to satisfy him. No member of the Watch would dare forge such a document and risk being branded a deserter. Aegor's words rang true.

"Very well," Eddard said, setting the parchment aside. "How can I help you?"

---

Aegor noted the Hand's expression carefully and allowed himself a small, private smile. Even if Eddard had scrutinized the parchment word for word, he wouldn't have found any flaws. The document was genuine, and every word Aegor had spoken was technically true.

The key lay in his interpretation of Mormont's instructions. When the Old Bear had told him to "act at his own discretion," it was meant as a warning: the Night's Watch would provide no support, and Aegor would have to rely on himself and Tyrion to accomplish their goals.

But Aegor had deliberately twisted those words, framing them to mean he had full authority to represent the Night's Watch in King's Landing. By exploiting this ambiguity, he had successfully drawn Eddard Stark the steadfast Warden of the North and Hand of the King into his plans.

With Mormont's certificate in hand and another endorsement from Eddard, Aegor would have all the legitimacy he needed to operate in King's Landing. This was the beginning of his bold plan.

"I understand the kingdom is facing financial difficulties, so I don't expect the treasury to provide direct assistance," Aegor began carefully. "However, after some investigation, I've learned that more than ten years of peace have allowed King Robert's… 'plan to share wealth with the people' to develop rather well." He paused, then added with subtle tact, "Since the treasury is tight, I've decided to think creatively. I plan to raise funds from the public."

Eddard raised an eyebrow, suppressing the urge to smirk. Share wealth with the people? If Robert heard that description of his reckless spending, would he laugh or feel ashamed?

"But such a task isn't something I can handle alone," Aegor continued. "I need one or two people who can read and count to help me organize everything. Yoren..."

"I can't read or count," Yoren interrupted bluntly, shrugging.

Eddard nodded slowly, masking his amusement at the honesty of the old Night's Watch recruiter. The request wasn't unreasonable, and Aegor's calm demeanor made it hard to doubt his sincerity. "I understand. I'll assign two guards who meet your requirements to assist you."

"Thank you, my lord," Aegor replied, his face shifting into an expression of gratitude. "There's another matter. I may remain in King's Landing for some time to handle supplies and recruitment. I need a space to serve as an office—not too large, but preferably on a street where it will be easy for people to find. That way, I can start recruiting new members for the Watch efficiently."

An office? Like setting up a storefront to recruit men for the Watch, as if opening a shop? Eddard couldn't help but feel skeptical. The Wall's defenders were in dire straits, but this approach seemed almost absurd. Still, the Hand of the King could hardly refuse such a simple request.

"I'll speak with the City Watch and see if they know of any unused properties owned by the Iron Throne," he replied.

"Thank you again, my lord," Aegor said with a bow of his head. Then he hesitated, his tone becoming more cautious as he continued, "There's one last thing."

---

Eddard frowned slightly but remained silent, signaling for Aegor to speak.

"Commander Mormont instructed me to oversee recruitment and the mining of obsidian. Both tasks require funding, but I can't carry large sums of money with me. To address this, I've decided to buy materials and hire workers on credit, with the promise that the debts will be repaid by the Night's Watch once the work is complete. However, I've run into an obstacle."

"Buying on credit?" Eddard shook his head and gave a wry smile. "Mormont must truly be desperate. First the Iron Throne, now even the Night's Watch is borrowing money." The thought of Robert's mounting debts had already left him bitter. Now it seemed the Wall was facing a similar crisis. "What's the obstacle?"

"The merchants and nobles in the South don't recognize the authority of the Night's Watch," Aegor explained. "They might think I'm a charlatan, taking their goods and coin with no intention of paying. To reassure them, I'd like to ask for your help. A certificate, issued in your name, confirming that I'm indeed a Night's Watchman and that I've come to collect supplies and recruits on behalf of the Watch."

Eddard leaned back in his chair, his expression pensive. His fist rested under his chin as he considered the request.

---

As Hand of the King, Eddard Stark was naturally cautious. While Aegor's proposal seemed simple on the surface, issuing an official certificate in his name carried weight. It was no small favor. Yet, unlike Aegor who had seen his share of scams in his previous life, Eddard lacked the instinct to spot potential risks in such situations. He didn't immediately grasp how much power such a certificate could wield in the wrong hands.

After a few moments of silence, Eddard reached for a blank parchment from the pile of documents on his table. Picking up a quill and dipping it in ink, he glanced up at Aegor.

"This is the first time I've issued a certificate like this," he admitted. "Tell me, how should it be written?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 46

A mere Night's Watchman, yet he had commanded the Hand of the King to write a certificate of authority as if issuing a royal decree. Though Aegor relied on his black cloak to disarm suspicion, as he walked out of the Hand's Tower with a certificate stamped with the direwolf seal, he couldn't help but marvel inwardly: It seems that as long as you know the right method, these high-and-mighty nobles are as easy to deceive as common folk.

No wonder Littlefinger thrived in King's Landing, manipulating the Baratheons, Starks, and Lannisters at will.

Lies were truly effective.

…

By the time Aegor returned to the inn, night had already fallen. He no longer dragged Yoren around the city. Instead, he rested properly in the room, welcoming the second day of his life in King's Landing with renewed energy.

"You went to Eddard Stark yesterday and asked for two men, a room, and a signed certificate?" Tyrion's sharp eyes sparkled with curiosity. After spending two months in Aegor's company, he'd grown familiar with the man's knack for surprising tricks. "I can understand the first two requests, but what's the purpose of the certificate?"

"To raise money."

"Raise money?" Tyrion blinked, stunned. "If Eddard Stark ever finds out that you used his signed certificate to scam people out of coin... well, he may not have the authority to punish you directly, but with just a letter, you'd probably be dragged back to the Wall in chains."

"We passed through the gates of King's Landing yesterday, and you made some comments about the 'Hand's Tournament.' Do you remember?" Aegor didn't respond directly to Tyrion's concerns but instead pivoted the conversation. "You said holding such events boosts the kingdom's economy. I agree with that—these spectacles make spectators and merchants happy at the cost of significant debt. The king spends an exorbitant amount, but that wealth doesn't vanish. Instead, it's redistributed through the event, flowing from the coffers of the Lannisters and merchant guilds into the hands of the people, tradesmen, and victors. Regardless of his intent, Robert's extravagance isn't entirely without merit in this regard."

Tyrion didn't interrupt. He was curious to see where Aegor was going with this.

"However," Aegor continued, "a large portion of that money ends its journey here. The people of Westeros are notorious for hoarding their wealth—the rich stash their gold coins, the common folk bury their silver, and the poor cling to their copper pennies. Unless it's absolutely necessary, they'd rather hide their money until they die or are robbed. Once King Robert's spending trickles down to the populace, much of it is locked away in private savings, delaying its reentry into circulation. This is harmful to the economy. What I intend to do is extract that hoarded wealth and put it to productive use."

"I've heard similar arguments from maesters in Oldtown," Tyrion mused, his curiosity deepening. "They compare gold locked in a vault to useless stones. Everyone agrees that circulating currency stimulates the economy. But the irregular seasons and constant wars leave people anxious about the future. If those fears persist, no amount of reasoning will convince them to spend their savings."

"Changing the spending habits of all Westerosi is unrealistic, and I'm not that ambitious," Aegor replied with a faint smile. "I'm not asking them to spend their money; I'm asking them to lend it to me."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to convince people to lend you their hard-earned coin?"

"By offering them a chance to earn more in return."

Tyrion immediately spotted the flaw. "So, you're telling them they'll profit, but you actually don't have a way to generate that profit?"

"Not yet," Aegor admitted frankly. "But I'll figure it out in time. For now, I'll use other means to make them believe their money is growing. For example, I'll repay loans with interest—higher than the usual rates."

"Interest?"

"Yes. Let's say 1% per month. If someone lends me 100 gold dragons today, I'll repay them 101 by the end of the month."

"And where will you get the extra one?"

"From someone who hasn't asked me to repay them yet."

"This…" Tyrion's sharp mind quickly grasped the concept, despite Westeros lacking banks or an understanding of investment. "But this will all fall apart eventually. What happens if everyone suddenly demands their money back at the same time?"

"You've hit the crux of the issue. If that happens, it would mean the capital chain is broken. Not even the Iron Bank could survive such a scenario. My job is to ensure that day never comes."

"And how exactly would you do that?"

"By creating rules and incentives. For example: no interest for loans repaid within a month, but higher rates—say 1.5%—for longer-term loans. Or penalties for early withdrawals. Small mechanisms like these can delay payouts and maintain stability."

"But no matter what you do, if the money doesn't actually grow, the day of reckoning will come sooner or later," Tyrion said, his tone unusually grave. "And when it does, the consequences will be catastrophic. If you insist on pursuing this scheme, your head will end up on a spike."

Aegor sighed inwardly. He had hoped Tyrion, with his sharp intellect, would be more open to innovation. Instead, his plan seemed too radical for the Lannister's sensibilities.

"Listen, what I described is only the initial stage of the plan," Aegor explained. "You're right—eventually, I'll need real profits to sustain the system. That's why I'll invest the funds in ventures like merchant guilds, expanding the Night's Watch fleet, and increasing trade between the Grant and Essos. The goal is to generate genuine returns to pay the interest."

"That assumes nothing goes wrong in the early stages," Tyrion countered.

"Yes, but there won't be mistakes in the beginning," Aegor insisted. "I have the seals of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the Hand of the King. If I borrow money in the name of the Night's Watch, rather than as an individual, I'll at least secure some funding. And once I repay the first round of loans with interest, it will establish confidence among the creditors. After that, things will only get smoother." He paused, then asked, "Tyrion, how much money can you spare right now?"

"Less than a thousand gold dragons," Tyrion replied. "Four or five hundred of that is set aside as ransom for freeing you from the Night's Watch. The rest is reserved for supplies—assuming prices haven't risen since I left King's Landing."

"Alright. Let's assume you have 300 gold dragons in liquid assets. What can you do with such a small amount?" Aegor pressed. "It's enough to buy me a few more months of freedom, but it's barely enough to begin mining obsidian."

"I'll find another way for you," Tyrion said firmly. "My brother has money he doesn't use, and if necessary, I can ask my father. It won't be much, but it'll be something. However, I won't help you with this scheme. Fraud is shameful, and I won't condone it."

Staring at Tyrion's resolute expression, Aegor suddenly realized his mistake. At the start of their conversation, he had joked that his plan was to "cheat money." What he'd intended as a bit of humor had been taken literally, coloring Tyrion's perception of the entire scheme.

Damn it, Aegor cursed inwardly. His mind raced as he searched for a way to salvage the situation.

Chapter 47

"Oh gods, I must apologize for my unclear explanation earlier." Aegor waved his hand dismissively. "Let's start over. I'll use a game to explain the feasibility and advantages of my plan. You know of the Iron Bank, correct?"

"Of course," Tyrion replied.

"Then tell me, how does it work?"

"It collects surplus money from the people of Braavos and lends it to those in need," Tyrion said, then added, "But it's not the same as what you're proposing. The Iron Bank is managed by the rulers of Braavos, not by an individual like you."

"That's true, but we'll address that difference later. For now, let's focus on how it works through a little role-playing." Aegor set aside the two certificates lying on the table, pulled out a silver coin, and placed it in front of Tyrion. "I'll play the role of an ordinary citizen of Braavos, and you'll represent the Iron Bank. Let's say several wealthy residents of Braavos have deposited 10,000 gold dragons with you."

Tyrion glanced at the single silver coin representing 10,000 gold dragons. His skeptical expression softened slightly. He was an easygoing man but principled enough that he would never condone fraud, even if it came from someone he admired. That made him even more curious about how Aegor intended to convince him.

---

Aegor's tone turned serious. "I'm an ordinary Braavosi planning to open a shop. After some initial calculations, I estimate I'll need around 10,000 gold dragons to start, but I don't have the money. So, I come to you for a loan."

Aegor picked up the silver coin he had placed in front of Tyrion and returned it to his own side, signaling the start of the game.

"I then use the 10,000 gold dragons to rent a storefront, purchase tools, and prepare to open my shop." Aegor placed the silver coin on the far side of the table, representing the funds spent. "The first round of the game ends here. So far, it's simple enough. I owe you 10,000 gold dragons, and you owe the original depositors the same amount. But then something interesting happens."

"Hmm?" Tyrion leaned forward, watching as Aegor picked up the silver coin he had set aside to represent his expenses and placed it back on his side. "What does this signify?"

"This is where the people of Braavos differ from those in Westeros," Aegor explained. "In Braavos, people don't hide their surplus wealth under their floorboards or in cellars. Instead, they deposit it in the Iron Bank. This seemingly small habit is crucial in the game of money." Aegor's lips curled into a slight smile, clearly pleased with his explanation. "Once I spend those 10,000 gold dragons, the person who earned them—through rent or trade—deposits that money with you, the Iron Bank."

"Huh..." Tyrion frowned as if he were beginning to piece something together, though the picture was still unclear.

"At this point, my business plan hits a snag," Aegor continued. "I realize that while I've set up the shop, I haven't yet purchased the raw materials I need. I still require another 10,000 gold dragons, so I come to you for another loan."

"But you haven't repaid your first loan," Tyrion pointed out.

"Exactly. But if you refuse me, I'll have no choice but to declare bankruptcy, leaving you to seize my half-finished shop as collateral." Aegor smiled again, his tone calm. "But that storefront I rented and the tools I purchased are useless to the Iron Bank. In other words, the only way for you to recover your initial loan is to lend me more money and hope my shop succeeds."

"That sounds an awful lot like extortion."

"No, it's not extortion. This is why Braavos is the wealthiest and most powerful of the Free Cities," Aegor countered, his voice rising slightly for emphasis. He took the silver coin back to his side and placed it on the far end of the table. "I use the additional 10,000 gold dragons to purchase materials and officially open the shop. Do you see what's happening now?"

"You're telling me that with just 10,000 gold dragons, you managed to create a business worth 20,000 gold dragons?"

"Precisely. By borrowing 10,000 gold dragons twice, I've set up a shop worth 20,000. Now, the shop generates income, allowing me to repay the principal and interest on both loans. You, as the Iron Bank, recover your investment with profit, and the original depositors receive their interest. Everyone wins!" Aegor leaned closer, fixing Tyrion with a pointed look. "But here's the real question: where did the extra 10,000 gold dragons come from?"

Tyrion mulled over the question for a long moment before answering cautiously, "It's because I, as the Iron Bank, took a risk. While still owing the original depositors, I lent out their money again to someone who hadn't repaid their initial debt." His voice grew sharper as he added, "That extra 10,000 gold dragons doesn't actually exist. It's just the embodiment of the risk I took."

"Exactly," Aegor said approvingly. "Now let's revisit your earlier concern: what happens if one of the original depositors suddenly wants to withdraw their money while it's tied up in my loans?"

"The Iron Bank doesn't keep just 10,000 gold dragons on hand," Tyrion replied without hesitation.

"Correct." Aegor took out a small handful of coins and placed them before Tyrion. "The Iron Bank's vaults hold substantial reserves. If a depositor asks to withdraw 10,000 gold dragons, you can simply pay them out of the reserves. But here's the catch: all the money in your vault belongs to the depositors. What happens if every single depositor demands their money back at the same time?"

Tyrion's brow furrowed deeply as he recalled their earlier conversation. The question was now reversed, with Aegor asking and Tyrion on the defensive. Clever bastard, Tyrion thought, realizing the role-reversal was intentional. Still, he prided himself on his intellect and enjoyed mental challenges. He decided to play along.

After a brief pause, Tyrion answered, "Interest and trust. The promise of interest encourages people to deposit their money, while trust in the Iron Bank's strength ensures they don't worry about accessing their funds when needed. Unless they have an immediate need for the money, most depositors won't withdraw it out of fear."

"Good answer," Aegor acknowledged with a nod. "But what happens if my shop fails to turn a profit?"

Tyrion's expression darkened. After a long silence, he finally growled through clenched teeth, "Then I wouldn't lend you a single coin more. I'd send my employees to inspect your business before granting a loan. If they determine your shop is unlikely to succeed, that's the end of it."

Tyrion's response was sharper than Aegor had anticipated, further proof of the dwarf's keen mind. Still, Aegor pressed on, undeterred. "Exactly. Before granting a loan, the Iron Bank assesses the risks. That's why it can use 10,000 gold dragons to achieve what would otherwise require 20,000. Through a series of seemingly complex but fundamentally simple operations, we've created 10,000 gold dragons that didn't exist before. And the reason this works is because of trust, trust in my shop's potential to generate profits, and trust from the depositors that you can safeguard their money."

---

"Rather than calling the extra 10,000 gold dragons a manifestation of risk," Aegor concluded, "it's more accurate to call it a manifestation of trust, trust between the bank, the depositors, and the borrowers. This trust, and the confidence it breeds, is what allows Braavos to use limited resources to construct grand fleets and magnificent cities far beyond its actual financial means. It's why Braavos rose to become the wealthiest and most powerful of the Free Cities. Other cities have since tried to replicate the model by establishing their own banks, but they lack the same culture of trust that encourages Braavosi to deposit their wealth. That's why they can't compete with the Iron Bank in terms of capital."

Tyrion was silent, overwhelmed by the novel concepts and intricate rules Aegor had introduced. For the first time in a long while, he felt out of his depth. After a long moment, he admitted to himself that he couldn't poke any obvious holes in Aegor's reasoning.

But Aegor wasn't finished. Sensing Tyrion's hesitation, he leaned forward and asked with a sly smile, "Do you think our game is over?"

"Not yet?" Tyrion raised his head, staring at his adventurer friend. Then, as realization dawned, his eyes widened in disbelief. "Seven hells... you still want to borrow more money!?"

Chapter 48

"Yes. If my store runs into problems again, I'll come back to borrow more money. As long as the people who earn my 10,000 gold dragons deposit it back into the Iron Bank, this cycle can continue indefinitely." Aegor grinned slyly. "With just 10,000 gold dragons, it's entirely possible to accomplish things that should require 20,000, 30,000, or even 40,000. The only thing that can break this cycle is if too much money is lost during circulation, or if it ends up outside Braavos and can't be recovered in time. Now you see why the Iron Bank was so desperate to collect its debt from King Robert."

"Because the money Robert spent wouldn't return to the Iron Bank. It would end up hidden in the homes of Westerosi commoners!" Tyrion slapped his thigh in sudden realization. "So this is what's called... a 'broken capital chain,' isn't it?"

"Exactly." Aegor nodded, pleased with how quickly Tyrion grasped the concept. "Right now, the money the Iron Bank has lent out is far greater than the actual wealth in its vault, or even in all of Braavos. The idea of repaying the principal doesn't even enter the equation; it's not something the bank plans to do or can afford to do. Would you call that cheating people out of their money?"

Tyrion's eyes widened. Though he understood the logic, he still struggled to fully accept it. "But you're just a common man, not a noble or a wealthy merchant..."

"I'm the Night's Watch's supply collector, recruiter for King's Landing and the Crownlands, the overseer of dragonglass mining, and its unofficial public face. I have official documentation, didn't you help me secure it? Have you forgotten?" Aegor's grin grew wider, his confidence evident. "On top of that, I now have a certificate signed by the Hand of the King. If I borrow money in the name of the Night's Watch, Commander Mormont would have no choice but to acknowledge it. Now, tell me, what constitutes a scam? If I borrow money and flee across the Narrow Sea, that's a scam. If I fail and can't repay the loans, that could also be called a scam. But if everything works out, if everyone who lends me money can collect it back with interest, then can you still call it a scam?"

"Wouldn't that just make it a brilliant scam?" Tyrion muttered skeptically.

"Let's think about it this way," Aegor said, leaning back slightly. "A Westerosi who wants to open a store would need to have 20,000 gold dragons of their own. But without a store, they'd never make that kind of money. And without that money, they'd never open a store. It's a vicious cycle, one that's stifled Westerosi development for thousands of years. Now, if this kind of system is a 'scam,' then the society I come from—" He caught himself and quickly corrected his wording. "I mean, the continent and culture of Tsena where I come from, are built entirely on such scams. Yet that same 'scam-based' system has allowed Tsena to develop politically, economically, culturally, and technologically far beyond what Westeros has achieved. What do you make of that?"

"This..." Tyrion hesitated, his skepticism clashing with the logic presented.

"And more than that," Aegor continued, his tone calm but firm, "Tsena plays the game of money on a level far beyond even Braavos. The Iron Bank, for all its wealth, lends real gold and silver. Because of that, it has to slow down after a few cycles to avoid risks tied to the physical limits of its gold reserves. At most, for every gold coin in its vault, the Iron Bank can 'create' two or three virtual coins to invest in armies, fleets, cities, or loans. But the banks of Tsena? They lend no real gold or silver at all."

Tyrion frowned, intrigued despite himself. "What do they lend, then?"

"They issue paper certificates, which we call banknotes or 'notes.' These notes represent a promise: the holder owns a certain amount of gold or silver supposedly stored in the bank's vault. The powerful thing is that people treat these notes as though they were actual coins." Aegor paused, allowing Tyrion to absorb the idea. "So, for every gold coin in the vault, Tsena's banks can fabricate a dozen or more 'non-existent' gold coins and inject them into the market. With that, they can fund armies, build cities, and grow their economy at a rate Braavos could never match. That's why Tsena became thousands of times stronger than Braavos. If not for the endless Sunset Sea, it would only be a matter of time before Tsena's armies conquered Westeros, Essos, and even Sothoryos."

"One piece of paper represents ten thousand gold dragons?" Tyrion asked, incredulous.

"It's not that extreme, it was just an analogy."

"But even so, how is that possible?" Tyrion's voice grew sharper as he leaned forward. "According to your description, if just one in ten people tried to exchange these notes for actual gold, the whole scheme would collapse!"

"It's not as fragile as you think," Aegor replied patiently. "In reality, no one exchanges the notes for gold. To the people of Tsena, banknotes and gold coins are effectively the same. It's difficult to explain, but let me put it this way: playing the game of money produces an almost magical result. Even though the 'chickens' we create are fake, the 'eggs' they lay are real."

Seeing Tyrion's baffled expression, Aegor elaborated. "By introducing non-existent gold into circulation, society prospers. It mobilizes people's enthusiasm, boosts productivity, and leads to the creation of real goods—houses, armies, food, clothes, tools, and so on. Eventually, the total value of goods produced far exceeds the value of gold and silver coins in the bank or even in the entire continent of Tsena. At that stage, using precious metal currency for transactions becomes impractical. That's why the people of Tsena abandoned gold and silver entirely, treating banknotes as real money."

"Think of paper as money?" Tyrion repeated, his tone both skeptical and intrigued.

"Exactly. That's the final stage of the money game. At that point, what you call a 'scam' becomes the foundation of society itself, a framework so ingrained that it's no longer possible to break it."

What Aegor didn't mention was the true final stage, where even physical banknotes would become obsolete, replaced by numbers on ledgers.

---

"The chicken is fake, but the eggs it lays are real... The chicken is fake, but the eggs it lays are real..."

For the past two months, Aegor had been spinning tales about his homeland, Tsena, every chance he got. These stories cleverly masked the advanced concepts of modern technology from his past life, relocated to an entirely different setting. They were 90% true and 10% embellished, leaving no apparent flaws. As a result, Tyrion, sharp as he was, never questioned the existence, power, or wealth of "Tsena." Now, the smartest Lannister in Westeros sat muttering Aegor's words like a fool, his usual eloquence abandoned in the face of this bewildering idea.

"It's too soon to fabricate a 'chicken' to lay eggs. What I'm doing right now is just borrowing the chicken to lay the eggs," Aegor clarified, his tone calm but confident. Having explained everything, it was time to see if his effort had borne fruit. "Since even creating imaginary gold can be used to stimulate economic growth and benefit society, then borrowing money in the name of the Night's Watch, using it for legitimate purposes and ensuring that both principal and interest are repaid, how could that possibly be considered a heinous crime?"

"Let me think about it. This is a lot to process," Tyrion said, rubbing his temples.

"Take your time. We're not in any hurry," Aegor replied, standing up. "I've got other business to attend to today. We'll talk about fundraising when I return." He walked toward the door but stopped and turned back. "Tyrion, you saved my life when I was in desperate need. That's a debt I can never repay, and I swear by all the gods, old and new, that I would never deceive you. But let me ask you something have you ever thought about it? You're a Lannister, yet you've spent most of your life studying and philosophizing. When will it be your turn to contribute to the family? When will you finally have the chance to prove yourself to Lord Tywin?"

Aegor's words struck a nerve. Though carefully phrased, they touched on Tyrion's deepest insecurities. If the two hadn't been on such good terms, the comment might have come off as cutting or too presumptuous. But Aegor was counting on Tyrion's sense of reason and, more importantly, his desire to be seen as something more than a drunken wastrel. Tyrion, ever the gentleman, wouldn't take offense, no matter how personal the remark was.

"My suggestion is this," Aegor continued, leaning against the doorframe. "Why not consider opening the first bank in Westeros? I couldn't possibly manage it—after all, I'm just a member of the Night's Watch but the Lannisters have both the financial strength and the reputation of always paying their debts. If anyone could make it happen, it's you.

"Of course," he added quickly, "if you decide it's not feasible, then we'll drop the matter entirely. You can just lend me a hundred or eighty gold dragons as interest for the first round of loans, and I'll handle all the risks and operations myself. But if you do decide to give it a try, you wouldn't just be helping me with this venture, you'd be setting the foundation for a financial institution that could shape the future of Westeros. And when you do move forward with it, I'll offer whatever advice and help I can. What do you think? Do we have a deal?"

Tyrion was silent for a moment, his mind clearly racing with the possibilities. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll think it through and give you an answer."

"Perfect," Aegor replied, smiling. "Now, I'm off to the Red Keep."

The conversation had taken up the entire morning. As Aegor reached the door, something else occurred to him, and he turned back one last time. "Oh, I almost forgot. That 'game of money' we've been discussing—Tsena already has a name for it. There's no equivalent word in Westeros, so I've come up with a new one. Combining the ideas of gold and liquidity, I'm calling it 'finance.'"

Chapter 49

In his original world, what Aegor was attempting would have been seen as a direct challenge to established banks and, by extension, the state. The label of "illegal fundraising" would have been slapped on him, and he'd have had to bear the consequences.

But in Westeros, where the economy and financial systems were virtually nonexistent, there were no laws governing such activities. And even if such laws existed, with Eddard Stark as Hand of the King, the Night's Watch could easily secure legal approval to raise funds.

Aegor wasn't an expert in economics. In fact, he had barely any understanding of it. But before he was transported to this world, he had often frequented a forum," a place where industry experts, storytellers, and self-proclaimed geniuses debated and exchanged ideas. It was a melting pot of knowledge, where facts were interwoven with clever fabrications. From there, Aegor had picked up more than just the art of storytelling, he had gained snippets of knowledge and insights into ideas most ordinary people wouldn't know. Now, those scraps of information were proving invaluable.

What he intended to do was, at its core, a form of "robbing Peter to pay Paul", essentially a Ponzi scheme, at least until he found a legitimate way to generate profits. Tyrion quickly saw through this and initially refused to participate outright.

At a critical moment, however, Aegor improvised. Using simplified terms and examples, he presented a much larger and more complex financial concept in a way Tyrion could grasp. It was a truth that most people either couldn't comprehend or didn't want to believe, even when they understood it: modern society, in many ways, was built on a massive system of "non-existent money." This grand illusion, born from collective human imagination, was far more impactful than any single invention or discovery. And when everyone participates in the illusion, it ceases to be a scam, it becomes the foundation of society.

By leveraging this grander scheme, Aegor had broadened Tyrion's perspective. He had, in essence, used poison to fight poison, easing Tyrion's discomfort with the smaller "scam" of raising funds for the Night's Watch. What he didn't tell Tyrion, however, was the disastrous consequences that could arise if this financial game went awry. Nor did Aegor know if introducing such concepts to this world was the right thing to do or whether his plan would ultimately succeed. Still, he had no choice but to project confidence. If he hesitated or appeared uncertain, how could he convince a feudal noble unfamiliar with such ideas?

Convincing Tyrion, though not essential, would make everything far smoother. If the Lannister agreed to join, it would be a major boost to Aegor's efforts.

Aegor's ultimate goal wasn't to remain in the Night's Watch forever. He still dreamed of returning to his original world. He couldn't and wouldn't spend every waking moment scrambling for money to buy his freedom. After weighing his options, he realized that fundraising was the only way to solve his financial woes once and for all.

---

Aegor was truly busy.

First, he needed to figure out which two assistants Eddard Stark had assigned to him and where his office was located. While money could have solved these problems, he was currently at the pre-fundraising stage and needed to save as much as possible.

Next, he had to ensure that the first installment of his "ransom" payment, courtesy of Tyrion, was delivered to the Wall.

Finally, he needed to prepare for an upcoming trip to Dragonstone to organize the obsidian mining operation.

On the surface, it didn't seem like much. But in this era, even the smallest tasks could be time-consuming, especially with the distances involved. As a newly appointed official, Aegor felt the weight of responsibility and dared not slack off.

After rushing to the Red Keep with Yoren and grabbing a quick lunch, Aegor re-entered the royal castle and headed to the Tower of the Hand. Unsurprisingly, Eddard Stark was far busier than Aegor and unavailable to meet. Instead, Yoren was escorted to the dungeons, while Aegor was introduced to two Stark guards, Oden and David, who had been assigned to assist him.

The two soldiers from Winterfell carried a natural affinity for members of the Night's Watch, given their shared roots in the North. Their initial meeting was cordial, and the trio quickly established a harmonious working relationship. With their help, Aegor's next destination was the eastern barracks of the King's Landing City Watch.

It was here that Aegor met the captain of the City Watch, Janos Slynt. The man was short, stocky, bald, and possessed a double chin that only added to his generally unpleasant appearance. His demeanor was as repulsive as his face.

Aegor harbored no goodwill toward this man. In the original story, Janos Slynt was a corrupt official who sold positions, lined his pockets, and ultimately betrayed Eddard Stark. It was hard to muster respect for such a figure. Thankfully, the feeling was mutual, Slynt clearly had no interest in a Night's Watchman from the Wall who couldn't offer him bribes or influence.

Still, this was a direct order from the Hand of the King. Despite his sour attitude, Slynt didn't dare to obstruct or cause trouble. With a perfunctory nod toward Aegor, he ordered one of his gold cloaks to escort the trio to the building that had been assigned as the Night's Watch office.

The house was located opposite the gate of the East Camp of the Capital Garrison, not far from the noble district and the Red Keep. As it belonged to the garrison and was located on a street with huge traffic, even Janos Slynt, who valued money like his life, did not dare to rent it to others for business on his own initiative.

To be honest, Aegor was very satisfied with the result. If he had to rent such a storefront near the street and close to the security forces of King's Landing, he would probably not have enough gold and silver coins to pay for a month. It turned out that he had done the right thing by asking Eddard Stark for help. This was definitely a great favor to the Night's Watch.

After looking at the house and taking the keys, Aegor took the two guards from Winterfell back to the inn where he was staying and reunited with Tyrion. The sun began to set, and they set out from the Albatross Inn to the port and merchant gathering place on the Blackwater River in King's Landing to begin purchasing supplies.

They went south through Street of sisters, Mud Wat and Fishermonger's Square, and finally arrived at their destination after exiting River Gate, also known as Mud Gate.

…

Mud Gate is not bad at all. It got this name because people who disembark at the port here often have wet mud on their feet. Due to the large flow of people, the roads and squares are covered with mud. When it rains, the road conditions are so bad that it is like walking into a swamp.

Three hundred years ago, this area was completely covered by forests, with only a few fishermen settling on the north bank of the Blackwater River, where the water flows fast and deep into the sea. Later, when Aegon the Conqueror crossed the sea from Dragonstone, his army landed here. Now, this has become the most prosperous area outside the walls of King's Landing.

Houses, pavilions, brick warehouses, wooden inns and market stalls, taverns, cemeteries and brothels, all kinds of buildings are built one after another, and the noise can be heard from a long distance away; more than a hundred docks line the waterfront, and countless ships are moored in the harbor; deep-water fishing boats and river rafts are endless, and boatmen paddle back and forth in Blackwater Bay, and merchant ships unload goods from Braavos, Pentos and Lys in a steady stream.

This is the port with the largest external trade volume in Westeros. In order to provide space for the Fisherman's Square inside the city wall and the cargo distribution center outside the wall, the city wall gates here are the weakest positions in King's Landing, which makes the nickname "Mud Gate" more worthy of its name.

Tyrion knew almost every merchant in the port, and with his Lannister's brain and reputation as a "little devil", basically no one dared to kill him. Aegor was happy to be relaxed about this matter, just following along, watching the dwarf negotiate all the transactions and arrangements for the ransom he paid for himself at a slightly lower cost than expected: from determining the price, delivery date, to hiring ships to deliver the supplies to Eastwatch, he didn't worry about anything, and his freedom for at least the next three months was settled.

The first task of the two Winterfell guards is to ensure that the supplies arrive at Eastwatch on time with guaranteed quality and quantity and be delivered to the Night's Watch without any loss.

As night fell, before dark, Aegor found a small merchant ship that was heading to Dragonstone. After paying a deposit of several silver stag, the captain agreed to wait for him to board the ship before setting off the next day... Everything was done, and the night was deep. The second day after Aegor arrived in King's Landing passed so busy and fulfilling.

Chapter 50

With Tyrion's guidance, Aegor managed to find an old mine owner in King's Landing, someone who had once managed gold mines for the Lannisters. The man had retired to the city to live out his remaining years with his children. After much persuasion and flattery, Aegor convinced the old man and his youngest son to accompany him to Dragonstone to provide advice on dragonglass mining.

With everything prepared, Aegor boarded the rented ship near noon on the third day after arriving in King's Landing. The salty sea breeze accompanied him as he set sail with his two companions, heading toward Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen.

---

Dragonstone lies at the mouth of Blackwater Bay. The journey downstream from King's Landing is straightforward, but the daytime sea breeze blows inland, slowing the ship's progress. It wasn't until the sun set and the wind shifted direction that the vessel was able to sail smoothly.

Despite this improvement, the distance from King's Landing to Dragonstone spanned several hundred miles. By nightfall, they had only covered about one-third of the journey. They had no choice but to spend the night aboard the ship. Fortunately, the ship's speed increased after dark, and the captain arranged for sailors to work in shifts, ensuring they didn't waste too much time.

The next morning, Aegor was awoken by the combined effects of the ship's swaying, the rising light, and the shouting of the crew. When he climbed out of his cabin, the ship was already entering Dragonstone's port, maneuvering to dock.

---

One glance at "Dragonstone Port" was enough to understand Stannis Baratheon's bitterness toward Robert for granting him this fiefdom. To call it a port was generous; it was more akin to a small fishing village. Compared to the bustling harbor of King's Landing, Dragonstone's desolation was glaringly obvious. Aegor's ship was the only vessel in motion, the sole source of life in an otherwise eerily quiet harbor.

While Aegor often described the Wall as a "haunted place," much of that sentiment was subjective. Now, far removed from the Wall's cold and isolation, he had no room to complain anymore. The Night's Watch lands were remote, yes, but they were fertile and rich in resources—albeit dangerous. Dragonstone, on the other hand, was a barren island formed by volcanic eruptions, its rocky terrain offering little of value. This was truly a "haunted place."

The fishing village, home to fewer than a hundred residents, was the only settlement of note on the island apart from the castle itself. As far as Aegor knew, the only other significant location was the naval port where the Dragonstone fleet was stationed. This meant that Stannis Baratheon, Duke of Dragonstone, directly controlled little more than this sparse fishing village and the castle.

Aegor couldn't help but sympathize with Stannis. A place like Dragonstone, relying solely on fishing, could barely sustain a knight, let alone a duke. While Stannis was theoretically the overlord of the Lords of the Narrow Sea, these so-called "lords" were nothing more than minor island owners with a combined population of less than 100,000. Such a pitiful number of subjects could hardly provide Stannis with the wealth, troops, or status befitting a great lord.

The injustice was obvious. Robert Baratheon, after losing Lyanna Stark, had once considered remaining unmarried and passing the throne to his younger brother Stannis. If that plan had held, making Stannis the Duke of Dragonstone would have been logical, in line with Targaryen tradition. But Robert eventually married Cersei Lannister, fathered heirs, however dubious their parentage, and Stannis' claim to greater lands was sidelined.

Despite Stannis' numerous requests to be granted control of the Stormlands, Robert ignored him. Storm's End, the ancestral seat of House Baratheon, was instead given to Renly Baratheon, the youngest of the three brothers, who had contributed nothing of note during Robert's Rebellion. Stannis, who had defended Storm's End against the siege by the Tyrells and played a pivotal role in securing victory for Robert, was exiled to this barren island. Even the most stoic man would resent such treatment.

---

As the boat approached the shore, Aegor noted the abundance of seabirds nesting along the cliffs. Their constant movement and cries filled the air, making one thing abundantly clear: Dragonstone was a land ruled by birds rather than people.

When the ship finally docked, several villagers quickly gathered, offering accommodation and food. Despite its prime location at the mouth of the Blackwater River, Dragonstone saw few visitors. Ships passed it daily, sailing to and from King's Landing, but few stopped at the island. Naturally, Aegor and his companions were treated with great enthusiasm.

Not wanting to waste time, Aegor rented three horses and hired a guide to take them directly to the castle. Built on the highest point of the island, Dragonstone Castle appeared majestic and imposing from a distance. But up close, its moss-covered walls and poorly maintained gates told a different story. Two guards stood watch, one so disinterested that he scrambled to his feet when visitors arrived. The castle's neglected state only deepened Aegor's sympathy for Stannis.

---

A guard went inside to announce Aegor's arrival. Unlike Eddard Stark, Stannis Baratheon had no interest in personally meeting a lowly Night's Watchman. After a wait of ten minutes, a young man rode out of the castle, claiming he had been sent to escort them.

This arrangement suited Aegor just fine, he had no intention of meeting Stannis either. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the group left the castle gate and began scouting potential mining sites for dragonglass.

---

"An ancient mine?" The guide, seated on his horse, pondered Aegor's description for a moment before nodding. "There's a place like that. I went inside once, but there was nothing there except some old carvings on the stone walls."

"Carvings on the stone walls?" Aegor's mood lifted. This sounded like exactly what he was looking for. Though Stannis' arrogance had kept him from offering a proper welcome, the guide seemed competent enough. Aegor silently noted that perhaps Robert's meticulous older brother wasn't entirely without redeeming qualities.

"Where is it? Take us there," Aegor said.

"It's at the southern tip of the island, quite far from here. I'm not sure we can make it back before dark…" The guide hesitated.

"Thank you for your trouble. Let's go now. I'll treat you to a good meal when we return." Aegor's tone was confident, he still had some money left, and how expensive could food possibly be on this barren island?

"It's not too much trouble," the guide replied, slightly embarrassed. "It's just that the roads are hard to navigate after dark. But if you're determined, we'd better stop at the village first to pick up some torches."

---

Hours later, after enduring the relentless sea breeze and the rough terrain, Aegor finally stood at the entrance of the ancient mine Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen would later visit, though that moment was far from the present timeline. Without a local guide, the mine would have been impossible to find.

After lighting their torches, the guide led Aegor, the old miner, and his son into the dark cavern.

Inside, the cave was barren. There were murals on the walls, but for Aegor, who had seen the origins of the Night King through the lens of his old world's media, the carvings offered little of practical use.

Still, everything had gone better than expected. This was the place he had been searching for.

Chapter Text

Chapter 51

"I want to mine dragonglass here. What do I need to prepare?" Aegor held the torch close to the cave wall, illuminating the gleaming black volcanic rock.

"So this is what a dragonglass mine looks like... What's the use of this for a Night's Watchman?" the old mine owner muttered as he handed the torch to his youngest son. Pulling a small hammer from his waist pouch, he tapped on the cave wall, studying it closely. After a few moments, he straightened up and shook his head.

"The mine is already here. It's above sea level with a stable structure, and natural ventilation means no worries about collapse, water seepage, or toxic gases. The ore itself is pure dragonglass, requiring no refining. Mining this is almost effortless. Just get some strong men, and there's no need to worry about them sneaking nuggets like they would in a gold mine. The only thing you need to watch out for is falling rocks. Build some scaffolding and lay planks to keep workers safe during the mining."

Aegor nodded, his expression thoughtful. He wasn't an expert in mining, but he knew when to defer to those with experience. With a respectful tone, he asked, "Can you make a clear list of what we need? When can we start mining? And how much will this cost?"

"We'll need to make a list of tools and materials first, that can't be done here. As for when we can start mining, the conditions are excellent. If you have the money and tools ready, work could begin tonight." The old miner hesitated before continuing, "As for costs, it depends on how urgently you need the dragonglass, how much you want, and the quality of the ore you're looking for."

"What do you mean by ore quality?"

"For example, if you want to carve something grand, like the dragon heads at the castle gates, you'd need large, flawless stones, which are difficult to mine. But if you're just making beads or bracelets, the workers can smash smaller pieces directly from the walls, which is much cheaper and easier."

That made sense. Aegor stroked his chin, considering the options. Dragonglass, after all, was little more than volcanic glass. Forging massive weapons like swords was impractical. The Children of the Forest had used dragonglass daggers and arrowheads to fight the White Walkers thousands of years ago, and those designs had already been proven effective. With that in mind, mining smaller, easily workable pieces for arrows and daggers made the most sense. Against intelligent foes like the White Walkers, long-range attacks seemed far more viable than repeated close combat.

"The ore doesn't need to be large," Aegor said. "Focus on pieces that are practical for crafting weapons. We'll work with what's naturally available."

"Understood." The old miner nodded. "I'll prepare a list of tools and supplies. You can confirm the quantities after reviewing it. Once that's done, I can handle the procurement, it'll cost less than if you try to source it yourself. Also, you'll need someone to manage the site. This person will oversee the workers, prevent slacking, and ensure tools aren't stolen and sold off. My youngest son grew up around the mines near Casterly Rock. While he's not as experienced as me, he knows a lot more than someone new to the job."

---

Aegor smiled. Before being transported to this world, he had never been in a leadership position. But he understood a key principle: benefits should be shared among many, but planning must involve only a select few. In other words, major decisions should be made by a small, trusted group, while the execution should ensure everyone involved feels rewarded. Attempting to hoard all benefits or micromanage would only lead to failure.

"If the water is too clear, there are no fish," Aegor mused inwardly. Stannis Baratheon failed to grasp this, which explained why he was disliked by most of Westeros' nobility. While Aegor admired Stannis' fairness, he had no desire to emulate his isolation. Important matters would be discussed with Tyrion. For mining, the old mine owner clearly wanted to secure a future for his son and perhaps earn a little extra from purchasing tools. Aegor had no objections.

"Fine," Aegor said with a nod. "Your son will be the manager of the obsidian mine. He'll oversee all mining operations. His salary will be 100 silver stags a month, with the possibility of bonuses if he performs well. But there's one condition, all expenses, whether for tools, hiring workers, or travel, must be clearly accounted for. I'll need to report everything to my superiors. The Night's Watch has limited funds, so there's no room for excessive spending."

"Thank you, sir," the old miner replied, clearly pleased. He clapped his son on the shoulder, and the younger man quickly expressed his gratitude.

"Call me Aegor. There's no need for formalities." Aegor shook his head. "We need to get started quickly. The initial budget is capped at 100 gold dragons. Within a month, I want the first shipment of obsidian ready to be sent to Eastwatch. Aim to fill the small boat we took to Dragonstone."

"That's not much," the old miner remarked. "Recruiting a dozen workers from the village should suffice."

"Good. Finalize the details with your son. Tyrion introduced me to you, so I trust your expertise."

"Thank you, Aegor," the old miner said again, his tone grateful.

"Alright, let's head back to the village before it gets dark. I promised you all a good meal."

---

Aegor soon faced an awkward problem.

Fulfilling his promise of a hearty meal for his companions turned out to be harder than expected. It wasn't because the villagers were price-gouging visitors—Stannis' strict nature would never allow such behavior on his lands. The issue was simpler: the village didn't have anything to sell.

When Aegor asked for pork, beef, or mutton, they had none. Chicken, duck, or goose? Also none. The only thing available was fish. Aegor glanced at the young guide, realizing the man was likely sick of fish after a lifetime on Dragonstone.

"Is it the same at the castle?" Aegor asked, puzzled. "What does the cook serve Stannis when he wants something other than fish?"

"Supplies come by ship every ten days or so," the guide explained with a helpless shrug. "Whatever arrives determines what the castle has until the next delivery."

Aegor nodded, deep in thought. "If we're shipping out obsidian every month, we'll arrange for those ships to bring meat, poultry, and other supplies on their return trips. Add it to the food budget. And deliver half of it to Lord Stannis, it's only fair, considering he hasn't taxed us for mining on his land. The Night's Watch shouldn't take such kindness for granted."

Before being transported to this world, Aegor hadn't dealt with such mundane logistics. But he understood the importance of doing things properly, leaving no room for complaints. The food costs would be negligible, especially if Tyrion agreed to his fundraising plans. And since the miners' food expenses were technically the Night's Watch's responsibility, it was a win-win situation.

---

In the end, Aegor managed to keep his promise. At three times the usual price, he convinced a villager to butcher an egg-laying hen for their meal. With several fish dishes as sides, the guide finally got to enjoy something different. Watching the young man devour his chicken leg with enthusiasm, Aegor realized it had probably been months since the man had tasted chicken.

---

After the meal, the group continued discussing mining plans over beer. The old miner, tipsy and in high spirits, became the center of attention, regaling them with tales of his youth managing Lannister mines. His stories, filled with both humor and intrigue, captivated the table.

At one point, he began recounting how Tywin had stripped his father's mistress naked and paraded her through Lannisport after taking control of Casterly Rock. Though Aegor found the story vulgar, even he couldn't help but listen with interest.

But before the old miner could describe the woman's "white body" in detail, the door suddenly swung open.

A woman entered the room, her commanding presence silencing the table.

"This is the first time a Night's Watchman has come to Dragonstone, and you didn't think to inform me?"

Before Aegor could respond, the guide rose hastily, his face pale. "Lady Melisandre... why are you here?"

Chapter 52

Aegor had to admit that Melisandre was an alluring woman. With red hair, red eyes, and a strikingly beautiful face, she wore a bright red robe that clearly could not have been dyed with the ordinary methods of this era. She was so dazzling that even the current queen renowned as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, who was ten years younger than her, could only be considered her equal in beauty. If he didn't know her identity, he would have been delighted to meet such a stunning woman and might even have considered her as one of his potential conquests.

But at this stage, Aegor truly couldn't fathom how this priestess whose age was a mystery, whose skills were questionable, and who relied on fire tricks and illusions to pass off as something otherworldly could possibly help his plans. She was the very woman who had deceived Stannis Baratheon, causing him to lose his family and nearly bringing the entire Baratheon house to ruin through internal strife.

Deep down, as a world traveler, Aegor instinctively felt a bit of fear toward her, not only because she had a penchant for burning people alive when she disagreed with them but also because she wielded something called "magic," which did not exist in the modern world he came from.

Humans always fear what they don't understand. This is a built-in self-preservation mechanism at the genetic level, and Aegor didn't feel ashamed of it. True bravery is not the absence of fear but the ability to overcome it. While he did harbor a mix of awe and unease toward Melisandre, he wasn't yet prepared to deal with this key figure in the plot. But since she had come to him of her own accord, he had no choice but to confront her head-on.

…

He suppressed the tension in his heart, and his rational mind quickly kicked into gear. The woman in front of him was terrifying, yes, but she wasn't like the Mad King, who was unpredictable and bloodthirsty. If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, then Melisandre—who was aware of the White Walkers and who wholeheartedly served the Lord of Light—should, in theory, be an ally of the Night's Watch, someone on the same side. Even though Aegor intended to leave the Night's Watch eventually, she didn't know that yet.

Once he worked through that line of reasoning, Aegor felt his nerves settle. Rising from his seat, he looked at the red-robed woman with a calm demeanor, though he couldn't help but wonder whether her breathtaking beauty was natural or an illusion created through magic.

Melisandre must have come to him to gather intelligence about the state of affairs at the Wall and beyond, likely to gauge the White Walkers' threat to humanity and to formulate a response. Should he tell her the truth? Or exaggerate the danger to see if he could extract some kind of assistance from her?

No, things must be handled step by step. First, let's figure out how to greet her. Should he feign ignorance? If he hadn't known the plot beforehand, he wouldn't recognize Melisandre at this moment. It was better to play it safe. He decided to act as if he didn't know her and addressed her simply.

"Good evening, ma'am."

"Good evening." Melisandre's voice carried a soft, almost hypnotic quality as she gave him a warm, alluring smile. "The representatives of the Kingdom's Shield have come to Dragonstone as guests. We ought to receive you with proper hospitality. Alas, the island is poor in resources, so I apologize if our welcome has been lacking."

"You're too kind," Aegor replied calmly. "I'm here on official business, not for leisure."

Melisandre smiled and nodded, moving slowly toward the table where Aegor and his companions sat.

The summer heat was oppressive, and most of the men had rolled up their sleeves, exposing their forearms. As Melisandre drew closer, the exposed skin on Aegor's arms began to feel an undeniable warmth radiating from her, a sensation that was far from natural. It was as if the air itself around her carried a palpable heat. Aegor's heart skipped a beat. What was this? Unless Melisandre was walking around with a fever of fifty or sixty degrees, there was no way she could generate such an intense aura of heat. Was this some sort of trick? Or was the "God" she believed in truly shielding her with this blazing warmth?

Suppressing his suspicions, Aegor kept his composure, waiting for her next question or test. He braced himself, both mentally and physically, for any unexpected developments. Yet what happened next caught everyone in the room completely off guard.

…

"Huh?"

Melisandre suddenly froze, her expression shifting into one of shock. Under the watchful gazes of those in the room, some filled with greed, others with reverence, she abruptly stepped back as though she had been burned by an invisible flame. Her piercing red eyes fixed on Aegor with a mixture of disbelief and fury.

"Guards!" she shouted, her voice ringing with authority. "Seize this heretic!"

---
Two fully armed Dragonstone guards rushed into the room, their sharp spears pointed directly at the stunned Night's Watchman.

What was going on?

This was the second time Aegor had been captured since his arrival in this world. The first time, he had been unarmed and faced a group of peasants wielding pitchforks and axes. Knowing he was in the wrong and unable to resist, he had obediently surrendered. That capture had resulted in him being sent to the Wall to become a member of the Night's Watch. But this time, what had he done?

There was no time to think. Aegor's body reacted instinctively, honed by a year of service as a Ranger. His hand went to his waist, but he found no sword hilt there. He suddenly remembered that the steel sword issued by the Night's Watch had been turned in to the armory back at Castle Black when he departed. Besides, once he reached King's Landing, there had been no reason to carry a weapon.

"Don't move!" one of the guards barked, tightening his grip on his spear, his expression fierce.

Aegor quickly sized up the situation. This was Dragonstone, and the men in front of him were soldiers personally trained by Stannis Baratheon. Stannis was a seasoned warrior and commander, and his soldiers would undoubtedly have better combat skills than Aegor. A one-on-one fight might be manageable, but against two armed guards and with Melisandre, a mysterious witch, standing nearby, he knew resistance was futile, even if he had been armed.

The room seemed to freeze in time. The old miner and his son, terrified, stood frozen in place. The homeowner, who had been about to offer a chair to the Red Priestess, now stood motionless in the middle of the room, gripping the chair like a lifeline. The young man assigned to guide Aegor looked utterly lost. As a native of Dragonstone, his loyalty was naturally to Stannis, the Lord of Dragonstone. But just moments ago, he had been sharing a meal with Aegor. If the Night's Watchman resisted, which side should he take?

…

"I surrender," Aegor said after a brief pause, his tone steady. "But please, let me settle the bill first." He reached for his coin pouch, untied it, and tossed it to the old miner. "Go back to the ship and tell the captain I'll be detained at the castle. Ask him to wait for me until noon tomorrow."

…

When Aegor had tried to visit Dragonstone Castle earlier that morning, he had been turned away at the gate. Now, he was being escorted inside by armed guards.

His surrender seemed to ease the tension in the room. Melisandre visibly relaxed and followed the guards as they marched Aegor to the castle. Once inside, they tied him tightly to a pillar in one of the chambers.

Standing a few meters away, Melisandre's voice was calm but firm. "Who sent you?"

Aegor met her gaze, his expression resolute, but his thoughts were racing. He had manipulated the Stark family, framed the current crown prince, and conned Tyrion Lannister into supporting his schemes. From one perspective, he had done enough to warrant execution ten times over. But none of his actions had harmed or even involved Stannis Baratheon, let alone offended the Lord of Light. And as for the charge of heresy, wasn't Westeros full of heretics in the eyes of the Red God? Stannis wasn't king yet. Who gave Melisandre the authority to persecute unbelievers?

"Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Aegor finally said. Of course, he wasn't about to admit that Tyrion had funded his mission. But even if he told the truth, it shouldn't offend Melisandre or her faith. Could she somehow know about his plans to leave the Wall?

"Really? And why were you sent here?"

Aegor explained his mission honestly, outlining the four tasks he had been given. Suppressing his growing frustration, he added, "Lady Melisandre, there must be some misunderstanding. This is the first time I've ever seen you."

"This is indeed our first meeting," Melisandre said, her voice laced with suspicion. "But I sense an ancient and powerful aura emanating from you, one that belongs to a foreign god. Who are you?"

Aegor's heart skipped a beat. Ancient foreign god? He swore he had no idea what she was talking about. Could it be the lingering traces of ice magic from his encounters with the White Walkers? Or was it because he was not originally from this world that the priestess had detected something unusual about him?

Keeping his composure, he replied firmly, "Ma'am, I truly don't understand what you're talking about."

"Perhaps you don't," Melisandre said, smiling faintly. "But I have my ways of uncovering the truth." She gestured to one of the guards. "Bring a brazier."

A brazier? Was she planning to torture him?

Aegor's mind raced. He had always prided himself on his ability to plan ahead. He had rehearsed excuses and escape plans for situations where his lies might be exposed, whether by the Starks, Robert Baratheon, or even Cersei Lannister. But this situation had caught him completely off guard. He had simply come to Dragonstone to survey an obsidian mine. What could he possibly confess to Melisandre? Would he be forced to reveal that he was a World traveler if she pressed him too hard? And even if he did, would she believe him?

The brazier was brought in and placed a meter in front of Aegor. To his surprise, there was no glowing hot iron inside. Instead, Melisandre produced a knife and handed it to the guard.

"Take some of his blood," she ordered. "Just a few drops. I want him alive."

Chapter 53

The Dragonstone guard who had been ordered to act walked toward Aegor, holding a knife shorter than his palm. Shrugging apologetically, the young man glanced at him.

Bound tightly with his torso and limbs secured, Aegor could only feebly struggle against the ropes, shaking his body as he watched the guard approach. His thoughts raced, but no clear answers came. What was happening? Could it be that his blood, as someone from another world, carried some unique power that the Lord of Light, R'hllor, required? If that were the case, would he eventually be thrown into the fire and sacrificed at some critical moment?

He had knowledge far beyond anyone else in this world. He had a massive plan to slowly establish a foothold, build his own connections and influence, and eventually use resources and strategy to intervene in the Game of Thrones. He had plans to change pivotal events in the future and potentially alter the fate of the entire world. He had survived the White Walkers, left the Wall far behind, and was just beginning to embark on a new life. Was everything going to end prematurely on this desolate island at the mouth of Blackwater Bay?

…

Aegor's wide eyes were fixed on the knife in the guard's hand. A few drops of blood weren't enough to scare him into losing his composure or begging for mercy, but the real issue was what might come after. Like Tyrion, he fancied himself a clever man, but cleverness was of little use against an opponent whose intentions were completely unknown. He had no idea why Melisandre had suddenly turned hostile, and he had no leverage to counter it.

"Just my arm—be gentle, please!" Aegor said, eyeing the guard's trembling hand as it gripped the knife. He was determined to retain the last shred of dignity in this humiliating situation by choosing where the wound would be made.

"Alright…"

The man holding the knife was a young guard, no older than twenty. He had been a child during the last great war and had joined Stannis's forces only a year ago. This was the first time he had ever used a weapon to deliberately draw blood from someone. Aegor's calm but sarcastic remark only made him more nervous, and the guard applied too little force, resulting in a shallow cut. It took several seconds for the blood to start seeping out.

Hurriedly, the guard used the back of the knife to scrape up a few drops of blood and carried it over to the priestess.

Melisandre took out a handkerchief, wiped the blood off the blade, and let the fabric absorb the droplets. Then, she threw the blood-stained cloth into the brazier and turned her gaze intently toward the flames.

Aegor's eyes also shifted to the fire but he saw nothing unusual. His blood didn't have any kind of "power." The flames engulfed the handkerchief, and aside from the brief addition of a new flicker, neither the color nor the temperature of the fire changed in any significant way.

However, Melisandre's expression grew solemn. Her wide, unblinking eyes stared at the brazier as though it held the answer to some ultimate question, though whatever it was seemed frustratingly out of reach. She leaned closer, gripping the brazier's stand, moving her face nearer and nearer to the flames.

Aegor was startled to notice that the flames actually licked at her hair, yet not a single strand curled or burned. The priestess of the Lord of Light truly had some extraordinary abilities; she appeared immune to fire itself!

About a minute later, Melisandre finally released the brazier stand and stepped back. Her gaze returned to Aegor, her red eyes gleaming with interest. As she opened her mouth to speak, the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang, and a man entered the room.

…

"You arrested the Night's Watchman?"

Against the light of the brazier, Aegor couldn't make out the figure's face, but the commanding tone of the voice and his own instincts told him who it was. "Lord Stannis! I'm here under the orders of Jeor Mormont to oversee the mining of dragonglass. You should be aware of this! I swear I've done nothing wrong on your island. If I've offended you or Lady Melisandre unintentionally, I apologize. But please, untie me! I'm willing to face her directly to clear up this misunderstanding!"

"What do you mean by this?" Stannis ignored Aegor's outburst and turned his cold gaze toward Melisandre. "The Night's Watch came here to mine dragonglass. Lord Stark wrote to inform me of this, and I granted my permission. Who do you think you are, ordering the arrest of someone who entered my land with my approval?"

"Do you remember the ancient alien gods I told you about?" Melisandre asked, nodding respectfully toward Stannis. A faint smile played on her lips. "I sensed a powerful aura of a foreign god emanating from this Night's Watchman. I wanted to understand why that—or perhaps those—gods sent him here."

"I don't care what you want to understand, Melisandre." Stannis's voice was calm but carried the weight of absolute authority. "You have your uses, which is why I tolerate your presence on Dragonstone. But if you continue to act without my approval and indulge in nonsense, I'll have no choice but to send you away. Now, release the Night's Watchman and apologize to him, or leave Dragonstone immediately."

Relief swept through Aegor's body like a wave. He had narrowly avoided disaster. For several seconds, his mind went blank before he silently clenched his fists behind his back. Knowing the plot and holding advanced knowledge suddenly felt meaningless. In this world, his fate could be decided with a single word from these powerful figures. He realized with startling clarity how urgently he needed to turn his advantages into tangible influence and real power.

"As you wish, my lord," Melisandre said after a moment, her tone softening as she lowered her gaze. Her earlier confidence was gone, replaced by quiet obedience. "Let him go."

The young guard holding the knife hesitated, clearly confused. But since both Stannis and Melisandre had spoken, he quickly moved to untie Aegor.

Without another word, Stannis snorted and turned to leave the room.

---

Perhaps it was because the young guard had been intimidated by Lord Stannis moments ago, or maybe he was simply clumsy by nature, but it took him several seconds to figure out how to untie the knot. Impatient, Melisandre finally shook her head. "Step aside, I'll do it."

Ever since she had ordered Aegor's capture, the Red Priestess had kept a cautious distance of two meters, standing in a defensive posture. Now, confident that he posed no immediate threat, she approached the bound Night's Watchman. The hot air radiating from her seemed to intensify as she ran her hand lightly along his arm, brushing against the ropes that restrained him.

Aegor flinched slightly. Her touch came with a faint, burning sensation, and almost immediately, the ropes binding him began to snap one by one with loud pops. Freed, he stepped forward to steady himself, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. Touching the spots on his skin where he had felt the heat, he found no burns or injuries—only a lingering warmth.

Looking down at the broken ropes on the ground, he noticed the severed ends were charred black, faint wisps of smoke curling into the air. The ropes had been burned, yet his skin remained unscathed. The sheer impossibility of what had just happened left Aegor at a loss for words. No explanation, no knowledge he possessed, could account for it.

Melisandre stood within arm's reach now, close enough that Aegor could have wrapped his hands around her slender neck and choked the life out of her. And yet, as much as he loathed her at this moment, he had to admit that he couldn't bring himself to act. The woman standing before him, seemingly delicate and fragile, exuded an intangible power that made his instincts scream in warning.

"I apologize, my friend in black," Melisandre said, her tone softened. But the expression on her face betrayed no genuine remorse, her words were delivered with the detached, self-assured air of someone who considered herself superior. "This is the first time I've encountered such a potent aura of a foreign god other than my Lord of Light, and I was caught off guard. I overreacted, and in doing so, caused you to suffer. Please, forgive me."

---

Aegor had no intention of forgiving her, nor did he plan to leave quietly, tail tucked between his legs. He had always considered himself a calm and good-natured person, but when truly provoked, his anger was far from trivial. What bothered him more than the humiliation was the feeling of being at the mercy of an enemy whose motives and intentions he couldn't understand.

Tonight, he intended to get to the bottom of this. If Melisandre couldn't provide a reasonable explanation for her actions, he might need to add a "fight to the death" category to his mental blacklist.

When he returned to King's Landing to begin preparations for his next steps—acquiring supplies, recruiting soldiers, and raising funds—his first order of business might just involve finding a way to eliminate this woman.

He already had an idea. The Faceless Man Jaqen H'ghar was currently imprisoned in King's Landing, likely destined to be recruited by Yoren into the Night's Watch. As a devout follower of the Many-Faced God, Jaqen would surely resist being taken to the Wall to swear an oath of service. If Aegor could find a way to release him, he doubted it would be difficult to secure Jaqen's help in dealing with Melisandre.

Aegor couldn't help but feel a curious fascination at the thought: what would happen if a devotee of the Many-Faced God, someone who claimed to be able to kill anyone, clashed with the mysterious priestess of the Red God?

"It's easy enough for me to tell Lord Stannis that I forgive you, my lady," Aegor said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "But I was in the middle of enjoying a good meal when I was dragged off, tied to a pillar, and stabbed. If I don't understand why any of that happened, I doubt anyone would expect me to let it go so easily." His voice was calm but firm as he met her gaze. "I need an explanation, Lady Melisandre."

Chapter 54

Perhaps it was the trace of murderous intent in Aegor's eyes, or perhaps it was guilt gnawing at her conscience, but the casual expression on Melisandre's face faded. She stared at him for a moment in silence before the corners of her lips curved into a faint smile. "Alright."

The Night's Watch had always been the backbone of the fight against the enemies of the Lord of Light. Aegor was the first man in black she had encountered since coming to Westeros. Despite her disdain for mortals, Melisandre decided it was unwise to risk offending a potential ally so quickly.

The red-robed woman turned and gestured toward two chairs in the corner of the room, inviting Aegor to sit. "Ask me anything. As long as my Lord does not forbid me from answering, I'll tell you everything I know."

Unceremoniously, Aegor strode to a chair and sat down. "You said I carry the aura of an alien god. What does that mean?"

"To be precise," Melisandre replied, "you have two auras. One is dark and evil, but very faint. The other is far stronger, though it carries no malice. Either way, you're fortunate to be alive."

"Why do I have these two auras?" Aegor pressed, his skepticism clear. Materialist by nature, he struggled to believe in talk of gods and divine powers. Yet in this world where the woman in front of him had just demonstrated abilities beyond his comprehension he knew better than to dismiss her words outright. "I'm just an ordinary soldier of the Night's Watch."

"No, you are not." Melisandre's red eyes glimmered. "I saw you in the flames, fighting a servant of the Great Other—the God of Cold. You were brave, but bravery alone does not explain your survival. Few mortals can slay such creatures, yet you killed a White Walker. The moment you did, you ceased to be ordinary. That act marked you, drawing the attention of the God of Cold."

Melisandre waved her hand, dismissing the guards and instructing them to close the door behind them. "The evil aura clinging to you is a remnant of that battle. In the future, should you enter the God of Cold's perception, you will be noticed far more quickly than your comrades."

Aegor's heart sank. It wasn't just her ability to glean his past from a few drops of blood that unsettled him, but the implications of her words. He had been marked by this so-called God of Cold. But what was the God of Cold? Was it just another name for the Night King? And how had Melisandre known about his encounter with the White Walker? Did she truly see it in the flames, or had Stannis learned of it through Jeor Mormont or Eddard Stark's letters and told her?

…

"What about the other, 'stronger' aura?" Aegor asked, masking his unease. "Yes, I killed a White Walker. It's the toughest enemy I've ever faced, and I only won because it underestimated me. If even that fight left me with a faint trace of evil, then what kind of fight would leave behind the powerful aura you sensed?"

"That's the mystery," Melisandre admitted, her gaze narrowing. "The existence that left the other aura is far weaker than the God of Cold, yet the mark it left on you is exceptionally vivid. Such a thing should only happen if you had direct contact with it, if you confronted it face to face. But for a mortal to survive such an encounter is… impossible. Stranger still, in the flames, I saw a boy falling from a great height. If you want me to explain further, you'll need to tell me: what happened?"

"You saw it all, didn't you?" Aegor retorted. "Why do you need me to explain?"

"Fire divination isn't as all-seeing as you might imagine," Melisandre replied. Once Aegor sat down, she took the seat across from him. "What I saw wasn't a complete picture. Your blood carried traces of the two forces I spoke of, and they revealed fragmented scenes. The evil aura was faint, so it only showed me flashes of your battle with the servant of the God of Cold—the White Walker. I saw you nearly perish as you plunged the dragonglass dagger into its chest. That was all.

"The stronger aura, however, allowed me to see more. I saw you running on a rooftop, speaking with a boy, and then… he fell. I couldn't hear what you said to him, nor could I decipher what relationship it had to a god. That's why I need your account. What were you doing that day?"

"I was trying to stop it…" Aegor replied, frowning. Then, as if struck by lightning, a single thought surged to the forefront of his mind: Greenseer!

…

The memory of that moment filled Aegor with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He had failed to stop Bran from falling, and his interference had been clumsy and ill-planned. But now, after hearing Melisandre's words, he began to wonder if his failure had less to do with his own actions and more to do with forces beyond his control.

Could it be that the outcome had been inevitable? That his actions were meaningless against a powerful entity pulling the strings?

It was like the stock market, no matter how clever or precise a retail trader's moves were, they couldn't outplay the big players. And even those market makers, no matter how wealthy, wouldn't dare to challenge the system itself. The two sides operated on entirely different levels, and there was no doubt as to who would prevail.

Bran's fall wasn't an accident. It had been orchestrated, perhaps by the Greenseer himself.

The more Aegor thought about it, the more everything clicked into place. The Greenseer's influence might explain why Bran was so determined to climb the tower that day, why the Lannister twins seemed compelled to enter the First Keep, and why events unfolded exactly as they did.

Melisandre watched him closely, noting his hesitation and the way his expression shifted between contemplation and doubt. Interpreting his silence as evasion, her face darkened slightly. "Friend of the Night's Watch, I've been rude. I don't believe I've asked your name yet."

"You can call me Aegor," he said flatly.

"Well, Aegor," Melisandre said softly, her tone taking on a more persuasive edge, "if you know anything, it would be wise to tell me."

The witch regarded the Night's Watch as hardened warriors, standing guard against unimaginable horrors in the frozen North. In her eyes, they were the toughest of men, and Aegor, in particular, intrigued her. Deciding to adopt a gentler approach, she continued, "The two gods who left their marks on you are far beyond the power of mortals in the South. Either one could end your life with a single flick of their finger. Only the Lord of Light can protect you now."

---
Aegor hesitated. He didn't know whether the "gods" of this world were truly omnipotent, transcendent beings as described in legend, or simply more powerful entities that had mastered the use of magic. But regardless of which they were, one thing was clear: R'hllor, the Lord of Light, was a real and formidable force in this world.

If he had to pledge himself to a deity, R'hllor would certainly be a strong candidate. But Aegor faced a problem, he was not an ordinary man. He carried too many secrets. As the saying goes, an innocent man becomes guilty by holding a treasure. If he threw himself into the arms of a god recklessly, it might work out well if they could cooperate openly. But what if this "god" became greedy for the knowledge in his mind or curious about the possibilities of worlds beyond this one? What if it decided to drain him of everything he knew, and then discard or even destroy him? Aegor would have no means of resistance.

He couldn't even stand up to a single priest of R'hllor, let alone bargain with a divine being. Before he had the power to sit at the same table as these players, entrusting his life to someone or something he didn't understand would not be a wise move.

Moreover, he had to consider the backstory he had crafted for himself. An outsider from beyond the Sunset Sea who had managed to quickly integrate into Westerosi society was already a rarity. How could he reveal secrets that even the locals didn't know without exposing himself further?

In a cold, ruthless world filled with unfathomable supernatural powers, caution was always the best policy.

With that in mind, Aegor composed himself, adopting a confused expression. After organizing his thoughts, he began to speak:

"That happened during King Robert's northern tour. I went south with Chief Ranger Benjen Stark to report the movements of the wildlings and White Walkers beyond the Wall to the Warden of the North. One day, while I was training alone in a quiet corner of Winterfell, I noticed Lord Stark's second son climbing the castle walls. I was worried he might fall, so I tried to dissuade him... but the boy wouldn't listen. In the end, he was startled by someone who suddenly poked their head out of the First Keep and lost his footing.

"But no matter how you look at it, it was just an accident. If I offended any god in the process, then that god must have wanted Bran to fall to die, or to become disabled.

Chapter 55

Lying is an art, and Aegor had learned a valuable trick: deceive yourself before deceiving others. The best lies are rooted in truth. If you create an identity within a story, everything you do and say must strictly align with that identity. It's like writing a novel, no matter how strange or fantastical the setting, as long as it's consistent within its own rules, it will appear logical. If a liar can immerse themselves deeply enough to believe their own words, the deception becomes nearly unbreakable.

Aegor had placed himself in the role of an adventurer from beyond the Sunset Sea, and in this role, he told the Red Priestess the complete, unvarnished truth as much as fit within the parameters of the identity he had constructed. How could anyone detect a lie when there wasn't one?

Even so, while he carefully avoided revealing the secret of his time travel, he worked to subtly lead Melisandre's thoughts. As long as her reasoning followed his "guesses" without veering into suspicion, he would be able to navigate this conversation without issue.

…

Melisandre was no demon. She was simply a woman who had mastered magic or found a way to communicate with the so-called "Red God." Faced with Aegor's truthful answers, even if she wasn't fully satisfied, there wasn't much she could question further. Instead, Aegor's carefully placed remarks triggered her own thoughts, and she soon squinted, deep in contemplation.

"I understand now," she said after a pause. Connecting Aegor's words with the visions she had seen in the flames, her mind began piecing things together. "The boy possesses the physique of a divine messenger, and the demigod wanted him."

"What is a demigod?" Aegor asked, keeping his tone even.

"A demigod is a being weaker than my master, the Lord of Light, but far superior to mortals. Think of them as powerful wizards," she replied.

"And what exactly is the 'physique of a divine messenger'?" Aegor continued. "Also, if the demigod wanted to use the boy, why did it cripple him?"

Melisandre's expression was calm as she explained, "The so-called divine physique refers to a person's natural affinity for the divine. Some people can easily perceive the messages the Lord of Light conveys through fire. Others require assistance, and still others will never hear the Lord's voice, no matter what. Interestingly, those with the highest divine affinity often have extraordinary talents for magic. They possess strong, healthy bodies, resilient souls, and unyielding wills. These advantages, however, can hinder divine communication—more precisely, hinder the divine from communicating with them. And so, you saw what happened next."

Aegor felt a chill run down his spine as her words sank in. He suddenly understood what she meant. Among the Free Folk, only one in a thousand is born a skinchanger, and among those, only one in a thousand can become a greenseer. Bran Stark, with his exceptional skinchanger abilities, was the perfect candidate to inherit the mantle of the next greenseer.

But because of his strength, the old greenseer couldn't simply control or manipulate him. Instead, the greenseer chose a cruel solution to temporarily weaken Bran.

Even the nature of the inheritance seemed suspect. Did the previous greenseer pass on all his knowledge and memories to Bran, or did he take over Bran's body entirely, viewing his life across time and space before impersonating him?

---

This line of thought was so disturbing that Aegor needed confirmation. "Let me see if I understand this," he said carefully. "If someone is healthy, whole, and conscious, a demigod cannot easily influence them. But if that person is unconscious, physically weakened, or mentally broken, the demigod can take the opportunity to infiltrate their mind and exert greater control?"

"In theory, yes," Melisandre said with a dazzling smile. "But resorting to direct harm is usually a last, desperate measure. Often, when a person's heart is filled with doubt or emptiness, a demigod can exploit that vulnerability just as effectively. That's a tactic used by the weak. My Lord of Light has no need for such underhanded methods. So long as there is fire, His grace can reach anywhere. My Lord is far more powerful than the one you fought."

Her response only solidified Aegor's suspicions. The day Bran Stark fell was the day before he was supposed to leave Winterfell for King's Landing with his father. The greenseer had orchestrated the tragedy to prevent his ideal successor from leaving the North, his sphere of influence.

The pieces began to fit together in Aegor's mind: Bran's dreams of the Three-Eyed Raven after his fall, Jojen Reed's arrival as a guide—Jojen, whose green dreams foretold the future but left him frail and sickly and other individuals who claimed to possess prophetic insight. It all made sense now.

The greenseer had wanted Bran crippled to ensure he remained in the North. While Bran lay unconscious, the greenseer likely implanted dreams and messages, urging him to "go beyond the Wall to fulfill his destiny." Jojen, already under the greenseer's sway, would then guide Bran to him.

It was cold, calculated, and utterly ruthless.

But one part still puzzled Aegor. He had witnessed Bran's fall with his own eyes, and the event had seemed entirely accidental. He needed to know how the greenseer had caused it. "But… it was clearly an accident," he said.

"You're dealing with a demigod, my friend of the Night's Watch," Melisandre said, her tone dripping with disdain. "What you saw was an accident. But was it truly one? Demigods spread their influence through faith, persuading others to act on their behalf. Within this sphere of influence, they can subtly manipulate people's thoughts. No god can directly control a person's mind, but through whispered suggestions deep in the subconscious and careful arrangements, they can orchestrate events. What they wish to happen will manifest as a series of coincidences."

"The heart tree… the Old Gods!" Aegor's voice trembled as the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He suddenly understood everything.

Melisandre's sharp eyes narrowed as she observed his reaction. She gave a small nod, then shook her head slightly, a wordless signal for him to stop speaking.

Her expression and gestures confirmed Aegor's worst fears. The so-called "Old Gods" were merely a facade, a construct of the greenseers. Or perhaps the Old Gods were the greenseers. By promoting this belief, the greenseers had encouraged the Children of the Forest and the First Men to plant weirwoods everywhere, creating a vast network through which they could extend their influence.

The greenseer didn't just see the world through the weirwoods; he could manipulate it.

And Bran's fall? Less than 200 meters from where it happened stood the Godswood of Winterfell. Through the heart tree, the greenseer had likely influenced Bran's subconscious, compelling him to climb the broken tower that day. At the same time, he had stirred the forbidden desires of Jaime and Cersei, ensuring they would be there when Bran arrived. A few nudges here, a whisper there, and the "accident" was complete.

Aegor's blood ran cold. By intervening repeatedly to try to prevent Bran's fall, he had unwittingly drawn the greenseer's attention. Melisandre had said he carried the aura of a powerful being. Could it be that he had already crossed paths with the greenseer—no, with the "Old God"?

Thank the gods I didn't succeed, he thought, sweat soaking his black tunic.

As the implications of Melisandre's explanation sank in, Aegor's mind raced to another possibility. Wasn't it the same principle when Melisandre burned three leeches to curse and kill three "false kings"?

---

Robb Stark was killed by the Freys, who had conspired with the Lannisters at the Red Wedding. On the surface, it seemed to have nothing to do with the three leeches. But the King in the North's stubborn willfulness, his betrayal of his oath to House Frey, and the ultimate choices of the two treacherous families could all of this have been the result of whispers and subtle provocations buried deep in their subconscious? Could it have been R'hllor's influence at work?

Joffrey Baratheon was poisoned by Littlefinger and Olenna Tyrell, which also appeared unrelated to the leeches. Yet consider this: Petyr Baelish took enormous risks to orchestrate chaos that yielded no clear benefit to himself. Meanwhile, the Queen of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell, was willing to kill her own granddaughter's future husband to save her from marrying Joffrey, a "monster" with echoes of the Mad King's cruelty. The two conspirators aligned their plans perfectly, joining forces to kill the king. Could this perfect storm of collaboration have been induced by subtle hints and manipulations from the Lord of Light?

As for Balon Greyjoy, he was believed to have fallen to his death while crossing a stormy bridge. But his long-exiled brother, Euron Greyjoy, who returned to the Iron Islands immediately after Balon's death, was the true culprit. Euron had been absent from Westeros for years, claiming to have traveled the world. How, then, did he manage to return at the critical moment of the War of the Five Kings, ensuring that Melisandre's curse came to fruition?

The red-robed woman's curse couldn't directly kill its targets. But the King of Light behind her ensured that those she cursed would always be slain by someone with the motive and means to kill them. "Subconscious interference and whispers in the ears" these seem to be the methods through which the "gods" of this world manipulate events, turning mortals into their pawns and wielding them as tools to strike at one another.

Is it possible that this Game of Thrones, this battle between life and death, this song of ice and fire, is nothing more than a power struggle between gods and demigods, fighting for influence over the mortal world?

Chapter Text

Chapter 56

In this world, can one truly get anywhere without noble status? While the statement might sound absolute, it is almost always true in Westeros. No one is born untouchable. Once you enter this world, you have to play by its rules. But Aegor saw beyond the surface, past the aristocratic system that seemed to define everything. The noble system was merely a visible layer of the game in Westeros. Beneath it lay the deeper, more fundamental rules: every problem was ultimately one of resources and power.

Take the messenger from the Iron Bank, for example. He was just an ordinary clerk, yet even Queen Cersei, who had purged all her political opponents and wielded supreme power in King's Landing, had to treat him with courtesy. Was it because of his title? No, it was because he represented the immense resources of Braavos across the narrow sea. Or look at the High Sparrow, whose rise to power caused so many kings and queens untold trouble. Was his influence derived from his title or the favor of the Seven Gods? No—it stemmed from his armed followers and the public's support, combined with the weaknesses of his enemies.

Even Littlefinger, after being granted Harrenhal, became one of the highest-ranking nobles in Westeros. But if he hadn't already forged ties with the Lady of the Vale, what would his noble title have truly amounted to?

In the end, nobility in Westeros was a tool for controlling resources, not the source of power itself. In this world, control over resources came first; nobility followed after.

Once you understood this cause-and-effect relationship, the path forward became clear. If Aegor could amass resources, even if he spent his entire life branded as a member of the Night's Watch, legally no better than a common soldier he could still achieve great things with a mere gesture.

Firmly believing this, Aegor began to plan.

…

His initial strategy had been simple: use a Ponzi scheme to amass capital, channeling the profits into supplies for the Night's Watch while strategically placing people loyal to him within its ranks. Slowly but steadily, he intended to make the Watch dependent on him, both materially and ideologically. This would ensure his personal safety and grant him freedom of action.

With that foundation secured, he could then use his resources and advanced knowledge to establish a vast network of influence throughout Westeros. When the time was right, he would carefully leverage his power to participate in the Game of Thrones, remove the shackles of his Night's Watch identity, and ultimately explore the possibility of reversing his time travel.

---

Aegor had laid out this ambitious plan, eager to employ his wisdom and knowledge in navigating the chaotic world of Westeros. But before he could even begin, Melisandre had appeared and in doing so, had pulled back the curtain on this world, revealing a greater and far more terrifying truth beneath its surface.

A month ago, Aegor had doubted the existence of "fate" when he failed to prevent Bran Stark's fall. But when Tyrion successfully returned to King's Landing, it overturned his earlier suspicions. Convinced that there was no such thing as destiny or divine interference in this world, Aegor had grown ambitious, crafting an enormous plan to reshape Westeros and rewrite its history.

But now, Melisandre's words hit him like a hammer to the head. Supernatural powers did exist, and they were influencing the mortal realm. Tyrion's return hadn't disproved this; it simply meant that the gods had been too preoccupied elsewhere to interfere.

Aegor felt like a child, quietly preparing to play games or watch movies in his room, only to look up and notice a camera on the ceiling. The excitement drained from him immediately. Who could remain cheerful while being watched, scrutinized from all angles by an all-seeing, father-like presence?

…

Melisandre observed Aegor's prolonged silence and mistook it for fear. She inwardly scoffed. Even a man who had faced White Walkers and killed one trembled when confronted with true supernatural power.

"Do you have any other questions?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral. After all, it was natural for mortals to fear the extraordinary. She herself had felt this awe before. "Since I've been so forthcoming, would it be acceptable if I asked a few questions in return?"

Aegor's plans needed to change. It wasn't enough to keep a low profile in the eyes of Westeros's nobility; he now realized he would also need to stay under the radar of the "demigods" and "gods" that influenced this world. Half of the plans he had painstakingly crafted could be scrapped right then and there.

"Ask," he said, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside. "I'll tell you everything I know."

---

Over the next half hour, Aegor and Melisandre exchanged questions and answers. Though still somewhat shaken, Aegor forced himself to maintain composure. To his relief, all of Melisandre's inquiries focused on matters Beyond the Wall and at the Wall itself. This meant she hadn't doubted his identity as an ordinary ranger of the Night's Watch. So long as he told the truth, there was no need to fabricate any stories or risk exposing himself.

By the time their conversation ended, the Red Priestess wore a somber expression, clearly deep in thought. Aegor, meanwhile, used the brief reprieve to steady himself and work through his panic.

At last, reason returned—belated, but better late than never. Aegor realized that conspiracy theories could explain everything, but leaning too heavily on them was a sure way to scare himself into paralysis. He had deceived plenty of key figures in this world using half-truths and misdirection. Who was to say Melisandre wasn't doing the same?

And even if she believed what she said, it didn't necessarily mean it was true. As a devout follower of the Red God, Melisandre might very well be brainwashed, no different from Jojen Reed, who was manipulated by his green dreams.

Was the Red God real? Was Melisandre simply another pawn in the game of a higher power?

It was possible that many events in the original plot had indeed been orchestrated or influenced by supernatural beings. But if Aegor started viewing everyone and everything through that lens wondering which god they served, or what divine agenda they represented he would end up paralyzed. Better to abandon such thoughts entirely and focus on what was within his grasp: surviving, building his influence, and continuing his fight against the White Walkers.

Even if there really is a group of beings quietly influencing the real world on a subconscious level, if there's no way to identify who they've affected or what these gods actually want, then how different are they from not existing at all?

Regardless of these transcendent forces, the plan remains the same! Just a few adjustments to make oneself more low-key.

Aegor's thoughts were clear, and he quickly formulated a countermeasure: from now on, he would need to pretend to be a loyal and upright Night's Watchman, not only when meeting outsiders but even when no one was watching. Compared to acting recklessly for selfish goals, standing firmly against the White Walkers might not bring immediate benefits, but it would at least ensure that the Lord of Light and his followers wouldn't target him without cause.

As a mortal, I am far too weak, not even qualified to remain neutral in this conflict. What a predicament.

"The God of Cold is moving faster than we expected," Melisandre said, unaware of Aegor's inner thoughts. She had her own troubles. "Thankfully, the Lord of Light has shown me in the flames that the Great Wall can block the power of the God of Cold and his servants. We still have time to prepare before winter comes and the sea freezes over." She raised her head and looked at Aegor, her demeanor growing serious as she shook off any unnecessary expressions. "So, my friend in black, is there anything I can do to help the Night's Watch?"

Aegor met her gaze. After everything the accusations of heresy, the bloodletting, and the tension, things finally seemed to be back on track. At the very least, Melisandre wasn't lying about wanting to help the Night's Watch. Unfortunately, Dragonstone had limited resources. The island couldn't provide food or weapons, and Melisandre didn't have a large following of her own. Unless she was willing to abandon Stannis, whom she mistakenly believed to be the reincarnation of Azor Ahai and head north to the Wall herself, her ability to help would be limited.

As he stared at the priestess, her face serious and sincere, a question began to form in Aegor's mind, growing larger and heavier: was the struggle between these gods truly a battle for survival, or was it simply a game, a competition among themselves? In the eyes of these higher beings, were the White Walkers, the Night's Watch, and even priests like Melisandre merely soldiers and weapons in a war or were they pawns, used in passing, to amuse these gods in their spare time?

If he could figure this out, his plans could be revised with far greater precision and clarity.

Unfortunately, even if Melisandre was a devout servant of the Lord of Light, there was no way she could know secrets on this level.

"The Great Wall lacks everything," Aegor finally said, sighing and shaking his head. "But what it needs most right now is people, food, and equipment. I was sent here to address that. But I think Dragonstone is in no better position than the Night's Watch. If you truly wish to help, then focus on ensuring the mining of obsidian progresses smoothly."

"No problem."

Wait. Dragonglass. Aegor's eyes widened slightly as a thought struck him. How could he have overlooked something so important? "I almost forgot to ask," he said quickly, leaning forward slightly. "Do you know how the dragonglass dagger kills White Walkers? If we can figure out the secret behind it, we might be able to find other ways to deal with these creatures."

Chapter 57

"I don't know, but I can make a guess," Melisandre said, pursing her lips as she looked at Aegor. "After all, the first White Walker killer in Westeros in a thousand years is sitting right here, isn't he?"

The earlier tension in the room had subsided, replaced by a more amicable atmosphere. This old witch, who had clearly lived for who knows how many centuries, was disturbingly good at steering conversations. Aegor, unable to find an appropriate response, kept his expression neutral and said curtly, "Stop spouting nonsense and get on with your guess."

"From the images I saw and the death process you described, the White Walker's body seems to be almost entirely composed of magic, with little physical substance," the witch explained. "All living beings can be killed, either by physical force or magic. But there are entities capable of making physical attacks almost meaningless..."

"Immune to physical damage?" Aegor asked.

"In nature, some animals strengthen their bodies to achieve this goal, like turtles or dragons. They rely on tough shells or scales to resist external—well—physical harm. But the gods take other approaches. The God of Cold took the opposite route: he made his servants' bodies almost entirely magical, granting the White Walkers near-complete immunity to physical attacks. Unless they are utterly pulverized by overwhelming force, they are essentially immortal."

"Then why are they vulnerable to Dragonglass?" Aegor pressed.

"They aren't afraid of Dragonglass itself, but rather the fire magic imbued within it," Melisandre said confidently. "This magic is fundamentally opposed to the essence of the God of Cold's servants. The conflict disrupts the ice magic that holds their bodies together, causing them to collapse."

"Isn't the Lord of Light the God of Fire? Since you call yourself his servant, shouldn't you be skilled in fire magic?" Aegor asked pointedly.

"In truth, fire magic is the only kind I know," Melisandre admitted. "But if you expect me to head north to the Wall and help you fight the White Walkers, that won't happen. Not only do I have a more critical mission, but the truth is... I can't even deal with a single White Walker."

"Are you telling me that the fire magic you can use isn't as effective as the magic in an obsidian dagger?" Aegor asked skeptically.

"Did you forget what I said earlier? The God of Cold is the mortal enemy of the Lord of Light. If his servants could be slain by minor fire magic, this war would've ended thousands of years ago," the witch countered, shaking her head. "We just mentioned that the bodies of White Walkers are almost entirely magic—but 'almost' isn't the same as 'completely.' If they were pure magic, even a small fire spell could disperse them. However, the small amount of physical substance in their bodies prevents this from happening."

Melisandre raised a hand, her fingers brushing lightly across the fabric of Aegor's black shirt. "If I wanted to, I could instantly ignite all the clothing on your body. You'd suffer severe burns, perhaps even die if you didn't get treatment. But what do you think would happen if I tried this trick on a White Walker?"

Aegor stepped back, avoiding her touch. "It wouldn't burn them at all?"

"Correct. They wouldn't burn at all," Melisandre replied with a faint smile, retracting her hand. "White Walkers' bodies are entirely composed of magic, with a thin layer of ice acting as armor. Ordinary weapons can shatter this ice layer easily, but they cannot harm the essence beneath. Fire magic poses a threat to them, but it cannot pierce their physical bodies. The existence of this body means that even if they were buried in Dragonglass or engulfed in flames, they would remain intact. Only by piercing their bodies and injecting fire magic can their internal magic be disrupted, destabilizing their structure and killing them. That's how you killed the White Walker with an Dragonglass dagger, the dagger's sharpness broke through their protective exterior, and the fire magic within the Dragonglass disrupted the stable ice magic in their bodies, killing them instantly."

She paused briefly before continuing, "Of course, sufficiently powerful fire magic could destroy them outright, but no one capable of casting fire magic at that level has been born yet."

"Then... what's the story behind Valyrian steel being able to kill White Walkers?" Aegor asked.

"Valyrian steel is a misleading name. To be more accurate, it should be called Valyrian metal. If you ever get the chance, test it with a magnet—you'll see it contains no iron and therefore cannot be classified as steel. The Valyrians combined several rare and precious metals with magic to forge this remarkably light and durable material. I've encountered it before, and it's evident that exceptionally powerful fire magic was used in its creation. Even after centuries, traces of that magic remain."

"An alloy then? Valyrian steel should be called Valyrian alloy!" Aegor remarked.

Melisandre frowned slightly, puzzled by his penchant for inventing new terms. "Call it whatever you like. The name doesn't matter."

"I see. So, the most effective way to kill White Walkers is to pierce their bodies and use substances containing fire magic to destabilize their structure," Aegor said, nodding. A sudden thought made his expression darken. "But what if I encounter a White Walker wearing armor? How could I kill them then?"

"Generally speaking, armor greatly hinders movement and spellcasting. Magic, as a form of energy, lacks strong penetration, which is why spellcasters typically wear simple, lightweight clothing. I, for example, never wear undergarments or heavy robes. If I were forced to wear full armor, the power of my spells would be halved at least," Melisandre said, her lips curving into a sly smile. "But there's no guarantee the White Walkers will adopt your logic. If you do encounter one wearing armor, my advice is simple: go back and think carefully about your next move."

Realizing he had spent far too much time here, he stood abruptly and said, "You're saying a lot of words, but they mean nothing."

"Indeed," Melisandre replied, standing as well, her tone unbothered. "But you, my friend, are an expert in killing White Walkers, aren't you? Are you leaving already? Well... I've already removed the mark left in your body by the demigod, and the lingering aura of the Lord of Light will now ensure that He dares neither monitor you nor harm you. You are free to do as you wish."

"You removed one mark but replaced it with another!" Aegor froze for a moment, the words sinking in. His recently subdued anger flared up again. "What's the point of that? They're all the same, they're not good people!"

"Wherever there is fire, the Lord of Light's influence can reach. With His mark, demigods hostile to the God of Cold, or other servants of the Lord of Light, will not harm you. And if you're worried that I'll constantly watch you, I can assure you I lack both the ability and the interest," Melisandre said calmly, unaffected by his outburst. "This has already consumed my magic, it's my way of apologizing for the offense I caused earlier. Believe me or not, it's up to you. The only regret I have is that I can't remove the traces left on you by the God of Cold. Regarding that, I can only suggest: don't go north of the Wall again."

Aegor wanted to demand that she undo whatever manipulations she had left on his body, but as he thought it over, he realized something. Even if she lied and claimed she had undone it, how would he know for sure? He couldn't sense magic. It was better to ask something practical. "Didn't you say the aura left by the God of Cold on me is weak? So why can you remove the stronger mark but not the weaker one?"

"An adult wolf can kill a newborn dragon with a single bite, but even so, a dragon is a fundamentally stronger creature than a wolf," Melisandre explained with a soft sigh. "The God of Cold is evil, yes, but he is a true god, one who has just awakened after a long slumber. As winter deepens, his power will grow stronger and stronger. In contrast, the unfortunate demigod opposing him in the North is already in decline, inching closer to death."

She looked at Aegor, her tone turning thoughtful. "The night is dark and full of terrors... Take care of yourself, my Night's Watch friend. And one last thing: tell the guard outside that we've reached an understanding and this misunderstanding should end. We all have more important matters to deal with, don't we?"

Aegor hesitated at the door. Her calm yet earnest tone left no room for further argument. After a moment's pause, he nodded curtly, then pushed the door open and walked out.

Chapter 58

In Winterfell, there would always be a butler or servant busy making arrangements to ensure someone like Aegor had proper accommodations for the night. But this was Dragonstone, and the word "polite" likely didn't exist in Stannis Baratheon's vocabulary. Under the guidance of a guard, Aegor quickly found himself outside the castle gates. Facing the dark night, the kind-hearted guard handed him a torch. Of course, there were no wolves or White Walkers on the island, and for a Night's Watch ranger, walking a few miles at night was hardly a daunting task. Bathed in the bleak moonlight, Aegor made his way down toward the fishing village along the shore.

The ship hadn't left yet, and Aegor breathed a sigh of relief. The captain, along with the old miner and his son, nervously asked what had happened. Naturally, Aegor couldn't reveal the truth to these ordinary folk. Instead, he fabricated a simple excuse about a misunderstanding to put their minds at ease. After retrieving his wallet, he headed straight for his cabin.

The return journey from Dragonstone to King's Landing differed from the trip there. They were now sailing against the wind and current, which slowed their progress considerably. Even if they set out in the middle of the night, Dragonstone would still be visible on the horizon by dawn. With no other choice, the ship remained docked in Dragonstone's small port for the rest of the night, only departing at first light.

Standing at the stern and watching the island slowly recede into the distance, Aegor couldn't help but sigh. Arranging the mining of Dragonglass had originally been a side project, something to do amidst other, more pressing concerns. According to the original plan, the task of managing the mine would fall to the old miner and his son. Aegor had intended to simply provide funding and avoid further involvement. Who could have anticipated that such a short trip would embroil him in the conflict between the God of Fire and the God of Cold? Moreover, he had learned so much "inside information" from Melisandre—though whether any of it was true remained uncertain.

Since there was no way to discern truth from lies, Aegor resolved to stop dwelling on it. The only thing to do now was to focus on the present. It was time to get back to business.

---

The ship drifted against the Blackwater Rush for more than a day and night, its waters rushing eastward into the Narrow Sea, before finally reaching the port of King's Landing. Four days after departing the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, Aegor set foot on Westerosi soil once again. After briefly discussing his address and next steps with the old miner, Aegor entered the city through the Mud Gate, eventually returning to the Albatross Inn where he had stayed previously.

Tyrion Lannister hadn't gone out, and as soon as he heard that Aegor had returned, he knocked on his door.

"Finally, you're back! During the two days you spent at Dragonstone, I didn't even feel like going to the tavern or the brothel," Tyrion said by way of greeting.

The dwarf's comment left Aegor utterly baffled. Thankfully, Tyrion quickly clarified. "I've been mulling over the 'finance' idea you mentioned during our last conversation. I couldn't stop thinking about it, day and night, over and over. I couldn't eat or sleep because of it."

"Have you figured anything out?" Aegor asked, slightly surprised by how invested Tyrion seemed. Compared to being randomly accused of heresy by Melisandre and dragged into a bloodletting ritual, this conversation was entirely within Aegor's expectations. Men like Eddard Stark or Stannis Baratheon would likely dismiss the concept of financial schemes as outright fraud. But Tyrion was different. The hallmark of a clever man was his ability to examine new ideas objectively and rationally. That was precisely why Aegor preferred dealing with people like Tyrion—it saved effort.

"You must have realized by now that if the Game of Thrones is about fighting for power and dividing the spoils, then the 'Game of Money' is about growing the spoils, making the cake bigger, so to speak. Regardless of which is more important or complex, when it comes to contributing to the world, the latter is undoubtedly greater than the former," Aegor explained.

"I'm not going to argue with that," Tyrion replied, his expression sharp. "But don't think you can get away with twisting concepts to confuse me—at least, not with me."

Tyrion's calm rebuttal was refreshing to Aegor, though it was hard to take him seriously when he tried to look stern, it almost came off as comical. "No matter how you dress it up, no matter how you justify it, you have to admit that this is a scam," Tyrion added bluntly.

As expected, there was no fooling a smart man. Four days had been more than enough time for Tyrion to figure out the truth. Aegor felt a flicker of nervousness as he scrambled to think of a way to respond. "Tyrion—"

Tyrion cut him off, seeing the hesitation in his expression. "Don't bother making excuses. Just admit it."

"Fine, I admit it," Aegor said. His mind quickly shifted gears, and he realized something: if Tyrion truly intended to reject the idea, he wouldn't have bothered saying so much. His tone didn't suggest outright refusal, and that gave Aegor a glimmer of hope. "Yes, I tried to pull off a financial scam. In Tsena, there was a man named Charles Ponzi who used a similar trick to deceive tens of thousands of people. Because of that, this kind of scam is now called a Ponzi scheme."

"How was his scam exposed?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"In order to compete with legitimate financial ventures, he promised ridiculously high rates of return. But he didn't make any real investments or generate any actual profits. Worse still, he squandered much of the money he raised. His scheme collapsed quickly because the flow of capital dried up. Once he couldn't even pay the promised returns—excluding the principal—his scam fell apart. Even if the investors hadn't suspected him, it wouldn't have lasted."

"It's just as I deduced," Tyrion said, raising his eyebrows and solemnly announcing, "Aegor, I'll join your plan, as long as you agree to my three conditions."

Just like that? Standing at the door of an ordinary single room in the Albatross Inn, Aegor felt a sudden, inexplicable throbbing in his chest. It struck him that this simple and straightforward conversation between friends could very well shape the future of Westeros. After a full second of silence, he nodded. "Go on."

"First, every step of this whole 'fundraising' endeavor must be discussed with me in detail, and you must explain your reasoning clearly. I must be allowed to participate fully. Second, the account funds will be managed by me. The money will be kept in an independent house I rent, and I'll personally handle all incoming and outgoing transactions." Tyrion straightened his expression, trying to emphasize that he wasn't joking. "Third, if the plan fails, I will cover the shortfall. But you are not allowed to attempt this scheme elsewhere without my approval. I'll find something else for you to do. With your brains, you can live comfortably without resorting to scams. That's all—decide."

…

The first two conditions were easy enough to understand. Aegor's calculated approach and the mutual trust between the two had helped them grow close in just a few months, despite being from vastly different worlds. However, they had only known each other for a short time, and Tyrion likely feared that Aegor might squander money recklessly, as the original perpetrators of Ponzi schemes had done, or worse, abscond with a massive sum. Aegor had no such intentions, so he readily accepted the restrictions. With King's Landing being the population and economic center of Westeros, and with both a northern Hand of the King and a Lannister to cooperate with, it should be feasible to raise funds. If it couldn't work here, why try elsewhere?

Aegor didn't hesitate. "Your requests are reasonable. I agree to all of them."

"Very good." The dwarf appreciated Aegor's straightforwardness. He nodded, then gave his friend a once-over, his expression shifting into a frown. "Did you really go to Dragonstone? You look like you've been in a brothel for three days and three nights. You're utterly exhausted."

"Is it that obvious?" Aegor muttered. He couldn't help but replay Melisandre's words in his mind, still struggling to separate truth from lies. Tyrion didn't even believe in the existence of White Walkers. When it came to skepticism, this native of Westeros might surpass even Aegor himself. "I'm seasick and didn't sleep well."

"Do you want to rest?"

"I'll write up a list first. You can have Morales and Jack do the shopping. I'll take a nap, and once everything's in place, we can begin."

…

"Excellent. I can't wait." Tyrion's excitement was palpable. He was like a child about to unbox a long-awaited toy. "The game of money… Just thinking about it feels more thrilling than drinking or spending time with women."

"Tyrion, you might be the most adventurous man in Westeros I've ever met."

"Hmph," Tyrion grunted, unimpressed by the flattery. "As you said, I'm only the most adventurous 'Westerosi.' This venture doesn't interfere with my drinking or carousing, nor does it put my life at risk. That's why I find it more interesting than the other two—and why I'm willing to try it. Compared to someone like you, who's crossed the Sunset Sea to get here, I'm nothing more than a country bumpkin."

"Let's not waste time complimenting each other," Aegor replied with a smirk. "I'll write up the list of supplies we need immediately. This afternoon, we'll start preparing to issue the Night's Watch bonds."

Chapter 59

After a short nap and confirming with Yoren that they wouldn't be leaving for the Wall in the next few days, Aegor and Tyrion set out together, discussing details as they rode.

"Any form of fundraising is a scam at the beginning," Aegor began. "The difference between legitimate finance and outright fraud is this: in the former, 'cheating' people out of their money is just the initial step, not the ultimate goal. What we're doing or at least what we hope to be doing falls into the first category. To achieve that, we need to establish a formal and complete system that not only appears legitimate but actually functions as such." He glanced at Tyrion. "This requires a whole set of rules and regulations to govern everyone involved not just you and me. And since you've asked for details, let's start there."

"Very well, go ahead," Tyrion replied, gesturing for him to continue. "I'll listen and offer suggestions where I can."

"Alright." Aegor had thought everything through meticulously in his room and now laid it out with clarity. "A mature financial system has to account for many factors stability, order, growth but since we're just getting started, we only need to focus on one thing: stability. Specifically, stability of the capital chain. Since our main source of funds is borrowing, ensuring stability means making sure our creditors don't suddenly demand repayment en masse."

Tyrion nodded, though he was struggling to keep up with the flood of unfamiliar terms and concepts. "You mentioned interest?"

"Yes, interest—or rather, the return on investment," Aegor explained. "I casually set the rate at 1% per month earlier, but after thinking it through, that figure is quite reasonable. The lower the return rate, the lower the risk of the entire operation collapsing. It's a moderate figure, low enough to be sustainable. However, we'll need to implement additional rules to support it. The method is simple: when borrowing money, we'll agree on a repayment period. If repayment is delayed, interest will continue to accrue. If repayment is made early, there will be penalties."

"Penalties?" Tyrion asked, raising an eyebrow. "Borrowing money is already a request for help. Who would dare to pay up if you start talking about penalties?"

"Calm down. The penalties won't affect the principal," Aegor assured him. "The principal will always remain secure, no matter what. The 'penalty' will only apply to the interest, the profit portion. And remember, we're operating under the guise of raising funds for the Night's Watch, with the Lord Hand of the King's endorsement. Officially, the money is for purchasing food and equipment to defend the Wall against wildlings and White Walkers. This is a noble cause, one that few would object to. While it's true that everything is being managed by just the two of us, and only part of the funds will go where we claim, the debtor isn't me—it's the Night's Watch."

Aegor paused to let the point sink in before continuing. "This distinction is critical. I represent the Night's Watch. Even though the organization is in decline and southerners look down on it, it's still legally independent and on par with the great houses of Westeros. As such, it must act impartially and responsibly. To maintain that facade, we need strict principles that seem overbearing but ultimately work in our favor. The most important of these is that our bonds will not be redeemable before the agreed-upon time."

"You make a valid point," Tyrion admitted, "but you're underestimating how unreasonable people can be. I don't know how things work in Tsena or wherever you claim to be from, but here in Westeros, those rules could backfire and cause widespread panic."

"You're not wrong. Rules are dead, but people are alive. If creditors are truly desperate for repayment, we won't strictly enforce the rules. However, there must still be consequences," Aegor said. "For instance, if a creditor redeems their bonds early—after more than two months—a 1% handling fee will apply. That means they lose one month's worth of interest. If they redeem within one month and the interest doesn't cover the handling fee, we'll waive it, but they'll face other penalties. For example, I might refuse to lend to that person again."

"Refuse to lend to them again?" Tyrion laughed, then paused when he saw Aegor's serious expression. "You can't be serious. Who would beg for the privilege of lending you money?"

"It does sound a bit arrogant, doesn't it?" Aegor admitted. "Let's put it another way: such individuals will be disqualified from purchasing Night's Watch bonds in the future—unless, of course, they pay the handling fee for their defaulted bonds first. It might sound ridiculous, but reality often defies logic."

Tyrion's skepticism remained. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Fair enough," Aegor conceded. "A 1% monthly return isn't enticing enough on its own. That's why we need incentives as well as penalties. Incentive one: after three months, no handling fee will apply to redemptions. Incentive two: interest increases over time. For example, the interest for the third month might rise to 1.5%, the sixth month to 2%, the ninth month to 2.5%, and the twelfth month to 3%. Every three months, the rate increases by 0.5%."

"That's still too much," Tyrion said, shaking his head.

"Not at all, it applies only to the current month, not cumulatively. It's perfectly manageable," Aegor clarified. "Think about it: after three months, the creditor earns 3.5%; after six months, 7.5%; after nine months, 12%; and after a full year, 17%. This structure makes the return rate attractive enough. Creditors will naturally conclude that the longer their money stays with me, the higher the return. Imagine you had 100 gold dragons. If you left it untouched at home for a year, it would still be 100. But if you lent it to me, it would grow to 117 by year's end. What would you choose?"

"Indeed, it's attractive enough." Arithmetic had always been one of Tyrion's strong suits, but compared to Aegor, who seemed to possess a methodical, almost clinical understanding of numbers, he felt like a rank amateur. Since meeting Aegor, Tyrion found himself being persuaded more often than he had in the past twenty years combined. "I get it now. Not only that, but the people who lend you money will eventually form a habitual mindset: the longer they leave the money with you, the more they'll earn. Unless they're in a true emergency, they'll avoid redeeming it."

"Exactly. Now, think a bit deeper," Aegor said, his tone steady and deliberate. "Imagine you're a creditor who's lent me—no, lent the Night's Watch—100 gold dragons. Let's say it's been eleven months or eleven and a half months. Suddenly, your family encounters an emergency, and you urgently need the money. If you redeem the bond now, the return will be calculated for eleven months, meaning you'll receive 100 gold dragons plus eleven months' interest—114 gold dragons. But if you wait just another half a month, that 114 becomes 117. However, because of the urgency, you can't wait. What would you do?"

Tyrion furrowed his brow, considering the scenario. After a moment, his expression brightened as he found the answer. "I'd sell the bond to someone else for 115 or 116 gold dragons. That way, I can solve my problem, and the person buying the bond still gets to earn one or two gold dragons in just a matter of days."

"Exactly. And what does that imply?"

Tyrion mulled it over again, his mind racing. After a few seconds, a realization dawned on him—a realization both thrilling and unsettling. "In that case, the Night's Watch bonds you've issued can effectively serve as 115 or 116 gold dragons! In other words, those bonds function almost like… what you called 'banknotes' earlier!"

"Precisely," Aegor confirmed, nodding with a faint smile. "But for that to happen, society at large would need to recognize the reliability and value of the Night's Watch bonds. That's a long road ahead. If we're fortunate, we might see it in our lifetime. More likely, however, the king will recognize the potential of finance, issue his own royal bonds, and squeeze us out of the market entirely." He chuckled softly. "True finance is a thousand times more complex than this, but we're only taking the first steps. No need to overthink the distant future… Now, which way should we turn at this intersection?"

Chapter 60

Aegor had just arrived in King's Landing and naturally didn't know his way around. Fortunately, Tyrion had lived in the city long enough to navigate it with ease. While not an expert on every street, he had no trouble finding their destination. As they talked, they soon arrived at the only professional seal-making shop in King's Landing, and one of the few in all of Westeros.

Westeros in this era was far behind the modern world Aegor had known before crossing over. However, as the Seven Kingdoms unified and developed, people had begun to grasp the importance of law and order. Seals in this world followed specific formats and were subject to certain regulations. You couldn't just carve one out of stone and expect it to be recognized. In King's Landing, only seals made at this shop were guaranteed to be accepted by nobles and wealthy individuals throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Seal shops typically served only people of status or those with fixed assets, as ordinary folk had no need for them. Aegor, a Night's Watchman, didn't meet these criteria. Fortunately, he had two powerful credentials: letters signed and sealed by Eddard Stark and Jeor Mormont.

After inspecting these documents, the shopkeeper agreed to take on Aegor's business. He ordered a seal for himself with the title "Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch." While such a position didn't currently exist within the Night's Watch, Aegor planned to establish it soon as part of his broader strategy.

Aegor commissioned two seals: one for official correspondence and one for personal identification. After settling on the design and content with the engraver, he turned to Tyrion. "Do you have a seal?"

"No," Tyrion replied honestly. It was uncommon for someone of his rank not to have a seal, but his situation was unique. His disability and distinctive appearance meant his identity as a Lannister was rarely questioned. The family's reputation for paying its debts often served as sufficient proof in dealings with taverns, brothels, and merchants. Nobles, meanwhile, typically dealt with his father Tywin or his siblings. Though Tyrion pretended not to care, it was clear he had his own struggles with this reality. "I suppose I should get one as well."

Tyrion's seal order was quickly arranged. As the infamous "Imp," he didn't need official credentials, but it was still a practical step. Regular seals were expensive, but compared to the scale of their plans, the cost was negligible.

Once the seals were commissioned, they left the shop, mounted their horses, and headed for their next destination, discussing the details as they rode.

Tyrion climbed onto his horse with some difficulty. "And now?"

"Your servant has already bought the paper, ink, wax, and other supplies. Now we just need to visit the sign workshop," Aegor replied.

"The sign workshop? Fine. But I wasn't asking where we're headed. I meant, since you said this project needs my help, what exactly do you need me to do?"

"A lot," Aegor admitted. "With your involvement, we've skipped the hardest part of the plan and moved straight to the first major stage. If I were doing this alone, I'd have to raise interest rates to attract attention, then go around begging for every single gold dragon, scraping together initial loans from commoners through sheer persistence and all kinds of tricks. But with you on board, I can target middle- and upper-class lenders from the start. This lets me offer reasonable returns and set a minimum subscription threshold. Fewer creditors, better quality, and a far more stable capital chain. The workload for fundraising operations is reduced exponentially."

He paused, considering his words carefully. "The first thing I need from you is to convince a few of your friends to buy these bonds. Just a few. Once we've got that foundation, the rest will fall into place."

"Damn it, you want me to scam my own people?" Tyrion said, half-joking.

"Scam?" Aegor feigned indignation. "How can you say that? In this setup, the first group of creditors is the least likely to be cheated. All they need is a little persuasion from you to join. Once they're on board, their participation becomes a source of confidence for the next wave of lenders. As long as we control the total funds, the cycle can continue. Someone has to take the first step. If you're unwilling to convince your acquaintances, we'll be forced to take the bonds to the streets, knocking on doors like peddlers."

"Fine, I'll do it." Tyrion agreed, having already decided to invest his own money. This wasn't a matter of principle to him. Worst case, he could simply cover any shortfall himself. "How do I convince them?"

"It's simple. Introduce me to your friends and vouch for me. With the Commander-in-Chief's seal and the Hand of the King's endorsement, it shouldn't be too difficult," Aegor said confidently.

"Alright. You mentioned a subscription threshold—how much are we talking?"

"One hundred gold dragons."

Tyrion's eyes widened. "That much? Aegor, King's Landing might be the wealthiest city in the Seven Kingdoms, but asking someone I know to hand over a hundred gold dragons is no small matter. Especially when the money isn't being lent to me, but to the Night's Watch. Many of these people may have never even seen a member of the Watch before. Asking them to throw that much into a cause they don't fully understand is… ambitious."

"It's just a starting figure," Aegor explained. "We're issuing fixed-rate, simple-interest, registered bonds. Remember the supplies I asked Morris and Jack to purchase? Each bond will be made from high-quality parchment, processed with anti-counterfeiting measures, and signed and sealed by all parties involved. Each bond will cost over a silver stag to produce. If we don't set a high minimum, we'd end up issuing hundreds, if not thousands, of bonds. That would be a logistical nightmare not to mention it would increase costs and complicate management, threatening the stability of the capital chain."

He added, "Of course, the hundred gold dragons figure is negotiable. We can adjust it if needed."

"Fixed interest, simple interest, registered bonds… What do these terms mean?"

"Fixed interest means the interest rate remains constant. Simple interest means no additional interest will be calculated on the interest already accrued. Registered bonds mean the name of the holder is recorded on each bond. The first two points are for ease of accounting and management, while the third ensures the authenticity of the bonds and protects the holder's ownership in case of theft or loss. You'll understand these better when the time comes."

"It's complicated," Tyrion remarked, shaking his head slightly.

"The truly complicated parts are still ahead," Aegor replied with a faint smile. "For now, let's focus on simpler issues, like what to write on the sign for my Night's Watch office and what design to use."

---

They eventually arrived at the sign workshop. Unlike the seal engraving shop or the planned Night's Watch office, the workshop required a large space for processing and production. To save on rent, it was situated in a more remote part of King's Landing. By the time they found the place, the sun was already setting.

In the semi-open workspace, a dozen carpenters and laborers were busy at work. King's Landing saw the opening of new shops all the time, which meant a steady demand for new signs. Though the Seven Kingdoms were rife with political struggles and undercurrents of tension, the ordinary citizens remained blissfully unaware. On the surface, Westeros was enjoying an unprecedented period of peace and prosperity, with industry and commerce developing at remarkable speed.

Aegor couldn't help but wonder: if the War of the Five Kings hadn't occurred and the Long Winter hadn't arrived, would cities like King's Landing have eventually sprouted the seeds of capitalism?

The workshop owner greeted them warmly, assuring them that making a sign was far less troublesome than crafting a seal or unlocking a safe. "As long as you pay," he said confidently, "we can make it in any size or design you like."

After half an hour of discussion, Aegor and Tyrion finalized the size and content of the sign and paid the deposit. By the time they returned to the inn after another exhausting day, the city was cloaked in darkness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 61

They still couldn't rest even after nightfall. Aegor and Tyrion squeezed into their shared room, and under the dim light of a dozen candles, they began crafting the first-ever Night's Watch bonds.

A stack of the finest-quality parchment available in King's Landing sat on the table. After finalizing the content of the bonds through one last discussion, they began working. Tyrion's appearance might not inspire confidence, but his handwriting was elegant and refined. Aegor, on the other hand, had grown accustomed to using computers in his past life, and his handwriting—even if he could mimic the characters of Westeros—was subpar. As a result, the task of writing the first bond fell squarely on Tyrion's shoulders. The dwarf copied the draft carefully, word by word, without the slightest sloppiness perhaps the most effort he had ever put into writing anything, even compared to letters to his father, Tywin Lannister.

"Whew…" Tyrion exhaled as he carefully lifted the corners of the first sheet and blew on it to dry the ink. Setting it aside, he picked up a fresh sheet to continue. It had been a week since he returned to King's Landing, and for once, he hadn't visited a single brothel. He couldn't believe it himself—this sense of purpose, this work that filled the emptiness inside him, was almost intoxicating.

Aegor, seated across from him, was absorbed in revising a draft. The parchment before him was covered in scribbles, words struck through and rewritten. He wasn't yet satisfied. The bond itself couldn't hold every rule or detail; it was just a piece of paper. He planned to draft a larger poster to hang in the Night's Watch office, explaining everything clearly to visitors.

"Just jot down a basic outline for now and get some sleep," Tyrion suggested without looking up. "What matters isn't the bond's content but the signatures, seals, and anti-counterfeiting measures."

"Yeah, I'll hire someone to handle it tomorrow," Tyrion added.

"Hire someone to copy the bonds? Why bother? Find a shop to print them instead…" Aegor's words trailed off as he realized he didn't know how to say "print" in Westeros's Common Tongue.

"What are you trying to say?"

Aegor struggled to explain, resorting to gestures and examples, but Tyrion still didn't understand. Finally, Aegor said, "Imagine taking the bond's content and turning it into an oversized seal, then stamping it onto each piece of parchment."

"How clever! Why didn't I think of that?" Tyrion's eyes lit up. "Is this another one of your Tsenaar tricks? Your people are frighteningly innovative. Sometimes I'm grateful the Sunset Sea lies between us."

"Wait—Westeros doesn't have this technology? How do you produce books?"

"By copying them, of course," Tyrion answered casually. "There are scribes who do it for a living, painstakingly copying text for miserable wages…" His voice trailed off, and his expression shifted as realization struck. "Seven hells! Are you saying…"

Aegor came to the same conclusion. The reason he didn't know how to say "print" was simple: printing didn't exist in this world.

The two men stared at each other in stunned silence. Then, almost simultaneously, they thought the same thing: This is a business opportunity!

They immediately launched into a deeper discussion. Aegor asked Tyrion about the state of books in Westeros and quickly learned the shocking truth. Books in this era were copied entirely by hand, and their prices ranged from several silver stags to multiple gold dragons, depending on the neatness of the handwriting, the book's content and accuracy, and the quality of its binding. For some volumes, calling them "luxuries" would not be an exaggeration.

"Is this why Tsena is so advanced and powerful?" Tyrion mused aloud, his quick mind grasping the implications immediately. He realized how printing could revolutionize the spread of knowledge and culture. "This could change everything. We could open a printing house, sell books, and make a fortune. We could even fund it with the money from your bonds… No, we shouldn't wait. I'll front the money myself and get started right away!"

But Aegor shook his head. "It's not that simple," he said. "With Westeros's current level of technology, printing might not even be cheaper than manual copying. If we put in the effort to create molds but only print a few dozen or a few hundred books, we'd lose money compared to just hiring scribes. And if we print in large volumes, the real issue arises—who's going to buy them?"

Tyrion frowned but listened as Aegor continued.

"You're a man of learning and refinement. Of course, you'd hope for a world where everyone could read and appreciate books. But for now, we need to focus on making money, not cultural advancements. The money we raise has to create immediate value; otherwise, this becomes a Ponzi scheme that collapses under its own weight. We can't afford to print a bunch of excellent but highbrow books that no one will buy, even if they'd enrich the cultural landscape of Westeros in the long run."

Aegor leaned back and sighed. "To put it simply, we need to focus on practical opportunities. If we're not part of the ruling class yet, it's a waste of time to think about reshaping the entire world."

After pondering for a while, Aegor quickly identified several items that society urgently needed, ones with a massive market where printing costs would undoubtedly be cheaper than manual copying. Calendars, the Seven Sacred Scriptures, and ghost stories that were simple and entertaining for all ages! He could collaborate with institutions like the Faith of the Seven, local churches, or even bards to ensure the funds he raised were put to work effectively.

The idea came so suddenly that it caught him off guard. Excitement surged through him, and with a flourish of his quill, he crossed out an item on the original schedule.

"What did you cross out?" Tyrion asked, noticing the sudden change.

"I originally planned to limit the number of bonds issued," Aegor explained, his voice brimming with excitement. "If there's no real way to make money, the faster the fund grows, the quicker it collapses. But now that we have a project that can generate revenue, limiting the bonds is pointless!" He leaned forward eagerly. "We already know what to do with the first round of funds. First, we'll recruit people with seal-engraving skills. Not the master craftsmen from the King's Landing Seal Shop they're too expensive but apprentices or anyone with some experience will do. Next, we'll contact paper merchants. We need a large, stable supply of cheap paper. We finally have something solid to work toward!"

Tyrion smirked and folded his arms. "Huh. You were planning to limit the number of bonds? Are you seriously confident enough that people will beg to lend you money?"

"If things go as planned, I might even raise the interest rate. By then, people will line up from the Red Keep all the way to the Gate of the Gods to throw their money at me!" Aegor said, half-boasting but fully confident. He stood and stretched. "That's enough for today. Get a good rest tonight. Tomorrow, we'll split up to handle our respective tasks."

---

In countless tales of world travelers, the protagonist always seems to effortlessly dig out their first pot of gold using knowledge from their previous world. But when it came to Aegor's turn, he realized how difficult it was to turn knowledge into money. He knew how combustion engines worked, how generators produced electricity through magnetism, and even how airplanes and spacecraft soared into the skies. But these advanced technologies were utterly useless in this medieval world. Knowing the principles was one thing, but building these machines was another—impossible, given Westeros's materials and industrial capabilities. Even something as small as a screw for an airplane was beyond what this world could produce.

Who would have thought that, just as he was feeling stuck, a casual conversation with Tyrion would reveal a golden business opportunity? The sheer backwardness of this world exceeded his expectations. To make money here, he didn't need the cutting-edge knowledge he'd imagined. Technologies and items that were commonplace or even obsolete back in his world were revolutionary innovations here!

Chapter 62

The sun rose, heralding a new day. As usual, Yoren, the recruiter for the Night's Watch, went to Flea Bottom after breakfast to round up "new recruits." Tyrion, in an unusual display of early rising, left to begin setting up the "printing factory" he had been dreaming of. Only Aegor remained behind, sleeping a little longer. When the sun was fully up, and the time seemed right, he mounted his horse and set off leisurely for the storefront Eddard Stark had arranged for the Night's Watch in a street-facing location.

It was, of course, impossible to have seals and signs made overnight, and the bonds wouldn't be issued in just a day or two. But the Night Watchman's Office had to open quickly. Whether for signing bonds or recruiting new members, such activities couldn't be conducted in the open air or in someone else's home. Just as conmen and shell companies rent office spaces and hire employees to establish an air of legitimacy, financial dealings need to be conducted in a fixed, professional-looking location. This would provide first-time visitors with a sense of security.

Jack had already ordered tables, chairs, cabinets, and other office supplies the previous day and scheduled their delivery. They were due to arrive today, and as the applicant and future head of the Night Watchman's Office, Aegor had no choice but to be on-site to supervise the setup and oversee the arrangement of the storefront.

…

The merchant proved to have a good sense of timing. Within half an hour of opening, all the workers and goods arrived.

After a quick cleanup, Aegor began directing the workers to move tables, chairs, and cabinets inside, arranging them one by one in their designated places. Though he'd never opened a shop before, growing up around his mother's tailoring and clothing store had left an indelible influence on him. Without even realizing it, he set up the office's layout in a way reminiscent of his childhood home.

The office was divided into two rooms, one for public access and the other for private use. On one wall of the public room, a poster would display detailed explanations and rules of the Night's Watch bonds. On another wall, a poster would highlight the benefits and requirements of enlisting in the Night's Watch. Below these posters, two rows of benches were set up for visitors to rest. In the center of the room stood a large table, where the store manager would eventually sit to explain bond purchases or enlistment procedures to interested visitors. Once they were certain of their interest, they would be invited into the inner room.

The inner room served as Aegor's private office. It featured a row of simple cabinets and wooden shelves, with space for safes or other secure storage in the future. A desk stood by the window, slightly smaller than the one in the outer room. This would be the place for more in-depth discussions and negotiations, where Aegor would personally sign every Night's Watch bond and recruitment contract.

After the setup was complete, both Aegor and Jack were drenched in sweat. They moved chairs outside the storefront, sitting down to catch their breath while looking at the newly furnished but still-empty office.

…

"Do you really think anyone will sign up for the Night's Watch?" Jack asked, fanning himself with one hand. He had removed his Lannister armor due to the heat. "I mean, no offense, but the price you pay for wearing black... it's just too steep. I'd rather die."

"True," Aegor replied, a slight smile on his face. "The Night's Watch does need to reform. If we keep clinging to that 'sacred' nonsense about lifelong vows, we'll disappear altogether."

"Reform?"

"Yes, reform."

Aegor's smile deepened, though it was a calculated one. He had no intention of actually sending large numbers of new recruits to the Wall. Even if he had the means to do so, he wouldn't. Training them, making them swear oaths, and turning them into lifelong "brothers" of the Night's Watch offered him no personal benefit.

It was true that the more men he sent to the Wall, the more secure its defenses would be, and the less likely it was that the Watch would recall him. But it was also true that with more recruits, the overall power of the Night's Watch would grow and that growth would diminish his influence. Aegor had no desire to return to the Wall, but neither did he want to be sidelined by others in the Watch.

His plan was simple: spend a month or two pretending to recruit in King's Landing, then write a letter to the Night's Watch leaders, lamenting his difficulties. He would claim he'd tried his best to persuade many to join, but nearly all balked when they learned of the lifelong vows. He would propose a compromise: allow men to temporarily serve at the Wall for a few years, help defend it during these dangerous times, and then return home.

With the Wall in desperate need of manpower, Jeor Mormont would have little choice but to agree.

From there, Aegor could recruit mercenaries or adventurers, paying them wages to fulfill their service. These men would owe their positions, their pay, and even their eventual freedom to him, forming a network of loyalty. Over time, this "temporary force" would grow into a significant faction within the Night's Watch. Imagine a scenario where half or even more of the Watch owed their allegiance to him. His influence would be unparalleled.

Even if he held no formal position, he could become the de facto leader of the Night's Watch. He wouldn't rebel or seek independence, avoiding attention from larger powers, but anyone—whether Alliser Thorne or Benjen Stark—who tried to move against him would have to think twice.

What to name this new force? The "Night's Watch Auxiliary Corps"? The "Wall Defense Construction Corps"? Or the "Temporary Garrison of the Wall of Despair"?

That could be decided later. For now, there was no need to share such thoughts with Jack. It wasn't a matter of looking down on Tyrion's squire, some things were simply better kept to oneself.

Everything depended on the success of the Night's Watch bonds. As long as that succeeded, all his plans would follow. After all, problems that can be solved with money aren't real problems.

...

Aegor's confident expression, as if he had everything under control, made Jack uneasy. After following Tyrion for so long, the squire had absorbed some of his master's insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Just as Jack was about to ask more, he glanced up and froze.

"Seven hells! Lord Stark—why is he here, Aegor? He seems to be heading this way. Is he looking for you?"

Aegor, startled by the interruption, followed Jack's gaze. Sure enough, the current Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, was riding along the street with a group of guards.

…

The Night's Watch office had only just begun its renovations, far from ready to host visitors, let alone the Hand of the Seven Kingdoms. Still, Eddard Stark's presence couldn't be entirely coincidental. Given his concern for the Night's Watch, it wasn't unreasonable to think he might stop by to inspect or even "instruct" the progress of their work.

Technically, the Night's Watch was independent, and the Warden of the North had no authority over its operations. But practically speaking, Stark's support or at least his lack of interference was critical for Aegor to carry out his plans in King's Landing.

…

It wasn't long before Eddard Stark's sharp gaze fell on Aegor, standing conspicuously in black. Stark said something to his guards, who lightly pulled their reins and steered closer. Within moments, the group stopped at the door of the half-finished office.

"Lord Stark." Aegor greeted him with calm composure, neither overly deferential nor insolent. At that moment, he fully embodied the role of a diligent and loyal Night's Watch officer. For this reason alone, Eddard would have no cause to make things difficult for him.

Chapter 63

"Yeah." Eddard nodded briefly in greeting, remaining seated on his horse. His sharp eyes scanned the Night's Watch office, which was still under construction. A faint smile of interest crossed his face. "It looks quite formal. When do you expect to start recruiting?"

"In two or three days. I'll begin as soon as possible," Aegor replied. "This office won't just handle recruitment. It'll also serve as a hub for receiving, accounting, and transferring the food, equipment, and funds donated by the nobles and common folk of the Seven Kingdoms to the Night's Watch. Everything will be recorded and sent to the Wall."

"Hmm…" Eddard hesitated, his gaze briefly narrowing. "Where did you get the money for all this?"

"Lord Tyrion Lannister provided me with a squire to assist," Aegor answered without missing a beat, gesturing toward Jack. "This is Jack."

Realizing he couldn't avoid the introduction, the young squire quickly stood and greeted the Hand of the King. Unlike Aegor's calm demeanor, Jack was visibly nervous, it wasn't surprising, given the well-known animosity between the Stark and Lannister families.

Eddard had initially wondered why there was someone here in red robes, but now that his confusion was resolved, he saw no reason to show any disrespect to a servant. He gave Jack a curt nod in acknowledgment of his greeting before turning to a short man standing nearby.

"The wildlings beyond the Wall are restless, and the Night's Watch is struggling," Eddard said gravely. "Even with the treasury short on funds, symbolic support must be provided. Go raise some money to allocate to the Night's Watch. Consider it part of our national defense expenditures."

"Me, sir?" The short man looked taken aback, his expression innocent. "The kingdom's finances are—"

"There's no room for debate," Eddard interrupted firmly. "This is a matter of defending the realm. You managed to find prize money for the tourney, you can handle this. Isn't that your job as Master of Coin?" His tone left no room for argument. "I'm not asking for much. Just a few dozen or a hundred gold dragons will do. Enough to help the Night's Watch establish itself here. The rest is up to his ability."

"Well, if it's the Hand of the King's order…" The man sighed dramatically, his tone dripping with reluctance. "I suppose I'll just have to make it work."

Eddard ignored the man's theatrics and turned to one of his guards. "Jory, you stay here with Arya. Lord Baelish and I have other matters to attend to."

"Yes, my lord!"

"What?" A girl's voice rang out in protest. "You promised to take me shopping, and now you're leaving? I'm coming with you!"

The protest drew Aegor's attention, and for the first time, he noticed the girl among the group. Without needing much thought, he recognized her as Arya Stark, the second daughter of Eddard Stark. As for the short man Eddard had ordered to raise funds, Aegor realized with a jolt that this must be Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself, the master manipulator who thrived on chaos.

It took Aegor a moment to fully register this revelation. Littlefinger's appearance was somewhat different from the TV series portrayal, which was likely why Aegor hadn't recognized him immediately. But now that he knew, he couldn't help but take a longer look. First, he understood why Baelish had earned the nickname "Littlefinger." Then, like a cold bucket of water poured over his head, he remembered that the events of the original story were still unfolding, moving forward like an unstoppable wheel rolling downhill.

…

"The place the Hand of the King and I are heading isn't suitable for children," Baelish said with a sly smile, giving Arya an exaggerated wink. "Especially not for girls."

"I'm not a child!" Arya snapped.

"Be patient, Arya," Eddard said gently, trying to placate her. "I'll come back later, and we'll continue shopping. And, Aegor…" He turned toward the Night's Watchman, his voice calm but weighted with meaning. "Do your best. And stay out of trouble."

With that, Eddard gave a brief smile, then gestured for Baelish and the guards to follow him. The group rode away, leaving the Night's Watch office behind.

...

The big boss was busy, and as quickly as he came, he left. Eddard Stark's group disappeared down the street almost immediately. Arya was left fuming at her father's inconsistency, loudly complaining about his broken promise to take her shopping. Meanwhile, Jory, the captain of Stark's guards, tried his best to soothe her frustration.

Aegor, however, was quiet. He stared in the direction Eddard had gone, lost in thought.

By telling him to "stay out of trouble," was Eddard hinting that he should keep quiet about Joffrey's supposed "assassination" of Bran? And what about the order to Littlefinger to raise funds for the Night's Watch? Was that Stark's way of throwing him hush money?

No, those concerns were secondary. With Eddard's honorable nature, there was little risk of him harming Aegor, even if he suspected or knew that the "assassination attempt" on Bran was fabricated. The real question was, what was Littlefinger up to now?

Piecing together the conversation he'd overheard, Aegor tried to reconstruct the events: Arya, restless and bored, had likely badgered her father into taking her out for some entertainment. Unable to say no, Eddard had agreed. But then they ran into Littlefinger, who came bearing some urgent business. Whatever the reason, Eddard had decided to accompany him instead, leaving his daughter behind.

…

In the original story, Eddard didn't take Arya shopping at all. But this time, the story had diverged. Without the Starks blaming the Lannisters for Bran's fall and alleged assassination attempt, Catelyn hadn't secretly traveled to King's Landing. Tyrion hadn't been kidnapped, so there was no conflict between the Lion and the Wolf. As a result, Jaime hadn't challenged Eddard to a duel, and the fifty Stark guards were still alive and well.

Eddard may have argued with Robert over the plan to assassinate Daenerys Targaryen, but it hadn't damaged their friendship. He was still firmly in his role as Hand of the King. In this relatively peaceful environment, it made sense that Eddard, as a father, would take time to indulge his restless daughter. But for him to suddenly change plans and follow Littlefinger meant the matter was serious.

What could be so important?

---

"They seemed to be heading in the direction of the inn we're staying at," Jack muttered, breaking Aegor's train of thought.

The mention of the inn reminded Aegor of something. Littlefinger's earlier comment to Arya—that the place wasn't suitable for children, especially girls—suddenly clicked. He recalled Tyrion's insistence on staying at the Albatross Inn when they arrived in King's Landing. "The Red Keep is too far from my favorite brothel," Tyrion had said.

It only took Aegor a few seconds to reach a conclusion: "They're going to Silk Street."

"Silk Street?" Jack repeated, his tone hesitant. As Tyrion's squire, he was well aware of what went on there. He'd even accompanied Tyrion on some escapades. But he couldn't reconcile the idea of Eddard Stark, of all people, visiting such a place. "But… Lord Stark doesn't seem like someone who would go to a brothel."

"Going to a brothel doesn't necessarily mean going for that." Aegor's pupils dilated as more details from the original plot flooded back into his mind. He suddenly understood exactly what was happening.

…

Littlefinger's ultimate goal was to sow chaos in the Seven Kingdoms and profit from the turmoil. As a master manipulator, he could exploit any situation, no matter how minor or coincidental, to further his ambitions. Whether or not Catelyn had come to King's Landing was irrelevant—Littlefinger would find a way to insert himself into the Starks' affairs regardless.

Without Catelyn's misguided assurances of Littlefinger's trustworthiness, Eddard would naturally be more wary of him. But for a manipulator of Littlefinger's caliber, even the slightest opening was enough.

Now, the cunning schemer was leading Eddard Stark to Silk Street, ostensibly to investigate the death of Jon Arryn. But in truth, Littlefinger was setting Eddard up to "discover" the true parentage of Cersei's children.

This revelation would be a death sentence for Eddard. His honorable nature would compel him to act, ultimately leading to Robert's death, his own execution, and the explosion of civil war. Renly would flee King's Landing to rally support for his claim to the throne. Stannis would assert his "legitimate" rights. Robb Stark, still little more than a boy, would be thrust into the role of King in the North, naïvely freeing Theon Greyjoy in the process.

The War of the Five Kings would begin.

…

Aegor felt a chill as he realized the implications. His confidence in the success of the Night's Watch bonds had always rested on two pillars: Tyrion's involvement and the universal nature of human greed. But war was the ultimate destroyer of trust. In a time of chaos and uncertainty, no one would dare risk their money, no matter how high the promised returns.

In King's Landing, Aegor could avoid or navigate threats from individuals like Robert, Joffrey, or even Cersei. But chaos and war? There was no escaping that.

For his plans to succeed, peace was essential. And someone like Littlefinger, who thrived on chaos, was an obstacle he couldn't ignore. Their interests were fundamentally at odds.

Littlefinger's plans had to be stopped.

Chapter 64

The noisy chatter outside brought Aegor back to reality. Now wasn't the time to get lost in thought. He handed his horse's reins to the captain of Eddard Stark's guards and gestured for them to enter the partially set-up Night's Watch office. The two guests—one a stern soldier, the other the spirited Arya Stark sat down. Aegor followed them inside, all the while continuing to plan in secret.

For the sake of his deception, he might now have to position himself as a peacekeeper, which struck him as ironic. But there was no room for laughter. This was a serious and messy problem. Stopping the War of the Five Kings, just thinking about it gave him flashbacks to his failed attempt to stop Bran from falling. Was this war another machination of some divine entity?

Wait. This line of thinking led nowhere. Forget those meddlesome "gods." The best solution to stop the chaos, logically, would be to eliminate Littlefinger and Varys—these two master manipulators—in one fell swoop. But he couldn't do it himself. The idea of relying on outside help naturally brought him to Jaqen H'ghar, but even that led to a dead end.

The wounds from his encounter with Melisandre were still healing, and his thoughts about the Faceless Man only deepened his headache. He hadn't forgotten Jaqen; he simply didn't know how to approach him.

---

Jaqen H'ghar was from Braavos, a city unique in more ways than one. Braavos wasn't just known for the Iron Bank. It was a haven of multiculturalism, a city-state founded by former slaves who had permanently abolished slavery. Its trade networks were unmatched, its religious and cultural diversity widely respected. The Iron Bank wielded immense financial and political influence, and then there was the House of Black and White, home to the legendary Faceless Men, assassins renowned for their lethal precision. Overseeing it all was the Sealord, a ruler chosen through an enigmatic and intricate selection process.

Braavos had never lost a war, even against powerful opponents like Pentos. Such consistent victories were no accident. Winning at that scale required unparalleled coordination between its institutions—the Sealord, the Iron Bank, and likely even the Faceless Men. These groups were likely interconnected, perhaps even operated by the same elite ruling class.

It wasn't far-fetched to imagine the House of Black and White doubling as an intelligence agency, training spies and assassins to eliminate threats to Braavos' interests.

Jaqen H'ghar was no ordinary killer. He was a high-level Faceless Man capable of training apprentices, a spy and an agent of a city-state known for its far-reaching influence. Why would such a man allow himself to end up imprisoned in King's Landing? Was it a mistake, or was he there on purpose, perhaps with a mission to kill someone in Westeros or gather information?

Aegor had nothing solid to work with. Creating an "accident" to rescue Jaqen and earn his favor had briefly crossed his mind. But without reliable allies or a team he could trust, it was impossible to execute such a plan.

---

Violent solutions like killing were off the table. That left only one viable option: stabilize the situation in King's Landing and help Eddard Stark gain the upper hand, or at least avoid a catastrophic defeat.

But going head-to-head with Littlefinger? Aegor didn't think he had the skill for that. On top of that, Littlefinger had a temporary ally in Varys, another schemer eager to sow chaos albeit for different reasons.

Aegor's foreknowledge of the plot seemed almost useless in the face of these two high-level players. While they thrived on manipulation and intelligence gathering, he was juggling multiple responsibilities and struggling just to maintain his footing. The bonds, the Night's Watch office, the chaos in King's Landing, it all threatened to overwhelm him. One mistake could expose him and get him killed.

Besides, what he knew was only the original plot—before the divergence.

He thought back to his failure to stop Bran's fall. That experience had taught him that direct interference in the plot could easily backfire. How had he managed to escape the mess in Winterfell?

By secretly informing the Stark family.

---

Past successful experiences suddenly gave Aegor an epiphany. Just as he had avoided directly dealing with the assassin to clear himself of any connection with Bran's attempted murder, if he wanted to help Eddard, there was no need to confront Littlefinger directly. Eddard Stark, as the de facto ruler of the North, had his own resources and intelligence. All Aegor needed to do was to sow discord between Eddard and Littlefinger, preventing the former from being led by the nose. That alone would suffice.

---

"Aegor, my lady is talking to you."

A male voice abruptly interrupted Aegor's train of thought. He looked up and found himself face to face with a young girl's stern, expectant expression.

"Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about recruitment. What can I do for you, Miss Arya?"

"Are you the Aegor that Jon talked about?" Arya pouted, repeating her earlier question. "The Night's Watch ranger who killed the White Walker?"

"Yes."

Aegor reluctantly admitted it, noticing the incredulous look on Jory Cassel, the captain of Eddard Stark's guards. It felt strange, even guilt-inducing, to tell the truth for once.

"Are White Walkers really that strong?"

"They're terrifying. Gary and I fought one, two against one, and we still almost got killed."

"But you managed to kill it in the end. You must be very good with a sword!" Arya's eyes sparkled with admiration. "Come here. I want to talk to you alone."

"Don't follow us!" she yelled at Jory and the other guards, then promptly grabbed the still-confused Aegor by the arm and dragged him into the unfinished "Chief Logistics Officer's Office." After closing the door behind them, Arya leaned in with a conspiratorial air and asked, "Can you teach me how to use a sword?"

"Huh?" Aegor blinked, taken aback. Shouldn't Eddard have already hired her a swordsmanship instructor by now? Wasn't it supposed to be that Braavosi water dancer, Syrio... Syrio Forel?

"Why not ask your father to hire a teacher for you?"

"How could he agree to that? Are you stupid? I'm a girl!"

Something felt off. What change in the storyline had led to this deviation? Aegor strongly suspected it was because of his own meddling. The butterfly effect: a small disturbance in initial conditions could lead to a massive chain reaction over time. Maybe it was his fabricated accusation against Joffrey that shifted Eddard's priorities, or perhaps Arya had hidden her "Needle" from her father too carefully this time. Whatever the reason, it wasn't worth worrying about now.

Right now, he had enough on his plate. He couldn't be distracted by Eddard Stark's spirited little girl.

"I'm sorry, young lady, but I'm busy," Aegor said firmly, though inwardly, he thought, I'm busy trying to save your father's life. He shook his head politely. "Why don't you ask your father's guards?"

"My father just helped you a lot, and you won't even do me this one small favor?"

Your father helped me, not you, Aegor thought bitterly. Arya was undoubtedly a key character in the grand scheme of things. If circumstances allowed, she could be considered a potential ally. But right now, her worth to him was close to zero, at least until she completed her training with the Faceless Men.

It was utilitarian, no doubt, to measure someone's value solely by their usefulness. But Aegor was in a precarious position. He couldn't afford to indulge in sentimentality.

He shook his head again, this time more decisively, preparing to decline her request outright. Under Arya's fiery glare, he began formulating the words of rejection in his mind. Yet, at the last moment, a sudden idea struck him.

Chapter 65

To be fair, Arya is a lively, adorable, and lovable child, just like her brother Bran. She's not as skilled at dressing up as her sister Sansa, so she often gives off the impression of being "plain-looking." However, from a modern perspective, judging by her facial features and bone structure, this little girl is actually quite the beauty.

Apparently, someone agreed with this judgment. If Aegor remembered correctly, someone in the original story remarked that Arya resembled her aunt Lyanna and shared the same "Wolf Blood" as her.

---

"The wolf blood represents a relentless pursuit of freedom, a dangerously intoxicating romance, and an untamable wildness. Only through spontaneous journeys, reckless love, endless adventures, and the thrill of the unknown can those who carry this blood find fulfillment."

And what did Arya's aunt Lyanna do to make her "name in history"? She eloped with Prince Rhaegar, who already had a wife and children, while she herself was betrothed to Robert Baratheon!

Sure, the marriages between Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon, and between Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, were arranged for political gain, not personal happiness. Perhaps Lyanna and Rhaegar met during the Harrenhal Tournament, believed they'd found true love, and then made the foolish decision to act on it. From a modern perspective, Aegor might reluctantly support their choice for the sake of "following their hearts."

But running away without leaving a word? That was a whole other level of stupidity. Even a six-year-old knows to tell their parents where they're going before heading out to play. A teenage girl not understanding this basic principle? If something happened, who could she blame but herself?

Lyanna, the daughter of House Stark, eloped with the crown prince of House Targaryen and became his lover. What followed was a scandal that rocked the North, the Stormlands, and the royal family itself. At worst, it might have canceled the Starks' betrothal to the Baratheons, tarnished Rhaegar's reputation, and required a hefty price to clean up the mess he caused.

But because of Lyanna's foolishness and ignorance, a disaster was set in motion. Her father and brother assumed she'd been kidnapped and stormed into King's Landing to demand her return. They spoke out of turn to the Mad King, who, in his paranoia and cruelty, had them burned alive. Then Jon Arryn, the Warden of the Vale, refused to hand over his wards, Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, prompting the rebellion known as Robert's Rebellion.

In the end, the two star-crossed lovers paid the ultimate price: Rhaegar died in battle, his dynasty was destroyed, and Lyanna herself succumbed to childbirth. All that remained was her beauty, immortalized in a cold statue. Her reckless actions were no different from Robb Stark's later betrayal of a marriage pact, which ultimately led to the infamous Red Wedding.

This is the world of ice and fire: if you court disaster, you'll meet it.

---

Of course, while both the Stark children and Joffrey, Cersei's spoiled son, were willful, there were important differences. To put it simply, the Stark children still had redeeming qualities. They understood basic manners and had virtues like kindness, integrity, and loyalty. If the world weren't about to plunge into chaos, Aegor wouldn't have minded making friends or forming partnerships with them. But right now, what he needed were allies with wealth and power and partners with cunning and foresight. The Starks, prone to getting their friends and families into trouble, were far from his first choice.

Besides, Arya was only ten years old. Unless Aegor had some unsavory inclinations, which he didn't why would he take an interest in her?

His initial thought was simple: keep a safe distance from the Starks, who seemed cursed to bring misfortune to those around them. If he stayed out of their way, they wouldn't drag him down when calamity struck. His swordsmanship wasn't bad, perhaps good enough to teach Arya a thing or two. But if he stepped into the role of the Braavosi sword master and followed the original plot to its tragic conclusion, he'd be courting disaster himself.

But upon further thought, even if this little she-wolf had no remarkable abilities for the time being, her status as a Stark child was intimidating enough. Arya could trick Eddard into giving her a certificate, which would usually be convincing enough. And if clients frequently saw a girl from the Stark family coming and going from the Night's Watch office, wouldn't they have more confidence in the bonds they held?

Additionally, though Aegor had not yet devised the best way to create a rift between Littlefinger and Eddard, he realized that whatever plan he chose, winning over a Stark child would make things much easier.

"Hmm..." After a brief internal struggle, Aegor reluctantly stroked his chin and said, "It's not completely impossible, but there are conditions. If you want me to teach you how to use a sword, then I am your master, and you'll have to listen to me."

"Okay, Master! I'll listen to you!"

"Hmm." Aegor continued to deliberate. Suddenly, he remembered that in the original events, the Faceless Man he'd never managed to recruit seemed to have some connection to the girl standing before him.

There was an old saying that people naturally gravitate toward each other, just like Aegor and Tyrion. Even if Aegor hadn't gone out of his way to get close to Tyrion in Winterfell, given the right opportunity to meet and collaborate again, they would still likely hit it off. Could the same principle apply to Arya and Jaqen H'ghar, both young and old?

After some thought, Aegor dismissed the notion of recruiting Jaqen through Arya as pure wishful thinking. He ultimately decided to let things play out naturally and see what would happen if he put the two of them in the same place. "Here's my first condition: don't come to me dressed like a boy anymore. Learn from your sister—dress like a proper girl, and then come for your sword lessons."

"Why!"

"Because dressing and fighting like a boy isn't exactly unique or remarkable, is it? But if you can be a proper lady and a skilled swordsman, like a rose with thorns, that would be a challenge, wouldn't it?"

The reasoning was mostly nonsense. Truthfully, Aegor just didn't want to teach a tomboy in his precious free time. He was already drowning in work, and having to deal with Arya in boy's clothing would only add to the monotony.

"That makes sense." Arya pondered his words and was unexpectedly drawn to the idea of being a "rose with thorns." She nodded. "Then I'll come here starting tomorrow?"

"It's up to you. If nothing unexpected happens, I'll be staying here for a while," Aegor replied with a shrug. "Second condition: before you leave for your lessons, make sure you inform your father or his guards, and have someone escort you. Even though the Red Keep isn't far from here, it may not be entirely safe for someone like you."

"I'm not a child anymore!"

"If you say you're not, then you're not," Aegor said dismissively. "But do as I say. If you want me to teach you how to use a sword, don't cause me unnecessary trouble."

Chapter Text

Chapter 66

After accepting this unexpected female apprentice, Aegor rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. His responsibilities had increased yet again, and he was utterly exhausted.

Coming from a peaceful and prosperous modern world, his childhood diet's nutritional quality was on par with what nobles in this world enjoyed. His naturally excellent physical condition, coupled with some training, made him stronger and more agile than many veterans stationed at the Wall. But that was the limit. Among the craftsmen and officers of the Night's Watch, the weak and disabled, and the average wildlings beyond the Wall, he might be considered the backbone of the Rangers. However, compared to the rest of Westeros, he was merely a recruit with slightly better discipline and experience.

The brief time he spent training, less than a year, alongside the limited skill level of his master, Alliser Thorne, could not make up for the gulf in ability, no matter how clever or resourceful he might be as a time traveler.

Forget about competing with those legendary figures. Even Jory Cassel, Eddard Stark's captain of the guard, left behind in Winterfell to watch over Arya, was someone he couldn't hope to surpass.

Luckily, Arya was still just an innocent little girl. If he put in half the effort he used to gain Tyrion's trust, he was confident he could figure out how to handle her properly. He could feign teaching her basic sword grips, footwork, and fundamental moves like slashing and blocking. By the time she realized he wasn't the master swordsman she thought him to be, she would already trust him, perhaps even see him as a dependable friend, another Jon Snow in her eyes.

And if she wanted to continue her training afterward, he could always find someone better suited for the task. Someone like Jaqen H'ghar or the famous Braavosi swordsman of the Sealord's court... What was his name again? Syrio Forel? Or was it Leofor? Never mind.

---

After agreeing to teach Arya some swordsmanship, the two left the small inner room. There was little of interest in the sparse Night's Watch office, which held nothing but some tables, chairs, and cabinets. Arya quickly became restless, her curious eyes darting around.

Thankfully, Eddard returned soon with his original entourage and took his daughter away. Judging by the pensive look on the Hand of the King's face, Littlefinger had clearly "enlightened" him on something. If this schemer were allowed to continue unchecked, Eddard's trust in him would deepen bit by bit, and by then, it would be too late.

The plan to sow discord between Littlefinger and Eddard needed to be put into action immediately. This took precedence over everything else.

With most of the day's work completed, Aegor handed Jack a dozen silver stags and instructed him to purchase a few lightweight practice swords. After that, he prepared to close up the office and return to the inn to strategize on how to drive a wedge between Littlefinger and Eddard.

"Aegor!"

Tyrion arrived at the office in a rush, accompanied by Maurice. He dismounted hastily and stepped inside.

"I was just about to head back. What's so urgent?" Aegor asked, his brow furrowed.

The dwarf waved his hand, panting slightly. "Come inside. Let's talk in private."

Although puzzled, Aegor followed Tyrion back into the inner room where he had spoken with Arya earlier. Sitting down, he waited for Tyrion to explain.

---

After hearing Tyrion's explanation, Aegor finally understood why the dwarf had come rushing over. The paper merchant they had contacted earlier couldn't provide the "stable, cheap, and large quantities" of paper they needed. The reason? Papermaking didn't exist in this world!

Every book in Westeros was hand-copied onto parchment, which was made from actual sheepskin. This made books extraordinarily expensive, with the majority of the cost attributed to the materials rather than the scribes' labor, as Aegor and Tyrion had initially assumed.

The realization hit them like a cold splash of water: without affordable paper, they couldn't achieve a revolutionary breakthrough in publishing or generate the massive profits needed to sustain their Ponzi scheme.

"To be honest, I only discovered this today," Tyrion admitted apologetically. As a nobleman, whenever he needed paper, he would simply toss a gold coin to Maurice or Jack to purchase a stack, considering any extra costs as a tip. Whether a piece of paper cost one or two silver stags had never been of concern to him.

But now that he had serious plans to start a large-scale enterprise, he realized just how insufficient his funds were. The pocket money that had seemed plentiful before suddenly felt like a pittance.

And as for Lord Tywin... the fact that his father hadn't docked his allowance entirely was already a sign of generosity. Asking Tywin Lannister for a loan to "cause trouble"? Out of the question.

The excitement of preparing to open a factory and print books to spread knowledge had been crushed by the sobering reality: they didn't even have enough money to buy the materials.

---

"That doesn't make sense." Aegor frowned, puzzled. The technological level of Westeros resembled the late European Middle Ages. By that time, the knowledge of papermaking should have been widespread... Wait. Spread?

This world lacked a civilization as advanced as those on Earth, and no one had discovered or developed the art of papermaking. Without innovators to invent it or intermediaries to spread the knowledge, the technique simply didn't exist in this realm.

Though the explanation made sense, Aegor still found it frustrating. Papermaking wasn't some cutting-edge technology. Couldn't the people of this world have invented it on their own? True, the irregular seasons and the resulting lack of stability likely stifled innovation. But still...

"Aegor," Tyrion interrupted his thoughts, "Isn't your homeland technologically advanced? How does your homeland produce paper?"

"I'm just an adventurer, not an expert. Papermaking has been a standard process for thousands of years where I come from. It's such a basic technology that it's hard to believe there's a place in the world without it." Aegor scratched his head, frustrated. The so-called prosperity of King's Landing, with its bustling shops and workshops, now seemed like an illusion of progress.

Did this mean he'd have to figure out how to introduce papermaking to this world? Unfortunately, his knowledge of the process was limited to vague concepts. He couldn't suddenly turn into Cai Lun in a foreign land.

"The paper merchant mentioned a young man outside the city experimenting with making paper from grass. But apparently, what he's managed to create is only good enough to... wipe yourself with." Tyrion chuckled dryly. "I'll make time to visit him and see what he's doing."

"Grass for paper?" Aegor's mind raced. Although he didn't know the specifics of papermaking, he was aware that modern paper was made from plant fibers treated chemically.

Perhaps he lacked the ability to succeed on his own, but with proper direction and funding, it could be done.

"That's promising news," Aegor said, his spirits lifting. "Take your men tomorrow and find this young man. If his method is just drying broad leaves and calling it paper, then it's worthless. But if he's attempting to crush the grass and process it into something usable, bring him in. Offer him whatever resources he needs, tens or even hundreds of gold dragons if necessary, and have him refine the process. Help him identify the best materials to use. We'll make this work."

"Crushing grass to make paper?" Tyrion looked skeptical but didn't argue. Over the past few months, he had come to trust Aegor's judgment almost unconditionally. "Alright, I'll see to it. If everything works out, this could be a game-changer. Printing alone might reduce book costs by a small margin, but if we control the entire production chain, from papermaking to printing, the profits could be astronomical."

"Exactly. In my homeland, we call that a complete industrial chain," Aegor explained, emphasizing the importance of monopolizing the process. "If this young man's methods have potential, bring him under our wing, have him sign a confidentiality agreement, and make sure the secrets of the trade stay with us."

"Complete industrial chain. I like that term," Tyrion said, his grin returning. The bleak mood from earlier had lifted, replaced by excitement.

Chapter 67

While discussing the details of establishing a book printing industry chain, Aegor and Tyrion returned to the inn together. As they entered, the innkeeper informed Aegor that a young man had come looking for him earlier in the afternoon, asking for money.

"It should be the son of the mine owner you introduced to me," Aegor mused after thinking for a moment. He hadn't borrowed any money yet, so the only person who might come to him about funds was likely that young man. "It's probably because the Mine is ready to start operations and needs funding. So many things are piling up that I almost forgot about it."

"Have Jack send some money over tomorrow," Tyrion said without hesitation. "Alas... for the first time, I've realized even I don't have enough money."

"The sign will take two days to arrive, but you can pick up the seal tomorrow," Aegor replied. "Let's secure the first loan as soon as possible."

"That's all we can do for now. I suppose I'll have to start scheming against my own people... Now, let me think, where should I begin?"

The two climbed the stairs as they talked. Everyone had been busy all day, so after they ate dinner together, they each retired to their rooms for the night.

---

Tyrion might actually have gone to bed, but Aegor was far from comfortable. To the Imp, this was just another intriguing game, a diversion to occupy his sharp mind. For someone like Tyrion, born into the wealthy and powerful Lannister family, the accumulated fortunes of one generation became the safety net for the next, granting him the freedom to take risks and make mistakes.

Aegor, on the other hand, didn't have that luxury. His parents weren't even part of this world. This elaborate ruse he was caught up in determined his very survival here. He had to put everything he had on the line. Anyone who threatened his interests was an enemy.

He paced the room, racking his brain for a way to prevent Littlefinger from gaining Eddard's trust.

Hour after hour passed as one idea after another was discarded. If it were a simple matter of sowing discord, anyone could do it. But this time, his opponent was one of the most cunning players in the Game of Thrones. Either you killed him outright, or you stayed hidden and avoided alerting him to your plans, because if Petyr Baelish discovered your intent, even a single misstep could cost you your life.

The most direct and brutal option would be to tell Eddard outright that Littlefinger had orchestrated Jon Arryn's murder. But this case was different from the time he framed Joffrey, it wasn't common knowledge. Petyr had manipulated Lysa Tully into poisoning her husband, and the truth was known only to those directly involved. There was no way Aegor could plausibly "overhear" such secretive information. Besides, you couldn't use the same trick repeatedly; if a member of the Night's Watch kept uncovering top-secret matters, wouldn't Eddard grow suspicious?

Aegor wanted to play the role of an upright and loyal Night's Watch soldier, not some omniscient puppet-master weaving webs of intrigue.

Perhaps he could revisit the anonymous letter plan he had considered during the Winterfell incident, the one he ultimately scrapped. An anonymous letter accusing Littlefinger might work, but how would it reach Eddard without being intercepted in a city as full of spies as King's Landing? Any slip-up could be fatal.

Littlefinger might not have true confidants or allies, but he did have money and plenty of connections. Meanwhile, Aegor had nothing, no resources, no network, no protection. If he were exposed, a cup of poisoned wine, a hidden blade, or a silent arrow would erase him from existence.

Sending a message through Arya wasn't safe either. The girl might be innocent and unlikely to betray her "teacher" on purpose, but in front of her beloved father, an unintentional slip of the tongue could easily reveal his involvement.

The streets outside the window were quiet. Although King's Landing didn't have a curfew, there were no night markets except during major festivals. Aegor sighed, blew out the candle, and lay on the bed. Perhaps, like last time in Winterfell, inspiration would strike the moment he woke up.

Maybe he had been thinking about Littlefinger for too long because, as he drifted off, that familiar motto echoed in his mind.

"Chaos is a ladder."

…

"Chaos is a ladder."

This sentence actually made a lot of sense. In a world where social classes were nearly immovable, the best way for those at the bottom to rise to the top was to create chaos. Chaos disrupted the interests of those in power, and when the mighty fell, someone else was bound to benefit.

The problem, however, was that chaos tended to benefit people randomly, often in ways that defied expectations. Littlefinger's true genius lay in his ability to precisely position himself at the places where the great lords were "injured and bleeding," ensuring he reaped the greatest rewards from the chaos. In this respect, he even outshone Varys, another master strategist known for his long-term planning.

Using the stock market as a metaphor, Aegor thought, Varys and Littlefinger might both invest in a stock with a general upward trend. Varys would hold onto it for the long term, earning steady profits. Littlefinger, on the other hand, would use meticulous micro-manipulation to buy low and sell high, repeatedly, making far greater gains than the stock's overall increase.

This kind of talent left Aegor both marveling at and admiring Petyr Baelish's ingenuity.

But Petyr was far from flawless. In the original plot, he vividly demonstrated the limitations of a pure pragmatist. He had used the intricacies of court politics to toy with almost everyone, but his ambition lacked a solid foundation. Aside from his relentless hunger for power, he showed no broader political ideals. This was fine in the beginning stages of his rise, but even toward the end of the game, he never bothered to fabricate a vision or ideology to attract followers or consolidate the power he had seized.

How could he expect to sit on the Iron Throne?

Littlefinger was undoubtedly formidable. Players with sharp minds and no moral boundaries could often rise quickly from chaos and emerge as winners. But that was his limit. He was the most dangerous destroyer, but never the final victor. The best he could hope for was to help some other force rise to power and profit from their success. Yet, blinded by ambition, he wanted the throne for himself. That impossible goal eventually led to his downfall.

In the end, Littlefinger's power was entirely self-contained. It began and ended with him. Even at his peak, anyone with a blade could end his life, and no one would mourn him, much less rise to avenge him.

If Aegor simply wanted to see Littlefinger's ultimate demise, he could do nothing and wait. Sooner or later, Littlefinger's ambitions would destroy him. Even if Arya hadn't been the one to kill him, someone else eventually would. But Aegor's goal was different: he wanted to defeat Littlefinger in the arena where he was most comfortable, on the battlefield of manipulation. And that was a much harder challenge.

…

"Chaos is a ladder. Chaos is a ladder."

If Littlefinger sought to create chaos, then Aegor had to maintain stability. He repeated his imagined opponent's motto silently, preparing to fall asleep.

But then, a sudden voice emerged from his subconscious: Why? Why must we maintain stability to preserve peace? What if, instead, we leaned into chaos? What if we escalated the chaos in King's Landing to its absolute limit—just enough to keep it under control? What would happen then?

The biggest advantage Aegor had was knowing the truth behind the curtain. To abandon that advantage and try to outwit Littlefinger in his own game of subtle manipulation seemed like the kind of obsessive mistake only a fool would make. If the enemy wanted to muddy the waters, why not stir them further, until the waters boiled so furiously that no one, not even Littlefinger, could see clearly? Then let's see how he profits.

The boldness of the idea shocked Aegor. For a moment, he even wondered if the thought had been planted in his mind by the Green Seer or some other supernatural force. But after carefully considering the strategy, he realized it was feasible.

No matter how fierce the undercurrents of court intrigue became, as long as the chaos didn't escalate into outright war and the markets and livelihoods of the common people remained unaffected, his scheme could continue uninterrupted.

Turn the chaos into an uncontrollable storm. Make the game so complex and the situation so volatile that no player of the Game of Thrones could gain an advantage. When the dust settled, the ones who "stayed out of it" and focused solely on building wealth—like himself and Tyrion—would be the ultimate winners.

There were countless ways to sow chaos, but what was the cheapest?

Rumors.

Chapter 68

Tyrion's enthusiasm for the project was beyond imagination. When Aegor woke from his dreams and got dressed to go out on business, Tyrion had already taken Morris to the outskirts of the city to meet the young man who made paper.

Of course, Aegor wasn't ashamed of getting up late. He'd been working until the early hours, and in terms of rest, he'd probably had two or three hours less sleep than the dwarf.

While eating breakfast, Aegor ran into Yoren, who also seemed to have woken up late. This fellow crow was thoroughly enjoying life in King's Landing, far from the constraints of the Wall and his superiors. Thinking of how hard he had been working himself, Aegor couldn't help but envy Yoren's carefree attitude.

"Yoren, I need to ask you something." Aegor, sitting in the inn's common room with his breakfast, suddenly remembered something. "You went to the prison recently to identify a few recruits, didn't you?"

"I did. Why do you ask?" Yoren sat down across from his colleague and waved to the serving girl to bring him breakfast as well. "It's not unusual. Only men guilty of crimes that leave no hope of release would choose the black cloak."

"Was there a man named Jaqen H'ghar among them?"

"There was. How did you know about him?" Yoren, now dressed in the new black clothes Aegor had bought for him, no longer carried that sour smell.

"I heard it mentioned somewhere. Do you know how he ended up arrested and thrown into the black cells?"

"Of course I know. When we recruit new men, we always ask about their backgrounds," Yoren said with a shrug. "The other two prisoners he was with are madmen, dangerous killers. Even I wouldn't want to be stuck in a room with them. But Jaqen was different, a strange one. He got himself arrested for stealing books from the Royal Library."

"Stealing books?" Aegor's interest was piqued. This was new information, even to him. What sort of book would require Braavos to send one of its most skilled assassins to steal it? With this question in mind, he pressed further.

"How would I know? I can't read!"

Aegor chuckled, having forgotten that detail. But another thought struck him. "Still, stealing books hardly seems like the sort of crime that lands someone in the black cells with murderers, does it?"

"Tsk. Do you even know where the Royal Library is?" Yoren leaned forward, lowering his voice. "It's between the White Sword Tower and the Hand's Tower, right in the Red Keep. The official charge wasn't 'stealing books'; it was 'trespassing in the king's residence with ill intent.' That's no small matter."

Yoren grinned slyly, clearly enjoying the tale. "And the way he got caught was almost comical. Apparently, he hid in the Red Keep's kitchens during the day and snuck into the library at night. Who knows how long he stayed there? But no one else had borrowed books that month, and a thin layer of dust settled on the shelves and floor. His footprints and handprints were left behind, and the cleaning steward noticed. They reported it to the Kingsguard, and Barristan Selmy himself decided to investigate with another knight. Sure enough, they found Jaqen inside. The Royal Library has no windows, so the poor fool had no choice but to surrender."

Jaqen H'ghar might indeed be one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, but even he couldn't go head-to-head with two Kingsguard knights, one of whom was widely recognized as the best swordsman in Westeros. If Jaqen hadn't been caught on purpose, his capture was simply a matter of bad luck.

But what exactly was he looking for in the Royal Library?

…

By this time, Yoren's breakfast had been brought over. The old crow pretended to swat the serving girl's backside, making her scream and run off. Laughing to himself, he tore into a piece of bread and continued, "The most important part is this: how long had the previous Hand of the King been dead? Sure, Jon Arryn supposedly died of illness, but isn't it suspicious that someone snuck into a place less than a hundred feet from the Hand's Tower? So they sentenced Jaqen to death, burying him alongside the former Hand."

"That is quite a coincidence."

"Coincidence?" Yoren snorted, lowering his voice again. "I think this man or one of his companions, might've been the one who killed Jon Arryn. He looks calm and mild, like some traveling maester, but those two lunatics in his cell were terrified of him. Why do you think that is?"

"He's good with a blade?"

"I'd bet he's more than just good," Yoren muttered. "Still, this is all speculation, just us talking. Besides, even if he did kill the Hand, so what? The Night's Watch has taken in worse men before."

Jaqen might have killed many people, but in this case, Aegor thought, he was probably innocent. It was almost funny how even a powerful Faceless Man could look so pitiful when fate turned against him.

"You took in those two lunatics as well?"

"Of course. 'As long as they're willing to wear black, we'll take them.' That's what the Lord Commander always says."

"Be careful with men like that. We've had brothers go mad and kill their own before." Aegor frowned. Such tragedies had happened in the Watch's history, and he didn't want to see them happen again.

Yoren shrugged. "I just recruit them. The more I bring in, the better I've done my job. Training them is the Lord Commander's problem, not mine."

Aegor sighed. He understood the necessity, but that didn't mean he agreed with it.

"Don't sigh so much," Yoren said with a smirk. "Next time I'm here, I expect you to recruit someone useful for us. Do your best."

"I'll try."

---

After breakfast, still puzzled over Jaqen's actions in the library, Aegor went to the Night's Watch office. The storefront was still empty, naturally, with no customers yet. As the chief logistics officer, he was a commander without soldiers, and the disadvantages were becoming increasingly apparent. Whatever needed doing, he had to do it himself. Handling one task was fine, but juggling multiple issues at once left him stretched thin.

He found himself wishing for a reliable follower. Someone skilled, like Bronn, or as loyal as Podrick Payne. Ideally, someone who combined both traits. But everything was still in its early stages, and he didn't have time to rush such matters.

After putting up two notices written by Tyrion on the office door, Aegor returned inside, just as his apprentice arrived early for their lesson.

A Stark guard Aegor didn't recognize had escorted Arya to the office. The girl's hair was tied in a neat ponytail today, and she wore a fitted skirt that was clearly custom-made in Winterfell. It wasn't particularly striking, but it was enough to make Aegor smile knowingly.

This girl takes her promises seriously.

"You wait outside," Arya instructed the guard who had accompanied her. She then turned to her teacher with an eager expression. "I did as you said. When do we start?"

"Please, take a seat." Aegor didn't answer her question immediately. Instead, he politely addressed the Stark guard. "Does Lord Stark know that Miss Arya is here?"

When the guard confirmed that Eddard Stark was aware, Aegor turned to Arya and said, "Alright, follow me."

Arya clutched a long object wrapped in cloth tightly in her arms and excitedly followed Aegor into the inner room.

The office included a small backyard, roughly a few dozen square meters, a rather luxurious setup for the location. Originally, Aegor had planned to use the space to plant flowers and build a latrine, but for now, it seemed it could serve other purposes.

Aegor walked to a corner, picked up a training sword, and turned back toward Arya. As he did, he noticed her unwrapping the slender rapier Jon Snow had given her.

"That's a nice little sword," he said, eyeing it. "Looks like a sewing needle."

"How do you know it's called Needle?" Arya's eyes lit up, her excitement growing. She looked at Aegor as if she'd found a kindred spirit.

I also know who forged it and who gave it to you, Aegor thought to himself, though he only smiled warmly. "Very good. It seems we share the same taste. Now, put your Needle away."

"Can't I just practice with this?"

"That's a real sword," Aegor said, shaking his head. "Do you want to kill me or get yourself killed?"

"But I brought it here so carefully," Arya protested. "If I take it back, my father might find out!"

Aegor wouldn't confiscate the sword, he had no reason to. He needed to foster trust and build a closer relationship with the girl. "You can leave it with me. I'll keep it safe for you. And when you're ready, perhaps we can even spar with real swords."

Arya hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I guess this way I won't have to worry about the nuns rummaging through my things!"

"Then it's settled," Aegor said, gesturing to the training sword. "Now, take this one."

Chapter 69

In terms of swordsmanship, Aegor might not even be half as skilled as the swordmaster hired by Arya's father. But teaching a beginner like Arya, who had no prior experience with swordplay, wasn't a competition. A higher skill level didn't necessarily mean one would be a better teacher.

Aegor still remembered how, back in junior high, his physics classes were taught by a PE teacher. It sounded like a tired old joke, but it was true. His parents had been busy starting a business, and he'd ended up in a small, underfunded school in his hometown. The school didn't lack math teachers, but for every other subject, staffing was improvised. His homeroom teacher, a young woman fresh out of sports school, ended up teaching both physical education and physics.

Her physics knowledge was basic at best. She was learning the subject herself while preparing her lessons. Aegor could still recall the amusing incidents that occurred in class, like when she'd realize she'd taught something wrong the day before and corrected herself in the next lesson. But what stood out most was her earnestness.

Despite the school's poor conditions and her inexperience, the physics scores of her class were consistently higher than those taught by more qualified teachers in other classes.

When it came to teaching, extensive knowledge wasn't always the deciding factor. More important were teaching methods that were engaging, content that was clear and easy to understand, and a genuine willingness to help students learn. A good teacher needed to set a solid foundation, cultivate interest, and inspire confidence.

That PE teacher could never have taught high school physics, but her patience, dedication, and care left a lasting impression on Aegor.

---

Now, he found himself stepping into a similar role as Arya's swordsmanship teacher. His own skill level might be average, but he believed that as long as he was serious, patient, and attentive, he could do no worse than Ser Alliser Thorne.

The most practical reason Aegor had agreed to teach Arya was to build a relationship with a member of the Stark family. If the time came when he needed to benefit from Eddard's position as Hand of the King, having Arya's goodwill might prove invaluable. With that goal in mind, he wasn't as strict or meticulous as Syrio Forel had been in the original story. There were no theatrical flourishes, no throwing swords to see if she could catch them. Instead, he handed Arya a lightweight training sword in a straightforward manner and began by teaching her how to hold it and stand correctly.

Arya was left-handed, which he found interesting. He'd once heard that the left hand reacted faster than the right, a possible advantage for a swordsman.

"There's no such thing as one perfect sword style," Aegor explained. "There are countless techniques for attacking and defending: thrusting, chopping, slashing, sweeping, bumping for offense; dodging, blocking, parrying, and deflecting for defense. A swordsman's job is to master these techniques and know how to combine them in the right situations."

He emphasized the basics. "We'll start here. Build a solid foundation, and later you can decide what techniques and style suit you best."

Aegor began teaching Arya the most fundamental movements. Many swordsmen could demonstrate these techniques more beautifully or skillfully than him, but that didn't mean they'd be better teachers. Aegor's own experience worked to his advantage, having only started learning swordsmanship a year ago, he still remembered the struggles and questions he'd faced as a beginner, along with the solutions he'd discovered.

To Aegor's surprise, Arya picked up the basics quickly. She practiced the movements with enthusiasm and soon asked, "How long do I have to keep doing these moves?"

"It's never too long. These are the most basic movements. You've just learned to walk, and now you want to run? If you think you're ready, then come and try to attack me," Aegor said.

After a round of clumsy exchanges, Arya failed to even touch the corner of his clothes.

"My skirt is in the way! Can I take it off?"

"No, deal with it. You're a girl, a lady of the Stark family. There will be plenty of occasions in the future when you'll have to wear a skirt. Do you think an enemy will politely give you time to change into pants?"

"Hmm… but why do girls have to wear skirts? Pants are so much more convenient and comfortable!"

"Don't blame the skirt. Keep practicing!"

"No fair, this sword is heavier than Needle!"

"And it's still much lighter than a real sword. Besides, are you planning to fight with Needle for the rest of your life?"

…

As Arya grumbled about her skirt and the training sword, they continued practicing until lunchtime. After eating, Aegor suggested taking a break. There was no need to rush her progress. Training for long hours was one thing, but whether Arya could handle the strain was another. Besides, Aegor was wary of pushing her too hard, if she learned too quickly, he might run out of material to teach her in less than a month.

Back in the inner office, they relaxed in their chairs and chatted. As "master and apprentice," they had only met a few times before and knew very little about each other. Aegor saw this as a good opportunity to strengthen their bond. He recalled how he'd won Tyrion's attention back in Winterfell by weaving an elaborate tale. Now, he planned to do the same with Arya, tailoring his story to suit the playful, headstrong little girl.

…

As expected, Arya was quickly captivated by the lie he had carefully crafted. Aegor avoided delving into advanced concepts or complex systems from "Tsena" and instead focused on ideas that the rigid and hierarchical world of Westeros lacked most: gender equality and a freer, more open way of life.

He told her that in a distant country west of the Sunset Sea, girls could openly learn swordsmanship, join the army, and even become officials. Perhaps most shocking and enticing for a girl like Arya, women there could choose their own husbands and divorce them if they weren't satisfied.

If Aegor had stopped there, Arya might simply have daydreamed about this fictional land. But when he casually mentioned that he had come to Westeros and joined the Night's Watch after an accident during his travels around the world, Arya's eyes lit up with excitement.

"You're an adventurer!" The girl's blood seemed to boil with enthusiasm or perhaps her youthful imagination was simply running wild. Either way, Aegor instantly became her new idol. "When are you going home? Take me with you on your next adventure!"

"God only knows when I'll be able to go back. There isn't a single ship in Westeros capable of safely crossing the Sunset Sea," Aegor replied with a helpless shrug.

"Is that so…? Well, tell me more adventure stories, then!"

"No more sword practice?"

"Later. No rush."

Arya's sudden change of focus caught Aegor off guard. It was troublesome, to say the least. Making up stories about "Tsena" wasn't difficult—after all, in a sense, he really was from there. But he wasn't a real adventurer. Of course, even if he'd never experienced such things himself, he'd read enough fantasy and adventure novels to weave convincing tales.

Just as Aegor began pulling details from his memory to spin a story, Tyrion's voice called out from outside the door.

"Aegor, come out and meet the guests. The first bond buyer is here!"

Chapter 70

Didn't Tyrion go to find the young man who made paper? How is he suddenly here at this moment, successfully brokering a deal for the first time? And hadn't they agreed to wait until the seal arrived before starting this venture? Why begin in advance?

A flood of questions clogged Aegor's mind. But generally speaking, fundraising is just another way of doing business. For a merchant, having customers come to you is never a bad thing.

Pausing the story he had been telling, Aegor stood up, pushed the door open, left the "office," and stepped into the outer room.

Against the familiar backdrop of the little devil's short stature, a figure that Aegor recognized loomed tall and imposing, an unexpected and striking sight.

"Ser Jaime!"

"Little devil!"

Aegor's surprised exclamation overlapped with Arya's cheerful, excited cry.

---

The scene was surreal. The Night's Watch office, not even officially open yet, was now crowded with important figures. Tyrion and Jaime, both prominent members of the Lannister family. Arya, the youngest daughter of House Stark. And several guards wearing either Stark or Lannister colors. For a moment, Aegor felt as if he hadn't traveled through time but had instead stumbled onto the set of Game of Thrones.

…

When Arya burst out from the inner room of the Night's Watch office, Tyrion was as taken aback as Aegor was upon recognizing Jaime. While Tyrion didn't like being called nicknames, he wasn't one to hold grudges against children. He greeted her warmly and without pretense.

"Good afternoon, Arya. What brings you here?"

"I'm learning swordsmanship from my master," Arya replied proudly.

"You? Learning swordsmanship?"

The ten-year-old girl was nearly the same height as Tyrion, and the two struck up an easy conversation. Meanwhile, Jaime and Aegor began talking nearby.

---

"What do you want?" Jaime asked, his irritation thinly veiled.

Whenever he recalled the debacle at Winterfell, a sense of unreality washed over him. He and Cersei had always been careful, so careful that not even Robert had discovered their secret for years. Yet, on that day, he didn't know what madness had overtaken him. He had been bold enough to carry on their tryst even after being seen. As if that weren't enough, he had then frightened a Stark child into near-death.

(Why is a Night's Watchman, who knows too much, here in King's Landing instead of staying at the Wall where he belongs?)

Hearing the subtext in Jaime's words, Aegor instinctively knew this wasn't good. He had hoped to avoid prominent figures and quietly make a fortune. But Tyrion had dragged his brother into the matter. And although it was Aegor who had suggested starting with familiar people, this was far too familiar.

He couldn't show weakness now, nor could he let Jaime think he was here to blackmail him. After some quick thinking, Aegor deflected with a calm response:

"I am here on orders from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to gather food and armaments to resist the wildlings."

(I'm not here to trouble you; I'm here for business.)

"Hmph," Jaime scoffed, his suspicion evident. "Out of all the people in the Night's Watch, they picked you. What a coincidence."

(Come on, who would believe that?)

"Indeed, I am deeply grateful for the Commander's trust. For the time being, I'm in charge of the Night's Watch's logistics."

(This is the truth. Believe it or not, that's up to you.)

"Fine. Since Tyrion is your 'friend,' hand me one of those bonds you're selling."

(I'm unlucky enough as it is. Can I just pay you off and be done with this mess?)

"Of course. Please follow me to the inner room, Ser Jaime. I'll explain the details of the Night's Watch bonds, including the trading rules and expected returns."

(If you don't believe me, I don't care. But I don't mind taking your money.)

---

While Tyrion distracted himself with Arya, who was a little too fascinated by dwarves, he didn't miss the exchange between Aegor and his brother. On the surface, it seemed normal. But something about it felt off.

"All right, Arya, there'll be plenty of opportunities for us to run into each other again in the future," Tyrion said, steering the conversation. "Can we get back to business with your master now?"

"Okay," Arya replied, though curiosity still lingered on her face. "But what are Night's Watch bonds?"

"Come in, and you'll understand after listening," Aegor said, rubbing his temples in mild frustration. He gestured for the group to enter the office, moving stools and chairs for everyone to sit, including Arya.

"No need for explanations," Jaime interrupted brusquely. "Just tell me how much they cost. One hundred gold dragons a piece, right? How many do you want me to buy?"

(Don't bother with theatrics. Just name your price so we can move on.)

Aegor hesitated. Whether he was overthinking or imagining things, he felt an unspoken understanding between himself and Jaime. They seemed to know what the other was truly thinking beneath their words. Just as Aegor was deciding how to respond, Tyrion cut in with a puzzled frown.

"What's with you, Jaime? Didn't you tell me earlier today that you had nothing to do? Why are you suddenly in such a rush now that we're here?"

"Nothing," Jaime replied curtly, crossing his arms and sighing. "I just feel uneasy whenever I see someone wearing black."

"I didn't know you had this problem." Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"Neither did I, until now." Jaime shot a pointed glance at Aegor, then turned to Arya. "Shouldn't your apprentice go play outside for a while?"

"What?" Arya protested, her lips forming a pout. "Why are you being so secretive?"

"It's fine. Let her stay," Aegor interjected, shaking his head. In truth, he wasn't keen on letting Arya know too much about the Night's Watch bonds. But at this stage, it wasn't a major secret. Building rapport was more important. If he kicked her out now, she'd undoubtedly grow suspicious. And if she ran off to tell Eddard that he'd held a "secret meeting" with two Lannisters behind closed doors, that would spell trouble.

"Then, without further ado, I'll explain the details of the Night's Watch bonds to Ser Jaime."

---

After several rounds of discussion and revisions over the past few days, a finalized version of the detailed bond rules had been drafted. While the original content remained mostly intact, a few supplementary clauses were added, and, at the very bottom, he included a rather dubious and ultimately unenforceable clause familiar from the world they lived in before: "The final interpretation of this bond rests with the Night's Watch."

In front of Jaime and Arya, Aegor read out the rules one by one, explaining them clearly and methodically. At first, Arya listened attentively, her curiosity evident. However, it didn't take long before she started yawning, her interest fading quickly. On the other hand, Jaime, who looked impatient at first, gradually became more serious as he listened.

"If you said you didn't bring money with you when you came to King's Landing and needed to borrow some temporarily, I'd understand that," Jaime said, his sharp gaze fixed on Aegor. "But based on what you're saying, it sounds like you're asking to borrow money for the long term. Why not have your commander send someone down with the funds? Even if it's by horseback, it wouldn't take more than a month to travel from the Wall to King's Landing."

The pointed question struck directly at the heart of the issue, catching Aegor off guard. He had assumed Jaime to be simple-minded and impulsive before his hand was crippled. Yet, it seemed his mind was sharper than expected.

"Since Ser Jaime is one of us, I won't hide the truth from you," Aegor said, keeping his tone measured. "The Night's Watch is facing a dire threat and urgently needs supplies. The long summer is coming to an end, and the northern lords have already begun preparing for winter. Right now, they can't provide the Wall with full support. We have no choice but to do what we can to hold on and deal with the rest later."

"You can't repay the money in the short term, so you're relying on interest to attract creditors, expecting them to take their returns over time. I understand that," Jaime said, leaning back slightly. "But when the crown borrows, the loans are backed by the royal treasury. What guarantees do the Night's Watch have?"

Though Jaime was Tyrion's brother, they were not the same person. The core secret behind the bond scheme couldn't be disclosed to him. Aegor knew the conversation had reached its limit.

Tyrion stepped in to clarify the situation further. "The bond is secured by the land and all assets of the Night's Watch," he explained, his tone confident. "And by guarantees from the Hand of the King and myself. That's the public version, anyway. In truth, Aegor and I plan to make some money here in King's Landing to resolve the rest of the problem."

"Make some money? You?" Jaime raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "I've never known you to be much of a businessman."

"Hmph," Tyrion snorted. "You'll be surprised when the time comes. Just tell me, do you support me or not?"

Jaime chuckled softly, his smile one of reluctant amusement. At last, he seemed convinced that Aegor wasn't in King's Landing to blackmail him. "Of course I support you," he said. "You're my brother, after all. I'll buy two hundred bonds as a gesture of goodwill. Whether you succeed or fail, don't worry about repaying me. Consider it my donation to the Night's Watch. But don't keep coming back to me for more."

After speaking, Jaime turned his attention back to Aegor, his gaze pointed and clear. His expression seemed to say: (Think of this as hush money, don't push your luck.)

Aegor shrugged helplessly. There was nothing he could do about it. Trying to explain further would only make things worse.

"Well then, let's get started on filling out the bonds," Jaime said, leaning forward slightly.

"Jack took the seal with him and hasn't returned yet. What should we do?" Aegor asked.

"No need to go through all that trouble," Tyrion interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just use your fingerprints." He reached into the drawer, pulled out a blank bond he had prepared in advance, dipped a quill into ink, and began to write.

Chapter Text

Chapter 71

"Debtor: The Night's Watch. Buyer and Creditor: Jaime Lannister. Purchase Amount: 200 Gold Dragons. Date: Year 298 of the Aegon Calendar..."

Tyrion muttered aloud as he wrote, his quill moving steadily across the parchment. Soon, he had filled most of the bond. Coincidentally, Jack, who had been sent on errands earlier, returned just in time, completing the two tasks Aegor had assigned him. Among the items Jack brought back was the official seal Tyrion and Aegor had ordered, allowing this first bond to be properly signed and finalized.

"These spaces on the back are for when you need to transfer the bond if you're ever short on funds," Tyrion explained. "You can endorse it by noting the transfer date, adding the signatures and fingerprints of both the original holder and the transferee, and then sell the bond to someone else."

"I wouldn't know what it's like to be short on funds," Jaime said nonchalantly. His tone made it clear that no one in the room would dare to question that.

"I'm sure that's true," Tyrion replied dryly. "But at least let me finish my routine of explaining the rules." After completing his meticulous writing, he handed the bond to Aegor. "Here, this first bond will include my signature and seal as the guarantor. Once the Night's Watch establishes its credit, we can skip this step. It's all yours now."

The self-proclaimed "Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch" nodded and carefully signed his name in the designated space for the person in charge: Aegor West.

---

The surname "West" had been chosen after some deliberation, following Tyrion's advice. The dwarf had pointed out that people in Westeros placed great importance on family names. Aegor's role as the Night's Watch's logistics officer required him to solicit funds from the wealthier classes of King's Landing. Not having a proper surname would undermine his credibility and make potential investors uneasy, creating an invisible hurdle in his fundraising efforts.

Not only did Aegor need a surname, but it also had to sound natural and localized enough to put people at ease.

Tyrion, while leaving most of the planning to Aegor, offered a few key suggestions, and this was one of them. Aegor found the reasoning sound and agreed.

Ultimately, he decided on "West." While it wasn't perfect, it was simple, easy to remember, and had a certain resonance. It carried the implication of being "from the west of the Sunset Sea."

---

With the bond filled out and signed, Aegor reached into the bag Jack had brought back. He retrieved the custom seal he and Tyrion had ordered two days prior. Dipping the seal into the ink prepared on the desk, he pressed it firmly onto the front of the bond.

Tyrion's seal was a standard personal mark, featuring his full name. Aegor's, on the other hand, bore the words "Night's Watch Logistics Department" encircled by jagged lines resembling battlements, a detail Aegor had specifically requested. The design was simple but distinctive, lending an air of authenticity and authority.

The three of them—Aegor, Tyrion, and Jaime—added their fingerprints at the bottom of the bond. Aegor then wrote a hidden code in an empty space on the bond and dripped melted sealing wax over it. After pressing his seal into the wax, he brought the bond to his lips and blew gently to cool it.

And thus, the first official Night's Watch bond was completed.

---

This single sheet of parchment incorporated three layers of anti-counterfeiting measures: low, medium, and high.

The low-level anti-counterfeiting relied on the bond's basic materials and visible features: the high-quality parchment, Tyrion's handwritten content, and the signatures and seals of all parties. These measures were straightforward but also the easiest to imitate. As the bond scheme expanded and more bonds were issued, these details would inevitably become more vulnerable to forgery.

The medium-level anti-counterfeiting was the wax seal and hidden code that Aegor had devised. The wax was extremely sticky and adhered tightly to the parchment once cooled. The Great Wall pattern on the wax added a layer of visible deterrence, while the hidden code beneath was the true safeguard. This "code" was actually a string of characters written in English, recording details such as the borrower, date, and amount. Aegor was the only one who could read and verify these codes, as the knowledge existed solely in his mind.

Even if someone in Westeros managed to peel off or melt the wax, they would only uncover an incomprehensible string of symbols. These codes could not be guessed or replicated, making forgery incredibly difficult. While not as secure as fingerprints, this system was a cost-effective way to deter most would-be counterfeiters.

Finally, the high-level anti-counterfeiting was the fingerprints themselves. In Westeros, forging fingerprints was virtually impossible. Even if Aegor wasn't present in the office, his future employees could easily verify a bond's authenticity by comparing the handprints.

As an added layer of security, the office would maintain meticulous sales records. Even in a world with magic and supernatural abilities, no forger could create bonds that matched all the records. At most, they could fake one or two transactions, but large-scale forgery would be impossible.

---

After asking one of his followers to fetch a purse, Jaime casually tossed it onto the table. Aegor watched as the heavy bag of gold landed with a solid thud, marking the first step in his grand scheme.

Having paid what he likely considered "hush money," Jaime seemed visibly more at ease. His once-tense expression softened, and his tone grew less confrontational. After a few more polite exchanges, he found an excuse to leave, departing with his entourage.

…

"You asked me to swindle my own brother, and this is what we've got."

"Well, your brother may support you unconditionally, but he's not the target audience I'm looking for," Aegor said, shaking his head. "The Lannisters are far too rich. Growing up in an environment like that, Jaime has no real concept of money. He even said himself that he doesn't know what it feels like to be short on cash. Sure, he came here and bought bonds because of you, but he won't recommend them to anyone else. What I need are people with some financial means but not so wealthy that they're detached from the value of money. I need people who are drawn to our bonds for the rate of return, who see the interest as enticing, and who can bring in more buyers. What I need is a greedy person, not a donor. Do you get what I mean?"

"I understand," Tyrion said, frowning as he reflected on it. "I ran into Jaime while I was returning to the city and brought him straight here. I didn't think it through."

"It's fine. At least we've secured an additional 200 gold dragons—42,000 silver stags, 294,000 copper stars—completely out of thin air. And it's the best kind of money: the kind we don't have to repay anytime soon," Aegor said, opting not to press the issue too much with his partner and benefactor. Instead, he made a light joke only a numbers-savvy person could appreciate, then switched the topic. "How did it go with the papermaking boy today? What were the results?"

Tyrion chuckled as he thought back to it. "First of all, let me express my admiration. You're remarkably good at anticipating things. That young man does indeed make paper by crushing raw materials and soaking them in water."

"Fantastic." Aegor let out a relieved sigh, narrowing his eyes as he made an immediate decision. "The original 1% monthly interest rate is too low. When you're convincing people to buy bonds, feel free to increase it based on the situation. I'll leave the specifics to your discretion."

"You want to raise it even further? It's already at 17% annually!"

"If all we cared about was maintaining a stable cash flow, 17% would indeed be too high," Aegor thought, remembering how Madoff scammed Americans for two decades with a 10% return rate before collapsing. "But our situation is different now. The invention of new paper is inevitable. As long as we handle it properly, what we're about to accomplish, the profits we'll generate will far exceed 17%."

"What are you even talking about?" Arya suddenly interjected. She had been sitting quietly for a while, and now she burst out in frustration. She could understand every individual word the adults were saying, but not the meaning of their conversation as a whole.

What came next wasn't something the girl could be privy to, so Aegor used a classic distraction tactic. He reached out and gently patted her head, ruffling her hair as he said with a smile, "That's enough for today. Go back with the guard who brought you here, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"But it's still early! I'll have nothing to do if I go back now!"

"You might have nothing to do, but your teacher is busy," Aegor replied with a hint of playfulness. "Be good and head back. Look through the clothes you brought from Winterfell and think about how to dress yourself. Come back tomorrow wearing something new and prettier, and I'll tell you more stories about surviving in the wilderness."

"Ugh... fine," Arya said reluctantly. Aegor's attempt to connect with her was working, she genuinely wanted to impress her new swordsmanship teacher. His actions even reminded her of her half-brother Jon. She pouted slightly, sadness flickering in her eyes for a moment. But in the end, she decided not to argue. "Then I'll go back. But you have to tell more stories tomorrow, and the lesson can't be any shorter than today's!"

Chapter 72

Arya left, leaving only Aegor and Tyrion in the room. Aegor glanced at Tyrion and asked, "How did you deal with the paper inventor?"

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than you might think. The one experimenting with papermaking isn't just a single person, but an entire family that makes a living weaving cloth. To be more specific, it's a pair of the youngest siblings in the family," Tyrion explained. "The sister noticed that the cloth washer would leave behind small, paper-like residues after heavy use. That gave her the idea to soak a piece of cloth in water, steam and mash it, then dry it to create a complete sheet of 'paper.'"

"What a remarkable woman," Aegor said, his interest piqued. "So, she and her brother started experimenting with other materials to make paper?"

"Yes, but while they technically made something resembling paper, it's more like hardened cloth than actual paper. Honestly… the quality is so bad it wouldn't even be fit to wipe your arse. Beyond that, the cloth they used to make this 'paper' is also needed to make clothes to support their family. They're barely scraping by as it is. Their family doesn't oppose their experiments, but they lack the resources to keep supporting them. In fact, when her brother tried to sell the concept to a paper merchant and asked for some investment to improve the process, he was flatly rejected. And in the end… well, that's how we stumbled upon them."

So that's how it was. It wasn't that the working people in the world of Ice and Fire lacked intelligence, but that short-sighted resource holders suffocated innovation and invention.

"Did you bring them here?"

"Yes. I told them to stop weaving and had the entire family move to the city. I rented them a large yard in a cheaper part of town. I'll cover their living expenses and the cost of their experiments. All they need to do is figure out how to make usable paper as quickly as possible."

"That's a good plan. Let's stick with it."

"And what about this confidentiality agreement you mentioned?"

"It's nothing magical. Just an agreement. We made it clear to them and to the entire family, that we'll provide for them, reimburse their experimental costs, and give them a bonus once they produce usable paper. But once they succeed, the process must remain confidential. They're not allowed to sell it or share it with anyone else. The invention is exclusively for our plan. If they leak it to another sponsor, the Lannisters, the Night's Watch, and even the Hand of the King will hold them accountable."

"That sounds extreme. How exactly are you or the Night's Watch supposed to hold them accountable? As for the Hand of the King, I doubt he'd care about this."

"They're just commoners. Show them an official document signed and sealed by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the Hand of the King, and you—a prominent figure and that'll be enough to scare them," Aegor said with a shrug. This world really has no concept of patents, he thought. "Of course, the best way to keep them loyal is to provide well for them so they don't get any second thoughts. First, supply them with the equipment and tools they need to make a batch of paper. Once we see the results, we can make more concrete plans."

"Understood. I'll leave it to you," Tyrion nodded. "Aren't you going back to the inn tonight? It doesn't seem like there's much left to do here."

"There's still a few minor things to handle. You go on ahead. I'll be back later. Don't go to bed too early, we still need to discuss recruitment tonight."

"Got it."

"And don't forget, you're in charge of managing the funds. Take the money with you."

"Of course."

---

After sending Arya, Tyrion, and their servants away, Aegor was alone in the Night's Watch office. By now, it was almost dusk, and he had an important task to handle after dark. While he lacked manpower, this was something he wouldn't entrust to anyone else, even if he had employees.

It was still summer, and the sun set slowly. Aegor waited patiently as the sky darkened, eating dinner at a small tavern near the garrison camp before returning to the office. He sat quietly for a while, and at last, the sky was pitch black.

It was time.

He left the office, locked the door like an ordinary merchant closing shop for the night, and led his horse out. Mounting up, he set off toward the Albatross Inn. This part of King's Landing wasn't like Silk Street, where business continued after dark. There were no streetlights, and the shops on both sides of the road were already shuttered. The streets were quiet, with barely a soul in sight.

Aegor sat upright on his horse, tilting his head slightly to scan his surroundings. Confirming there were no people within sight or earshot, he reached into his bag.

From it, he pulled a rolled-up piece of paper, holding it at his side. He took a deep breath and released his grip.

In the silence of the night, the rolled paper slipped from his hand, falling past the horse's flank. It rubbed against the horse's hair before landing on the cobblestone road, where it was kicked half a meter away by the horse's hind hoof. The paper rolled to a corner of the street and came to a stop, merging with the shadows. Its origins were now lost.

Careful to avoid gold-cloaked patrols, Aegor deliberately took a long, winding route. Every few dozen meters, he dropped another small note, scattering them like a bomber dropping bombs. He repeated the process dozens of times until all the notes he had prepared the previous night were gone.

The content of the notes was simple but explosive. Written in the tone of a young knight from the Vale, they told a story meant to shock anyone who read them.

---

[My name is Hugh, and I served as a squire to the late Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, for many years. By the time anyone reads this note, I will be dead.

A few months ago, I accidentally discovered an affair between Lady Lysa Tully and Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin. Lady Lysa threatened to have me executed if I told anyone, while Lord Baelish promised me endless wealth and glory if I stayed silent.

Driven by a mix of fear and greed, I didn't report my findings to my lord… until he suddenly 'fell ill' and died.

Lord Jon was old, so his illness seemed plausible. But as I observed more closely, I noticed Lady Lysa meeting with Baelish more frequently around the time of his death. I began to suspect that Littlefinger may have instructed Lady Lysa to poison her husband.

I have no evidence. Though Baelish kept his promise and had me knighted, I cannot shake my unease. If my suspicions are correct, then someone like me, despite being raised to nobility, remains nothing more than an expendable pawn in the eyes of a man as powerful and cunning as Littlefinger.

And so, I have written this account and entrusted it to a reliable friend. If I die unexpectedly, know that I was murdered by Petyr Baelish. My death will prove that Lord Jon's death was no accident.

I am but a small man, and my hesitation cost the life of a great lord. My life may be worthless, but the truth must be known, and the guilty must be punished.]

The work was done. Now, all that remained was to hope it wouldn't rain over the next two days and that at least a few of the notes would find their way into the hands of literate and well-meaning individuals.

…

Due to his low status, the death of Ser Hugh caused no stir, nor did it prompt any investigation. However, the circumstances of his death were as mysterious as the attempt on Bran Stark's life. Through casual conversation with Jack, Aegor learned that his arrival in this world had not altered the fate of the young knight from the Vale. Ser Hugh had died days before Aegor reached King's Landing, killed in a tourney duel by Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, whose spear pierced his throat.

Several questions arose: Was the draw for the tournament rigged to ensure certain matchups? If so, was Gregor ordered to kill Hugh? And if so, who gave the order, and why? Did Ser Hugh truly know a dangerous secret, or had he simply been trying to confuse Lord Eddard Stark?

Even Aegor had no answers to these questions, but that didn't matter. He wasn't seeking the truth; he only needed the note to stir up trouble for his enemies.

The story in the note was almost entirely fabricated, except for the circumstances surrounding Jon Arryn's death. But rumors had a peculiar nature: as long as part of them was true, people would subconsciously believe the rest. It didn't matter if Lysa Tully and Petyr Baelish had an affair in King's Landing, whether Hugh truly uncovered secrets he shouldn't have known, or if his death was merely a coincidence. As long as it was true that Lysa and Littlefinger had known each other since childhood, that Jon Arryn had died suddenly of illness, and that Hugh had died in a tourney, the note would be enough to set tongues wagging and trouble brewing.

What made it even more convincing was the fact that Littlefinger himself had once boasted of taking the virginity of both Tully sisters, a claim that lent credibility to the salacious parts of the note. Aegor couldn't help but wonder if Petyr Baelish, who had once taken pride in spreading such rumors, might come to regret his youthful arrogance.

Littlefinger's ability to manipulate the game in King's Landing stemmed from more than just his cleverness. The key factor was that most people underestimated him. Born into a poor noble family from the Fingers, he had no military power, ran brothels that the nobility dismissed as beneath them, and displayed no overt ambitions. Though many influential figures dealt with him as equals and even relied on his financial expertise, they held him in disdain, both openly and in their hearts. This disdain, this tendency to overlook him, was precisely what allowed Littlefinger to cause chaos and bloodshed in the Seven Kingdoms.

But now, someone who understood him and intended to oppose him had come to King's Landing.

Littlefinger's golden days were coming to an end.

Chapter 73

What left Aegor speechless was that, while he was racking his brains to secretly plot against Littlefinger, the man sent someone to deliver 100 gold dragons as a "national defense grant" the very morning after Aegor spread the rumor notes. The stark contrast of events made him feel as though he were being toyed with by a villain.

Of course, he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt over accepting the money. Regardless of Littlefinger's personal qualities and misdeeds, the money itself came without any moral complication. Even if these 100 gold dragons came directly from Littlefinger's private coffers, he would eventually record it as a debt to the national treasury. The debt wouldn't be repaid by him or even this king, but rather by the next king, or the king after that, or maybe even a new dynasty altogether. Unless the Iron Throne managed to stabilize itself through sheer force, denying the Iron Bank and the Lannisters their debts, which was unlikely, this money would ultimately fall on the backs of Westeros's taxpayers, particularly those of the Crownlands.

The irony was bitter: while the men of the Night's Watch defended the Wall against 100,000 wildlings and other threats from the north, protecting all of humanity in Westeros, the people they protected reluctantly offered only a mere 100 gold dragons under Eddard Stark's "care."

---

One hundred gold dragons, if sent directly to the Night's Watch, would barely cover the cost of feeding its members for a month, let alone accounting for weapons and pensions for the dead. But in Aegor's hands, this sum was enough to stabilize the newly established Night's Watch office and ensure it gained a foothold in King's Landing.

Moreover, since this grant wasn't from bond sales but was a special allocation from the Hand, it legally and morally belonged to the Night's Watch. Aegor was effectively on a "business trip" for the Watch, and as its head, he was fully entitled to use the money as he saw fit. Unlike bond profits, he didn't need to give this money to Tyrion for safekeeping, nor could he use it to pay off debts.

With this first bit of freely usable money, Aegor was finally free from the days when he carried only a handful of silver stags and felt burdened by the cost of a decent meal.

---

Although Aegor had effectively mastered the Common Tongue and its writing, he concealed this fact for several reasons, chief among them was the fear that his handwriting might be linked to the rumor notes. Even in front of Tyrion, he pretended to understand only spoken language while struggling with reading and especially writing.

Under this guise, Tyrion personally handled almost all the written tasks for the Night's Watch office and the fundraising plan, from drafting recruitment notices to composing appeals for funding. Notices written by Tyrion were posted on the office door while Aegor occupied himself with other tasks, teaching Arya some swordsmanship, spinning "adventure stories," and finally, overseeing the installation of the office sign.

Several workers labored to install the wooden sign above the door. At last, the Night's Watch office had a name and was ready to open. Against the black-painted background, large golden letters reading "Night Watchman's Office" gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. On a street where bright, colorful signs were common and black was avoided due to superstition, the stark design made it unusually eye-catching.

---

Aegor had no way of knowing how effective his rumor campaign had been, nor did he dare to ask or investigate directly. The office's pretentious recruitment and supply-gathering efforts had officially begun, but the success of the first critical step, the sample paper produced by the papermaking siblings, remained uncertain. Not being an expert, Aegor couldn't intervene and had no choice but to wait for results.

Meanwhile, the dragonglass mine on Dragonstone had been put into operation, and Tyrion's recommended father-and-son overseers seemed reliable. But until Aegor could recruit someone capable of managing the office, his days consisted of opening the door on time, waiting for Tyrion to lure bond buyers, and hoping for volunteers or donors who likely wouldn't appear. For now, he could only wait for events to unfold.

After a period of nonstop work, Aegor found himself with little to do. He was glad he had agreed to Arya's request for sword training; otherwise, he wouldn't know how to fill this sudden lull in activity.

---

Each day, Aegor opened the office, waited for Arya, spent most of the day with her, then closed the office and returned to the inn to sleep. After two days of this routine, Tyrion brought the first real bond buyer: Ser Lake.

A minor noble from the Crownlands, Ser Lake had little interest in the specifics of the bonds. He had come solely out of respect for the Lannisters. After confirming the interest he would earn, he cheerfully purchased the minimum amount of 100 gold dragons and left with his bonds.

The rate of return Tyrion offered Ser Lake was three times higher than what he and Aegor had originally agreed upon. But for a fundraising plan that seemed to have found a way forward, this wasn't excessive.

After seeing the buyer off, Tyrion remained behind. "The first batch of samples is ready," he said. "Let Jack look after the office… er, the store. Shall we go and take a look now?"

"They're finished?" Aegor asked, instantly excited. "Let's go! Arya, you—"

"I'm not staying behind!" Arya cut him off. "Wherever you and the little devil are going, I'm coming too!"

"Hmm…" Aegor looked to Tyrion, who offered no objection. With a shrug, Aegor relented. "Alright, let's go."

---

Arya Stark, born into a ruling family of the North, was a clever and spirited girl. Energetic and unrestrained, she had a natural familiarity with others that set her apart from most noble girls. In just a few days, she had grown close to Aegor under his deliberate guidance, as if they had been friends for years. She was as clingy as sticky candy that couldn't be shaken off.

In truth, Aegor hadn't put much effort into winning Arya over. To her, neither Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos, nor Aegor West, the Night's Watch logistics officer, mattered. What she cared about was having a "sword coach" and a "partner." Arya wasn't picky about friends; anyone willing to practice swords with her and keep her entertained could become one. Aegor's advantage lay in his understanding of her and his store of adventure stories, which quickly cemented their bond.

At the same time, Aegor was careful to establish boundaries and win favor with her father, Eddard Stark. He imposed a rule: Arya could only train with him if she dressed appropriately and behaved with proper manners. The Stark guards reported these changes back to Eddard, who was pleased with his daughter's improved demeanor. As a result, he tacitly allowed her daily excursions to the Night's Watch office.

---

Papermaking was not a secret, and the Starks were the least likely to act as anyone's commercial spies. Even if Arya and her guards reported everything they saw and heard to Eddard, it wouldn't harm Aegor's or Tyrion's interests in any way.

Without much hesitation, Aegor brought Arya along with the guards responsible for escorting her to and from training, and they set off with Tyrion.

The house Tyrion had rented, which he had previously described as inexpensive, was located in the northwest corner of King's Landing. After riding for dozens of minutes, they finally arrived at the first papermaking workshop in King's Landing that did not rely on animal skins as raw materials.

Chapter 74

Here, Aegor met the papermaking siblings. Well, calling them "papermaking siblings" might not be the best way to describe them. To be precise, they were Neil and Nina, a brother and sister from Rosby.

That's right, they didn't have a surname. They were simply "Neil and Nina of Rosby." Tyrion had previously explained to Aegor that most commoners in Westeros didn't have surnames and usually introduced themselves as "son of so-and-so," "daughter of so-and-so," or "so-and-so from such-and-such place." Even if commoners gave themselves a surname, it was generally meaningless and carried no weight. Only people with an "identity," like Aegor, could create and use a surname that others might recognize. For example, at least the people who had purchased Night's Watch bonds would remember Aegor's surname.

Neil looked rather plain. His height and build were similar to Aegor's, and it was clear from his frame that he hadn't gone hungry growing up. Nina, on the other hand, immediately caught Aegor's attention, not because of her beauty, but because of her eyes.

Her eyes were crystal clear, like a pristine spring. They sparkled with a lively light. For a moment, Aegor felt as though he had seen those eyes somewhere before. After some thought, he realized what they reminded him of: these were the eyes of someone who had been educated, seen a little of the world, and hadn't been beaten down by life's hardships. They were the eyes of someone whose curiosity and dreams were still intact, who still had hope for the future.

Before his time travel, Aegor had been surrounded by people with this kind of light in their eyes. But since arriving in Westeros, this kind of look had become extremely rare. It was something he had only seen in high-ranking nobles like Tyrion and Arya, people free from the crushing weight of survival. In sharp contrast, most of the common folk had eyes dulled by hardship, a numb and vacant expression that reflected lives spent merely trying to survive.

When someone spends every ounce of their strength just trying to stay alive, with no hope for the future, that emptiness becomes visible in their gaze.

It's no wonder people could tell at a glance whether someone was a noble or a commoner. It wasn't just their appearance, it was this "light," this temperament.

For a commoner in this world to have such a temperament was strange indeed. For a moment, Aegor even wondered if Nina might also be a reincarnator. But after finally tearing his gaze away, he noticed her youth: petite, with fair skin and a face still carrying a hint of baby fat. This girl couldn't be more than a few years older than Arya.

---

"Sir?" Nina's soft, clear voice snapped Aegor out of his thoughts. "The first batch of samples you requested has been completed. At Lord Tyrion's instruction, we used the original method without making any changes. We're waiting for your feedback and guidance."

Aegor nodded. As usual, he wanted to point out that he wasn't an adult, but after some thought, he decided it wasn't necessary. "Very well. Lead the way."

Neil seemed to be the quiet type, so Nina took the lead, guiding the group through the workshop. As they walked, she explained the tools, equipment, and processes used for each step with clarity and fluency. After a full tour, they arrived at the final product.

The girl, calm and composed throughout the tour, suddenly grew shy. Her voice wavered as she introduced the finished product. "This is the paper we've made. We're trying to make it thinner and stronger."

Is this supposed to be the original plant-fiber paper? Aegor looked at the pile of unevenly thick sheets on the table and was momentarily speechless.

Picking up a sheet between his fingers, Aegor examined it closely.

The color was a dark yellow, likely due to the lack of a bleaching process. The texture was hard, like a napkin that had been wet and dried again. The surface was rough, resembling the crust of a thick pancake. Aegor gently pulled on it, and with a sharp "snap," the sheet tore.

Tyrion wasn't joking—this paper was of such poor quality that it wasn't even fit for wiping one's arse.

Nina's face flushed crimson. Despite her usual quick wit, she found herself tongue-tied. She could only stare at Aegor with nervous eyes, afraid that the "boss behind the scenes" Lord Tyrion had mentioned would be angry.

Of course, Aegor wasn't angry. He had come to inspect an initial sample, not a perfect industrial product. This paper wasn't usable yet, but it was undeniably "paper," and that was enough for now.

"This won't work…"

Aegor muttered to himself. Touring the workshop with Nina had brought back memories of inspecting projects on behalf of clients before his time travel. And as a "leader," he naturally had to offer some guidance after the inspection.

Though he knew next to nothing about papermaking, Aegor decided to try and help as much as he could. If he didn't understand the specifics, he could at least offer broad suggestions. As long as the direction was right, the craftsmen could refine the details through experimentation.

---

"First, the uneven thickness must be due to issues in the soaking, boiling, or crushing stages. Those steps need to be more thorough. If you're short on manpower, try improving the equipment or using animal power. Don't worry about the cost, money is not a problem," Aegor began, finding his rhythm as he spoke. Problem-solving, after all, required universal skills that could be applied to any field.

"Next, find a craftsman to weave mats with smoother, finer surfaces for scooping the pulp. Spread the crushed raw materials evenly in water, use a sieve to filter out coarse debris, and then scoop it out with the mat quickly—don't waste time."

"Yes," Nina said, her eyes sparkling as she nodded eagerly.

"As for the color, there are two ways to improve it. One is to use chemicals to bleach and decolorize the raw materials during processing. The other is to add dye in the final step to force it white. You can decide which method to use. It doesn't need to be pure white, but the color should at least be light and even enough to contrast clearly with the text." Aegor continued, "The surface is too rough. For now, try polishing it during the drying step. Use smoother materials, but be careful not to grind it too thin or tear it. Press it lightly after it's half-dry. How many people are in your family? Avoid hiring outsiders for now. If you need more help, come to me or Lord Tyrion. As I said, money is not a problem."

Nina thought to herself, This boss is amazing! She nodded repeatedly, impressed not only by Aegor's advice but also by the confident way he gestured and emphasized, "money is not a problem."

Arya, who had been watching from the side, giggled. "You really know a lot, Master!"

"Don't interrupt," Aegor said, ruffling his apprentice's hair before continuing. "The biggest issue is that the paper isn't strong enough. That's a critical flaw. There's no easy fix for this, but try experimenting with different raw materials. If that doesn't work… Yes, add paste or glue during the final step to strengthen it. Again, money is not a problem. Focus on producing usable paper first. Once that's done, we can think about reducing costs."

"Glue…" Nina blinked, then clapped her hands. "Why didn't I think of that? That could work!"

---

For a moment, silence fell over the workshop. Finally, Tyrion broke it. "Anything else?"

"That's all," Aegor said, satisfied with himself and the advice he'd given.

"Did you remember everything?" Tyrion asked the siblings.

"Yes! We remember!"

"Good," Tyrion said seriously. "You heard what the boss said, money is not a problem. Work hard, and once you produce usable paper, you'll be rewarded."

"Oh, that reminds me," Aegor added. "Once you've mass-produced usable paper, one-tenth of the paper mill's profits will belong to you and your sister."

Chapter 75

A gasp of disbelief echoed in the room, and even Tyrion turned to Aegor with a look of despair: Hey, we agreed in advance there would be rewards, but shouldn't such an important decision at least be discussed beforehand?

Tyrion restrained himself from objecting outright and waited until they had left the house to confront Aegor. "Brother, that's one-tenth! I don't mind using some tricks to retain talent, but have you thought about how much we'll need to invest to expand that factory? You made no agreements, and yet you promised them one-tenth right away. Gods know how much that one-tenth could be worth in the future! Even if Nina is a charming girl, there's no need for this. If you want a girl, I'll find you one tonight. Did you see how she looks at you with admiration? If you're willing to put in a little effort, she'll be yours in no time. No need to promise one-tenth of the profits on impulse."

"Nina is going to be my master's wife?" Arya, who had only caught the second half of the conversation, looked utterly confused. "But didn't the Night's Watch swear never to marry?"

"What nonsense are you spouting now?" Aegor snapped out of his self-congratulatory mood, realizing he may have gone a little overboard in his excitement. But the words had already been spoken, and there was no taking them back. He repeatedly apologized to Tyrion and quickly explained, "Don't be so alarmed. It's just something I said, I haven't signed anything, so there's still room to negotiate. How about this: we'll amend what I said to apply only to the profits from this specific paper mill, the one we just saw. Any future expansions or related industrial chains won't be included. Also, the paper they produce will only be sold to our own printing factory for a set period, and we'll control the pricing and profit margins. Does that work?"

"You plan to deliberately lower the price, but they aren't fools. They'll eventually look for another way to sell it," Tyrion said, though he begrudgingly accepted the compromise. "Fine… if it's limited to just this workshop, then even giving them half the profits wouldn't be too much. Let's settle it that way."

"Actually… what's the harm in being a bit more generous? We're playing a financial game, and the best way to succeed is to share profits with the key participants. When the paper mill grows, we can issue bonds to distribute dividends to the siblings. They'll get their rewards, but most of the money will still stay in our hands. Isn't that the best of both worlds?"

"And what if people cash in those bonds for actual money?"

"Of course, we'll pay them. The most important thing in finance is maintaining credit. Don't worry about the occasional payout. As long as we keep enough capital in reserve, it'll be fine. Once our credit is solid, anyone who takes money out will eventually deposit it back," Aegor said. "When the first batch of usable paper is ready, we'll start planning the factory's expansion. During that process, remember to involve wealthy families and merchants from King's Landing and the Crownlands. Don't try to hoard all the benefits. The Lannister name carries weight, sure, but even a strong dragon can't suppress a local snake. If you want to prevent others from stealing our business, the best way is to turn potential rivals into partners."

"A 'community of interests'—isn't this the hundredth time you've said that? Do I look that stupid?" Tyrion smirked, clearly in a good mood. "To be honest, 'borrowing money' and attracting investments for cooperative ventures are much more enticing than Night's Watch bonds, which have no backing. I'm starting to think we should launch another investment-based debt project."

…

For Tyrion, a core member of House Lannister, this "community of interests" was just a matter of how much profit he could make. But for Aegor, it represented an opportunity to gradually integrate himself into the upper echelons of Westerosi society, claim a seat at their table, and earn influence and a voice in critical decisions.

With Arya and her Stark guards present, Aegor and Tyrion were careful to change the subject whenever their conversation veered too close to sensitive matters.

"The small room over there is the printing facility I set up. Want to take a look?"

"Let's go."

The group visited Tyrion's so-called "printing factory." Since the papermaking issue hadn't been resolved yet, the space was currently little more than a residence and workshop for two engravers. There, Aegor saw the printing plates for the Night's Watch bonds, as well as an engraving project for the Seven-Pointed Star in progress.

"Have you contacted the church yet?" Aegor asked.

"Not yet. If they refuse, I'll sell the books myself. Do you really think there's no market for cheap Seven-Pointed Stars? That's absurd."

"Maybe, but what if the church declares that printed Seven-Pointed Stars are sacrilegious and blasphemous?"

"Pah!" Tyrion spat on the ground. "To hell with their piety. Worst-case scenario, I'll give the High Septon a statue of the Seven made entirely of gold. I guarantee he'll change his tune. And if that doesn't work, well, if they cut off Tyrion Lannister's financial resources, they won't live to regret it."

"Yes! Kill them, and we can all go worship the old gods together!" Arya cheered.

"You're a sly little rascal!"

"Don't corrupt the child," Aegor scolded, rolling his eyes at Tyrion's mock ferocity. "Just go ahead with the printing. I'll back you all the way."

…

Joking aside, Aegor's concerns weren't unfounded. Flooding the market with printed copies of the Seven-Pointed Star would likely increase the church's influence in the short term. But in the long run, it would undermine the church's control over the people. The logic was simple: currently, only middle- and high-ranking clergy had access to the Seven-Pointed Star, while common missionaries and ordinary believers had to rely entirely on priests' interpretations. Once the printed version became widespread, literate individuals could read and interpret the text themselves, weakening the church's monopoly on doctrine.

Still, Aegor kept these thoughts to himself. This wasn't because he was particularly clever but because history offered clear examples. The leaders of the Faith of the Seven likely lacked the foresight to see this, and even if they did, it wouldn't affect Aegor directly. His immediate goal was to make money for the Night's Watch and himself. Let King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms deal with the fallout.

…

Woodblock printing wasn't technically difficult, and Aegor didn't find an opportunity to impress anyone with another "groundbreaking" idea. He explained the principles of movable type printing to Tyrion and the engravers, but after some discussion, they decided against it for now.

Movable type required extensive material selection, skill, and expertise. Without advanced industrial tools, it was inefficient and prone to errors, like uneven letters or misaligned prints. For now, they decided to focus on reliability and stability, rather than chasing vague notions of "progress."

…

Tyrion sighed, lamenting that such an advanced technology couldn't be implemented immediately.

"Don't worry," Aegor reassured him. "When we've got more funds, you'll be able to print all the science and literature books you've ever dreamed of. Movable type will have its moment."

"Fine. For now, let's focus on making money."

…

While the adults worked all day, Arya had a great time running around and broadening her horizons. As night fell, her guards urged her to return to the Red Keep. Reluctantly, Arya bid farewell to her master and Tyrion and followed her escort home.

Aegor and Tyrion returned to the inn, handed their reins to the stablehands, and prepared to end the busy day.

Inside, Jack was waiting for them in the lobby. "Aegor, someone from the Red Keep delivered this for you. It's from the Black Castle."

A letter from Castle Black? Frowning, Aegor accepted the parchment sealed with black wax. The agreed date for the next batch of supplies was still far off. What could this letter be about?

Chapter Text

Chapter 76

"What's in the letter?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"It's nothing good," Aegor replied, his brow furrowed. "As of the time this letter was sent, Benjen and his patrols still haven't returned to Castle Black. Mormont has sent out several more search parties, but none of them found any trace of him. Now, he's preparing to organize a large-scale reconnaissance mission beyond the Wall. The letter not only urges Yoren to bring the new recruits back to the Wall as soon as possible, but also asks me to prepare a shipment of weapons, cold-weather gear, and portable rations to send north. They're afraid they'll have to face the White Walkers."

"White Walkers again?"

Tyrion frowned, baffled. He didn't believe in the old legends of gods and monsters, but he also couldn't imagine why Aegor would lie to him about something so seemingly irrelevant.

The fact that Aegor kept repeating such claims in a serious tone made Tyrion waver slightly. But shaking his head, he chose to dismiss the subject. "Something doesn't add up. Didn't we already send the first batch of supplies? According to our agreement, the next batch isn't due for another month or two. Why are they rushing us now?"

"The first shipment hasn't reached Eastwatch yet—it was shipped from King's Landing, after all," Aegor said solemnly. "I'll have to check on the progress of the dragonglass mining operation in the coming days. But that's my personal matter; let's drop it for now and get some food and rest."

---

All Aegor wanted was to start a business with Tyrion in King's Landing, live a good life, and focus on his own plans. But why did the ripples of the larger plot refuse to leave him in peace, constantly dragging him back into chaos?

Benjen's disappearance wasn't surprising. Aegor had expected it. At Castle Black, he had assumed the First Ranger's decision to go north was simply out of a sense of duty and stubbornness. But after learning more from Melisandre, his perspective had shifted.

Aegor couldn't shake the suspicion that Benjen's disappearance and transformation into "Coldhands" might have been orchestrated by the "Old Gods" or the Greenseers.

Perhaps the Old Gods needed a servant who "was not alive," someone who didn't require supplies and whose "cold body" wouldn't easily draw the attention of the wights. This servant could operate north of the Wall, ensuring that Bran Stark would still have someone to guide him after crossing into the far north to accept his destiny. The direwolves given to the Stark children might have been part of the same plan, a way to activate their latent abilities. Especially for Bran, having a companion like Summer, far more capable and perceptive than any human, would be invaluable on his journey.

---

Aegor pinched his thigh, snapping himself out of his spiraling thoughts. He reminded himself of a simple truth: "Not everything is a conspiracy."

Rather than overthinking the possible manipulations of the Greenseers, it was better to focus on the immediate situation: Mormont's planned large-scale reconnaissance mission beyond the Wall.

The Ranger Expedition, as it would later be known, wasn't a bad idea on paper. Leading a force of over 300 Night's Watchmen, half of them professional soldiers meant that, barring an overwhelming assault by tens of thousands of wildlings, they were practically untouchable. Yet, the expedition didn't encounter wildlings. Instead, it stumbled upon something far worse: an army of the dead.

That disastrous engagement at the Fist of the First Men nearly annihilated the Night's Watch's elite forces, including their leadership. Of those left at Castle Black, most were old, injured, or inexperienced. It was a crushing blow to morale. Had it been any other army, the organization might have been disbanded entirely. As it stood, the Night's Watch barely managed to repel the wildlings' first wave of tentative attacks.

Aegor's mind instinctively wondered: could the Greenseers have deliberately orchestrated this? Perhaps the goal was to weaken the Night's Watch, ensuring the wildlings could breach the Wall and escape into the south, thereby preventing them from bolstering the White Walkers' ranks.

But he quickly dismissed the idea. The Greenseers might be powerful, but they weren't omnipotent. If they wanted to ensure the wildlings crossed the Wall, wouldn't it be simpler to manipulate Mormont into letting them through rather than orchestrating such a convoluted chain of events?

Besides, judging from the original story, the gods' whispers and manipulations weren't as powerful as they seemed. The Greenseers were in a weakened state, and this expedition was far more likely to be Mormont's own decision.

---

What should a rational person be considering right now?

Does this plotline affect me? Do I need to intervene? If so, how should I do it?

The disastrous results of the Ranger Expedition had several implications. First, it led to the death of Jeor Mormont and the rise of Jon Snow. While Jon's promotion could benefit Aegor by creating a more flexible leader who owed him favors, the Night's Watch's decimation was a double-edged sword. If the wildlings broke through and the Wall fell, Aegor, sitting far to the south, would be caught in the ensuing chaos.

But then again, if the War of the Five Kings didn't happen, the northern lords would still have the strength to send reinforcements to the Wall. In that case, the wildlings' invasion could be halted, albeit with consequences for whoever took charge.

Wait. Aegor paused. If the northern lords intervened, they would inevitably impose their authority over the Night's Watch. And what role would Aegor play in all this as the "chief logistics officer" stationed in King's Landing?

---

After running through several mental scenarios, Aegor's head began to spin. There were too many variables, and predicting the future with any certainty was impossible. Even professionals with access to vast amounts of information often made mistakes.

I'm not a prophet, nor am I as adept as Littlefinger at thriving in chaos.

Perhaps the simplest and most practical option was to do nothing. He could fulfill Mormont's supply request, maintain his distance, and let events unfold as they would.

But then, a memory from the last season of the show he had watched before his time travel struck him like lightning.

In the original plot, after the War of the Five Kings had run its course, Jon Snow foolishly led a group beyond the Wall to capture a wight and bring it back to King's Landing. This ridiculous and belated stunt served only to give the Night King a dragon, ultimately enabling the Wall's destruction.

That had been the screenwriters' way of advancing the story and balancing the conflict between the living and the dead. But Aegor wasn't a screenwriter, he was a time traveler. He didn't care about making the story exciting. If it were up to him, he'd ensure the White Walkers were destroyed in their lairs before they could pose a threat, allowing him to live out his life in peace.

What if, Aegor thought, at this crucial turning point, the Night's Watch captured a wight and brought it south to King's Landing? What if they placed it before Robert Baratheon, who sat feasting in the Red Keep, oblivious to the gathering storm? What kind of explosive impact would that have?

If he was already changing the plot, why stop now? Why not go big?

Chapter 77

It was impossible for Aegor to return to the Wall and personally oversee the mission to capture a wight. So, how could he remotely guide the Night's Watch to pull off such a daring feat without having any direct command authority? That was a question that required careful thought and planning.

Fortunately, Mormont had written specifically to request more men and supplies, making it clear that the Lord Commander had no intention of launching the expedition immediately. Aegor still had some time to devise a plan. For now, he would set the matter aside and focus on the tasks at hand.

---

Over dinner, Aegor passed along the instructions from the letter to Yoren. The old recruiter had been planning to enjoy a few more days in King's Landing with a pocket full of coin, but the sudden order to return north left him both shocked and disappointed.

"You can take your time on the road," Aegor advised. Having served as a brother of the Night's Watch himself, he fully understood Yoren's reluctance to leave. "When are you planning to set off?"

"Taking it slow sounds tempting, but I can't linger here after receiving an order like that," Yoren replied glumly. "We've gathered more than a dozen recruits, and everything's ready to go. I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"Alright, then I have a favor to ask before you go. Let me take one of the recruits off your hands, the one we talked about before, Jaqen H'ghar. The man who was caught stealing a book. Leave him with me."

"That dangerous one?" Yoren looked at Aegor with disbelief. "What do you want him for?"

"He's spent several nights in the Red Keep's library. He must be literate," Aegor explained. "The office could use someone who can read and write."

"It's rare enough to find a girl with a cock, let alone a man who can read," Yoren joked, laughing at the absurdity of the situation despite himself. Then his expression turned serious. "Aegor, that man's a slippery one. He was only caught because he was cornered. If you release him from the cage, he'll vanish before you can blink. I've already decided not to let him or the other two murderers out until I reach Castle Black and hand them over to Alliser."

Aegor understood Yoren's concerns and agreed with his decision in principle. But the truth was, Jaqen H'ghar would escape eventually, no matter how closely he was guarded. Even a skilled fighter like Barristan Selmy had only managed to capture him by locking him in a room.

By freeing Jaqen early, Aegor could at least claim some credit for doing the man a favor. It wouldn't hurt to build a connection with someone as resourceful and unpredictable as Jaqen.

Saying no more, Aegor pressed a round, gleaming coin into Yoren's hand. "Don't overthink it. If you let him stay, this should cover all your travel expenses, with enough left over to eat and drink well on the way to the Wall. And when you come back to King's Landing, I'll make sure you leave with ten more recruits."

"Ten more? You'll be lucky if half of these don't bolt before the next time I'm here." Yoren snorted but pocketed the gold coin all the same. After a moment of consideration, he nodded. "Fine, take him. But be careful. Don't let the Kingsguard find out the man they caught is roaming free, and don't let him kill you while you're at it."

"I'll be careful," Aegor promised.

---

Tyrion's enthusiasm for their venture showed no signs of waning. The dwarf rose early every day, heading out to oversee operations. He and his brother Jaime couldn't be more different: Jaime, the heir chosen by their father, was obsessed with chivalry, honor, and public recognition. Meanwhile, Tyrion, despised by his father and dismissed as a liability, craved his family's approval and sought to prove his worth.

Aegor suspected Tyrion's zeal wasn't entirely about the money; it was also a way to earn his father's respect.

Stop worrying about other people's problems, Aegor, he told himself. Focus on your own business.

Clearing his thoughts, Aegor dressed and left his room. After washing up, he met Yoren over breakfast to confirm the timing of the handoff. Then he headed to the Night's Watch office to begin his usual routine.

Not long after the sun had risen, Arya arrived, full of energy as always. But today, Aegor was already preparing to leave to rescue Jaqen H'ghar.

"Master!" Arya called cheerfully. "Wherever you go, I'm coming too!"

"No, I'm escorting Yoren and his recruits back to the Wall. They're just a bunch of scoundrels and rapists, not something worth seeing. Stay here or go back to the Red Keep," Aegor said, shaking his head. He had no intention of letting Arya witness him freeing one of the prisoners.

"I want to go too!" Arya protested.

Aegor raised an eyebrow. "Stop being difficult and listen to me."

Arya glared at him for a few seconds, then relented with a sigh. "Fine… I'll wait for you here. How long will you be gone?"

"I'll be back before sunset," Aegor reassured her, his tone softening. "Take care of the office while I'm gone, and I'll have a reward for you when I get back."

"Alright!" Arya beamed.

Satisfied, Aegor nodded. The first step in training Arya to follow instructions had gone smoothly.

Humans, after all, were just animals. And compared to adults, children were even more instinct-driven. Smart "animals" were highly moldable. By using rewards and punishments to guide their behavior, Aegor could shape their habits and responses. Over time, Arya would learn when it was worthwhile to push for what she wanted and when it wasn't.

She had already picked up on the expression Aegor had shown earlier, one that left no room for negotiation. And just as he expected, she stopped pushing as soon as she realized it wouldn't work.

Of course, saying these principles is one thing, but implementing them at the start was no easy task. Aegor had benefited from Arya's good character and the fact that she saw him as a master. He wasn't afraid of offending her and relied on three firm rules to suppress the innate arrogance of the Stark princess. The speed of his success had clearly startled the Winterfell guard tasked with escorting Arya. The gray-cloaked soldier's eyes nearly popped out of his head: Since when has our proud little lady become so obedient?

---

The first Night's Watch stronghold in the south was conveniently located opposite the East Camp of the City Watch, one of King's Landing's two "police stations." With nothing valuable or irreplaceable in the office yet, Aegor was comfortable leaving Arya behind after a quick explanation. Confidently leaving the office door open, he rode northwest through King's Landing.

After passing through the Gate of the Gods and following the King's Road for a few miles, Aegor soon found Yoren and his party waiting for him by the roadside.

Two carriages were parked under the shade of a large tree. One held a wooden cage for the prisoners, while the other carried condiments, medicines, and spices that Yoren had purchased. Thanks to the supplies provided by Tyrion and Aegor, Yoren's preparations for the journey were far less stressful than they might have been. Without their assistance, he would have spent days running around procuring provisions for the trek to the Wall.

In addition to the carriages and their horses, there were five or six donkeys and a dozen people gathered in the shade. Yoren himself was seated on the driver's seat of the supply wagon, while the orphans he had lured with promises of "full bellies and warm clothes" squatted or stood nearby, looking bored. Together with the prisoners forced to join the Night's Watch, they stared curiously at Aegor as he approached on horseback.

Even a fool could tell that, despite his black garb, the man riding toward them carried an entirely different air from the others. Perhaps he was an officer of the Night's Watch?

The more astute among them were already calculating how to win favor with their apparent superior, but Aegor didn't give them the chance to waste their energy. Riding straight to Yoren, he greeted him briefly, prompting the old recruiter to climb down from the wagon.

"You haven't changed your mind?" Yoren asked skeptically.

"Why would I?" Aegor replied with a snort before turning his attention to the three prisoners locked in the wooden cage.

It was no surprise that Yoren was wary of these three. One of them was a man with no nose, just a gaping hole in the center of his face. Another was a fat, bald man with sharp, animalistic teeth, a face covered in pus-filled sores, and a feral glint in his eyes. The last one, however, stood in stark contrast to the others. He had regular features, was neatly dressed, and wore an air of calm gentleness. That incongruity alone made him the most unsettling of the three.

So ordinary, Aegor thought as he studied the third man. Nothing like the cool, mysterious image from the show. Had Jaqen H'ghar not been locked in the cage, Aegor doubted he would have been able to pick him out of a crowd. As a spy and assassin, Jaqen had clearly mastered the art of blending in with a "common" appearance.

Still, Aegor couldn't help but wonder: was this even Jaqen's true face? Did the Faceless Men rely on human skin masks, or was there some kind of magic involved in their transformations?

He didn't let his gaze linger on Jaqen for too long. Instead, he deliberately looked around the group and raised his voice. "The Night's Watch office needs someone who can read and write. Can any of you read?"

Chapter 78

To avoid drawing the attention of the gold cloaks, Aegor and Yoren deliberately conducted their "transaction" outside the city walls. When Aegor asked his question, silence fell over the group. In a world where literacy rates were abysmally low, anyone who could read and write was considered a rare and valuable resource. Add basic arithmetic to that skill set, and they were regarded as "talented." For the Night's Watch, such individuals were either volunteers like Benjen Stark and Jon Snow or disgraced nobles like Alliser Thorne who had been forced to don the black. In times of peace, it was almost impossible to imagine such a person ending up among the ragtag recruits bound for the Wall.

Among the dozen or so recruits gathered here, none could read, except for Jaqen H'ghar.

As expected, after a few seconds of silence, a calm and gentle male voice broke through.

"Someone happens to know some Westerosi writing."

Someone? Someone? Can't you just say 'I' like a normal person?

Aegor couldn't help but roll his eyes internally at Jaqen's odd phrasing, though he knew the reason behind it. Jaqen wasn't trying to show off; he was deliberately concealing his Braavosi origins. Disguised as a Lorath noble, he adhered to Lorath cultural norms, where using "I" was considered vulgar. Instead, the upper class referred to themselves as "someone."

While Aegor found it irritating, he had no choice but to play along. After all, he was also pretending to be a foreigner—a "Tsena" noble. Since Jaqen had spoken, it meant his mission did not require him to travel to the Wall, and he had no intention of heading to the far north just yet.

"Can you read?" Aegor asked, stepping closer to the cage and holding out a piece of paper. "What does this say?"

"Office… Night's Watch," Jaqen said after squinting briefly. "Night's Watch Office."

"Good," Aegor said, putting the paper away. He turned to Yoren. "What crime did this one commit?"

Yoren gave Aegor a look that practically screamed, Are you serious? But, having taken a gold dragon from him, the old recruiter begrudgingly played along. "He read the king's book."

"Read the king's book?" Aegor raised an eyebrow and looked back at Jaqen. "What book?"

"A book about dragons," Jaqen answered smoothly. "Someone has always been curious about these powerful magical creatures since childhood. Valyria has been destroyed, and only Westeros still holds knowledge of dragons."

It was an ambiguous answer, neither fully convincing nor entirely suspicious.

"And for that, you're being sent to the Wall?" Aegor pressed.

Yoren shrugged, clearly not interested in the details. "Who knows? That's not for me to decide."

"Well, since he's not a murderer, he'll do," Aegor said, feigning satisfaction. In truth, Jaqen had probably killed more people than everyone else here combined, but as long as he wasn't a threat to Aegor personally, it didn't matter. Everyone deserved a chance, after all. "But before I let you out, I'll need you to make some promises. Books are meant to be read, and what you did isn't a serious crime. If, one day, you decide to leave and go home, that's fine. But until I can recruit someone else, you must work diligently for the office. And before you leave, you'll need to notify me and pay a fair ransom. Do you agree?"

"Someone agrees," Jaqen replied without hesitation.

"Very well. Swear an oath."

"Someone swears by the old and new gods—"

"Stop. I'm not from Westeros, and I don't believe in the old or new gods," Aegor interrupted, a sudden idea forming in his mind. "There is only one true god: Death. Swear to the God of Death in your name. And add this, you will never harm the interests of the Night's Watch."

Under Aegor's steady gaze, Jaqen hesitated briefly before speaking again. "I, Jaqen H'ghar, swear to the God of Death that I will never harm the interests of the Night's Watch. Before I have to leave, I will serve the Night's Watch with all my heart and soul. I also promise to notify the Night's Watch and pay the ransom before I leave."

---

Pay a ransom? What a cunning bastard! Yoren realized belatedly what was happening. Compared to the ransom he'll likely charge, that single gold dragon is nothing. While annoyed, Yoren reminded himself that the ransom wouldn't benefit him personally, so he kept his grumbling to himself.

Aegor, meanwhile, noticed how Jaqen had carefully phrased his oath. "Before I have to leave"? It was as if Jaqen was already anticipating an unavoidable departure. For all Aegor knew, the Faceless Man could announce his departure that very evening, leave a small payment behind, and vanish without a trace.

Still, Jaqen's willingness to play along indicated that he had no intention of outright breaking the oath. Aegor wasn't expecting much from him anyway. Forcing someone like Jaqen to swear eternal loyalty to the Night's Watch was pointless. After all, hadn't Aegor himself sworn the same oath only to plot his own departure? An obviously unreasonable oath would only give someone an excuse to break it.

For a skilled spy like Jaqen, changing his name and claiming Jaqen H'ghar was dead would be enough to render any promise void.

---

"Alright, let him out," Aegor said.

Yoren shot him another irritated look. Do I look like your subordinate? With a sigh, the old recruiter handed over the key. "Do it yourself. I need to keep an eye on these two." Drawing his sword, he added, "And I'll kill anyone who tries to run. Swords don't have eyes!"

Aegor took the key and stepped up to the cage. Before his time at the Wall, the sight of the other two prisoners, one with a noseless face and the other a feral, pustule-covered brute might have intimidated him. But after a year as a Ranger, facing White Walkers and the horrors of the Haunted Forest, such sights no longer fazed him.

He unlocked the door, opened it, and watched as Jaqen crawled out and stood. The other two prisoners roared and lunged toward the opening but were swiftly forced back by Yoren's sword. Calmly, Aegor locked the cage again, removed the shackles from Jaqen's wrists and ankles, and tossed the key back to Yoren.

---

"Put on black," Aegor said, tossing Jaqen a package. "From now until you leave, you're a member of the Night's Watch. You're lucky—you don't have to guard the Wall or fight monsters in the north. But you'll need a new name. Let's call you… Akun."

"Someone has no objections," Jaqen said with a slight bow.

"Good. Yoren, safe travels to you and your recruits." Aegor glanced at the remaining dozen men, gave a nod of farewell, mounted his horse, and gestured to Jaqen. "Let's go, Akun."

Since Aegor hadn't prepared a horse for Jaqen, the two rode back to the city on the same mount. Despite trusting Jaqen enough to release him, Aegor couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that the man might stab him in the back at any moment. By the time they reached the Night's Watch office, Aegor was surprised to find his legs trembling slightly as he dismounted.

When they stepped inside, Aegor was startled to find that quite a few people were waiting for him.

Chapter 79

"You're so slow, Master!" Arya jumped up as soon as Aegor entered and complained with dissatisfaction.

"Where have you been?" Tyrion frowned, giving Aegor a hard stare. "You left Miss Stark to watch the office and made customers who wanted to buy bonds wait for you! Ha! What a fine chief logistics officer of the Night's Watch you are!"

Damn. Aegor immediately realized the identity of the other two people in the room and quickly apologized. He had promised Tyrion he would stay in the office at all times but had broken that promise to secure Jaqen's release, nearly creating a disaster. That such a mistake happened at the very start of the bond campaign was inexcusable, even to himself. No wonder even the usually affable Tyrion sounded so sharp.

---

"That's alright. It was quite pleasant chatting with Miss Stark," said one of the men Tyrion had brought. He had only come to give face to the Lannisters, but unexpectedly meeting the daughter of the Hand of the Seven Kingdoms had turned out to be a stroke of luck. With the Stark family's position and influence, such an encounter was rare for someone from his station. Waiting a while had been worth it.

"This is Ser Lian Brune, and this is Ser Roger Hogg—two noblemen from the Crownlands," Tyrion introduced them.

"Greetings, my lords. I apologize again for being late." Aegor greeted the two courteously and quickly straightened his clothes. "Please, come in."

---

Making others wait while borrowing their money was never a wise move. If these two potential investors had expressed displeasure or walked away, Aegor could only have accepted it with a smile. Fortunately, Arya's presence had softened the situation. Both knights were polite, which gave Aegor a small sigh of relief. Spending time fostering a relationship with the youngest Stark was already proving to have unexpected benefits.

Leaving Akun to guard the outer room, Aegor invited the guests into the inner office for a detailed discussion. After introducing the bond system and answering their questions, both knights purchased 100 gold dragons each. Once the signing and sealing procedures were completed, Aegor exchanged some polite conversation with them before personally escorting them out of the office.

---

"I understand that you're busy," Tyrion said once the knights had left, "but if you're going to leave, you need to let me know ahead of time. Better yet, set a proper schedule. Tell me which days you'll be here without fail and which days I shouldn't bring anyone. Is that too much to ask?"

Aegor nodded quickly, knowing he was in the wrong. For several reasons, he couldn't delegate the signing of bonds to anyone else, but he also had to leave the office from time to time for other matters. After giving it some thought, he realized he needed to establish set workdays and rest days.

"I've got some new ideas to discuss with you," Tyrion said, his tone softening. He wasn't one to dwell on mistakes. "You've seen that I can attract people. I know who has spare money, and who's easy to persuade. But even with all that, they'll only buy the minimum—100 gold dragons. Without something tangible to show them, you can't expect them to invest more. Words and promises alone won't make them spend their fortunes."

"That's true," Aegor admitted, "but once the first and second groups receive their returns—"

"That will take time," Tyrion interrupted, waving a hand. "My idea is to create something similar to a bond but focused on investment and cooperation. Write down agreements for future profits and dividends as a certificate."

"You mean… a new bond product?" Aegor caught on immediately. "An investment voucher, maybe? We calculate the funds needed to build an industrial chain, papermaking, printing, even bookstores and use the voucher to represent a shareholder's stake in those ventures?"

"Exactly," Tyrion confirmed. "It would complement the bonds we're already selling. Bonds offer a low return and can be withdrawn at any time. Investment vouchers, on the other hand, would tie the principal to the venture. They might yield much higher returns, but the money would be locked in. Investors couldn't withdraw it, only transfer ownership to someone else. That way, we cater to two types of people: those with some spare money who need liquidity and those with significant wealth looking for long-term opportunities."

"That's a great idea. Once the product is ready, we can create some high-quality samples to attract investors," Aegor agreed but couldn't shake a vague sense of unease. "You'll handle the business side and operations, and I'll focus on the technical and creative aspects. I'll also visit Nina frequently to oversee their progress on papermaking improvements."

"Good."

Taking a deep breath, Aegor suddenly understood where his unease stemmed from: everything was moving too fast. Initially, he had only intended to run a simple Ponzi scheme to establish himself. Now, he was delving into financing and shares before even paying the first round of interest. Could someone like him, with his limited experience and resources, truly control the beast of capital?

He wasn't confident, but there was no turning back now. Unless he chose to betray Tyrion, pocket the money, and flee across the Narrow Sea to live in obscurity, his only option was to push forward.

This... must be the mental journey every entrepreneur goes through, he thought grimly.

Thankfully, he had the advantage of operating in an undeveloped market, with almost no competition, and had a resourceful Lannister as his partner.

---

"Have you two finished talking yet? Are we practicing today or not?" Arya interrupted, clearly fed up. She hated discussions about bonds and shares. Aside from knowing they were related to money, she didn't understand a thing. What she did know was that she had spent the entire day waiting and doing nothing. "Those two guys just now… they kept asking me questions! Then they started asking if I was married or if I liked anyone. It's none of their business!"

"Well, it is none of their business," Tyrion said with a laugh. The two knights he had brought in were relatively wealthy, but Arya Stark's status was far beyond their reach. Even if she were to marry, it would be to a powerful earl or marquis, not someone like them. Still, Tyrion couldn't fault their curiosity. "Your sister Sansa is already engaged to Prince Joffrey. For the next century, the Starks will be one of the most powerful families in the realm. Of course, the marriage of the queen's sister is going to attract attention."

"Tsk, Sansa's such an idiot," Arya muttered, crossing her arms. "She's perfect for Joffrey, that lying jerk. I don't want to end up like her!"

Aegor cheered internally but couldn't let her continue. "Where's my little lady apprentice? Don't say such rude things!"

"Hmph." Arya pouted but suddenly grew quiet, her thoughts drifting elsewhere. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of Mycah, the butcher's boy who had practiced swords with her before his untimely death. She sniffled and stayed silent.

---

Yes, Sansa is already engaged to Joffrey, and Eddard is not only the current Hand of the King and Robert's sworn brother but also the father-in-law to the future king. It's likely that even Eddard himself didn't fully realize that this connection was part of what gave him the confidence to come to King's Landing, despite knowing the dangers that awaited him.

Unfortunately, in the original timeline, after being lured by Littlefinger, Eddard quickly uncovered the truth about Cersei and Jaime's secret. What had been his greatest source of confidence turned into his greatest threat. With Eddard's unyielding pride, there was no way he would allow his beloved daughter to marry the product of incest, especially the illegitimate child of Jaime Lannister, whom he loathed above all others. However, his unwavering sense of "honor" wouldn't permit him to harm the children. Trapped in this conflict, Eddard's every move after that inevitably led to disaster.

Thinking about this, Aegor's thoughts shifted to the rumors he had spread several days ago. Out of caution, he hadn't shared this plan with anyone before or after carrying it out. He hadn't even tried to probe the situation indirectly. Given how preoccupied he'd been with other matters recently, he might have completely forgotten about "dealing with Littlefinger" or "preventing the War of the Five Kings." If things continued down the same path and the war broke out as in the original plot, it would lead to nothing but trouble for him.

He needed to know now whether the rumors had gained traction, so he could decide whether to take additional steps to destabilize Littlefinger's position.

"Oh, right," Aegor said, pretending to have just remembered something. "I heard a rather nasty rumor circulating these days. I wonder if you've heard it too…"

"Are you talking about the rumor that Littlefinger poisoned Jon Arryn?" Tyrion interrupted with a smirk, curling his lips in disdain. "It's spread across the entire city already. Even I just heard about it this morning."

Chapter 80

"It's all over the city?" Aegor raised his eyebrows, working hard to keep his tone neutral. He realized he might have underestimated the destructive power of high-level gossip, especially one centered on an affair between the Master of Coin and the former Hand of the King's wife. However, his intention in spreading the rumor wasn't just to disgust Littlefinger. He needed to know if it had caused enough damage to disrupt Littlefinger's plans moving forward. "Well… what did the person involved say?"

"It's none of my business." Tyrion sneered, his expression one of mockery. "That 'Hugh' was just some insignificant servant. Those notes are likely not even his last words. But the person who started this rumor was quite cunning. The content is either unverifiable or exaggerated to distort the truth. There aren't any real loopholes in the story… Still, Baelish is the Master of Coin a 'pillar of the realm.' How could a rumor bring him down? That said…" Tyrion paused, a sardonic grin curling his lips. "I haven't seen him around these past few days. His brothel is still open, though."

"Really?" Aegor concealed his unease. It was true that clever people like Tyrion generally didn't involve themselves in gossip, which fit perfectly with his character. But since the rumor had clearly spread far and wide, it meant Aegor could safely investigate its effects without raising suspicion. The only question now was: Who could I ask to find out if the rumors achieved their intended effect?

…

After some thought, Aegor decided to talk to the Stark guard who escorted Arya to and from her "classes" every day. His immediate goal was to prevent Littlefinger from gaining Eddard's trust, and who better to provide insight into Eddard's thoughts than one of his subordinates?

Or perhaps…

"The rumor…" Arya sniffled, suddenly perking up as the conversation finally shifted to something she recognized. For once, she wasn't being ignored. Taking the opportunity to jump in, she proudly shared the information she had overheard: "My father said the king sent a letter to Lady Arryn, asking her to come to King's Landing to explain the rumor and clear her name."

Ah, of course. Aegor mentally kicked himself. Eddard's daughter was right in front of him, why bother going through the guard outside? He had been treating Arya like a child who wouldn't understand anything. But in truth, ten-year-olds, especially smart ones, could grasp much more than adults often gave them credit for. Arya was not only Eddard's daughter but also his apprentice. She had daily access to the Hand of the Seven Kingdoms and trusted Aegor enough to speak freely around him. If handled carefully, Arya could be the perfect "ears."

The realization delighted Aegor more than he expected. Building a relationship with a Stark was turning out to be far more advantageous than he had initially imagined.

But he couldn't let his excitement show. Arya might be eager to share information with him, but she was just as likely to relay everything he said back to her father. While she could provide key insights, Aegor needed to tread carefully, any careless words could lead Eddard to grow suspicious, which would ruin everything.

…

Tyrion smirked at Arya. "Lady Arryn? If I recall correctly, she's your aunt."

"Oh, yes, she's my aunt." Arya nodded, blinking in slight embarrassment. "But I don't even know what she looks like… I didn't expect her to be this kind of person!"

"It's just a rumor," Tyrion replied, adopting a lecturing tone. "It's the nature of common folk to believe every bit of gossip they hear. As for the king's letter, it's meaningless. Lysa Arryn will never come to King's Landing. If the rumor is true, she wouldn't leave her fortress to walk into a trap. And if it's false, she would still assume it's a ploy to harm her and stay in the safety of the Eyrie."

"Exactly," Aegor agreed. "In the Vale of Arryn, Lady Arryn rules as a queen. But if she came to King's Landing, she'd be nothing more than the widow of the former Hand. I wouldn't come either."

He paused, pretending to think for a moment, then asked nonchalantly, "Well, Arya, what has your father been up to these past few days? What does he think of the rumor? Or has he been spending his time with Lord Baelish?"

Arya answered without hesitation. "No, Jory said Littlefinger's been ordered not to leave the Red Keep, and my father… seems to be investigating where the rumor came from."

Ordered not to leave the Red Keep? That sounded a lot like a noble version of "house arrest." As for Eddard investigating the source of the rumor, Aegor's mind raced as he reviewed every step he had taken: the ink was common, the parchment was high-quality but widely available, and the purchases had been made by Tyrion's servants for legitimate purposes. No one else had been involved, and no one else knew about it. Unless Eddard had some way of analyzing fingerprints on the notes, it should be impossible for him to trace the rumor back to Aegor.

I probably should have worn gloves, Aegor thought with mild regret, though he quickly dismissed the idea. Westeros doesn't have that kind of forensic technology anyway.

Letting out a breath of relief, he suddenly felt a strong sense of disbelief. Could it be that Littlefinger, the master manipulator of King's Landing and one of the most dangerous players in the Game of Thrones, was being outmaneuvered by a simple rumor?

---

Nothing is impossible. This is the real world. Littlefinger's power was built on conspiracy and the trust of those in power. It had no real foundation. When left unnoticed, he was the most dangerous. But the moment someone who knows his schemes forces him into the light, exposing him to scrutiny, his so-called "power" dissolves like spring snow under the midday sun.

Once he loses the trust of Eddard and King Robert, and becomes a suspect in the murder of the former Hand of the King, Petyr Baelish's grand ambitions are over. Of course, Eddard might suspect that these rumors are a Lannister plot designed to divert his attention, and Petyr could still find ways to manipulate Eddard into discovering Cersei and Jaime's secret. However, Aegor's interference had already disrupted the original trajectory of events. Even if the plot were to continue as before, the ending would inevitably shift, for better or worse.

Regardless, the current situation was far less bleak than the disaster that unfolded in the original story.

…

Aegor didn't let himself bask in the satisfaction of outmaneuvering Littlefinger too long. Petyr might be finished, but he wasn't dead. And even if he were, that wouldn't mean victory. Aegor's true enemy wasn't just a master schemer, it was war itself.

Since the death of the Targaryens' last dragon, Westeros had lost its most powerful symbol of unity. The Seven Kingdoms had stayed together only out of inertia, bound by the lingering echoes of conquest and fear. But the unity was fragile. The realm was too vast, the lords too ambitious, and the nobles of Highgarden and the Westerlands had long grown dissatisfied with the status quo. Both regions were quietly or not so quietly preparing for conflict. War was inevitable. The only questions were when it would begin, what would spark it, and who would emerge victorious.

Littlefinger's schemes may have been thwarted for now, but Varys was still weaving his webs of intrigue. The "Spider" was working tirelessly behind the scenes, advancing his own plans. Still, Aegor's moves had earned him precious time. Time to push forward the money game he had built with Tyrion. Now, he needed to focus on growing his influence before the inevitable war arrived. To survive and perhaps thrive, he would have to remove other potential threats while expanding his power base.

---

"Arya performed well today. It's my fault for staying up late doing other things and delaying your sword training," Aegor said warmly, rubbing the young girl's head. He had noticed over time that Arya seemed to enjoy this small, affectionate gesture, and it was an effective way to show his appreciation.

The little she-wolf had helped him a great deal today, whether she realized it or not. He decided to give her a proper reward.

"As compensation and as a reward, I'll spend all of tomorrow with you. Whatever you want, sword practice, more adventure stories, or even a trip to the paper mill—it's entirely up to you. Does that sound good?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 81

Before the time travel, Aegor often wondered: How did a family like the Starks, full of so-called "idiots" according to the plot, manage to hold the North for thousands of years and even triumph over several families vying for the title of "King in the North"?

Now, as an outsider in this world, he has to examine the issue more deeply and fundamentally. Over time, he gradually realized that Eddard Stark's seemingly pedantic, stiff, and naïve behavior in Game of Thrones wasn't the fault of the Stark family, nor was it solely due to Eddard's "immaturity" or "stupidity." It had been preordained from the beginning, Eddard wasn't raised as someone who would "play the Game of Thrones."

He wasn't groomed to be an heir but rather as a "second son" raised in the Vale.

In this era, many prominent families, in order to avoid internal conflicts, would raise their heirs and younger sons differently. The eldest son, destined to inherit the family, would not only be taught how to govern and command but also when to act noble and honorable, and when to set morality aside to protect the family's interests. Meanwhile, second sons were only required to be brave, upright, and loyal, as their role was to assist their elder brothers, not to act independently.

To put it simply, the eldest son needed to be cunning, while the rest of the siblings were intentionally kept simpler. A sibling too competent could endanger the family hierarchy.

Eddard received the latter type of training.

At the age of eight, he was sent to the Eyrie as Jon Arryn's ward to strengthen the alliance between the North and the Vale. Lord Arryn, upright and noble as he was, helped train Eddard into a "qualified second son"—much like Benjen Stark, the responsible Chief Ranger of the Night's Watch, whom Aegor was already familiar with.

In and of itself, there was nothing wrong with this. The real problem arose when Eddard's older brother, Brandon Stark, was killed by the Mad King.

---

In a backward and tumultuous era, the death of an heir wasn't uncommon. Typically, the family would quickly pick another child and begin grooming them to take on the role of heir. However, Eddard's situation was far more complicated—his father, Rickard Stark, was also executed by the Mad King on the same day his eldest son was killed.

Thus, a "second son" who had been groomed as a loyal subordinate suddenly found himself thrust into the role of Lord of Winterfell and head of the Stark family without any prior training. Such a situation was rare enough, but what made matters worse was that the rebellion against the Mad King—the Usurper's War—was ignited by this very tragedy. Eddard not only lacked his father's guidance, but he also had no time to be mentored by other elders.

Eddard lacked the experience and wisdom necessary to lead a family. Fortunately, he wasn't alone in fighting the Targaryens. During the hastily initiated rebellion, he was supported and guided by two seasoned leaders: Hoster Tully, his father-in-law and Lord of Riverrun, and Jon Arryn, his former guardian and the Lord of the Vale. Together with Robert Baratheon, they managed to topple the Targaryen dynasty despite many setbacks.

By the time the rebellion ended, Eddard had become a celebrated warrior with immense prestige throughout the realm. As the oldest surviving member of the Stark family, he held unrivaled power as the Warden of the North. There was no one left qualified to teach him how to govern or transform him into a more fitting ruler.

---

Thus, Eddard retained the honor and integrity he had learned as a second son and began ruling the North. Fortunately, the North, poor and remote as it was lacked the kind of intricate conspiracies and power struggles seen in the South. In this context, his "second son" qualities didn't lead to significant missteps. As a result, Eddard not only adhered to his own virtuous principles but also raised all of his children to be "qualified second sons."

And the results of this upbringing became evident when Robb Stark, without the education and training of an eldest son, made one blunder after another after becoming King in the North. He insulted the powerful House Frey without realizing the consequences, executed Rickard Karstark, a key ally during wartime, and walked blindly into the Red Wedding without any precautions. If Brandon Stark had lived, would the children he raised have made such politically ignorant decisions?

So, those who still mock Eddard as foolish, naïve, or idealistic should reconsider. Eddard was a product of Westerosi society, a "qualified" second son miscast by fate, and by a king who lacked the foresight to see his limitations.

Everything stems from the "second son" education.

Aegor's current mission was to protect this man who had been misplaced by destiny, a pedantic and stubborn individual. The reasoning was simple: having such an honorable man, who respected the Night's Watch and could be easily manipulated, as Hand of the King was in Aegor's best interest for the time being.

---

"It's a deal then—no cheating tomorrow!"

"The Night's Watch does not tell lies!"

After seeing off Arya, who had left beaming with excitement over their agreement, Aegor let out a long sigh. Supporting someone hopeless was undoubtedly exhausting. Thankfully, he'd been lucky with his first move, unraveling his opponent's plan with a single rumor. For now, he had some breathing room before the next crisis.

"Well… I'll write a letter to the Wall when I get back to the inn. But first, I need to figure out how to persuade Commander Mormont to cancel—or at least delay—the Ranger Expedition. I'll also need to catch two wights and send them south to prove to these skeptics that the threat is real."

Stretching his body, Aegor walked into the outer room with Tyrion, only to find the second member of the Night's Watch he'd recruited, Akun, sitting upright at a desk in the office lobby, dutifully minding his post.

Aegor rubbed his temples. He wasn't sure how to handle this pretender. If he dismissed him now, the problem might seem easy to solve, but there was always the chance Akun would sneak into the Red Keep to cause trouble. If that happened, things could turn disastrous.

"It's closing time. Let's go," Aegor said to Jaqen, deciding to let the man act out his charade for now. When it came to assassination, Aegor couldn't match Jaqen, but in the realm of deception and persuasion, he had his own methods.

Turning to Tyrion, Aegor added, "Don't go to bed too early tonight, I might need your help writing a letter."

"You really should learn to write yourself," Tyrion grumbled, though he didn't refuse. "Acting as your scribe all day is exhausting."

"Thanks for your hard work. Those who are capable should do more," Aegor replied with a grin.

---

Jeor Mormont, the former Lord of Bear Island, had become Commander of the Night's Watch after donning the black. For Aegor, he was a leader and a formidable figure, someone to respect, but also someone who required careful handling. Convincing a man like him to change his mind wasn't going to be easy.

After all, Commander Mormont had never seen the White Walkers or their overwhelming power. His decision to send a Ranger Expedition north was perfectly logical. Since there was no fault in his reasoning, Aegor knew he couldn't argue with him through logic alone.

"Tsk… How should I approach this?"

Back at the Albatross Inn with Jaqen and Tyrion, Aegor thought hard and finally came up with a strategy. If reason wouldn't work, he'd take the opposite approach, start with an unreasonable accusation, grab Mormont's attention, and then use a mix of persuasion and pressure to achieve his goal.

Chapter 82

"The duty of the Night's Watch is to guard the Wall, not to protect the Starks. Organizing a large-scale operation to find Benjen Stark not only puts the cart before the horse but also shows blatant disregard and disrespect for the lives of the other brothers."

Tyrion repeated Aegor's words, staring at him as if he'd seen a ghost. The hand holding the pen hovered in mid-air for a long time before he finally asked, "Are you sure you want to write this? This is insubordination. Even if Mormont is reasonable, he can't possibly let this slide… Besides, how do you know your commander-in-chief launched the Ranger Expedition just to find Benjen Stark?"

"I don't know," Aegor admitted. "Maybe I misunderstood him. After all, he's the former Lord of Bear Island and the Commander of the Night's Watch. He must be a magnanimous man. He wouldn't recall me or punish me just because I, a subordinate, accused him of a 'misunderstanding.' And anyway, he's counting on me to provide supplies."

"If you're so clear on that, why use such an aggressive tone?"

Aegor spread his hands. "What do you think he'd think if I presented my arguments nicely, using facts and reason to persuade him not to conduct this large-scale expedition?"

"I don't know. Even though I'm short, I can't fit into Mormont's mind."

"I think he'd definitely think, 'Huh, this guy who's comfortably stationed in King's Landing is hypocritically advising us not to take risks? Just supply the resources and stay out of it!'" Aegor said with a laugh. "Then, he'd probably skip the rest of the arguments entirely and reply directly, ordering me to prepare the supplies immediately or face recall."

"You're just making malicious assumptions."

"But you can't deny it's possible," Aegor said. "On the other hand, if I act like I've misunderstood him and then criticize him under the guise of caring for the Night's Watch..." He trailed off, giving Tyrion a knowing look before continuing. "You see, people have a weakness: when they hear or see someone accusing them of being wrong, they instinctively focus their attention on it. Their first reaction is to refute the other party.

"When Commander Mormont sees my accusations, even if he's disdainful, that instinct will likely compel him to keep reading the rest of the letter. Maybe he'll even write back to appease me and explain the real purpose behind organizing this operation... After all, he's counting on me to work harder and fulfill the supply list."

"You overthink things," Tyrion snorted, though he begrudgingly acknowledged that Aegor's logic made some sense. Nodding, he picked up the letter and said, "Alright, tell me again. I'll write it down word for word. But if this backfires, don't blame me."

---

Thus, Aegor dictated while Tyrion wrote. About an hour later, the first official letter from the Night's Watch's inaugural "Chief Logistics Officer" to the 997th Commander-in-Chief, Jeor Mormont, was completed. Written by Tyrion Lannister, it was meticulously composed in the neat and elegant script popular in the Westerlands.

The letter began with a stern accusation, aiming to immediately grab the reader's attention. It was followed by Aegor's speculation and analysis of the situation beyond the Wall. Aegor described the circumstances as dire as possible, hoping to alarm the reader. Then, he offered his own suggestions: the Night's Watch was currently too weak to act independently. The safest course of action was to stabilize their defenses, gather solid evidence, and then appeal to the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms for aid.

Finally, the letter included several concrete plans devised by Aegor. Using his imagination, he outlined methods for capturing wights alive with minimal risk, requiring only small teams of elite Night's Watch brothers. He also promised to provide all the weapons and equipment needed to implement these plans.

---

"Excuse me, Aegor, but your plans seem a little too idealistic. They'd only work if everything went perfectly and nothing went wrong," Tyrion remarked, shaking his head. He had decided, at least for now, not to question the existence of the so-called "ghosts" beyond the Wall. Assuming Aegor wasn't speaking nonsense, Tyrion addressed the practical issues instead. "I've been to the Wall myself. The conditions and circumstances there are terrible. The personnel are unevenly trained, and the situation changes constantly."

"I'm not asking them to follow my plans to the letter. The key lies in the preparation." Aegor smiled faintly. "As long as they agree to the idea of appealing to the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms for help and wait for me to send them the equipment for catching wights and dealing with White Walkers, my goal will be achieved. It takes about a month to travel from King's Landing to the Wall, even by sea. By the time the supplies arrive, the most dangerous period will have passed."

"What dangerous period?"

"Ah, military secrets."

---

The part Aegor didn't share with Tyrion was this: in the original timeline of the Ranger Expedition, the Night's Watch stationed themselves at the Fist of the First Men because they believed it was a critical choke point. Mance Rayder's 100,000 wildlings were expected to pass through the Milkwater river, and the rugged terrain of the Fist was easy to defend but difficult to attack. Strategically, this high ground was vital, securing it meant that a few hundred brothers of the Night's Watch could hold off tens of thousands of wildlings.

However, instead of wildlings, the Night's Watch faced an army of undead.

If the Night's Watch delayed their departure and waited for Aegor's promised equipment and supplies, the wildlings would already be marching south from their assembly point. They would bypass the Fist entirely, and the expeditionary force would lose their "first-mover advantage." Without seizing the high ground, the Night's Watch wouldn't be trapped on the Fist, surrounded by the dead. This delay could avert their near-annihilation.

For Aegor, this was the best way for a logistics officer to influence the front line without having direct command authority, control the timing of supplies.

---

If the Night's Watch could capture wights and present them in King's Landing as evidence, that would undoubtedly be the best outcome. Otherwise, saving as many brothers as possible was a worthwhile alternative.

Faced with the choice, Aegor ultimately decided to follow his conscience. He couldn't sit by and do nothing while 300 Night's Watch brothers walked to their deaths. Although he wanted to shed his identity as a brother of the Night's Watch and resented being saddled with endless tasks, he still shared a camaraderie with the men at Castle Black. On a personal level, he also admired the dedication and moral character of leaders like Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon.

"Tsk... I don't care about these so-called military secrets." Tyrion waved dismissively and picked up the letter. "Well, that's it. Do you want to add anything else?"

"Let me think… First, request an official certificate of appointment for me as 'Chief Logistics Officer.' Write that I don't want a salary, and I'll recruit my own subordinates. All I need is for the Night's Watch to officially recognize my title."

"Fair enough. What else?"

Aegor thought for a moment and realized sending a letter to the Wall was rare, so he might as well include everything. "Mention the difficulties I've had recruiting soldiers and explain that I'm planning to recruit 'temporary Night's Watch.' See if Mormont agrees."

"You're having trouble recruiting soldiers?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Have you even started recruiting yet?"

"No, but just write it down," Aegor replied nonchalantly.

"Fine…"

After organizing his thoughts and slightly embellishing the plan, Aegor continued dictating, and Tyrion wrote it down.

"Oh, one more thing. If you find the bodies of rangers patrolling beyond the Wall, don't burn them when you bring them back to Castle Black. Lock them in cages. If they're alive, send them to King's Landing."

Tyrion frowned, baffled by the bizarre request, but decided to play along. "Anything else?"

"That's all… Oh, no—add one last note for Jon Snow. Tell him Arya asked me to say hello. She's learning swordsmanship with me here in King's Landing and having a great time. Tell him to take care of himself at the Wall."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "You're impersonating Lady Arya now?"

"Just write it. I'll talk to Arya tomorrow. She'll agree."

Chapter 83

The letter to the Wall had been sent. A thousand miles away, Aegor could do nothing more and had no other way to influence the Night's Watch. He was painfully aware that, since he was neither the sole nor the primary source of logistics for the Night's Watch, the so-called "logistics impact on the front line" would likely be minimal. All he could hope for now was that the raven carrying the letter would reach its destination safely and quickly, and that whoever read it would take the contents to heart.

Life in King's Landing went on. After realizing that Arya could serve as his eyes and ears in the city's power core, Aegor began putting more effort into winning her over. Except for matters he absolutely couldn't let her know, he was willing to take her along wherever he went. On the bright side, their "master-disciple relationship" was growing stronger. On the downside, the closeness also meant that Arya frequently pestered him. If the girl hadn't occasionally dressed up as a proper noble lady or been capable of surprising him with her spirited nature, Aegor might have wondered if all the effort he'd spent just to gain a bit of information was worth it.

At times, he missed the compulsory education system from the world he came from. Kids without homework? Far too terrifying.

---

Though Arya's antics could be troublesome, she was easy to handle if you found the right approach. However, someone else was giving Aegor a headache: Jaqen H'ghar. Jaqen hadn't gotten along with Arya upon first meeting her, but more unexpectedly, he hadn't left King's Landing as quickly as Aegor had initially hoped. Instead, he seemed to settle comfortably into the quarters Aegor had arranged for him. Clad in black every day, Jaqen accompanied Aegor to and from work, completed minor tasks at the office when instructed, and occasionally watched over the place in Aegor's absence. Even after Aegor hired another local employee to help with the workload, Jaqen never mentioned leaving.

What was the point of having such a skilled assassin and spy around if he wasn't collecting information or killing people on Aegor's behalf? Irritated, Aegor decided to test the situation by bringing Jaqen and Arya together—either to share the burden or to annoy Jaqen enough to make him leave.

"Akun, I'm busy today," Aegor said, addressing Jaqen with the alias he had given him. "Go practice swordplay with Miss Stark."

"What?" Arya immediately frowned in displeasure. "No! I only practice with you, Master. Don't try to push me off on someone else!"

"You're so useless," Aegor said with mock disdain. "It's a waste of my time to practice with you every day. When you've mastered what I've taught and can beat my men, come back and find me."

"But he doesn't even know how to use a sword!" Arya shot back, glaring at Jaqen.

Aegor narrowed his eyes and fixed Jaqen with a sharp gaze. "You can sneak into the royal library, but you can't handle a little girl? I won't ask about your origins or try to restrict you from staying or leaving, but don't treat me like a fool. If you can't use a sword, then teach her something else. Your only task is to avoid losing to her until I have time to take over again."

Jaqen hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Someone understands."

To avoid creating tension, Aegor didn't watch their practice session in the backyard. Arya was sulky at first but quickly became enthusiastic once she started sparring with her new partner. Watching from a distance, Aegor finally breathed a sigh of relief. If Jaqen had both remained in King's Landing for unknown reasons and shamelessly pretended to be useless, Aegor truly wouldn't have known how to deal with him.

---

After a mishap where potential bond buyers came to the office when Aegor wasn't there, he and Tyrion agreed on a stricter schedule for the sales of Night's Watch bonds. On designated days, Aegor would stay in the office from morning to night while Tyrion sought out customers. During other times, Aegor left the office in the care of his employees and focused on other matters, such as supervising the siblings' progress on papermaking, refining their processes, urging the mining of obsidian, and purchasing supplies for the Night's Watch.

---

Summer in King's Landing remained as hot and foul-smelling as ever. Without the interference of Catelyn Tully or Petyr Baelish, the city's political landscape seemed duller than the original plot. The king spent his days drinking, feasting, and indulging in every vice imaginable. The queen nervously continued her incestuous affair with her brother, while the Hand of the King fretted over the mystery of Jon Arryn's death and the increasingly worrisome rumors spreading through the city.

Beneath this uneasy calm, however, the first batch of Night's Watch bonds had been issued, and papermaking technology had quietly progressed. On Dragonstone, the first shipment of obsidian mined from the ancient quarries was loaded onto a ship, packed tightly alongside the supplies Aegor had purchased for his "wight-capturing plan." Meanwhile, in a small workshop, the first sheets of plant-fiber paper with practical use in Westeros and perhaps the entire A Song of Ice and Fire world were finally produced.

---

This was a historic moment, especially for the small group of individuals hoping to make their fortunes with the new invention. Aegor, Tyrion, the siblings, and an excited Arya gathered in the workshop to inspect the results.

From appearances alone, the paper in front of Aegor, despite its slightly grayish-yellow color and uneven edges resembled the low-quality, pirated books or ghost money he had seen in his past life. He picked up a sheet to test it, folding and rolling it. It was flexible enough. Pulling at it with some force, he found that it deformed slightly without tearing. The next test was writing on it.

"Bring me a pen," Aegor ordered.

Nina hurried to fetch pen and ink, but Arya snatched them up. "I'll write on it!" she declared excitedly.

Aegor sighed, a hint of affection creeping into his voice. "Alright, I'll let you be the first."

Of course, Arya wasn't really the first to test the paper. The siblings wouldn't have dared to summon Aegor and Tyrion without conducting their own experiments. Nonetheless, Arya eagerly dipped the pen in ink and wrote her name: Arya Stark. Beneath it, she added a drawing of a cloud, a tree, and a stick figure.

The room grew silent as the siblings watched Aegor and Tyrion nervously. Tyrion gave Aegor a questioning glance.

"Well?" Aegor prompted.

"What?" Tyrion shrugged. "Aren't you the one in charge of printing? Do you think this paper can be used for printing?"

Tyrion studied Arya's scribbles and doodles for a moment, then stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I think it'll work."

"Good." Aegor nodded decisively. "Nina, what's the cost of producing this paper?"

"The raw material cost is negligible," Nina replied. "The main expenses are equipment, chemicals, dyes, fuel, and labor."

"Exclude the equipment and venue. Give me a rough number for production alone."

"About ten copper coins per sheet."

"Very good." Aegor began calculating in his head. "After mass production, even factoring in equipment and rent, the cost will decrease further. As the process improves, we'll drive that number even lower." Turning to Tyrion, he asked, "How much does parchment cost on the market right now?"

Two months ago, Tyrion wouldn't have known, but he had since done his research. "For a sheet this size? More than a silver stag—maybe even a silver moon for higher quality."

"Then it's clear." Aegor exhaled deeply. "Even without further improvements, our paper costs a fraction of parchment." He paused and smiled. "Now the fun begins. To mark this historic moment, let's give this paper a name."

Nina spoke first. "Master Aegor made the greatest contribution to its creation. Let's call it West Paper."

"Haha! I don't deserve all the credit.

"No, it should be 'Arya Paper'!" Arya chimed in. "Look, my name is already on it!"

Amid the laughter, Tyrion raised his hand. "Let me be the boss this time. I say we call it 'Night's Watch Paper.' Not only does it honor the sponsor of its development, but it also doubles as free advertising for our bonds!"

Chapter 84

Although they were excited, there were more pressing concerns than naming the paper, specifically, how to quickly commercialize their innovation.

In other words, how to make money from it as soon as possible.

"The first priority is attracting customers," Aegor motioned for everyone to quiet down. "First, let's calculate. After trimming off the irregular and useless edges of the raw paper, how many uniform rectangles can we produce?"

The answer wasn't difficult to determine. Aegor folded a sample sheet himself and soon reached a conclusion: a single raw sheet could be divided into six pieces slightly larger than A4 paper, with minimal waste. However, considering the size of the printing plates and the ergonomic preferences for books, it should actually be halved again. That meant one sheet of raw paper could ultimately yield 12 sheets of a practical size, ideal for printing text and binding into books or pamphlets.

"How many sheets of raw paper can the workshop produce in a single day?"

Nina licked her lips, pausing to think. "Hard to say. The process from raw materials to finished paper requires time and effort. Adding lime, other powders, and firing can speed things up. If we hire more people, buy better equipment, and establish a steady cycle for all the steps, we could increase production significantly."

"Then expand as quickly as possible," Aegor suggested after a moment of thought. "Recruit locals you trust. Divide the papermaking process into several distinct steps, with each worker specializing in a specific task. Essentially, create an assembly line. This will not only speed up production but also make it harder for anyone to learn the entire process by poaching workers. To steal the technique, they'd have to recruit almost everyone on the production line, which would be impossible to do discreetly."

"Assembly line?" Nina bit her lip, considered it, and quickly grasped the concept.

"And what happens if they poach your workers openly?" Tyrion shrugged. "It's not a particularly complex process. Once production scales up, it'll be impossible to stop others from copying it."

"True," Aegor admitted. "That's why we need to move quickly. Before competitors start popping up, we must establish partnerships with as many wealthy patrons as possible to minimize their potential influence and dominate the market." He leaned back, his tone matter-of-fact. In a world without intellectual property rights, expecting to monopolize the industry was naïve. Aegor knew better than to waste time on fruitless endeavors. "First, collect the paper we already have and print a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star Bible. Take it to churches, bookstores, and general stores to showcase it, and try to negotiate some orders. Tyrion, you're good at that sort of thing, so I'll leave it to you."

"Why does everyone assume I'm good at this!?"

"You're certainly better than I am," Aegor quipped with a sly grin. He wasn't sure about Tyrion's business acumen, but as a member of the Lannister family, he was bound to have connections and charm. Making full use of everyone's abilities and influence was crucial in starting a business. "Also, we need to start recruiting more workers to ease the burden. Don't sit idle while we're waiting on major orders. Keep working and refining the production process. Send all finished paper to the printing press and have it made into calendars. If people want them, we'll sell them wholesale. If no one does, give them to me, I'll distribute them through the Night's Watch office as gifts. Every visitor will get a monthly calendar, and anyone who buys bonds will receive a year's worth. For those who invest in our venture, their homes will always be supplied with Night's Watch calendars."

"Not a bad idea," Tyrion remarked approvingly. Calendars weren't a new concept. In a world where seasons were irregular, significant dates like major festivals were recorded in the "Royal Calendar," issued by the Citadel and approved by the Iron Throne. However, paper was a luxury item, and anything made from it was rare. Wealthy officials who needed to keep track of time always had a calendar, but ordinary city folk often shared one among several households, or even an entire street. In rural villages, there might be only one for everyone.

As a non-essential luxury, paper calendars were a rarity. Using them as gifts was cost-effective yet impressive, making it a perfect choice.

---

In the workshop, Aegor naturally fell into the role of leader. The others didn't seem to mind; in fact, they often deferred to him. After assigning tasks, he suddenly remembered something else. "Of course, I won't just sit back and do nothing. I'll start gathering writers to create some adventure novels. Once we've ramped up our papermaking and printing, we'll start publishing books."

"Master, you've told me so many stories about your adventures before coming to Westeros. Those alone could fill a book," Arya said.

Aegor was about to tousle her hair to dismiss her comment, but then he paused. Why hadn't he thought of that? The girl had a point. To avoid slipping up when recounting his fabricated adventures, he'd been jotting down notes every night, outlines of incredible tales that could easily rival world-class adventure stories like Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Treasure Island, The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, or Around the World in Eighty Days. If he polished these outlines and handed them to a skilled writer or bard to refine, he could pass them off as his own biography of daring escapades.

The sales potential was enormous. These stories had universal appeal, requiring no special literary knowledge to enjoy.

Perhaps, Aegor thought, this could even enhance the Night's Watch's public image. Maybe he should become an icon of sorts?

He rarely acknowledged Arya's insights, but this time he gave her a rare compliment. "Good idea."

Tyrion's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned closer to Aegor and whispered, "Don't forget one more thing. It won't be respectable enough for the stage, but the public will love it."

"What are you talking about?" Arya demanded, her sharp ears picking up the whisper.

Aegor's mind raced. Something scandalous yet marketable… Of course! A little yellow book—risqué stories. There were no censors in Westeros, after all. He chuckled inwardly but reassured Arya, "Don't worry, I'll get you a book when the time comes."

Would it be a bad influence on the child? Possibly. But considering how little time Eddard Stark had spent raising her, Aegor figured he was doing more than enough.

With everything discussed, the only thing left was for everyone to carry out their tasks. The business was ready to begin in earnest.

"There's one last matter," Aegor said, remembering his earlier promise. This time, he had discussed it with Tyrion beforehand. "Previously, I mentioned giving you a tenth of the profits from the paper mill. That was unclear and incomplete, so here's what I'll do: half of this workshop will be yours, not just the profits, but the ownership. When we have enough funds, I'll buy the yard outright to serve as your permanent workspace and home. This is my acknowledgment of your contributions to the process and your innovations. However, in exchange, you cannot quit or start your own business without my permission. If you have new ideas or inventions, you must report them to the Night's Watch first. If you agree, one of you can come back to the Night's Watch office with me to sign the agreement today."

"Thank you, sir!" Neil quickly replied, surprising everyone with his decisiveness.

"Let Nina sign the agreement."

Chapter 85

The setting sun cast deep patches of orange and crimson light over the cobbled streets of King's Landing. Aegor, Tyrion, and Arya, along with the red-cloaked and grey-cloaked guards representing the Lannister and Stark families, walked out of the workshop, chatting and laughing as they led their horses back toward the inn.

After more than a month together, these individuals hailing from different corners of the world and unlikely to have crossed paths otherwise had become surprisingly familiar with one another. Even Tyrion's two servants could now exchange friendly nods and light-hearted greetings with the Stark "nanny" who came to pick Arya up from time to time, sometimes lingering for a casual chat.

…

Aegor walked at ease. He had now spent over a month in King's Landing, and under Tyrion's diligent efforts, nearly 2,000 gold dragons' worth of Night's Watch bonds had been sold. Without the allure of extraordinary returns typical of Ponzi schemes, the sales had been slow. Furthermore, Westeros had no established concept of "investment" or "financial management," so not a single bond purchase had come from someone who approached them on their own initiative.

Even among Tyrion's connections, with the slight exception of Jaime Lannister, most had only purchased the minimum bond amount of 100 gold dragons, more as a favor than anything else.

However, this slow and steady pace did have its advantages. Most buyers viewed their purchase as a gesture of goodwill toward Tyrion, believing that the Lannisters would ultimately ensure the return of their investment, however small. Under such circumstances, Aegor had little reason to fear a sudden, large-scale demand for repayment.

Two thousand gold dragons might not seem like a fortune, but with Tyrion's own wealth added to the mix and in the absence of rebellion or costly public works it was a significant sum, capable of achieving much.

For instance, they had already purchased a large piece of land outside the city, acquired equipment, and hired workers to construct a substantial workshop for papermaking and printing. Or perhaps "factory" would be a more accurate term. With this in place, they had secured dominance over the production and trade of Bibles, calendars, and novels within King's Landing and the surrounding Crownlands.

If Tyrion could attract additional investment, the business could expand further while still maintaining a solid financial cushion for emergencies.

The initial goal of establishing a foothold in King's Landing had been achieved. From here, it was a question of how much profit could be made and how far this partnership with Tyrion could go.

---

As Arya's nominal "master," Aegor had made several attempts to civilize the girl, to have her dress more like a proper young lady, refrain from swearing or acting rudely, and understand the importance of decorum. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to curb her habit of interrupting conversations to share her own opinions. At this moment, Aegor wasn't sure what she had said to Tyrion, but the two of them were laughing and exchanging jokes again.

The sight was strangely harmonious: an older man and a young girl, one a Lannister and the other a Stark, both roughly the same height, unexpectedly hitting it off. In the original course of events, they would have met only briefly, before diverging onto vastly different paths. Yet, thanks to the disruption caused by Aegor's arrival, they had encountered each other at the Night's Watch office and somehow formed a rare bond between two rival families.

If not for the significant age gap, and if Aegor didn't see them every day to know otherwise, he might have suspected that these two were trying to act out a melodramatic tale of "love bridging a family feud."

He turned his head slightly, remembering another person trailing behind him—Nina. She followed quietly, head bowed, looking a little shy.

…

Having spent his days with individuals like Tyrion and Arya one of whom treated him as a partner, while the other called him "master". Aegor was aware that outsiders might see him as someone important. This naturally left an impression on others, who often reacted with awe or nervousness. It was human nature.

Nina was no exception. The girl was intelligent, literate, and resourceful. Aegor decided to break the awkward atmosphere and draw her into conversation.

"Nina, tell me," he asked casually, "do you or your brother have any ideas on how we could reduce costs?"

"Ah," she exclaimed softly, startled by the sudden question. She glanced up briefly before lowering her eyes again. "I have some thoughts… but I haven't tested them yet. I'm not sure if they'll work."

Aegor was certain he hadn't imagined it, her cheeks seemed to flush red.

He was no stranger to women. If not for his unexpected journey to this world, he might have already become a father. In that moment, it clicked: this wasn't just the nervousness of speaking to someone important. No, this was the kind of flustered panic that came from being near someone she secretly admired. Could Tyrion's teasing have been right? Was this girl truly interested in him?

It wasn't impossible. While Aegor himself was a common soldier, his time in King's Landing had been spent in meetings with powerful individuals: the Hand of the King, noble knights introduced by Tyrion, and even members of the royal court. His efforts to cultivate a polished image had paid off. Apart from his insistence on wearing black, his clothing, manners, and overall demeanor were likely more refined than those of many impoverished nobles. And in Nina's eyes, he wasn't just a benefactor, he was her employer, a man of means and influence.

In a society like Westeros, where life was harsh and ambition often came second to survival, it wasn't surprising that a young girl might develop feelings for someone like him.

Aegor let out a faint, self-deprecating smile. Before arriving here, his life had been modest. While he had no trouble finding a partner, he had never experienced the sensation of being openly admired. "Well," he said gently, "ideas don't have to be perfect. Share them with me, and I'll help refine them."

As Nina explained her thoughts on improving papermaking efficiency, Aegor listened intently, though some of her suggestions went beyond his understanding. He took the opportunity to study her more closely.

The bright eyes that had first caught his attention needed no further praise. But even setting those aside, her features had a quiet beauty: soft, rosy skin; delicate dimples that appeared when she spoke; long lashes; and a slender figure hidden beneath her modest clothing. She was like a newly blossomed lotus flower—pure, untainted, and full of potential.

Nina wasn't just pretty; she was capable, literate, and inventive. A rarity in the harsh world of Westeros. While noblewomen often possessed beauty, they rarely combined it with intelligence and practicality.

For a fleeting moment, Aegor considered the possibility of keeping her close, not just as an employee, but as something more. The thought was quickly dismissed. He wasn't foolish enough to jeopardize his work or her future over fleeting temptation.

Still, it didn't hurt to maintain a friendly rapport. Smiling, he encouraged her, "Don't worry about costs. Try what you think will work. Don't be afraid of failure."

Gradually, Nina's shyness faded. As they chatted, she began to relax, even sneaking glances at Aegor when she thought he wasn't looking.

…

By the time they arrived at the Night's Watch office, Nina was in much higher spirits. Though she wasn't a financial investor, Aegor and Tyrion intended to sign a formal "investment certificate" with her, as they would with future partners. If they wanted to retain capable people, they needed to show sincerity.

But before they could proceed, a staff member approached. "Sir, a letter has arrived from the Lord Commander."

…

That was fast. It had only been a dozen days since they'd sent the last letter.

Taking the envelope, Aegor noted that the seal had already been broken. Was it the work of Maester Pycelle, responsible for handling letters in King's Landing? Or had Jaqen opened it, ever the silent spy lurking in the shadows?

Aegor's gaze briefly flicked to the Braavosi man, who sat nearby feigning innocence, before he unfolded the letter.

As long as it didn't summon him back to the Wall, he could handle whatever it said.

…

After reading for a few seconds, Aegor raised his head, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

"What news is so delightful?" Tyrion asked, unimpressed. Having written the original letter himself, he had a good idea of the response. "Did Mormont postpone the northern expedition and explain why?"

Aegor nodded, still grinning.

"Did they confirm your position as Chief Logistics Officer?"

Another nod, the grin widening.

"Did they finally capture one of those Wights?"

"Not quite. But they're trying," Aegor replied, setting the letter aside. Though it contained a minor piece of troubling news, he already had a plan to address it.

"Enough about that. Let's head inside and sign the investment certificate!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 86

The partial bad news in the letter was that while Mormont approved the idea of recruiting temporary guards for the Wall, he didn't fully accept the plan's more subtle intentions. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch placed specific restrictions on Aegor's proposal: anyone recruited to temporarily assist at the Wall, and intending to return to civilian life after a few years, could not be called a member of the Night's Watch unless they swore the official oath. Not only that, they couldn't undergo formal training at Castle Black like ordinary recruits. They had to arrive at the Wall as mercenaries, rather than sworn brothers, and immediately contribute to its defense.

In summary, the recruits Aegor brought in were barred from becoming fully integrated members of the Night's Watch, and they had to be ready to take on military tasks as soon as they reached the Wall.

Under these restrictions, Aegor was left with two options: hire professional mercenaries or train recruits himself.

---

The first option was appealing. In this era, mercenaries were professional soldiers, their combat effectiveness almost guaranteed. However, mercenaries came with high costs. Employing them made sense only for those with deep pockets, like the Lannisters, or in conflicts where spoils of war could cover their wages and pensions. For Aegor and the Night's Watch, who faced the wildlings and the White Walkers, two types of enemies who offered no financial return even in victory, this was a problem. Defeating wildlings might yield some spoils, but White Walkers left nothing of value behind.

Without any means to "fight to support the war," Aegor knew mercenaries, always pragmatic, would demand steep upfront payments. While a few thousand gold dragons was a significant amount, enough to start a business, it would barely make a dent if funneled into mercenary wages.

Aegor simply couldn't afford that luxury right now. His only viable option was to train recruits himself.

What a nuisance. Aegor frowned. Did Mormont see through his plan to gradually dilute the Night's Watch with outside recruits to increase his influence? Or was it simply about maintaining the "purity" of the Night's Watch as a brotherhood? Or, perhaps, it wasn't that complicated at all, maybe Mormont just wanted to add another burden to keep him busy and "productive" while stationed in King's Landing.

Whatever the reasoning, the answer didn't matter. The real question was how to handle the situation. Aegor wasn't overly concerned; he had anticipated this possibility. If the Night's Watch differentiated between "their own men" and outside "foreign aid," then his original plan to gain influence and control might stall. However, on the flip side, training his own recruits in King's Landing would give him tighter control over the "foreign aid" he brought in, as well as a closer relationship with them.

While this approach would cost more and require greater effort, the benefits of direct oversight could potentially outweigh the drawbacks.

---

Attached to the back of the letter was a small note, which Aegor handed to Arya. It was a message from Jon. The moment Arya read it, she beamed with joy, nearly letting out a squeal. She was too thrilled to notice Aegor shaking his head and sighing inwardly. Poor Jon, stuck in that bleak place like Castle Black, reduced to writing letters just to convince his little sister he was living a "fulfilling life."

Leaving Arya to her note, Aegor took Nina into the inner room. Fully prepared, he quickly signed the world's first "Night's Watch Asset Investment Certificate" with Tyrion's assistance. Handing the document to Nina, he praised her and encouraged her, telling her she could always come to him directly if she encountered trouble. With this, the papermaking project was officially concluded.

According to routine, he should have sent Arya back to the Red Keep, accompanied Tyrion to his inn, and then escorted Nina home. After a few such visits, familiarity with Nina's family would make retrieving her for future work easier.

But after some thought, Aegor decided against it. Instead, he called for Jaqen.

"Akun, escort Miss Nina home. Once you've done that, head back to the inn and rest. I'll lock up here."

…

I have too many responsibilities right now, Aegor thought. Flirting with a girl like Nina, barely out of childhood and still inexperienced, would be irresponsible for both her and myself.

Discipline was paramount in a world full of dangers and temptations.

Suppressing the distractions caused by his hormones, Aegor shifted his focus to two pressing matters. First, training his recruits in King's Landing. Second, finding alternative ways to strengthen his influence and authority within the Night's Watch, particularly as a "chief logistics officer" stationed far from the Wall. After all, if the "foreign aid" he brought in was excluded from votes or decision-making, his influence might be diminished.

Training troops in King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, was a particularly sensitive endeavor. It was akin to trying to establish a private militia under the king's nose, an act that could provoke suspicion and conflict. Even with the backing of Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, the endeavor wouldn't be smooth sailing. Aegor would need a legitimate reason.

…

The solution to the first problem came to him quickly. Since he was opening a factory, it would naturally require security guards to protect the premises. He could recruit workers under the pretext of hiring factory guards, train them collectively, and, when the time came, offer double salaries to those willing to head north to the Wall.

As for the second issue… After mulling it over, Aegor realized he'd fallen into the trap of relying too much on trickery. Having seen success with deception and schemes, his first instinct was to approach every problem with those tools. But this situation was different.

He was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch and had officially been recognized as its chief logistics officer. Although his influence was currently limited, practically nonexistent, save for Jaqen's shadowy presence—these titles still carried weight. They granted him real authority within the organization, a foundation he could build upon.

The solution wasn't convoluted: to increase his influence, he simply needed to perform his duties well. If he ensured the Night's Watch had adequate food, warm clothing, and sufficient weapons, and made it clear to the brothers in black that these improvements were thanks to his efforts, his reputation would naturally rise.

He just had to ensure that no other officer took credit for his work.

With visible, tangible results, his standing within the Night's Watch would grow organically. Sometimes, an open and honest effort could accomplish more than any hidden scheme.

And in the end, money could solve most problems.

Finally able to relax his mind, Aegor let out a breath. The next step was to select a site for the factory and begin preparations to establish what he dubbed the "Night's Watch Logistics and Security Department."

Chapter 87

The Seven-Pointed Star Bible is the primary scripture of the Faith of the Seven. It is divided into seven gospel chapters, each corresponding to one of the Seven Faces of God. The official version contains over 300,000 words, and each printed copy with illustrations spans hundreds of pages.

Normally, purchasing a book made of parchment, painstakingly copied and painted by hand, costs at least one gold dragon. Even then, it's typically out of stock and must be custom-ordered—no one has the resources or the patience to produce large quantities and wait for buyers.

When the first Seven-Pointed Star Bible printed and bound on plant-fiber paper was completed, Tyrion personally brought the sample to the church to promote it. With his status and persuasive charm, he secured the first major order: the church requested one thousand copies at the price of thirty silver stags each, as well as an additional ten thousand brochures and images with content provided by the church, priced at one silver stag per copy.

In addition to this, Tyrion's salesmen managed to secure small orders from merchants and shopkeepers. By the time the factory began production, the accumulated orders, many of which were tentative, as customers tested the appeal of this new product, amounted to hundreds of gold dragons. Because of the Lannister name, some smaller clients even paid in advance.

The first set of printing plates was already complete. Seeing the demand surge—not falter—Aegor wisely ordered the production of a second set.

…

The above results only account for the Seven-Pointed Star Bible. Calendar sales added sporadic orders worth dozens of gold dragons. Meanwhile, preparations for novels and adult material were also in full swing. Unfortunately, while finding writers for novels was relatively simple, Aegor had yet to locate someone skilled in crafting risqué content.

This realization left him feeling slightly uneasy: if no one else could produce it, he might have to step in himself. Writing explicit content wouldn't be difficult, he had the experience for it, but illustrations were another matter. Without cameras or computers, all images had to be drawn by hand!

Still, it was too early to dwell on such concerns. As the saying went, the path would reveal itself when the mountain was reached.

After much discussion, the factory was finally established outside the southwest walls of King's Landing, slightly upstream from the bustling ports along the Blackwater River and south of the tourney grounds.

There were several reasons for this choice: the area was spacious and relatively clean; its proximity to the river allowed easy access to water for production, as well as a place to discharge waste. Additionally, the river could potentially provide water power. The location was close to Blackwater Bay, King's Gate, and major roads, making transportation convenient. Lastly, the poor population living around the city walls offered a steady source of cheap labor.

After several days of map studies and on-site inspections, Aegor and Tyrion finally settled on this open space. It had once been farmland, located a few miles outside King's Gate, only a few hundred yards from the main road and close to the Blackwater River.

Logically, a location so close to King's Landing and on the southern bank of the Blackwater should have been highly coveted. However, this wasn't the modern world Aegor had left behind, filled with savvy speculators. In this era, all the land around King's Landing was technically the personal property of King Robert, and there was one major factor devaluing such locations: land outside the city walls wasn't protected and was considered less desirable.

In the original story, even the priciest area outside King's Landing's walls—Blackwater Port near the Mud Gate—was completely leveled during the War of the Five Kings. Stannis' forces had approached by sea and land, and Tyrion, leading the city's defense, ordered the area demolished to prevent it from being used as a staging ground for an attack.

The location chosen by Aegor and Tyrion was farther west from that bustling port area, where the Blackwater Bay narrowed into the Blackwater River. The riverbanks were steep and the water fast-moving, making the area unsuitable for merchant ships. As a result, the land was deemed worthless by traders. After the surrounding trees were cut down, the space had been left idle, eventually being occupied by a handful of farmers who planted vegetables, fruits, and melons.

---

Arya adored her swordsmanship instructor. As her father had grown slightly fonder of Aegor because of his daughter's enthusiasm. As the Hand of the King and Warden of the North, Ned was also intrigued by Aegor's idea of developing the Night's Watch's industry in King's Landing.

Without much effort, the Chief Logistics Officer was granted use of the land from the Hand himself. All Aegor needed to do was compensate the farmers for the crops they had planted; he didn't even have to pay rent to the Iron Throne.

Perfect.

After hiring a reliable construction team and creating detailed plans, the Night's Watch began building their first southern stronghold.

That same day, after inspecting the site, Aegor and Tyrion returned to King's Landing together.

…

"Maybe I should move out there someday," Tyrion mused. "It's not just bigger—it doesn't reek like the city."

"It's a good place," Aegor agreed, "but it's far from the brothels."

"As more people move into the industrial area, brothels will follow naturally," Aegor added with a chuckle. "Who knows? Someday, the Night's Watch might even have brothels of its own out there."

At the mention of brothels, Aegor couldn't help but worry about Tyrion. Because of his interference, the dwarf had never crossed paths with Shae. While Aegor considered this a good thing, Tyrion wasn't getting any younger, and Aegor wondered if he'd ever find true love. "Of course, the brothels meant for workers wouldn't be fit for a noble Lannister. You should consider keeping one just for yourself."

"I like to change my tastes occasionally," Tyrion quipped, ignoring the joke. "But what about your little apprentice? She's the Hand's daughter. How could she travel more than ten miles every day just to take lessons from you? Having Arya around is an asset. Even if you don't factor in personal reasons, you can't abandon her."

"True." Aegor nodded. Arya's presence was invaluable. "That was just idle talk. I'll stay in the city for now."

"But you did give me an idea," Tyrion said, quickly pivoting. "Building the factory is one thing, but providing services to workers is another. We could open canteens, shops, brothels, even gambling houses right next to the factory. Then, restrict workers from leaving during work hours and ensure they can only spend their money on-site. That way, we can pay them higher wages, knowing they'll spend part of it back on us. It'll keep the capital flowing steadily."

Aegor gave Tyrion a sideways glance. "That's diabolical. You deserve your nickname, 'Little Demon.'"

"I learned it from you," Tyrion shot back, grinning. "If I'm the Little Demon, you're the Big Demon. I just want money, you want to send these people to the Wall to fight wildlings and White Walkers. That's throwing lives away!"

What started as a joke suddenly felt heavy. Aegor's face darkened. "Someone has to do it."

"Yes," Tyrion admitted, realizing he had struck a nerve. "Someone does have to do it." Hoping to lighten the mood, he added, "We'll just have to pay them handsomely for it."

"Absolutely," Aegor agreed. While he didn't want to face such dangers himself, he wanted to reward those brave enough to stand against humanity's enemies.

The conversation shifted. Tyrion mentioned progress in attracting investors: a young noble living in King's Landing had shown interest and informed his family. A senior member of the noble house was due to arrive within two days to visit the factory. If all went well, their first large investment was within reach.

Riding side by side, the two made their way back into the city, bypassing Visenya's Hill, traveling along Iron Street, and passing the Great Sept of Baelor.

That's when Aegor noticed an unusual building.

He had seen it before, on his first day in King's Landing, but the city's stench and his disorientation as a newcomer had drowned out any curiosity. Now, with a better understanding of the city, the building's incongruity stood out even more.

It was grand, like a large hotel, taller than the surrounding structures but smaller than the Great Sept. Located in the heart of the city, it appeared abandoned, its doors were shut, its windows broken and unrepaired.

"What's that building for?" Aegor asked.

Tyrion glanced up. "That? The Alchemists' Guild Hall."

Chapter 88

"You must have heard of pyromancers and wildfire," Tyrion replied with a shrug. Seeing Aegor pull the reins to halt his horse, Tyrion sighed and stopped as well, along with his two guards, Jack and Maurice. "What's wrong? That doesn't sound fun?"

Aegor turned back, curiosity piqued. "If I wanted to visit, could I go inside?"

"Of course. It's not hard to get in," Tyrion said. "Pyromancers were once the favorites of the Targaryens, but now they've fallen so low that anyone with a bit of coin can walk in and sneer at them. If it weren't for all the wildfire stockpiled underground, this building would have been torn down long ago. The people inside, though… Well, they're half crazy, maybe half pitiful. Imagine falling from the heavens straight into hell. That's what their lives are like."

"Let's go take a look," Aegor decided.

Tyrion frowned, puzzled by the sudden interest, but he was already used to Aegor's unpredictable nature. Without further questions, he climbed down from his special saddle with some difficulty, standing beside Aegor along with the two servants.

…

"How do we get inside?"

"Through the main door," Tyrion answered matter-of-factly.

Aegor rolled his eyes. "The door's shut."

"Then knock," Tyrion said flatly.

Was it really that simple? Maurice stayed behind to watch the horses while the other three ascended the steps and knocked on the wooden door, which looked as though it hadn't been opened in decades.

To their surprise, the response was almost immediate. Far faster than expected, the door creaked open, revealing an old man with a shifty demeanor, his face lined with suspicion. He looked even more disreputable than Will.

"What do you want? Buying that substance?"

Tyrion patted his purse, letting the golden dragons and silver stags inside jingle audibly.

Hearing this, the old man opened the door wider. "Come in, then. What are you doing wearing so little?"

What was that supposed to mean? Aegor frowned but refrained from asking, trusting Tyrion's confidence as they followed the old man inside. However, he soon realized something was off—they weren't going upstairs, as he expected, but descending into the lower levels.

"What's your name?" Tyrion asked their guide.

"Call me Wisdom Hallyne," the old man said proudly. "How much do you want?"

"Ask my friend here," Tyrion said, gesturing to Aegor. "He's curious about wildfire."

How much does it cost? Aegor's mind was a whirlwind. Who was he? Where was he? And what was he doing?

Right—he was now Aegor West, Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch, standing in the hall of the Alchemists' Guild, trying to learn about wildfire.

Yet the casual tone of their conversation unsettled him. Something as dangerous as wildfire—explosives, essentially—was being discussed as if it were a fine wine available for casual purchase.

"Ah, wearing black, I see. Someone in your family died? It's a good idea to use this stuff to cremate the body," Hallyne said with a morbid grin.

Aegor's face darkened. "I'm a Night's Watchman. That's none of your business. Just explain this 'substance' to me."

"Fine, fine. You curious squirrels always have so many questions," Hallyne muttered, before turning his attention back to Tyrion. "But if I explain, you must buy at least ten silver stags' worth."

"Do you know who I am?" Tyrion asked, raising an eyebrow. "My family has enough gold to buy the entire Alchemists' Guild."

Hallyne stared at Tyrion for a long moment, visibly unsure. From his reaction, Aegor could tell the old man genuinely didn't recognize Tyrion—or the Lannister name.

Still, Tyrion's confidence and commanding aura seemed to intimidate him enough. Without further complaints, Hallyne grabbed an oil lamp from the wall and began leading them down a dark, narrow staircase.

"Do you know about dragons?" Hallyne began dramatically as they descended. "Those terrifying creatures with wings that darken the sky, able to burn the world with their breath. Do you know where their fire comes from?"

"Magic?" Aegor guessed.

"No. It's an organ in their chest," Hallyne said, shaking his head. "This organ secretes a mystical liquid. When the dragon breathes fire, the liquid is compressed, sprayed out, and ignited by a small spark of magic. That's how dragonfire is made."

"What does this have to do with wildfire? Is it the same substance, harvested from dragons?" Aegor asked, frowning. A grim thought crossed his mind: Was the Alchemists' Guild responsible for the extinction of dragons, harvesting them for wildfire production?

Of course, the idea was absurd. Even if dragons produced such a substance, humans would have found a more sustainable way to extract it, like milking a bear for bile.

His real concern was something else: how could such a dangerous and vital military weapon be treated so casually, sold like common merchandise? Judging by Hallyne's humble demeanor, wildfire wasn't even in high demand.

…

"No, no," Hallyne replied. "It's not harvested from dragons. It was inspired by them. With a combination of magic and technology, we managed to create it ourselves."

"Then just call it wildfire," Aegor snapped, growing irritated. "Why all this cryptic talk about 'that substance'? It's ridiculous."

"Wildfire is a name used by laymen!" Hallyne huffed indignantly. "It's not wild—it can be controlled. With proper safety precautions and mastery of fire magic—"

"You know fire magic?" Tyrion interrupted, his tone dripping with skepticism. "If wildfire were truly controllable, the Targaryens would still sit on the Iron Throne. Instead, your 'substance' has been devalued to the point that no one wants it."

Hallyne faltered, stammering a weak response. He fell silent and continued leading them deeper underground.

The temperature dropped sharply as they descended. By the time they reached the bottom, Aegor was shivering. It felt as though the outside temperature of thirty degrees had plummeted to ten in the damp, stone-walled cellar. The walls were coated with saltpeter, and the only light came from the sealed iron-bar oil lamp Dake carried.

Finally, they arrived at a heavy, reinforced door. Handing the lamp to Aegor, Hallyne produced a key and unlocked it.

"Don't come inside!" Hallyne warned sharply. "Stay by the door. The light and temperature could destabilize the substance."

Aegor froze, carefully holding the oil lamp at arm's length. He was beginning to understand why wildfire wasn't widely used, if it was this volatile, how could anyone handle it safely?

Peering inside, he saw rows of shelves lined with bright red ceramic jars, each shaped like a plump grapefruit.

"Come help me," Hallyne called, motioning for the group to approach.

Aegor passed the lamp to Jack and cautiously stepped forward. Taking a jar from the shelf, Hallyne poured its contents into a small vial. Under the faint light, the liquid appeared dark green, with a texture resembling thick honey.

"Don't touch it. Even your body heat could destabilize it."

"Body heat can ignite it?" Aegor nearly dropped the jar in alarm.

"Not quite… At least, there are no recorded cases of that happening," Hallyne admitted sheepishly. "But the older it gets, the more unstable it becomes. Better safe than sorry."

…

Before long, the small vial, slightly larger than a bottle of ale was filled. Hallyne insisted the amount was worth more than ten silver stags but claimed the extra was a "gift." After paying, Aegor carefully stored the vial according to Hallyne's instructions.

"I'm very interested in this," Aegor said as he handed Hallyne a card. "If you're free, visit me at the Night's Watch office in the next two days. It's across from the East Camp of the King's Landing Garrison. We can discuss a larger deal."

Chapter 89

"Big business?" Tyrion shivered from the cold, rubbing his short arms as he climbed the stairs quickly. "You mean the wildfire stored below? Sorry, but that's not happening. The only reason the king hasn't reclaimed this building for other uses is that the wildfire stockpiled beneath it is too dangerous. Most of the experts who knew how to handle it properly either died in the war or disappeared, so the few remaining pyromancers have been left here to keep watch… Technically speaking, the little deal we just made was illegal, but Robert doesn't care enough to put a stop to it. But if you're thinking of moving all the wildfire out and transporting it to the Wall for military use, forget it. That's absolutely impossible."

It certainly was.

Aegor suspected that wildfire was likely some volatile oil mixed with white phosphorus or other phosphorus compounds, highly flammable with an extremely low flash point. The longer it sat in storage, the more the oil evaporated, leaving behind a higher concentration of phosphorus residue, making it even more prone to combustion. Without precise safety measures, transporting such a substance over long distances was out of the question.

"Is that so?" Aegor turned to the pyromancer.

"That's correct…" Now that he had been paid ten silver stags, Hallyne looked considerably friendlier. "The wise King Robert has decreed that the wildfire below must be kept under constant guard and that not a single jar may leave the cellar…"

"Not a single jar? So what, we just smuggle them out one at a time instead?" Tyrion quipped sarcastically.

"No, that's not—"

"It doesn't matter," Aegor cut in before Hallyne could flounder further. "I'm not interested in the wildfire already stored here. What I want is the method to produce it. Tell me, are you still making new batches, or are you only selling off the old stock?"

"Impossible!" Hallyne's demeanor changed instantly. His eyes widened, and he stiffened as if insulted. "The process of crafting wildfire is the most closely guarded secret of the Alchemists' Guild. No amount of gold could buy that knowledge!"

No amount of gold? Aegor smirked but let the comment slide. Instead, he shook his head. "When I say I want wildfire to be made, I don't mean you should hand over the formula or reveal the production process. I mean I want you to make it—for me. Do you understand?"

"Serve you?"

"Answer me now. Can I see the production process? Or at least the place where it's made?"

Hallyne hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded. "That can be arranged."

He led them back upstairs, and as soon as they stepped onto the ground floor, the warmth of the air made them exhale in relief. So far, Aegor hadn't seen any other pyromancers. It seemed the Alchemists' Guild had declined significantly, those who remained likely worked in shifts.

When they first arrived, Hallyne had taken them straight to the cellar to "buy" wildfire. Now, retracing their steps, Aegor had his first real chance to examine the guild hall. It was a vast labyrinth built entirely of black stone, its internal structure far more complex than its exterior suggested. Twisting corridors and dimly lit passageways framed by black iron beams led them to a door at the end of yet another hallway. Hallyne unlocked it, revealing a chamber with a small window, finally a room with natural light.

The moment Aegor stepped inside, he knew he was in the right place.

A long row of tables filled the room, cluttered with an assortment of jars, vials, and equipment of varying shapes and sizes. Among them, Aegor immediately identified two distinct apparatuses, one for extraction, the other for distillation.

This was a chemistry lab. Or, at the very least, the prototype of one.

The Alchemists' Guild was not merely a group of fire-obsessed fanatics, it was in essence, an early chemical research institution.

Why, then, had they faded into obscurity, replaced by the maesters of the Citadel? With so much equipment at their disposal, they should have been making chemical discoveries that advanced society, yet all they did was manufacture wildfire. Was this a distortion of human nature or just a tragic loss of curiosity?

"What do you see?" Tyrion asked, noticing Aegor's stunned expression.

"I see the future," Aegor murmured before turning sharply to Hallyne. His gaze was piercing. "Do you know how to use everything in this room?"

"I… mostly. I was trained, after all," Hallyne admitted hesitantly. "But I haven't practiced in years. I'd need time to reacquaint myself with the equipment." He looked around, rubbing his hands nervously. "Ah… we should step out. This room isn't entirely safe."

Aegor nearly choked. "Not safe? I thought the wildfire was stored in the cellar. Is there anywhere in this guild that is safe?"

"Not really…" Hallyne pointed at the ceiling. "There are mechanisms built into it. If an accident occurs—if a fire breaks out—the ceiling will collapse, releasing a large amount of sand from the compartment above to smother the flames. In theory, that should prevent any catastrophe."

"In theory?" Aegor echoed, narrowing his eyes.

"It hasn't been maintained in over a decade," Hallyne admitted sheepishly. "So… I'm not sure if it still works."

Aegor glanced up. Sure enough, the ceiling looked dangerously heavy, as if it might collapse at any moment. That was enough to make him reconsider stepping any further inside. Instead, he backed out quickly.

Before leaving, he turned to Hallyne. "Master Hallyne, remember what I said. When you're free, come find me."

---

Once outside, Tyrion could no longer hold back his curiosity. "What exactly do you want that man for?" he asked. "He's no master pyromancer, probably just a glorified assistant. The wildfire he makes is likely subpar."

"I don't need wildfire. I need him or more precisely, his knowledge of how to use the equipment in that room." Aegor mounted his horse and looked back at the decrepit but still-standing Alchemists' Guild Hall. "Where I come from, there's a substance similar to wildfire, but more stable and far more powerful. It's called gunpowder."

"More stable and more powerful?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed. He wasn't a warrior, but his mind was sharp, and he understood war better than most nobles. It took him only a moment to grasp the implications. "That would change warfare entirely… it could reshape the world."

"Exactly," Aegor said, his expression unreadable.

"Do you know how to make this gunpowder?" Tyrion's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I know it, and I don't," Aegor replied cryptically. "That's why I need someone to help me figure it out." He gave his horse a nudge forward. "By the way, you seemed oddly familiar with the wildfire trade. How come?"

"Oh, that?" Tyrion smirked. "There's a Myrish juggler in Robert's court—Thoros. He's known for fighting with a flaming sword. Turns out, he paints wildfire on the blade before battle. I once bought him a drink and asked him how it worked. That's when I learned he buys the wildfire here, from the Alchemists' Guild."

"So that's the trick," Aegor muttered. He had once thought the flaming swords in the show were a sign of R'hllor's divine power. Turns out, it was just a cheap pyrotechnic trick.

"Let's head back," Aegor said, shifting in the saddle. "Things are about to get busy. Best to enjoy what little rest we have while we still can."

Tyrion chuckled. "For once, I agree. Let's go."

---

Karl Marx once wrote in The Economic Manuscripts:

"Gunpowder, the compass, and printing, these are the three great inventions that heralded the rise of bourgeois society. Gunpowder blew apart the feudal knights, the compass opened the world to markets and colonies, and printing became the weapon of Protestantism, the revival of science, and the most powerful force in shaping the intellectual foundations of a new era."

Now, things were about to get interesting.

Chapter 90

Gunpowder, or more precisely, black powder, is composed of one part sulfur, two parts nitrate, and three parts charcoal. The formula is simple and easy to remember, and many people can memorize it at a glance. This ratio represents the reactive components, though in actual practice, an optimized mass ratio is used. Aegor recalled a more precise composition: 2:15:3.

Beyond just remembering the formula, he also knew that "sulfur" and "charcoal" referred to elemental sulfur and carbon, while "nitrate" specifically meant potassium nitrate. He could even write out the chemical reaction equation for an explosion—not that it was something to boast about. It was basic knowledge, easily grasped in high school.

However, knowing the principles of gunpowder and being able to immediately produce large quantities of it for practical use were two entirely different matters. After all, Aegor wasn't a chemist or a geologist, nor had he ever made the substance himself.

And even if he could... he wouldn't be able to use it just yet.

The reason was simple: gunpowder was too powerful a weapon. At present, he was still "living under someone else's roof"—in other words, under the protection of the Iron Throne. More specifically, under the indirect protection of Eddard Stark. Though the latter likely wasn't even aware of it, the fact remained: so long as Eddard remained in power, Aegor had a degree of safety.

That reality would not change simply because Eddard happened to be familiar with the real story or had secretly "saved" him in the past. Until he built a force that was loyal to him and him alone, manufacturing gunpowder would only serve to benefit others. The moment word of it got out, the ruling class of Westeros would swoop in and seize it. They'd use it in their endless wars and war was indiscriminate.

As a "neutral" Night's Watch officer, Aegor's greatest asset in navigating the various political factions was balance. If that balance were broken, the Seven Kingdoms would descend into chaos. Apart from the North, perhaps, no other faction would hesitate to turn on him. And if war engulfed Westeros, the loss of his financial assets would be the least of his concerns. Worse still, if he was killed by the very technology he introduced, it would be nothing short of a cosmic joke.

As a time traveler, Aegor was perfectly happy to enjoy the company of beautiful women in this world. But experiencing cannon fire and battlefield artillery firsthand? While that might sound like a "man's romance" to some... he'd rather not.

…

The ideal future would be to find a powerful patron or, better yet, build his own power base. Only then could he unleash this devastating weapon at the most critical moment for example, if the Seven Kingdoms miraculously avoided civil war, he could introduce gunpowder when the White Walkers attacked.

But if war was inevitable, he would use the chaos to his advantage, making sure that before the various factions could reverse-engineer gunpowder for themselves, he would demonstrate its absolute superiority. "Equivalence is truth. Range is justice."

By crushing his enemies in a decisive blow, he could secure his place at the pinnacle of power. From there, he could either enjoy life in this world indefinitely or search for a way to return home whichever suited him best.

Alas, Aegor couldn't help but lament how much easier things would have been if he had been reborn as a prince instead. If he had inherited a title, a fief, and loyal subordinates from the start, life would have been much simpler.

---

Planning too far ahead was pointless. For now, aside from recruiting a few alchemists as a contingency plan, his more immediate concern was the defense of the Wall.

Wildfire was incredibly dangerous in the warm climate of the south, but on the cold, desolate Wall, it could function as an effective explosive provided it was handled carefully.

While waiting for the first Night's Watch factory to be completed, Aegor spent time experimenting with the bottle of wildfire he had purchased, carefully pouring out a few milliliters at a time and testing its properties.

"Don't get too close," he warned Arya, who was watching him intently. "If I catch fire, throw that bucket of water on me."

The girl giggled, agreeing without hesitation. To her, it was perfectly natural for her adventurous master to play with fire.

With a great deal of caution and preparation, Aegor avoided any serious accidents. Before long, he had reached a few important conclusions:

First, wildfire was much less dense than water—which was obvious. Light oils always floated. Not only did wildfire float on water, but it could also burn despite being submerged. This explained how, in the original story, Tyrion had used it to incinerate Stannis's fleet on the Blackwater.

Second, it was insanely flammable. Even though body heat alone couldn't ignite it, almost anything else could:

Drip it onto hot ground? It ignites.

Leave it under direct sunlight for 30 seconds? It ignites.

Snap your fingers near it? The friction-generated heat might ignite it.

Aegor didn't have a thermometer, but after repeated tests, he estimated that any temperature above 50°C (122°F) could cause spontaneous combustion.

And that wasn't all.

Wildfire had extremely low surface tension, meaning it soaked into anything it touched and seeped into the smallest crevices. This was a terrifying trait for a flammable liquid. it ensured that once ignited, the fire would spread rapidly and be nearly impossible to extinguish.

Good stuff.

He was already looking forward to seeing it unleashed on the wights.

…

Aegor later sought out the pyromancer, hoping to recruit him into the Night's Watch. Unfortunately, he was flatly rejected.

It was no surprise. The very mention of "serving the Night's Watch" triggered deep-seated fears in most people. For older individuals like Hallyne, this fear was even more ingrained. No matter how Aegor tried to explain that his offer was different, the old man refused to budge.

In the end, he let it go.

Not everything could go his way. He was just a minor officer of the Night's Watch, after all. Not every endeavor would succeed.

But time was on his side.

Once the Night's Watch's industrial ventures grew, once they forged stronger economic ties with the nobles of King's Landing and the Crownlands, money and power would do what words could not. When the time came, Aegor would return to the Alchemists' Guild with an offer they couldn't refuse.

His first major investment was secured, and the future looked promising.

Yet just as Aegor was celebrating his progress, a piece of shocking news threw him into turmoil.

During a casual conversation with Arya, she inadvertently revealed something extraordinary.

…

A group of major Vale lords including Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks, and Lord Jerold Hunter of Longbow Hall—had secretly formed an alliance and launched a coup.

Calling themselves the Alliance of the Righteous, they had seized the Bloody Gate, taking control of the Vale with minimal bloodshed.

Now, they had completely surrounded the Eyrie, besieging Lysa Arryn without attacking.

Their demands?

Lysa Tully must hand over young Lord Robert Arryn for proper education.

She must submit to trial for the suspected murder of Jon Arryn.

The noble houses of the Vale would jointly raise and mentor Robert Arryn as their future ruler.

A formal declaration had been issued from Runestone and was already on its way to King's Landing.

Arya had overheard this explosive news from a conversation between her father and his advisors.

Without realizing its significance, she had casually relayed it to Aegor making him the second person in King's Landing to know, right after the royal court.

---

Oh, this is incredible. Absolutely incredible. Yohn Royce really is something else—no wonder his son, Waymar Royce, is so ruthless. Like father, like son. The way he's handled this situation is nothing short of spectacular.

Aegor had only meant to stir up rumors to bring down Littlefinger, but rumors are like Pandora's box—once opened, they take on a life of their own. And now, this particular storm had completely spun out of his control. It had spread beyond King's Landing, igniting chaos in the Vale.

The Vale—originally one of the few regions that stayed neutral during the War of the Five Kings, preserving its strength throughout the entire conflict was now the first place to descend into turmoil.

On a personal level, Aegor couldn't help but feel a sense of schadenfreude over the siege of the Eyrie. But in the grand scheme of things, he wasn't just a bystander. He was playing a different kind of game one that involved raising capital, leveraging financial strategies, and laying the groundwork for an enterprise built on advanced technology.

This wasn't a game that could be played in isolation. No matter how slow information traveled or how difficult long-distance communication was in this world, the ripple effects of every major event would reach him eventually.

And now, Aegor had to wonder would this sudden civil war in the Vale end up disrupting his own plans?

Chapter Text

Chapter 91

Strictly speaking, this was yet another accident caused by a lack of foresight. I wanted to dismantle Littlefinger's scheme, and I succeeded. So far, Petyr himself had lost his influence in King's Landing, and the final piece he had placed in the Vale was now under siege. A generation's worth of conspiracies had been unearthed and exposed to the light by a single wave of a time traveler's hand.

But when I came up with this idea, I had only considered Petyr. I had forgotten about the woman caught in the affair…

And now, as a result, the interests of this supposedly "clever" time traveler were being threatened by a wildfire of rumors. Aegor let out a bitter smile. There was no such thing as a perfect solution. Taking down a major villain so easily was bound to have consequences. Now that things had come to this, there was no point in regret. What he needed to do was assess the trajectory of events and find a way to benefit from the situation or at the very least, minimize the damage.

Given that he was an outsider with limited knowledge of this world, Aegor knew his deductions about the situation were bound to have blind spots. Things would be much easier if he had someone well-versed in Westerosi politics to offer insights and join in the discussion.

So that night, Tyrion learned the news.

After some deliberation, the two arrived at a grim conclusion: war was inevitable.

…

From the perspective of a time traveler who knew the truth, the so-called "Alliance of Justice" had acted in a way that could, without exaggeration, be considered just. They had removed the young heir of House Arryn from his unstable and dangerous mother, a woman who had poisoned her own husband. They had placed him under the care of several major noble houses with no interest in rebellion, ensuring he would be raised and educated properly to grow into a capable and moral ruler, trained in both governance and warfare.

It was a noble ideal.

But the problem was that while Aegor had released the truth, it had spread in the form of rumors. And rumors, by their very nature, could not be used to justify the disruption of the established order.

As King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm—Robert Baratheon could never tolerate one of his major vassals being forcibly stripped of power by a group of lower-ranked lords. If such an act of defiance were allowed to stand, it would set a dangerous precedent. The authority of the crown would be trampled underfoot. A king who could not protect his bannermen was no king at all.

Even if the accusations against Lysa Arryn were proven true, it was the king's right alone to deal with her not some coalition of minor lords.

It was harsh, but that was the nature of feudal rule.

---

"The Iron Throne and this so-called 'Alliance of Justice' will likely enter a period of prolonged negotiations," Tyrion analyzed. "But it's unlikely to lead to any meaningful resolution.

"After securing the throne, Robert made several compromises to stabilize his reign. He chose not to punish House Martell and House Tyrell for their support of the Targaryens. He married my sister to secure an alliance with the Lannisters. He named Jon Arryn as Hand of the King to placate the Starks, Tullys, and Arryns, houses that had fought for him but had not been properly rewarded.

"All of these were deals struck with great houses. Swallowing his pride to work with them was humiliating, but not disgraceful. But who are the Royces and Waynwoods in comparison?"

Tyrion took a sip of wine and frowned. "Besides, our dear king has been restless for years. Tournaments are no longer enough to satisfy him. Even if it's just to relive the thrill of leading an army, Robert will refuse to back down. And that alliance having taken their first step will never simply bow their heads and go home to await punishment."

Aegor understood Robert well enough not to dismiss him outright. The man was no statesman, but he had been an exceptional battlefield commander. Fighting him head-on was one of the worst mistakes anyone could make in Westeros.

The fate of Balon Greyjoy's rebellion was proof enough of that.

"So where does their confidence come from?" Aegor asked. "How do a few noble houses in the Vale expect to stand against Robert?"

"Their confidence comes from the Bloody Gate and the kingdom's financial troubles." Tyrion leaned back in his chair. "To put it simply: an impregnable mountain pass, and an empty royal treasury.

"For thousands of years, the Bloody Gate has never been taken by force. The Alliance of Justice captured it through treachery, and they'll never give Robert the chance to do the same. And as for the treasury… anyone with half a brain in King's Landing knows it's a mess.

"If Robert marches on the Vale and gets bogged down at the Bloody Gate for a month or two, he'll have no choice but to negotiate."

Aegor felt a chill run down his spine. "If the treasury is empty, Robert will turn to his vassals for loans." His voice grew heavier. "That means our creditors might cash in their bonds and the investments we just secured could collapse before they even begin!"

"Exactly. This is a serious problem for us…" Tyrion exhaled slowly. "If Robert goes to war, my father will send troops to support him. And while the Lannisters have deep pockets, we don't just throw gold away. Right now, even I wouldn't be able to borrow money from my own family."

Aegor let out a deep breath. "We need to do the math. How much strain can our finances handle?"

…

After running the numbers, they reached a sobering conclusion.

To maintain their financial stability, they would have to immediately dismiss all employees, halt factory construction, withhold wages, delay payments on ongoing projects, and consolidate every last coin at their disposal. This included personal assets and even the "funding" the Iron Throne had allocated for the Night's Watch.

Even under these drastic measures, their capital reserves could only cover about 70% of the potential bond redemptions.

A decent margin, but only just. And this was only the beginning. The game had barely started. They hadn't even begun to truly spend.

If the redemption volume stayed below half, their business could continue at a reduced scale but the capital chain would remain precarious, always on the verge of breaking. If it exceeded half but stayed under 70%, their only option was to hold on and pray that Robert won quickly and returned to King's Landing. But if it surpassed 70%... then Aegor might as well pack his bags and head east to join the Dragon Queen, while Tyrion would have to start considering how to beg his father, Tywin, to clean up the mess.

After all, Tyrion was still Tywin's son. Even if he was an outcast, he wouldn't suffer too much. But Aegor? He was a deserter from the Night's Watch, a failed schemer in King's Landing who had run when things went south. Why would Daenerys Targaryen ever take him in?

…

"Unacceptable…" Aegor's face twisted in frustration. Losing financial backing was bad enough, but the worst part was that the force cutting him off wasn't even a person, it was an uncontrollable situation, leaving him nowhere to direct his anger.

"Calm down. The more flustered you are, the harder it'll be to think of a solution," Tyrion said smoothly. "We were the first to learn of this. That gives us an advantage. Can you think of anything we can do with this head start?"

The phrase "head start" sparked something in Aegor's mind, and an idea struck him like lightning.

What would he have done if he had come across this kind of insider information before he had ended up in this world?

Dump any stocks that might crash because of the bad news and shift investments toward military industries.

Even if war broke out, it would be a localized conflict. Even if Robert suffered a setback at the Bloody Gate, the Vale's lords didn't have the guts or the strength to march on King's Landing in retaliation. On the contrary, once they had burned off some energy in this skirmish, internal tensions in Westeros might ease for a time meaning the overall situation would stabilize.

If that happened, his financial position wouldn't completely collapse. He just had to hold on.

"We need to immediately stockpile food and military supplies," Aegor said decisively. "Once word gets out, prices for both will skyrocket. We can profit from the price difference and keep our capital chain intact."

"What?" Tyrion looked at him in shock. "Who suddenly buys up that much food and arms out of nowhere? You'd be announcing to the world that you have insider knowledge and are trying to profit from the war. Do you take the people in power for fools?"

"I'm not just anyone, you keep forgetting that." Aegor narrowed his eyes, his confidence growing. The more he thought about it, the more feasible the plan seemed. "I'm the chief logistics officer of the Night's Watch. A hundred thousand wildlings are pressing up against the Wall. As part of our war preparations, I buy a massive amount of food and weapons and send them to the Watch. Who could say anything about it?

"At worst, Eddard Stark will pressure me to keep prices fair, but he's not going to have me executed over it. As long as I make the purchases look legitimate and play my role convincingly, this could work."

Tyrion stared at Aegor in silence, processing the plan. He was, after all, technically the Night's Watch's logistics officer.

But war profiteering was a dangerous game, and trying to snatch food from the lion's jaws was an even greater risk.

Was it worth the gamble?

Then, suddenly, Tyrion's sharp mind clicked into place.

A slow grin spread across his face.

"You know… you're not wrong," the dwarf admitted. "Stockpiling supplies as the Night's Watch quartermaster is a reasonable cover. But the way you're planning to do it is still too risky.

"I have a better idea: make it look like you're giving up most of the profit. Bring others in, let everyone make some gold together. That way, we guarantee our safety."

Chapter 92

The next morning, Aegor and Tyrion rose early, taking with them the certificate signed by Eddard Stark and the letter of commission from Mormont. Without wasting any time, they launched into their first true shopping spree since arriving in this world.

For the first time since its establishment, the Night's Watch office remained closed in the morning. Every employee, including Jaqen, followed their chief supervisor through the bustling trade hubs of King's Landing, Iron Street's warehouses and the Blackwater River port on a massive procurement mission.

The role of the guards was straightforward: carry the money and ensure its safety.

A peculiar and intimidating entourage roamed the marketplaces: several Night's Watch brothers clad in black, armed and watchful, two fully armored Lannister guards in dark red plate, and a dwarf recognizable to nearly everyone in the city. Such a conspicuous combination made it highly unlikely that anyone in King's Landing would dare to entertain any ill intentions toward them.

They brought with them half their total funds, over a thousand gold dragons. By the time the sun had fully risen, they had already secured deals with several of the city's most well-stocked merchants. Their purchases? A staggering amount of supplies: enough provisions to feed the entire Night's Watch for several months, hundreds of horses, and a vast arsenal—steel swords, crossbows, and enough arrows to arm seventy or eighty men to the teeth in an instant.

They didn't bother haggling, instead paying slightly above the market rate, putting down a deposit equal to one-tenth of the total cost. Their only demand was that the merchants sign a contract.

The agreement stipulated that all goods were to be tallied and gathered in the port warehouses as soon as possible, then shipped to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea within two weeks. Upon delivery to the Night's Watch at the Wall, the transporter would receive a receipt from Eastwatch's garrison, which they could then present at the Night's Watch office in King's Landing to claim the remaining 90% of the payment.

As for penalties, if either party breached the contract, the offending side would forfeit an amount equal to the deposit—one-tenth of the total payment.

Put simply, if Aegor suddenly decided to back out of the deal, he would lose his entire deposit, essentially handing free money to the merchants. Conversely, if the merchants failed to uphold their end of the bargain before the goods were shipped, they would be required to return double the deposit as compensation.

---

On the surface, the terms seemed fair, and the price reasonable. However, in reality, Aegor did not have the funds to cover the remaining 90% of the payment. What he had done was leverage the situation to gain temporary control over a vast cache of food and weaponry, goods worth ten times the deposit and five times the total assets of the Night's Watch.

Once word spread about the upheaval in the Vale and the Red Keep caught wind of it, the prices of food and arms would inevitably skyrocket. What Tyrion had deduced, those seasoned merchants who thrived on trade and war speculation would also figure out, perhaps just a step behind. Before Robert could even muster the Seven Kingdoms' armies to march north, the cost of grain and fodder would surge by well over 10%.

But Aegor and Tyrion weren't looking to profit from the price hike itself; instead, they aimed to collect the penalties from breached contracts.

The reasoning was simple. Profiting off price surges was akin to plundering a lion's den, extremely dangerous. Any merchant capable of supplying such vast amounts of goods had significant backing, noble title or not. If Aegor attempted to resell those supplies at a higher price without the ability to pay the remaining balance, the entire scheme would collapse. The original suppliers wouldn't just sit back and let someone else profit off their goods, not without consequences.

The deal would reach a deadlock. If the deposit had come from Aegor and Tyrion's own pockets and they were reckless enough to take the risk, they could have negotiated for an even higher penalty clause, squeezing even more out of the merchants. But in reality, with creditors already knocking to redeem debts, the capital chain would soon tighten, then snap altogether. And once that happened, it would all be over.

By taking the initiative to concede, accepting the penalties, and playing the role of the wronged party, they would appear as mere victims of the merchants' broken promises. On the surface, it seemed like they were sacrificing the larger profit, but in truth, they were walking away with a substantial sum, without attracting unwanted scrutiny. Best of all, it would keep them out of trouble. After all, the goods never actually passed through their hands, and the Night's Watch could simply claim to be another casualty of rising food and weapon prices. Who could accuse them of war profiteering?

And then, there was the matter of the current Hand of the King—Eddard Stark, a man known for his honor and rigid sense of duty. Committed to governing the Seven Kingdoms justly, he would never allow the campaign against the Vale's rebellion to turn into an unchecked profiteering spree for arms dealers and grain merchants. Before those merchants could even count their ill-gotten gains, sanctions could rain down from above.

At that point, it would become a power struggle between the forces backing those merchants and the King's future father-in-law, the Hand of the King himself. So long as Robert Baratheon still sat on the throne, Eddard held the upper hand. The question was not whether he could suppress these profiteers but rather how much he was willing to compromise with the local power players of King's Landing. How much of a price hike would he tolerate before stepping in? That would depend on the outcome of his ongoing battles, both in open court and behind closed doors against the city's nobility and wealthy elite.

Regardless of how that struggle played out, Night's Watch Industries had already secured its profits. With the penalty fees in hand, they could settle their outstanding debts. Through strategic foresight and timely action, they had successfully navigated the treacherous waters of fundraising and business survival, clearing their first major hurdle. From here on out, the road to expansion and prosperity lay wide open before them.

---

The above was what Aegor and Tyrion had envisioned. According to their plan, these steps would likely take a few days to a week to fully execute. If, by chance, a particularly diligent merchant had already tallied their inventory and was prepared to ship the goods north, the chief logistics officer might have needed to find some excuse to delay the process—after all, once the ships set sail, they would have to worry about the remaining 90% of the payment.

…

But in reality, everything unfolded at an astonishing speed.

---

Aegor wasn't the only one with eyes and ears in the royal court.

The news of the uprising in the Vale had first reached King's Landing through a raven sent by the very faction that initiated the rebellion. Varys' intelligence network, as extensive as it was across the Seven Kingdoms, could not outpace the speed of that raven. The incident had erupted too suddenly, and while his "little birds" were everywhere, they simply couldn't be faster than a message in flight.

As a result, the first person in King's Landing to learn of the upheaval was Grand Maester Pycelle, who oversaw the city's ravens. He received the information from the official declaration of the so-called League of the Just. The second person was Queen Cersei. However, with her utter lack of political foresight, she neither considered its implications nor thought about how it might affect her own position.

Next came Varys, though the eunuch's true allies and long-term plans lay far beyond Westeros, across the Narrow Sea. Seeking the Iron Throne for his chosen ruler, he had neither the means nor the interest to profit from a war economy in King's Landing.

The fourth to receive the news was the Hand of the King. Only after he convened a royal council and briefed Robert did the rest of the ministers—and finally, the king himself—become aware of the situation.

And then, there were the spies scattered throughout the Red Keep, listening intently for valuable information.

These spies would try to smuggle the news to their respective patrons. Once those patrons grasped the full implications of the civil unrest, they would dispatch their own people to warn merchants aligned with their interests: hold onto stock, because prices were about to surge.

But all of this took time. The informants inside the palace, the ears and eyes of noble houses and trading consortiums were mostly lowly servants and handmaidens, whose movements were strictly controlled. They could only leave through the gates at designated times in the morning and evening.

Even after slipping out, they had to find ways to deliver their reports. And their masters? They weren't sitting in fixed locations all day, waiting for messengers to arrive. In an era without telephones or instant communication, relaying intelligence required patience.

And then, there was Arya.

During lunch, she had overheard her father, Eddard Stark, discussing the situation in the Vale with his advisors. She even learned the specific time of the emergency royal meeting scheduled for that afternoon.

Not long after, as was her habit, she left the Red Keep with her guards and rode to the Night's Watch office. As usual, she chatted with Aegor for a while before heading to her sword-fighting lesson. Before she left, she casually relayed what she had heard, treating it like just another tale, another bit of exciting gossip.

To Arya, it was simple. Aegor was always telling her adventure stories; in return, she naturally wanted to share something equally thrilling. What could be more interesting than the fact that her aunt—an aunt she had never met—was now besieged in the Eyrie?

And so, in this frantic race to control information, Aegor unwittingly became the victor.

Littlefinger, the one person most likely to have seized the advantage, had been placed under house arrest at the Treasury due to his involvement in spreading certain rumors. And just like that, through a mix of luck, timing, and sheer happenstance, Aegor ended up ahead of everyone else.

By the time the purchases were completed, the sun was high overhead. When Aegor and Tyrion returned to the office, it was already past noon. By then, the market had shifted. Anything that could be of use in war was no longer being sold at a fixed price.

Before sunset, a payment of 600 gold dragons—along with an additional sum as a penalty for breach of contract—was delivered straight to the Night's Watch office and placed on Aegor's desk. The man who brought the gold also carried a message from his employer to Aegor and Tyrion:

"Next time you have inside information, we can work together. No need for tricks."

As Aegor and Tyrion stared at the large sack of gold on the table, a heavy silence filled the room.

Aegor was drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding. If not for Arya's first-hand information, wouldn't his entire venture in Westeros have collapsed before it even began?

Meanwhile, Tyrion sat deep in thought, his brow furrowed. If even the Red Keep, a royal stronghold was so riddled with leaks, then was the so-called peace and stability of the Seven Kingdoms nothing more than an illusion?

Chapter 93

Arya had no idea that she had inadvertently become the greatest benefactor of the Night's Watch enterprise. Thanks to the girl's timely revelation, worth its weight in gold, quite literally, Aegor had managed to survive the most significant financial crisis since arriving in the world of ice and fire.

This entire operation had relied heavily on luck. There was no shame in admitting that. But as the saying goes, luck is a part of one's strength as well. Through the combined forces of fortune and strategy, the Night's Watch enterprise not only weathered the crisis but also saw a dramatic increase in available funds. In theory, all of the Night's Watch's financial resources, though now effectively managed by Tyrion, had not only covered their outstanding debts but also reached a level where they could withstand full withdrawals and redemptions without breaking the capital chain.

On the very day the orders were finalized, more than half of the initial deposits miraculously returned to the Night's Watch office—now doubled. The remaining portion was reluctantly handed over after Aegor personally led his men to press the merchants for payment, backed by signed agreements.

It was worth noting that Tyrion had advised Aegor to take careful note of the order in which these merchants paid their penalties. The faster they had access to inside information, the stronger their connections and backing. Creating a record of these dealings could prove invaluable in forming future alliances and navigating the city's power structures.

Aegor readily accepted this wise counsel.

---

What followed was the inevitable wave of bond redemptions.

King Robert, the most powerful and hot-tempered man in Westeros, wasted no time negotiating with the so-called Alliance of the Righteous. Instead, he issued an ultimatum. When the rebels failed to respond within a few days, he promptly called for full mobilization, summoning the lords of the realm and preparing to assemble the entire royal army to crush the rebellion.

Under these circumstances, it was only natural that bondholders would seek to reclaim their gold dragons in order to purchase supplies and equipment for themselves, their knights, and their retainers. This was not an act of financial sabotage but a practical necessity, and Aegor and Tyrion, recognizing this, chose to act accordingly.

Rather than enforcing early withdrawal penalties, they "graciously" waived them. Any bondholder who presented their bonds at the office could redeem their full principal plus a minimum of one month's interest. The earliest investors, those who had held their bonds for more than a month, even received returns equivalent to two months' interest.

This decision meant an additional expenditure of several dozen gold dragons, but it was far from an impulsive giveaway. The goal was to establish goodwill. By ensuring a smooth and amicable settlement, they were betting on future opportunities. If these nobles and wealthy investors found themselves in need of profitable ventures after the war, they would remember the Night's Watch enterprise as a reliable place to reinvest their wealth.

While the remaining net assets controlled solely by the Night's Watch enterprise were already substantial, further expansion and development would always require more capital. No one ever complained about having too much money.

---

Under the bright summer sun, the royal host began to assemble more than ten miles north of King's Landing. Similar gatherings were taking place across Westeros, in the Westerlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, the North, and even in Dorne.

The Iron Throne was a monarchy in name, but in reality, the king's power was only as strong as the noble houses that supported him. His control over the Seven Kingdoms depended entirely on his ability to command and enforce loyalty.

Fortunately for Robert, his military prowess and history of victories made him a formidable force. After more than a decade of careful governance by Jon Arryn, the old alliances that had carried Robert to the throne remained largely intact. Meanwhile, Littlefinger, who had originally sought to provoke discord between House Stark and House Lannister had been removed from play. In this relatively stable political landscape, the so-called Alliance of the Righteous had emerged as an unwelcome disruption.

For the four great houses tied by blood and marriage—Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, and Tully—there was no question of their support. They were determined to break the Vale's uprising and rescue the besieged Eyrie. Even the two houses that had once stood against Robert, House Tyrell of the Reach and House Martell of Dorne, both former Targaryen loyalists dared not openly defy the king's summons.

Tyrion was quick to predict that the Tyrells and Martells would each send important representatives, along with just enough troops to fulfill their obligations without fully committing to Robert's cause.

Westeros now projected an image of unity, preparing for war. The last time such widespread cooperation had been seen was during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Even the Ironborn, notorious for their defiance, had answered the call, sending a fleet in token support. Though their ships were of little use in an inland campaign against the Vale, their gesture sent the right message.

---

None of this had much to do with Aegor or at least, that was what he told himself.

As an outsider with no real roots in this world, he had no intention of profiting from war. His focus remained on his business. His priority was to complete the first factory, fulfill orders from the church and smaller clients, and secure the final payments. Strengthening the financial foundation would allow him to reinvest in further expansion.

One advantage of living in a pre-industrial society was that things were relatively straightforward. Just two weeks after narrowly surviving the initial financial hurdle, the first production line was already operational despite the factory itself not yet being fully built.

Hundreds of kilograms of raw materials for papermaking were fed into a massive stone mortar. A wooden pestle, thicker than a man's arm, crushed the materials under the steady motion of a waterwheel. The resulting pulp was treated with alkaline powder before being sent to the next stage of processing.

The secret to a successful assembly line was simple: as long as raw materials were continuously fed into the system, production would never stop, regardless of how long individual processes took.

The printing plates for the Seven Pointed Star Bible, calendars, and other texts were already prepared, awaiting the first sheets of paper from the production line. Meanwhile, hired bards and writers had begun transforming oral stories into written works. Since Aegor had promised them full authorship rights, they worked diligently.

Among all these projects, one story held Aegor's particular interest—a novel based on "his" adventures.

Titled The Fantastical Adventures of the Night Watchman, the tale followed the journey of a young traveler setting out into the world for the first time. It chronicled his adventures across distant lands, his struggles and triumphs, and ultimately, his growing curiosity about the shape of the world itself.

In the final volume, the protagonist, having explored every known land, made the fateful decision to set sail on a daring voyage to circumnavigate the world. But fate had other plans. Shipwrecked on a foreign shore, he found himself in Westeros, where circumstances forced him to join the Night's Watch.

By sheer chance, he rose through the ranks, eventually arriving in King's Landing to secure provisions, supplies, and recruits for the Wall's defenders.

There were no professional storytellers in this world, and the works penned by bards tended to be rough and disjointed. However, the story itself was fresh and engaging enough to capture interest. The name Aegor West never appeared in the novel, but anyone with a bit of insight would recognize that it was about the "Chief Logistics Officer" of the Night's Watch office in King's Landing.

---

This was a bold public relations experiment. The more copies sold, the more people would come to know of his "experiences." When the day came for him to leave the Night's Watch, the backlash and opposition would be far less severe.

Aegor glanced at drafts of several other novels. Compared to the one he had personally outlined and authorized, the knightly tales passed down by the bards felt stale and formulaic. He had a strong hunch: even from a purely financial perspective, his story would be the most profitable.

Meanwhile, preparations were also underway for the material Tyrion had referred to as "unsuitable for polite company." Since no experts in the field could be found, Tyrion took a more direct approach, he invited painters and bards to move into his favorite brothel, where they could collaborate in an "atmosphere best suited for inspiration." Their goal was to create an illustrated book that combined vivid imagery with suggestive storytelling.

The dwarf proudly presented the draft of this risqué book to Aegor. To be honest, compared to the famous erotic works from Aegor's previous world, this was absolute garbage. In his opinion, it was barely better than crude street performances.

Still, it was a novelty. How well it would perform in the market remained to be seen.

True to his promise to his apprentice, Aegor handed the book to Arya, who had been waiting beside him with eager eyes. He expected her to take one look, turn red, and throw it back at him. Instead, she became utterly engrossed in reading, her face flushing as she muttered, "Master, you are awful."

Tyrion barely managed to reclaim the manuscript from her.

---

Everything was progressing smoothly. The experimental workshop's paper production was, for now, solely reserved for printing the Seven Star Bible and calendars. Once the factory outside the city reached full production capacity, all the groundwork they had laid would finally come into play.

Aegor looked forward to that day.

Instead, he received an unexpected visitor.

A royal servant from the Red Keep arrived at the Night's Watch office, announcing that King Robert required the presence of a "true brother of the Night's Watch"—someone who had sworn the oath, to accompany the royal army.

Unfortunately, Aegor was the only one in King's Landing who met the requirement.

"Why does the army need a Night's Watchman?" Aegor asked, eyes widening. He immediately reached for the most reliable and time-honored defense: "The Night's Watch swears to take no part in the conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms."

"His Majesty has decreed that, once the Bloody Gate is taken, the nobles responsible for the rebellion will be given the option to take the black," the servant replied, nose held high. "A sworn brother is required to receive them and escort them to the Wall."

"But that falls under the jurisdiction of the Raven's Shadow. That's the Chief Steward's responsibility. I am the Chief Logistics Officer!"

The servant gave him a blank stare, clearly incapable of distinguishing between the various Night's Watch titles. He frowned. "You can either come with me and explain that to the king yourself, or I'll return and inform His Majesty that you refused his request. Either way, it's your problem. Now, come along."

Chapter 94

"Why are you worried? You won't be sent to the battlefield. Just think of it as a trip." Tyrion shrugged, trying to reassure him. "If you don't climb the mountain, the valley still offers a nice view. Are you afraid Robert will lose? At worst, it'll be a stalemate."

"I'm not worried about my safety. It's just… our business is finally taking off. If one of the two key figures behind the Night's Watch suddenly disappears, it's bound to cause some disruption."

"Two key figures? Tsk… I appreciate the flattery." Tyrion rolled his eyes. This man always had a way of delivering compliments in the most unexpected manner. He had to admit, it was a skill he admired. "With me in King's Landing, nothing major will go wrong. As for you, just don't try to talk your way out of the king's orders. Go, do as you're told. When you return, the factory will be running at full capacity. I might even have an entire network of allies set up for you. At that point, all I'd have to do is introduce you to the right people, and in a matter of minutes, you'd become someone with real status in King's Landing, someone with influence, someone people recognize, and to the brothers of the Night's Watch, someone in charge."

"Oh… well, I'll have to trouble you with that, then."

"You're welcome. I can't let that 'big shot' reputation you gave me go to waste. Now, sign a statement authorizing me to handle all matters of the Night's Watch office while you're away. Leave one of your seals with me, and I'll take care of the rest. Enjoy your trip to the Vale."

---

Aegor decided to follow Tyrion's advice. He didn't have much of a choice. It wasn't that he thought the Night's Watch enterprise would collapse without him, his partner was an exceptional man, unparalleled in the Seven Kingdoms. Aside from knowledge, expertise, height, and physique, Tyrion outclassed him in almost every way: connections, strategy, and political maneuvering. With the worst of the financial crisis behind them, there was no reason to believe disaster would strike in his absence. And knowing Tyrion's character, he wasn't worried about being abandoned while he was away.

Aegor wasn't afraid. He was frustrated.

Tyrion had no idea that this war, in a sense, had started because of him. Months ago, when he watched Bran fall from the tower at Winterfell, he had assumed fate and the story's trajectory were unchangeable. But now, he realized that not only could the plot be altered, but it could also be reshaped with astonishing ease.

If he found the right pressure points, a single push could send events spiraling in unexpected directions. The dominoes had already fallen, and not only had he lost his advantage of knowing the future, but the consequences of his own actions were now coming back to haunt him.

It was not a pleasant feeling. There was a word that described this situation perfectly… what was it again? Oh, right—backlash. He was now suffering from the very rumors he had spread.

---

The king had given his command. Aegor wasn't technically in charge of the decision, but it seemed that Eddard Stark was the only man in Westeros who could outright refuse Robert Baratheon without consequence. Besides, for business to continue functioning, it required the approval and sometimes the direct involvement of the ruling class. No matter how he looked at it, his business dealings in the Vale would inevitably be affected.

There were still a few days before the royal army set out. His best option was to use this time wisely, to ensure Tyrion was informed of his plans, issue whatever orders were necessary, and hope that his partners and subordinates could carry them out in his absence.

The next scheduled shipment of supplies to the Night's Watch was still a month away. Aegor had originally planned to use this shipment as a stepping stone for his broader goals. In addition to the items listed by the Lord Commander, he intended to donate additional supplies voluntarily.

The food at the Wall was barely passable. He had arranged to send several thousand pounds of meat and barrels of wine with each shipment, ensuring his brothers on the Wall could enjoy something better than their usual rations. Outside of officers, most of the Night's Watch only had a single set of winter clothing. If their clothes got wet or needed washing, they had to sit shivering by the fire, waiting for them to dry. He planned to gradually provide spare winter garments for the rank and file.

If this practice continued, it wouldn't be long before a new pattern emerged: every time the Logistics Department resupplied the Wall, the defenders would receive fresh food, warm clothing, and perhaps even better boots, gloves, and hats. With these tangible benefits, the new department would become an essential presence in the lives of the men at the Wall.

And the best part? Compared to weapons and large food shipments, these extra provisions were cheap. A small investment for immense goodwill.

---

But it wasn't enough to simply provide these things.

He would make sure every crate and every sack carried a clear label: Property of the Night Watch Logistics Department. Supplied by Aegor West.

He would not let the men at the Wall enjoy his gifts without knowing exactly who had provided them.

Tyrion highly approved of the plan, but when Aegor calculated the timing, he realized there was a high chance he wouldn't be in King's Landing when the next batch of supplies was delivered. There was no way around it. The meat and wine would be handled by merchants introduced by Tyrion, leaving it up to them to source the goods and ensure they reached the Wall. As long as the shipments arrived in good condition and didn't make anyone sick, that was all that mattered.

As for the clothing, Aegor sought out Nina and tasked her with handling it. Not only would she need to prepare a batch of thick, warm black garments, but each item had to be embroidered or marked with Night's Watch Logistics Department and Produced by Aegor West in a way that would be difficult to remove.

Given that Nina's family was already involved in the textile and clothing trade, this was a relatively simple task for her. It would also serve as a test, to see if she was not only intelligent but also capable of handling practical matters.

He hoped the sharp-minded people around him wouldn't let him down. He had no way of competing with frontline commanders for glory or prestige while staying in the relative safety of the rear, but carving out a presence for himself and ensuring his brothers remembered his contributions should not be too difficult.

---

The bond redemptions were nearly complete. Those who had not yet claimed their money had either forgotten or had no urgent need for the hundred gold dragons. In the end, more than twelve hundred of the two thousand gold dragons had been withdrawn, falling squarely between the crucial thresholds of fifty and seventy percent.

Three days after receiving the king's orders to accompany the army, Aegor packed his belongings, took along the young attendant Casey, whom he had recruited in King's Landing and set out for the army's assembly point.

The horses galloped forward, the metal rings on the reins and bits jingling with each movement. Bathed in the morning sun, the chief logistics officer and his attendant rode out through the Gate of the Gods, leaving behind the stench and towering walls of King's Landing.

The assembly point was still some distance away, but Aegor could already see smoke rising from the army's camp. As they rode through the farmland flanking the road, the distant murmur of thousands of voices drifted toward them, like the rolling tide of an unseen sea.

The closer they got, the louder the noise became. As they crested a small dirt hill, the sounds sharpened, and the vast sprawl of the encampment came into view. Beneath the summer sun, a seemingly endless expanse of tents stretched across the landscape, their canvas tops scattered like mushrooms after a storm.

Countless campfires sent pale wisps of smoke curling into the sky. Neatly arranged warhorses stood in lines stretching for miles. The surrounding forests had been stripped to provide wood for long poles to hoist the banners. Some of the siege engines, too large to be hauled into battle at a moment's notice were already assembled along the King's Road, some towering higher than a man.

Sunlight glinted off thousands of spearheads, casting fiery reflections. The grand pavilions of the lords and knights stood in stark contrast to the smaller, more modest tents of their men, dotting the fields in an uneven yet organized sprawl.

Within this sea of canvas, soldiers moved like waves, some mounted on horseback, some marching with spears, swords, or bows in hand. Elsewhere, teamsters drove carts loaded with supplies, while servants tended to livestock near the edges of the camp.

The air was thick with sound, the clatter of weapons, the whinnying of horses, the shouts of soldiers and merchants alike, blending into a chaotic, deafening symphony. Somewhere amidst the din, the high-pitched laughter of children could even be heard.

The scent of food and sweat mixed with less pleasant odors, the unavoidable byproduct of thousands of men living together in close quarters. It was, in a way, fresher than the filth of King's Landing, yet it remained an unmistakable stench. Wherever large numbers of people gathered, they needed to eat and inevitably, they needed to relieve themselves.

Robert's call to arms had created what now stood before Aegor and Casey, a sprawling war camp, teeming not only with soldiers and lords but also with servants, merchants, and the countless others who had followed in their wake.

Chapter 95

Not to mention Casey, a young man from King's Landing who had only just come of age—even Aegor, who had "served as a soldier" before, found himself momentarily stunned by the sheer scale of the military camp before him.

Compared to this gathering of forces, Castle Black was nothing more than a small outpost. Of course, in terms of purpose, the Night's Watch was indeed the sentinel of the Seven Kingdoms, so the contrast made sense.

How many men were assembled here? Ten thousand? Twenty? Fifty? A hundred thousand?

As the saying goes, a thousand men seem to stretch from earth to sky, and ten thousand are beyond counting. For anyone without professional scouting experience, estimating the size of an army beyond a certain point was impossible. Ten thousand, fifty thousand, or a hundred thousand once up close, it all blurred together. This was precisely why, in the ancient world, rulers often exaggerated their troop numbers to intimidate their enemies.

To be honest, Aegor had no idea how many soldiers stood before him. But after listening to Tyrion's breakdown of the Crownlands' population and economy, he had a rough estimate.

---

The so-called Crownlands functioned more like a direct royal domain. In essence, the duke of this land was none other than the king himself—Robert Baratheon.

This region stretched south of the Vale, east of the Riverlands, and north of the Reach and the Stormlands. If not for its coastal access, it would have been a constant battleground. Historically, it had never been an independent kingdom but instead a contested land fought over by the Riverlands, the Stormlands, and other powers. This cycle of chaos only ended when Aegon the Conqueror landed here with his dragons and used it as his base of operations, ultimately establishing his capital.

Before the Targaryen conquest, this area had a total population of less than a hundred thousand. But after three centuries of rule under the dragonlords, with a combination of immigration and natural growth, it had transformed into a prosperous land, home to King's Landing, the largest city in Westeros, and boasting the highest population density and wealth per capita.

Wealth aside, the sheer number of people here made it stand apart. The Crownlands were relatively small, and if one excluded the abnormal population of King's Landing itself, its total population was roughly on par with the sparsely populated North. Given the lack of precise population records in this era, estimates put the total number of inhabitants in the Crownlands at around two million.

Robert's campaign against the Vale was a localized conflict, not a full-scale war. This wasn't a general mobilization, and under such circumstances, rulers typically sought to balance military needs with maintaining domestic stability. The goal was to ensure the war did not disrupt daily life, damage economic productivity, or weaken the realm's long-term sustainability.

Given the technological and economic constraints of the time, an initial mobilization rate of 0.5% to 1% of the total population was a reasonable expectation. That translated to a standing army of ten to twenty thousand men, not counting the merchants, camp followers, and laborers accompanying them. The exact number depended entirely on the authority of the ruler and his ability to command the allegiance of the lords.

Aegor couldn't say with certainty how many men stood before him, but it was definitely more than ten thousand.

And to put things in perspective, during the later siege of King's Landing, Cersei Lannister had struggled to muster even a few thousand men in desperation. This vast difference in response numbers was the most tangible proof of how much power truly lay in the hands of a king in this era of rule by strength.

---

"There are so many people!" Casey muttered, his eyes wide with amazement.

Aegor had the same thought, but as the chief logistics officer of the Night's Watch—and, in the young man's eyes, a "big shot" he had to at least appear composed.

"It's quite a force," he said calmly. "Let's see what accommodations the king has prepared for us and how we're expected to move with the army."

Seeing his leader remain so unfazed, Casey suddenly felt that his own inexperience must be showing. Determined not to seem too awestruck, he nodded and quickly spurred his horse forward, following Aegor down the slope toward the camp.

If an army of this size marched north to the Wall, they could crush the wildlings by the hundreds of thousands, leaving them too battered to even remember their own names.

But instead… this force was marching on the Vale to rescue a madwoman who had murdered her own husband, simply because she had once been a Tully and was now the mother and legal guardian of the young Lord of the Eyrie.

---

Earlier on the road, Aegor had been grumbling to himself about how Robert was already planning for victory, thinking about sending Royce and other lords to the Wall before a single battle had even been fought. The fact that he had specifically summoned a Night's Watchman for the task was, frankly, absurd. That fat pig is far too optimistic.

But after seeing the sheer scale of this army, Aegor understood where Robert's "unshakable confidence" came from.

Robert may have been extravagant and irresponsible when it came to governance, but in terms of sheer personal authority and leadership, he was leagues above most rulers. His reckless spending had undoubtedly left the Iron Throne buried in debt, yet it had also bought him immense loyalty from the middle nobility and the lesser knights, men who had received honors and rewards under his reign.

This concept of "borrowing from the future to maintain present stability" through financial overreach, whether by accident or design, was a surprisingly advanced strategy.

Granted, the kind of loyalty and control bought with coin was inherently fragile. But when wielded by a leader who won battles consistently, it became something else entirely. As long as Robert remained undefeated, and as long as he didn't suffer a catastrophic loss, his influence, however tenuous in peacetime was as potent as any standing army under the most disciplined social system.

And these were just the forces personally led by the king.

Once the other six kingdoms joined the fray…

If not for the natural fortifications of the Bloody Gate, the so-called Alliance of the Righteous in the Vale wouldn't have lasted beyond a single engagement.

During his time working at the Night's Watch office in King's Landing, Aegor had familiarized himself with the sigils of Westerosi nobility. As he rode deeper into the army camp, clad in his black cloak, he recognized many of the banners fluttering around him. The golden crowned stag of House Baratheon was the most common, which was no surprise given Robert's personal summons. But beyond that, he spotted a variety of other heraldry, emblems emblazoned on soldiers' surcoats, painted onto wooden shields, sewn into tent flaps, or decorating the lances of knights.

There were the crossed warhammers of House Lake, the sheep holding a golden cup of House Stokeworth, the light green waves of House Hayford… and many more.

Aegor didn't bother counting them all. It was easy to guess that every house in the Crownlands had sent men. When the king himself issued a mobilization order, even the smallest, most destitute noble families would find a way to answer. Even if all that remained of a house was a lone heir, he would still crawl to the battlefield with his banner, desperate to earn glory and rebuild his family's fortunes.

With so many noblemen gathered in one place, this would have been a prime opportunity for a financial scheme, some way to manipulate or profit from their ambitions. But right now, Aegor had a more pressing concern. He needed to find the king… or at the very least, someone who could tell him where he was supposed to be stationed.

---

After asking several soldiers, he came up empty. None of them seemed to be aware that King Robert had summoned a Night's Watchman.

This irritated Aegor. It was the sort of frustration that came with dealing with the vast gap in power and status. He had already suspected that the order had been nothing more than a passing thought Robert had while drinking—after all, the servant who had come to fetch him hadn't even carried an official letter or token of proof.

But even if it was a drunken whim, he had still been compelled to obey. The reason was simple: if he showed up, Robert would likely forget about it. But if he hadn't shown up, and the king did remember, he'd be in serious trouble. Either way, his valuable time, time that could have been spent building his business was now being wasted on a pointless campaign.

Aegor had cursed the fat stag countless times in his mind, but now that he was here, there was no turning back. Refusing to report in wasn't an option.

Beyond the broader consequences, there was also the matter of his own reputation. How would it look to his personal attendant if he wandered around aimlessly, unable to even confirm his orders?

He couldn't keep running in circles and hitting dead ends. He needed to resolve this quickly, before it became outright embarrassing.

---

He urged his horse forward, pushing deeper into the encampment.

To be honest, the discipline, organization, and overall quality of military forces in this era were terrible. He had simply followed the King's Road and ridden straight into the heart of the army without anyone stopping him. There were no enemies for hundreds of miles, but what if he had been an assassin?

Aegor had to wonder, if he knew exactly where to go, could he have ridden all the way to Robert's tent, only to be stopped at the last moment by the Kingsguard? He wasn't sure if Robert's personal guards were even present in the camp yet. Either way, if there were ever such things as explosive weapons in this world, assassinating a king would be almost too easy.

Finally, he spotted someone familiar one of the nobles from King's Landing who had purchased bonds from the Night's Watch enterprise. Even better, the man had redeemed them just two days ago, meaning they had met twice and exchanged at least a few words.

Good, Aegor thought. At least I never gave him trouble over the early redemption penalty. Now I don't have to worry about him pretending not to know me.

Chapter Text

Chapter 96

The knight did indeed remember Aegor not just because his investment had earned him several gold dragons in interest upon redemption, but also due to Aegor's distinctive black attire and foreign features as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Recognizing him at a glance, the knight not only greeted him warmly but also introduced him to those around him.

---

"This is the Night's Watchman I mentioned before. You all thought it had to be a scam, but I withdrew my entire investment and actually received three gold dragons in monthly interest. As far as I know, nearly everyone who answered the king's call cashed out their bonds to buy equipment. That's just how things are."

"Three percent interest?" Another knight looked surprised. "I don't get it, where is the Night's Watch getting this kind of money?"

"As for our profits," Aegor interjected smoothly, "if you have more than five hundred gold dragons, you can invest directly and earn even higher returns. For details, once we've dealt with this rebellion and returned to King's Landing, you can visit my office. It's directly across from the garrison's East Camp. I'd be happy to give you a full introduction. And if you'd like to see the Night's Watch factory in operation, that can be arranged as well."

He delivered his pitch in a matter of seconds before seamlessly shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Now then, which kind-hearted knight would be willing to deliver a message to King Robert for me?"

"I know one of the Kingsguard on duty today. I'll speak with him on your behalf," the knight who had bought bonds offered, thumping his chest in assurance. After all, he had personally profited from the Night's Watch investment, and a favor was the least he could do. "Wait here for my return don't go wandering off."

"Much appreciated."

---

Standing outside a tent marked with three red stripes, Aegor spent some time conversing with the knights. He spoke persuasively, pitching the Night's Watch enterprise with ease, and soon several of them showed interest in both the bonds and the industry he described. By the time their discussion ended, many had already expressed their intent to visit his office in King's Landing once the war was over.

This unexpected gain significantly eased Aegor's frustration at what had felt like wasted time.

In truth, first impressions mattered in any world. When he had first approached the knights for directions, both he and his attendant Casey had looked respectable enough. Then, the knight who recognized him had personally vouched for him. And when they heard that this Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch was managing hundreds, if not thousands of gold dragons, their wariness vanished.

It no longer mattered that he wore black or belonged to the Night's Watch. In their eyes, he was simply a man of means.

Aegor had long understood this simple reality—wealth, or even the mere appearance of wealth, opened doors. It was little wonder that people instinctively flaunted their riches. After all, money was just another form of power, and those who controlled resources naturally commanded respect among their peers. It was a truth as old as time, applying to both men and beasts alike.

---

About twenty minutes later, the knight who had gone to speak with the Kingsguard returned, accompanied by another man wearing a tunic embroidered with two stag antlers.

Aegor recognized him immediately.

---

"Earl Buckwell!"

What were the odds? Aegor had a feeling this was too much of a coincidence, but he simply raised an eyebrow and held his tongue.

The man before him was none other than the Lord of Staghorn Castle, a noble of the Crownlands who had once planned to invest in the Night's Watch enterprise. He had intended to put down a thousand gold dragons for a stake in the paper mill, but the sudden civil unrest in the Vale had disrupted his plans before the funds ever arrived in King's Landing.

Even though their deal had fallen through, the bond between them remained. The old earl might have been forced to halt his investment, but he was still the first nobleman to visit the Night's Watch office and personally inspect the papermaking workshop. Over fifty years of age and yet bold enough to take risks on new ventures, his decisiveness alone made him someone worth befriending.

The gray-haired Earl Buckwell nodded to Aegor and the surrounding knights before speaking in a formal tone.

"His Majesty has ordered that the Night's Watchman be attached to the army of Staghorn Castle. I am responsible for your safety."

---

With that, Aegor's position in the army was finally settled. The old earl bid farewell to the other knights, then led Aegor and their respective attendants toward the camp belonging to Staghorn Castle's forces.

"Truth be told, King Robert had completely forgotten about summoning you," Buckwell admitted once they were out of earshot of the others. "It was only when your friend reminded him that he remembered."

The earl shook his head with a small smile. This was hardly an honorable thing to reveal, but as a vassal, he had no right to criticize his king, especially not one as powerful as Robert Baratheon.

"His Majesty was deliberating on where to place you when I happened to be present, so I volunteered to take you under my command."

"Uh… well, I appreciate your kindness, my lord."

Aegor had suspected this outcome all along. Still, hearing it confirmed made his heart sink. He had already resigned himself to this trip, but knowing for certain that he was only here because of a half-remembered whim made the entire ordeal feel even more absurd.

Yet no matter how much he cursed Robert internally, he wouldn't be foolish enough to voice those thoughts before a high-ranking noble. At least, not yet.

"You needn't thank me. Since you're here, it's best to make peace with it. King Robert's memory is unpredictable, he forgets new ideas quickly but often recalls old ones at inconvenient times. If this rebellion ends and he suddenly remembers wanting Royce and the others to take the black, only to realize no one's there to handle it… well, you'd be in serious trouble."

Buckwell had just given voice to the very concern Tyrion and Aegor had discussed earlier.

If Aegor had been a typical sworn brother of the Night's Watch, an honorable man with no attachment to anything but his duty, he could have ignored the king's whims entirely. He could have disregarded Robert's foolishness and done nothing, since the oaths of the Night's Watch explicitly forbade interference in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms.

Unfortunately, he was not that kind of man. And as long as the king issued an order, Aegor had no choice but to comply.

Even if this entire campaign turned out to be nothing more than an empty trip to the Vale, it wasn't something he could afford to dismiss lightly. There was too much money on the line.

"You're right," Aegor admitted. "I was already prepared to waste some time when I came here."

"That's good. I understand that the Night's Watch is sworn not to involve itself in the internal struggles of the Seven Kingdoms, but this situation is different. This isn't the Six Kingdoms waging war on the Vale, this is the Seven Kingdoms united to quell a rebellion. The war isn't being fought against the Duke of the Vale himself. Strictly speaking, your presence here doesn't break any rules."

Seeing the uncertainty on Aegor's face, Buckwell continued in a reassuring tone.

"Besides, whether or not King Robert succeeds in breaching the Bloody Gate for the first time in history, no one will hold you accountable. There's no reason to worry."

It was a reasonable point. The old earl was a wise man.

If Robert's forces broke through the Bloody Gate, the outcome was obvious. And if he failed, the most likely scenario would be a negotiated settlement, the king agreeing to withdraw his army in exchange for the Justice League guaranteeing Lysa Arryn's safety and delivering her for trial.

As for the notion that a handful of Vale lords could somehow defeat an army led by Robert Baratheon himself? That was pure fantasy.

Unless, of course, some other time traveler had appeared in the Vale and started manufacturing gunpowder.

But barring that, there was no realistic scenario where the Righteous Alliance came out on top.

I have already sent a letter to Castle Black requesting that an official be dispatched to the south. If the rebellion is quelled swiftly and without trouble, I will simply fulfill my duties as expected. But if things do not go smoothly, who will have the time to concern themselves with me? Once the Crows arrive to take over my role, I can set down this burden and return to King's Landing without worry.

---

The Earl of Staghorn and the chief logistics officer of the Night's Watch walked together toward the Buckwell camp, conversing along the way. Aegor quickly gathered more information.

The forces from Staghorn Castle numbered five hundred, including twenty knights. The king planned to depart at dawn, heading for Saltpans to rendezvous with the Riverlands army before moving to the mouth of the Vale, where they would wait for reinforcements from the other kingdoms.

And then there was one last piece of news, one that made Aegor nearly burst into laughter.

Robert had ordered Petyr Baelish to travel to Braavos and negotiate the next loan, ensuring that the realm did not plunge into financial ruin while waging war.

Aegor couldn't hide his surprise. "How is that possible? I mean… isn't our Master of Coin still facing rather serious charges?"

"Exactly. Who knows?" Buckwell sighed. "That man has always been responsible for handling the Crown's loans with the Iron Bank. And now, with a war looming, there's no one else who can take his place in Braavos… Imagine it: we send the adulterer to borrow money, and then we march off to rescue the adulterer. Only King Robert could come up with something so utterly ridiculous." The old earl shook his head, swallowing whatever choice words he had nearly spoken. "Of course, this is only a rumor for now. We shouldn't assume it's fact without evidence. But if it is true, I doubt Littlefinger will ever return to Westeros."

"Indeed."

Aegor composed himself. It was absurd, yes, but then again, Robert had thought to summon a Night's Watchman for this campaign. Was there anything he wouldn't do? Unexpected as it was, this situation did not change the fact that Littlefinger had already been undone by his own schemes.

Baelish was a noble in name only, stripped of power and influence. Even if he fled across the Narrow Sea, what could he possibly do? Would he dare to steal the Iron Bank's loan and start his own venture to challenge Westeros? That would be suicide. The Iron Bank would never support a rival to one of its most valuable clients. And as for the Faceless Men—well, they were not exactly known for leniency.

With that conversation settled, they moved on to discussing Jarman Buckwell, who was currently stationed at Castle Black.

Like most noble houses in the Crownlands, House Buckwell had originally been loyal to the Targaryens. During Robert's Rebellion, Staghorn Castle had chosen the losing side. After Rhaegar fell at the Battle of the Trident, the heir of House Buckwell surrendered, was taken captive, and ultimately sent north to take the black.

Over the years, Jarman Buckwell had risen to the rank of ranger squad leader at Castle Black. Aegor himself had nearly been placed under his command. To some extent, it was this connection that had given Earl Buckwell a favorable first impression of the Night's Watch.

---

"The Night's Watch has rarely had much involvement with the Seven Kingdoms. Why, then, have they suddenly begun collecting provisions from the south and even starting industries?"

Now that they were away from Tyrion and the other Crownlands nobles, the old earl finally voiced the question he had refrained from asking during his last visit to the office.

For noble houses, sending a family heir to the Wall was more than just an inconvenience, it was a catastrophe. With Jarman Buckwell serving as a sworn brother, the family had lost one of its most promising successors. Such a loss could easily lead to decline.

It was only natural that the old earl would be anxious.

Aegor immediately understood the implication.

The earl saw hope in him. If Aegor West could leave the Wall and operate freely in the south, then perhaps, under the right circumstances Jarman Buckwell could do the same.

Chapter 97

"Over a hundred thousand wildlings beyond the Wall are desperate to cross before winter sets in. The Night's Watch is too weak to stop them. Change is inevitable, and change often means destruction."

Aegor carefully avoided mentioning the White Walkers. Without solid proof, bringing up such things would only undermine his credibility.

"But the reason I was able to organize all of this," he continued, "aside from the support of Lord Tyrion Lannister, is that I didn't offend anyone."

---

It sounded like a clever turn of phrase, but in reality, Tyrion had once summed it up in a much cruder yet entirely accurate way:

"The price wasn't too high."

The real reason Tyrion had been able to pull Aegor from the Wall aside from money and some strategic embellishments was that Aegor had been insignificant. He had no powerful allies, no sworn enemies. No one had been invested in his fate, and no one had cared enough to challenge the decision. When he left, there had been no outraged voices running to Lord Commander Mormont or King Robert to demand his return.

But if a former heir of an earl, someone who had been sent to the Night's Watch as punishment for backing the wrong side in Robert's Rebellion wanted to leave? That was an entirely different matter.

There was no exaggeration in saying that Robert's rule would not have lasted had he allowed such things. Even now, long after his rebellion, those who had fought against him had only two choices: switch allegiances or remove themselves from power entirely. That was the unspoken rule of Westeros.

A king sat at the top of the feudal order, the greatest beneficiary of the noble system. Unless he was an utter fool, someone with a political mind as abysmal as Joffrey's, he would never be the one to break that system and weaken his own authority, not for something as trivial as a bribe.

If anyone wanted to buy their way out of the Night's Watch, they would have to offer a price so high it would truly tempt the king. And even then, they would have to ensure that no one in Westeros protested the decision.

House Buckwell was wealthy enough that they could afford a sum in the thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands of gold dragons. But for Robert, a man who had been a king for years yet had no concept of how much daily necessities actually cost, that was nothing. It wasn't even a fraction of what he owed Tywin Lannister and the Iron Bank. Would a sum like that really interest him?

Technically, the Night's Watch could ignore the king's opinions altogether. But in practice? In a land where all power ultimately answered to the throne, how many truly dared to disregard a king's will?

People could talk about Frey's arrogance, Prince Oberyn's defiance, the Queen of Thorns' cunning, or the brutal audacity of the Boltons. But as long as Robert Baratheon still lived and the alliances of House Baratheon, Stark, and Arryn remained intact, even the boldest of schemers had to bide their time and keep their heads down.

Even setting aside external politics, there was a more immediate problem:

How much effort had Tyrion already put into persuading the Night's Watch leadership to release Aegor? It had taken extraordinary maneuvering just to get them to make an exception for someone as unimportant as him.

Sir Jarman Buckwell, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. He was not just a ranger, he was a political exile, a noble sent to the Wall to ensure his house survived the rebellion.

The real danger wasn't the lack of gold but the inequality of such an act.

If the precedent were set that the right price could free a man from the Wall, it would destroy the Night's Watch in an instant.

Those with wealth or noble ties would scramble to find ways to buy their way out, while those without anything would be left seething with resentment, watching helplessly as others escaped. The leadership of the Night's Watch, as well as the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, would never allow such a situation to unfold.

If that ever happened, their response would be swift and brutal: a total crackdown to stop the problem before it spread.

And if that day came?

Even Aegor who had done everything by the book so far might find himself dragged back to the Wall.

This was not something that could be handled easily.

---

"I see."

Earl Buckwell nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken meaning in Aegor's words. He had been lucky to keep his head after choosing the losing side in Robert's Rebellion. Trying to push further seeking to undo his son's sentence was an overreach.

Still, he was not willing to give up entirely.

"But I have an idea," the old earl said. "Since you are the chief logistics officer, perhaps you could intervene in personnel assignments. Transfer Jarman to serve under your department as a logistics officer. Then, order him to work in the Crownlands, officially tasked with 'procuring food and supplies at Staghorn Castle.' That way, everyone wins."

The suggestion was completely viable in theory.

But Aegor wasn't about to tell him the truth, that his position as chief logistics officer was little more than an illusion.

Most people, upon hearing his title, assumed he was the fifth-highest authority in the Night's Watch, ranking just below the Lord Commander, the Chief Ranger, the First Steward, and the Master of Arms. This misunderstanding—this illusion—was precisely what Aegor wanted them to believe.

And so far, it had been extremely beneficial.

But the reality?

He wasn't even close to having that kind of power. Even a random ranger captain carried more weight than he did.

Right now, Aegor was lucky just to not be recalled to the Wall. The idea of pulling strings to get someone else out? That was a battle he couldn't even start to fight.

"My lord," Aegor said carefully, "I won't deceive you."

He chose his words carefully not outright lying, but framing the truth in a way that would temper Buckwell's expectations.

"The logistics department was only recently established. It does not hold as much influence as the older divisions. I do have the authority to recruit new personnel as I see fit. But transferring someone from Castle Black?" He shook his head. "That is beyond my power. At least for now. After all, I have only been in office for two months."

He paused for a moment before continuing,

"Once I expand the Night's Watch industry, build a network of allies at court, gain control over the bulk of the Watch's logistical supply, and eventually send my own trained men to the Wall…."

Aegor painted a picture of what could be achieved if everything went according to plan. But in the end, he concluded with a more serious tone,

"Influence and authority don't appear out of thin air. They must be earned. My lord, you have spent decades in power you must understand this better than anyone."

"I do," Earl Buckwell nodded. The man in black before him had made his position clear.

"I will do everything I can to support your endeavors in King's Landing. As for investment… once this war is over, if Staghorn Castle's finances are still intact, we will continue as planned. Profit is secondary, I'm willing to take little or none at all. But please, Chief Logistics Officer, remember Jarman's situation."

"You have my gratitude, my lord. The Night's Watch will not forget your aid during this critical time for the defense of the Wall."

Dealing with intelligent men was always easier.

With just a few words, two individuals or in this case, two small factions that had previously been strangers had discovered common interests and even reached a preliminary agreement for cooperation.

Aegor felt a twinge of guilt.

The truth was, he had no means of rescuing Jarman Buckwell. But in order to secure investment, he had deliberately implied that it might be possible, just difficult.

Perhaps this was just how things worked. The longer he played this financial game, the more he found himself changing. He was no longer simply an engineer. He had become a businessman, one who never missed an opportunity to promote his financial ventures, always steering conversations toward money and investment.

Once upon a time, he had been an honest man, the kind who never lied except to his parents or his girlfriend. But now? He could weave half-truths and grand promises without so much as blinking.

It was not a pleasant realization, becoming someone he once disliked.

But at least he had no intention of outright scamming his investors.

This was a brutal world, and he, a man with no family name, no noble blood, and no real backing couldn't afford to play the game any other way.

Littlefinger, one of the most cunning figures in Westeros, had been easily toppled by a single rumor thanks to Aegor's interference. But that wasn't because Petyr Baelish had been incompetent, it was because public perception was dangerous.

Still, if there was one thing worth learning from Littlefinger, it was his ability to profit from chaos.

Having just secured his first investment through a mix of diplomacy and deception, Aegor found himself wondering:

What would Baelish have done in my situation?

Dragged into a military campaign on a whim, forced to waste time at a crucial moment in his business's development, what would Littlefinger have done?

The answer came to him quickly.

Yes, this war was a show of strength for Robert. It was an opportunity for the king to relive the glory of battle, a way to remind the realm of his power.

But for Aegor, a "Night's Watchman," this was something else entirely.

Most of the realm's nobles had answered the king's summons and gathered here.

That meant that right now, in one place, was a collection of men who controlled wealth, land, and resources.

And he had just been handed the opportunity to meet them, all without having to chase them down or beg for introductions.

Tyrion had urged him to enjoy the trip, but Aegor had never been one to sit idly by while others worked themselves to the bone.

While his partners in King's Landing toiled like dogs to keep their operations running, he would not simply wander the Vale, admiring the scenery.

He would seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

If this campaign was going to waste his time, then he would make it worthwhile.

By the time he returned to King's Landing, he would have built the network he needed.

Chapter 98

Aegor and Lord Buckwell reached an understanding and set aside the discussion of Jarman's potential release from the Night's Watch. Before long, they arrived at the section of the camp occupied by the forces of Staghorn Castle, where dozens of tents bearing the sigil of House Buckwell, two stag antlers on a field of blue and white stood in neat rows.

The old earl assigned Aegor and his attendant a tent adjacent to his own, a generous arrangement given the circumstances. In times of war, securing private quarters even a simple canvas shelter was a privilege reserved for high-ranking officers and honored guests.

---

At dawn the following day, the army set out as scheduled. For all his flaws, Robert Baratheon was not a man who overslept when there was war to be fought.

The sheer scale of the royal host, impressive when stationary, became even more striking once it stretched into a marching column. The line of soldiers and wagons extended beyond sight in both directions, disappearing into the morning haze. From where Aegor rode among the Staghorn men, he could neither see the head of the procession nor its rear.

Clad in his black cloak amidst the gleaming armor of House Buckwell's soldiers, he stood out like a shadow among silver and steel. It wasn't long before word spread through the ranks there was a Night's Watchman marching with the army.

"Waiting to buy up captured prisoners at a discount, no doubt," one soldier joked. "He'll haul them off to the Wall soon as we're done here."

None of them knew that Aegor had been forced into this campaign against his will. To them, the presence of a sworn brother of the Night's Watch was nothing more than an amusing oddity. A mascot of sorts.

If even the Crows are betting on our victory, the soldiers thought, then this rebellion must be as good as crushed.

None of them spoke of the old superstitions of how black garb was said to bring ill fortune. If anything, Aegor's presence seemed to embolden them.

---

As they rode, Aegor remained by Buckwell's side, listening intently as the old knight recounted stories of Robert's Rebellion. He committed each name to memory every noble house whose members had been forced to take the black for backing the Targaryens.

At first, he entertained the thought: If I gave these families the impression that I had a way to smuggle their kin out of the Night's Watch…

Of course, it would only work if his business in King's Landing flourished. But if it did, could he use that leverage to attract more investors? More clients?

Yet, as quickly as the idea formed, he dismissed it.

It had been over a decade since the rebellion ended. Most houses that had suffered for their loyalties had since recovered, their exiled sons forgotten or replaced by younger heirs. Only the Buckwells still clung to the hope of retrieving their kin, and that was because the family had failed to produce another male heir.

This was an exception, not a trend.

So much for running a "rescue operation," he mused.

Still, the war provided an opportunity. If nothing else, it was a chance to forge connections with Westerosi nobility.

The royal army marched for ten days, passing through several Crownlands villages and towns—including Sow's Horn—before finally reaching their first rendezvous point: the Riverlands stronghold of Lord Harroway's Town.

---

Though the town bore the name of the once-great House Harroway, that lineage had long since perished.

In its prime, House Harroway had been powerful enough to be granted Harrenhal itself. But like every other house to claim the largest castle in Westeros, they had succumbed to its infamous curse, extinguished, their lands and titles scattered.

Here, a thousand Riverlands troops guarded the ferry, ensuring that no rebels from the Vale could interfere with the king's crossing. Not that it was needed, Robert's army crossed the Trident without incident.

With the river behind them, they set their sights on the Vale.

One day later, they arrived at a place steeped in Westerosi history: the Crossroads Inn.

---

Few places in the realm had seen as much misfortune as this humble three-story inn.

In the original timeline, it had been the site of many fateful encounters. It was here that Catelyn Stark and Ser Rodrik had crossed paths with Tyrion Lannister, leading to his fateful capture. Here, Sandor Clegane had taken Arya Stark northward, cutting down Gregor's men along the way. Later still, Brienne of Tarth had passed through, setting yet another chain of events in motion.

But now, thanks to Aegor's intervention, many of those stories would never come to pass.

Still, the inn remained the crossroads of Westeros in more than just name. Its strategic location where the King's Road met the River Road made it a gathering point for travelers, merchants, and, most importantly, armies.

Anyone journeying between Winterfell and King's Landing passed through here. Any force marching from Riverrun to the Vale had to stop here.

And so, it was here that the forces of the Crownlands and the Riverlands finally united.

---

Nearly twenty thousand Riverlords had joined the war effort, swelling Robert's host even further. Their banners bore the sigil of House Tully, led by Edmure Tully himself, son of Lord Hoster Tully, the man who had helped forge the Stag, Wolf, and Falcon alliance that had won Robert his throne.

Lady Arryn, besieged in the Eyrie by the rebels of the so-called Righteous Alliance, was a Tully by birth. She was Edmure's sister.

And blood was not so easily forgotten.

The Riverlands and the Reach were unique among the Seven Kingdoms. Despite being among the richest regions, neither had been ruled by native kings before Aegon's Conquest. As a result, though their lords bore the title of duke, their hold over their own lands was tenuous at best. They lacked the ironclad authority and deep-seated loyalty enjoyed by the Starks, Lannisters, or Baratheons. On the surface, they were powerful but in truth, they had little hope of ever seizing the Iron Throne or declaring independence. Their only path to maintaining power lay in strategic alliances and well-placed marriages.

Fortunately for House Tully, Robert Baratheon was still king. His rule, however reckless at times, was stable enough that the Riverlords fell in line without resistance. With his authority behind them, the Tullys had no difficulty rallying a massive force.

Aegor took note of the banners flying alongside the river-born host. Even House Frey, infamous for its later betrayal at the Red Wedding, had joined the Riverlands coalition.

That alone spoke volumes.

Robert's grip on the Seven Kingdoms was stronger than Aegor had anticipated.

With the Crownlands and Riverlands now fully united, the royal host swelled to over thirty thousand strong. That number counted only the fighting men, not the vast network of camp followers and supply trains that trailed behind them.

For a feudal army, this was a staggering force, especially considering it came from just two of the Seven Kingdoms.

And they were not done yet.

Without pause, the combined army pressed eastward. For Aegor, this second pass through the Crossroads Inn was just as brief as the first. There was no time to stop and enjoy its famed hospitality.

---

Two weeks after departing King's Landing, the army finally crossed into the Vale of Arryn. They marched until the narrow mountain pass leading into the heart of the Vale was visible in the distance. Then, at Robert's command, the host split in two, forming a pincer-like formation on either side of the pass.

The southern and northern flanks of the royal army dug in, completely cutting off the Vale from the outside world.

With thirty thousand men at his command and siege engines arriving soon, Robert had the strength to assault the Bloody Gate directly.

But he did not.

This was not just a campaign, it was a spectacle.

Robert would not simply march in and crush the rebels. He would wait. He would let the full might of the Seven Kingdoms assemble before striking.

Aegor could see it clearly: the Usurper's War was long past, and Balon Greyjoy's rebellion had been crushed a decade ago.

The Seven Kingdoms had begun to forget why they once feared Robert Baratheon.

Now, he intended to remind them.

Aegor found it amusing.

Eddard Stark had remained in King's Landing to govern in Robert's absence. The king had taken only four of his Kingsguard with him; the rest—including Jaime Lannister—had stayed behind to protect Queen Cersei and the royal family.

That alone was telling.

A civil war had erupted in the Vale, yet the greatest winners might very well be the Lannister twins, safe in the capital.

Aegor could only shake his head.

Here sat the King of the Seven Kingdoms, posturing before the Bloody Gate while his wife cuckolded him in King's Landing.

And the best part?

He was borrowing money just to afford the show.

One thing was certain: displays of power were only effective when backed by true strength.

Those who flaunted wealth they didn't have rarely met a good end.

Aegor could only hope this rebellion didn't turn into an outright disaster, because if things went south, he had no intention of being dragged down with it.

Chapter 99

Aegor knew full well that calling Robert's campaign a show of force was a subjective take, influenced by his own cynicism. After all, Robert Baratheon was no longer the warrior he had once been, he was a fattened king now, his prime long behind him. But more importantly, he had been raised as the heir to a great house, receiving an upbringing entirely different from that of Eddard Stark. If Eddard was the steady foundation, Robert was the commanding presence. And if both men had been alike in temperament, they likely would never have become such close friends.

The King of the Seven Kingdoms had not marched to the Vale solely for spectacle. Politically speaking, this was about more than reclaiming order. Robert intended to make his vassals remember their obligations, reminding them that feudal loyalty was not merely ceremonial.

He had let them grow comfortable for too long. Now, it was time to remind them what was owed.

---

The feudal order was built upon a simple contract between lords and vassals, a system of mutual obligation.

A ruler was expected to protect and maintain his vassals. Protection was straightforward, Robert's campaign to subdue the Vale's rebellion was a fulfillment of this duty. He would not only lift the siege on Lysa Arryn but also ensure justice was served, whatever that might entail.

To maintain his vassals meant granting them lands, titles, and people to rule over, ensuring they could sustain themselves through taxes and harvests.

In return, the vassals had two fundamental duties:

1. They could not act against their liege's interests, whether in life, honor, or wealth. Even speaking against the king in private was considered treasonous unless it was done as counsel to his face.

2. When their liege issued a summons, whether for war or governance, they were bound to answer.

Eddard Stark had honored this by traveling to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King. The lords of Westeros had answered by gathering their banners and marching to the Vale.

It was a simple agreement in principle but in practice, feudal obligations were rarely so clear-cut.

One rule, however, was of paramount importance. It was also the reason Robert dared to wage war despite an empty treasury: when a lord summoned his banners, his vassals were responsible for supplying their own men.

That meant Robert only needed to fund his personal retinue from King's Landing.

The other thirty thousand men and any additional forces yet to arrive would be financed by their own lords. The king did not need gold so long as his vassals could pay their own way.

This was not trickery. It was the foundation of feudal society.

Robert had been raised to understand this from birth. He knew his rights as a liege lord and exercised them without hesitation. Even if there had been another way to resolve the conflict, he had chosen war. And once war was chosen, his vassals had no say in the matter.

Any who refused to answer his call would be guilty of treason.

Once the rebels in the Vale were dealt with, Robert would turn his attention to those who had hesitated.

---

The irony was that the Alliance of the Righteous as the rebels called themselves, had also justified their actions under the banner of feudal duty.

They claimed to serve House Arryn's rightful heir, young Robert Arryn, who was being held captive by his mother, the very woman suspected of murdering his father. The mutiny, they argued, was not rebellion but rescue.

In their view, Lysa Tully was not a true feudal lord, but an unworthy regent, a vassal who had seized power unlawfully.

Robert Baratheon, however, saw things differently. As far as he was concerned, Lysa was the acting Lady of the Vale, guardian of her son's birthright. That made her his vassal and therefore, under his protection.

At the heart of it, the conflict boiled down to a question of legitimacy.

And in Westeros, legitimacy was determined by steel.

Whoever won this war would be right.

---

The royal army made camp at the mouth of the valley, establishing defensive lines just beyond the rebels' reach. Both sides cleared forests to prevent ambushes and spread their forces wide enough to avoid accidental fires or congestion.

If the rebels attempted a raid, they would find both wings of Robert's forces prepared to respond.

Robert also took steps to secure his supply lines. A secondary force was stationed at a crossroads miles behind the main camp, tasked with guarding provisions. Should the battle turn, these reserves could be deployed as reinforcements.

For all of Robert's personal failings, his grasp of strategy was sound. He was no tactician like Stannis, nor a battlefield genius like Tywin Lannister, but he was no fool. His instincts as a warrior and war-leader had not dulled completely.

Aegor had to admit, he could find little fault in the way the campaign was being conducted.

Of course, he had never been a military man before his arrival in this world.

Once the army had established its foothold, scouts were sent into the valley to assess the terrain and deliver Robert's demand for surrender. Messengers were also dispatched to the noble houses of the Vale who had not joined the rebellion, calling upon them to honor their feudal oaths.

Many houses answered.

But Robert, in another calculated move, did not integrate them into his main army. Instead, he ordered them to march against the holdings of the rebel lords, laying siege to their castles and strongholds.

It was a shrewd maneuver. The politics of the Vale were murky at best, who could say how many among these latecomers harbored sympathies for the League of Justice? By sending them elsewhere, Robert minimized the risk of betrayal within his ranks.

It was, Aegor had to admit, an intelligent decision.

A shame, then, that such a capable general made for such a terrible king.

---

While only two of the Six Kingdoms had arrived thus far, Aegor wasted no time in his personal endeavors.

He had resolved to meet as many nobles as possible, introducing himself, speaking of his work in King's Landing, and subtly promoting the Night's Watch Industry.

Most of the lords he approached regarded him with indifference. They granted him an audience out of politeness, given Robert's presence, but their patience was thin. After a few pleasantries, they would make it clear they had no further interest in entertaining him.

In a matter of days, he had been dismissed more times than he could count.

Yet he was not discouraged.

A first meeting rarely led to immediate trust. But if a man remembered his face, if he recalled their conversation upon a second encounter, then the foundation of a connection was already laid.

In that regard, Aegor had advantages.

For one, he was likely the first Night's Watchman most of these lords had ever met.

And lastly, he carried something few had ever seen: books made of fine plant-fiber paper, printed with ink.

In a land still bound to parchment and scribes, that alone was enough to intrigue the curious.

---

The next army to arrive came from the North. Nearly ten thousand strong, led by Robb Stark.

It was an impressive force, considering the North's vast and sparsely populated lands. To summon so many men so quickly for a mere rebellion spoke to the loyalty House Stark commanded.

Robert, in high spirits, rode out several miles to personally greet his friend's son.

Next came the host from the Westerlands, ten thousand men, led by Ser Kevan Lannister, Tywin's trusted second.

They were fewer in number than the Riverlords or the Northerners, but their presence overshadowed the rest.

Their ranks gleamed with polished steel, their banners crisp and unweathered. Unlike the other assembled forces made up of hastily levied soldiers over a third of these men were standing troops, regularly trained in Lannisport. Their discipline was obvious at a glance.

Next came the 10,000 troops of the king's own family, House Baratheon of the Stormlands. In theory, their commander was Renly Baratheon, but as the king's younger brother and one of his councilors, he remained by Robert's side at all times. The task of mobilizing the army fell to his vassals, who handled it voluntarily, so there was no need to elaborate on the details.

Five thousand men arrived from the Riverlands. As the only region in the Seven Kingdoms with a population exceeding ten million, sending such a small number was clearly a slight. However, these five thousand were all true cavalry. Randyll Tarly, who led them, explained that the long journey prevented him from sending more, but he personally pledged to supply provisions and fodder for the coalition forces. In the end, Robert accepted his reasoning.

As for Dorne, that ever-defiant land, they were surprisingly cooperative, sending Prince Oberyn Martell with several thousand spearmen. After all, even Aegon the Conqueror had failed to subdue them, despite riding a dragon.

The Iron Islands contributed over a hundred ships of varying sizes, carrying more than a thousand sailors in total. Aegor had only vaguely heard that their leader was a woman, after some thought, he deduced it could only be Balon Greyjoy's chosen heir, his daughter, Asha Greyjoy. Soldiers who had seen her claimed she was a striking woman... but for Aegor, such things were irrelevant. What was interesting, however, was that the Ironborn ships had picked up the Dornish spearmen on their way, allowing the Dornish contingent to arrive before the Riverlands cavalry, despite not being fully equipped with horses.

Meanwhile, the fleet from Dragonstone and the forces of the Narrow Sea lords, led by Stannis Baratheon, had already reached Crab Bay, seized Gulltown, and surrounded Runestone.

A month after Aegor parted from the king, the armies and nobles of the Seven Kingdoms had finally gathered. Now, the entire Vale was encircled by Robert's loyal navy and army. At the Bloody Gate, the entrance to the Vale of Arryn, soldiers were packed shoulder to shoulder. More than 80,000 lords and troops were camped outside, their banners forming a vast, colorful forest. This show of the king's dominance, and the first direct assault on the legendary stronghold that had never fallen, was finally about to begin.

Chapter 100

The Bloody Gate stood between two perilous cliffs, the only passage from the Mountains of the Moon into the Vale of Arryn. It consisted of two watchtowers clinging to the rock face, a sealed gray stone arch bridge connecting them, and a series of battlements reinforcing the structure. From a distance, it looked like a massive rock had fallen from the sky, completely blocking the sole entrance to the valley.

The terrain leading up to and beyond it was relatively flat, without significant elevation changes. Instead, the gatehouse itself completely "sealed" the pass, leaving not even a gap for a cat or dog to slip through, unless the defenders chose to open it.

Regardless, the Bloody Gate certainly deserved its reputation as the most dangerous pass in Westeros. With such a natural barrier, how could anyone hope to break through if the defenders were well-prepared?

Doubt gnawed at Aegor, but he wasn't about to make rash assumptions about something outside his expertise. He decided to wait and see.

That was all he could do, in fact. As a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, he was merely an observer. Even if every soldier nominally responsible for his safety charged into battle and perished, no one would expect or allow him to join the fight.

One of the few benefits of being a man of the Night's Watch.

---

The sun crested the peaks of the Mountains of the Moon. The army had already finished breakfast, and the morning's cooking smoke dissipated into the clear sky. Finally, the assault on the Bloody Gate began.

The first weapons to be deployed were the crossbows and catapults. The soldiers hadn't been idle during their time camped outside the valley; in a matter of days, they had hastily constructed a large number of siege engines, with catapults being the most numerous. Now, these primitive but powerful machines were rolled into position. They lined up in rows, though the narrow entrance of the valley limited their deployment. Had the space allowed, with the combined manpower and resources of the six assembled kingdoms, they could have built thousands of siege engines to batter the Bloody Gate into rubble.

At the officers' shouted commands, bolts the size of spears were loosed from the crossbows, and the arms of the catapults swung forward. Stones—far deadlier than any spear soared through the sky. The largest were so heavy that grown men struggled to move them, while even the smallest were the size of a man's head. The crossbow bolts proved ineffective, but the stones arced high, crashing down hundreds of meters away. Some smaller ones sailed over the Bloody Gate and landed inside the pass, while others struck the gatehouse or the walls. Those that hit men crushed them before they could even scream, reducing them to shattered bones and torn flesh. The stones that struck the walls sent splinters of rock flying in all directions, and the repeated impacts created the illusion that the entire Bloody Gate was shaking.

The defenders fought back, but their counterattack was far weaker in comparison. Even with the advantage of high ground, their projectiles couldn't reach the enemy siege lines with enough force. The narrowness of the Bloody Gate made it easy to defend but also restricted the defenders' ability to deploy large siege weapons of their own. In terms of firepower, the "rebels" had already gained the upper hand.

And the projectiles being launched weren't just stones. Aegor saw thick smoke beginning to rise behind the Bloody Gate's walls. After several more rounds of bombardment, the defenders retreated into their fortifications, and their counterattacks grew sparse.

---

"It's impressive," Aegor admitted to himself. But then what?

The reason the Bloody Gate had remained unconquered for centuries wasn't just the massive wall blocking the valley entrance, it was the entire defensive complex behind it. The builders and their successors had reinforced the position with numerous battlements and towers, creating a layered defense system as formidable as a mountain. Even if the gate was breached, the fallen structure itself would still be an impassable obstacle. If the gateway collapsed entirely, forcing an army through would become even more difficult.

Before Aegor could dwell on his doubts, he got his answer.

Once the catapults had destroyed enough of the defenders' equipment and forced them to take cover, the next phase of the assault began. The first wave of archers and crossbowmen stepped forward, moving into position even as the siege weapons continued their bombardment. Advancing in disciplined ranks, they closed the distance by more than a hundred meters before stopping within range. Then, they raised their bows and loosed a volley of arrows.

Something about the scene struck Aegor as eerily familiar. Fire support? He stood there, momentarily stunned.

In his mind, warfare in this world was crude, primitive. He had assumed Robert's strategy would be a simple brute-force assault: waves of soldiers carrying ladders, charging the Bloody Gate like a relentless tide, clambering up the gray stone walls while the defenders did their best to hurl them down.

But this… This was something else. He had guessed wrong.

Damn television shows were messing with his expectations.

As he stood there, still processing what he was seeing, the war drums began to thunder, and the battle cries rang out.

---

The Bloody Gate was positioned at the narrowest section of the pass leading from the Mountains of the Moon into the Vale of Arryn. The space available for an attacking force to maneuver was extremely limited. Though 80,000 troops and over 100,000 logistical laborers were stationed here, no more than a thousand men could charge the canyon entrance at any given time, meaning that most of the gathered army could do nothing but watch, much like Aegor, their only contribution being their shouts of encouragement.

Amid the deafening cheers, a group of several hundred soldiers bellowed in unison as they surged forward, surrounding a massive siege engine, a chariot-like contraption, 20 to 30 meters long, equipped with a gilded battering ram. As the ram emerged from the crowd, a portion of the soldiers pushed the great machine forward, while the others clustered around it, likely to take turns operating the ram or replacing the fallen once the assault began.

The siege vehicle was reinforced with fixed shields to protect both the structure and the soldiers escorting it. It sped past the trebuchets, pushing through a gap left by the crossbowmen who had been providing covering fire, and advanced toward the Bloody Gate.

Aegor could hear the defenders shouting commands. The valley's garrison, which had been suppressed by the relentless barrage of stones and arrows from the besieging army, now reemerged atop the battlements to retaliate. Rocks rained down from above, while countless arrows formed a misty curtain over the battlefield. The attacking archers did their utmost to pin down the defenders atop the walls, their arrows striking true and eliciting screams of agony. Meanwhile, the defenders focused their fire on the advancing siege engine, their arrows embedding themselves in the vehicle's frame and protective barriers, soon making it resemble a massive, bristling hedgehog.

The narrow terrain of the Bloody Gate was both a blessing and a curse for both sides. At this moment, its greatest disadvantage was that the passage before the gate was too confined to allow more than one siege engine to approach at a time, making progress slow and arduous. Yet the overwhelming firepower of the besiegers was sufficient to cover the narrow battlements barely a few dozen meters wide, ensuring a steady toll on the defenders.

A commanding voice rang out, and the catapults ceased fire. With the siege vehicle so close to the Bloody Gate, further bombardment risked hitting their own troops. Under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands, the siege engine pushed past obstacles, rolled over a shallow trench, and finally slammed into the gate itself.

The defenders retaliated fiercely, hurling burning barrels of oil and heavy stones down upon the attackers. But despite the flames and falling debris, the battering ram swung into motion.

Boom. Boom.

The dull, reverberating crashes sent a shudder through the battlefield.

The cheers of the rebel army's spectators faded. Even Aegor found himself holding his breath.

At that moment, it seemed as if the only sound in the world was the rhythmic pounding of the ram's iron head against the gate.

Chapter Text

Chapter 101

Amid the rhythmic pounding of the battering ram against the gate, burning barrels of oil crashed down around the siege engine, ignited by unseen fuses or flaming arrows. A wall of fire erupted, engulfing the head of the battering ram. Soldiers splashed with burning oil shrieked and broke away from the protection of shields and wooden panels. The fortunate ones managed to roll on the ground, smothering the flames before scrambling back under cover, while the unlucky were struck down by stones and arrows before they could even react. Yet for every defender who revealed themselves to attack, a volley from the massed archers, poised a hundred meters away cut them down in turn.

With every passing moment, men were wounded or killed.

Boom. Boom.

The battering ram's front end was fully engulfed in flames, but the siege engine itself had been reinforced with thick, fire-resistant leather, soaked to prevent burning. The material slowed the spread of the fire, buying the soldiers enough time to make a few more desperate attempts at breaking the gate. But with more oil barrels raining down, the siege vehicle would soon be rendered useless.

Aegor didn't want to keep watching. The attack would likely end with the siege engine's destruction. So far, the total casualties on both sides had barely reached three digits, a mere fraction compared to the more than 100,000 troops present. A casualty rate of one in a thousand seemed insignificant. But for the men caught in the blood and fire at the gate, it was anything but.

The narrow battlefield limited the scale of the battle and kept the casualty rate from rising too quickly, yet the ferocity of the fighting at the Bloody Gate and on the ramparts was no less brutal than any legendary siege of ages past. Everyone lived in the center of their own world, how could the soldiers on the front lines be reduced to mere numbers, just a "one" in a force of 100,000?

To children, war was a distant tale. To the young, war was the pinnacle of glory. But Aegor was no longer a boy. Standing on the battlefield, hearing the agonized groans and dying screams of wounded men, he felt more vividly than ever before that war was no game.

---

This war was not of Aegor's making, but it was undeniably connected to him. He turned away, preparing to leave the battlefield and return to camp.

Then, all around him, a deafening roar of cheers and applause erupted.

Aegor whirled back in shock, instantly realizing what had caused the soldiers to cry out, the head of the battering ram, still wrapped in flames, had broken through the outer gate of the Bloody Gate and lodged itself in the doorway!

What? It's broken already?

Was Robert's strategy of "fire suppression" and ramming tactics simply that advanced? Or had every other force that had attempted to breach this fortress over the past thousand years just been too weak?

As the cheers thundered, a group of cavalry clad in House Baratheon's colors spurred forward, charging for the shattered gate. If they could hold their ground and prevent the defenders from resealing the entrance, then the Bloody Gate, the pass that had never fallen in all of history would finally be conquered in the name of King Robert.

But faster than the cavalry were the soldiers who had manned the battering ram. Before the flames could completely consume the siege engine, they heaved it aside and rushed through the broken gateway.

After all, who wouldn't want to be the first to claim credit for taking the fortress? A chance to be knighted, to become a noble, perhaps even to secure a legacy for their descendants.

---

It felt unreal.

After all that preparation, was it truly over in a single battle? What had happened to the legendary claim that "one man could hold back a thousand"? What of the promise that the pass would never be taken?

Aegor felt a strange mix of embarrassment and relief. No matter what, if the battle ended quickly, there would be fewer casualties and that was no bad thing.

But just as the watching soldiers began laughing at the absurdity of a month-long siege ending in half a day, the situation suddenly shifted.

The coalition soldiers who had rushed through the broken gate suddenly came scrambling back—less than ten seconds later. Under a fresh hail of falling stones and arrows, they shouted warnings as they fled desperately back to their lines. Many were cut down in the retreat, and even the Baratheon cavalry was forced to pull back.

The assault had been repelled.

Crossbowmen, who had been providing covering fire, were hastily ordered to withdraw. The trebuchet bombardment was suspended, and the siege equipment was pulled back beyond the defenders' range. Apart from the siege engine still burning beneath the Bloody Gate, the first assault was over.

Word quickly spread from the mouths of the retreating soldiers, passing from one man to the next, until it finally reached Aegor's ears:

The defenders of the Bloody Gate had completely sealed the gate with earth and stone.

This was a devastating setback. With the first assault repelled and the second not yet organized, it was clear that the news had caught Robert and his commanders off guard. Until they devised a new strategy, Aegor estimated there would be no further battle.

---

After some minor disruptions, things finally returned to normal. The Bloody Gate was not so easily breached, after all. Aegor turned away from the battlefield and made his way back to his small tent, deep within the coalition army's encampment.

Though called a military camp, it resembled a vast city of tents. Based on sheer population density, it could rival some of the largest cities in Westeros. The only difference was that instead of common folk, its inhabitants were mostly soldiers and nobles.

To accommodate so many people, merchants had set up shop in the heart of the six great military camps, catering to every need imaginable. As long as one had coin, there was little that couldn't be bought—inns, taverns, brothels, bathhouses… From a distance, it looked like a sprawling mass of tents, but within, it functioned as a city in its own right. It was as if the bustling commercial district of King's Landing had been uprooted and transplanted to the valley's entrance, albeit with worse service and inflated prices.

Normally, no commander would tolerate such an atmosphere in a military camp. But in truth, the rebel forces were trapped within the Vale, hemmed in behind the Bloody Gate. Every fief and castle belonging to the mutinous lords had already fallen under Robert's control, and the army's patrols and scouts kept constant watch outside the camp. The warrior-king leading this campaign had left no room for his enemies to turn the tide. Barring an internal uprising, the camp was impregnable.

Perhaps I should set up a temporary Night's Watch office and join in on the trade?

The chief logistics officer considered the thought seriously. But before he could dwell on it, his attention was drawn to a commotion nearby, a tent crowded with soldiers from all six armies, each clad in different uniforms. They were arguing, voices rising heatedly as they fought over some item being sold by the tent's owner.

Aegor was curious, but as a man of status, he had subordinates for such matters. There was no need for him to investigate personally.

"Kathy, go see what they're fighting over," he ordered.

The boy darted off, slipping through the crowd like an eel. Half a minute later, he emerged and ran back, his face a mix of excitement and disbelief.

"Ser, it's a book!" Kathy blurted out. "The book we printed!"

Chapter 102

"The books we printed?" Aegor's eyelid twitched as a thought immediately struck him, if the soldiers were this eager over something, it could only be something risqué, something with both pictures and text that wasn't exactly presentable.

He strode toward the tent, and as he got closer, the argument between the stall owner and the soldiers became clear.

"Are you trying to rob me? Ten silver stags for this piece of trash?"

"Robbery? Open your eyes, fool. This is a book!" The stall owner, unfazed by the soldiers' indignation, flipped through the pages in his hand, displaying the contents as he shouted back. Most of the merchants operating near the military camp were no ordinary peddlers, they had connections, and with the kings and lords of six kingdoms gathered here, few common soldiers would dare act recklessly. "Do you have any idea how many sheets of paper are in this? How much ink was used for these illustrations? A few months ago, your entire year's wages couldn't have bought a book this thick! Do you understand? The purchase price alone was five silver stags. And do you know what it costs to transport it all the way from King's Landing? Buy it or don't, but don't waste my time, I've got plenty of customers!"

"Fine, take the damn thing, and stay out of my sight!"

"You should've done that from the start. Wasting my time like this..."

---

Many soldiers paid up and left, clutching their purchases as they returned to their barracks with their comrades. As the crowd thinned, Aegor finally stepped forward and glanced at the stall's wares.

Fascinating. A bookstall, something Westeros had never seen before.

Laid out before him were five or six books of varying thickness and design. Titles like A Lady's Tale and The Romance of Young Aegon left little to the imagination. And among them, The Fantasy Adventures of the Night's Watch the very story Aegor himself had outlined. It was a strange feeling, seeing the industry he had set in motion thriving even in his absence. The books had followed him to the battlefield.

He did a quick calculation and frowned.

Given the production capacity of the paper mill and printing press, the church's order for the Seven-Pointed Star shouldn't have been completed yet. So how had these books hit the market so quickly? Either Tyrion had miraculously expanded production at an astonishing speed… or the cunning Lannister had spotted a lucrative opportunity and deliberately postponed existing orders in favor of printing these popular titles, entertaining the idle soldiers of the Vale rebellion while making a fortune off them.

Tyrion, you genius. I didn't even see this coming.

What irked him, though, was that the book he had been most proud of, his own Adventure Journey had sold the worst, with more than a dozen unsold copies still stacked at the stall. Meanwhile, the salacious books he personally found distasteful had nearly sold out.

The best-selling title, and the most expensive, was something called The King's Hundred Beauties.

Curious, Aegor picked it up and flipped through it, only to have his eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

Each page featured a portrait of a woman, posed seductively. That much wasn't surprising. What was astonishing was the detailed information printed on the back of each page—name, age, background, and location. It was a comprehensive directory of nearly every brothel in King's Landing, listing not only the establishments but also their most renowned courtesans.

This wasn't The King's Hundred Beauties. It was a damn guidebook.

Aegor nearly laughed aloud. Gods knew where Tyrion had gotten the inspiration for this, but the concept was genius.

With barely any words and nothing but "useful" information, it was the perfect book for its target audience. Soldiers with this in hand could pretend to be seasoned regulars, effortlessly navigating King's Landing's pleasure houses. No wonder it was flying off the shelves, his own Adventure Journey couldn't possibly compete.

Wait a minute. Isn't this basically a paid advertisement for these places? If it were me, I'd be charging the brothels for placement fees.

Then the realization hit him, if he could think of that, surely Tyrion had too. Gods only knew how much business the Night's Watch had expanded and how much coin they had raked in during his absence.

---

"If you're not buying, stop wasting my time!" The stall owner yanked the book from Aegor's hands. But as he glanced up and noticed the black of Aegor's attire, something clicked in his mind. Hesitantly, he asked, "Uh… are you the chief logistics officer? Lord Aegor?"

Before Aegor could answer, a familiar voice called his name from behind.

Turning, he found himself facing Buckwell, a man he had become quite familiar with in recent days.

Though Buckwell had never been arrogant or dismissive, he was still a landed noble, a lord and by the laws of Westeros, his rank was far above that of a Night's Watch officer. Courtesy was one thing, but politeness should never be mistaken for true equality.

Aegor didn't dare show disrespect. He stepped away from the stall, walked a few paces forward, and greeted him properly. "My lord, good morning. Will His Grace be continuing the assault on the Bloody Gate today?"

The old knight had the privilege of attending Robert's war councils, making him a reliable source of information.

"Not likely," Buckwell answered. "His Grace has realized the Bloody Gate is not easily taken. He's shifting focus to the rebel castles outside the Vale. Half the army will be redirected tomorrow to deal with those easier targets."

Then, the old knight stepped aside, introducing the figure standing behind him.

"This is Lady Margaery Tyrell. She read your story and wished to meet you. She visited your tent but couldn't find you… Luckily, your black cloak makes you easy to spot."

Aegor started in surprise, only now noticing the young woman standing just behind the old earl.

"Lady Margaery," he greeted smoothly, regaining his composure. "You are even more beautiful than the songs say. Please accept my apologies for being so difficult to find."

"You are too kind, my lord," Margaery replied with effortless grace. "Meeting an adventurer such as yourself has long been a dream of mine. Reading a tale in a book is one thing but hearing it told by the man who lived it is quite another. If you are not too busy, would you share your story with me?"

(She read The Adventures of the Night's Watch, Aegor realized immediately.)

"It would be my pleasure," he said with a smile.

---

I've met my match.

When it comes to saying one thing to one person and another to someone else, who in Westeros could possibly rival the daughter of Mace Tyrell, the sister of the Knight of Flowers the most cunning girl in the realm, known as the Rose of Highgarden?

The young woman before him had soft curls of chestnut hair and bright, doe-like eyes. She was about the same age as Nina. Like Arya and Nina, her gaze shimmered with admiration and fascination. But Aegor knew better. This Little Rose had been personally trained by the Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Redwyne. A girl raised in such an environment, one who sought to restore her family's influence through marriage, could never be anyone's mere admirer least of all a sworn brother of the Night's Watch.

Aegor was well aware that he, bound by oath and removed from the political games of the nobility, could never be a true player in the grand schemes of Westeros.

If I consider myself merely a latecomer to the art of deception, then this seemingly innocent girl before me must have been steeped in it from birth, a graduate of the highest school of political intrigue. Our strengths aren't even on the same level. My only advantage is that I know more about her than she expects.

Why would a noble lady of her stature come to the battlefield?

Aegor found it puzzling at first, but the answer came quickly enough. If he, an outsider to court politics, could see that this war was a prime opportunity to build alliances and connections, how could the true power players not recognize the same? The Little Rose was here for a reason.

As for why she sought him out specifically, that remained to be seen. It would take careful listening and a measured response to uncover the truth hidden in her words.

Chapter 103

"Scheming" often carries a negative connotation, but if you call it "cleverness," it suddenly sounds far more admirable. Everyone has desires, goals, ambitions but there is no reason to treat ambition as something sinister. It is the very force that drives people to act, the engine of society's progress.

Altruism is indeed a noble and virtuous quality, beneficial for the survival of a group. But pure altruism? That does not exist. Creatures that lack the instinct for self-preservation, that do not know how to compete for resources, were long ago eliminated by nature.

People must have desires. They must have ambitions. The key difference lies in whether they understand what they want, why they want it, and whether they possess the ability and strength to achieve it.

Cersei is the perfect example of ambition gone astray. She is cunning, yes, but her scheming is meaningless, she wants everything yet lacks the foresight to understand why she wants it or how to obtain it properly. She seldom considers the consequences of her actions. A fool, but not a simple fool, that is what makes her truly dangerous. She turns allies into enemies with ease, yet is unpredictable as an opponent. One cannot reason with a player who refuses to follow the rules.

Aegor had always kept his distance from such chaotic personalities, and even knights like Jaime were wary of entanglements with them. But Margaery Tyrell?

Margaery was the perfect example of a competent schemer.

Her goal was clear: she sought to restore House Tyrell's influence, diminished after backing the wrong side in Robert's Rebellion through marriage, securing a place for her family at the very heart of power. Unlike Cersei, she had the intelligence, patience, and strategic mind to see that goal realized.

To mistake her gentleness for kindness was to invite ruin. She could bleed a man dry while smiling sweetly. But as long as one recognized her nature and made it clear they would not be easily led, she became far less dangerous.

Margaery Tyrell was not a Littlefinger, she did not need to disrupt the board to gain power. She was already among the nobility, already one of the privileged few who held a seat at the table. She was willing to share the spoils as long as her own position remained secure.

To put it simply, she was an ambitious yet pragmatic player of the Game of Thrones. As long as one possessed sufficient power and leverage, they could deal with her confidently, knowing she would not suddenly act irrationally or turn on them without reason.

---

"Lord Aegor, they say this story is based on your adventures. Did you truly experience all of it firsthand?" Margaery asked gently. Her voice was soft, pleasant to the ear.

"That's right, though it's been somewhat dramatized."

Margaery's eyes sparkled with curiosity, the picture of an eager adventurer at heart. Her performance was so flawless that Aegor felt a chill creep up his spine. Carefully choosing his words, he responded, "The experiences are real, but the dangers were exaggerated. If I had truly endured all that and barely survived, I would have locked myself indoors, never to set foot outside again, let alone return to Westeros."

"That does make sense." Margaery chuckled, her expression warm and innocent. Then, as if casually, she asked, "May I call you Aegor?—is the 'Tsena' you hail from truly west of the Sunset Sea? Where exactly is it? How far is the journey?"

What is she after? Are the Tyrells looking to establish trade with Tsena?

Aegor felt a flicker of suspicion but masked it well. He could not afford to be careless.

"I was merely a guest aboard that voyage," he answered smoothly. "I know little of navigation, much less our exact location. I couldn't even be certain we sailed directly east the entire time. As for the distance, I only recall that the journey lasted over a month. Considering that our vessel was far more advanced than any ship in Westeros and that we traveled with the winds, I can only estimate—Tsena should be somewhere west of the Sunset Sea, perhaps two or three thousand leagues from Westeros."

"That far?" Margaery sighed wistfully. "What a pity, I had hoped to visit such a wondrous land."

"I'm afraid I must disappoint you, Lady Margaery," Aegor replied, allowing a hint of melancholy to seep into his voice. "Even if someone were to gift me a fully manned ship this very moment, I would have no way of finding my way home. I don't even know if my family is still waiting for me across the sea… or if I will ever see them again."

"Do not despair," Margaery said, her voice laced with sympathy. "Fate brought you to Westeros, perhaps this land is where you were meant to be. And with your experiences and talents, Lord Aegor, I have no doubt you will find success wherever you go."

---

She comforted him with an earnest look, and he expressed his gratitude in turn.

As the daughter of a great lord, she addressed a man of the Night's Watch who held no title, nor could ever claim one as "lord."

It was almost nauseating.

Aegor had a feeling that dealing with Margaery would do wonders for his ability to maintain a straight face, improve his reflexes in conversation, and sharpen his resistance to manipulation. But the sensation of his skin crawling was deeply unpleasant all the same.

Still, he kept his composure as they walked through the military camp, conversing as they went. Margaery continued to probe him about the stories in The Fantasy Adventures of the Night's Watch. But Aegor had already prepared for such an interrogation. Without hesitation, he spun elaborate tales some based on real events, others fabricated so seamlessly that no outsider could tell truth from fiction.

Trailing behind them, Ser Buckwell remained silent, listening but offering no commentary. The man was an earl, yet in this exchange, he played the role of an observer, a mere bystander to Margaery's charm.

---

"By the way, Lord Aegor, I've heard that not only is this book based on your adventures, but it was also produced in a factory you established."

After much circling around, Margaery finally steered the conversation toward reality. "I noticed the material of this book doesn't seem to be parchment, and the text doesn't appear to be handwritten. How did you manage that?"

Here we go.

After so much pleasant conversation and careful flattery, she was finally getting to the point.

If a lesser man, unfamiliar with her true nature, were to be charmed by such a noble beauty, skillfully coaxed into boasting, and subtly pressed for details, he might spill everything he knew.

Fortunately, Aegor had been waiting for this moment.

So, this was what she was after, papermaking and printing. Now that he understood her objective, it would be much easier to handle.

"Yes, that's true," Aegor admitted with a casual nod. "The books are produced by a factory under the Night's Watch. But I only oversee funding, set general direction, and ensure our profits support the Watch with food and supplies. The specifics are handled by the craftsmen. If you're asking how it's done, I'm afraid I couldn't tell you."

He shook his head apologetically before offering, "However, as it happens, the Night's Watch is looking to expand and is in need of investment. If Lady Margaery is interested, I'd be happy to give you a personal tour when I return to King's Landing."

Chapter 104

Although Margaery's attempt to outmaneuver Aegor had failed, and all her acting and charm had been in vain, she did not lose her composure. She did not grow angry or flustered. That alone placed her leagues ahead of Cersei Lannister.

When she realized she would not get anything more out of him, she remained as poised as ever, continuing their conversation in a sweet and pleasant tone. She made one final attempt, but when it became clear Aegor would not budge, she gracefully let the matter drop for now. After all, compared to making money, she had a far more pressing mission to accomplish in the North.

"Since Lord Aegor has said so, I will wait until this battle is over before visiting the Night's Watch office in King's Landing to see this enterprise for myself."

For the briefest moment, the mask of admiration and respect slipped. Her expression turned cool, even prideful. But the glimpse of her true face was fleeting before Aegor could fully register it, she had already replaced it with another carefully crafted expression.

"Ah… the wounded from today's siege have been brought down. I have some knowledge of healing, so I shall go visit them and see to their care. My lords, if you will excuse me."

---

Ah. Time to put on the 'beloved by the common folk' act again.

Watching Margaery's graceful figure as she walked away, Aegor felt a flicker of amusement. But there was no contempt in it. He did not look down on her for it.

Pretend long enough, and you become what you pretend to be.

A person's ambitions and motives were secondary to their actions. Margaery was skilled in performance, but that was simply a basic requirement for any competent politician. And if she maintained that act for a lifetime, who was to say she wouldn't become a truly great queen?

If only she had been born ten years earlier, she might have had a chance with Robert.

---

"That little fox is utterly heartless."

The words came from Buckwell, who had been observing from the sidelines. "I was worried she'd trick you, and I nearly stepped in to warn you more than once. But it seems I was concerned for nothing. You are the man Tyrion Lannister chose as his partner, after all. How could you fall for such an obvious trap?"

House Tyrell was powerful and wealthy, but they were not Buckwell's liege lords. He had no need to speak kindly of them. "There aren't many in this camp who can make that girl lose face. Robert is one. And now, so are you."

"You flatter me, my lord. Truth be told, it's not easy to refuse such a beautiful woman's request." Aegor chuckled. He had not meant to embarrass Margaery, only to hold his ground. If he hadn't known exactly what kind of person she was, even with all his experience and caution, he might have… no, he would have fallen for her charms.

"Have you heard the rumors circulating in the camp these past few days?" Buckwell asked, stroking his beard. He had initially sought out Aegor for his role in the Night's Watch, but the more he observed him, the more he found the young man intriguing. "Everyone says Margaery Tyrell bears a striking resemblance to the late Lady Lyanna Stark."

Aegor raised a brow. "Oh? Is the resemblance truly there, or…?"

Buckwell gave him a knowing look. "What do you think?"

Aegor's eyes glinted. He already understood the subtext.

Lyanna Stark? How would the common soldiers in this camp even know what she looked like?

This rumor had undoubtedly been deliberately spread by the Tyrells.

Margaery had no realistic hope of becoming queen yet, but it seemed she wasn't even above positioning herself as Robert's mistress.

For House Tyrell, this girl was willing to sacrifice everything.

She should have been born a Tully.

"Has His Grace seen Lady Margaery yet?" Aegor asked.

"He has." Buckwell smirked. "He complimented her a few times, and that was the end of it. All her efforts—the styling, the rumors, the carefully chosen dresses were wasted. She is a beauty, but what woman has King Robert not seen? And His Grace is no fool. He wouldn't be so easily ensnared by a Tyrell."

The old knight twirled his beard thoughtfully. "Besides, I doubt even Robert remembers what Lyanna Stark looked like. Forget 'she resembles her' even if she were her exact double, I doubt it would move him."

Aegor nodded in agreement and sighed.

After more than a decade, who still remembers the face of a lost love?

Robert Baratheon who indulged in new conquests and cast off old ones with ease had long ceased loving the woman Lyanna Stark had been. What he still cherished was the idea of Lyanna, the fiancée stolen from him, the love he was denied.

"I can bed another man's wife, but no man can bed mine."

Robert was, at his core, a petty, domineering scoundrel. He had waited patiently for his betrothed, only for her to elope with another. That was a humiliation no amount of wealth or women could ever erase. No matter how many beauties were offered to him, that wound would never heal.

---

"Look around you. What do you see?" Buckwell suddenly asked.

Aegor frowned at the abrupt shift in conversation. "A military camp?" He knew the answer wasn't that simple, but he couldn't immediately discern what Buckwell was getting at. "Please enlighten me, my lord."

The old knight chuckled. "I wouldn't call it enlightenment, just an observation."

He gestured around them. "Most people see an army camp. But what I see is the largest matchmaking event in the history of the Seven Kingdoms."

Aegor blinked.

"No one approaches you, of course, you lack noble blood. But look around. How many are here, scurrying about, selling themselves or their children into advantageous marriages?"

Aegor suddenly understood.

While I've been promoting the Night's Watch in this camp, the nobles have been negotiating marriage alliances. Everyone is busy securing their futures.

And as for whether the rebellion itself would succeed…

Robert is probably the only one who truly cares about that.

"Lady Margaery is one, then. Who else?" he asked.

"Let's set aside the women trying to seduce Robert," Buckwell said with amusement. "Let's talk about those engaged in serious marriage planning. Have you heard of Lord Frey?"

Aegor laughed. "Who hasn't heard of the Late Lord Frey?"

The title "Late"—when placed before a name in Westeros could mean deceased. And it had been Lord Tully himself who first coined the nickname for Walder Frey. If it had been anyone else, Frey might have drowned them in the Green Fork for the insult.

Buckwell smirked. "Yes, everyone knows it. But remember not to say it in front of the Freys."

Then, with a shake of his head, he continued, "This time, the Freys have sent two thousand soldiers to aid the campaign. But they also sent a very lovely young lady, Roslin something-or-other."

"Roslin Frey?"

"Yes, that's the one. You know her?"

Buckwell seemed mildly surprised but thought little of it. "Compared to her brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews, that girl hardly looks like a Frey at all. Her brother has been taking her to visit many of the high lords, trying to secure a match. I suspect they first aimed for Edmure Tully, but when that failed, they set their sights on Robb Stark and even the Lannisters."

He sighed. "It's difficult for a new noble house to secure a prestigious match. Not high enough for the great houses, yet not low enough for lesser lords. She's hit dead ends everywhere. Frankly, I feel sorry for the girl."

Aegor smirked.

Roslin Frey had been one of the few women in the show to genuinely surprise him.

Among her less fortunate relatives, she was a stark contrast so much so that some even speculated whether she was truly a Frey at all.

I wonder if she'll be just as striking in this world.

Aegor was briefly tempted to meet this so-called beauty, but then he reminded himself, what did her looks have to do with him?

Old Walder Frey had lived a long life and fathered countless children, yet Roslin was one of the few truly beautiful daughters he had. Now, he was determined to use her to secure a powerful alliance, refusing to consider anything less than a match that would elevate House Frey's standing. Even ordinary earls were beneath his ambitions.

A Night's Watchman running over to admire her beauty? That would be sheer madness.

---

"Speaking of which, let's talk about Edmure Tully, the leader of the Riverlands army. He's not young anymore, yet still unmarried. Do you know why?"

The old knight stroked his beard as he spoke. "It's because his father, old Hoster Tully, one of the key players in Robert's Rebellion tasted the benefits of marriage alliances firsthand. Both his daughters made excellent matches, so he refused to settle for anything less for his son. The Freys have tried everything to marry Edmure into their family, offering a dowry so generous it could buy Riverrun outright. But Lord Hoster was adamant, his son must marry the daughter of a duke."

He shook his head. "And now? The man is nearly thirty, still unmarried, still childless. For a highborn lord, that's rare in Westeros."

As one of the founding members of the Baratheon dynasty's great alliance, it was natural for Hoster Tully to seek a match of equal standing for his heir.

But must it be a duke's daughter?

Were there even any suitable candidates left in Westeros?

The North was out of the question, Sansa and Arya Stark were Edmure's nieces. In the Vale, House Arryn had already married into the Tullys, meaning any daughters they might have were in the same position as the Stark girls.

The West was even worse, though the Iron Islands were technically one of the Seven Kingdoms, no one considered the Greyjoys true nobility. As for the Lannisters… the only suitable woman, Cersei, had already been married off to Robert.

That left the South.

The Baratheon family had no eligible daughters aside from Myrcella, and Cersei would never marry her beloved child to an uncle.

Arianne Martell of Dorne would have been a fine choice, but she had already made a secret pact with Viserys Targaryen, waiting for the return of House Targaryen to reclaim her place.

Which meant…

Margaery Tyrell was the only remaining candidate who fit Lord Hoster's standards.

---

"Unfortunately…"

The problem was, House Tyrell was determined to break into the true center of power.

And while House Tully was a great house, it simply wasn't influential enough.

To put it bluntly, the Tyrells looked down on them.

Chapter 105

A marriage with House Tully would certainly increase House Tyrell's influence in the Seven Kingdoms and even solidify their control over the Reach but in peacetime, such benefits were no more than icing on the cake.

Even Aegor, a self-proclaimed outsider to noble politics, could see that using Margaery's one and only marriage opportunity for such a marginal gain was hardly worth it.

Since Margaery was determined to become queen, if she failed to seduce the king, she would undoubtedly set her sights on the prince instead.

Poor Edmure. Who knows when he'll finally settle his marriage?

Then again, as the future Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, even if he had no wife, it wasn't as if he would be lacking in lovers or bedmates. Why was he, a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, wasting time worrying about the Tullys' marriage prospects?

The thought of the Night's Watch made his chest tighten with sudden, inexplicable anger.

His brothers in black were fighting for their lives against wildlings and the true terrors beyond the Wall, while these southern nobles treated a military encampment before the Bloody Gate as nothing more than a grand matchmaking event. While soldiers bled and died at the most dangerous pass in Westeros, these lords and ladies were dividing up power and securing their futures.

How absurd. What a rotten feudal world.

---

The unprovoked surge of rage passed as quickly as it had come, leaving Aegor unsettled by the strength of his own emotions.

Had he spent so long pretending to be a loyal Night's Watchman that he had begun to believe it?

He scoffed at himself and shook off the thought.

"In the end, everyone wants to climb higher but no one ever truly gets what they want. These alliances are a tangled mess."

Buckwell, oblivious to Aegor's brief turmoil, sighed as he gazed at the endless rows of tents.

"Yes, a mess indeed. But not everyone is aiming for a grand match. I only spoke of nobles who outrank my own House Buckwell, ambitious men seeking to rise higher. But the Seven Kingdoms are not just made up of great lords. Countless landed knights, minor lords, and smallfolk thrive in their own circles. In fact, I know of at least two marriages that were arranged right here in this camp before the first battle had even begun."

"Congratulations to them, then," Aegor said absently, though he found he no longer cared enough to ask which houses were involved. Instead, he changed the subject. "Today's siege was quite the spectacle, but unfortunately, the defenders had the upper hand. What is the king's next move? I know he plans to eliminate the rebel strongholds outside the Vale, but we can't just sit here waiting for the Bloody Gate to open on its own, can we?"

---

Seeing other noble families securing alliances while his own son was stationed at the Wall, battling the horrors of the North, Ser Buckwell had little desire to continue discussing marriage. He welcomed the shift in conversation.

"Of course not. The city beyond the Bloody Gate is not some isolated stronghold, it is the Vale of Arryn, home to hundreds of thousands of people. If we waste time, the rebels inside can hold out indefinitely. We are the ones on a deadline. If we do not breach the gate until the Eyrie itself runs out of food and surrenders, then we've already lost. We need to rescue those who need rescuing. Otherwise, what's the point?"

The old knight's words were sharp and clear.

"No one expected the rebels to completely block the gate," he continued. "The Bloody Gate is a narrow choke point, scaling the walls with ladders would be a bloodbath. So, at the war council, we started throwing out ideas. Some suggested tunneling through the collapsed gatehouse to remove the rubble. Others proposed building a ramp up to the walls so infantry could charge in directly. And then, of course, there were the truly outrageous ones, someone even suggested digging through the cliffs beside the Bloody Gate to carve a new passage into the Vale."

He smirked. "You're a Night's Watchman, trained in defending fortifications. Tell me, do any of these ideas sound remotely feasible?"

Aegor had never defended a city in his life, but that didn't stop him from recognizing flawed strategies.

"If the defenders filled the entrance with rubble, all they have to do is pour a few barrels of oil down the passage and set it alight. Anyone inside suffocates instantly."

He shook his head.

"As for ramps and tunnels… my lord, you just said that we are the ones on a time limit. Do we really have the time to construct something like that?"

"Exactly. Those are the key problems," Buckwell agreed. "None of these ideas are particularly practical but they were proposed at the war council. So, while we can discuss them freely here, best keep such opinions to yourself around the commanders. Understood?"

"Military secrets. Understood."

---

As they continued toward the camps of the royal army and the lords of the Crownlands, it became evident that an attack would not be launched today.

Large numbers of soldiers were returning to their barracks, confirming that the command had decided to halt the assault for now.

After exchanging farewells, Aegor and Buckwell parted ways, each returning to their own tent.

---

The next morning, in the aftermath of the failed siege, more than 30,000 of the 80,000 troops stationed outside the Bloody Gate were deployed across the Vale's outer regions. Their mission: capturing the exposed castles and keeps outside the valley.

The remaining forces were divided into six groups, each aligned with its respective great house and kingdom. These divisions would take turns holding defensive positions and launching attacks.

The reasoning behind this strategy was obvious:

By sealing the Bloody Gate, the rebels had also sealed themselves inside. This prevented them from launching any surprise raids outside the valley. Under such conditions, keeping the entire royalist army on high alert at all times would be an enormous drain on resources. Worse, it would lead to fatigue and eventual exhaustion.

Instead of exhausting the entire force at once, a rotation system was put in place.

Whichever group was assigned to active duty on a given day would handle both camp defense and attacks against the gate, more symbolic than genuine assaults, meant to keep pressure on the enemy.

On the surface, it appeared to be a battle of attrition.

But the question remained, what if the rebels inside the valley were also rotating their forces? If they rested while the royalists rested, fought only when they needed to, and preserved their strength…

That left only one possibility.

Robert Baratheon wasn't planning to starve the rebels into submission.

He intended to force their surrender by systematically capturing every remaining stronghold in the valley, until the rebels had nowhere left to run.

After two more failed attempts to scale the walls, resulting in hundreds of casualties and no progress, the war to quell the rebellion fell into a tactical stalemate. Both the attackers and defenders found themselves in an awkward impasse, neither side able to advance nor willing to retreat.

The nobles of the so-called Alliance of Righteous had launched their revolt with the hope that "righteousness" and the natural defenses of the Bloody Gate would be enough to drive out that madwoman, Lysa Arryn, and reclaim their autonomy. They had never expected Robert Baratheon to react with such explosive fury summoning the armies of the Six Kingdoms to crush his former allies without so much as an offer of negotiation.

As for Robert himself, he had been so supremely confident in his own military genius that he never doubted his ability to take the Bloody Gate by force. That was why he had called the lords of Westeros to witness his campaign expecting them to watch a swift and glorious victory.

He had never imagined the rebels in the Vale would be this stubborn.

---

For days, the two armies remained deadlocked, staring at one another across the Bloody Gate.

Eventually, it was the rebels who made the first concession.

They sent envoys to propose peace talks.

Their leader, Yohn Royce, was willing to admit to treason, abdicate his lordship in favor of his son, and take the black, all in exchange for a single condition: Lysa Arryn must leave the Vale, and Robert must spare the other noble houses from punishment.

It was a remarkably generous offer.

But Robert refused.

He demanded unconditional surrender. Any other terms would only be considered after the rebels laid down their arms.

---

Aegor understood Robert's reasoning. Even in modern times, some nations held a strict policy of never negotiating with terrorists.

The logic was simple, if rebellion could be bargained with, there would never be an end to it.

If Robert allowed one group of rebels to negotiate their way out of consequences, it would only encourage others to do the same.

---

While the armies remained locked in stalemate, Aegor had no idea whether the sieges on the outer castles of the Vale were progressing any better.

But rather than waste time pondering battles beyond his reach, he turned his attention to something far more productive making money.

While the lords debated war strategies and planned their next moves, Aegor was busy casting a wide net, gathering potential investors for the Night's Watch industries.

He spent his time walking through the military camps of the great houses, introducing his business ventures to every noble who might be persuaded.

Persuading them to invest in anything at all was no easy feat. This was, after all, a world where the very concept of investment was almost unheard of. Nobles hoarded wealth through land and marriage, not through trade and commerce.

Still, it was infinitely easier to extract gold from these powerful aristocrats than from the common folk, who had little to give in the first place.

And through endless trial and error, through failed pitches, revised strategies, and relentless practice, Aegor had steadily refined his skill in selling ideas.

He had one clear advantage: proof.

His booksellers moved freely between military camps, selling printed works that were flying off the shelves. The demand was visible. The profit was undeniable.

Without even realizing it, Aegor found himself invited into an increasing number of noble tents, where lords were now willing to sit and listen. More and more of them expressed interest in visiting the factories in King's Landing when the war was over.

It was slow progress.

But it was progress.

Chapter Text

Chapter 106

Petyr Baelish stood on the deck, his gaze fixed indifferently on the horizon. The sea mist was thinning, and the bow of the Juneflower cut through the gray-green waters with steady purpose. As a jagged line of rocky ridges emerged from the dissipating fog, the colossal figure of the Titan of Braavos came into view.

The Titan stood astride the entrance to the lagoon, his massive stone legs planted on either side of the rocky gap. His lower body, draped in a green-bronze war skirt, seemed carved directly from the same black granite as the reef beneath him. A bronze breastplate gleamed across his torso; atop his head, a crowned bronze half-helm added to his imposing presence. His hair, fashioned from thick ropes of green hemp, cascaded down his back, while his cavernous eyes burned with fire. One enormous hand clutched the ridge of the left cliff, fingers pinching a boulder. The other arm stretched toward the sky, gripping the hilt of a broken sword.

The Titan of Braavos was, without doubt, the largest humanoid statue in the known world. Even without its defensive capabilities, it remained a breathtaking sight.

But Petyr spared it only a passing glance.

He had seen it before.

---

His great-grandfather had been a Braavosi sellsword, though the man's son—Petyr's grandfather—had sworn fealty to House Brey and become a knight. That was how House Baelish first came to Westeros.

When his grandfather was granted a knighthood, he'd chosen the Titan's head as their family sigil, a nod to his Braavosi roots.

Irony.

If the old man truly admired the Titan so much, why couldn't he have passed down some of its strength? Instead, Petyr inherited a wiry frame, unimpressive height, and a mocking nickname that had stuck with him his entire life.

"Littlefinger."

The first person to call him that was Catelyn Tully. He could still remember the sound of her voice when she said it—soft, teasing, and utterly unaware of the wound it left.

He had adored her then. He adored her still.

That name might have been an insult from anyone else. From her, it had been a gift.

Petyr shook his head, forcing the memory away.

He knew better than to dwell on the past. What haunted him now wasn't the girl who never loved him back, it was the invisible hand that had shattered his plans.

If the so-called "final testimony" had been the hammer that crushed his ambitions, then there was someone behind that hammer… someone who had tracked his every move and exposed his schemes at the most critical moment.

A hidden enemy. Unseen. Unknown.

And far more dangerous than anyone else in the game.

---

Yes, Jon Arryn had died by his hand but not as originally planned.

Petyr's scheme had been elegant in its simplicity: manipulate Cersei into poisoning Jon Arryn. Once the Lord of the Vale was dead, he could sow discord between the Lannisters and Starks while remaining safely in the shadows.

But Cersei, for all her ruthlessness, hesitated.

She stalled and stalled until Jon Arryn was ready to act, ready to confront Robert with the truth about her children's parentage and have both her and Jaime arrested.

Faced with that looming disaster, Petyr was forced to activate his backup plan.

He convinced Lysa Arryn to poison her own husband. It was effortless, really. Lysa was a fool. She believed every lie he whispered in her ear, believed she was protecting her son.

---

With Jon dead, the pieces of Petyr's puzzle began falling into place.

Eddard Stark had arrived in King's Landing with his righteous northern ideals. A minor knight, became the next pawn: an expendable figure Petyr had maneuvered into position.

First, he persuaded Robert to knight the young man for his loyal service. Next, he arranged for the knight to earn a small fortune just enough to buy himself armor and enter the tournament. Then came the crucial step: whispering carefully chosen suspicions into Cersei's ear.

It worked like a charm.

Cersei, ever the paranoid lioness, feared that he had learned too much.

She ordered Gregor Clegane to deal with the man.

A mountain crushed an ant.

The murder bore the unmistakable stamp of House Lannister. Exactly as Petyr had intended.

---

But then came that damned letter.

The so-called testimony.

The very existence of those words unraveled everything he had built.

The writing wasn't the knight's. Petyr was certain of it. The man had never even been near Lysa Arryn, let alone learned of the conspiracy.

Someone had fabricated the note and timed its release perfectly.

Who?

Varys? Perhaps. The Spider was the only one with the reach and the cunning to orchestrate something like this.

But if Varys had known the truth, why not move sooner? Why not stop Jon Arryn's death in the first place?

No.

Varys had his secrets, but this didn't feel like his work. The eunuch might scheme and manipulate, but he didn't leave his enemies clueless.

Petyr had studied his rival's style for years. Varys always let you glimpse a corner of the web, just enough to know you'd been caught.

Who else, then?

The Stark fool? Eddard didn't have the subtlety.

The Queen? She couldn't outsmart a fish.

Renly? A dilettante.

Stannis? Too straightforward. If he knew of Petyr's involvement, he would've had him arrested immediately.

Petyr rubbed his temples. His mind kept circling the same barren terrain.

If Varys hadn't done it, and none of the usual suspects had the capacity for it… who the hell had?

The Titan loomed closer now, its burning eyes staring down at him like twin accusations.

Petyr clenched his jaw.

The Vale had once been his failsafe, a sanctuary to retreat to if things went wrong. But with the Alliance of Righteous in open revolt, that option was gone.

He needed a new plan.

The Juneflower glided past the Titan's legs, entering the harbor.

Braavos was his last refuge.

There, hidden from the eyes of Westeros, Petyr Baelish intended to sell his final secret asset.

The gold would be enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life… as long as he rid himself of the royal guards trailing him and disappeared before Robert Baratheon sent anyone after him.

Petyr Baelish stood at the edge of the deck, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The briny sea breeze tugged at his cloak, and the ship beneath his feet, the Juneflower, glided through the gray-green waves with steady determination. The morning fog thinned as the sun rose higher, revealing the jagged ridge of rocks that guarded Braavos's lagoon.

Moments later, the Titan came into view.

The Titan of Braavos: colossal, ageless, unyielding.

The stone colossus straddled the narrow entrance to the harbor, his feet anchored on twin crags of black granite, as though he held the sea itself at bay. Time and wind had darkened his weathered surface, yet the bronze war skirt encircling his waist still glinted faintly in the light. A massive breastplate covered his chest, and a half-helm crowned his head, its crest adorned with a sculpted laurel. Green ropes of hemp hair fell to his shoulders like seaweed-drenched locks. His eyes were empty caves with flames burning in their depths. One hand gripped a stone outcrop; the other thrust a broken sword skyward, as though in eternal defiance of the waves below.

The Titan had stood sentinel over Braavos for centuries. Petyr had seen it before, more times than he cared to remember.

Today, it evoked no awe.

Only resentment.

---

The Titan's gaze bored into him as the Juneflower approached the harbor.

Petyr turned away from the sight and instead forced himself to consider his next moves.

He was no longer Littlefinger, Master of Coin. No longer the clever puppeteer behind the Iron Throne's purse strings. The game had shifted, the board upended.

But the game isn't over.

Viserys Targaryen might be a promising candidate for his next gamble. The last known male heir of the Targaryens, a wandering exile in Essos.

But the intelligence reports Petyr had acquired painted the Beggar King as impulsive and arrogant, a fool convinced of his own divine right.

No. That option was too risky.

Perhaps another player…

---

The Juneflower sliced through the harbor waters, passing beneath the Titan's legs. The sunlight caught the bronze sheen of the war skirt, momentarily blinding Petyr. He blinked away the glare and turned to face the two guards standing at his back.

"Braavos welcomes us," he said with a charming smile, slipping effortlessly into his familiar persona. "And we should extend our gratitude, don't you think?"

The guards exchanged wary glances.

"Gratitude?" one asked.

"Of course." Petyr spread his hands. "His Majesty will deal with repaying the loan. We're only here to secure it. In the meantime, Braavos boasts some of the finest… hospitality in the world." His smile deepened. "I insist. My treat. You've both worked so hard on this journey. A little wine, a little music. Perhaps the company of some kind-hearted locals."

Chapter 107

Outside the tent, the sun shone brightly, casting its warmth over the coalition camp. It seemed like just another ordinary day. When Aegor woke up naturally, dressed, and stepped out of his tent, he immediately sensed that something felt off.

After observing his surroundings for a moment, he quickly identified the source of the strange atmosphere: many soldiers around him were pointing and whispering while gazing toward the eastern sky.

Following their line of sight, Aegor raised his head and squinted against the sunlight. Soon, he spotted what had captured everyone's attention: low in the eastern sky, a comet hung silently beside the rising sun. Its tail was long and blood-red, like a bloody gash carved into the blue skin of the sky, or a blazing fragment torn from the sun itself.

A red comet.

The reason he hadn't noticed it immediately upon leaving the tent was that the sun's newly risen brilliance had initially obscured the crimson streak. But once seen, it was impossible to ignore. Its vivid hue and intense brightness stood starkly against the sky, undiminished even in the presence of the sun.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would look like at night.

That comet might shine as brightly as a full moon.

Aegor felt a chill run through him, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He wracked his brain but couldn't remember any specific significance behind the comet. It had been too long since he'd read the original A Song of Ice and Fire, and the details had grown hazy. He vaguely recalled that a red comet had appeared when Daenerys Targaryen hatched her three dragons. But was the comet a consequence of the dragons' birth and the resurgence of magic, or had its arrival heralded the return of magic, thus enabling the eggs to hatch? He had no idea.

Not that it mattered. Daenerys was far away, beyond his reach. People often said that, if one traveled to this world, they should find and seduce the "most beautiful woman" it had to offer. But after experiencing life here firsthand, Aegor realized how impractical such fantasies were. Survival left little room for romantic notions.

Besides, Tyrion Lannister would likely stay in Westeros to focus on his money games, altering the course of events Aegor remembered. Without the sharpest mind in the Seven Kingdoms supporting her, who knew if the Dragon Queen could successfully reclaim her family's throne? As for how beautiful or magical this prophesied queen might be… well, Aegor would just have to wait and see if they ever crossed paths.

...

He tried to dismiss thoughts of Daenerys, but the comet's image lingered in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he instinctively began analyzing it with the logical reasoning from his old world.

Such a striking comet, if it followed an orbital path around the sun, should have gradually become visible over time. It shouldn't have appeared so suddenly, nor should it be visible in daylight with such clarity. Something about it defied the natural laws he understood.

It looked so close—dangerously close. If it truly were near the planet, its angular velocity should make it streak rapidly across the sky rather than hang motionless like a bloody scar.

Could it be further away than it seemed? Perhaps it only appeared so vivid because of its immense size. But that didn't add up either. A celestial body that large would cause noticeable gravitational disturbances, yet the world remained calm and unaffected.

Unless... it was relatively small and shared a near-parallel orbit with the planet, giving the illusion of stillness. But if that were true, how had it appeared so suddenly?

Aegor's head throbbed as the contradictions piled up. After a while, he decided to stop trying to make sense of it. This world often defied the principles he'd once held as truths. The red comet was just one more mystery in a land already filled with magic, dragons, and prophecies.

Knowledge from another world had its limits here. The sooner he accepted that, the better. Instead of dwelling on cosmic anomalies, he needed to focus on surviving this harsh reality and adapting to its unfamiliar rules.

"Everyone's saying that the appearance of the bloody comet is a sign that the Bloody Gate will definitely fall!" Casey reported excitedly, repeating the rumors he'd picked up around the camp.

"Bloody comet, Bloody Gate," Aegor's lips curved into a faint smile. "The logic does have a certain appeal. Do you believe it?"

"Isn't it... true?" The boy hesitated, clearly inclined to say yes but, under the sharp gaze of the Night's Watch chief logistics officer, quickly corrected himself. "I mean... no, I don't believe it."

"I'd wager there are people inside the Bloody Gate whispering the same thing, saying the comet foretells King Robert's defeat and the collapse of his coalition. Believe it or not, it's your choice. Just remember to think for yourself. No matter what conclusion you reach, whether it's right or wrong, it's better than blindly following others."

"Oh… I understand," the boy responded, though Aegor doubted he'd truly absorbed the lesson.

Aegor gave a brief nod and said no more. Whether others acknowledged it or not, he'd become a man with influence, and it was both natural and necessary to guide the people around him. After all, the more capable his subordinates, the stronger his position and the more promising his future.

…

That day, the Martell forces were responsible for the assault on the Bloody Gate. After a charge that resulted in casualties on both sides, they declared the day's siege efforts complete and retreated to their camp to reestablish defensive positions.

People often say you don't know your limits until you push yourself. A month and a half after leaving King's Landing, Aegor had met most of the knights and minor lords from the six kingdoms who had answered the king's call to war. Among them, forty or fifty had shown interest in the Night's Watch's bond offerings. Even if only half followed through and each invested just a hundred gold dragons that would still amount to thousands of gold dragons raised for the cause.

By the time he finished breakfast, the sun had climbed higher, yet the crimson comet remained visible in the eastern sky. Having spent a year at Castle Black, Aegor had grown accustomed to strange and imposing sights. Compared to the immensity of the Wall, this streak of blood across the sky hardly seemed worth noting, so long as it didn't come crashing down to obliterate mankind. Life went on.

The business he could conduct within the coalition camp was nearing its conclusion. Now, Aegor was simply waiting for Castle Black to send a raven or a brother of the Watch to relieve him of his temporary post. Once that happened, he could return to King's Landing and continue expanding the Night's Watch's financial ventures. The war's outcome? That was Robert Baratheon's concern, not the Watch's.

With the burden of responsibility temporarily lifted from his shoulders, Aegor allowed himself to enjoy a rare moment of leisure. He wandered the camp aimlessly, considering which noble or officer he might visit, and silently rejoicing that, no matter what happened on the battlefield, he would never have to fight.

…

Ahead, beneath a towering banner depicting a crowned stag in red and gold, a din of cheers, shouts, and clashing steel filled the air. When an army was encamped, soldiers needed distractions beyond drinking, gambling, or chasing camp followers. Competitions provided that entertainment. The men divided themselves into teams, often based on their lords' allegiances, and held contests of all kinds: jousts, group skirmishes, one-on-one duels. Victors earned glory for their banners; losers sought revenge by sending in stronger challengers.

Casey reveled in every competition, but after watching a few rounds, Aegor quickly lost interest.

Skill at arms was, undeniably, a valuable talent. Most of the men in the ring were better fighters than he was. Yet, in his experience, those who swam the best were often the ones who drowned. The more proficient these men became with sword and shield, the closer they drifted toward danger and death. Aegor's ambitions lay elsewhere. His was a different game, one that influenced the entire realm from behind the scenes. If he succeeded, he would not only shape the world but also keep himself far from the peril of the battlefield.

Just as he was preparing to leave, the tone of the crowd's cheers shifted, drawing his attention back to the competition.

"Beauty!" someone shouted.

"Prince!" echoed another voice.

Aegor narrowed his eyes. Were they talking about Brienne of Tarth fighting Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper?

Chapter 108

In this counterinsurgency war, how many minor characters from the world of Ice and Fire had gathered here at this coalition base?

Countless.

Due to limited time and his low status, Aegor had neither the opportunity nor the means to visit and get to know these individuals one by one. Not to mention the two renowned warriors—Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, and Brienne of Tarth, the Beauty—he had never even met them before.

The former was inaccessible due to his high status, while the latter was likely overlooked because her tent was too inconspicuous.

Now that they had encountered them, it was only natural not to let the opportunity slip away. Even if they couldn't get acquainted, at least recognizing each other the next time they crossed paths would be worthwhile. With Casey, who was visibly thrilled, Aegor squeezed his way toward the competition circle.

Hundreds of people had gathered, forming a tightly packed crowd around the competition circle. It took significant effort for him to push through to a spot where he could see the fight clearly.

"Beautiful!"

"Beauty, finish him off!"

Amid the cheers of the surrounding soldiers, Aegor saw the two warriors locked in battle. One of them, much taller, was fully clad in blue armor from head to toe, with even the eyes concealed. Opposite the armored figure stood a black-haired, black-eyed man holding a spear—Oberyn Martell, he guessed. Compared to his opponent, the Red Viper seemed almost unprotected. Aside from greaves, vambraces, throat armor, a war skirt, and a helmet without a faceguard, he wore only soft leather and smooth silk beneath his armor. The chainmail, layered with polished copper scales, barely covered a quarter of his body.

Aegor wasn't familiar with the sigil of House Tarth, but from the shouts of the crowd, he quickly confirmed that the Red Viper's opponent was indeed "the Beauty," Brienne. After a closer look at the "Blue Knight," he couldn't help but exclaim internally: Gods, this woman is tall!

Standing before Brienne—fully armored and wearing thick combat boots—Oberyn barely reached her chest. Yet, despite his clear disadvantage in both height and protection, the Red Viper tilted his head with a playful smile, his tone laced with provocation.

"Come on, girl. I'll admit you're the toughest woman I've ever faced. You're not going to run out of steam already, are you?"

…

Under the urging and cheers of the crowd, Brienne roared and charged forward again. The longsword in her hands gleamed with cold light as it slashed toward Oberyn with ruthless precision.

Aegor had served as a ranger for over a year and wasn't entirely ignorant of swordplay. With just one swing, he recognized that Brienne's skills lived up to her reputation. His old barracks companion at Castle Black, Gary, who'd wielded a sword for forty years might hold out for a few moves against her. But if Aegor himself tried conventional defensive maneuvers against that fierce, unrelenting attack, he'd be defeated in no time.

As the surrounding soldiers jeered, Oberyn nimbly sidestepped the strike with a graceful spin. Without even glancing back, he casually thrust the butt of his spear into Brienne's armored lower back, causing her to stumble forward and nearly crash into the onlookers.

Brienne doesn't stand a chance against him. Aegor quickly understood. If she shed the armor and relied on her strength and speed alone, she might have had a slim hope. But without protection, Oberyn's spear would still find its mark. In a life-and-death duel, the outcome wouldn't change.

"I... surrender!"

Before Aegor could think further, the tall knight threw down her sword and tore off her helmet with both hands. After announcing her surrender, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd without looking back, sending several men tumbling as they failed to stop her.

---

That's it? Aegor stood in stunned silence. Surrendering after just one exchange didn't seem like the behavior of a so-called "Beauty."

After a moment of confusion, the reason became clear. Brienne must have fought Oberyn for quite some time before Aegor arrived, enduring countless humiliating feints and provocations. Realizing she had no chance of victory and faced with the Red Viper's relentless teasing, she ultimately threw down her sword and left in anger.

The audience booed, but there was no real shame in surrendering to the Prince of Dorne, who was undeniably an exceptional warrior. Watching the "Beauty" leave, Oberyn Martell chuckled and called out loudly, "Dorne's spearmanship is the finest in the world. Does anyone dare challenge that?"

The crowd immediately quieted. Many people turned to one another, nudging and urging others to step forward. Yet, after much pushing and shoving, no one dared to enter the arena.

Aegor snorted in disdain. In this coalition camp, those capable of matching Oberyn Martell were either standing beside their lords or clad in white robes, guarding the king. For someone of Oberyn's stature to step forward and challenge the lesser knights here, it felt like he was taking advantage of them.

Having accomplished his goal of getting a glimpse of both the Red Viper and the Beauty, Aegor was about to leave and see if there were any other notable nobles worth observing. But just as he turned around, someone grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait! Isn't the 'White Walker Slayer' here? Let him go up against the prince! Let's see the Night's Watch in action!"

…

"White Walker Slayer! White Walker Slayer!"

The chant spread like wildfire. The crowd's noise surged, blending with cries of "Night's Watch!" and "Chief Logistics Officer!" Before Aegor could react, several soldiers pinned him down. He barely had time to resist before being shoved into the arena.

---

It was no exaggeration to say that Aegor had become something of a celebrity.

The Fantasy Adventures of the Night's Watch had been on the market for a few weeks now. Although its sales lagged behind the more... sensational publications released around the same time, there was a limit to how long people could spend reading bawdy stories. While many of the coalition soldiers were illiterate peasants, the combined forces of six kingdoms brought together a far higher literacy rate than most other places in Westeros or even the world. Here, perhaps one in ten people could read, if not more.

And, of course, even those who couldn't read could still enjoy the tale when literate comrades read it aloud.

As one of the first books available in camp, The Journey of Adventure stood out with its unusual protagonist, a member of the Night's Watch rather than a noble knight and its fresh, unconventional narrative. Word of mouth did the rest, spreading the tale far and wide.

Aegor had originally hoped the book would tell the world that he was a foreigner who'd been forced to join the Night's Watch due to a language barrier. He wanted to shed light on the black brothers' struggles against the Wildlings and White Walkers, hoping to improve the world's opinion of the Night's Watch.

But reality rarely aligns with one's intentions. For reasons he couldn't fathom, readers seemed to ignore the larger message entirely. Instead, the story's most popular detail became the passage about him defeating a White Walker in hand-to-hand combat in the Haunted Forest. This one section—largely true, ironically became the focal point of the book's popularity.

The result? Instead of improving the Night's Watch's reputation, the book inadvertently painted Aegor as a braggart. His so-called "legend" spread throughout the camp, with more than a few listeners adding an imaginary pair of quotation marks around the title White Walker Slayer.

A tale that was 99% fabricated left the single truthful detail in doubt. Aegor didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Back in the modern world, he might've considered this a textbook case of a public relations disaster and poor narrative control. Fortunately, the book never explicitly named him, and the cover even claimed it was purely fictional. The negative perception was irritating, but the notoriety and the profits still worked in his favor.

…

He'd tried to comfort himself with that logic. But now, shoved into the arena and facing one of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, Aegor realized his so-called fame had become a liability.

Chapter 109

"So, you're the legendary 'White Walker Slayer'? I've heard of your great name for quite some time!" Oberyn twirled his spear with practiced ease, then planted it firmly into the ground. His eyes swept up and down his new opponent. "Ah, it seems the rumors aren't all fiction after all. You really aren't from Westeros, are you?"

"I come from a place called Tsena, west of the Sunset Sea."

Since he'd already been shoved into the arena, there was no point in turning tail and diving back into the crowd. Losing to Oberyn wouldn't bring shame, but lacking the courage to face him would only further damage the Night's Watch's already tarnished reputation. Thinking quickly, Aegor decided to make the first move, at least verbally.

"Dorne's spearmanship is the best in the world; I have no argument with that. But since I'm already here, I'd like to experience it firsthand... Do you have a blunt sword? The lighter, the better."

"A blunt sword?" A Dornish soldier immediately sneered. "Hah! You'd be lucky just to touch the hem of my prince's cloak!"

Oberyn, well into middle age and long past the hotheadedness of youth, merely shook his head. "Let the boy choose whatever weapons and armor suit him best. If there's nothing here to his liking, he can send for his own gear. There's no need to fret over a blunt sword."

Well, Aegor did have a sword with him, though for someone of his meager skill, there wasn't much difference between his own weapon and a standard practice blade. He gave a self-deprecating shrug.

"Your Highness, you may not know this, but the Night's Watch mostly fights wildlings. In terms of martial prowess, they're not much different from ordinary farmers. The only real challenge is their overwhelming numbers."

…

The more you use your brain, the sharper it gets. After leaving the Wall and partnering with Tyrion in King's Landing, Aegor had cultivated the habit of warming up his mental muscles daily. He'd trained himself not to panic or freeze when faced with unexpected situations. Standing in that circle, it took only a few seconds for several potential strategies to surface in his mind.

"One thousand Night's Watch brothers must defend against nearly 200,000 wildlings beyond the Wall. On average, that's two hundred foes for each of us." He exaggerated the numbers slightly. "Almost every battle we fight is against overwhelming odds. That's why our training focuses on offense over defense, only by swiftly dispatching the enemy before us can we assist our comrades or move to the next target. If we hesitate, we risk being surrounded."

Technically, that wasn't a complete lie. Most wildlings fled at the mere sight of rangers unless they set an ambush. Beyond the Wall, the Night's Watch rarely bothered with wildling villages unless they posed a direct threat. In truth, occasional bartering for supplies wasn't unheard of, though the common folk in the Seven Kingdoms imagined a constant, bloody conflict.

"So?" Oberyn cocked his head, intrigued. He knew little about the Night's Watch; after all, no member of House Martell had ever been exiled to the Wall.

"So," Aegor continued earnestly, "our combat style is more instinctive—wild, even. We're always preparing for real war, not civilized duels. We don't fight for honor; we fight to kill." His tone was serious, despite the nonsense spilling from his mouth. "Of course, Your Highness's martial skill is unmatched. You're no wildling, and I'm merely a logistics officer. I wouldn't dare boast about my chances with a real sword. I'm afraid if I get flustered, I might injure myself."

It's hard to strike a man who flatters you so openly. Aegor had deliberately softened his tone, conceding inferiority and appealing to Oberyn's better nature. The Red Viper, who bore no particular grudge against the Night's Watch, chuckled and nodded.

"Very well. Bring the man a blunt sword."

…

With a flick of his wrist, Oberyn tossed his spear to a soldier standing at the edge of the crowd. The man quickly returned with a blunt practice spear. It was an unwritten rule: when one combatant opted for a dulled weapon, the other was expected to follow suit, a nod to chivalry, even here on the eve of war.

Though the realm was at war, the men here still adhered to certain codes.

Aegor accepted the practice sword and declined the offer of protective armor, opting instead for a small round shield just large enough to guard his vitals.

Facing an opponent as agile as Oberyn while weighed down with heavy armor would be pure folly. His sword skills were already mediocre; adding cumbersome gear would only worsen his odds. Besides, Oberyn wasn't a bloodthirsty brute. As one of Dorne's ruling elite, he had no reason to seriously harm a Night's Watchman, especially in an informal duel like this.

If the prince genuinely wished him harm, armor wouldn't make much difference anyway.

Still, caution was warranted. By pushing for blunt weapons and declaring his preference for offense over defense, Aegor hoped to provoke Oberyn into underestimating him. Masters like the Red Viper often grow arrogant in the face of amateurs. If he thinks I'm nothing more than an overeager novice, maybe... just maybe... he'll leave an opening.

"The Night's Watch trains for survival, not showmanship," Aegor said, tightening his grip on the hilt. "We aim to kill, not fight fair. I look forward to seeing Dorne's legendary spearmanship in action. Please go easy on me."

The words were courteous, the tone humble but for the first time since being shoved into the arena, Aegor felt a spark of genuine resolve.

Admit you're a coward, use your best moves, then find the right moment to lose or surrender.

That was Aegor's entire plan.

It sounded simple, but executing it was far more difficult. After standing with his sword raised for only a few seconds, Aegor realized he had no idea how to attack.

Oberyn stood across from him, relaxed and casual, spinning his spear like a golden hoop as if he were performing for children. From the outside, his posture seemed riddled with openings but Aegor knew better. Every move was deliberate, every gap an illusion. He could already picture it: the moment he lunged, Oberyn's counterattack would come with lightning speed, leaving him flailing like Brienne of Tarth had minutes earlier.

This is what it feels like to face a true master, Aegor thought. After less than ten seconds of facing the Red Viper, he felt like one of those doomed villains from a martial arts tale, a pawn confronting the story's hero. His instincts screamed that any attack would be suicidal, while standing still only prolonged the inevitable. His grip tightened on his shield as beads of sweat trickled down his back, despite the summer warmth of the valley.

…

"Come on, White Walker Slayer!" shouted a voice from the crowd, someone eager to see blood spilled, as long as it wasn't their own.

"Show that southerner what Northerners can do!" added another, this one clearly from the North. The Northmen always treated the black-clad brothers as their own.

"Stop dawdling and fight already!" complained a third voice, betraying complete ignorance of swordplay. Only amateurs dismissed the opening moments of a duel as mere time-wasting.

Oberyn, meanwhile, studied his opponent with a practiced eye. The boy had clearly received training, nothing extraordinary, but he wasn't just flailing around either. The prince had crossed swords with mercenaries like him many times before. Still, there was something puzzling about him. The accent, the clothes... Where had he said he was from? West of the Sunset Sea?

Clean-cut, sharp eyes... Oberyn's lips curved into a wicked smirk. He suddenly wondered if this so-called White Walker Slayer might be as adventurous in bed as he was on the battlefield.

He spread his arms wide, leaving his chest exposed in mock invitation. "Come on," he called, voice low and smooth. "You take the first shot."

Aegor had no inkling of the prince's... personal intrigue. He only saw an opening finally, a genuine gap to exploit. If I hesitate now, he'll grow bored and punish me for it.

You're not here to win. Just attack and get it over with.

Planting his left foot into the dirt, Aegor launched himself forward, raising a small cloud of dust in his wake.

The sword in his hand was lighter than he expected, a fortunate choice by the tournament's organizer. His custom-made black clothes, free of armor or leather, didn't restrict his movements in the slightest. He moved with unexpected speed, his sword thrusting forward like a bolt of lightning.

…

Oberyn's expression shifted from amusement to surprise. He hadn't stepped into this ring solely for fun. He had hoped that by trouncing a few lesser knights, he might provoke one of the Lannisters into retaliating. If only Gregor Clegane would show himself, he thought darkly.

Yet the Lannisters in camp had grown scarce since the fights began. Instead, they'd sent this Night's Watchman into the ring, an unknown man with an odd accent and surprising speed.

Oberyn pivoted instinctively, his body reacting before his mind caught up. The spear's tip flicked toward the oncoming sword, intercepting the thrust with an effortless tap. His instincts screamed to counter with a sweep at the legs, an easy, humiliating move, but he hesitated.

Chapter 110

Aegor had only come south from the Wall a few months ago. During his free time in King's Landing, he'd kept up with some basic training, often sparring with Arya for hours at a time. His technique hadn't improved much, but his physical fitness, muscle strength, reflexes, and endurance remained sharp.

Now, as his first thrust missed its target, he realized he'd won his gamble. He immediately shifted his grip, dropped his wrist, and bypassed Oberyn's spear tip. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he swung his lightweight one-handed sword in a swift, unexpected arc.

Oberyn twisted his spear in response, drawing a small circle in the air to dissolve the blow before countering with a sharp jab.

The blunt spear shot toward Aegor's chest with terrifying speed. Though it lacked a lethal tip, instinct screamed that it would pierce his heart. He reacted without thinking, twisting his torso and raising his shield just in time. The spear struck the shield with surprising force, sending a wave of numbness up his arm.

The prince hadn't even exerted full force. Aegor was certain of it. Still, he couldn't afford to hesitate. Clenching his teeth, he pushed closer and lunged again.

"Nice!"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Everyone knew the saying: An inch longer, an inch stronger. A sword, by nature, was disadvantaged against a spear. The only viable tactic was to close the distance. Aegor's bold move, though more instinctive than strategic gave the illusion that he'd successfully forced Oberyn into close quarters, seemingly gaining the upper hand.

Had Brienne still been there, or if a true master like Ser Barristan Selmy or Jaime Lannister had been watching, they would've sneered at the crowd's naivety. They would've pointed out that Oberyn was humoring his opponent. Aegor's movements were riddled with flaws, his technique unpolished. But the Red Viper, rather than exploiting these weaknesses, was deliberately engaging Aegor at his strongest point: speed.

Some might call it reckless. Others would call it pride. Oberyn wanted to beat Aegor where he was strongest to prove that Dorne's spearmen were peerless in every sense.

"Ping!" "Bang!"

…

Even Aegor struggled to process what had just happened. One moment, he was mid-swing. The next, his shield and sword simultaneously absorbed powerful strikes that sent him staggering back half a step just beyond spear range.

The crowd, blissfully unaware of the gap in skill, roared with excitement. They thought they were witnessing a clash between masters. Aegor, on the other hand, was painfully aware of how one-sided the fight truly was.

"Come on, Night's Watchman!" Oberyn grinned, spreading his arms in mock invitation once again.

Aegor's head throbbed from the prince's lightning-quick counterattack. His original plan had been to find an excuse to surrender after a few moves, but Oberyn's teasing got under his skin. I can't back down now not this soon.

Gritting his teeth, he charged again.

Raising his shield horizontally to cover his chest and lifting the sword above his head, he sprinted forward and brought the blade down in a powerful overhead slash. The last time he'd used this move was against the White Walkers. It was an ill-suited tactic against an opponent with a spear, but Oberyn didn't seem inclined to hurt him. That fact gave Aegor just enough confidence to commit.

"Good!" Oberyn called, nimbly sidestepping the downward strike. As he retreated, his spear tip flicked the blade aside with contemptuous ease.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he thrust the blunt spear toward Aegor's face, stopping mere inches from his nose before tapping the shield again.

(If this spear were real, I'd have a hole through my skull right now.)

The realization sent a cold shiver down Aegor's spine. Oberyn hadn't merely dodged and counterattacked; he'd done so with deliberate flair, casually reminding his opponent how easily he could end the fight if he wished.

Despite exceeding his usual abilities, Aegor was being utterly outclassed. His plan to feign defeat? Laughable. Against someone this skilled, he couldn't even "lose" convincingly. Every time he tried to create an opportunity, the Red Viper shut him down with humiliating ease.

So this is what true mastery looks like.

He clenched his sword tighter. He'd always dismissed martial prowess as irrelevant compared to money, status, and strategy. But here, in this moment, it hit him: skill with a blade could be the difference between life and death between survival and slaughter.

I need to take my training seriously. I don't need to become a master, just good enough to defend myself.

The crowd's cheers continued, oblivious to Aegor's internal epiphany. They saw only the fearless Night's Watchman pressing the Prince of Dorne with relentless attacks. They cheered his "ferocity" and Oberyn's "graceful counters" without grasping the vast gulf between the two fighters.

Aegor, meanwhile, recognized his predicament. He saw Oberyn's playful smirk and understood the prince was toying with him. Yet, for all his awareness, he lacked the skill to punish that carelessness.

He was stuck. Unable to retreat without humiliation, incapable of surprising his opponent with brute force.

---

Ironically, the skill gap that doomed him also brought an unexpected advantage: there was no real risk of harming Oberyn.

The swelling crowd shouted louder and louder, drawn by the promise of a duel between the "Red Viper" and the "White Walker Slayer."

Aegor exhaled, steadied himself, and charged once more. His shield slammed into the oncoming spear, pushing it aside as he forced his way into close quarters.

The crisp clang of clashing weapons mixed with the shouts and jeers of the onlookers, creating a cacophony around the arena. Aegor's relentless attacks were deflected time and again without him suffering any real harm. With that weight lifted from his mind, he abandoned caution and swung his one-handed sword with full force, leaving faint afterimages in the air. Oberyn's spear moved even faster, weaving through the strikes like a serpent, dazzling the crowd.

Thrust—without pausing—then follow with a swift slash while catching his breath. Knock the spear aside with the shield and keep pushing forward. Few dared to fight this way. Such an aggressive, unyielding rhythm could easily cause one's stance to falter, exposing fatal gaps. But Aegor had committed fully to offense, discarding defense entirely. He didn't care about openings anymore, there was no plan to win, only to survive with some shred of dignity.

"Ping! Pang! Bang!"

The sharp, rhythmic sounds of steel meeting wood echoed through the circle. How long had it been? Thirty seconds? A minute? Longer? Aegor couldn't tell. He only knew he'd repeated every drill he'd once taught Arya, moves he'd demonstrated absentmindedly months ago in King's Landing.

But the difference between the Red Viper and himself was infinitely greater than that between himself and Arya. No matter how fast he attacked, no matter how unorthodox or desperate the strike, Oberyn intercepted each blow at the exact moment it reached its peak momentum. Then, with a casual flick, he would tap the edge of Aegor's shield with his spear. Just enough force to leave a visible dent, never enough to crack it or knock it from his grasp.

From a technical standpoint, the fight resembled a master toying with his apprentice. But the spectators, ignorant of the nuances only saw Aegor's dogged persistence and Oberyn's measured counters.

"Bang!"

Aegor staggered backward as another precise strike jarred his shield. When he regained his footing, his muscles screamed in protest. His stamina was spent; his arms burned from the effort. Glancing down, he saw the wooden shield riddled with pits and grooves. Those spear marks, he realized, represented the many times Oberyn had chosen not to hit his body.

His left forearm throbbed from countless glancing blows. The skin, scraped raw beneath the shield's straps, burned with every movement. I should've worn gloves.

Aegor sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes. Oberyn stood across the circle, still composed, still smirking. And then the prince gave him a deliberate wink.

(What does that mean? Is he telling me to surrender? Or to keep going?)

Aegor hesitated. He'd exhausted his strongest moves, and his body was flagging. He could drag the fight out longer by cycling through every sword technique he knew, but what was the point? He'd gained enough face.

Time to surrender while I still have some dignity.

"Aegor! Where are you?"

The sudden call jolted Aegor from his thoughts. His first instinct was to ignore it, getting distracted during a duel was a surefire way to get killed. But then his mind caught up with the opportunity that had just fallen into his lap. A perfect excuse to bow out.

Feigning confusion, Aegor lowered his sword and turned toward the voice.

"Hmm?" Oberyn followed his gaze toward a nearby hill. A soldier was leading a figure dressed in black toward the ring.

Aegor squinted and immediately recognized the newcomer: Yoren. Finally.

The gods must be smiling on me today. He loosened the shield straps and let the battered wood drop to the ground. "Your Highness, your skill is unmatched, it's been a true honor." He bowed deeply. "But the Wall has sent a messenger south. It must be an important matter, and I need to receive my brother from Castle Black. I surrender."

For the first time in his life, Aegor found that surrendering could feel genuinely satisfying. He walked to the edge of the circle, handed the practice sword to the nearest attendant, and made a beeline for the approaching black-cloaked figure.

"Official duties must come first," Oberyn called after him, still leaning on his spear with that same lazy smile. "Perhaps we can pick up where we left off this evening? A little more spear-and-sword practice… and maybe a lively discussion about life while we're at it?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 111

Aegor was grateful for Oberyn's mercy during the duel, but now that he had surrendered and the outcome was decided, he should count himself lucky that Oberyn hadn't mocked or humiliated him. As the Prince of Dorne, why would he bother flattering him? How could a mere logistics officer of the Night's Watch, with mediocre martial skills, be qualified to discuss life with him?

Wasn't this... a little too strange? Aegor looked at Oberyn in confusion, only to see the prince wink at him again. Suddenly, a thought struck him, Oberyn was known for certain preferences. Could it be...?!

"Well... the Night's Watch has been busy lately, so I won't trouble you. We'll have a chance to discuss this after the battle." Aegor felt a chill run down his spine and quickly excused himself. He hadn't traveled through time and space just to end up... violated!

No one could stop an opponent from surrendering. Though the onlookers clamored for the fight to continue, they eventually let Aegor leave the training yard.

Suppressing his unease, he forced himself to walk off the field, only to run into Yoren, who was approaching him. Before leaving King's Landing to join the royal army, he had written to the Wall, requesting that they send someone to take over his tedious duties as a Night's Watch officer. But the Watch was as miserly as ever, they refused to send even one extra man south. Instead, they had Yoren come alone, forcing him to juggle both roles.

If Robert managed to break through the Bloody Gate, Yoren would be responsible for escorting the black-clad lords of the Just Alliance back to the Wall. And if the rebellion failed… well, either way, they planned to ask Aegor for another batch of recruits, so it would be a win-win situation.

Although Aegor knew why Yoren had come, he had just surrendered in the ring under the pretense of entertaining his comrades. With who knew how many people still watching him, he had no choice but to keep up appearances.

"Yoren! You must've had a rough journey!" Aegor greeted him with a bright smile, holding his breath as he pulled the older man into a hug. "When did you get here?"

"Just now. This camp is massive, I thought it'd take some time to find you. But turns out, you're a celebrity! All I had to do was ask around." Yoren was taken aback by Aegor's uncharacteristic enthusiasm, but he didn't dwell on it. He assumed the younger man was simply enjoying his comfortable life in the south and was in high spirits. "You brat, living the good life, huh? You even have time for tournaments?"

It had been months since they last saw each other, and Yoren was as unkempt as ever. He was still wearing the summer clothes Aegor had bought him back in King's Landing, likely the only warm-weather attire he owned. He looked Aegor up and down with a grin. "Oh, no, wait—I should be calling you Chief Logistics Officer now!"

"Forget that title, it sounds ridiculous." Aegor was eager to leave. He grabbed Yoren and hurried toward his tent. "You came at the perfect time. I'll leave this place to you. I need to get back to King's Landing and start training new recruits as soon as possible."

"Hm?" Yoren raised a brow. "Training new recruits? That's Mormont's job, isn't it? Why would he need you for that? And if you're handling it, what's the point of keeping Ser Alliser?"

"It's complicated," Aegor said. "You know how hard it is to recruit men. The Watch is desperate for new blood, so I decided to hire some help." He led Yoren through the Antlers' camp, gradually leaving the tournament grounds behind. "But the commander-in-chief is worried that hiring outsiders would affect morale, so he's set a rule, they can't be taken to Castle Black for training."

T/N: I have been using "deer horn/stag horn," which should have been "antlers." Sorry about that.

"Which means if they go to the Wall untrained, they'll just die," Yoren concluded.

"Exactly. And I can't afford to hire mercenaries, so I have to train them myself."

"I see."

"The plan was set in motion a while ago, but then King Robert ordered me to serve as a Night's Watchman with the army. I've wasted months on this nonsense and haven't even begun training the recruits." Aegor's frustration was evident, but with an Antlers' soldier leading the way, he forced himself to hold back from complaining too much. "Thankfully, you're here now. I can finally free up my hands and try to send some men your way before you head back."

As the two Night's Watchmen walked, they spoke in hushed tones about the situation at the Wall. From Yoren, Aegor learned that the Rangers were already attempting to capture wights, though they had made little progress. That was good news… Without stopping, they soon arrived back at Aegor's tent.

"Thank you for your trouble. Here, take this and buy yourself some wine." Aegor smiled at the soldier who had led Yoren to him, slipping a few silver stags into his hand before ushering the Yoren into the tent.

"I'll be leaving for King's Landing soon. You'll stay here," Aegor told Yoren before tilting his head slightly and giving an order. "Casey, pack my personal belongings. Don't bother with anything that can be bought in King's Landing leave those for Yoren."

If they set out in the afternoon, they would reach the Crossroads Inn before nightfall. The road back to King's Landing was the wide and open Kingsroad, with plenty of villages and towns along the way. Lodging and food wouldn't be an issue.

"Yes, ser!" Casey had just watched his master fight toe-to-toe with the famous Prince of Dorne, and his admiration for Aegor was at an all-time high. He worked even harder now, eager to serve.

"When you're done, go saddle the horses and wait for me outside the tent."

"Yes, ser!"

That kind of task could be left to the boy. Aegor's hands were still a bit numb from the duel he wanted to help but couldn't. With everything settled, he led Yoren back out of the tent.

"Anyway, your safety, food, and lodging are now the responsibility of Lord Buckwell. Before I leave, I'll take you to meet him. But first, I'll show you around the camp so you know where the temporary market is. If you ever want good food, a warm bath, or… other entertainment, you'll find it all there."

"Temporary market?" Yoren chuckled. "I'll pass. I might know where it is, but I don't have the coin to waste."

"That's fine. The Night's Watch isn't short on money these days." Aegor smirked. "I'll cover your expenses until you head back to the Wall."

Since Mormont had sent Yoren on this errand, it was likely they'd be working together in the future. The old crow was rough around the edges, but he wasn't a bad sort. It was worth spending a few coins to build goodwill.

"How many men are in this camp?" Yoren asked as he followed Aegor, his eyes widening as he took in the sheer size of the army. He had never seen so many soldiers in one place. "The king has such a massive force. If he sent even a fraction of them to the Wall, it'd be a game-changer. Why does he have us scrambling to recruit men?"

Most of the soldiers weren't Robert's, but Aegor had no interest in explaining the intricacies of noble politics to a man like Yoren. It would be a waste of breath.

"There are about forty thousand left now. If you include the logistics personnel, the total is closer to sixty thousand," Aegor said with a helpless shrug. "And that's only because we're fighting on home soil, where we don't need as many camp followers and supply lines aren't being harassed. There were even more men before the army split up."

"But no matter how many there are, none will be sent to the Wall. There's loot, ransoms, and war reparations to be gained from taking the Bloody Gate. What reward is there for fighting wildlings at the edge of the world?" Aegor scoffed. "Guarding the Wall is a thankless task. That's why it's dumped on us Black Brothers. But enough of this bullshit, let's just focus on fending for ourselves. Come on, I'll take you to see Lord Buckwell."

Most of the soldiers from Antlers Castle recognized Aegor. They knew their lord held this Night's Watchman in high regard, so when they saw him approaching, they merely nodded in greeting and didn't bother stopping him.

Inside the large command tent, the old lord was seated at his desk, studying what looked like a ledger.

"Lord Buckwell."

"Aegor." The elderly noble looked up and offered him a warm smile. "The man beside you arrived not long ago. I sent someone to fetch you, but it seems you weren't far."

"Thank you for the trouble, my lord." Yoren stepped forward without hesitation. "I didn't introduce myself earlier, I'm Yoren, If your dungeons at Antlers hold any scums in need of disposal, I'll take them off your hands."

Do you know how hard it is to improve the Night's Watch's reputation? Could you stop calling them scum for once? Aegor rubbed his forehead, exasperated. He quickly changed the subject.

"My lord, the Watch has sent someone to take over my post. I'll be heading back to King's Landing soon. I leave Yoren in your care."

"That won't be a problem," Lord Buckwell nodded. "But right now, I have a bigger issue, actually, the entire rebel army does. You've always been quick-witted. Why don't you take a look and tell me what you think we should do?"

Chapter 112

Aegor listened patiently as Buckwell explained the situation, finally grasping the root of the trouble—morale and military pay.

Just two issues, yet both were complicated to resolve.

When more than thirty thousand men from the rebel army left camp, splitting into smaller forces of several thousand each to besiege the castles surrounding the Vale of Arryn, a strange pattern emerged. No matter which castle they surrounded, the moment the rebels arrived, its defenders would immediately raise the flag of surrender before the attackers could even establish a foothold.

Yet when Robert's soldiers cautiously entered these strongholds, they were stunned. Inside, they found only servants, caretakers left behind to clean and guard the place. Every noble, regardless of their rank or importance, had already fled with their valuables while Robert was still regrouping his army outside King's Landing. By now, they were likely safe deep within the Vale.

It wasn't just a matter of lost plunder. The six kingdoms hadn't marched all this way just to loot. But without highborn captives, there were no hostages to ransom, no pressure to force the rebels into surrender. Robert's strategy to systematically dismantle enemy strongholds and coerce the Just Alliance into submission had utterly failed. If they refused to negotiate, there was only one option left: storm the Bloody Gate.

And that was where the real problems began.

The saying went: the first assault is strong, the second weaker, and the third is exhausted. The rebel army had been camped outside the Bloody Gate for ten days, perhaps even a month. Robert himself had led several attacks in the first few days, but after that, things changed.

The lords feasted and drank, discussing alliances and marriages. The soldiers, bored and restless, spent their days reading their little yellow books or even brawling for entertainment. When it was their turn for battle, they'd charge forward, loose a few arrows, cause some token casualties, then withdraw. The cycle repeated every six days.

After so many half-hearted assaults, the weaknesses of the army's structure and training became glaringly obvious. Robert was revered and feared across Westeros, but morale built on a ruler's personal charisma was fragile. Against an unyielding fortress like the Bloody Gate, hesitation became deadly. Each day that passed sapped the men's fighting spirit, like water leaking from a cracked cask.

If Robert had launched an all-out assault from the beginning, throwing wave after wave of men at the walls, heedless of casualties, he might already be in the Eyrie, celebrating his victory with the women of the Vale. But now? Even if he wanted to rally the troops for a decisive attack, it was doubtful whether they had the will to fight.

Morale, however, was the lesser of the two problems. While their fighting spirit had suffered from failed assaults, at least they hadn't endured any crushing defeats. With so many skilled commanders from the six kingdoms gathered here, it was still possible to restore morale.

The greater issue was military pay.

In Westeros, responding to a lord's call to arms was a duty—a corvée obligation. Soldiers were not normally paid wages. Instead, their rewards came from spoils of war, land grants, tax exemptions, or promotions based on merit.

With the exception of personal guards and standing armies, most levies raised during wartime received no pay at all. Wealthier lords might provide weapons and armor, but poorer ones, like those in the North expected their men to bring their own. Peasants fought for their lords essentially for free until victory was achieved.

This system, while seemingly unfair, had its limits. Military service was only unpaid when defending one's own lands, and only for a set period. The moment a campaign extended beyond that time or crossed into foreign territory, the soldiers had to be paid.

This time, the armies of the six kingdoms had marched far from home, fighting not for their own lords but for King Robert and Lord Arryn. That meant not only had the lords borne the costs of travel and supplies, but now, after weeks of campaigning, their men were overdue for wages.

Each kingdom had its own conscription rules, ranging from forty to sixty days of unpaid service. Aegor had been too busy advancing the Night's Watch's interests to keep track of time, but the truth was clear, this war had already gone into overtime. Soon, the lords would start demanding their due.

This was precisely why Robert had sent Petyr Baelish to borrow money from the Iron Bank before the war dragged on too long. It wasn't just for his own army, every lord had the legal right to demand reimbursement for their troops' extended service.

"The Master of Coin defected?"

"It's not exactly defection. Petyr vanished as soon as he landed in Braavos, but he didn't take the Iron Bank's loan with him… At best, you could call it fleeing to avoid consequences." The old lord sighed. "It's a disaster, not just because we lost our funding. I hear the Iron Bank is planning to send envoys to King's Landing to investigate the crown's finances."

Aegor wasn't surprised. Littlefinger had been many things, but he wasn't foolish enough to steal from the Iron Bank. The rulers of Braavos wanted people to fear the Faceless Men, why else maintain such an infamous reputation? The threat alone was often enough to ensure compliance. Aegor shrugged. "If I were the Iron Bank, I'd be nervous too if my biggest debtor suddenly lost its financial minister."

"It's worse than that. Littlefinger running off is as good as a confession. He's practically admitting that Lysa Tully did conspire with him to murder Lord Arryn. Now, even our own position is in jeopardy."

Aegor nodded thoughtfully. "That is troublesome. If it were me, I'd take the Just Alliance's offer and end the war with some dignity."

"But His Majesty the King is not you," Buckwell said with a bitter smile.

Aegor laughed. He could already picture Robert's reaction in the war council—red-faced with rage, likely flipping tables and shouting obscenities. A man like Robert would never accept such an open insult. If anything, this humiliation would only make him more stubborn, less willing to negotiate.

"But no matter how furious he is," Aegor mused, "he doesn't have the gold. And he can't force the lords to keep their armies here once their service time is up. The rules of the game don't allow it."

"It's certainly not allowed," Buckwell said. "Robb Stark… I don't know if you're familiar with him, but he's the son of the Hand of the King. At the war council, he's already stated that he'll be sending some of the less-trained peasant levies home to tend to their farms. He'll personally lead the remaining knights and elite troops to continue assisting."

At the heart of it, this was a matter of productivity, medieval society simply couldn't sustain the long-term absence of able-bodied young men, who made up roughly one percent of the total population. No matter how magical this world was, certain fundamental laws still applied.

"The Starks are among Robert's most valued allies, and they took little for themselves after he overthrew the Targaryens. There's no reason for His Majesty to stop such a loyal and hard-working family from returning home to labor on his behalf," Aegor mused, suddenly grasping Buckwell's dilemma, those who contributed and those who defied the king would be treated very differently.

"Precisely," the old lord agreed. "The Starks and the Tullys have been unwavering in their support of His Majesty. He can't force them to remain without pay. The Tullys are in a slightly different position, Lady Lysa is holed up in the Eyrie, so they'll likely leave ten thousand men behind to keep the pressure up. But the Starks… they're too dutiful for that. They're keeping five thousand here, but if they miss the planting season, people will starve in the North."

Aegor's mind began to work. "Let me make a guess, half the army from the Stormlands will likely leave, but since they're the king's bannermen, his best troops will stay. The Lannisters, being his in-laws, can afford to remain, but you can be sure they'll charge every silver stag in expenses to King Robert's debt to Lord Tywin." His thoughts moved faster now, his mind no longer dulled by the tournament. "The only ones likely to just walk away are the Dornish. House Martell has never cared for the Iron Throne. They sent their troops here out of obligation, but the moment their conscription time expires and the king fails to pay them, they'll vanish within days. As for the Tyrells… they're desperate to worm their way into the center of power in King's Landing. They wouldn't miss this opportunity to prove their loyalty." Aegor exhaled sharply. "Seven hells… now I see why Highgarden only sent five thousand elite troops instead of committing more men from the Reach. This way, they can put on a grand show of loyalty under the king's nose without having to shoulder a massive payroll!"

The rules of the game were as simple as they were crude, when the king called for war, refusing to fight branded you a traitor. But once a soldier's service time was up, staying on proved your loyalty, while leaving to tend to your lands was perfectly acceptable. Robert could resent those who left, could make things difficult for them later, but he had no grounds to accuse them of wrongdoing.

The problem was that Dorne was the only kingdom in Westeros that didn't care if Robert resented them.

Ten thousand men had come from the North, yet half would leave before the war was won. Robert might not say it aloud, but it would surely sting. Meanwhile, Highgarden had sent only five thousand but by standing firm to the bitter end, they could win the king's favor. Clever bastards. The politics of it all were fascinating. Aegor wondered had the Tyrells planned this so precisely, or had they just stumbled into the perfect strategy?

"Your analysis is sound," Buckwell admitted. "But you left out the Crownlands."

Aegor frowned.

"Our lands," the old lord clarified. "Not only did we fight on the wrong side during His Majesty's rebellion, but we are directly under the authority of the Iron Throne. This is our chance to prove our loyalty and wipe away our past sins. We don't dare leave, and we certainly don't dare ask the king for military pay."

Damn it. If Aegor weren't standing in front of Yoren and Buckwell, he might have slapped his own thigh in frustration. He was only now realizing that this war, with all its absurdities, had spiraled far beyond Robert's original plans. And worse, its outcome now directly affected his own interests.

"How long can Antlers' wealth sustain this?"

"Fortunately, the Tyrells have been supplying food and fodder, which eases some of the burden. By my calculations, we can last a month. If we start selling off property, maybe two months at most. Beyond that…" Buckwell shook his head grimly. "Forget the investment deal you proposed, even my own family will have to borrow just to buy grain."

Trouble. A huge trouble.

Many of the nobles Aegor had courted as investors were from the Riverlands and the Crownlands. If their armies bled themselves dry solely to avoid offending Robert, then vast sums that should have gone into his projects, into the Night's Watch would be swallowed by the war. The money wouldn't disappear, but once it ended up in the hands of exhausted, unpaid soldiers, it would be nearly impossible to retrieve.

And that was a loss Aegor could not afford.

He inhaled sharply, hissing air through his teeth as he thought. Then, after a long moment, he clenched his fist.

Your position determines your perspective. If profit was on the line, then he had no choice but to intervene.

"Lord Buckwell," he said at last, his voice steady. "I have an idea. Present it to the king at the next war council. If it works, we might be able to end this war sooner and cut our losses."

Chapter 113

"Wait!"

Aegor had expected Buckwell to eagerly accept his proposal, but the old man surprised him by raising a hand to stop him.

"Aegor, you're certainly clever, I've seen it firsthand, and I have no doubt of it. But let me ask you: is your plan guaranteed to take the Bloody Gate?"

"No," Aegor answered honestly. "It's not about taking the Bloody Gate, it's about taking the Vale of Arryn as a whole." He continued, "The idea comes from the history of Tsena, my homeland. But given my limited knowledge of military strategy and my complete ignorance of the Vale's specific conditions, I can't make any guarantees."

"In that case, I won't present it to His Majesty," Buckwell said, shaking his head. His gaze was steady as he looked at Aegor. "Don't forget, we are the king's bannermen, repaying our debts while proving our loyalty. We are not seeking glory, only avoiding failure. If your plan works, His Majesty will see it as expected of a noble lord offering counsel, he may not even be grateful. But if it fails and costs him time, he may well blame me. I have no intention of taking risks where the consequences outweigh the rewards."

Aegor stroked his chin, frowning. "That's… reasonable. Then what should I do?"

"If you ask me, you should advise Robert yourself," Buckwell suggested. "You're an officer of the Night's Watch, appointed by the king himself. If your plan fails, he can't truly blame you and even if he does, he has no power to punish a man sworn to the Wall, beyond his jurisdiction."

It was a sound idea. But Aegor had already decided long ago he wouldn't be the first to step forward. Advising Robert on how to crush the Vale's so-called rebels? It wasn't just a matter of whether it was appropriate for a Night's Watchman to interfere in southern wars. If his plan succeeded, all would be well. But if it failed, and Robert was forced into a compromise with men like Yohn Royce, the Vale's nobility would remember who had tried to break them and they would hold a grudge.

That being said, Aegor didn't refuse outright. Months ago, back in Winterfell, he had resolved not to stand out too soon. But since then, his circumstances had changed drastically. He had proven that the future could be altered, and he no longer had to walk on eggshells, constantly watching for danger.

Now, the question wasn't whether he could step forward, but whether doing so would bring him more benefit or harm.

"Go on," Yoren urged from the side. "What are you afraid of? You think Robert will lop your head off if your plan fails? You're already famous. Get a little more famous, and even Mormont won't be able to touch you."

Aegor ignored the old crow's blunt words. As the chief logistics officer and founder of Night's Watch Industries, his concerns went far beyond just keeping his head on his shoulders. He needed to weigh his options carefully.

He emptied his mind and thought.

Littlefinger was gone. Of the two great manipulators in King's Landing, one had fallen. That left Varys… and when it came to the Vale's rebellion, Varys had no reason to stand in his way. Even if the Spider was truly loyal to the Targaryens, he would prefer Westeros to remain stable until the Targaryens were ready to return.

As for the other Great Houses, Dorne and the Iron Islands might not care about this war, might even want the other six kingdoms to bleed themselves dry. But beyond them? No one else wanted this farce to drag on.

His plan wouldn't offend any of the true power players. The only ones who might suffer were the nobles of the Righteous Alliance… and while they were formidable in the Vale, their reach ended there. As long as he stayed clear of them, they couldn't touch him. Not when he was the Night's Watch's Chief Logistics Officer—a man with a title, influence, and position.

If the plan failed, he would suffer little more than embarrassment and the ire of a few petty lords. But if it succeeded? Not only would he protect the wealth of potential investors, but if Robert was pleased, he might even be able to ask for something in return.

Buckwell had said the risk outweighed the reward for him. But for Aegor? The reward far outweighed the risk.

"Alright," Aegor decided. "If you think I should, then I will."

At that moment, as the words left his lips, he made an even bolder decision.

His ambitions—his true ambitions—would require working alongside nobles, dealing with men of far greater status and power than himself. And to deal with them, he couldn't afford to act small. Humility and meekness would only mark him as weak, someone to be used and discarded.

If he couldn't yet display hard power, he would cultivate soft power instead.

Becoming a known name was the first step. The next step? Letting the world see that the Night's Watch's Chief Logistics Officer was a man of intellect and foresight, someone you could profit from working with, but risk opposing.

He was confident in his plan. The strategies he had drawn from history had worked before, and he judged his odds of success to be greater than fifty percent. Since he was going to step forward… he might as well do it in style.

"When's the next war council?" he asked.

"Every morning," Buckwell said. "Why? You planning to announce your plan publicly?"

"That's right," Aegor replied. "Tell His Majesty that I have a brilliant strategy. If he's willing to listen, I'll present it at the council before everyone."

The time for playing it safe was over.

It was time to step onto the stage.

Leaving Buckwell's tent, Aegor saw Casey waiting outside his own tent, two horses saddled and ready.

"Ser, are we leaving now?" Casey called.

"No," Aegor said. "Take the gear down. Lead the horses back to the stable."

Yoren let out a rough laugh. "Tomorrow, your master's going to stir up some real trouble."

Antlers wasn't about to provide Yoren with his own tent, so the two Night's Watchmen naturally shared one. Yoren, as always, was a mess, so before settling in for the night, Aegor had Casey take him for a shave, a bath, and a change of clothes. At least now, he didn't reek.

The next morning, Aegor was up early, waiting outside Buckwell's tent. Once the old earl had finished dressing, the two shared breakfast before heading toward Robert's command tent, toward the king, the war council, and the moment Aegor would make his move.

Buckwell entered the tent, leaving Aegor outside, watching as the lords and commanders of the six kingdoms filed in one after another. He waited patiently.

From within the tent, voices rose and fell. Robert was a loud man, and as king, his voice naturally carried over everyone else's, even without him shouting. Roughly ten minutes later, Aegor heard the words:

"Let him in!"

That was his cue.

A tall, handsome, white-haired Kingsguard stepped out of the tent. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered men and quickly found Aegor in his black cloak.

"You're Aegor West?" he asked. "Come in."

Judging by his age and bearing, this had to be Ser Barristan Selmy—the living legend, the man who had once captured the Faceless Man Jaqen H'ghar and bested the Red Viper of Dorne in single combat.

Just yesterday, Aegor had felt Oberyn Martell's skill firsthand. Now, standing before the knight who had defeated him, he couldn't help but study the old warrior a little longer. The thought that Selmy could probably dismantle him in moments made him uneasy. Still, he gave a nod of acknowledgment and stepped past the tent flaps.

The war tent was simple in its layout. At its center was a large square table, upon which lay a sand table representing the terrain around the Bloody Gate, the entrance to the Vale of Arryn. Miniature figures, representing both armies, were meticulously placed upon it.

The scene was clear: Robert's loyalist forces outnumbered the rebels dozens of times over, their forces spread across the valley. Meanwhile, the noble houses of the Just Alliance remained within the Vale, surrounding the Eyrie, where Lord Arryn was trapped.

The density of game pieces was highest near the Bloody Gate. More than a dozen markers represented the royalist forces encamped in the fields and hills outside the pass, while on the high ground, only one piece represented the rebels.

One man guarding the pass, ten thousand men cannot break through.

Around the table stood the lords and commanders of the six kingdoms—excluding, of course, the Vale. The groups were clearly defined:

Buckwell stood beside Robert, with the other nobles of the Crownlands gathered nearby.

The Stormlanders, led by Renly Baratheon, stood together.

Robb Stark and his men represented the North.

The Lannisters, clad in their signature red and gold, stood apart.

Ser Loras Tyrell and Randyll Tarly led the knights of the Reach.

Edmure Tully, his face grim, stood with the Riverlords.

Dorne had sent the smallest contingent, Oberyn Martell smirked at Aegor with his usual unreadable expression.

The lords of the Vale, unsurprisingly, were absent. Robert had dismissed them from the meeting. Stannis Baratheon and Yara Greyjoy—"the charming little princess of the Iron Islands," as some called her—were also missing. As for the royal fleet, they were occupied elsewhere.

"Well, well," came a familiar voice. "So this is the famous White Walker slayer?"

Robert Baratheon's voice was thick and rough. "You've got a plan to break into the Vale? Let's hear it!"

Aegor's gaze moved to the man seated at the head of the table, the only man seated in the tent.

Robert was disheveled and red-faced, a cup of wine resting before him. It was unclear whether he was still hungover from the night before or if he had already begun drinking after breakfast.

It was not Aegor's first time seeing the king, but it was the first time they would speak face to face.

A drunkard and a degenerate, he thought. And yet, this man is the key to keeping the Seven Kingdoms at peace.

How absurd.

Even more absurd? That in the original timeline, Cersei Lannister—the fool—had poisoned Robert, thinking it was a victory in the game of thrones.

As if removing the one man holding the realm together wouldn't send everything into chaos.

If not for Tywin Lannister's military prowess and political acumen, she would have been someone else's plaything before she even realized what had happened.

"Your Grace," Aegor said, choosing his words carefully. "Before I begin, allow me to ask one thing."

Old habits died hard, caution had kept him alive this long. Before he advised Robert, he needed clarity.

"Would my counsel violate the Night's Watch's vow of neutrality? Would offering advice to Your Grace on this matter be seen as interfering in the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms?"

Chapter 114

"Damn Night's Watch..." Robert's face grew even redder.

As king, he had brought a Night's Watch officer along on a whim, confident that the Bloody Gate would fall easily. But now, with the siege dragging on, his unprecedented decision had turned into an embarrassment. If Aegor had simply remained in the Antlers camp, it would have been one thing but instead, here he was, stepping forward to advise him. Every second the man in black stood before him felt like a slap to the face.

"How many times do I have to say this?" Robert bellowed, slamming his cup against the table after each word. "They are rebels! Rebels! Rebels!"

By the third outburst, the cup had cracked, and red wine spilled over his hand, pooling onto the table. Snorting, Robert hurled the goblet to the floor, shattering it, then grabbed the tablecloth to wipe his hand before roaring again:

"I am putting down a rebellion! This is not a civil war! Do you understand? Now, speak your piece or get out! And someone bring me another damn cup!"

Aegor froze for half a second before realizing the last command wasn't directed at him. This, he supposed, was what people meant when they said a king's moods were as dangerous as a tiger's. He had braced himself for Robert's temper, but witnessing it firsthand was something else entirely. For a moment, he had nearly ducked, expecting the cup to come flying at his head.

Fortunately, Robert had only smashed it on the ground. Unlike the honorable Eddard Stark, not every lord in the Seven Kingdoms was reasonable or even predictable.

"Your Grace, calm yourself. I only needed confirmation," Aegor said quickly.

Against a king like Robert, this was no time for stubbornness or bravado. What mattered was that he had received the answer he wanted.

Robert had shouted rebels three times, loud enough for the whole war council to hear. That declaration made it clear, this wasn't a civil war but a rebellion. By that definition, advising the king on how to suppress it did not violate the Night's Watch's neutrality.

Technically, as a senior officer of the Watch, the fifth in command at Castle Black, Aegor's actions could only be judged by Lord Commander Mormont. Robert's words carried no real authority over him.

But in the real world, authority came down to power. The man with the strongest fist made the rules. And with Robert making such a public declaration, Mormont wouldn't dare challenge what had now become an established fact.

Aegor glanced around the tent. Robb Stark caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod. Aegor returned the gesture, then turned his attention back to the king.

"In Tsena, where I come from, there is a place. It is surrounded by mountains on three sides, with an impassable river to the east. The terrain is as treacherous as the Vale. For a long time, the only way in from the north was through a pass, an even stronger natural defense than the Bloody Gate."

"Yes, yes, I get it," Randyll Tarly interrupted, his tone as sharp as ever. "And then someone managed to break through the Gate. How?"

"Stop telling stories and get to the point!" Robert snapped impatiently.

Aegor sighed inwardly. No patience at all. They really don't play by the rules.

Most of his prepared speech was now useless. What should have been a carefully constructed argument had to be condensed into a blunt summary.

At Thermopylae, the Persian army was held off by a mere three hundred Spartans. Even after suffering thousands of casualties, they could not break through, until they found another way around.

Take a detour.

Since Robert had no patience for the full story, Aegor skipped straight to the conclusion.

"Leave a large force outside the Bloody Gate to keep the defenders occupied," he said. "Meanwhile, send your most elite troops through a hidden path. Once inside the Vale, you can either strike directly at the Eyrie to force a surrender, or coordinate an attack from both inside and outside to overrun the Bloody Gate itself. The choice is Yours, Your Grace."

"Snort—"

"Ha!"

The lords around the table reacted with skepticism. Some chuckled. Others shook their heads.

Randyll Tarly remained expressionless as he coldly remarked, "It's a fine strategy, if you can find such a path. Tell me, Chief Logistics Officer, do you happen to know which route leads into the Vale unseen?"

"I don't," Aegor admitted. "If I knew, then the rebels in the Vale would know as well, rendering it useless. What we need is a path they don't know about or a new one, carved out for this purpose."

"Oh, well, that's easy then," Tarly said dryly. "Do you think every army that has ever attempted to take the Vale, over thousands of years, was full of idiots? You believe you'll just find a secret path no one has before?"

He gestured toward the sand table, his voice laced with contempt.

"The Mountains stretch for hundreds of miles. How long do you suppose it would take to traverse them and find such a route? A month? Two? Half a year? And what do you expect our tens of thousands of soldiers to do in the meantime? Go home and plant crops? Sit here and rot at the valley's edge? The Tyrells may be able to afford supplies for that long, but who will cover the costs of marching the army back and forth, not to mention the soldiers' pay?"

"Lord Tarly, your question is valid," Aegor said, having anticipated the challenge. "If King Robert were to summon the few Vale clans that did not join the rebellion to this council, they would tell His Grace that there are existing paths into the Vale, more than one, in fact. The only reason these routes remain unused is that they are controlled by the mountain clans, who submit neither to the Eyrie nor the Iron Throne. Outsiders unfamiliar with the Vale have been misled by the claim that 'the only way in is through the Bloody Gate'—when the truth is, if you want to take the main road into the Vale, then you must go through the Bloody Gate."

Exposing a flaw in thinking was easy. The challenge lay in how to exploit it. Taking a detour was not as simple as just deciding to do so.

He paused briefly before revealing his final answer.

"But if the goal is simply to end the war, there is no need to capture the Bloody Gate. My proposal is this: Keep the main army encamped outside the pass, continuing daily feints with stones and arrows. Meanwhile, send a few thousand elite soldiers with limited supplies into the Mountains to subdue the mountain clans. Once they are forced into submission, these men—who know the terrain—will guide our forces through the mountain passes and into the Vale. Then, the war will be won."

"To avoid arousing suspicion, these elite troops should be disguised as levies being dismissed to return home for the harvest. They will appear to be retreating from the battlefield, but in reality, they will slip into the mountains. The rebels will never suspect that the troops we leave behind are mostly raw recruits and camp followers, while the battle-hardened veterans have already vanished. By the time they realize what has happened, it will be too late."

The plan sounded straightforward, but in reality, it incorporated multiple strategic and tactical principles—feinting in one direction while striking in another, disguising movement, misdirection, and deception. In the modern world, such a plan would be considered obvious. But in Westeros, where military command was often dictated by raw courage rather than strategy, this was a stroke of brilliance.

To come up with such a detailed plan in a single day was Aegor truly a military genius?

Not necessarily.

The truth was, the moment he had first laid eyes on the Bloody Gate and noticed its similarities to the Pass, his mind had already begun working on how to break through it. And when he realized that this war was directly tied to his own interests, the answer had already been waiting for him.

The tent fell silent.

A moment ago, when Aegor had first mentioned "taking a hidden path," most of the lords had scoffed or sneered. But now, after hearing the full plan, who could argue?

A slender, well-dressed squire approached, setting a fresh cup of wine before Robert. But for once, the king did not drink.

Seated at the head of the table, Robert drummed his thick fingers against the wood, his expression unreadable. The flush of alcohol had faded slightly from his face.

He had wanted to be the first king in a thousand years to break through the Bloody Gate by force. But with Petyr Baelish's betrayal and the royal coffers nearly empty, a direct assault would be too costly. He knew that much.

After nearly a minute of silence, he finally spoke.

"What do you lot think?" he asked gruffly. "Does the White Walker Slayer's plan work?"

"I believe it does," Randyll Tarly said without hesitation. His tone remained stern, but his stance had shifted. "If he hadn't mentioned it, how many in this tent would have remembered that the mountain clans of the Vale do not answer to the Eyrie?"

Then, turning his sharp gaze to Aegor, he added, "Tell me, Lord Aegor West. I hear you came from overseas, and that you were shipped to the Wall the moment you arrived. So how is it that you seem to understand the Vale better than those of us born and raised in Westeros?"

Aegor smiled. "There is a thing called a book, my lord."

He had no intention of telling them that the book in question was A Song of Ice and Fire, nor that his strategy had been drawn from the history of Earth.

"There is also a saying," he continued smoothly, "You need not leave your home to know all the world."

"Your Grace, I also find the plan feasible!" Robb Stark was the first to voice his support. "The North is home to many clans and tribes. The Karstarks and Umbers have long dealt with such people. Furthermore, the mountain clans of the Vale share the same First Men blood as we do and still worship the Old Gods. They would be more willing to submit to northerners than to southerners. I volunteer to lead the North's forces for this operation!"

"Dorne has mountains as well, Your Grace," Oberyn Martell chimed in smoothly. "Most of my spearmen are accustomed to scaling cliffs and ridges. With a proper guide, they could be put to excellent use."

With a concrete plan on the table, the noble houses rushed to volunteer. Not necessarily because they were confident in its success but because no matter how difficult it was to march through the Mountains of the Moon, it was still better than being sent to die at the Bloody Gate.

"Very well, White Walker Slayer…" Robert exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if a great burden had been lifted. His voice had lost its earlier aggression, returning to its usual boisterous ease.

"Let's see if your idea actually works. If it does, there will be a great reward." Then, smirking, he added, "And if it fails—well, I suppose I'll have to swallow my pride and talk to these rebels."

A convenient way to shift all responsibility onto Aegor. If the plan succeeded, Robert could take the credit. If it failed, he could blame the Night's Watch officer for wasting his time.

Clever.

"Now," Robert continued, waving a hand, "you may go. The rest of you—stay. We have details to sort out."

Chapter 115

Are the mountain clans truly difficult to deal with?

Not particularly. They are poorly armed, malnourished, and untrained—little different from the wildlings beyond the Wall. So why had the rulers of the Vale never eradicated them?

The answer was the same as why the Night's Watch had never wiped out the Free Folk. In theory, a few thousand well-trained soldiers, not even particularly elite, just fighters of Aegor's caliber could slaughter the hundreds of thousands of wildlings beyond the Wall, driving the survivors into the Land of Always Winter. But where would those thousands of soldiers come from? How long would it take to hunt the wildlings to extinction? Who would pay for the soldiers' provisions and wages during the campaign? What about the pensions for those who died resisting the Free Folk? And after the wildlings were gone, what purpose would the Wall serve, other than giving the Seven Kingdoms' criminals and exiles a free place to rot?

The mountain clans were far fewer in number than the Free Folk, but they had the advantage of terrain. They lived in the mountains, had no fixed settlements, and relied on guerrilla tactics, making them even harder to eradicate.

In the end, the reason was simple: the cost of eliminating the mountain clans far outweighed the benefits. Instead of investing resources in exterminating them, it was easier for the Vale's lords to simply travel with an armed escort whenever they passed through the Mountains. As long as a group had ten or more armed men, the clans rarely dared to attack.

Ultimately, it was a question of productivity. These three words defined the limits of human ambition. No matter how grand the vision, reality forced people to make pragmatic choices in order to survive in this harsh world.

On the day Aegor presented his strategy, the war council ran longer than usual. After many lords and commanders departed Robert's tent and returned to their camps, the army finally began to move.

An hour or two later, units ranging in size from dozens to hundreds began to leave the encampment, marching toward the Bloody Gate. To the defenders watching from the high walls, it looked like an internal dispute had broken out, levies being dismissed early, returning home for the harvest.

But once out of sight, these soldiers took a long detour, slipping into the Mountains of the Moon to track down the mountain clans.

The poor clans had done nothing to provoke this. The moment Robert's rebellion army arrived, they had fled deep into the mountains, staying hidden and starving for over a month rather than risking conflict. They had wanted no part in the war.

And yet, thanks to the suggestion of a single outsider, a man from another world, hundreds of elite scouts and soldiers, trained in woodland and mountain warfare, were now coming for them.

Aegor had initially planned to return to King's Landing after delivering his advice. But when Buckwell returned from the war council, he brought news that changed his mind.

Robert had finalized the strategy and set a deadline: the infiltration force would coordinate an attack with the main army. If the Bloody Gate did not fall within two weeks, Robert would negotiate peace with the Righteous Alliance.

In such a hopeful situation, Aegor decided to remain. If his plan led to victory, he might even receive a reward.

Offering advice to the Iron Throne while wearing the black of the Night's Watch was already a serious breach of tradition. Personally participating in military action? That was something Aegor would never dare.

So, he remained in the main camp, with no way of knowing how his plan was unfolding. The troops sent into the mountains couldn't maintain communication with the coalition camp, leaving the entire operation a black box, a gamble whose outcome could only be waited on.

Each day, the staged "siege" at the Bloody Gate continued, while the rest of the coalition army remained at the ready. Outwardly, the camp appeared relaxed. In reality, every force was in a constant state of preparedness.

Buckwell had summed it up best:

"As soon as the signal comes, the army will charge forward and take the Bloody Gate."

But what was the signal? When would it appear? Even Buckwell couldn't say.

As the days passed, Aegor's confidence wavered.

Had he overestimated himself?

The mountain clans existed, and they might know hidden paths into the Vale but could Robert's elite troops actually track them down? Would the paths be passable? Would there be Just Alliance forces waiting at the other end?

He had assumed these things based on history, placing his faith in records from books. But this wasn't his world, and history didn't always repeat itself.

For the first time, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him.

That doubt lingered until the sixth day after his proposal.

That afternoon, Aegor had been drinking with Buckwell, listening to the old man complain about military pay and the impact of war on his lands.

Then—suddenly—the call of a war horn echoed across the camp.

A long, distant blast.

The ground trembled. Shouts erupted from all around. Horses neighed in alarm. The heavy thud of hooves rumbled through the earth.

"What's happening?" Buckwell and Aegor rushed outside, calling to the nearest soldiers.

A breathless man turned to them.

"My lord! A signal has been received, full assault ordered! Bring the siege ladders!"

There was no need to ask more.

The screams and battle cries rising from the Bloody Gate told the story.

For days, the staged "sieges" had followed the same pattern, an army would march up, go through the motions of an attack, and then withdraw. The space before the pass would be empty once they were done.

But today, battle cries still echoed from that space.

Meaning—there were soldiers already inside.

The infiltrators had made it through.

"Damn it… Aegor, stay here in camp!" Buckwell snapped, already moving. "Robert will be leading the charge himself. This is the perfect time to earn merit!"

With that, the old earl rushed toward the assembling men of Antlers, barking orders as the chaotic mass of soldiers scrambled to form ranks.

"Hold your ground! Find your commanding officers! Don't drop your weapons, maintain formation!"

"The king is already leading the cavalry charge!"

"Seven hells! Whatever happens, keep moving forward, don't break rank! Follow those ahead, and don't lose your swords and armor!"

What does it look like when tens of thousands charge at once?

Aegor soon found out.

Yoren, drawn outside by the commotion, joined him. As Night's Watchmen, they were the only ones in the coalition camp who could watch the battle without worrying about earning merit. They climbed a small hill near the Antlers camp, looking down at the battlefield.

At the front of the charge, Robert Baratheon led the cavalry himself. No one dared compete with the king for the honor of first blood. The white cloaks of the Kingsguard flanking him gleamed in the sunlight as they rode like a spearhead straight toward the Bloody Gate. The usual rain of arrows and stones from the defenders was conspicuously absent, those still manning the walls were too busy fighting off the real threat now striking from the rear.

Behind the cavalry came a wave of infantry. Their formation was all but nonexistent. With so many officers and veteran soldiers sent into the mountains, the remaining peasant levies were a disorganized mess.

On an ordinary day, such a chaotic assault would have been suicidal. But today, it didn't matter. As long as they ran fast enough, scaled the walls, and reinforced the infiltrators before the defenders could push them back, the battle would be over.

"Gods..." Aegor muttered under his breath.

The idea of a king personally leading a charge might seem romantic in this era, but to a man from another world, it was reckless, a relic of an age where leaders had no choice but to fight because their troops lacked discipline.

"Robert, don't get yourself killed."

"Don't worry," Yoren said. "I've not seen many battles, but I've seen enough to know, when an army gets hit from behind without warning, the fight is already over."

The cavalry thundered through the filled trenches and reached the Bloody Gate's walls. Robert and the Kingsguard, along with more of the king's cavalry dismounted.

They had reached the battlefield first, but they couldn't scale the walls without ladders.

The solution appeared almost immediately.

Scattered at the base of the walls were siege ladders—left behind after failed assaults days prior. Bloodstained, caked in mud, but still usable.

Under the distant gaze of the two Night's Watchmen and Aegor's servant, Casey, a white-cloaked figure was the first to ascend, reaching the top of the Bloody Gate. Then, a second figure—a large, unmistakable shape.

Robert Baratheon himself.

By the time the second and third ladders were raised, it no longer mattered.

The battle was already decided.

The screams of war began to fade.

There was no deep hatred between the Bloody Gate's defenders and Robert's army. Many had likely fought side by side during the Usurper's War.

Seeing the banners fall, realizing their position was overrun, they chose the only path left to them.

Surrender.

Less than half an hour later, the banners of the Righteous Alliance were torn down.

In their place, a crowned stag flew high above the Bloody Gate.

Chapter Text

Chapter 116

The Bloody Gate had fallen, but the process had unfolded in a completely unexpected manner.

Due to unforeseen complications, Aegor's plan to send elite troops into the mountains to hunt down and subdue the mountain clans did not go as smoothly as anticipated. These clansmen had taken guerrilla tactics to the extreme. Familiar with the terrain, they avoided direct confrontation and instead relied on hit-and-run tactics, never engaging Robert's forces head-on. Their scouts spotted approaching soldiers from a distance and immediately fled with their families and belongings, vanishing into the wilderness before the army could even close in. Despite sending thousands of men into the mountains over several days, not a single captive was taken. If this continued, the fifteen-day deadline given by Robert would prove impossible to meet.

Just as the campaign seemed to be stalling, Robb Stark's forces unexpectedly encountered an old yet formidable figure, Brynden Tully, better known as the "Blackfish." The younger brother of Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun.

Years ago, due to disagreements with his brother, Brynden had left the Riverlands and gone to the Vale to serve Lysa Arryn. Her husband, Jon Arryn, had appointed him as the Knight of the Bloody Gate, entrusting him with guarding the Vale's most important pass. When the so-called Alliance of the Righteous launched their rebellion, Brynden had attempted to rally his men and resist, but the situation quickly proved untenable. Knowing the battle was lost, he made a swift retreat, escaping through a secret passage within the Bloody Gate and disappearing into the Mountains of the Moon. He had spent over a month evading the mountain clans when, by sheer luck, he crossed paths with Robb Stark, who was searching the mountains.

Having defended the Bloody Gate for over a decade, Brynden may not have been an expert in breaching it from the front but when it came to finding a way around to its rear, few in Westeros could match his knowledge. The true former commander of the garrison led a force of several hundred elite soldiers through the hidden mountain paths as if he were strolling through his own keep, slipping past enemy lines unnoticed until they began scaling the gate tower itself.

---

In the end, while Aegor's strategy had paved the way for Robert's victory, the true credit belonged to a man who had never set foot in the rebel camp or attended a single war council.

This was hardly surprising. In the television series, Brynden had escaped the Red Wedding by leaving to relieve himself. In the books, he had vanished from Riverrun before its surrender to Jaime Lannister. Though the world of ice and fire had been altered by countless ripples of fate, his uncanny ability to slip away unscathed remained unchanged. Aegor mused that "Blackfish" was an ill-fitting name for him, perhaps "Loach" would be more appropriate.

---

Once the Bloody Gate was secured, it took only half a day for the rebels to clear the blocked passage. Hundreds of men worked in shifts, digging from both inside and out, completing the task far sooner than expected. Upon hearing this, Aegor couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine.

When Robert's forces took the Bloody Gate, they discovered that the defenders had already cleared most of the passage themselves. Captured prisoners revealed that the work had begun the moment the rebel army appeared to "disband." Had the flanking force failed to intercept the original garrison of the Bloody Gate, or if Brynden Tully's detour had been delayed by just a few days, the rebel army stationed at the valley's entrance might have faced a devastating nighttime assault.

A scenario was easy to imagine: a camp of tens of thousands, made up of men from different banners, lacking experienced commanders, battle-hardened veterans, and knightly discipline, if attacked in the dead of night, the outcome would have been nothing short of catastrophic. Even non-combatants like Aegor and Yoren might not have escaped unscathed.

Fortunately, history has no room for "ifs."

---

With the Bloody Gate secured, the entire Vale lay open before them. The thousand-odd rebels stationed at the valley and the foot of the Giant's Lance quickly realized their position was hopeless. Seeing that the gate had fallen, they surrendered without hesitation. Within two days, the entirety of the Vale had fallen into Robert's hands.

The only remaining stronghold was the Eyrie itself. However, reaching it required passing through the Gates of the Moon, another formidable fortress. This castle, too, was held by a member of House Royce, though not of the same branch that had pledged loyalty to the rebels.

When Robert's forces arrived at the Gates of the Moon, they found that its lords had yet to declare open support for the Alliance of the Righteous, nor had the castle fallen into enemy hands. This was a fortunate turn of events.

Beyond the Gates of the Moon lay the final obstacle—the winding, treacherous path leading up to the Eyrie. The ascent, even under normal circumstances, took half a day. Along the way, attackers would be exposed to enemy fire from not only the Eyrie itself but also its three satellite strongholds: Stone, Snow, and Sky. The good news was that the commanders of these fortresses had refrained from officially siding with the rebels. While they may have once sympathized with the cause or even secretly supported it, the arrival of Robert's combined army, bearing the stag banner of House Baratheon, had swiftly reminded them of their true loyalties.

Lysa Arryn, however, refused to accept reality. She remained holed up in the Eyrie, unwilling to descend. Yet with supplies dwindling inside the castle, the outcome of this rebellion, which had shaken the Seven Kingdoms for nearly two months was already clear. It was only a matter of time before it came to its inevitable, anticlimactic end.

---

The victory feast was held in a field within the Vale of Arryn, overlooking the towering peak of the Giant's Lance. By day, the view was breathtaking, majestic mountains stretched across the horizon, and the ghostly torrent known as Alyssa's Tears cascaded from the heights of the western range. The silvery stream gleamed in the sunlight, starkly contrasting against the dark, jagged cliffs.

By night, this tranquil place became the setting for the largest bonfire celebration in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. With the fall of the Bloody Gate, the vast wealth and supplies that the lords of the so-called Alliance of the Righteous had hidden throughout the Vale were now seized as spoils of war. Many of these noble houses were among the most powerful in the region, and the total value of their plundered riches was estimated to exceed 100,000 gold dragons. Even Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, would struggle to produce such a sum on short notice. While this fortune was insignificant compared to the vast wealth of Houses Lannister and Tyrell, it was more than enough to pay the army's wages for at least ten days, leaving a sizable surplus after accounts were settled.

In a grand display of generosity, Robert distributed all these riches as rewards to the coalition's soldiers and lords.

A king who was not short on gold such a thing was rare indeed! Rather than diminishing due to the early setbacks in his campaign, Robert's reputation had only grown stronger.

---

After bestowing honors and rewards upon the battle's greatest hero, Ser Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, the second hero of the war, Aegor, was called to stand at the center of the tent. This time, not only was Robert smiling at him, but the rulers of the six kingdoms seated around the tent also watched him with interest.

For the sharp-eyed politicians among them, it was clear that the fragile peace between the Seven Kingdoms was on the verge of collapse. If war were to break out once more, having a man skilled in strategy and planning could tip the scales of victory. And this was no ordinary strategist—Aegor was the central figure in a legendary adventure, a warrior who had fought the famed Red Viper of Dorne for dozens of rounds without falling.

A man of both wisdom and martial prowess, his mere presence in a faction would serve as a rallying force for allies and a deterrent to enemies.

It was a pity, then, that he was bound by oath to the Night's Watch. No one could recruit him.

---

"White Walker Slayer!" Robert bellowed, clearly fond of the title he had bestowed upon Aegor. Perhaps he simply thought it sounded impressive. "Ser Blackfish may have led the way to the Bloody Gate, but your ideas were indispensable in this victory. Name your reward, so long as it isn't too outrageous, I swear as king that I shall grant it!"

A promise from Robert Baratheon. The words were spoken with the arrogance of a conqueror, but from his mouth, they carried undeniable weight.

The once lively tent fell silent in an instant. All eyes turned to the young man clad in black, standing at the center of the gathering.

What would a sworn brother of the Night's Watch desire?

Chapter 117

Outside the tent, the raucous cheers of reveling soldiers echoed through the curtains, starkly contrasting with the tense silence inside. Under the watchful eyes of countless nobles, Aegor's body trembled slightly, he hadn't expected Robert to distribute rewards in this "make a wish" fashion, leaving him unprepared.

Your Grace, please release me from my vows as a brother of the Night's Watch!

The words almost escaped his lips, but reason held him back at the last moment.

Would such a request be "too outrageous" for Robert? Aegor couldn't say for certain, but he knew the king had the power to grant it. If Robert declared him a free man and a citizen of the Seven Kingdoms, Jeor Mormont wouldn't dare openly object.

But how would Eddard Stark react? As Hand of the King, he had the authority to challenge royal decrees, and from a legal standpoint, while a king could legitimize a bastard, he had no right to absolve a sworn brother of the Night's Watch from his vows. That had been the rule for a thousand years. If Ned insisted on upholding tradition, Robert would have no legal ground to stand on. Even if the king's will ultimately overpowered the Hand's principles, Aegor would forever be at odds with Ned Stark, a dangerous position for any man in the Seven Kingdoms.

And then, what of the Night's Watch industries? If he were freed, there would be no justification for him to continue managing the fledgling manufacturing and financial empire he had built under the Watch's banner. Mormont could appoint someone else to seize control of all its assets. Ned Stark, in his unwavering sense of justice, might even assist in preventing Aegor from transferring any of its wealth.

Beyond that, on a personal level, Aegor had grown accustomed to life as a Night's Watchman, particularly the privileges that came with his unique position as chief logistics officer. He never had to fight on the battlefield, a luxury few men could claim in an era where life was as cheap as dirt.

Not under the jurisdiction of any lord, not bound to anyone's will, not subject to any orders…

Anyone with an ounce of intelligence could see how much power such a position held. He might wear the black and carry an oath, but the privileges he wielded were far more valuable than a mere citizenship that held no real influence. As things stood, he was the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who could carve out his own path purely through his own merit, free from noble birth or family ties.

Throw all of that away and start over?

The thought alone was unbearable. If he abandoned his Night's Watch identity, how many years of struggle and risk would it take before he could once again stand among the real power players of Westeros, drinking and laughing with knights and lords, or sitting face-to-face with a king?

---

"What?" Robert, though impatient, was noticeably softer toward Aegor than he had been in their last war council. After all, this was the man who had saved his honor. "If you can't decide right away, sit down, have some wine and meat, and tell me when you've made up your mind."

"No, Your Grace, I've already decided." Aegor raised his head, forcing down the mix of excitement and nervousness. "You said I could ask for anything, without limit on quantity."

"Well… no, but it can't be too outrageous. Let's set a limit—three requests, as long as they don't break the law or violate your Night's Watch oath."

"I only need two." Aegor felt a surge of relief. He had prepared only one true request, but the second was a necessary pretext, a cover to make his real demand seem more reasonable. "First, the Alchemist's Guild in King's Landing has, by your command, safeguarded the wildfire left over from the previous dynasty. In the warm South, such a thing is dangerous, but in the cold and desolate North, it could be a stable and effective weapon. I ask Your Grace to order the guild to relocate the wildfire stores from King's Landing to the Wall, leaving only a few assistants to oversee them, while the pyromancers, those skilled in its preparation are sent to the Night's Watch to produce and supply this weapon for the defense of the realm."

"Write that down!" Robert exhaled in relief, glancing at his scribe. So long as it wasn't about gold, he had no objections. "What's the second request?"

"There are over a hundred thousand wildlings beyond the Wall, restless and in need of aid. However, the Iron Throne…" Aegor hesitated, knowing he couldn't say outright that the crown was broke. Robert would take offense. Instead, he softened his words. "…is unable to provide the necessary support. The Night's Watch understands Your Grace's difficulties, so we have chosen to be self-sufficient. Through the logistics department I established, we have begun raising funds, purchasing supplies, and training new recruits in King's Landing through our own efforts."

Many in the tent were already aware of the Night's Watch's growing industries. Even Robert himself had heard bits and pieces, after all, every book sold in Westeros, even the cheap brothel pamphlets, bore the same tiny imprint on the back: Produced by the Night's Watch.

"Well, go on."

"But one thing frustrates me," Aegor continued, his tone measured. "Despite our efforts, all business ventures that provide logistical support to the Night's Watch are taxed by the Iron Throne just like ordinary merchants. The crown is meant to fund the Watch in its defense against the White Walkers, yet instead, the money we work tirelessly to earn is being drained back into the kingdom's coffers instead of going toward the Wall's defense—"

"Alright!" Robert waved a hand impatiently. "The Night's Watch's purchases of food and arms—oh, damn it all. Never mind! From now on, all Night's Watch activities within the Seven Kingdoms are tax-exempt!"

Gasps rippled through the assembled lords. Robert, who had not yet drunk himself into a stupor, suddenly realized something was amiss. "Wait… no. No names allowed. Only sworn brothers of the Night's Watch, men who have taken the oath and stood atop the Wall, can be exempt!"

"Your Grace!" Ser Barristan Selmy, standing beside the king, finally spoke up. As a Kingsguard, he had a duty to advise his liege against reckless decisions. "Rules exist to prevent exploitation. If you set such a vague condition, what's to stop men from taking the oath, standing on the Wall for a few days, and then returning to claim lifetime tax exemption? Within a decade, every merchant in the realm will become a Night's Watchman!"

Robert frowned, realizing the flaw in his decree. But he was Robert Baratheon, and a king who had spoken boldly could not back down without losing face. "Forget it! White Walker Slayer, the exemption applies only to you. Only you—personally—will be free from taxation."

"Your Grace!" Barristan looked exasperated. The restriction seemed harsh at first glance, but in reality, it was still a loophole large enough to drive a cart through. It wouldn't take ten years, under Aegor's leadership, the Night's Watch could funnel vast amounts of wealth through his personal exemption. Complete tax immunity had no place in a feudal system.

"Enough, no more talk!" Robert, ever the hot-tempered warrior, had grown tired of the debate. He paused, then threw back his drink, sloshing wine from his cup. "White Walker Slayer, I'm warning you, this privilege is for you alone. You are forbidden from passing it on or letting others benefit from it. If you push your luck, I'll take it back!"

Setting a vague bottom linemuch like reserving the right of final interpretation—was, at the very least, a meaningful restriction. Barristan Selmy sighed but chose not to challenge Robert's temper any further.

"Alright, get out of here." Robert sounded slightly irritated, but today was a day of celebration. He downed the rest of his wine, and the alcohol quickly dulled his frustration. "Next—Robb! What do you want? Don't dawdle like the one before you!"

"Thank you, Your Grace." Aegor suppressed his excitement and returned to his seat. His original goal had been to secure tax exemptions for the Night's Watch factories, but he had ended up receiving something far greater, tax exemption privileges for himself. With this in hand, as long as Mormont remained clear-headed, Aegor would never have to worry about being sidelined or recalled. As for the supposed restrictions? In the future, he would simply have to travel frequently to apply his personal tax-free status to the ever-growing Night's Watch industries.

He might not yet be among the most powerful figures in the Seven Kingdoms, but he would soon be one of the most valuable.

As he settled back into his seat, a familiar, beautiful young woman raised her glass toward him. Margaery Tyrell had not been present for the war council, women were not permitted to attend but the victory feast was a different matter. She smiled, her gaze appreciative. "The chief logistics officer is truly impressive. I admire you!"

Aegor grinned. "Likewise. But compared to tax exemptions, those who collect taxes, such as the Tyrells are the real winners here."

He could barely contain his pride. So long as he didn't abuse his privileges, Robert's personality meant he would never revoke them, even if he later regretted granting them.

The only common-born man in the grand tent had become the center of attention among the Seven Kingdoms' nobility.

Those who merely spent gold rarely understood its true worth. But the lords who managed tax collection, the heads of noble houses, treasurers, and regional rulers knew exactly what Aegor's tax exemption really meant.

They weren't envious, but they couldn't deny it: this young Night's Watchman had pulled off something remarkable.

So many eyes were fixed on Aegor that few paid attention when Robb Stark stepped forward to claim his own reward.

But then, with a single sentence, the Young Wolf commanded the entire tent's attention.

The once-muted hall erupted into cheers, gasps, and confused whispers. Aegor nearly choked on his wine.

He had thought Cersei was the biggest winner of this war. Just moments ago, he had been certain of it.

But now, he realized there was someone else.

Robb Stark knelt on one knee before Robert, took a deep breath, and declared:

"I have fallen in love with Roslin Frey, daughter of Lord Walder Frey, at first sight. Your Grace, please grant me her hand in marriage!"

Chapter 118

Aegor coughed, wiping his mouth after nearly choking on his wine. His gaze instinctively turned to Roslin Frey's brother, a man old enough to be her grandfather. The eldest son of Walder Frey had gone from shock to outright delight, clear proof that this good news had been entirely Robb Stark's decision, without prior discussion with the bride's family.

The northern lords—Karstark, Umber, and the others—frantically signaled their young lord to withdraw his request. But Robb did not even glance their way. His eyes remained locked on the King of the Seven Kingdoms, awaiting an answer.

---

Robert's expression darkened. As a close friend of Robb's father and the head of House Baratheon, he was far from pleased with this choice of bride. The Freys were not worthy of the Starks, this was an undeniable fact in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms. And Robb wasn't just any Stark, he was the heir of Winterfell.

If his godson truly wanted to secure his power and forge a lasting peace in the realm, he should have married that cunning girl from House Tyrell, binding the North and the Reach together.

That said, a king's promise was not given lightly. While the match wasn't ideal, at least it posed no threat to the stability of the Iron Throne. Robert quickly composed himself and turned to the Frey representative sent to negotiate on behalf of the family.

"Stevron! Can you make this decision in your father's name?"

Of course not. Walder Frey had always been the sole authority in his family. But Stevron knew that if he dared refuse, his father would have his hide the moment he returned home.

"Yes, Your Grace!" Stevron declared without hesitation. "On behalf of House Frey, I accept this marriage!"

"Good!" Robert's earlier irritation faded, replaced by amusement. He had never officiated a wedding before, and now that things had taken this turn, he saw no reason not to enjoy it. "Since we have lords from all over the Seven Kingdoms gathered here, why wait for another day? Let the mountains of the Vale and the nobles of Westeros bear witness! Someone bring me a septon—Robb, straighten up! You're getting married tonight!"

---

A Frey knight immediately rushed out of the tent to fetch the bride, while inside, the atmosphere erupted into chaos.

Several northern lords quickly surrounded Robb, their faces tense as they spoke in hushed but urgent tones, clearly objecting to the match. But they were soon drowned out by the swelling tide of congratulations, some cheering for the Young Wolf's good fortune in love, others praising the Freys for securing such a powerful match.

The shift from tense silence to deafening celebration happened so fast that even Aegor was momentarily stunned.

Robb's parents didn't even know about this, yet here was Robert, throwing a wedding for their son on the spot?

Coming from him… it actually makes perfect sense.

Of course, a king had the authority to grant marriages but only with the consent of the involved parties and their families. When the Mad King had appointed Jaime Lannister to the Kingsguard, Jaime had considered it an honor at first, but Tywin had taken it as a personal insult and turned against the crown.

Robert might seem reckless, but he knew exactly where the line was. He would never arrange marriages for major vassals like Robb or Margaery without their families' consent that would be inviting disaster.

But this was different. Robb had made the request himself. Robert was merely giving him what he asked for.

If Eddard and Catelyn Stark were furious when they heard the news? That was Robb's problem, not his.

And as for the Freys? They could celebrate in silence. Who has the time to care what they think?

---

Aegor rubbed his temple.

Some men can't even control their own hair, how can they be expected to control anything else?

That said, if Robb had to marry someone, this was certainly a better choice than some random noblewoman or an insignificant girl whose name Aegor could never remember. At the very least, the Red Wedding will never happen now.

Still, he couldn't help but pity Robb's father.

Eddard Stark was an exception, a man with an unusual sense of morality and self-discipline. But in this world, where gender equality was nonexistent and nobles and commoners lived in entirely different spheres, virtues like chastity, fidelity, and monogamy were not the qualities most valued by the Stark bloodline.

Aegor, raised in modern values, might condemn the irresponsibility of such behavior. But from a lord's perspective? From a father's perspective?

A man like Eddard, who tried to raise his son with strict moral boundaries, was only increasing the likelihood that Robb would rebel.

If Eddard had instead let his son indulge early, taken him to a few brothels, taught him the real rules of the nobility, made him understand that women are like clothes, but vassals are like brothers, then perhaps Robb wouldn't be so easily swept away by a pretty face, making impulsive decisions that disregarded the interests of his house.

---

"Your Grace," a voice finally broke through the noise.

A knight stepped forward hesitantly. "Should we not, at the very least, inform the Hand of the King before proceeding with the wedding?"

"Damn you, Kingsguard!" Robert bellowed. "They call you Barristan the Bold, but I think Barristan the Killjoy suits you better! Now, take this jug of wine and get out of my sight! Don't come back until you've finished it!"

The old knight in white armor stood still for a few moments, casting a glance over the chaotic feast before him. With a sigh, he took the jug of wine from Robert's hand and silently left the tent.

A few minutes later, Roslin Frey—Robb's bride, whom Aegor had been curious to see arrived, escorted by her family.

The atmosphere inside the tent, already lively, erupted into full-blown revelry. Many of the gathered lords had seen Roslin Frey before, but tonight, under the flickering firelight and against the backdrop of her rather unfortunate-looking relatives, she appeared even more striking.

Her light-colored gown hugged her slender frame, making her fair skin glow with a delicate radiance. Dark chestnut hair cascaded in loose curls down her back, framing a face of delicate beauty. But it was her eyes—large and brown, shimmering with nervousness and a hint of mystery beneath the candlelight that drew the most attention.

Even the stern northern lords, who had initially shown little enthusiasm, found themselves swept up in the moment. Though her status was not ideal, her beauty more than compensated. Few could object to such a woman becoming the future Lady of Winterfell.

---

"She truly is a beauty. Even I'm a little moved," came a voice beside Aegor.

It might have been inappropriate to comment on another man's bride in such a way, but coming from Margaery Tyrell, it was merely playful banter. Aegor couldn't simply ignore it, so he raised his cup, glanced at Roslin, and nodded in agreement.

Roslin, blushing shyly, was nudged into Robb's arms. Robert, grinning broadly, loudly declared the wedding's commencement. The lords and knights banged their cups against the tables in celebration.

The septon had yet to arrive, but no one cared for such details.

---

Roslin Frey was undeniably beautiful. But Aegor, who had lived in a world of Photoshop and cosmetic surgery, had long since developed a certain immunity to beauty. After a brief appreciation, he looked away.

Margaery, observing him with interest, suddenly asked, "The Night's Watch forbids marriage. What do you think when you see women?"

(Just because I can't marry doesn't mean I can't touch.)

Of course, he couldn't answer the scheming little rose so bluntly. Instead, he channeled Benjen Stark's solemn demeanor and replied with a straight face, "We take responsibility as wives and honor as concubines."

"Tsk—" Margaery rarely dropped her refined facade, but this time she actually rolled her eyes, pouting in mock displeasure. She stared at him, clearly annoyed. She had been making idle conversation, and yet this black-clad Night's Watchman had responded with such a stiff, humorless answer. "You're no fun at all."

Realizing he had been too cautious, Aegor quickly softened his tone. He smiled and said, "There are no women at the Wall. I get nervous when speaking with a lady as refined as you, Lady Margaery. If I have offended you, I ask for your forgiveness."

"Hmph..."

Margaery sighed in mild frustration. She had traveled so far north and had yet to accomplish half of what she set out to do. Now, even her conversation partner was proving difficult. She no longer had the patience for small talk, so she simply turned her head away and stopped engaging with him.

From the moment Robb had asked for his marriage, Aegor had gone from being a center of attention to just another spectator. But it was still unwise to ignore a noblewoman entirely.

"It's too loud in here. My head is starting to ache. I'll excuse myself," he said politely, before slipping out of the tent.

Talking to a beautiful woman was pleasant enough, but Aegor was a practical man. Margaery Tyrell was never going to be his lover, and every conversation with her was a carefully measured game. If he let his guard down for even a moment, he might walk into one of her traps. It was exhausting. Better to just avoid the risk altogether.

---

Outside the tent, the sounds of raucous celebration continued, but at least it was quieter than inside. The moonlight and the glow of scattered campfires cast long shadows across the field.

That was when Aegor noticed Ser Barristan Selmy.

The old knight sat on a low bench a few feet from the entrance, still clad in his white cloak and armor. In his hands was the jug of fine wine Robert had gifted him. He drank slowly, his once-imposing figure slightly hunched, his silhouette seeming far lonelier than before.

Does he actually intend to finish the whole jug before returning?

Or was he simply drowning his sorrows?

Even though Barristan had tried to ruin his plans earlier, Aegor still respected the man's unwavering integrity and unmatched skill. There was never harm in forming a connection with someone as formidable as Ser Barristan Selmy.

Chapter 119

"Ser Selmy."

"Ser West."

The old Kingsguard turned and, under the moonlight, saw Aegor's face clearly for the first time. Though they were not acquainted, Barristan respected those who were loyal to their duty, and Aegor's dedication to the Night's Watch earned him some measure of regard. The old knight did not ignore his words. "Why aren't you inside for the wedding?"

---

Strictly speaking, addressing Aegor as Ser was incorrect. As a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, he had renounced all former titles and could never reclaim them. In the eyes of the law, a Night's Watchman was no different from a commoner, regardless of his rank within the order.

Yet, after months away from the Wall, Aegor no longer bothered correcting people when they called him Ser or Lord, as he had once done upon leaving Castle Black. The reality was simple, people like Margaery Tyrell and Barristan Selmy had little interaction with commoners. If Aegor denied being a Ser, what would they call him?

Besides, the resources and influence he now controlled far surpassed that of an ordinary knight, or even a lesser lord. He could afford to accept such courtesy without protest.

---

"It's just a farce," Aegor said. "You don't approve of this marriage either, do you?"

"Who the heir of House Stark weds is none of my concern," Barristan replied, shaking his head. "What I oppose is His Grace's way of handling things. Marriage determines the future of a noble house, it should never be treated as a jest. A wedding arranged without even informing the groom's parents? It's absurd."

"In terms of spectacle, this is no mere joke. Apart from a royal wedding, when else could so many of the realm's lords be gathered in one place?"

"What good are all these guests if the groom's parents aren't among them?" Barristan countered. "What happens when you return to King's Landing and the Hand of the King refuses to recognize this marriage? Will Robb Stark be expected to pack up his bride and send her back to the Twins?"

"Lord Eddard is an honorable man—he would never do something so disgraceful." Aegor considered for a moment. "And as for rejecting the marriage entirely? That seems unlikely. Tell me, how many non-ducal houses in all of Westeros are as wealthy and powerful as House Frey?"

Rhetorical questions were typically meant to imply a negative answer. But as Barristan pondered, he realized Aegor's point had merit.

"In the North, there's House Manderly of White Harbor," Barristan mused. "In the Vale… never mind, after the 'Righteous League' fiasco, they're in shambles. In the Westerlands, there are certainly wealthy houses, but none with significant power, Lord Tywin has made sure of that. In the Stormlands and Dorne, the harsh conditions prevent any non-ducal houses from rising too high. And in the Reach, there's House Hightower of Oldtown and House Redwyne of the Arbor both as rich and powerful as the Freys, if not more so. And certainly more prestigious."

"The Manderlys are already Stark loyalists, marrying their heir to them would be a wasted alliance," Aegor reasoned. "The Westerlands, Stormlands, and Dorne aren't worth discussing. As for Oldtown and the Arbor, their influence is undeniable… but tell me, where are their lands? In the southwestern corner of Westeros, thousands of leagues from the North. If trouble arises, what aid could they possibly provide? Such an alliance would be meaningless. There's a reason people say, 'befriend distant lands, strike nearby foes.'"

He shifted his tone slightly, pressing his point. "But the Freys? They control the key crossing between the North and the rest of the realm. They have wealth, troops, and a strategic location. A marriage alliance with them would not only increase the North's available forces by a tenth, but it would also extend their influence southward by hundreds of miles. The Starks would grow stronger, and at the same time, it would stabilize House Tully's hold over the Riverlands. Two birds, one stone. Why wouldn't they do it?"

---

"That's a fair argument." Barristan gestured toward the flask of wine Robert had bestowed upon him. "Come, have a drink. If we're speaking purely of wealth and military strength, the Twins is a valuable ally. But House Frey's history is short, and they've never produced any heroes or great men. Their reputation as nouveau riche does them no favors."

"Thank you." Aegor took a seat beside the old knight and accepted the offered flask, taking a long drink. The wine was strong, but the brewing methods of this era were still primitive, it was more an alcoholic beverage than a true spirit. "Short history? The North is filled with houses that have existed for a thousand years, but most of them combined still don't match Lord Walder's power. And does anyone send their daughters to them just because of their history?"

He smirked. "As for being upstarts… tell me, Ser, who is the biggest upstart in Westeros right now? Three hundred years of history, not even half of House Frey's. But so long as he sits on the Iron Throne, who would dare call him an upstart to his face? The bigger the fist, the greater the truth. House Frey may have a poor reputation, but after tonight, as kin to the Starks, they will no longer be mocked. They will be a Great House in all but name."

Aegor hadn't spoken the name outright, but Barristan knew exactly whom he meant. Comparing House Frey to House Baratheon? It was a bold statement.

Yet despite himself, Barristan found Aegor's perspective… compelling. His logic was cold, pragmatic, and difficult to refute. The old knight could have argued further, but deep down, he felt any counterpoint would be weak. He chuckled instead. "I won't argue with you. But if what you say is true, then surely House Stark, being a ducal house, should have secured an even stronger match. If you could choose freely, which lord's daughter would have been the best choice for Robb?"

Now, that was a mistake. If this had been a formal debate, Barristan had just walked straight into Aegor's trap.

He had already considered this question long ago. In truth, Robb faced the same dilemma as Edmure Tully.

"Unless His Grace is willing to betroth Princess Myrcella to Robb, he only has two viable choices," Aegor said smoothly. "A marriage to Dorne is unlikely—they're far to the south, and I doubt they would send one of their own to the freezing North. That leaves only one option."

He smirked. "Margaery Tyrell is in that tent. If you're so curious, why don't you go in and ask her if she'd be willing to marry Robb?"

Barristan coughed awkwardly but said nothing.

---

"Thank you for your concern, Chief Logistics Officer, but my marriage is not something you need to worry about."

A soft, lilting voice interrupted their conversation, making Aegor stiffen in surprise.

He turned to find Margaery standing behind him.

"Ser, you wear the black, yet you seem to know everything about the Vale and the Seven Kingdoms. How curious."

Aegor exhaled, masking his momentary embarrassment. He hadn't even noticed her approach, between the revelry in the camp and his conversation with Barristan, he had been completely unaware. Fortunately, he hadn't spoken ill of her.

He forced a casual tone. "As the Night's Watch's Chief Logistics Officer, it is my duty to secure supplies and funding from the realm's lords. Naturally, I must learn everything I can about them."

Of course, Aegor's understanding of Westeros didn't come solely from watching plays and reading books before his arrival in this world. After reaching King's Landing, he had relied on Tyrion's introductions and various documents to develop a thorough grasp of the Seven Kingdoms' political landscape. Even so, no matter how much knowledge he accumulated, he could never match Margaery, born into nobility and with access to far more sources of information.

"Hmph."

The girl rolled her eyes at him and said no more.

The notion that ignoring a wealthy and beautiful woman would somehow intrigue her, or even make her fall in love, was a pure fantasy. Rich and beautiful women aren't that bored.

Margaery turned away from Aegor and instead directed her attention to Barristan Selmy. She dipped into a graceful bow. "Ser Selmy."

Barristan the Bold—or perhaps Barristan the Spoilsport?

Though Robert had been rude when he scolded him, Barristan Selmy remained one of the king's most trusted men as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It wasn't just Aegor who wished to cultivate a relationship with a man so deeply embedded in the heart of power, someone who could influence the king's thinking at any time.

"Lady Margaery."

Barristan smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

In the past, as the king's personal guard and advisor, he had always been careful not to engage too much with non-royal nobles, avoiding any hint of improper influence. But after his recent conversation with Aegor about the marriage politics of Westeros, he found himself in an uncharacteristically social mood.

"Forgive me if my question is intrusive," he said, "but, my lady, have you chosen a husband?"

Chapter 120

Highgarden had long set its sights on the crown.

As the most powerful noble house in the Seven Kingdoms, second only to House Lannister—the Tyrells had been biding their time ever since the end of Robert's Rebellion, waiting for the king's son to come of age. The Queen of Thorns had spent years molding Margaery into the perfect candidate: not only beautiful, but politically astute, raised with one clear purpose to become the mother of a kingdom.

With Highgarden's wealth and influence, securing such a match was entirely possible. All it required was a well-timed display of loyalty, a generous dowry, and enough patience to outmaneuver any rivals. If they played their cards right, the Tyrells would secure the throne not through war, but through marriage.

Margaery had every reason to be confident. She had spent years cultivating relationships, forging alliances within the court, and slowly building the support needed for when Robert would inevitably declare he was seeking a queen for Joffrey. When that moment arrived, she would step forward and claim victory without contest.

But then, Jon Arryn died.

The Hand of the King, who had quietly signaled his support for Margaery's match was gone.

Before the Tyrells could even react, Robert had traveled north, and within days of reaching Winterfell, he had arranged Joffrey's betrothal to Sansa Stark. No warning. No formal courtship. No opportunity for Margaery to even compete.

The most impulsive man in Westeros had, in a matter of days, undone over a decade of careful planning.

She hadn't lost to a rival house, nor to a scheming noblewoman. She had lost to a girl who had done nothing.

She wanted to protest.

Imagine preparing for years—laying the groundwork, training relentlessly—only to be told that the event had been canceled before you even had the chance to sign up. The world had shifted too fast, and her careful strategies had failed to keep pace.

There were only two choices: adapt, or be left behind.

Margaery was not one to accept defeat. If she couldn't be a queen, she would find another way to power.

She had pivoted quickly, using the rebellion in the Vale as an opportunity to attach herself to Robert instead. If she could not sit the throne as a queen, she would stand beside it as a mistress.

It wasn't ideal, but it was a way forward.

And yet, for the first time in his life, Robert Baratheon, the man known for his legendary appetites had refused to take the bait.

Margaery had tried everything.

She wasn't Lyanna Stark, but she was beautiful enough by anyone's standards. She was skilled, charming, and trained in all the arts of seduction. So why had Robert rejected her?

Was my little rose not sweet enough? Or is it that the king has suddenly developed high standards?

She had exhausted every trick her grandmother had taught her, but Robert had remained unmoved.

It was only after her relentless persistence that he had finally offered a suggestion, one she had never expected.

"Go to Robb Stark."

At first, she had dismissed the idea.

But as time passed, she had come to see the truth.

House Tyrell was rich, powerful, and had vast armies. But none of that meant anything if the Hand of the King was against them.

Breaking Joffrey's betrothal was impossible. Undermining the Stark influence in King's Landing was even harder.

The only path forward was the one Robert had given her.

She could no longer chase the crown, but the Hand's power? That was still within reach.

And so, she had made her decision.

By the time the night's celebrations ended, she would make her move, approaching Robb Stark under the pretense of congratulations, admiration, and goodwill.

This time, she would not wait for an invitation.

This time, she would strike first.

Becoming the Hand of the King's daughter-in-law and the future Lady Stark would have been a roundabout path to power, but all roads ultimately led to King's Landing.

Yet, just moments ago, before the gathered nobles of the Seven Kingdoms and right in front of Margaery, Robb Stark had asked Robert for permission to marry Roslin Frey.

What went wrong?

Was it that everything my grandmother taught me was outdated? Or is this world itself broken?

I did nothing wrong, so why is everything going wrong?!

And yet, in the face of such a crushing setback, she had still managed to keep a polite smile, making small talk with the Night's Watch officer beside her as if nothing had happened.

How much self-control and composure had that taken?

And yet, that damnable Night's Watchman had barely spoken to her, treating her with wary distance—like she was some kind of threat.

If she had been holding a sword at that moment, Margaery truly felt she could have run him through.

But a wise person does not act out of anger. Roses have thorns, but what use was a thorn against a man who could supposedly hold his own against the Red Viper for dozens of rounds without losing?

Margaery had looked toward Robb, who had been grinning ear to ear, arms wrapped around his new bride. She needed to clear her head. So, she, too, had left the tent.

That was when she had stumbled upon two men—one clad in black, the other in white drinking under the moonlight, discussing politics and the state of the realm.

And then, to her astonishment, they had started talking about her.

"Would she be willing to marry Robb Stark?"

He's marrying a Frey. He'll be in the bridal chamber tonight. What's the point of asking me that now?

---

Under the moonlit sky, the air seemed to freeze.

Once again, silence fell upon the three of them, much like the uneasy quiet that had filled the tent earlier.

Asking about someone's ideal partner was as impolite as asking a woman her age. It wasn't the sort of question that should be asked so directly.

But to Aegor's surprise, Margaery answered without hesitation.

"My ideal man would be a hero," she said lightly. "One day, he would come to me wearing a crown and riding a white horse, calling me his queen of love and beauty."

She let out a soft sigh. "Unfortunately… it seems that will only ever be a foolish dream. Just the wishful thinking of a poor girl no one wants."

"I see," Barristan said, his smile fading. He nodded but made no further comment.

---

It was flawless.

Aegor couldn't help but admire her skill.

To answer so quickly, to turn the question to her advantage, to reveal just enough to seem open but not enough to give anyone any leverage over her… it was masterful.

If she had remained silent, it would have seemed defensive. But if she had spoken too much, she might have made a misstep. Instead, she had offered an answer tinged with just the right amount of youthful longing and self-pity—one that was technically true, yet impossible to criticize.

What's wrong with a fifteen-year-old girl dreaming of being a queen?

Who would dare accuse her of being overly ambitious for that?

Compared to his own awkward retreat from the feast, Margaery's response had been far more refined.

Aegor quietly acknowledged her skill.

But he had no idea just how bitter Margaery felt in that moment.

Chapter Text

Chapter 121

Suppressing the frustration welling in her chest, Margaery forced a smile.

"Let's not dwell on such trivial matters, Lord Aegor," she said smoothly. "All the princes of the so-called Alliance of the Righteous have been captured. Since His Grace ordered you to accompany the army, I assume he has no intention of executing them. I wonder what fate awaits them?"

Though she seemed to be asking Aegor, the question was truly directed at Barristan. She wasn't particularly interested in the answer, but after having been questioned herself, her instincts demanded she return the exchange, never give something for nothing. Even seemingly insignificant information could prove useful someday, or so her grandmother had taught her.

"The main ringleaders will, of course, face judgment," Barristan answered. "As for the lesser lords who led their men in rebellion, they will be sent to take the black."

The old knight saw no need to conceal this information—Aegor, as a Night's Watch officer, would know soon enough, and Lady Tyrell would hear of it before long.

"As for the castles taken during the conflict, they will be returned to their original lords, so long as they acknowledge the treason of their family heads and offer hostages as proof of loyalty. Naturally, their lands will be greatly reduced. The holdings granted to Ser Brynden and the other loyalists today? Those all came from the traitors."

---

Rebellion forgiven—such a thing would have been unthinkable in the old empires. But in Westeros, such leniency was considered the most practical course of action. It was a land where honor still held weight, and pragmatic mercy often won out over blind vengeance.

The decision to spare the rebels had many factors behind it.

First was Littlefinger's escape, his flight was as good as an admission of guilt, confirming the whispers of conspiracy. The so-called Alliance of the Righteous, which had once seemed a noble cause, now found itself receiving unexpected sympathy from various quarters.

Second, the idea of exterminating entire noble families simply wasn't viable in the feudal structure of Westeros. The Deer, Wolf, and Osprey Alliance had been forged decades ago, and over time, the noble houses of the Vale had intermarried with those of the North, the Riverlands, and even the Stormlands. If punishments were carried out too harshly, the bloodshed wouldn't stop until half the realm's nobility was wiped out.

These were the justifications Aegor might give if asked.

But the real reason for Robert's mercy was far simpler, many of these families had once fought for him in the war against the Targaryens. And Robert Baratheon was not a man who forgot those who had helped him claim his throne.

---

A loud crash echoed from within the great tent, the sound of plates or cups shattering. Whether it was a sign of celebration growing too wild or the beginnings of an altercation, it was unclear.

Barristan frowned. Though Robert had other Kingsguard present, he was still uneasy. He lifted his jug, downed the last of his wine, and exhaled. His task complete, the old knight gave Aegor and Margaery a nod before turning toward the tent, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Now, only two remained.

A man and a woman.

But there was no romantic atmosphere between them.

Margaery Tyrell was many things, but she had no intention of wasting her time trying to melt the cold demeanor of a Night's Watchman. She had other concerns, and the night had drained her more than she cared to admit.

"The Chief Logistics Officer must be busy," she said lightly. "I won't keep you any longer."

She turned to leave, then paused briefly.

"I will remain in King's Landing for a few days before returning to Highgarden. Perhaps I shall visit your office then, and see this legendary Night's Watch industry for myself."

Aegor exhaled subtly, relieved that their conversation had reached its natural conclusion.

"I look forward to your visit, my lady."

Margaery lifted her head, turned on her heel, and walked away without looking back.

Her movements were graceful, composed, almost indifferent. But inside, her thoughts were in complete disarray.

She had once aimed for the crown, yet now, she couldn't even secure a ducal marriage.

Jaime Lannister, bound by his Kingsguard vows, was not an option. The young Lord Arryn was sickly and unlikely to live long. Renly Baratheon… well, Loras had already secured that alliance, making her own involvement unnecessary.

What was left?

Would she be reduced to climbing into Edmure Tully's bed? Was that all she had left to offer her family?

Her grandmother had always taught her that seduction was the ultimate weapon, one used with great precision, and only when absolutely necessary. After all, it had been Olenna's skill in such matters that had once secured her place within House Tyrell.

But for Margaery to resort to such measures now—with Edmure of all men? It was a risk. What if he rejected her, out of pride or spite for past slights? She would lose not just her dignity, but any remaining leverage she had.

For the favored daughter of House Tyrell, the darling of Highgarden, to find herself unwanted, it was an unbearable humiliation.

Beneath the flickering firelight, unseen in the night, unshed tears welled in her eyes.

She quickened her pace and disappeared from Aegor's sight.

---

The chaos sparked by a single, reckless rumor had finally settled after nearly two months of upheaval.

Aegor had always understood the power of words, but never had he witnessed firsthand how mere whispers could set entire armies in motion.

Yet in the end, rumors—no matter how fierce were but paper tigers. Their greatest strength lay in their spread, in the uncertainty they sowed. Once a rumor became fact, it lost its edge, deflating like a punctured wineskin.

For all their danger, rumors were nothing compared to the brutal certainty of war.

---

The morning after the feast, the great host of eighty thousand men dispersed like scattered crows. Each lord and knight returned to his own lands, his own family, his own hearth.

Only a token force remained, some thousand men under Robert's banner, along with the last loyal knights of the Vale camped at the foot of the Eyrie. Their task was simple: wait.

Either Lysa Arryn would come down willingly, or hunger and fear would drive her from her mountain stronghold.

After all, the king had summoned the banners of six kingdoms to crush a rebellious vassal. Even if she had no intention of defying the crown further, she had to present herself before the king to kneel, to beg forgiveness, to swear her loyalty anew.

More than that—Jon Arryn had been Hand of the King for over a decade. Countless nobles had tied their fates to his. And now, his wife had poisoned him for the sake of an affair?

Robert might be willing to let the matter slide, but others would not be so forgiving.

---

As for the rebel lords?

Of the leaders of the Alliance of the Just, only Lady Anya Waynwood had been spared execution, imprisoned instead in the Red Keep, if only because she was a woman.

The others?

No ransoms. No pardons.

They would take the black.

With so many noblemen marching for the Wall, Lord Commander Mormont's struggle for manpower would be eased, at least for a time.

Aegor left the matter to Yoren. With Robert assigning an escort, the new recruits would reach Castle Black without incident.

The rebellion had been costly, and countless small matters still needed resolution. But those were no concern of the Night's Watch.

A day after the banquet, Aegor and his squire departed the Vale, traveling alongside the lords and soldiers returning home.

Once more, they passed through the battle-worn Bloody Gate, now under repair, and left the highlands behind.

After several days of travel, they arrived once more at the heart of the realm—the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the city that never truly slept.

King's Landing.

The streets were as loud, filthy, and teeming with life as ever.

Aegor walked the familiar path through the crowded avenues until, at last, he reached the doorway of the institution he had built with his own hands.

The Night's Watch Office.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 122

The office still looked the same as it had two months ago, but there were noticeable differences. The golden sign Aegor had personally ordered still hung high above the gate, yet outside, several strange billboard-like structures had been erected. Dismounting, Aegor stepped forward and touched one. Paper. He examined the contents—conscription notices, recruitment postings, bonds, and investment instructions—everything was there. It seemed his orders before leaving had been carried out well.

These notices were originally meant to be posted on the wall, but now the office staff had built wooden stands to display them by the roadside. A bold innovation—and an effective one.

This had to be Tyrion's idea again. The man was truly a business genius, though his last name was a burden. Aegor couldn't help but smile, feeling at ease, and walked into the office with Casey.

…

It was an odd feeling—Aegor didn't recognize anyone in his own "shop." The men in black vests were likely employees. The two stationed at the door seemed to be guards, while a young man with a refined air sat behind the reception desk, speaking fluently with a man who looked like a potential client. Listening in, Aegor realized the man was applying to be an industrial security guard for Night's Watch Industries. The receptionist was explaining the benefits and responsibilities of the position in detail.

Things had truly changed. If the new notices and the presence of a "lobby manager" were small surprises, what came next truly stunned him: three people were waiting in line on the benches along either side of the room.

Back when Aegor ran this office, it was common to go days without a single visitor!

Was it because he was too intimidating, scaring people away? Of course not. Without his persistence and tireless efforts, this office wouldn't even exist, let alone flourish as it had.

With a quiet sigh, Aegor strode toward the door leading to the inner chamber.

"What do you think you're doing? Do you have an appointment?"

The receptionist, who had been explaining the job details moments ago, abruptly stopped talking, stood up, and blocked his path. He was about to summon the guards at the door when he hesitated. His gaze fell on Aegor's well-tailored black suit, an unmistakable mark of wealth and status. He froze, stunned for a few seconds, unable to finish his sentence.

Aegor was about to introduce himself when Casey, his ever-keen companion, sensed an opportunity to make an entrance. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and snapped, "How dare you! This is the Chief Logistics Officer! He needs an appointment to enter his own office?"

---

Aegor found the situation amusing, he never expected to experience the classic scenario of an employee failing to recognize their own boss. He studied the receptionist, curious whether the man truly had no idea who he was or if he was merely trying to assert his authority. After all, Aegor was far better known in the rebel army camp than in King's Landing, and he had been gone for two months. He could hardly blame them.

Through sheer determination and the fortune of meeting the right people—Aegor, once an unlucky transmigrator and a brother of the Night's Watch, had clawed his way to his current position. Although these employees had been recruited by Tyrion, they were still his first real subordinates, his own power base. He had no intention of humiliating them for their mistake.

Raising a hand to calm the indignant Casey, Aegor gave the receptionist a reassuring smile. "It's fine. You've worked hard. Carry on."

With that, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, unconcerned with the man's reaction.

The door had changed as well. Once a simple wooden slab, it was now much thicker, likely for better soundproofing. Because of that, the people inside hadn't heard the brief commotion outside. Aegor expected to find Tyrion or another one of his personally recruited staff inside, but as he entered, he was met with an unexpected sight.

A young woman sat behind the desk.

Who was she? Could she be Tyrion's new mistress? This was the inner chamber of the Night's Watch office, the very place where Tyrion and he once conducted their… business dealings. Even if she was a partner, it was rather bold to sit in his chair.

Aegor frowned, displeased. But before he could say anything, he noticed the woman's posture—her head lowered as she scribbled something on parchment. Without looking up, she spoke in a brisk, professional tone.

"Contract signing, bond purchase, investment negotiations, or are you here for a loan or joint venture application?"

(Ah, so she's not just some outsider.)

Aegor relaxed. She had clearly rehearsed that line countless times, delivering it smoothly and with confidence. He also found her voice vaguely familiar, though he couldn't immediately place it.

Then, as if sensing something off, the woman finally looked up.

"Master Aegor!"

She shot to her feet so quickly that the desk nearly shook, almost toppling an ink bottle in the process. Luckily, she caught it in time. Her reaction was no less startled than the receptionist's.

"You… Why are you back?"

It was Nina.

She had swapped her work clothes from the paper mill for a sleek black outfit, looking every bit the part of an office worker. No wonder he hadn't recognized her at first.

But why was she here? She should have been overseeing production and technical improvements at the paper mill. What was she doing working in his office instead?

Of course, outright asking her that might make it seem as if he disapproved of her presence. Concealing his initial confusion, Aegor stepped forward with a smile.

"I'm back. So what? Why are you back?"

"No, I mean..." Nina's face flushed at Aegor's teasing. Seeing him approach the table, she quickly pushed back her chair, making space for him. "I mean, if you wanted to return, you could have let us know in advance so we could go and greet you."

Let them know in advance… And how exactly was I supposed to do that?

To Nina and the others at the Night's Watch office, I might be someone important, but to the king's army and the noble lords who had gathered to suppress the rebellion, what was I? Before returning, was I supposed to ask Robert to lend me a raven to send word to King's Landing, then have Maester Pycelle dispatch someone to notify the office to prepare for my arrival?

"You think too highly of me," Aegor said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "I may not mind the trouble, but I'd rather not cause it for others."

There was no need to explain further. Flaunting himself before his admiring subordinates would have been foolish.

Stepping up to the large desk, Aegor immediately noticed that his chair had also been replaced. It now had a high backrest, wide armrests, a soft cushion, and was covered in velvet. Apart from lacking wheels and the ability to swivel, it was practically the prototype of a proper lord's chair.

Damn chair… this thing…

It must be comfortable.

Since it was his seat to begin with, there was no reason for hesitation. Aegor sat down without a second thought, leaned back, and let himself sink into the plush cushion.

"Who bought this chair?"

"Yes, my lord… Lord Tyrion ordered me to purchase it."

"Not bad. Far more comfortable than that hard one I had before."

The cushion still retained Nina's warmth, and a faint fragrance lingered in the air. They say that once a man's basic needs are met, his thoughts inevitably turn to other desires, and Aegor was certainly well beyond mere survival.

Looking up at Nina, he quickly realized why he hadn't recognized her at first. She hadn't just changed her clothes, she had done her hair and put on makeup as well. Aegor wasn't well-versed in such things, but he could tell she was wearing lipstick.

How was it that something as simple as lipstick could make such a difference? Well, from a biological standpoint, red lips were often a sign of good health and nutrition. Their fullness and shine reflected the skin's hydration and elasticity, a natural indicator of youth and, from an evolutionary perspective, a subconscious signal of fertility…

Stop. Stop.

She's merely the acting representative of the Night's Watch office, presenting herself well for the sake of the organization. She put on lipstick. That's all. Why overthink it?

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Aegor suddenly realized he had been staring at Nina's lips for far too long. The girl was clearly flustered, her face now redder than the color on her lips.

"I… I'll fetch you some water, my lord," she stammered. Without waiting for his response, she hurried off, nearly stumbling in her haste to escape.

Watching her retreating figure, Aegor sighed. Lipstick truly was a woman's best weapon. A simple touch of color had transformed Nina's once plain, unremarkable features into something striking. The black, form-fitting dress made her skin appear even fairer, while her red lips added a vivid contrast. The combination of black and red was like the final flourish on a painting—turning her from an ordinary girl into something almost… captivating.

A man who seeks greatness must take care of his brothers, whether they are his subordinates or… other parts of himself.

Letting out a long breath, Aegor pushed aside his distractions. Abstaining for a year and a half… perhaps that had been too long. Some things needed to be dealt with before they became a problem.

When Nina returned, carrying a cup of water, the flush on her face had yet to fade, but she seemed more composed. Taking a seat in an ordinary chair beside the desk, she said, "Thank you for your hard work, my lord. Was your journey smooth?"

"The road was good, and the weather was clear. It couldn't have been smoother," Aegor replied, taking a sip of water. He smiled at her, keeping his gaze as steady as possible. "This time, we've truly returned with a full haul."

"A full haul?" Nina looked around in confusion. Even Casey was empty-handed. "Where are your things, my lord? Should I arrange for someone to bring them in?"

Aegor laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "No need. I'm already here."

"I'll explain it all in detail later. For now, tell me what's been happening at the office these past two months."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 123

"What happened... This... Where should I start?" Nina grew flustered again, hesitating for a long moment before saying, "Let me think about it."

(Where is the sharp and capable woman who just asked me, 'Contract signing, bond purchase, investment negotiation, loan application, or joint venture?' How does she even handle customers if she's like this?)

Aegor was slightly concerned but vaguely understood—perhaps it was his presence that made her nervous. Still… was speaking to him really so terrifying?

Not wanting to embarrass her further, the Night's Watch officer took the initiative. "Forget it. I'll ask, and you just answer. When did you take over here?"

"A few days after you left. Lord Tyrion stayed with me for over a month, teaching me everything. He only left after I had learned enough. I've been in charge for less than half a month…"

"Hmm. You were working on something when I arrived."

"We were calculating the accounts, tracking the income and expenses of the various factories under Night's Watch Industries, as well as the salaries for the Logistics and Security departments."

"All the factories?" Aegor raised a brow. "How many do we have now? And how many men has the Security Department recruited?"

"The second factory is still under construction. The investment came from that merchant who bought grain and fodder from you before you left—he finally paid the penalty he owed. As for the Security Department, we've recruited nearly a hundred men. Per your orders, we only take locals under thirty, with good reputations and clean family backgrounds." Nina hesitated, raising a hand as if to scratch her head but lowering it again, afraid of ruining her hair. "Each factory has someone responsible for its accounts, and I review the final reports. It seems like a lot, but it's not too difficult. The hardest part is processing start-up loan applications. Lord Tyrion insists that every applicant submit a detailed business plan and cost estimate, down to the last silver stag. I evaluate the risks and potential profits, then pass my recommendations to him for final approval."

"What… loans?" Aegor sat up straight. He had been asking casually, he wasn't expecting news more shocking than the last. He had vaguely noticed the word loan when he first walked in, but after his long journey, he hadn't given it much thought. Now, the realization hit him. His eyes widened.

"You—you mean we are lending money now? Do we even have that much spare capital?"

"No… not yet," Nina quickly waved her hands, startled by his reaction. "Right now, our funds are just enough to keep things running, with little to spare. But Lord Tyrion analyzed our net profit and said we'll have surplus funds by next month. He said, 'We can't let gold sit in a vault and rot, we need to put it to work.' So he started a small-business loan program… specifically for people like me and my brother—those with good ideas and inventions but no money to bring them to life."

Aegor took a deep breath. This wasn't part of his plan. He had only mentioned the idea of lending as an example, he never expected Tyrion to actually implement it. That little imp was proving to be far more competent than Robert.

Straightening up, Aegor grabbed the stack of loan applications from the table and began flipping through them.

…

The applications varied widely. Some sought loans to open snack stalls or clothing shops, while others wanted to follow the latest trend and open bookstores. These were unremarkable. What caught his attention was the pile of proposals for new inventions and ideas.

Literacy was rare in this era, and even fewer people could describe things clearly and concisely. Aegor skimmed through the first application and found a description of solid soap.

In this world, soaps and detergents were usually powders or pastes. This applicant proposed a method to harden the mixture into solid bars and add herbs or scented oils, creating a product that would not only clean but also leave behind a pleasant fragrance, perhaps even remove invisible "dirt" from the body.

Soap. Medicated soap.

The people of Westeros had no concept of germs, but even without that knowledge, this was an advanced idea.

The next application had a similar theme, an improvement on lipstick. The applicant suggested replacing toxic mineral-based dyes with natural pigments derived from fruits, vegetables, and insects. He had also developed a method to solidify the mixture using wax and oils, creating a more stable and safer product.

Aegor paused. He pulled the first application closer and compared the handwriting.

The same person.

Lifting his gaze, Aegor studied the young woman in front of him and made a bold guess.

"Nina, where did you get that lipstick?"

"It's… a sample from this applicant," she admitted, blinking at him innocently. "I only wanted to test it. It's still in the drawer—I didn't take it home!"

"Why are you panicking? I didn't say you couldn't use it." Aegor chuckled. "You look quite fetching, but don't overdo it. Just because the inventor claims it's non-toxic doesn't mean it's harmless. Try not to eat it."

"Yes… my lord."

"Approve both of these immediately. Tell Tyrion this venture will definitely be profitable. As for the funds, we won't have to wait two months—money will be available soon."

Using the conversation as an excuse, Aegor openly admired how Nina looked with makeup before turning his attention back to the stack of proposals.

There were all sorts of ideas, one suggesting a lottery system, another proposing a new type of loose, breathable undergarment that would distinguish innerwear from outerwear… The more he read, the more he realized that nearly all of them were viable.

When did this miserable place start producing so many bright minds?

As if sensing his thoughts, Nina spoke softly. "There were many ridiculous proposals too. I threw those into the waste bin. If you'd like, I can retrieve them—"

"No need," Aegor interrupted. "If you discarded them, I trust you had a reason."

So that was it. What he was reading had already been filtered, the best of the best.

"For the proposals that passed, we'll begin funding them immediately. Do we have a system in place for this?"

"Yes. Lord Tyrion divided the loans into three categories, each with different terms depending on the specifics. I can summarize them for you—"

After a few minutes of casual conversation, Nina gradually relaxed. The initial awkwardness of suddenly facing her "boss and idol" without warning had faded. The redness in her cheeks subsided, and her composure returned.

With her clear and structured explanations, Aegor quickly gained a thorough understanding of the recent changes within Night's Watch Industries.

The first factory was already in full operation, something Aegor was well aware of. With continuous improvements in technology, the cost of papermaking had been further reduced, now less than half of what it had originally been.

Paper itself was cheap, but its status as a luxury item in the minds of the people had yet to change. Since there were no competitors in the market and the price of orders remained high, the business had yielded staggering profits—several hundred percent in a short span of time.

Last month, for the first time, all three production lines ran uninterrupted for an entire moon's turn, bringing in over four hundred gold for Night's Watch Industries. However, as much of the cost had only just been recouped, it was difficult to determine the exact net profit.

The Night's Watch bonds had also moved past their initial challenges. After enduring the trial of a large-scale redemption, their reliability had been proven. The real-money returns spread by word of mouth, and with active buyers emerging, Tyrion had decisively announced a reduction in the rate of return both to maintain a stable capital flow and to emphasize the higher profits of investment and cooperative ventures.

By the time Lord Buckwell departed for King's Landing, the first major investment, amounting to several thousand gold dragons had already been secured.

As for the loans—Tyrion had divided them into three categories.

The first were short-term small loans, sums under five gold dragons, granted with minimal requirements to any citizen of King's Landing who could provide proof of identity and residence. Outsiders, for now, were excluded.

The second were standard business loans, issued for shop openings. These required either collateral or a guarantor and carried "appropriate" interest rates.

The third category, however, was venture capital for new inventions and innovations—which, strictly speaking, was not a loan at all. Under this system, if an application was reviewed and approved, Night's Watch Industries would directly purchase the rights to the invention. All research, development, marketing, and expansion costs would be covered by the company.

In return, the inventors or creators were required to disclose everything—formulas, principles, and production methods, without withholding any information from the company's designated project leader. As compensation, the inventor would permanently receive half of the net income from the first workshop and storefront related to their invention.

In other words, the ownership of the invention itself would belong to the Night's Watch, while the creator could only enjoy a share of the profits.

Why did this arrangement seem so familiar? Aegor was momentarily dumbfounded.

Before he had traveled to this world, wasn't this exactly how modern creative industries operated? Studios and publishing platforms owned the rights to a creator's work, while the creators themselves could only take a cut of the revenue.

For inventors and craftsmen, there were only two choices:

They could keep their ideas forever locked away, hidden in their homes—or even buried with them in their graves.

Or they could bring them forward, hand them over to the Night's Watch, and allow Aegor and Tyrion to feast on the meat, while they settled for drinking the broth.

It seemed unfair, perhaps. But these were the rules set by those who controlled the resources—in short, capitalists.

If they didn't like it, they didn't have to participate. And if they did participate, they had no right to complain. After all, without the possibility of enormous returns, what noble or merchant would be willing to make such a risky investment, one that could just as easily end in ruin?

Beyond these financial changes, there were countless other developments that couldn't be easily summed up in words.

At this moment, Aegor felt like a man playing a strategy game with his friends, only to disconnect at the very start—then finally reconnect, only to find that his team had already stormed the enemy stronghold.

He had been gone from King's Landing for two moons. Nearly sixty days of being away. And yet, the rapid expansion of Night's Watch Industries had outpaced even his wildest expectations.

Fortunately, his trip to the Vale had not been for nothing.

Otherwise, how could he still have the face to stand before Tyrion, claiming to be the man in charge of the Night's Watch's affairs?

(To be continued.)

Chapter 124

"Get ready. We're going to the factory for an inspection."

Nina looked startled. "Right now?"

"Yes."

Aegor had drawn in plenty of business while in the coalition army camp. Margaery and the other nobles from the six kingdoms, who had promised to visit the office for investment discussions, could arrive at any moment. If they requested a tour of the industrial park, it would be embarrassing if he, as the head of the operation, was unfamiliar with its current state. Even he was shocked by how rapidly the factory had grown.

Never go into battle unprepared. Aegor liked having everything under control.

"I understand… right away."

Nina stood up promptly, walked over to the door leading to the backyard, and pushed it open. "Lady Arya, Lord Aegor has returned!"

What? Arya's in the backyard?

No one had mentioned she was here. Did that mean she had been coming every day while he was gone?

As the newly replaced door swung open, the sounds of laughter and the clashing of wood rang out from the yard, followed by an excited shriek. The thick, insulated door was so effective that Aegor hadn't realized someone was back there the entire time.

Why is Arya still training here?

Ah, right—before he left King's Landing, Leon had said he would continue keeping the Stark girl occupied. But who was she sparring with?

A bad feeling crept into his gut. Suddenly, he understood why he hadn't recognized anyone when he entered the office earlier.

Before he could think further, a small, nimble figure darted through the doorway.

"Master!"

Arya shouted gleefully, running straight for him without even dropping the wooden training sword in her hand.

Aegor barely had time to stand before she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and rubbing her head against him like a playful pup.

"You're finally back! No one tells stories when you're gone, and practicing swordplay all day is so boring!"

"It's all written in books. Read them yourself. And stop acting like a spoiled child, mind your manners, girl!"

Helpless, Aegor ruffled Arya's hair. After two months apart, she seemed to have grown taller.

As she pulled away, Aegor noticed something that left him stunned.

"Why are you wearing lipstick?"

"Didn't you say girls should know how to dress up?" Arya stuck out her tongue and muttered, "I saw how nice Nina looked after putting on makeup, so I wanted to try it too!"

It was true—she did look good with it. Bright-eyed and full of energy, with red lips and white teeth, she had gone from the wild "troublemaker Arya" to something closer to the legendary Lyanna reborn.

Aegor shook off his wandering thoughts and suddenly remembered something.

Arya's bodyguard usually waited outside on the bench after escorting her here. But he hadn't seen anyone when he entered.

A noble girl, wandering around King's Landing alone, what if she ran into trouble?

"Where's your guard?" Aegor frowned. He could excuse Arya's carelessness, but as an adult, it was his responsibility to ensure her safety.

"He's outside the city, training the recruits," Arya said casually.

"After Lord Hightower drops off Lady Arya each morning, he goes to train our security forces outside the city," Nina explained, her voice much more composed now that others were present. "In the evening, he rushes back to escort her home to the Red Keep."

"He's training the recruits?" Aegor raised a brow. "That's good… but he's still sworn to House Stark. If you've been ordering him around—"

Nina quickly clarified. "Lord Tyrion pays him a salary—well, hardship pay, to be exact."

Ah.

Aegor smirked.

If a Lannister was paying, it was bound to be a generous sum.

As a Stark retainer, Hightower had simply found himself a well-paying side job. Aegor could already imagine the envy of the other Stark guards—watching their comrade earn extra coin while still serving his duty.

His earlier concern had been unnecessary. With Tyrion in charge, there was no way anyone would be working for free.

Eddard Stark… are you using my office as a free daycare?

Still, Arya had contributed greatly to Night's Watch Industries. If anything, this arrangement could be considered a century's worth of prepaid trust fees.

Aegor had been about to lecture her about treating cosmetics like toys, but then another thought struck him.

The Hand of the King's daughter is using Night's Watch products… and it actually looks good on her. Isn't that free advertisement?

Perhaps he should be encouraging her instead. If the lipstick proved to be safe, he might even pay her for the promotion.

"Well, I'm heading to the industrial park outside the city. Want to come along?"

"Of course!" Arya cheered.

She was full of boundless energy, afraid of nothing—except being left alone.

"I want to ride my own horse!"

…

In the backyard, Arya's personal sword instructor finally stepped inside and greeted him.

"Lord Aegor."

"Yeah." Aegor nodded in response.

Since returning to the office, he had heard plenty of good news but Jaqen's continued presence wasn't a mere surprise; it was a shock.

Why hadn't he left?

As one of Braavos' most skilled spies and assassins, if his mission was to infiltrate the royal library and gather intelligence, why had it taken him three or four moons without completion?

Aegor had reason to suspect that Jaqen's true purpose in staying had nothing to do with the library. More likely, he was here to monitor the growth of Night's Watch Industries, waiting for an opportunity to steal business secrets. If this man, one of the first employees of the office managed to embed himself as a "veteran" of the company and turn into an agent of the Iron Bank within its ranks, that would be a serious problem.

And now that Tyrion had begun preparing for large-scale lending, did that mean Night's Watch Industries was now competing with the Iron Bank?

Would he and Tyrion find themselves facing the threat of the Faceless Men?

…

Nina had no idea what was running through Aegor's mind. She simply turned to the Faceless Man and instructed, "Akun, ride ahead to the industrial park and inform Lord Tyrion that Lord Aegor is coming to inspect."

"Yeah."

Jaqen nodded without hesitation, pushed open the door, and left.

Aegor watched him go, slightly taken aback. Nina can order Jaqen around?

Was it because she was particularly persuasive, or was Jaqen simply too immersed in playing the role of a dedicated office worker?

---

After a moment of thought, Aegor decided to set aside his concerns about Jaqen's presence and the Iron Bank's potential reaction.

I am the lawful overseer of the Night's Watch, its rightful leader and navigator.

Since he already knew Jaqen's true identity, all he needed to do was ensure the man never entered the core management circle. If the rulers of Braavos truly wanted intelligence on the Night's Watch, getting rid of Jaqen wouldn't stop them in the slightest.

As for competition—there was no competition.

The Iron Bank couldn't lend money in Westeros.

The policy of keeping the Iron Bank out of the Seven Kingdoms had been established as early as the Targaryen dynasty. And while the Baratheons had overthrown their predecessors, they had largely upheld their policies. Though they borrowed from the Iron Bank, they refused to allow Braavosi political and financial influence to spread within the realm.

Even if Tyrion never lent out a single coin, the Iron Bank still wouldn't be able to break into this market.

"Westeros shut out foreign financial influence but never built its own banking institutions."

Aegor shook his head.

That was a failure on the part of the Iron Throne's rulers.

But in their failure, they had unwittingly left behind an enormous, untapped market—a perfect opportunity, as if the world itself had been waiting for someone like him, a man from another time, to come and stir up chaos.

No competitors. No challengers.

Finance is nothing more than a single-player game.

As for the Iron Bank's stance?

Business is never a matter of life and death.

Rather than seeking to strangle him, the rulers of Braavos would be far more likely to support and subtly assist him. As long as Aegor ensured that all core management remained under his control, then even if he died, Night's Watch Industries would not fall into enemy hands.

He would never allow his opponents to seize his empire and steal the fruits of his labor.

With that in mind, his personal safety was hardly at risk. The Iron Bank was powerful—at least, its reputation made it seem powerful but at the end of the day, it was still a business.

And businessmen don't kill without first trying to negotiate.

---

With that realization, Aegor felt far more at ease.

Gathering his companions—Nina, Arya, and Casey, who was standing outside with a smug look—he led the horses onto the road, setting off for the Night's Watch Industrial Park beyond the city walls.

The weather had cooled since the peak of summer, which meant that the infamous stench of King's Landing had diminished somewhat. This difference became even more noticeable as they rode beyond the city gates, where the fresh breeze from the open plains carried away the lingering filth.

They chatted as they traveled.

Arya talked endlessly, filling the air with tales about how incredible "Akun" was. Then she boasted about how much her swordsmanship had improved and insisted she wanted to challenge her master.

She even brought up the little yellow book she had hidden—how it was discovered by Septa Mordane, how she had refused to admit that Tyrion gave it to her, and how she had nearly been beaten for her defiance.

She sounded as if she were boasting of her loyalty, waiting to be praised.

All the way, her yapping never ceased.

From Arya's stories, Aegor was at least reassured about one thing, Jaqen might not be teaching her everything, but he was genuinely training her in swordplay.

He found himself looking forward to seeing if she would truly become a great swordswoman in the end.

Of course, that was only idle curiosity.

As a man who has lived another life, who knows the plot, who understands far more than anyone else, a grown man, a teacher, and the idol of this young girl—it is my duty to protect those who admire and trust me.

How ridiculous would it be to sit back and expect Arya to suffer hardships, grow into a ruthless assassin, and then protect me?

Half an hour later, Aegor arrived at the Blackwater River, southwest of King's Landing, the very site he had once personally selected.

After two months away, he was finally back online.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 125

From a distance, Aegor could see his own property.

The assembly line required significant space, and its reliance on the rapids of the Blackwater River for water power dictated both its layout and location. The factory itself was a massive rectangular structure, stretching fifty or sixty meters in length, thirty or forty meters in width, and standing seven or eight meters high. From afar, it looked like a colossal brick-built aqueduct spanning the river.

A few thousand square meters might be unremarkable in a modern industrial zone, but here out in the wilderness beyond King's Landing, it was an imposing sight. Even Aegor, who had once guarded the Wall, found it impressive, let alone the common folk of Westeros, most of whom had never seen anything of the sort.

Nina had told him that the merchant investing in the second factory had made his decision on the spot after seeing this "spectacle" from several hundred meters away. In hindsight, it was easy to understand why—hearing about the Night's Watch industry was one thing, but seeing its sheer scale was far more persuasive than any boast Tyrion or Nina could have made.

Beyond the first operational workshop and the second one under construction, several smaller longhouses were scattered around, likely serving as living quarters. However, from this distance, their layout was unclear, so the group pressed onward.

As they drew closer, Aegor noticed something else, the entire Night's Watch Industrial Park was enclosed by a wooden palisade taller than a man, stretching out far beyond his immediate line of sight. Gods know how much land Tyrion had claimed. The only openings in the fence served as gates, much like those of a school or a modern company, complete with doors, signage, and even a security post.

Above the entrance, a row of large letters, Night's Watch Industrial—stood prominently, visible even from a distance.

A dozen or so people stood gathered near the gate, looking toward the road from King's Landing. Though their faces were still indistinct, the short figure among them was unmistakable. Tyrion.

Jaqen must have arrived well ahead of Aegor. But how long had this group been standing there, waiting?

The gesture left Aegor feeling flattered.

He and Tyrion were partners. And while Tyrion was a nobleman and had contributed more to the Night's Watch industry than anyone besides Aegor himself, the Lannister always ensured Aegor was given proper respect in public. Having such a teammate, one who was not only brilliant at business but also willing to let Aegor take credit was an invaluable stroke of luck.

With a slight kick of their horses, the four riders quickly approached the gate.

"Aegor! It must have been exhausting following King Robert into battle!"

"I barely did anything—just spent two months idling about! And somehow, I ended up making a fortune along the way." Aegor responded modestly before glancing at the industrial park. "But you, Tyrion… you've transformed this place so much I hardly recognize it!"

He dismounted and strode toward his ever-reliable ally. Their height difference made hugging impractical, so they settled for a firm handshake and a vigorous high-five.

Tyrion then turned to the assembled group and raised his voice.

"Listen up, everyone! This is Aegor West, the legend who has traveled the world, the Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch, the highest authority in Night's Watch Industries, the boss and top leader of everyone here, including me!"

"Don't let him walk in and go unrecognized next time!"

"Welcome, Lord Aegor!"

The greeting was loud but uneven, clearly uncoordinated. Aegor smiled and waved.

The last time he had inspected the papermaking workshop, he had simply enjoyed the novelty of being a leader. But now, he was the true leader.

"For reasons beyond my control, I—your founder, disappeared for two months, even though I should have been here leading you all," Aegor said. "Fortunately, with Tyrion's wisdom and guidance… and, of course, your hard work and dedication, we've achieved this much. Please, allow me to thank you!"

"It's our duty!"

"You're too kind, Lord Aegor!"

…

"Alright, let's not get too sentimental," Tyrion interrupted. "We're still expanding. It's not time to pat ourselves on the back and split the profits just yet."

He then began making introductions.

"This is Ledger, in charge of the first factory."

Just a workshop director. Aegor nodded, committing his face to memory.

"This is Enoch, head of the construction team working with the Night's Watch."

The general contractor? Aegor also took note of his name and appearance.

"We've never had a project this big," Enoch said with a grin. "Even with new hires, we're still short on hands."

His words sounded like a complaint, but his expression gave him away—he was thrilled.

In an era where infrastructure projects were few and far between, tradesmen like masons, carpenters, and bricklayers often spent months with no work, idling at home. Now, they had constant employment, with no end in sight. It was a prosperity they had never experienced before.

…

Tyrion continued introducing the rest of the gathered men. Soon, Aegor had met everyone present.

It was a challenge to remember all their names at once, but he did his best.

One thing stood out, most of them had no family names. And those who did came from minor houses Aegor had never heard of.

Good.

This meant the influence of great houses had not yet seeped into the Night's Watch industry, allowing it to remain a purely commercial enterprise, free from noble interference.

With introductions complete, Tyrion clapped his hands together.

"Alright, let's show our boss around his industrial park!"

Inside the vast fenced area, large swaths of uneven, weed-covered land had been cleared and leveled. The roads already in use were paved with gravel, ensuring a firm surface with no risk of mud.

As Aegor walked along the path, he noticed direction signposts at intersections and well-dug drainage ditches on either side of the road. These ditches connected to the Blackwater River, ensuring that even in heavy rain, the industrial park wouldn't turn into a swamp.

Inside the vast first factory, hundreds of workers labored tirelessly, their shouts and orders filling the air. Carts rolled in carrying raw materials, which were fed into the production line and passed through over a dozen different processes. At the far end, the pulp was extracted and loaded onto another cart to be set out to dry.

Though there weren't many machines, the sheer energy of the workers made the factory feel like a place of relentless productivity.

It took several days for plant fibers to be fully processed into paper, but with the efficiency of an assembly line, large sheets of raw, undried paper emerged at the end of each production line every few minutes.

The factory's success was built on a fundamental economic principle, hiring free workers to mass-produce goods for a growing market. It was only at this stage that capitalism could truly take root. But Aegor knew this prosperity was only an illusion, limited to the Night's Watch Industrial Park. The paper mill's management and production model might have reached the cutting edge of its time, but aside from the water-powered crushing mechanism, nearly everything else still relied on manual labor.

Beyond the wooden fences of the industrial park, Westeros—and the entire world of ice and fire—remained stagnant and ignorant.

In a land plagued by irregular climate shifts, a long winter could still easily freeze this fragile prosperity before it had the chance to grow. Slow progress, followed by devastating collapse, then a desperate struggle to survive through the cold, only to be met with a summer of uncertain length.

This hopeless cycle was why the people of this world lived without ambition, why they had no real drive to build a future. It was why Westeros had remained in a state of stagnation for thousands of years.

The only way to break free is to develop fast enough during a long summer—to build something strong enough to withstand winter, so that no cold can erase the progress we make.

Of course, that was a concern for kings and lords. Aegor wasn't at that level—yet.

Winter was coming, but there was still time. It would take years for the chill of autumn to give way to the true bite of winter. His focus now was simple: seize the present and ensure that when winter comes, I survive it—comfortably.

—

By tradition, a leader was expected to speak when visiting a factory. But Aegor knew that capital was the real way to attract talent.

Under Tyrion's leadership, the factory had already reached the technological frontier of this world. Aegor was no expert in the finer details of papermaking, his role was to attract business and guide the direction of Night's Watch Industries, not micromanage the work of specialists.

There was no point in wasting words.

No matter the era, when outsiders meddle in specialized fields and leaders issue commands based on their personal whims, all it does is create inefficiency and frustration among those actually doing the work.

Aegor simply praised the workers for their enthusiasm and coordination, then signaled to move on.

The same pattern repeated itself in the cutting and printing workshops. After a brief inspection, they left the main production area and made their way to the smaller buildings they had spotted earlier.

He had guessed correctly, these were the living quarters for the workers.

The dormitories were simple wooden houses with straw mats. The canteen was nothing more than a few large cooking pots and rows of crude wooden stools.

By the standards of Westeros, these conditions were no worse than those of most peasants. But even so, Aegor couldn't help but sigh.

Even Tyrion, who seemed to be a good man in every way was still a capitalist at heart.

"The dormitories must be sealed against wind and rain. That's the bare minimum," Aegor told the logistics manager. "When funds allow, we'll provide wooden beds. They don't have to be extravagant, but they should at least keep the workers off the ground, away from insects and dampness. And when possible, we'll establish a medical station."

He then turned to the head of human resources.

"Wages can't be the same for everyone. We need to evaluate performance, recognize the best workers, and reward those with special skills. Retaining skilled labor is crucial. They're our most valuable asset."

"Write it down!" Tyrion added from the side.

Aegor nodded in satisfaction.

"Alright, I've seen most of it. Overall—no, not overall, it's excellent work. Keep it up!"

The gathered workers and managers smiled at the praise.

"Now, take me to see the security team's training."

To outsiders, it seemed like he had recruited guards just to protect the factory.

But only Aegor—and perhaps Tyrion—knew the truth.

What he was truly building was a professional army.

Making money? That didn't concern him, his subordinates could earn it however they pleased. They could make money standing, sitting, lying down, or running, so long as the coin was there when it was needed.

But there was only one Night's Watch Logistics and Security Department.

And Aegor would personally oversee its rise, ensuring that it grew into exactly what he envisioned.

(To be continued.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 126

The Knights Templar in medieval Europe expanded their assets through banking and commerce, amassing wealth that rivaled entire kingdoms. They became the biggest creditors of many kings, dukes, and earls. However, their greatest client, the King of France, ultimately turned against them, issuing a nationwide arrest warrant. They sought refuge through the Vatican's support but failed, becoming casualties of the struggle between religious and royal power. Once powerful beyond measure, they were erased from history in an instant after Black Friday. Why?

Aegor summed up the reasons:

1. No stronghold of their own.

After the fall of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Knights Templar became a lost cause. Despite their immense wealth, they lived under the protection of others, committing the fatal mistake of possessing treasure without sufficient power to defend it. Worse, they forgot their primary duty, ensuring the safety of pilgrimage routes and instead prioritized financial dealings.

They had no land of their own yet were wealthier than anyone else. When their protector turned against them, they had no strategic depth, no fallback, and no means to reverse their fate.

2. Lending money at high interest to those more powerful than themselves.

This needs little explanation. Lending money to a stronger force is inherently risky. The Knights Templar went as far as to lend at high interest to the very ruler who sheltered them. While European kingdoms warred among themselves, the Templars merely reaped the profits. Who wouldn't grow envious and resentful?

When their debtor could no longer pay and began eyeing the Templars' wealth, their downfall was inevitable.

3. Lacking a sufficiently strong, independent armed force.

Originally a military order, the Knights Templar abandoned their martial roots after retreating from Jerusalem, shifting their focus to finance and expanding their network of contacts. They relied on the protection of the Holy See, believing themselves safe.

But history proved that no matter how many allies one has or how great the supposed protection, nothing is more reliable than one's own strength.

---

Learning from history, Aegor was determined to follow the path of the Templars in building wealth through finance, but he refused to let the Night's Watch Industry suffer the same fate. To avoid that, he had to make critical adjustments while imitating them.

The Wall served as the natural and legal strongholds of the Night's Watch. As long as he was careful and avoided antagonizing rabid enemies like Cersei, he could act freely under the pretense of being a sworn brother. No matter what trouble he stirred up, his worst-case scenario would be retreating to Castle Black not losing his life.

But the Night's Watch and the Night's Watch Industry, though sharing a name, were entirely separate. The latter provided resources and manpower to the former, yet they remained distinct forces with minimal interference between them.

Aegor hoped this separation would remain permanent.

Power begets ambition. Once, he had only wanted to leave the Wall as a simple ranger. But now, with resources and connections, his ambitions had begun to take root.

While Aegor maintained the façade of a loyal Night's Watchman, he never forgot the truth, he had no intention of remaining bound to his vows forever. His future goal was to transform the Night's Watch's land into territory belonging to the Night's Watch Industry. How and when he would make that transition depended on circumstances.

As for reckless lending, he already had a plan: he would use the excuse that the Night's Watch must remain neutral in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. With this justification, he could outright refuse to lend money to noble houses and the Iron Throne. By establishing this boundary from the outset, he would avoid making powerful enemies.

The first two points were long-term strategies, but the third was something Aegor could act on immediately, strengthening his private military force under the name of the Night's Watch Logistics and Security Department.

Flanked by his subordinates, Aegor arrived at the security department in the northwest corner of the industrial park.

In front of a row of buildings distinct from the staff dormitories, dozens of young men in black vests sparred in pairs with training swords. Three Stark guards oversaw them, correcting stances and stopping reckless moves—far more diligent than Ser Alliser, Castle Black's combat instructor.

Of course, they had to be. Unlike Ser Alliser, they weren't in a position where bad teaching went unpunished. Wait—why were there three Stark guards?

Aegor looked closer and recognized them all.

"Hank, Odin, David!" he called out. "Nothing important, just saying hello. Carry on, and thanks for your hard work!"

Two of the instructors besides Haihua were men Aegor had originally requested from the Hand of the King when he first arrived in King's Landing. He had sent them to escort the first shipment of supplies to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and they hadn't returned since the Vale Rebellion. Who would have thought they'd reunite under these circumstances?

Tyrion chuckled. "After they delivered your goods to Eastwatch, the captain didn't want to sail back with an empty ship, so he lingered along the northern coast until he got a new delivery order for King's Landing. When they reported back and asked if they could be of further service, I had them reassigned to me. Naturally, they received their 'hardship pay.'"

"I see."

Aegor was relieved. The Hand had never specified a time limit for their assignment, he could use them as long as he needed. Tyrion had simply repurposed them to train "new recruits for the Night's Watch," something even Eddard Stark wouldn't object to.

But a new question arose: why had Tyrion chosen Stark men for this role instead of Lannister soldiers? King's Landing was filled with his family's forces—ten times the number of Starks present. Yet when hiring instructors for the Night's Watch Logistics Department, he had picked men from his enemies rather than his own house. True, Northerners were fierce warriors, but could two Stark guards truly be more skilled than all the knights from the other six kingdoms?

Or was it possible that, aside from Jack and Morris—who were more like glorified babysitters—the Lannister soldiers in King's Landing only took orders from their queen and the Kingsguard prince? That they ignored their own dwarf prince entirely?

Reflecting on the story so far, Aegor found it entirely plausible. Tywin had never hidden his contempt for his son. In such a household, what Lannister retainer would swear true loyalty to a son with no chance of becoming the family's heir?

Whether it was true or not didn't matter. Asking would only reopen Tyrion's old wounds, so Aegor decided to let it go.

He turned to Nina and asked, "There don't seem to be that many people here. Didn't they say there were nearly a hundred?"

The head of the security department, a burly man named Jellos, stepped forward and answered, "Half of them are on guard duty, patrolling the factory. The other half are in training. The two shifts rotate, ser."

"Is that so?" Aegor turned to the logistics officer. "The security team's accommodations and meals should be better than those of the regular workers. Has that been arranged?"

"Per Miss Nina's instructions, all accommodations are equipped with beds and bedding. As for meals, we ensure they receive at least one serving of meat per day."

"Good. Very good."

To train a competent and disciplined force, the first priority was to take care of them. The common folk in this world didn't have the ideological discipline of certain armies that could fight wars on mere rations of millet and rifles. Unless one intended to train Unsullied, ensuring they were well-fed, clothed, and treated better than the average laborer was the bare minimum. Without material benefits, where would a sense of honor or motivation to fight come from?

"Are there any other aspects to their training? Or are the three instructors only teaching swordsmanship?"

"Well… not yet," Jellos admitted honestly. "I was waiting for your orders, ser."

"Good. Then I'll handle it. Make sure to remember."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 127

Someone once said, "Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun." Aegor agreed. Though he had no thoughts of rebellion or revolution, if one removed the words "political power" from the phrase, the blank could be filled with countless possibilities. In this chaotic and primitive world, the value of armed force was immeasurable. Aegor had always kept the idea of building his own army in mind, and he already had a plan—there was no need for improvisation.

An army is a fighting force composed of soldiers. Organizing them into structured units makes it easier to calculate strength, command troops, and deploy them effectively. Aegor first established the structure of his security force: ten men formed a squad, three squads made a platoon, three platoons made a company, and so on.

The difference between having a structure and not having one was significant, though whether it was inherently good or bad remained to be seen. Before an army reached a certain size, the specifics whether a squad consisted of nine or ten men, or how many subordinate units a larger one contained—weren't overly important. As long as there was consistency and order, there was no need to overthink it.

Training was the key.

…

"Keep the swordsmanship lessons, but get some bows and crossbows as well. Close-combat weapons alone aren't enough," Aegor said, speaking rapidly. "Add physical training and formation drills. It's not just about fighting—we need discipline and obedience as well."

"Bows, crossbows, formations… discipline and obedience?" Jellos asked hesitantly. "Ser, are you trying to train an army?"

Aegor stared at Jellos for a few seconds but didn't answer. Instead, he turned to Nina and asked, "What's the base salary for the men in the logistics and security department?"

"A silver stag per day, my lord."

Aegor turned back to Jellos. "How's that pay? Is it enough to support a family?"

The security chief wasn't sure what his leader was getting at, so he answered honestly, "It's enough. A month's wages are about what a farmer would earn in half a year."

"Then I'm relieved."

Aegor was willing—and at times, obligated to patiently explain things to high-ranking Night's Watch officers or nobles who might become his clients. But now, he was speaking to his subordinates, and he had no intention of exhausting his mind on them. If they understood, good. If they didn't, they could leave—he had no need for fools.

"What gave you the impression," he continued coldly, "that I'd offer a soldier's wage just to hire a bunch of glorified gatekeepers?"

Jellos heard the dissatisfaction in his tone. His face reddened, much like Nina's did whenever she was suddenly confronted by Aegor. "I understand, ser… I will follow military standards."

"Good. Tyrion chose you because he believes you have some ability. Don't disappoint me."

The Night's Watch was, after all, a military order. Training soldiers within a military order, what could anyone say about that? Aegor had no intention of hiding it. "Beyond your own military experience, I have additional things to implement."

Then, he introduced elements of military training he remembered from modern armies: standing posture, formations, commands, marching techniques, and even barracks discipline. Everything had to be orderly—both in movement and in stillness. Orders were to be carried out swiftly and decisively. Work and rest schedules had to be regular. In the barracks, beds, clothing, and equipment had to be arranged uniformly. Upon seeing a superior, soldiers were expected to salute without hesitation.

Even though he had simplified his explanation, Aegor still managed to leave his listeners utterly baffled. It's just a small army, why make things so complicated?

Jellos barely retained any of it and immediately voiced his doubts. "Ser, I understand military drills, but… spending time on standing in formation, marching, arranging daily necessities, and folding blankets—does any of that actually matter?"

---

Did it matter? Aegor understood the question.

Even in the modern world, people still debated whether military drills and barracks discipline were mere formalities, empty rituals with no real value. It was difficult for them to grasp that beneath the appearance of "formalism," these practices reflected the level of military discipline itself.

Believe it or not, under the same conditions, the army that marches in perfect formation and folds its blankets with precision will always be the stronger one—without exception, in both ancient and modern times, across every land and battlefield.

If equipment and the quality of individual soldiers are the flesh and bones of an army, then discipline and obedience are its soul. The strength of the Unsullied comes precisely from their twisted yet unparalleled military discipline—a special case that is impossible to replicate. Aegor, however, was taking a more conventional approach.

There was no doubt that transforming free men, accustomed to independent thought, comfort, and laziness into a disciplined force that followed orders without question would be difficult. But fortunately, the Night's Watch Industry was no longer short on coin.

---

Aegor didn't bother explaining further. The superiority of modern military training methods could only be proven by results, not words. If he had to explain every command he gave, he wouldn't have time to breathe, let alone lead.

"I forgot to mention one thing earlier," he said. "In the army I want, subordinates do not have the right to question their superiors' decisions, unless a strategy meeting is being held. When I give an order, your only response should be 'Yes, ser!' and then you carry it out to the best of your ability. This applies to everyone, including you. Do you understand?"

Jellos looked displeased. He stared at Aegor with a serious expression, then glanced toward Tyrion.

"What do you expect me to do?" Tyrion snapped, glaring at him. "I hired you, so I should be the one to defend you?" He crossed his arms and continued, "Didn't you hear what I said earlier? Lord Aegor is the true master of the entire Night's Watch Industry. I am just another of his employees. Do you think I was joking?"

Tyrion himself had doubts about the necessity of barracks discipline training, but over time, he had developed an almost blind trust in Aegor. In Aegor's eyes, Tyrion was a great teammate. But in Tyrion's eyes, wasn't Aegor the same?

The dwarf clasped his hands behind his back and stared coldly at Jellos. "If you understand your superior's command, then carry it out. If you don't, go find Nina, collect this month's salary, and enjoy an early retirement. She's standing right here, so you won't even have to run around. You used to be an officer in the City Watch, didn't you? The gold dragon you're paid each month isn't so you can stand around watching three instructors teach swordplay all day!"

---

The visit had been going smoothly, until now. Two senior leaders publicly confronting a subordinate in the security department had created an awkward tension. The other department heads wanted to ease the situation, but no one knew how.

Jellos, as a grown man, found it hard to swallow the humiliation of being reprimanded in public. A part of him wanted to throw up his hands and say, "If someone else wants to do the job, be my guest!" before walking away. But a monthly salary of one gold dragon and the hungry mouths waiting for him at home left no room for pride.

He took a deep breath, lowered his head, and said, "Yes, ser!"

After a brief pause, he hesitated before asking carefully, "But… Lord Aegor, I didn't quite remember everything you said. Could you… write it down for me?"

"No problem. Some things can't be explained clearly in a single conversation. I'll put everything in order and print out the regulations—everyone will get a copy."

Though friendship between superiors and subordinates was unnecessary in the military, Aegor still gave Jellos a way out. "Try it this way first. If, after a month or two, you still think this kind of training is useless, you're welcome to come and tell me."

That being said—if Jellos actually came back in a month or two with complaints, he might as well just leave.

---

"That should be everything," Tyrion said. "There's another warehouse area. When the Night's Watch expands further, we can store undelivered goods and materials waiting to be sent to the Wall there. Do you want to take a look?"

"Is there anything inside?"

"It's only half-built. What do you think?"

"Then what's the point? We're done here."

"Agreed." Tyrion smirked. "Alright, it's getting late. Let's go. Nina, take Arya out for a bit. Casey, stay here. I need a private word with Aegor."

Arya scowled. "What secret can't I hear?"

"A conversation between men," Tyrion said with a wink before striding toward a small tower about ten feet high in the distance.

Aegor was puzzled but followed him anyway.

---

After walking about a dozen paces, leaving everyone else behind, Tyrion pulled a small note from his pocket and handed it to Aegor. "Take a look. This is why I haven't dared return to King's Landing recently."

(Haven't dared to return? Wasn't it just because you were too busy managing the Night's Watch Industrial Park?)

Aegor took the note and glanced at it. His doubts vanished, replaced by a cold sweat.

The note exposed Cersei and Jaime's incestuous affair, even providing the detail that all true Baratheons had black hair—while Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella were all blonde.

"Where did this come from?"

"Where?" Tyrion sneered. "They're everywhere in King's Landing. There are even more of them than last time when rumors spread that Lysa poisoned Jon Arryn. You've only just returned, so you haven't had time to hear about it."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 128

Aegor felt as if he had been slapped in the face.

Just moments ago, he had been issuing commands with grand ambition, meticulously planning the future of the Night's Watch Industry and the Logistics and Security Department. He was preparing to build a comfortable life for himself in this world, rising through power and wealth by following the path of the Knights Templar—dreaming of promotions, riches, and the pinnacle of success.

And then, in the very next moment, this news landed in his lap.

Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. This was the world of Game of Thrones, and he was standing in the heart of the storm in King's Landing. Did he really think everything would go smoothly? That the other players in this dangerous game would just step aside and allow him time to build his financial empire and raise an army in peace?

…

Aegor had personally witnessed the devastating power of rumors. Who would have thought that someone else would adopt the very same method so quickly?

Last time, he had spread only a handful of notes, yet they had been enough to force the Master of Coin into exile and ignite a war that engulfed seven kingdoms, leading to nearly a thousand deaths. Now, this new rumor was even more explosive and infinitely closer to the truth than the one he had fabricated. What kind of chaos would it unleash?

Aegor didn't dare to imagine.

Who was behind these notes?

Littlefinger was already across the Narrow Sea, which meant it wasn't him. Could it be Varys? But what would Varys gain by plunging the Seven Kingdoms into chaos so soon? If Westeros was already torn apart by the time the Targaryens rallied their forces for a return, wouldn't their conquest be even easier?

There aren't… other transmigrators causing trouble, are there?

But soon, Aegor realized there was an even more pressing issue than his long-term plans or his past role as a rumor-monger.

"Why are you still here?" He turned to Tyrion. "Why haven't you gone back to Casterly Rock?"

"I can't bear to leave. This is the first time I've found finance so interesting," the dwarf replied with a smirk. "Of course, the real reason is that Robert isn't in King's Landing. If he weren't busy dealing with the rebellion in the Vale, my most precious head would already be mounted on a spike atop the Red Keep."

"This is absurd. Robert is just waiting for Lysa Arryn to come down from the Eyrie. Their food supplies are running low, he could bring that madwoman back to King's Landing at any moment. And once he returns, given the previous rumors about Jon Arryn's poisoning… if he chooses to believe the content of this note—"

"He'll have every Lannister in King's Landing executed," Tyrion finished dryly. "You don't have to spell it out for me."

He flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fortunately, I tracked down the person responsible for spreading the notes."

Aegor exhaled in relief. But then, an odd thought surfaced in his mind: A brothel owned by the Night's Watch… Wouldn't that make it a "Night's Watch brothel"?!

Tyrion, you really are too playful.

Suppressing the urge to rub his temples, Aegor asked, "And?"

"This brothel was one of Littlefinger's tools for gathering intelligence. He had hidden holes in the walls for eavesdropping, and his whores doubled as spies," Tyrion explained. "After I acquired it—completely free of charge, mind you—I asked them to track down whoever was distributing the notes." He smirked. "And wouldn't you know it? Before fleeing to Braavos, Littlefinger himself returned to the brothel and instructed his men to spread them."

Littlefinger again?

Aegor gritted his teeth. Damn that scheming bastard.

Petyr Baelish had always been cautious, so why had he been so reckless this time?

Oh… right. He had left in a hurry and never planned to return. Of course, he wouldn't have time to cover his tracks.

A tiger left alive will always bring trouble. Aegor clenched his fists. I should have found a way to kill him.

Of course, that was just wishful thinking. A few months ago, when he had first arrived in King's Landing, he had nothing. And even now, despite the Night's Watch Industry's growing influence, how could he possibly eliminate a cunning, well-connected noble who had once lived within the walls of the Red Keep itself?

"Did you capture the men who spread the notes?"

"Of course." Tyrion shrugged. "Otherwise, do you really think I'd still be here instead of running for my life?"

He leaned against the railing, his expression contemplative. "It's obvious Littlefinger wasn't behind the last batch of notes—the ones about Jon Arryn. He must have used the same trick to strike back at someone he considered an enemy. But why Cersei and Jaime? Why target my brother and sister?"

Tyrion's frown deepened. "My dear siblings aren't exactly known for subtlety. If they want someone dead, they'll simply kill them, they'd never resort to this kind of scheme."

His logic was sound. Aegor knew it, but he had no answer. He could only offer a wry smile.

"In the end, people enjoy seeing the powerful brought low. Who cares how it happened?"

After a moment's thought, Aegor finally asked, "Who did you hand the captured man over to?"

"As the younger brother of the accused, I had to avoid suspicion. Once I uncovered the truth, I passed the information to an acquaintance in the City Watch and had him lead the arrest. After capturing the suspect, they handed him over to Ed—our good and honorable Hand of the King, who quickly made a public statement refuting the rumor. Unfortunately, most people refused to believe him."

As they walked, approaching the small watchtower, Tyrion continued lamenting his predicament.

"The same kind of note appearing twice has created an illusion in the minds of the people, that both incidents were orchestrated by the same person. And who is this mysterious figure? A knight of justice, a righteous hero exposing the debauchery and corruption of the powerful elite in the Red Keep, ensuring they face the punishment they deserve." Tyrion sighed. "Ed refuted the rumor and declared that Littlefinger was responsible, but most people think he's just covering for the king and queen… What a mess."

Justice? Righteousness? Who the hell has time for that?

Aegor frowned. Catching the man who distributed the notes hadn't solved the problem. This was a fire that would not easily be extinguished.

The Baratheon family had always been known for their black hair, yet Robert's three children—Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella—all had golden locks. That fact alone was like a dangerous truth hidden in plain sight, easy to overlook until someone pointed it out. But once spoken, it would spread like wildfire. Soon, the people of King's Landing and beyond would whisper about it with growing fascination.

Black-haired father, blonde-haired children—incest between the mother and her brother.

The logic was, of course, deeply flawed—unscientific, even.

But the real problem was that this flawed reasoning led to the correct conclusion.

Cersei, in her hatred of Robert for loving Lyanna Stark, had ensured he would never father a child with her. She timed her pregnancies carefully, calculating whether any child she carried could possibly be Robert's. The drunken king, too fond of ale and brothels, rarely shared her bed, and Cersei knew how to keep him satisfied in other ways. Over more than a decade of marriage, Robert had only managed to get her pregnant once—and she had ended that pregnancy with moon tea.

Cersei had used timing to determine that Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella were all Jaime's children—and if she believed it, then it was almost certainly true.

Even with the identity of the rumor-monger revealed, neither Cersei nor Jaime could prove their innocence. If Robert or Eddard started digging deeper, they would soon find evidence—comparing the hair color of past Lannister-Baratheon marriages, for example.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

The real danger lay in the fact that the people involved in this mess were all volatile. If they acted rashly, the consequences would be catastrophic. Aegor's personal ambitions were one thing—but full-blown civil war in the Seven Kingdoms? If he got caught in the crossfire, there would be no escape.

---

Though Tyrion's short legs slowed him down, the watchtower wasn't far, and soon they arrived.

The structure was newly built, the contrast between fresh footprints and unstained wood still stark. Judging by the wear on the stairs, no more than a dozen people had passed through.

"Come upstairs," Tyrion said, stepping onto the staircase. "Just listen to what I'm about to say, and don't repeat it to anyone."

Aegor followed as the dwarf climbed.

"Even though it's been proven that this rumor was Littlefinger's doing, there's still a problem… How should I put it?" Tyrion paused, gripping the railing. "My brother and sister have always been close. Now that I really think about it, even I find it a little… unnatural."

He shook his head. "The truth of the note isn't the issue. The issue is whether Eddard and Robert will believe it."

Aegor was silent for a moment.

"It's hard to say," he admitted.

He had personally removed Littlefinger to prevent him from whispering this exact suspicion into Eddard's ear. But now, the idea had already taken root. If the Hand of the King decided to investigate on his own…

Aegor exhaled slowly. He had expected trouble from Varys, not from Littlefinger, even after he was gone.

"My advice?" Aegor said at last. "You should return to Casterly Rock. Stay out of sight for a while."

"I agree," Tyrion replied. "But too much has happened in the past two months. The Night's Watch Industry can't function without me—yet. That's why I need to spend this time transferring my connections and resources to you, arranging everything properly… so that if the situation turns ugly, I can leave for Casterly Rock at a moment's notice."

Preparing for a storm before it arrives.

Aegor could appreciate the foresight. He enjoyed having a teammate who actually knew what he was doing. But ultimately, Tyrion's life was at stake, and Aegor couldn't justify keeping him in harm's way.

"It's a good plan," he conceded. "You're laying the groundwork for me—if I can't protect what we've built, I might as well go back to the Wall."

"Hah! My thoughts exactly," Tyrion chuckled. "But you're overthinking things. As long as you use the right people, running this operation isn't as difficult as it seems. Let's not waste words—come on, let's reach the top and take a look at our little empire before we talk further. Huff—why does this tower look so short, yet feel so exhausting to climb?"

The watchtower wasn't tall—only four or five stories, at most twenty meters high. Aegor could have ascended with ease on his own.

But for a dwarf, the climb was no small feat.

Several minutes passed, with Tyrion panting heavily, before they finally reached the top.

To the east, the blood-red comet still hung high in the sky, its fiery glow vivid against the darkening heavens. To the west, the setting sun dipped toward the horizon, casting golden light over the land.

Aegor gripped the railing and gazed down.

Below them, the entire Night's Watch Industrial Park lay spread out in full view.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 129

The watchtower was not very tall, but fortunately, the surrounding terrain was flat, and there were no taller buildings nearby, leaving their line of sight mostly unobstructed. Even from here, the far end of the fence stretching westward appeared blurry, barely visible as a faint line.

"How much land did you enclose?"

"As much as the Hand of the King approved, until people start living there. You can't just fence off someone's home." Tyrion shrugged. "The area already enclosed is probably the size of five or six Red Keeps. Don't underestimate it. If all goes well, it still might not be enough."

Aegor glanced around before looking at the first factory, which had already begun operations. If the buildings didn't require partitions, he reckoned dozens of factories of similar size could fit within the enclosed area.

Tyrion continued, "When the armies of the six kingdoms gathered at the Bloody Gate recently, book sales hit their peak. Workers toiled from dawn until dusk, yet they still couldn't keep up with the rising demand. Now that the war has ended, the growth rate of orders has begun to slow. Once the second factory is built, the pressure on papermaking and book printing will ease considerably..."

"The nobles and soldiers who took part in quelling the rebellion in the Vale also saw the books we printed. When they return home with the cheap books they purchased in the barracks, shrewd merchants will soon seek us out to buy books in bulk for resale beyond the royal domain."

"I've considered that issue, but long-distance transport costs are too high—it won't become our primary sales channel." The dwarf, too short to lean over the railing comfortably, draped himself against it instead. He pointed toward a plot of land on the riverside, west of the factory under construction. "Once the investment is secured, the last papermaking and printing facility will be built there, and then this industry will be complete. I've calculated that even factoring in the external sales you mentioned, three factories will be sufficient. Any further expansion will require tapping into the markets of the other Seven Kingdoms."

Indeed, the market was reaching its limit. In this era of low productivity, the wealth gap was not as extreme. Aside from the noble lords, most people had little money. Even if the cost of paper decreased and book prices dropped, the majority still couldn't afford them. Literacy rates among the poor were even lower. The Night's Watch industry couldn't actively lower prices just to attract customers who "seemed numerous but mostly wouldn't buy anything..."

"If we want to expand, our only option is to partner with the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms. We provide the technology, manpower, and initial funds, while they offer us access and trade privileges." Aegor nodded, though his expression was troubled. "But I fear these nobles will covet the profits and refuse to cooperate. Instead, they'll try to seize the technology and go at it alone. Leaving everything else aside—Lady Margaery of House Tyrell has already tried to pry information about papermaking and printing from me."

"Really? I recall she's just a young girl, about Nina's age, yet she already has such ambitions? If that's the case, there's little we can do. We're not the only ones with intelligence, and papermaking and printing aren't exactly complex. You can't expect to monopolize this forever. That's why I established entrepreneurial loans and invested in new inventions..." Tyrion gestured toward another section of land. "Look, the fenced area has been leveled. You and I have the final say on how to use it. That row of vacant lots along the river will be reserved for industries requiring water power, while the ones farther inland are yours to decide. Right now, there aren't enough workers in the industrial park to attract merchants and vendors, but after another phase of development, we can persuade some laborers to move their families here, settling within our perimeter... The situation will change soon."

Aegor was startled by Tyrion's vision. "Are you planning to turn this into a satellite town of King's Landing?"

"Why not? Have you seen how many people live outside the city walls of King's Landing? They're a ready supply of cheap labor. Once they get steady jobs and wages, they'll quickly form a new class, one far wealthier than ordinary farmers. Why shouldn't we profit from their gold dragons and silver stags?" Tyrion withdrew his hand and continued, "Of course, this is just an ideal plan. Reality will never go so smoothly. We'll have to adapt as things unfold. For now, I want to discuss people with you."

Aegor nodded. The people Tyrion had introduced earlier were just ordinary individuals by modern standards, but in this world, which was worse than "worse," they were more than qualified to be grassroots leaders. As for promotions, their abilities would be assessed accordingly.

"That Jellos we just confronted—he was once a gold cloak officer. He left the City Watch due to his frustration with its corruption. I recruited him through an acquaintance, spoke with him for a while, and got to know him a bit. He may not be as sharp as you, but he's skilled enough to manage a team of dozens..."

"No need to sing his praises. Do I seem like a petty man?"

"Just bringing it up for your awareness. I recruit workers randomly, as long as they can do the job but when it comes to management, I'd rather leave a position vacant than settle for someone incompetent. Rest assured, anyone I introduce to you is trustworthy." Tyrion leaned against the railing, looking down from the watchtower at the ground more than a hundred feet below. Since the Night's Watch disbandment was announced, more than a dozen minor leaders had left, leaving only Arya, Nina, and Casey waiting for the two main leaders to finish their conversation. The two girls—one older, one younger—were chatting animatedly, while Casey, Aegor's young follower, stood solemnly a few paces away.

…

"Aegor, what do you think of that girl, Nina?"

Aegor had expected Tyrion to continue discussing other grassroots leaders—why mention her? "I was about to ask you the same. Why did you assign her to my office instead of keeping her in the workshop, working on processes?"

"When you left, I took over your role, and I realized I needed an assistant. So, I had her help me for a couple of days. After working with her, I found she picked things up incredibly fast, so I decided to train her. Her brother is more than capable of leading the workers in refining production, so I took her as my apprentice. She worked in the office for a while, and her performance exceeded my expectations. When the forged note incident happened, I was so spooked I fled the city, yet she handled everything independently. And you're still not convinced?"

"You? Took her as your apprentice?"

"What, you can take a female apprentice, but I can't?" Tyrion rolled his eyes at Aegor's questioning tone. "It's no exaggeration, she's smarter than anyone in the Night's Watch, except for you and me. If not for being a woman, she'd be recognized for what she is, a rare gem in a pile of gravel."

Aegor hadn't realized Nina was this capable. But Tyrion had risked his life by staying in King's Landing to support the Night's Watch, arguing with him felt unnecessary. "An office manager needs more than literacy, accounting skills, and intelligence. They have to handle visitors. She blushes and stammers just talking to me—how will she deal with outsiders?"

"Blushes and stammers?" Tyrion looked surprised. "She was never like that with me. She's cheerful, assertive, and meticulous, utterly intolerant of mistakes. When she gets angry, she even dares to talk back to me. Ask any of the new office staff—every single one of them both respects and fears her."

Tyrion was fond of joking, but he never lied. Aegor stroked his chin. Had he startled her with his sudden return? But if she lacked the composure for this, how had she earned such high praise?

"Tsk, the answer's obvious. You're her weakness. She turns foolish around you. Of course, we can't rule out the possibility that she's faking it." Tyrion studied Aegor for a moment. "She likes you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. While you were in the Vale, she asked me every day when you'd be back. And earlier, during your lecture… you didn't notice the way she was secretly watching you? Her eyes were full of stars and tenderness. So, what are you going to do about it? Keep stringing her along for amusement? That's dull, isn't it? Doesn't it make you sad?"

It was disheartening, but I held it in with self-control. Aegor shrugged. "That's not what I meant. It's just that subordinates are subordinates, and women are women. If the relationship becomes entangled, it could cause trouble."

"Is that really a conflict? I'm a straightforward man. I'm good at seducing women, but terrible at matchmaking. I won't beat around the bush with you—I'll be blunt. My apprentice likes you, and as her mentor, I hope you can acknowledge that. There's a lot of selfishness in this, but also some serious considerations."

Tyrion spread his hands and got to the point. "If I were to return to Casterly Rock today, Nina is the only one who could somewhat fill my role in the Night's Watch and help ease your burdens. We've expanded too quickly, and our personnel structure has weaknesses. The biggest issue is the lack of strong middle and senior management.

Men sometimes stay loyal to a person or a cause out of belief or sworn oaths. But women? Women want their emotions reciprocated. Right now, she likes you and goes to great lengths to meet your expectations but that passion won't last forever.

And there's something else you can't ignore. I don't know what the customs of marriage are in your homeland, but in Westeros, once a woman weds, her priority shifts to bearing children, raising them, and serving the interests of her husband and his family. Do you understand?"

"I see. You should have just said so earlier."

Aegor suddenly realized what Tyrion was implying, he was warning him not to assume that Nina was a fully devoted subordinate. He couldn't be overly confident in relying on her, as a woman like her could be "claimed" at any time.

"I imagine you see yourself as a member of the Night's Watch, but I must remind you, Nina still likes you despite knowing you belong to the Watch." Tyrion rolled his eyes. "A commoner girl like her never had a chance to marry into a noble family. But now? She was part of the Night's Watch industry from the very beginning. Her knowledge and experience have grown tremendously. Do you think she'd still be content to marry an ordinary man?"

---

Tyrion had thought that after uncovering the source of the rumors, he'd be able to relax for a while. But Aegor knew that Eddard Stark might already be investigating the lineage of the princes…

The thought weighed on him like a massive stone, making it hard to breathe. How could he spare time to worry about a girl's affections?

The little lion failed to notice Aegor's unease and continued rambling. "Either find someone capable enough to replace my apprentice soon, or make her yours quickly. The longer you hesitate, the worse it will be. Nina is too beautiful when she's properly dressed, which isn't entirely a good thing for a common girl like her. You need to keep an eye on her. King's Landing isn't as safe as it seems."

Aegor sighed. "I get it. I know what to do. You don't need to worry."

"Of course, I trust you." Tyrion let out a helpless sigh. "Enough about this. Let's talk about your trip to the Vale. Besides Margaery Tyrell trying to fish for business secrets, was there anything else worth mentioning?"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 130

The two leaned against the railing, chatting for a while as Aegor recounted his experiences in the coalition camp over the past two months. He started with Robert's assault on the Bloody Gate. Naturally, he also mentioned the large-scale matchmaking event among the nobles of the six kingdoms. To secure dozens of investment prospects, he had to make the right connections and ensure every department was prepared for the necessary receptions.

He had offered some advice to Robert, and thanks to Ser Blackfish, he had inadvertently made a significant contribution, earning himself two rewards of his choice—both of which he had kept as a surprise for later.

Still, it was a minor achievement, barely worth mentioning compared to what Tyrion had accomplished.

---

"Tax-free?!"

After being stunned several times that day, Aegor finally managed to shock his companion for once. Upon hearing the news, Tyrion displayed an unprecedented look of disbelief, remaining silent for a long while before finally speaking:

"Robert… is he mad?"

"If he had come here in person, he probably wouldn't have made such a reckless decision. But what's done is done." Aegor smiled. "Regardless of anything else, just saving one-twentieth of the trade tax is no small amount."

"Yes, no small amount indeed… Do you have any idea how much effort I put into building a relationship with Ed's newly appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer? I went out of my way to entertain a whole group of tax officials—dinners, drinks, whores, everything—just to get on their good side. And now all that effort was for nothing?"

He had meticulously laid the groundwork, forming connections and preparing every means possible to reduce tax burdens, only for the Night's Watch industry to suddenly be declared tax-exempt. The unexpected turn of events left him both thrilled and incredulous.

"If you're so unhappy about it, we can always keep paying taxes," Aegor shrugged. "Robert's not going to give us a refund."

"If you're still not happy, then I'll never be happy," Tyrion shot back, making an obscene gesture. "I'm convinced. When it comes to flattery, you truly are the best in Westeros. Now, my tax officer has no work left to do. Send him to you in the city tomorrow—train him to be a receptionist. When your clients come, handle the important ones yourself. Have Nina take care of the big fish, and let the smaller ones be dealt with by the lower employees. You may not be a noble, but you're a well-known figure now. Don't undervalue yourself."

"Alright, as you say. Though I think we'll need more than one receptionist, so we'll have to hire additional staff."

"That's your decision. Our assets far exceed our liabilities. In your words, our capital chain is quite stable, so we can afford to take bold steps."

---

Tyrion finished speaking and turned his gaze westward. His face, never particularly handsome, was now filled with an ambition that belied his small stature. The sun had already touched the horizon, its brilliant light fading into warm orange-red hues, casting a golden glow over their faces.

Though the sun was setting, Tyrion's spirits soared. He was about to invite Aegor to stay the night, to drink, feast, and continue planning their future, but just as the words reached his lips, he suddenly remembered something.

"Seven hells! Arya has to be back at the Red Keep before dark, or she won't be allowed into the city. You should take her back now, we'll talk later. Oh, and you'll love your new place."

"A new place?" Aegor raised an eyebrow. He had almost forgotten about that. Arya's parents were not the type to take such matters lightly. Even though some money had exchanged hands, leaving their youngest daughter outside the city overnight without warning… that was asking for trouble. It was time to head back.

"Alright, see you later."

---

The two descended the watchtower and parted ways. Aegor, accompanied by two women and one man, exited through the gates, where they met Haier, who was waiting for his lady. Under the last rays of sunset, they began their journey back to King's Landing.

"What were you and Tyrion talking about?" Arya asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What took so long?"

"We were discussing whether to open a brothel in the industrial park. Interested? You could invest some of your pocket money,we'll give you dividends like always."

"Ugh! If you don't want to tell me, just say so. Stop joking like Tyrion! You always treat me like a child. Don't you understand?" The girl huffed in frustration. Then her expression shifted as she leaned in eagerly. "Did anything interesting happen while you were in the Vale, putting down the rebellion? Tell me!"

Sharp as ever. And truthfully, there were quite a few entertaining stories. In fact, she was about to learn something before any other Stark—aside from the one involved.

"You have a sister-in-law now. Her name is Roslin Frey… well, now she's Roslin Stark. But you probably won't see her for a while. Robb chose her himself and sought the king's approval for the marriage. Afraid of your father's reaction, he took his new wife straight back to Winterfell."

"Robb got married? He picked his own wife and even got the king's blessing? Seven hells!" Arya practically vibrated with excitement. For the first time in her life, she felt genuine admiration for her elder brother. She didn't care about the Freys' reputation or their status as upstarts. She was simply overjoyed.

"How old is she? What does she look like? Does she like riding and archery?"

"She's about fifteen or sixteen. As for her looks… she's considered quite beautiful. As for her interests, you'll have to ask her yourself when you meet her."

"How did she and Robb meet? Who courted whom? Did you see them kiss? Wait, you said they've already shared a bed?! Was there any argument before that? How did it happen? Were you involved? Tell me everything!"

---

"Alright, alright, stop!" After enduring a rapid-fire barrage of questions, Aegor finally had to put a stop to it. "That's all I know! It's not like I married your sister-in-law myself!"

Before Arya could protest, Aegor quickly turned to the other woman in their group.

"Nina, back on the watchtower, your master praised you for your intelligence. I have some tasks for you—let's see if you truly live up to his expectations."

By now, the girl had composed herself. She blinked twice, lowered her gaze slightly to avoid Aegor's, but didn't blush or stammer as before. "Please, give me your orders, sir."

"Oversee the dormitory bedframes and the medical facilities I mentioned earlier, make sure they're implemented as soon as possible. Also, find someone literate and good with numbers to teach the young men in the Night's Watch Security Team. I'll cover the costs. The lessons will be during training breaks, free but voluntary. Let them know in advance—future officers in the Night's Watch Logistics Department, squad leaders and above, must be able to read and count."

"Understood."

"Casey, you have a task as well." Before Arya could interrupt, Aegor turned to his squire. "In King's Landing, you won't need to follow me around every day. Starting tomorrow, you'll train with the Night's Watch Security Team. I'll draft regulations for the Logistics Direct Armed Forces soon. You'll be the first inspector, responsible for overseeing training, maintaining discipline, and ensuring my rules are enforced. Report directly to me."

"Inspector? I report directly to you?" Casey's eyes lit up. "So I don't have to answer to anyone else?"

"Exactly. Warn those who ignore the rules, then reprimand them. If that doesn't work, dock their pay. If they still refuse to comply, or dare to defy orders, dismiss them." Aegor smirked. "The more the soldiers hate you, the better you're doing your job. And if you need help, recruit one or two assistants but no thugs. Whatever rules apply to the men apply to you as well. Lead by example, and no one will complain."

Casey grinned. "Got it!"

---

After setting his affairs in order, Aegor finally turned back to Arya.

"So, Arya, how has your father been these past two months? Has the Hand of the King been keeping busy?"

"He never stops. Jory says the king's arse is too dirty, and no matter how hard my father scrubs, it won't get clean." The girl pouted, then snickered at the image she had conjured. "Let him be busy. I'd rather practice swordplay with Akun."

There was nothing useful to be gleaned from Arya's response. It was only natural for the Hand of the King to be busy. Who knew whether he was investigating the rumors about the Lannister twins? Asking outright, "What has the Hand been busy with lately?" would be far too suspicious. Even if Arya didn't think much of it, her bodyguard was still present.

Better to have the Night's Watch brothel spies keep a close eye on things. Since they were now in place, they had to be put to good use.

---

"Hey, did you eavesdrop when Robb and my sister-in-law entered the bridal chamber? Come on, just tell me a little, Master, please!"

This was bad. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing that Arya and Tyrion got along well, but children were easily influenced. The dwarf's irreverence seemed to have imparted an overly free-spirited view on certain matters. This was really… Aegor frowned.

"Alright, what kind of girl chases after people asking questions like that? Is that ladylike behavior?"

"Seven hells with being a lady…" Arya grumbled, sounding exactly like Tyrion.

Fortunately, Aegor was relieved and even a little proud, that despite being gone for two months, his authority over his student still held. After receiving two stern glares, Arya pursed her lips so tightly that a bottle of wildfire could have been hung from them, but she finally fell silent.

No one disturbed his thoughts after that. Sitting astride his horse, Aegor calmed himself and considered how to stop Eddard Stark from investigating the Lannister twins' scandal. Unfortunately, after a thorough mental exercise, the conclusion he reached was—almost impossible.

Within the Night's Watch Industrial Park, he was the founder, the leader, the ultimate authority. Everyone showed him respect, and none dared to disobey. But in King's Landing? Who was he there? A Night's Watchman. A Night's Watchman who happened to do business.

Even though he had been received by both the Hand and the King, had secured tax exemptions, and was running a thriving operation—so what? He was still a man who wasn't even qualified to sit at the game table in the grand contest for the Iron Throne.

Not to mention stopping Eddard Stark from pursuing the truth of the rumors—logic dictated that it would be best for him to stay as far away from this matter as possible. Whether as an enemy or an ally of Cersei, he could easily find himself in deep trouble.

Lost in these thoughts, they soon approached the King's Gate. Beyond this city wall, the powerful figure of the Night's Watch Industrial Park would become merely the head of the Night's Watch Office in King's Landing. Under the shadow of the Iron Throne, they had neither the standing nor the power to be arrogant.

---

The gate was half-closed, offering a brief, final chance for all manner of latecomers to slip through before it was shut for the night. The Gold Cloaks standing guard didn't recognize Arya, but they did recognize Haile, the Stark retainer who frequently passed through. That alone was enough for them to allow the group entry without questions or delay.

The sun had already set. Once inside the city, Aegor learned more about recent developments at the office from Nina's briefing.

The employee Aegor had personally recruited, the one who had joined at the same time as Casey, had not resigned and left, as Aegor had initially assumed. Instead, he had taken charge of a second Night's Watch office. Operating out of a small shop in the western district of King's Landing, this branch independently handled labor recruitment for the Night's Watch enterprises. Thanks to this, residents on the west side of the city no longer had to cross most of King's Landing to the garrison's eastern camp in search of job opportunities.

Since it was already late, there was no need to make a detour to check on the new "chain store," which was likely closed for the night anyway. After Nina pointed out its location, they continued eastward until their path no longer aligned with Arya's route back to the Red Keep.

---

"Haile, I lost track of the time today and delayed Arya's return. I'd appreciate it if you could get her back to the Red Keep as soon as possible. If she's late for Lord Stark's family supper, please apologize on my behalf and make it clear that it wasn't Arya's fault. Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me. This is the duty Lord Stark entrusted to me. If anything goes wrong, the responsibility is mine."

"Well, my father won't be mad if I'm just a little late. But hurry up, I'm starving!"

As she was led away, Arya turned back when she was barely ten paces away and shouted, "Master, I'm challenging you tomorrow! Don't forget!"

Aegor grinned. He didn't believe for a second that a girl who had only been learning swordplay for two months could defeat a Night's Watch ranger with real combat experience.

"Alright, sleep well tonight. Let's see if you can surprise me tomorrow!"

Nina then led Aegor and Casey through several winding streets, eventually stopping before a mansion in the eastern district.

With their funds growing and their workforce expanding, it had become both impractical and expensive for the Night's Watch office staff to keep lodging in inns.

Thus, Tyrion had rented this residence from a friend, providing a place for the office's core personnel and managers to live.

(To be continued.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 131

Most of the Night's Watch office employees were from King's Landing and had homes to return to after work. For now, only Jaqen, the siblings Neil and Nina, Aegor, and Casey lived here—five in total. Even with each of them having a separate room, less than a quarter of the house was occupied, leaving plenty of space.

It was nearly dinnertime. Before Aegor had left King's Landing, the Albatross Inn had provided his meals. Now that he had moved out, he had to make his own arrangements.

"Casey, are you familiar with this area?" Aegor asked his squire. "Take us to a good place to eat."

"Uh… ser, this district is mostly for nobles, and I've never been here before."

Aegor sighed and turned to his more capable subordinate. "What about you, Nina? How long have you been living here? How do you usually handle meals?"

"There's a kitchen," she replied softly. "I usually cook something for my brother, Akun, and myself." She hesitated before adding, "There's a restaurant nearby, but it's quite expensive…"

"You've been running around all day, don't bother with cooking. Just tell Casey where the restaurant is and have him bring back some food."

"Understood."

"Take me to my room first."

---

As the head of the Night's Watch industry, Aegor's room was naturally the most central and spacious in the house—the master bedroom.

"Even though you weren't here, the cleaners came every few days to tidy up. Everything is set up, and the bedding was aired out just a couple of days ago. You can move in right away," Nina said. Then, after a brief pause, she added in a noticeably quieter voice, "I live next door… If you need anything, just call me."

Huh. Living next door? Was that Tyrion's arrangement or her own? If I told you to warm my bed, would you do it? Aegor glanced at her, intrigued. It was too dark to make out her expression, but chances were high that she was blushing again.

"Alright," he said casually. "Now tell Casey where to buy dinner. Casey, do you have money?"

"Yes, ser!"

"Then go quickly and come back just as fast. Oh, and mention my name to the owner, see if we can set up a tab. We'll likely be giving him plenty of business in the future."

"Yes, ser!"

"Good. Nina, you should head to your room too. I'll call if anything comes up."

"It's getting late, and this is your first time back. Let me light a lamp for you."

"Alright, that would help." The darkness and unfamiliar surroundings made things inconvenient. Aegor nodded, amused, as Nina busied herself lighting several oil lamps around the room.

The moment they were alone together in a room with a bed, however, she seemed to grow increasingly flustered. She quickly excused herself, rushing out with such nervousness that Aegor half-expected her to trip on the way.

Finally alone, Aegor sighed, shrugged off his black cloak, and hung it on the rack. Then, he took a moment to inspect the bedroom Tyrion had prepared for him.

---

Tyrion Lannister, as a member of the richest family in Westeros, naturally had well-connected friends in King's Landing. Though the original owner of this house had purchased it purely as an investment and never moved in, even the so-called "simple furnishings" exuded wealth.

The room was spacious, with a long table and several chairs in the outer chamber, surrounded by ornate furniture. Facing the entrance was a beautifully painted mural of the Seven, effectively dividing the room into a living area and a sleeping area.

It felt oddly extravagant for a Night's Watchman, but this was a rented property, changing the decor wasn't exactly an option. Aegor shook his head and walked past the mural into the bedroom.

---

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. After a few moments of confusion, he realized why—the room's layout was nearly identical to the inn room he had stayed in for so long.

The table, chairs, bed, and wardrobe were positioned almost exactly the same. Even the arrangement of items on the table remained unchanged. When he pulled open the drawers, everything was still there.

If he had to guess, the clothes in the wardrobe had probably been transferred over as well.

Did Tyrion actually have someone move my things from the inn, piece by piece?

It wasn't a bad idea. It saved Aegor the trouble of unpacking and readjusting. And time—especially now, with the looming disaster of the Lannister twins—was something he sorely lacked.

Thinking about that particular time bomb, Aegor ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Am I really just going to stand by and watch it explode?

Trying to push the thought aside, he continued inspecting the room. There was one noticeable difference from his old lodgings: a row of bookshelves had been added.

The books looked uniform, likely all publications from the Night's Watch printing press. He casually skimmed through the selection. There were copies of The Seven-Pointed Star, various instructional texts, and some… less scholarly materials, including a particularly thick volume titled A Guide to Navigating King's Landing.

To be honest, he had never actually read that book—despite it being one of the best-selling publications his own press had produced. It had contributed nearly a tenth of their total revenue. As the boss, that was a bit embarrassing.

Deciding he'd rather not dwell on looming disasters, Aegor pulled a different book from the shelf—A Hundred Beauties.

A little light reading to relax… and familiarize myself with my company's products.

Settling onto the bed, he crossed his legs and flipped through the pages. The illustrations were vivid, though naturally rough compared to real portraits.

But distractions only worked for so long. Even after skimming through a dozen pages, his thoughts drifted back to his problems.

Instead of reading this, I might as well head next door and tease Nina.

Watching her blush and get flustered was amusing enough on its own.

Under different circumstances, he might have actually done it. But the weight of his troubles kept him rooted in place.

Just then, a commotion erupted outside. A man's voice rang out:

"Nina! Where are you? Hiding again? I know you're here!"

The voice sounded familiar, but Aegor couldn't immediately place it. Frowning, he set down the book and rose to his feet. Grabbing his coat, he strode toward the door, pushing it open to step outside.

---

Three men in golden cloaks stood in the courtyard. Their leader stood with his hands on his hips, calling toward Nina's room.

As Aegor approached, he took a moment to study the man's face—then recognition hit.

"Lord Slynt," Aegor said flatly. "What brings you here?"

Janos Slynt, the commander of the City Watch, turned toward him with a smug smile.

"Aegor West… Ser, I heard you made it back from the battlefield safely. Congratulations." He spoke with mock cordiality before getting to the point.

"Where's your female subordinate? I've been wanting to invite her to dinner for days now, but she keeps refusing, always saying she's too busy with Night's Watch business. But now that you're back… surely you can give her the night off, can't you?"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 132

"Being pretty isn't always a good thing for a common girl."

Tyrion had said that over an hour ago. Was his tongue cursed? Otherwise, how could it come true so soon? Was it the little man's sharp mouth at work, or had he already known about this and deliberately warned Aegor in advance?

The act of powerful men using force or coercion to claim women was not just some fabricated plot device used to vilify villains in stories. It had existed since ancient times and persisted even now—though as laws evolved, the methods had shifted from brute force to more refined, discreet tactics.

And why was the emphasis always on common girls?

The answer was simple, because only common girls could be taken without consequence.

This tied into an important principle of feudal society: the chain of protection. Lords and their vassals had a mutual obligation to protect one another. In peacetime, this protection was primarily granted from the top down, extending layer by layer until it encompassed even the lowest-ranking nobles.

Take the King, the supreme ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Suppose Robert Baratheon, in a drunken stupor, forced himself on the daughter of a landed knight sworn to an earl in the Westerlands. What would happen?

The knight would report it to his liege, the earl. The earl would then appeal to the Warden of the West—Lord Tywin Lannister, a man not known for his tolerance of slights. And then? Lord Tywin would demand an explanation from the King himself.

---

It had nothing to do with whether the knight in question was influential, whether the earl was rich or powerful, or whether the Lord of Casterly Rock was particularly hard-handed.

It was simply the rules of the game.

If the victim was a noble, the crime was no longer "Robert slept with so-and-so's daughter." It became "The King violated a noblewoman."

If her family pressed the issue and if the King wasn't reckless enough to behave like the Mad King—he would have to take responsibility. His reputation would suffer, and he'd be burdened with the consequences. If he was already married, he couldn't wed the girl, so he would have to provide her with a dowry when she eventually married someone else. If she bore a child, the King would have to acknowledge it, arrange for its upbringing, and ensure it lived a better life than the average commoner.

These were the rules of the noble game, and even Robert Baratheon, notorious for his appetites, had suffered for it. At his brother Stannis's wedding, he bedded the bride's handmaid, Delena Florent, leaving her pregnant. This not only enraged Stannis but also forced Robert to publicly acknowledge the resulting bastard—Edric Storm, the only illegitimate child he ever formally recognized.

This chain of protection was precisely why even a man as powerful as the King rarely dared to lay hands on the daughters of even the lowest nobles.

---

In theory, commoners were also protected under this system. The difference?

In the eyes of the nobility, commoners were not people, they were property.

Violating a noble's property was far less serious than violating a noble themselves. Usually, as long as compensation was paid, no one would press the matter further.

If even the King had to tread carefully, what about Janos Slynt, who wasn't even truly noble? As commander of the City Watch and effectively the head of King's Landing's law enforcement, he had power, but without a noble title, he couldn't lay a finger on any woman of status.

That left him with only two options: prostitutes or common girls.

And pretty common girls were rare. When one caught his eye, he wouldn't let her go easily.

---

Aegor had spent years carefully avoiding entanglements with high lords and their schemes. But he'd forgotten that he wasn't the only man in the world.

As Chief of Logistics, he was accustomed to dealing with powerful figures and wasn't afraid of the middle-aged man standing before him. But even so, he wasn't in a strong position here. He was, in essence, a businessman, and his industries were concentrated in and around King's Landing. Against the city's head of law enforcement, he lacked leverage.

It was best to avoid making enemies unnecessarily. Though he had no fondness for Slynt, after weighing his options, Aegor quickly adjusted his expression into a well-practiced, polite smile.

"I appreciate your concern, Lord Slynt," he said smoothly. "But the Night's Watch Office has indeed been quite busy lately. That's not an excuse—we've had our hands full. When things settle down in a few days, I'll personally invite you to dinner to make amends."

Janos Slynt snorted. "No need. I don't care if your little office is busy or not. And I have no interest in dining with a black-cloaked Night's Watchman like you." He smirked, his gaze shifting past Aegor. "Just tell me, can your girl take the night off or not?"

As he spoke, Slynt's eyes gleamed with amusement as he looked toward the house.

"Nina? Now that your boss is here, surely you can ask for leave?"

---

By now, the commotion had drawn others out of their rooms. Jaqen, Neil, and several other residents of the house stood in the doorway, watching the exchange.

And Nina, unable to avoid the confrontation finally emerged as well.

She lifted her chin and walked toward Aegor. But as she reached him, she instinctively stepped behind him, half-hiding her body behind his, unwilling to even glance at Slynt.

---

"Ser?" she asked softly, her voice laced with barely suppressed panic.

She was ostensibly asking whether she should take leave. But in reality, she was testing his response.

Since their first meeting at the papermaking workshop, Nina had thought Aegor was not only handsome but also capable. He had always given off the air of a competent and reliable man.

But that was just an impression.

In truth, she had no idea how capable he really was. And now, with Janos Slynt standing before them, demanding an answer, she had no idea whether he could, or would—protect her.

If Aegor said, "I allow you to accompany Lord Slynt for dinner," it would mean the Night's Watch could no longer afford to offend the commander of the City Watch. Nina would be forced to endure humiliation and disgust, sitting through a meal with the greasy old man while trying not to end up on his plate. But if Slynt pressed harder, there would be no escaping in the end.

If Aegor gave a different answer, however, there was still hope…

At this moment, Nina truly realized how powerless she was as a commoner. Neither the social skills Tyrion had taught her nor her own intelligence were of any use. In the end, her fate was decided by the words of men.

---

Aegor was irritated. In terms of power and influence in King's Landing, he was indeed no match for the commander of the City Watch. But there were plenty of powerful men in the city, and Slynt was the first one he had encountered who behaved this brazenly.

Men like Slynt, those who clawed their way up from nothing often had the worst kind of nouveau riche mentality. Once they gained status, they bullied the weak and groveled before the strong, taking pleasure in throwing their weight around.

Aegor had always made a point to avoid such people. But now that trouble had come knocking at his door, he wasn't afraid. He had his own connections, not to mention a formidable ally in Tyrion.

---

"Nina, you've been working hard lately. Now, Lord Slynt has invited you to dinner. If you agree to go, I'll grant you a day off tomorrow," Aegor said, half-turning toward her. As he spoke, he subtly blinked his right eye, hoping she would understand his meaning.

"I'm sorry… Lord Slynt, but the office truly can't spare me right now." Catching Aegor's signal, Nina steadied herself and spoke firmly. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline your kindness."

Slynt had not expected such a blunt rejection, without even a token excuse. He immediately suspected it was Aegor's doing. His eyes flickered toward him, and he frowned.

"Are you certain?"

"You may be a powerful man, but you have no sense at all!" Nina's brother, Neil, blurted out. "My sister has already refused you multiple times. Why do you keep pestering her when you've got a wife and children at home?"

"Neil, mind your manners." Multiple times? Aegor mentally noted that detail. Good thing he had returned when he did. He feigned a scolding tone before turning back to Slynt with an apologetic expression.

"My lord, as you can see, since Nina doesn't wish to go, even as her superior, I can't force her to join you for dinner."

Silence fell over the yard.

Jaqen stood beside Neil, his usual blank expression unchanged. The two gold-cloaked guards behind Slynt exchanged uncertain glances. They had never seen anyone refuse their commander so directly and weren't sure what to expect next.

After all, this was King's Landing. In this upper-class district, brute force was not an option.

"Well, in that case… we'll talk about it another time."

To Aegor's surprise, Slynt did not lash out or make threats. Instead, he abruptly changed his approach, adopting a tone of forced politeness.

"Excuse me, then. Let's go."

With that, Janos Slynt turned and strode toward the gate. His two guards hesitated for a beat before hurrying after him.

Within moments, the three unwelcome visitors had vanished.

---

Slynt's sudden shift in demeanor left Aegor uneasy. If what Neil said was true, this wasn't the first time Slynt had come sniffing around. Aegor had just stood up to someone capable of making trouble for him without knowing the full scope of the situation—something that could easily spiral out of control.

"Nina, when did this start? And does Tyrion know about it?"

"It was only two days ago," Nina said anxiously. "I've been too busy to tell Lord Tyrion."

She hesitated, then explained:

"That day, I wore lipstick for the first time, just to try it. I ran into Lord Slynt while leaving the office for lunch. He stopped me, complimented the color, and asked me what it was. Since he's about my father's age, and the commander of the City Watch, I didn't dare ignore him. I answered him politely, but somehow, he suddenly brought up the idea of having dinner together. I felt something was off, so I made an excuse to refuse."

She took a breath before continuing.

"But he didn't give up. He approached me again after work the day before yesterday. Including tonight, this was the third time."

Aegor frowned. Why had Slynt shown up at the Night's Watch office in the first place?

Then it clicked.

Right—his office was located directly across from the City Watch headquarters. It had seemed like a convenient location at first, but now it was proving to be a problem.

---

Neil scowled at his sister. "I told you not to dress up like that, but you wouldn't listen. And now you've caused trouble for Ser Aegor."

Nina looked aggrieved. "I just wanted to test the product one of the applicants sent in! How was I supposed to know he'd be the one attracted?"

"Enough. This isn't Nina's fault." Aegor sighed. This was far from over. As the commander of the City Watch, Slynt had plenty of ways to make trouble. Aegor would just have to deal with it as it came.

"Neil, you mentioned he has a wife and children. Then why is he acting like this—so openly?"

Neil's expression darkened. "It's like this, ser… Janos Slynt was born the son of a butcher. When he got married, he was still just a foot soldier in the City Watch, so his wife was a commoner with no background. No one expected his career to take off, but somehow, he kept climbing until he reached the position of commander."

Neil shook his head in disgust.

"His wife's family has no wealth or power. She can't control him, not now that he's the most powerful man in the City Watch. That old lecher has been running wild in King's Landing for years. He doesn't dare cross the nobility, but ordinary people? We have no way to fight back.

"He will come back."

---

At that moment, Casey returned, carrying their dinner. But as she stepped into the courtyard, she found everyone standing around, their expressions tense. She froze in confusion.

"Ser? What's going on?"

"Nothing," Aegor said. "Shut the door and come inside."

The mounting troubles made him long for the simpler days in the coalition camp, when the only thing he had to worry about was attracting investors. But he had known his time there couldn't last forever. Two months away from King's Landing, and of course, something had gone wrong.

Still, compared to the rapid expansion of the Night's Watch industry, offending a garrison commander wasn't that big of a deal.

Now that he was back, it was time to take responsibility.

"We'll deal with it," Aegor said. "I'll talk to Tyrion soon and see what can be done about him.

"But until then… none of you especially you, Nina—go anywhere alone. Take someone with you, always.

"Now, let's eat. No point in standing around on an empty stomach."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 133 (BONUS)

Compared to Cersei and Jaime, Janos Slynt was insignificant. His interest in Nina was nothing compared to the pressure of the rumors spreading through the city. The Night's Watch had ties to numerous factions in King's Landing and had no reason to fear the head of the City Watch.

Aegor pushed the matter aside, ate, washed, and lay down in bed. He tried to strategize a way to counter the rumors, but after turning it over in his mind with no clear solution, he soon drifted off to sleep.

---

The long summer days made early nights and early mornings ideal. As soon as the sun rose, the household stirred. After a good rest, Aegor and his subordinates headed to the office.

As planned, Casey left for the Night's Watch Industrial Park outside the city to oversee training and discipline, while also delivering a warning to one of the two giants of the Night's Watch industry about the potential trouble with Slynt.

Nina had her own responsibilities, but Aegor needed time to adjust to the sudden surge in office work. For now, the former supervisor became his temporary assistant.

Without another desk available, she simply moved a chair beside Aegor's and remained on hand to answer questions and assist as needed.

---

Arya arrived, demanding her promised duel. Since Aegor was busy, he waved her off, telling her to warm up with Jaqen in the backyard.

Though the Night's Watch industry had grown several times larger in his absence, its core operations remained unchanged from the system he and Tyrion had designed. The adjustments weren't difficult for the returning founder to grasp.

Give him a day or two, and he'd be fully in control again.

After processing several tasks, Aegor leaned back in his chair and glanced at Nina. Among common-born girls, she was undeniably attractive.

Tyrion had exaggerated her beauty, but in a world where even literacy was considered a talent, the fact that she had managed the office in his absence without a single mistake, and that even he, a man from a modern world, found nothing to criticize, spoke volumes about her competence.

---

Being secure in one's position breeds complacency.

Until now, Aegor had subconsciously assumed Nina was his—that she wouldn't fly away, so there was no rush to claim her. He had enjoyed her admiration without feeling the need to act on it.

But suddenly, someone else was eyeing what was his, and that made him uneasy.

It was like a child's toy, he might not play with it, but even if it gathered dust, no other child was allowed to touch it.

This possessiveness was pure human nature. Only those who overcame such instincts could accomplish great things.

If the man pursuing Nina had been a proper suitor, one with marriage in mind, Aegor would have left the choice to her. But Janos Slynt—a married man—clearly only wanted to use her.

As the pillar of the Night's Watch industry, the leader of an enterprise that dozens relied on, Aegor couldn't allow that.

Keeping your lower body in check prevents trouble… but what if keeping it in check still brings trouble?

---

"Nina, where do your parents live now? Are they in good health?"

Nina looked up, surprised by the sudden interest in her family.

"They're well. They still live outside the city in the house where we used to weave. Lord Tyrion wanted them to move into the city, but they refused."

Aegor nodded, chatting idly for a while before steering the conversation toward his real intent.

"Well… Nina, you're an important member of the Night's Watch industry. You're my capable subordinate, and I won't stand by and watch you be bullied."

His voice turned casual, but firm.

"If, in the future, any man flirts with you or has bad intentions, and you don't want to deal with him, just tell him you're mine. Do you understand?"

"I'm… yours?"

Nina repeated the words, her heart skipping a beat.

The phrase could mean so many things.

Her cheeks grew warm. Her voice faltered. "Ser, what… what do you mean?"

Aegor smiled faintly.

"Whatever you think it means. Whatever others who hear it think it means." His tone was relaxed, but deliberate.

"This is a phrase that allows room for interpretation… and that's exactly what it's supposed to do. Do you understand now?"

Nina had been ready to say no, but after a moment of thought, realization struck.

He was giving her a shield, one that would make it seem as if she were already claimed, deterring unwanted advances.

It was overbearing.

But… it also made her feel safe.

And yet—it was so sudden.

Her face flushed. Her head felt light. Her heart pounded.

For a moment, she lost all ability to think.

It seemed she understood.

Aegor felt a sense of relief—but also a trace of guilt.

A girl just beginning to understand love…

And here she was, tricked into belonging to him before she had even had a single proper courtship.

This kind of domineering lord line was the sort of thing you only found in those women's romance stories. Under normal circumstances, saying something like that would get a man labeled insane.

Only when viewed through the lens of admiration would it be seen as romantic.

But Aegor didn't have the time or energy for a proper love story. He had to take shortcuts. This was just the first step—giving her time to adjust, letting the idea settle. Then, when the moment was right, he would truly make her his.

In these turbulent times, there was no room for drawn-out courtships.

The missing steps, the emotional buildup would just have to be filled in later.

---

A sharp knock on the heavy, soundproofed door interrupted the moment.

A receptionist from the front hall poked his head in.

"Ser Aegor, there's a group of men outside. They claim to be from the Prince of Dorne."

Aegor froze.

"…The Prince of Dorne?"

He straightened immediately, the sudden shock snapping him out of his domineering lord mode.

---

The scandal of the Lannister twins could plunge the Seven Kingdoms into turmoil, shattering the stability that the Night's Watch industry relied upon. That was the greatest crisis looming over him.

Janos Slynt's interest in his most capable subordinate and the likelihood that he would pick a fight over it was a minor nuisance by comparison.

Both posed a threat to his work.

But Prince Doran of Dorne and the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell… they were the ones most likely to pose a direct threat to him.

---

A personal threat, no matter how subjective, always felt more terrifying.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous.

With enemies, he could fight back by any means necessary. But how was he supposed to defend himself against someone trying to seduce him?

Aegor had no experience with that kind of battle.

Rising to his feet, he took a step toward the door—then abruptly changed his mind.

"Go invite His Highness in," he ordered the receptionist.

As soon as the man left, Aegor's eyes darted around the room until they landed on a potential lifeline.

"Nina, come here. Quickly!"

"Ah? I'm here, ser!"

"Stand up. Come to me."

"Why?"

They were sitting at the same table, less than two paces apart. Why move?

Nina was already reeling from Aegor's earlier claim of possession. Now, given this sudden, inexplicable order, her mind blanked.

She blinked at him with wide, dazed eyes, looking utterly lost.

"There's no time to explain. Just cooperate with me!" Aegor stomped his foot impatiently. Seeing that there was no time to waste, he strode over to her in two quick steps, placed one hand on her shoulder, and braced the other against the table, deliberately adopting a rather suggestive stance.

---

"L-Lord Aegor?!"

If Nina had been bewildered before, she was completely stunned now.

"Don't move. I'll explain later."

The Night's Watch oath forbade marriage and children. There were few women at the Wall, and in the South, people loved to joke that all Watchmen were sodomites.

If he didn't immediately prove to Oberyn Martell that he was very much interested in women, the Red Viper might misunderstand his prolonged celibacy in King's Landing as… something else.

And if Oberyn got the wrong idea…

The troubles he already had would be nothing compared to what would follow.

---

What is happening?

If we were back home, I could understand, but here?

Is ser afraid that the Prince of Dorne will fall for me, too? Is he trying to assert his claim the moment they walk in?

Nina was utterly confused.

Aegor's hand on her shoulder radiated warmth, sending an uncontrollable shiver through her body. His sudden command had left her completely rattled, and now she sat frozen in place—her mind a complete blank.

Her heart pounded.

She sat obediently, not daring to move.

Both of them remained locked in place, nerves on edge…

Until their visitors finally stepped inside.

---

"Oh—"

A clear, feminine voice rang through the room.

"It seems we've come at an inconvenient time?"

Aegor turned his head.

Why is Margaery Tyrell here?

Wasn't this supposed to be the Prince of Dorne?

Had someone messed up the introductions?

---

"What do you mean?"

Thankfully, the real Red Viper entered next, and his sharp eyes instantly caught on to Aegor's hand resting on Nina's shoulder.

He raised a brow in mild surprise—then smirked.

"Well now… We wouldn't want to interrupt the Chief Logistics Officer's entertainment," Oberyn said lightly. "Shall we return at a later time?"

"You two are joking." Aegor had achieved his goal. He gave Nina's shoulder a quick pat, silky soft, not bad—and withdrew his hand.

"Please, have a seat. Nina, bring our guests some refreshments."

---

If visitors could be ranked by importance, these two would be at the very top.

Still, the pairing was odd, a man like Oberyn Martell, with his unrestrained reputation, arriving alongside Margaery Tyrell, a young noblewoman of marriageable age.

But in King's Landing, it made sense.

Both Dorne and the Reach had backed the wrong side during Robert's Rebellion. They had spent over a decade excluded from the halls of power.

Now, despite their noble blood, they remained outsiders in the capital's political landscape.

It was only natural for them to seek allies in one another.

---

As for why they were here together?

If it had been just Oberyn, he might have come for pleasure.

But Oberyn and Margaery?

A few minutes of conversation would make their true purpose abundantly clear.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 134

Nina quickly hurried off to fetch cups and drinks, while Aegor personally pulled out chairs for his two guests as a sign of respect.

As he turned back, he noticed a third person entering—a mature woman. She wasn't conventionally beautiful, but she possessed a striking, alluring charm.

---

"Let me introduce you," Oberyn Martell said, taking the woman's hand with the air of a devoted lover. "This is my paramour, Ellaria Sand."

Then, with a playful smirk, he turned to Aegor.

"And this, my love, is the famed White Walker-slayer, Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch—Aegor West. And his paramour… What was her name? May I have the honor of an introduction?"

In any of the Six Kingdoms outside of Dorne, paramour was not a flattering term. Had anyone else asked, Aegor would have denied it outright.

But this was Oberyn.

"Nina," he answered simply.

"Nina," Ellaria repeated, glancing toward the girl's retreating figure with interest.

"She's quite lovely, though she seems… inexperienced. Have you ever tasted love?"

"She's young," Aegor replied casually. "And I prefer my fruit fresh and ripe."

Oberyn's paramour seemed the type to take interest in both men and women. And with trouble already piling up, the last thing Aegor needed was for Ellaria to set her sights on Nina.

To avoid any additional complications, he didn't hesitate to brand himself with whatever label necessary.

---

"A man of particular tastes, I see." Ellaria seemed amused by his frankness. Fortunately, her attention shifted elsewhere as she eyed something with curiosity.

"What is she wearing on her lips? That color is quite unusual."

---

"A new product from the Night's Watch industry," Aegor explained. "A specially formulated cream lipstick.

"When it's officially launched, I'll make sure Miss Margaery and Lady Ellaria receive one each—if you're both still in King's Landing by then."

As he spoke, he pulled over a third chair.

Margaery was the first to sit, subtly shifting her seat away from Oberyn and Ellaria.

Aegor noticed the gesture.

It seemed that despite traveling together, the two houses were not as close as they appeared.

Mistresses had no place in high society, especially illegitimate mistresses. And a prince who paraded one around as if she were his wife? That sort of behavior would be considered scandalous anywhere outside of Dorne.

Margaery, ever the poised noblewoman, kept her disdain well hidden.

Both Oberyn and Margaery could represent their respective kingdoms. If Aegor could win them over, securing a partnership with either House Martell or House Tyrell would be a major boost to the Night's Watch industry.

But before Nina even returned with the drinks, Aegor was hit with an unexpected revelation.

---

"What?" He nearly choked on his words.

"You three have already visited the Night's Watch Industrial Park?"

"We arrived on the outskirts of King's Landing yesterday afternoon," Margaery said smoothly.

"This morning, we decided to delay entering the city and visit the famous Night's Watch Industrial Park first."

She smiled at Aegor, her tone light, but with just the faintest trace of amusement.

"Surely, Chief Logistics Officer, you wouldn't have wanted to trouble yourself by personally giving us a tour?"

Aegor was momentarily at a loss for words.

Ellaria, however, seemed far more intrigued.

"It was fascinating," she said with genuine interest.

"I never imagined production could be handled in such a way. Lord Aegor, you've truly opened my eyes. It's almost a shame that a man of your talents remains bound to the Night's Watch instead of serving the realm."

Oberyn, the only man among the three, remained silent.

He simply leaned back in his chair, observing Aegor's office with a knowing smile, letting his paramour do the talking.

They were supposed to visit me first.

Yet they had bypassed him entirely and gone straight to inspect the factory.

Aegor wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Upon reflection, it wasn't difficult to guess the reason.

He had been… less than courteous in his past dealings with Margaery.

She must have taken the opportunity to return the slight—a small, civilized form of revenge.

Fair enough.

They were even now.

There was no need to dwell on it.

Still, their decision to investigate the factory before meeting him left an uneasy feeling in his gut.

Had he known, he might have given orders to limit access to outsiders.

Then again, outright barring two highborn visitors from entering the industrial park would have only made things worse.

Instead, Aegor feigned indifference.

"Well, since you've already seen it, there's no need for me to waste time with explanations."

He leaned back slightly, studying them.

"So? Are the Tyrells and Martells interested in investing? A few thousand gold dragons should do. You'd make back your principal and interest within a year—after that, it's pure profit."

"I have no doubt of that," Margaery said, her expression pleasant but unreadable.

"But wouldn't it be improper for the noble houses of the Reach and Dorne to interfere in business within King's Landing—profiting off the King's subjects?"

Her smile remained unwavering.

"If His Grace were to learn of it, well… I doubt it would sit well with him."

---

Aegor frowned slightly.

She wasn't here to invest.

She was here to buy.

"I came to discuss something else," Margaery continued.

"I'd like to negotiate the transfer of your papermaking and printing techniques.

"After all, such innovations ones that benefit the realm should be shared for the good of the Seven Kingdoms."

Aegor exhaled slowly.

So it's come to this.

As expected.

Finance and business had been fun—like playing a single-player game. But the nobles of Westeros were not NPCs.

They had ambitions, too.

House Tyrell ruled the most populous region of Westeros. They controlled the largest market in the Seven Kingdoms.

Why would they invest in Aegor's business when they could take the knowledge and do it themselves?

Tax exemptions meant nothing to them. House Tyrell collected taxes—they didn't pay them.

Rather than pouring money into his operation, Margaery had decided to acquire the technology for herself and bring it to the Reach.

Was there any room for negotiation?

Aegor met Margaery's gaze, studying her carefully.

Probably not.

Someone as shrewd as her wouldn't have come unprepared. She'd already weighed the pros and cons.

She wasn't here to debate.

If Aegor had political capital to offer—titles, influence, leverage—perhaps he could bargain.

But he had none of those things.

Which meant there was no persuading her to give up on her claim to a share of the Night's Watch industry.

At best, he could negotiate the price.

"You make a good point," Aegor admitted.

"But papermaking and printing may seem simple… in reality, it took extensive time and resources to develop. You can't just create it from nothing."

He gestured toward Nina, who had just returned with drinks.

"She was directly involved in the research and refinement process. Ask her how long it took us—how many materials and experiments we ran—before we perfected a viable method for production."

Margaery barely spared Nina a glance.

She simply smiled.

"I appreciate the effort."

Then, without hesitation, she named her price.

"The Tyrells won't take your knowledge for free.

"As compensation, we'll offer five hundred gold dragons as a belated investment."

Five hundred?

The Night's Watch industry made close to that much per month.

This little rose drives a harder bargain than she lets on.

"You both?" Aegor caught the wording and glanced at Oberyn.

Oberyn waved a hand dismissively.

"This has nothing to do with me. You two talk. Once you've reached an agreement, I'll follow suit."

Then, as if to prove he wasn't interested, he pulled Ellaria into his lap and began kissing her—unbothered by the audience.

What does this mean?

Aegor frowned but quickly dismissed the thought. Trying to analyze Oberyn Martell's behavior was probably a waste of time.

It seemed clear now that he and Margaery hadn't planned this visit together. They were likely just traveling south from the Vale at the same time and took advantage of the opportunity to approach him.

I took the risks, raised the funds, spent months on research and development, built the entire Night's Watch industry from the ground up.

And now these nobles just waltz in, barely lifting a finger, and expect to take it all with a few bags of gold?

Aegor clenched his teeth in frustration.

But there was little he could do.

In a world without the concept of intellectual property, the fact that they were even offering to negotiate, rather than outright stealing his methods or poaching his workers was already an act of restraint.

---

"Miss Margaery, let's be clear."

Aegor leaned forward, his tone calm but firm.

"If we were only talking about research and development costs, even five hundred gold dragons wouldn't be enough.

"But this invention isn't just about costs—it's about the intellectual value behind it.

"The Night's Watch industry took a risk when we invested our coin and manpower, unsure of what the future held.

"We spent months refining our methods, gathering experience in mass production and management, things that took time and effort to perfect.

"Yet, in your eyes, none of that holds any value?"

Aegor's words were reasonable.

Margaery, however, only smiled sweetly.

"Oh dear," she said, feigning innocence.

"I'm just a girl, ser. What do I know about such complicated matters? If I've said anything inappropriate, I do hope you'll forgive me."

Then, just as smoothly, she shifted tactics.

"But since this is business, I'm sure we can negotiate."

She met his gaze, her expression unwavering.

"If we can't reach an agreement, I suppose I'll just have to return home empty-handed… and hire someone to figure it out for me."

Hire someone to figure it out herself?

Aegor scoffed internally.

That sounded nice and harmless, but he knew exactly what it meant.

If they didn't settle things today, by tomorrow, a wave of Night's Watch industry workers would suddenly be resigning—only to show up under House Tyrell's payroll.

It wouldn't even require much effort. A few well-placed bribes, a few higher wages, and before long, his entire operation could be replicated without him.

Margaery wasn't just making idle threats.

She was telling him plainly: either sell willingly, or lose it anyway.

Damn it.

He couldn't let her take it for free, but he also couldn't afford to demand too high a price.

"Five thousand gold dragons," Aegor said finally.

He leaned back, keeping his voice even.

"For that price, you won't just get the technology. I'll provide skilled workers and train your staff."

He gestured toward her.

"If you want to set up a papermaking and printing press in Highgarden, or anywhere else—I'll oversee its development until it's fully operational."

It sounded generous, but in reality, these were standard services when selling trade secrets.

Margaery had offered five hundred.

Aegor demanded five thousand.

A single zero stood between them.

And now, the only thing left was to negotiate the difference.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 135

If A Song of Ice and Fire were turned into a role-playing game, Margaery would be one of those characters with almost no combat ability but exceptionally high charm and intelligence. On top of that, she'd have a passive skill acquired through years of training under the Queen of Thorns—she's resolute and completely immune to nonsense.

Aegor was good at presenting facts, weaving together truths and half-truths in a way that could easily mislead others. But the real reason he was so persuasive wasn't just his silver tongue—it was that, most of the time, what he said was actually true. More importantly, the things he urged others to do were rarely harmful to them.

But haggling? That was another matter entirely. In a negotiation, truth and falsehood blurred, right and wrong ceased to matter. And in this case, they weren't even trading a physical item. How was he supposed to convince a woman as intelligent and sharp-minded as himself that paying an extra 4,500 gold dragons was in her best interest?

If fooling Robert Baratheon had a difficulty rating of 5, coaxing Eddard Stark was a 7, and persuading Tyrion Lannister to join a cause was a solid 9, then getting Margaery Tyrell to willingly part with an extra 4,500 gold dragons was a 90.

It was an impossible task. Not because the Little Rose was stingy, but because neither Aegor nor the fledgling industry of the Night's Watch had the leverage to make the Tyrells pay a premium for their friendship.

---

If Aegor had been in Margaery's position, he wouldn't have agreed with himself either. Pushing too hard in this kind of situation was like trying to wrestle a shadow—no matter how forceful his argument, it met only empty air. He tried to emphasize the true value of the technology, but Margaery played dumb. He attempted to take a more circuitous approach, but this girl was even better at feigned ignorance and roundabout reasoning than he was. Whether it was her ability to talk in circles or the sophistication of her tactics, Aegor was completely outmatched by a girl ten years his junior.

Under normal circumstances, when negotiating a price, both sides would make concessions—a little from her, a little from him—gradually closing the gap. But after all this back-and-forth, they were still at an impasse. Margaery pouted pitifully, and Aegor was so irritated his skin crawled.

If not for the money, he would've found an excuse to leave and sought out some peace and quiet elsewhere.

...

"Master, you promised to accept my challenge!" Arya burst in, her face flushed from warming up. She pushed the door open, sword in hand, and urged Aegor impatiently. "Can you hurry up? It's almost lunchtime!"

"Wait a moment! I'm almost done!" Aegor gritted his teeth and played his last card. "Since Lady Margaery refuses to budge, then fine, five hundred gold dragons it is. But at that price, all you're getting is the written principles of papermaking. I'll have Nina compile the documents and send them to you. This deal ends here!"

"In that case, let's go with your plan," Margaery said, her eyes flashing with amusement at Aegor's exasperation. But almost immediately, she feigned panic, her tone turning apologetic. "The technology itself is worth five hundred gold dragons, I agree. But the management and operational methods? Another five hundred. And personnel support and guidance? Five hundred more. That brings us to a total of fifteen hundred. Master Aegor, what do you think of that?"

Damn it. She'd been waiting for him to say this all along.

As Margaery shot him a barely concealed look of provocation, realization dawned on Aegor, this negotiation wasn't about saving Highgarden a few hundred or a thousand gold dragons. It was a game, a way for her to get back at him for his previous coldness and excessive caution.

Against an opponent like this, there were only two effective strategies, either put a knife to her throat, or wait until the balance of power shifted in his favor and force her hand. Trying to out-talk her was a waste of time.

Women were truly impossible to deal with. At least Margaery wasn't Cersei, she wouldn't want him dead. Aegor sighed inwardly and made one final attempt. "Add another five hundred not because the technology is worth that much, but because the Night's Watch is a profit-driven organization. As Chief Logistics Officer, my job is to make money for the Watch. We're expanding, and there will be more opportunities for cooperation in the future. If we make a profit this time, we can work together again down the line. Given that, can Lady Margaery understand and accept my terms?"

"Your Excellency is so sincere, how could I possibly refuse?" she said with a charming smile. "Two thousand it is. The extra five hundred gold dragons will be a donation from the Reach to the defenders of the Wall."

She had clearly negotiated a much lower price, yet she framed it as a donation.

Perhaps influenced by Arya's presence, she suddenly became easier to deal with. "I'll have my men deliver the gold this afternoon. As for the personnel and materials I need, please have them ready as soon as possible. I plan to leave King's Landing in a few days, and I'd like to take them with me."

Aegor let out a long breath. Dealing with a woman like Margaery was exhausting, but at least the final price was within his expectations. He had no illusions about breaking into the Highgarden market, but cashing out quickly was still a good strategy. With his modern knowledge and perspective, making money from capital was hardly a challenge.

"Nina, take note and arrange everything as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

The negotiation had lasted so long that the drink Nina had brought in was nearly finished, shared between Aegor and Margaery. Once the price was settled, neither wasted time on unnecessary details. They swiftly finalized the agreement, Aegor would select a skilled technical team from the best workers, provide them with brief training, and send them to Highgarden in about ten days. The Tyrells would cover their food, lodging, wages, and bonuses until they completed their mission in the Riverlands.

"Well, I think that's fair," Oberyn Martell remarked lazily. He had sat through the entire negotiation without a word, letting Margaery haggle while he paid the full two thousand gold dragons without so much as blinking. He looked every bit the magnanimous prince.

Though the second workshop wasn't operational yet, Tyrion had already arranged for workers and line supervisors to begin training. Now, those waiting idly in the industrial park finally had work to do.

---

It had been a grueling battle of wits, but at least it ended in a victory for all. With the negotiations settled, it was time to part ways and go home for lunch.

But just as Aegor thought he could relax, Margaery's gaze shifted. Within half a second, she dropped her bargaining act and turned her attention to Arya, who sat nearby, sword in hand, eyes locked on Aegor with burning anticipation. The girl was clearly waiting for him to finish business so she could challenge him to a duel.

She spoke softly, her tone tentative. "Is this… Lady Arya Stark?"

"Yeah." Arya had been practicing swordplay in the office for over three months now. Countless visitors to the Night's Watch had seen her at it, so she was used to being recognized. She glanced at Margaery and replied expressionlessly, "Hello."

"I'm Margaery Tyrell. I never expected to meet you here, Lady Stark!" Margaery was unbothered by Arya's indifference and introduced herself cheerfully. "Are you practicing swordplay?"

"Yes…" Arya blinked. She was accustomed to the surprised looks people gave when they saw a girl wielding a sword, so she deliberately added, "My father allows it!"

"Oh, gods, you're so lucky. I've wanted to practice swordplay since I was a child, but my father would never allow it—just because I'm a girl!" Margaery sighed in exaggerated envy before quickly switching to an annoyed pout. "I've dreamed countless times of myself dancing under the moonlight, sword in hand, my skirts swirling… But in reality, I've barely touched a blade a handful of times."

Arya was clever, but she was no match for the Rose's charm. It was the first time she had met another girl who not only didn't question her for practicing swordplay but actually envied her for it. Immediately, she found Margaery not only beautiful but also kind and likable. "You could practice in secret. Your family is in Highgarden, and you're in King's Landing. How would they know what you're doing?"

"But my family's guards are with me—they keep a close watch."

"You can come here. My master and I will cover for you. Just say you're here to practice needlework with me!" Arya's eyes lit up as she quickly came up with a plan, not sparing a thought for the actual owner of the place. "Let my master stop your guards at the door, and we'll practice swordplay in the backyard. I'll teach you!"

"Really?!" Margaery turned to Aegor with an expression so hopeful that even he couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. She blinked up at him and pleaded sweetly, "If it's too much trouble, I'm happy to pay for the space and the lessons…"

Arya jumped up, grabbing Aegor's sleeve. "Master, you're the best, I know you'll say yes!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 136

Huh… what just happened?

Aegor had just finalized two deals, each worth 2,000 gold dragons, and was considering the best way to reinvest the 4,000 once they were in his hands. He had barely taken a moment to relax when, right before his eyes his beloved disciple was kidnapped!

Margaery's ability to turn strangers into instant friends was truly astounding. Moments ago, she had been a tough negotiator, yet in the blink of an eye, she had transformed into a "Highgarden girl who loves swordplay but has never been given the chance to learn." Her seamless performance was nothing short of masterful.

If I didn't already know what kind of person she is, my first meeting with her in the camp might not have gone much better than Arya's just now…

She was as charming as she was sharp, and her ability to read people was terrifying.

Just a moment ago, she had been unwilling to budge on the price. But the moment Arya appeared, she had suddenly become far more agreeable. Was she merely trying to get rid of Aegor quickly so she could focus on charming the Hand of the King's daughter?

Wait… does that mean I could have pushed for 2,500, and she still would have agreed?

But then again, Margaery was the only daughter of House Tyrell and had come to King's Landing on a mission to secure Robert's favor. How would she possibly have the time to train in swordplay every day?

...

"Hey, just agree already!"

Arya's impatient shaking jolted Aegor from his thoughts. He sighed and nodded helplessly. "Fine."

(I'll have to tell Nina to put away any important documents in the office. I don't want anyone sneaking around in here… Jaqen alone is enough of a problem. I don't need another.)

"Master, you're the best!" Arya beamed, grabbing Aegor's arm and rubbing against it affectionately before dragging him out from behind the table. "Come on! I want to challenge you, Miss Margaery has to see how much I've improved!"

"You want to challenge Lord Aegor?" Margaery asked with apparent curiosity, then suddenly clapped her hands as if remembering something. "Oh, I nearly forgot to introduce you. This is Prince Oberyn Martell—and his lover, Ellaria Sand."

"Oh! Hello, Lord Oberyn… and Lady Ellaria." Arya greeted them with the etiquette Aegor had drilled into her, but a moment later, her eyes widened. "Wait… Oberyn? Are you the 'Red Viper'?"

"I suppose that's what my friends call me," Oberyn replied with an amused smile, giving Arya a small nod.

"Prince Oberyn is one of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms," Margaery added. "The number of people who could best him in combat can be counted on one hand."

There was no need for Margaery to introduce the Red Viper, of course Arya had heard of him. She looked at the Dornish prince with open curiosity, and her mind naturally jumped to a comparison. "Master, who's better—you or the Red Viper?"

"Of course the prince is stronger. Even ten of me wouldn't be his match."

If ten Aegors attacked him at once, the outcome might be uncertain. But if they came at him one by one? That statement was no exaggeration. Aegor answered honestly. The mere fact that he was being compared to Oberyn was already overestimating his abilities. "I've already sparred with the prince once. He showed mercy, so I surrendered without hesitation."

He still remembered that duel well. How much mercy had Oberyn shown? To put it into perspective, it was like a game of table tennis, Oberyn had given Aegor a ten-point lead, yet Aegor still lost 10 to 12. To an outsider, it might have looked like a close match, a hard-fought battle where one side simply fell short in the end. But to those involved, the truth was clear: Oberyn could have stretched the gap to 10 to 100, or even 10 to 1,000, if he had wanted to. Surrendering before making a complete fool of himself had been the best outcome for Aegor.

"Lord Aegor is a fine warrior as well. I learned much from our match," Oberyn said politely.

A Dornishman, being polite? If he meant he had gained experience in toying with weaker opponents, then sure, that made sense… Aegor smirked inwardly, but before he could respond, something felt off.

Too late.

Arya had already released him and dashed across the table. "That's perfect—I challenge you, Prince Oberyn!"

"Hmm?" The Dornishman blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"

"Your little admirer wants to fight you. Does she need a reason?" Ellaria giggled, slipping gracefully from his lap back into her seat. "Go on, humor the little wolf."

"Arya, stop messing around," Aegor warned with a frown. "You've only been training for a few months, and you want to spar with someone who's been practicing for over a decade? I'll fight you this afternoon, as many times as you want—how about that?"

Oberyn's reputation wasn't just for show. The number of people who had been maimed or killed in duels with him could fill this entire room. Back in the military camp, when Aegor had been forced into a match against him, even though they had no real enmity, he had been the one to back down and offer flattery before daring to fight.

Oberyn wouldn't harm Arya, of course but nothing in life was absolute. If she got injured, he would be the one held responsible as her guardian.

"No, I want to see a true swordsman in action the stronger, the better!" Arya barely even glanced at Aegor before grabbing Oberyn's wrist. Despite her small size, she was deceptively strong, strong enough to yank the Red Viper straight to his feet.

"Alright, alright, little one—no need to pull me, I can walk on my own." Oberyn smiled helplessly, seemingly amused by Arya's enthusiasm. "Get me a similar sword, and I won't bully you."

"Prince Oberyn!" Margaery suddenly looked concerned. Her eldest brother, Willas Tyrell, had shattered his leg in a sparring match against the Red Viper. Though it had been a fair duel, and Willas had accepted his loss without complaint, the incident was proof enough that even in practice, swords had no eyes.

She had only wanted to befriend Arya and subtly probe for gossip about the Queen and her brother, anything that might help her decide whether she should linger in King's Landing or move on. Introducing the Prince of Dorne had been mere courtesy. But if an accident happened because of a few casual words, her already difficult journey north would become completely pointless.

"Please… be careful," she urged.

Oberyn's lips curled into a slight smile. "Relax. I don't play dangerous games."

…

The entire group followed Arya and Oberyn to the backyard, most of them looking uneasy. Jaqen was seated on a bench, sipping water, and raised an eyebrow at the sudden influx of people. When he heard that Arya wanted to challenge the Red Viper, his expression flickered with mild surprise.

After a brief pause, he selected a training sword identical to Arya's small blade, as requested, and tossed it to the Dornish prince.

The two stepped into the center of the yard and faced each other. The duel was starting to feel all too real.

"Come on, then." Oberyn barely spared Arya a serious glance. He swung the wooden sword lazily, as if it were a mere toy. "Show me your best moves. The patience of a viper… is very short."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 137

Arya had great natural talent for swordplay, but some things couldn't be mastered through intelligence alone or by spending a few months training on a practice yard. The reason Aegor had recognized he was no match for the Red Viper within seconds was because he had sparred and fought countless times, against his brothers in the Night's Watch, against wildlings beyond the Wall. His skill might not have been exceptional, but his experience and judgment served him well.

Arya, on the other hand, was still at the stage where she judged an opponent's strength based on reputation, hearsay, and guesswork. She knew Oberyn was stronger than Aegor but how much stronger?

---

Without hesitation, Arya circled Oberyn in a half-arc, moving lightly on her feet. She feinted a small charge, then confidently lunged forward, aiming a precise stab at the prince's abdomen with her wooden sword.

It was fast. Faster than Aegor had expected.

But for Oberyn Martell, it was no threat at all.

"Left shoulder," he murmured, effortlessly flicking Arya's sword aside before tapping her left shoulder with the rounded tip of his practice blade.

The girl had left herself completely unguarded. Oberyn found it a little awkward, he wasn't fond of making a child look foolish but a hit was a hit. If an opponent didn't feel the strike, they might not acknowledge it. And in a duel, ensuring no one was harmed was far more difficult than simply winning. Fortunately, Arya's skill was far from polished.

"Ow!"

Arya recoiled as if stung, yelping in surprise and rubbing her shoulder. The speed at which the exchange had ended left the onlookers momentarily stunned. Margaery stiffened, momentarily worried—if something happened to Arya Stark here, it wouldn't be a mere joke.

…

But Arya's expression showed she was unharmed. The sting on her shoulder was nothing compared to her burning curiosity. How had he done that? How had he landed a hit at the exact moment of parrying?

It must have been a coincidence.

Unwilling to accept the result, she readjusted her stance. Ignoring the murmured warnings from the spectators, she attacked again. This time, she came at him directly, only to veer suddenly to the side, launching an angled strike at his flank.

Tsk. Two months away, and she's improved.

Arya's attack was well-executed—her speed, angle, even her form were commendable. If Aegor had been her opponent, he might have been caught off guard.

Oberyn didn't even turn. He simply shifted his head to glance at her, his hand moving in a blur.

"Right shoulder," he called, just as his practice sword struck hers twice in rapid succession.

The first impact sent a jolt up her arm. The second landed on her right shoulder.

"So fast." Even Margaery, an amateur, let out a gasp of admiration.

None of them had seen Oberyn's movements, only the results. All they could do was piece together what had happened from the sharp cracks of wood on wood. Aegor, having once been on the receiving end of such an attack, could vividly imagine Arya's shock.

I didn't expect him to go all out like that… and except for the force he held back at the last moment, he barely restrained himself.

---

"That was a fine display of Water Dancing, Lady Stark," Oberyn remarked. He had spent time in the Free Cities, he recognized the style immediately. "It's one of the best sword techniques for women. You've already grasped the fundamentals, but you need far more practice. Have you truly only trained for a few months? Who taught you?"

He turned his gaze to Aegor. Had this Night's Watchman been holding back when they fought?

"I didn't teach her. I only built her foundation," Aegor admitted, not wanting the prince to overestimate him. He had no intention of being mistaken for a master swordsman. Without hesitation, he betrayed the real teacher. "It was Akun—one of my men. A swordsman from Lorath."

Oberyn turned to Jaqen, scrutinizing him. But the face he saw was that of an ordinary man, unreadable and unfamiliar.

"How did you do that?" Arya demanded, drawing Oberyn's attention back. "You said I've grasped the essence, so why could you still counter me so easily?"

"It's simple. I'm faster than you." Oberyn grinned. "Besides, grasping something is far from mastering it. Your foundation is solid, and you use your movements well. Holding your sword in your left hand is clever, it makes your attacks less predictable. But for now, you're only imitating form. You haven't yet made the technique yours. Fixed moves have their uses, but they're also easier to counter."

Arya frowned. She had improved significantly in the past two months—why did it still feel like there was a chasm between them? "Then what do I need to do to get better?"

"There's no shortcut. More practice. More opponents of similar skill. Keep at it, and one day, you may be the finest Water Dancer and swordswoman in Westeros." He paused, then his expression hardened slightly. "But I have no interest in being your sparring partner. If you challenge me again now, you'll gain nothing but frustration. Do you still want to continue?"

"Arya, I told you to find practice partners, not opponents this far beyond your level," Jaqen muttered, rarely speaking. "Surrender now, or you will only suffer further."

"One more time!" Arya ignored them all, frustration brimming in her voice. "Slow down! I can't even see what you're doing!" She crossed her arms and scowled. "And stop poking my shoulder—it hurts!"

…

Ellaria Sand, who had been watching from the sidelines, suddenly burst into laughter.

"He says he won't be your sparring partner, and yet you're telling him to go slower and stop hitting you? How is he supposed to fight, little wolf?"

Oberyn chuckled. "Alright, I'll slow down. Next time, I'll tap your foot instead. Your shoes should cushion the blow."

"Arya." Aegor sighed. He wasn't a noble like Margaery or Oberyn—if something happened to Arya here, he would be the one held responsible. "Did you not hear what the prince just said? Why not admit defeat with some dignity?"

"Just one more time!" Arya refused to listen, already lunging forward again. This time, wary of another hit to her shoulder, she focused her eyes solely on Oberyn's sword, keeping track of its movements. She shifted her footwork, avoiding his range, and spun behind him for a strike at his back.

"You learn quickly." Oberyn tilted his head slightly, showing a flicker of approval. "But Water Dancing wasn't meant for this kind of attack."

This time, he didn't use his full speed or experience to overwhelm her. He stood still and allowed her to land two strikes before he finally moved.

…

Oberyn Martell was not just the Red Viper, one of the greatest warriors in Westeros. He was a prince of Dorne, brother to the ruling Lord of Sunspear, and one of the few people who could influence the future of House Martell. He had far too much to do.

He had already wasted much of his day following Margaery to observe the Night's Watch industries and offices. Befriending a Stark girl might be a smart move, but casting a wide net and hoping someone useful swam into it? That was a Tyrell tactic, and one he had little interest in.

Still, he humored Arya's request. He slowed his attacks as promised.

For the first time, the onlookers could actually see the details of the exchange. Arya was no longer being caught off guard, but she was far from relieved. The relentless crack of wooden swords filled the yard. She wasn't being struck anymore, but she was barely holding on, struggling just to keep up.

"Left foot!"

Hearing his call, Arya instinctively pulled her left foot back.

"Right foot!"

She flinched and retracted her right foot as well—without stepping back. Her rhythm shattered.

With a startled cry from Margaery, Arya lost her balance.

"Aahhh—!"

But before she could hit the ground, a firm hand caught her by the collar, lifting her half off the ground.

She dangled there in Oberyn's grasp, completely at his mercy.

"Head."

The Red Viper finally spoke, making Arya flinch. She instinctively raised her arms to shield herself, only for Oberyn to smoothly pluck the wooden sword from her grasp. With a bemused smile, he helped her back onto her feet.

"Tsk. By the rules, unless you've got another weapon hidden on you, that means you lose."

This was no fluke.

At last, Arya fully grasped the vast difference between them. More importantly, she realized that Oberyn had never intended to spar with her in the first place. Pouting, she admitted defeat. "Fine, I surrender."

"If you truly wish to practice with me, go home and speak to your father, Eddard Stark. Marry into Dorne, and everything will be much easier." Oberyn sheathed his practice sword, letting her go with a smirk. "My brother has two sons—Prince Quentyn and Prince Trystane. Both are fine boys."

"Hmph! That… we'll talk about it later." Arya scowled. The mere mention of princes irritated her, Joffrey had left an awful impression. All princes had to be insufferable.

Frustrated, she turned and ran back to Aegor, tugging at his sleeve with pleading eyes. "Master, the Red Viper doesn't even know how to go easy on me! You should spar with me instead!"

"Oh? You just said I wasn't as good as him, and now you come running back after getting schooled?" Aegor arched a brow, unimpressed. "Check if your shoulder is bruised, then go have lunch!"

Though he kept up the stern demeanor of a master, inwardly, he was relieved. Good. Oberyn taught her a lesson today—that should curb her arrogance for now.

But what about in a few months, when her skill improved so much that even he couldn't keep up with her?

…Now that was a problem for future Aegor.

Chapter 138

Winter is here.

The sky was dark, and the air carried a biting chill that crept through the gaps in clothing and armor, making men shiver uncontrollably. Beyond the Wall, summer never truly arrived, but even so, the cold had worsened in recent months.

Snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground in an endless sheet of white. Footprints that had been clear moments ago vanished under the fresh layer, leaving nothing but an expanse of unbroken snow in every direction.

"In this gods-forsaken weather, why aren't we huddled by the fire in Castle Black?" Chett muttered angrily, kicking the female hound curled up at his feet. The dog whimpered but quickly scurried back, pressing against his legs, desperately seeking warmth. "Fuck that wight. If we bring it back, are we supposed to make soup out of it?"

"The Old Bear said we're to send the wights to King Robert—to ask for support!" Lark reminded him. "It was Aegor's idea. Didn't you pay attention during the briefing? Or were you too busy gawking at some whore?"

"Aegor again!" Chett spat. "That bastard talked his way into the south, licking that Lannister dwarf's ass to live the good life, and now he writes back to send us to die? What, did I piss on his family's graves?" His pockmarked face twisted in rage, boils reddening with the cold. "Next time he sets foot on the Wall, I swear I'll pin him down and shove a frozen stick of shit up his ass."

"Pin him down?" Edd quipped dryly. "That man's tall and built like an ox, even among the Rangers. And you? You can't even hold down a bitch." He gestured toward the hound clinging to Chett's boots. "Might be a bit difficult."

"Besides," Edd continued, "it's a little ungrateful to be plotting against a man while wearing the leather jerkin and cotton-lined boots he provided. If you're going to curse him, at least strip down first—show some backbone."

"Seven hells! He sent me clothes and boots, and now you expect me to kneel and thank the gods for him?"

"How many times have you eaten his meat?" Edd shrugged. "No need to kneel, you'll get your pants wet, and that'll just make you colder." He sighed, then added, "And if you're smart, you won't make an enemy of him. When he and Will abandoned that fool Waymar Royce to feed the White Walkers and fled back to the Wall, who at Castle Black didn't think he was dead? But not only is he still breathing, he managed to have that idiot's noble father, Yohn Royce, sent to the Wall. Now that is a dangerous man.

"In the entire Night's Watch, there's no one I respect more than him. If he ever comes back, I'll call him 'Chief Logistics Officer' and follow his orders without complaint. Maybe if he's in a good mood, he'll give me new clothes, let me eat meat every day, or even pull me into the logistics department and take me south… Now that would be a fine turn of fortune."

"Bastard chief logistics officer! Bastard Jon Snow! Bastard Sam Tarly!" Chett roared, kicking the dog away in frustration.

Then the horn blew.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then—

A fourth blast.

Three long, one short.

The sound that had never been heard before in all the history of the Night's Watch.

The time for action had come.

---

For more than two months, the Night's Watch had been sending Rangers to capture wights alive. Twice, they had succeeded. Twice, they had failed to bring them back to the Wall, because of the White Walkers.

The first time, the Rangers had fought fiercely, managing to slay a pursuing Walker with dragonglass-tipped arrows. But their captured wight had perished as well, reduced once more to a lifeless corpse.

The second time, they had made a chilling discovery. The White Walkers had begun to adapt. No longer did they blindly charge into battle; now, they wore ice armor, thick enough to blunt the effectiveness of dragonglass arrows. They had also grown more cautious, keeping their distance and using wights as expendable shock troops.

That battle had cost the Watch dearly. The Rangers had suffered heavy casualties. In the end, they had been forced to abandon their captured wights and flee on horseback, escaping just before the dead could encircle them completely.

…

One hundred thousand Free Folk had already left Frostfangs, dragging their families along as they pressed southward. They moved slowly but relentlessly, following the River through the Haunted Forest.

In ten days, perhaps fifteen their vanguard would reach the Wall.

By then, capturing wights would be near impossible.

---

Fortunately, the White Walkers had not yet caught on to the Night's Watch's plan to capture wights alive but three times was pushing their luck. If they continued with blind attempts, not only would the casualties mount, but if these intelligent creatures uncovered their intentions and began taking precautions, then the entire plan to bring a wight to King's Landing as proof of their existence would be doomed.

Time was running out for the Night's Watch. If they were going to succeed, they needed to act now.

Through scouting reports and the confessions of captured wildlings, the Watch had uncovered a crucial piece of information: Winter was awakening the dark magic north of the Wall. The process of corpse reanimation was becoming more frequent—whether human or animal, no matter the cause of death, no matter how deep it was buried. As long as a body lay north of the Wall and had not completely decayed, it would eventually rise as a wight, some quickly, others more slowly.

With the dead rising everywhere, the White Walkers—few in number—could not always appear immediately to gather them under their command.

This time gap between reanimation and control presented an opportunity.

So Jeor Mormont issued a new order:

Find the scattered wights in the Haunted Forest, before the White Walkers came for them.

The signal was simple.

Three blasts of the horn meant White Walkers had been spotted. At that sound, all brothers were to retreat south immediately to avoid casualties.

But if a fourth blast followed?

It meant wights had been found with no White Walkers in sight.

---

Tension ran high.

With so many Rangers lost in the past missions, craftsmen and officers—men who had never stepped beyond the Wall before, had been drafted into the wight-capturing operation. They had heard the stories, of course. Every Ranger who returned from patrol spoke of the horrors beyond the Wall.

But hearing and seeing were two different things.

For most of them, this was their first time encountering the creatures.

And when the horn blew, a cold dread settled into their bones. Some felt an involuntary urge to piss themselves.

The hounds reacted too. Their instincts recognized the unnatural chill carried by the horn's call. They whined and shifted uneasily, their restlessness growing.

Chett, who had just been shoving the dogs away in irritation, now had to wrestle with their reins, struggling to keep them under control.

Edd tightened his grip on his sword hilt and shouted up into the trees, "Will! What do you see?"

"They're coming," the poacher's voice drifted down. "Something's wrong, there's more of them this time!"

"Any White Walkers?" Edd pressed. "Check carefully! They're cunning—some might not be on horseback!"

Will hesitated before calling back, "About twenty to the north, a dozen more northeast—Seven Hells, more are coming from behind! I don't see any Walkers yet, but I need to get down! If I wait too long, I won't make it!"

A lone rider galloped through the snow toward them, Ser Jaremy Rykker, the man who had taken over as First Ranger after Benjen Stark's disappearance.

"Too many wights! Switch to the second plan—mount up!"

"Look there, in the trees!"

From the shadowed depths of the Haunted Forest, the dead emerged.

They burst from between the black trunks, rushing forward through the deep snow, their stiff limbs barely slowed by the slippery ground. Their bodies had long lost any warmth, leaving them coated in ice and debris. Camouflaged by frost and snow, they blended into the frozen landscape.

Had they remained motionless, they would have been nearly impossible to spot.

Now, moving as they were, there was no telling how many there truly were.

"Mount up!"

"Wait! Don't leave me!"

"Will, stay in the tree! It's saved you twice before, let it save you again!" Ser Jaremy bellowed. "Don't hesitate, if they surround you, you're done! Save the dragonglass arrows, only use them when it counts!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 139

Amid the neighing of horses, the barking of hounds, and the chaotic din of the encampment, the rangers responsible for tracking and luring the wights rode past the gathered men in pairs and small groups. The rest of the Night's Watch, who had been waiting in anticipation, hurriedly mounted their steeds, leaving behind various belongings in their rush. There was no time to retrieve them. At the urging of the chief ranger, they spurred their horses forward, following the hounds along the predetermined route through the snow.

Woo—woo—woo… Woo!

The horn sounded again, three long blasts followed by a short one, just like before. This meant that the sentinels had once more confirmed the presence of wights but had seen no White Walkers, signaling that the plan could proceed. However, the ranger who blew the horn had lingered too long. He should have mounted his horse and ridden to safety before sending the signal a second time. But fear and duty warred within him, clouding his judgment. His powerful, resonant blast inevitably drew the attention of the wights. The rock he had been standing on was soon besieged by the undead.

Will watched the scene unfold from his perch in the tree. The young man, realizing his mistake too late, dropped the horn and leapt from the boulder, sprinting toward the horses. But before he could reach them, wights emerged from the forest ahead, cutting off his escape. He tore the short spear from his belt, its tip made of dragonglass and drove it into the chest of the nearest wight. When he wrenched it free, the spearhead snapped from the sheer force of the strike. Weaponless, he threw the broken shaft aside and ran a few more steps before an undead direwolf, its belly torn open with its intestines spilling out, lunged from the side and dragged him to the ground.

A strangled scream rang out then was abruptly cut short.

…

Will clung to the tree trunk high above, trembling. He gripped his dragonglass dagger so tightly his knuckles turned white, barely daring to breathe. He admitted to himself that he was a coward. That night, when Ser Waymar Royce fought the White Walkers, Will had hidden in the trees, watching the young knight perish. But at least he had been following orders, his superiors had commanded him to remain in the tree and await further instructions. By sheer luck, he had survived, bringing back Ser Waymar's shattered sword and the grim news of the White Walkers' return to Castle Black. His merit had outweighed his failure. If someone accused him of desertion and tried to take his head for it, he would have been the first to protest.

But what about the last time, when he led the search for Benjen Stark? His party had encountered a foe more terrifying than any wildling—a man who commanded hundreds of wights. Armed with weapons crafted specifically to fight the White Walkers, Will had still been too terrified to stand his ground. Instead, he had seized his horse and fled. He had clutched the dragonglass dagger given to him by Aegor all the way but rather than wielding it in battle, he had prayed for it to grant him safe passage.

The first weapon to slay a White Walker in a thousand years. In Aegor's hands, it had been the nemesis of mankind's ancient enemy. In Will's hands, it had been nothing but a lucky charm. If the dagger had a mind of its own, it would probably weep at its own uselessness—or perhaps, out of sheer shame, it would shatter itself.

And his cowardice hadn't ended there. After stumbling back to Castle Black, he had lied. He told Lord Commander Mormont that he had remained in the trees to keep watch, that he had waited until his brothers were slain and turned into wights before coming down to search for a horse. A deserter and a liar—his crimes were indefensible, even to himself.

Benjen Stark and his men never returned. In time, the world simply assumed they were all dead. And so, no one was left alive to expose Will for what he truly was. To his brothers in black, he became the man who had "escaped from the White Walkers twice." Though he was never promoted, men were reassured by his presence whenever he rode beyond the Wall. When no senior officer was present, they would even look to him for leadership. The whole thing was laughable.

---

Below the tree, the forest was crawling with wights. Ser Jeremy had claimed, "There are too many of them." But that was an understatement. It wasn't just many, it was a horde. Hundreds of wights streamed past Will's hiding place, all moving at different speeds, chasing after the Night's Watch rangers who had just retreated. Among them were wight direwolves, wight bears, even wight giants.

The undead giant was slower than the rest of the pack but its strides were long, covering great distances with deceptive speed. Its pursuit was relentless. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four. The ground trembled beneath its weight as it drew closer to Will's tree. It was twice the height of a man. If it still had the same agility it had possessed in life, it could easily leap up and pluck him from the branches.

Will shut his eyes and began to mutter a frantic prayer to the gods.

But in his heart, he knew: if the gods truly watched over men, they would bless heroes like Benjen Stark. Not cravens like him.

Boom—

The giant's body slammed into the tree, making it sway violently. Snow tumbled from the branches, dusting Will's face as he clung desperately to the trunk. His skin scraped against the bark, but he held on with all his strength.

If he was going to die, at least let it be when the tree fell.

Gradually, the shaking subsided. Silence returned. Will risked a glance downward and saw that the undead were slowly moving away. The giant still staggered as it walked, occasionally colliding with nearby trees. Then he noticed—this particular wight was lame. It had only struck his tree by sheer misfortune.

The danger passed, and the world fell still once more. But Will did not dare climb down. The horn-blower lay motionless in the snow, his body slick with blood. It was only a matter of time before he would rise again—this time as something other.

Will decided to wait. If the others succeeded in their mission, they would return with the horses and retrieve him.

This place was too far from the Wall. He had no desire to make the journey back on foot, relying only on his meager survival skills.

---

The Night's Watch had split into three groups, each retreating in a different direction. As a result, the pursuing wights had divided as well. Without the White Walkers' command, they were mindless, more so than the dumbest beasts. They chased anything that moved, their endurance and speed unnatural.

The only blessing was that most wights were still slower than a galloping horse. That gave the Night's Watch time to maneuver to lead the undead into their trap.

A single scout, mounted on the fastest horse, darted between the three fleeing groups, relaying messages and coordinating their retreat. Through careful planning, he helped the rangers evade most of the slower wights. They fled, stopped, lured the dead forward until at last, they reached their ambush point.

"We're here for corpses, not beasts!" Ser Jeremy Lake shouted. "Wolves, bears, they're too dangerous. Kill them all! Keep your distance!"

"A giant!" a ranger called out. "What do we do?"

"Shoot it! Unless you plan to drag that thing all the way to King's Landing as a gift for King Robert!"

"Dragonglass arrows don't work on it! I've shot it twice already,it's still moving!"

"Then burn it! A beast that big should catch fire easily!" The new chief ranger barked his orders. "Get to it—now! The trap is just ahead!"

Setting something ablaze while riding at full speed wasn't easy. Fortunately, one of the rangers had been carrying a lit torch. He rode alongside an archer, lighting the man's fire arrow before veering away. The archer waited until the flame had heated the arrowhead red-hot, then turned in his saddle, drew back his bow, and let the fiery missile fly straight at the wight giant.

The target was massive, and even the worst archer could hardly miss. The flame on the arrowhead flickered out as it cut through the frigid air, but the red-hot tip soon reignited the oilcloth wrapped around it. Under the watchful eyes of several Night's Watch rangers, the tattered animal pelts draped over the wight giant suddenly caught fire.

…

The trap was just ahead. The rangers urged their horses forward, quickly skirting the pit and leading the pursuing wights straight into it.

The ground gave way. The fastest of the undead lost their footing and plunged into the deep pit below with a thunderous crash, like a collapsing house. Those that followed had no sense to avoid the trap and tumbled in one after another, falling into the pit like dumplings dropped into a pot.

A cheer rose from the men as they reined in their horses.

The pit was three meters deep, its walls steep and sheer. The wights that had fallen in would have a hard time climbing out. The plan had worked. Now, the Night's Watch could stand at the edge of the pit and inspect their captives as if selecting livestock at a market—choosing the best ones to bring back to Castle Black.

The idea was sound. Reality, however, had other plans.

The wight giant that had been chasing them, its body now fully engulfed in flames, was still moving. Normally, corpses burned quickly, collapsing into lifeless husks within moments. But this one was different. Perhaps because of its sheer size, or perhaps because of the lingering ice magic within its corpse, it remained standing—its "vitality" unnaturally strong. Staggering forward, it charged straight toward the pit.

"Stop it!" Jeremy roared. "It'll burn our catch!"

The last of their dragonglass arrows flew at the wight giant in rapid succession though at this point, "fire giant" seemed a more fitting name. But the creature's momentum was too great. Even as the arrows struck, it toppled forward, plunging into the pit, crushing the tightly packed wights beneath it and spreading the flames to the rest of the undead.

"Get the nets—now!" The chief ranger's voice was sharp with urgency. Their scouts had reported that a wildling vanguard was more than ten miles to the northwest, while the army of the dead led by the White Walkers was directly north. Finding another group of wights without White Walkers controlling them would not be easy. If they failed to capture specimens now, the Night's Watch would not get another chance. "Save our prey!"

The men sprang into action. Moments ago, they had been shooting at the wights now they were trying to rescue them. Some rangers remained on guard, weapons drawn, scanning the darkness for threats. Others rushed to the large net bags prepared beside the pit and threw them down into the flames.

Soon, a wight was caught in the net. With a shouted command, several men heaved it up, pulling the struggling, half-burning creature from the pit. Two rangers rushed forward, smothering the flames with their gloved hands. Another two joined in, forcing the thrashing wight into a sack and pinning it to the ground.

Below, the last of the wight giant's strength burned away. It finally ceased moving, its massive form crumbling into the inferno. Whether it was the evaporation of bodily fluids or the presence of corpse oil in its decayed flesh, the fire burned hotter and brighter, turning the pit into a seething cauldron of flame. It was no longer just a trap, it looked like the very entrance to hell.

"Stay clear of the pit! Secure the captives and head back to Castle Black!" Jeremy exhaled, relieved. "Teams One and Two, you're on escort duty, don't stop for anything. Team Three, with me we're circling back to check for any brothers who need rescue!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 140

Winter had come, but in the warm South, life carried on—perhaps not smoothly, but just barely.

As a proper sworn brother of the Night's Watch, Aegor had no idea what thrilling dangers his brothers were facing beyond the Wall, where wildlings gathered and all manner of monsters roamed. He was safe, tucked away in the Night's Watch's first office in King's Landing, yet utterly exasperated by the burdens that came with it.

---

The first of those burdens was the sheer volume of work that came with managing both family and business—bond sales, loan processing, account balancing, negotiations with clients, even training the so-called "security team." Tedious beyond words. And on top of all that, there was the matter of finding profitable ventures, exploring new markets, and devising ways to make use of the sudden windfall of four thousand gold dragons in cash.

After only a few days in King's Landing, Aegor quickly understood why Tyrion spoke so highly of Nina. To be fair, the girl didn't necessarily do things better than he did himself. The key was that she could handle things alone. Aegor had assigned tasks to others as well, but young men like Casey would inevitably come to him whenever a difficult decision arose, seeking guidance on how to proceed. Nina, on the other hand, he never had to worry about anything he left in her hands.

Take the dragonglass mine that the old miner had introduced to Tyrion, for example. As long as the money was in place, she managed it independently, without need for constant oversight.

If Nina had lived in the modern world Aegor once knew, at best, she would have been an office clerk or a boss's secretary. But in this world, where the ability to add, subtract, multiply, and divide made one a rare talent, someone who could truly shoulder an entrepreneur's burdens was the most valuable resource of all.

Aegor had tried to find and cultivate more people like her, but to no avail. It was only then that he realized: Nina was someone worth keeping by his side at any cost.

In matters of recognizing and utilizing talent, Aegor, who had never been a leader before coming to this world was still far behind his partner.

…

Then there was the little she-wolf who lingered in his office all day, clinging to him and causing no end of trouble.

"A very talented girl. With proper training, she'll make a fine swordsman… Of course, given Miss Stark's status, learning swordplay is useless beyond mere amusement."

This was Oberyn Martell's parting assessment of Arya before he left.

The prince had spoken with a serious expression, making it clear he was not jesting. Dorne had no desire to entrench itself within the heart of House Baratheon's rule, so Oberyn had no reason to flatter the Hand's youngest daughter. That made such high praise from a master of combat all the more telling.

Beyond that, Oberyn had unwittingly done Aegor another favor. After witnessing the Red Viper's terrifying skill firsthand, Arya had learned from her new best friend—Margaery, that Aegor had once exchanged dozens of blows with the prince without coming to harm.

Having seen Oberyn's prowess with her own eyes, Arya had no choice but to acknowledge her master's strength once more, and she obediently returned to her training.

In short, things had improved.

For now, at least, Aegor no longer had to suffer under his own student's defiant assaults. But his advantage wouldn't last. His technique was still largely reliant on what he had learned at Castle Black, and with time, Arya would catch on. Realizing this, he made a decision: no matter how busy he was, he would dedicate time each day to sparring with her.

Not only would it help him maintain his own fitness, but it would also strengthen their master-apprentice bond, reestablishing his authority after two months of separation. And perhaps, just perhaps it would improve his swordsmanship as well.

After all, if he ever found himself facing an assassin from Braavos who fought in the Water Dance style, at least he wouldn't be completely helpless.

In a sense, he was stealing from her training. Fortunately, Jaqen H'ghar, with his ever-cryptic demeanor, never exposed him. And Arya who could hold her own in battle against the Night's Watch remained blissfully unaware, naively assuming her master was simply going easy on her.

…

Those were two unavoidable annoyances. But the third, the one that came knocking at his door was truly a headache.

Margaery Tyrell had started visiting the office under the guise of learning swordplay.

Unlike Arya, who trained seriously from morning till evening, the Little Rose always arrived at just the right time, right before Aegor and Arya sat down for lunch. She would feign interest in swordplay, share a meal with them, and then promptly excuse herself with various pretexts. In truth, the time she spent dining far exceeded the time she spent training.

After two such encounters, how could Aegor not see through her game?

The sword lessons were a farce. What the Little Rose truly sought was the opportunity to have lunch with Arya and extract information from the little she-wolf.

First, the conversation would revolve around swordplay. Then it would drift toward daily life, then family matters. From Bran, the topic would shift to Sansa. From Sansa, to Jon. And from Jon, inevitably, to Arya's father—Eddard Stark.

With practiced ease, Margaery inquired about the Hand's health, his work, his daily routine. Her curiosity never seemed unnatural, never felt forced. And before their meal was even finished, the conversation had shifted once again—this time, to rumors.

That is, to the Queen.

Her methods were leagues beyond Aegor's own. This Little Rose was still fixated on becoming queen. She must have been hoping that Eddard Stark would uncover the truth about Cersei and Jaime's affair, that Robert would cast Cersei aside, leaving an opening for Margaery to take the throne.

Aegor knew she was using him to gather information. But he allowed it because he wanted information, too. If someone was willing to do the work for him, why not sit back and listen?

With that mindset, what had seemed like an intrusion became a convenience.

The bad news?

From Arya's vague but honest accounts, it seemed their model Hand of the King was indeed investigating Cersei and Jaime.

And if that was true…

The stability of the Seven Kingdoms was on the verge of collapse.

---

If Eddard uncovered the truth, would he fall back on his old habits, going to Cersei, pleading with her to flee with her children only for the queen to seize the opportunity to kill Robert, throwing the realm into chaos?

Aegor cared about the peace and stability of Westeros. But not everyone in this world had such lofty concerns. Some people only thought about the worst possible outcomes.

On the fourth day after Janos Slynt had taken his men to Nina's house to invite her to dinner, only to be stopped by Aegor—and the fourth day since the Chief Logistics Officer's return to King's Landing, the Night's Watch had been so busy they had nearly forgotten about Janos Slynt.

But Slynt had not forgotten about them.

The City Watch launched a raid on the Night's Watch's papermaking workshop inside the city—and arrested Neil.

---

"They just took him? On what charges?" Aegor frowned, staring at the workshop employee who had rushed over to report the news. "What did they find during the search?"

"Nothing. They arrested him for obstructing the inspection. Then they told the family they could come pick him up."

"Impossible! I warned my brother about this." Nina's face darkened with worry. "I told him, no matter what Slynt tries, he must control his temper. He must not give them an excuse to interfere."

"Neil didn't do anything," the worker insisted. "He just stood at the door and asked for their identification. That's all. Then two gold cloaks grabbed him and dragged him away. It's obvious they were looking for trouble!"

As Aegor listened, he ran a hand through his hair in irritation.

You take on the responsibility that comes with your status. There's no such thing as a free lunch.

Being the boss meant enjoying the privileges of leadership but it also meant dealing with the consequences when your people were targeted.

Using family as leverage was an old trick. But in a world as old-fashioned as this one, it made sense.

Still, at least Slynt had made his move.

A thief might steal for a thousand days, but no man could guard against thieves forever. Better to force the confrontation now, end it, and be done with him. Instead of constantly wondering what trouble this greasy, middle-aged fool would stir up next, Aegor would rather settle things quickly. He had already saved Eddard once. Now, he was preoccupied with figuring out how to save Robert or Cersei.

He had no time to waste on small men like Janos Slynt.

"First," Aegor said, his voice cold, "send word to the informants in the brothels. I want a full report on Janos Slynt—his background, his connections. I want to know exactly how he rose to become the commander of the City Watch and why he thinks he can throw his weight around in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms."

His mind was already working several steps ahead, despite his anger.

Nina was his person. That was non-negotiable. He would not abandon her.

But if this could be handled without escalating matters into a full-blown confrontation, all the better. The times were uncertain, and caution was wise.

"Send word to Tyrion," he continued. "See what he thinks about all this. And move Nina's parents into the Night's Watch Industrial Park. Inform the security team, they are to be well protected."

"Yes, sir!"

Aegor nodded but then, just as the messenger turned to leave, he hesitated.

Wait.

The Night's Watch industry had considerable power and influence in King's Landing. But pulling those strings came with a cost. Favors owed. Debts to be repaid. If it could be avoided, it should be.

So why not use the resources that had already fallen into his lap first?

Aegor stopped the messenger. "Hold on."

"Sir?"

"Find a place to sit for a while. Stay out of sight. Then, when we're at dinner, when Miss Stark, Miss Tyrell, and I are seated together come back. Report the news again. But this time, act like it's the first time."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering.

"Then say this…"

(To be continued.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 141

"How could someone act like this!" Arya fumed after hearing the informant's exaggerated report, which had been carefully coached by Aegor. "Just because Nina didn't have dinner with him, he held a grudge and arrested her brother?"

"This is abuse of power, plain and simple," Margaery chimed in, feigning innocence and indignation while casting a meaningful glance at Aegor. She didn't believe this was all coincidence, but she couldn't tell what exactly the Night's Watchman was scheming. "You should ask your father, Lord Eddard, to give that man a proper beating."

"I'll tell Father as soon as I get home!" Arya said, grabbing Nina's hand. "Don't be afraid. I'll get your brother out tomorrow!"

"Thank you, Miss Stark…"

"Don't! The Hand is very busy, don't trouble him with such small matters." Aegor quickly waved it off. Eddard Stark was a bit rigid, but he wasn't stupid. Blatantly using Arya in this way could easily earn his disapproval. Such a powerful backer and trump card should be saved for when one was in real trouble. It was too extravagant to use it now—for Neil, who wasn't even in danger. "Let's handle this ourselves. Oh… trouble… Lady Margaery, may I ask when you plan to leave King's Landing?"

"Perhaps in three or four days. I don't have much keeping me here," the girl replied with a tinge of sadness. That part wasn't an act. Though the Tyrells ruled the Reach, they were under pressure from the alliance of five great houses—Baratheon, Stark, Arryn, Tully, and Lannister. No one with true influence was willing to openly associate with her. Among all her recent contacts, Arya Stark held the highest status.

"Tsk, that's troublesome." Aegor slapped his thigh with a look of irritation. "Neil, he's the one I arranged to train the technical backbone. He's in charge of teaching workers the papermaking and printing processes in the Riverlands and Dorne, and leading the team back to Highgarden with you, Lady Margaery… If I can't get him out in the next few days, that'll be a major setback!"

Nina looked at Aegor in surprise. He clearly hadn't planned this… Could it be—

…

So that's what this was about. Margaery narrowed her eyes. She stared at Aegor for a moment and said, "In that case, please assign someone else quickly, Master Aegor. We can't let clients who've paid handsomely for technology be kept waiting just because you can't get your man out."

"Exactly. Lady Margaery and Ser Oberyn were our very first customers to purchase the technology and paid generously. I dare not show any negligence. That's why I specially selected the inventor of the papermaking process—the developer, the one who improved the technique, and the only one who fully understands the principles and methodology to lead the team. I have only two such people. One is Neil. The other is his sister, the young lady beside me—Nina."

Aegor put on a troubled expression. "Aside from these two, sending anyone else might not suffice. If any issues arise on-site, they wouldn't be able to resolve them. But now Neil has been detained by Slynt, and Nina is assisting me here… I really don't have anyone suitable."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Margaery asked, sounding innocent but inwardly, she was fuming. She should have paid only half the deposit. This petty Night's Watchman was clearly holding a grudge over the bargaining match from two days prior and wanted to get back at her.

"Perhaps we could delay the mission a bit," Aegor suggested, looking helpless. "Lady Margaery can return to Highgarden first. I'll work on securing his release and preparing everything else. Once it's ready, I'll send the team to find you.

"Or… we could go ahead without the full staff. But if problems arise, resolving them will take time, messages sent back and forth, delays…"

Margaery glared at Aegor in frustration.

(How can he be like this? Just because I came to his office for two meals and asked a few questions of his apprentice, he refuses to let me go unless I use the Tyrell family's connections?)

She rarely let her emotions show, but for some reason, this man in black seemed able to see right through her.

In that case—well, at least she didn't have to pretend anymore.

Aegor feigned ignorance to her expression and stepped forward, speaking half to himself: "Lady Margaery, perhaps you could speak to your brother, ask Ser Loras to have a word with the City Watch. Surely Slynt wouldn't dare ignore the honor of the Knight of Flowers?"

Arya jumped in immediately. "Yes, Margaery! My master is just a Night's Watchman. He's strong, but he can't just rush over and chop that bad guy down. That guy's really brave. We need someone even stronger to scare him!"

Aegor was pleased. At last, the little girl was saying something sensible.

Margaery rolled her eyes. Just like her, Loras was only somewhat well-known in King's Landing and didn't hold much real influence. Janos Slynt could easily ignore him. Aegor wasn't counting on Loras Tyrell, he was counting on Renly Baratheon behind him.

The King's brother, the Lord of Storm's End, and a powerful member of the Small Council, getting someone released from the City Watch was a trivial matter for him. One word would suffice—no trouble at all.

For the Tyrells, it truly was a small matter. What annoyed Margaery was the feeling of being used.

Had Aegor brought this up to her face-to-face, she would've rejected him outright. But now that Arya had gotten involved, the situation became messy.

To maintain her image in Arya's eyes, she couldn't use any of her usual tricks and had walked straight into Aegor's trap.

Though annoyed, it wasn't worth fighting over. She cast a warning glare at Aegor… then, just as quickly, it faded. She returned to her usual role as the sweet, naive young lady from Highgarden who loved swordplay but lacked any true talent.

She hesitated, then said in a soft, uncertain voice, "Then… I'll go back and try talking to Loras."

---

Though Margaery had reluctantly taken over the matter, she wouldn't turn on Aegor over something this small not when they were business partners.

Once the Tyrells had secured Neil's release and Janos Slynt saw just how deep their connections ran, Margaery would send a few gifts to his house to apologize. The carrot and the stick there was no need to be afraid that Slynt wouldn't yield.

And if he didn't accept the olive branch? So be it. As long as Aegor wasn't caught, with the connections he had and his unique identity as a Night's Watchman, what could Slynt really do to him?

After office matters were handled, including the production and upcoming release of new products like solid lipsticks and soaps, two unexpected visitors arrived.

"Ser, two strange old men have come to call. They claim to be wise men."

"Oh?" Aegor smiled. The pyromancers had arrived.

Word must've gotten out about the reward Robert had promised him.

"Invite them in."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 142

Robert had not yet returned to King's Landing, but his royal decrees had already been delivered to the capital of the Seven Kingdoms by his men. Just as it had been when Aegor was appointed to the Night's Watch two months prior, the king himself might forget what he said or ordered, but the one who heard it, the one charged with issuing it, and especially the one receiving the order none of them could afford to forget.

Robert's decision regarding how to deal with the Pyromancers' Guild had, through various channels, already reached the "wise men" of the Alchemists' Guild.

Two elderly men entered the office, one of whom Aegor already knew. The other was even older, frail, and unsteady on his feet.

"Good afternoon, wise men." Aegor set aside his worries and greeted them with a bright smile. "If you hadn't come to see me, I was just about to visit you. Please, take a seat."

"Hmph!" The older pyromancer pulled a chair over and sat with a sour expression.

"Lord Aegor, this is Wisdom Hallyne, whom you can consider my superior," Dak said, far more courteous than his companion. He quietly took a seat and offered the introduction, then remained silent.

"What a capable Chief Logistics Officer." Hallyne lips trembled as he spat out the words. "Our Alchemists' Guild has already fallen to such a pitiful state, and you still think it's not miserable enough. Now you want to send us to the Wall? Are you trying to kill off us old men?"

"The Wisdoms gathered and reached a consensus, going to the Wall is absolutely unacceptable. After all, we are old men. At worst, we'll be beheaded…" Dak, having met Aegor before, remained calm and composed as he spoke. "Lord Aegor, if you want wildfire, there's plenty in the vaults. You can use it freely. Why report it to His Majesty and make things difficult for us?"

…

So that was the root of it. Aegor had wondered why the two had arrived with such aggression. He spoke at once. "Where is this coming from? When did I ever say I was sending you to the Wall?"

"Don't play dumb! Today, King Robert's men sent word, ordering that the wildfire be sealed and disposed of immediately, with only assistants left behind to manage it. All those capable of producing wildfire are to go north and serve the Night's Watch. The pretty boy delivering the message told us—'Ask Aegor for the details. Everything is up to him.' Are you really going to deny this is your doing?!"

"Fine. That part is indeed my doing," Aegor admitted with a wave of his hand. "But wait—what do you mean by doing? I did request His Majesty's assistance from the Alchemists' Guild. But—who ever said that serving the Night's Watch meant going to the Wall? I have no intention of killing you. I want you to regain your dignity and respect, to let your knowledge and abilities shine, and contribute to the realm."

Hallyne scowled. "Spare us the lofty words! The man Robert sent said we are to follow your command. Once we leave King's Landing, our lives are in your hands. I just want to ask: if we're not going to the Wall, then where are we going, and how exactly are we supposed to serve the Night's Watch?"

---

Aegor smiled. "Nina, bring me the map of the North."

"Yes, ser."

The girl quickly hurried to the cabinet by the wall and began searching. Watching her focused movements, Aegor sighed inwardly. It felt like a waste of talent to keep such a capable girl by his side as a secretary. But after she had become so familiar with the work, he simply couldn't find a suitable replacement. In Westeros today, where could one find so many smart, diligent, and capable young women? Arya barely qualified, if not for being too young and far too unruly. Margaery had a mind sharper than most men, but would a noble lady be willing—or allowed—to spend her days working in the Night's Watch office?

As the thought passed, Nina returned with the map. "Ser, should I open it?"

"Yes. Open it."

He brushed the clutter from his desk, and the A2-sized map of the North was spread out. The curled edges were weighed down with heavy objects. The entire northern region, including the Wall, was laid bare atop the Night's Watch office desk.

…

"Please relay what I'm about to say to the rest of the guild." Aegor pointed to the edge of the map and traced a line along the dotted border. "Disregarding the lands Beyond the Wall, this here is the northernmost boundary of the Seven Kingdoms—the Wall. The Night's Watch's three strongholds, its nineteen castles, and nearly a thousand sworn brothers are spread along this stretch. Most of our manpower and assets are concentrated along the Wall that much is true. So, when you heard you were to serve the Night's Watch and assumed you'd be sent to the Wall, that was understandable. I fully understand your concern. But that is not my plan."

Hearing that they wouldn't be sent to the Wall, the two old men visibly relaxed. Wisdom Hallyne no longer trembled, nor did his lips quiver. "Then where are we going, and what exactly do you want us to do? Please speak plainly, Chief Logistics Officer."

"South of the Wall," Aegor began, gesturing again to the map, "from the western mountains to the endless coastal plains along the Bay of Seals, lies a vast expanse known as the Gifted Lands. It spans hundreds of miles. Long ago, to support the defense of the Wall, the rulers of the North and the Iron Throne gifted this land, permanently to the Night's Watch."

He pointed to the territory in question. "Everything on this land, from the crops above to the resources buried beneath, belongs to the Night's Watch. The residents who live there pay taxes to us, in goods or labor to help us survive."

"My lord, what you said is already well known." Hallyne rapped his knuckles on the table, cutting him off. "I understand what you mean, serving the Night's Watch doesn't necessarily mean going to the Wall. We could go to the Gifted Lands. But what's the difference? The Gifted Lands are cold and desolate. You could ride all day without seeing a soul. And there are wildlings roaming about, pillaging and murdering! How long do you think a bunch of old men in their fifties and sixties could survive in a place like that?"

Aegor straightened up. "There's a big difference. It's true the Gifted Lands are vast and sparsely populated, but that's mostly due to frequent wildling raids. The climate, however, is far better than what lies beyond the Wall. The Wall blocks the bitter winds from the Lands of Always Winter, making the temperature on the southern side far more tolerable than the north. It snows occasionally, yes, but it won't freeze a man to death."

Claiming that a 700-foot-high Wall could block arctic winds was absurd—but it was true that the Gifted Lands were warmer than Beyond the Wall. And since the pyromancers didn't know much about geography or weather, it was easy enough to sell the idea. "There are mountains, rivers, and fertile soil. You can plant crops, raise livestock. There are even scattered settlements. What I want from the Wisdoms is to choose a place in the Gifted Lands to establish a base and provide the Night's Watch with a stable supply of wildfire to help repel wildling attacks. The Night's Watch needs your knowledge. Do you think we'd leave our own elders out in the cold, or let wildlings cut them down?"

"Choose a place to settle?" Hallyne huffed. "I'm an old man who's never even been to the North. How am I supposed to pick a place? Stop dodging the question, tell us your plan clearly! Unless we are properly settled and treated with dignity, we're not going anywhere!"

"Fine!" Aegor didn't want to waste more time debating with them. With gold in hand, he spoke with confidence. He pointed to a spot on the map. "The site I've chosen for the Alchemists' Guild is Queen's Crown."

"Queen's Crown?" The name sounded grand—but unfamiliar.

"It's a location in the central heart of Night's Watch territory, not far from the Kingsroad," Aegor began. "Queen Alysanne Targaryen once spent the night in the tower there. The locals painted the top of the tower gold in her honor, so it looked like it wore a crown hence the name."

"How many people live there? Is it developed? Are there supplies, food, warm housing?"

"Because of repeated wildling raids, the residents fled long ago. The village is abandoned, only empty homes remain." Aegor explained calmly, then added, "But I intend to rebuild it. I'll send teams north to recruit stonemasons and other craftsmen from the North. We'll renovate the houses and towers, raise walls, and establish Queen's Crown as the first logistics base for the Night's Watch—complete with warm, safe lodging, and dedicated space for configuring and producing wildfire."

He swept his hand across the map. "Once that's complete, the Wisdoms of the Alchemists' Guild will be the first to move in. In time, Queen's Crown will become the only place in all of Westeros, perhaps the world capable of producing wildfire. This weapon, long ignored and dismissed by King Robert and the South, will once again blaze on the frontlines of the war for the Wall. And the Wisdoms of the Alchemists' Guild will regain the honor and purpose that was long denied them in King's Landing."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 143

When Lord Commander Mormont decided to treat hired auxiliaries separately from the "true Night's Watch," Aegor was briefly frustrated—his infiltration plan had been seen through. But as time passed and the Night's Watch industry flourished, his thoughts gradually began to shift.

The hundreds of full-time, professional soldiers within the Night's Watch were certainly not a force to be underestimated, but their overall quality was lacking. Only the Black Brothers serving as Rangers could truly be considered a professional fighting force. Compared to trying to influence such a mixed and unruly group, wouldn't it be better to establish a clean, independent force one wholly his own and built on a stronger foundation?

Aegor had already made up his mind to claim a site within the Gifted Lands to construct his first base. But when the four thousand gold dragons were actually secured a few days ago, he brought the construction plans forward ahead of schedule, now backed by ample funds. The purpose was not, as it appeared, to accommodate the pyromancers—in truth, "providing a base for the Wisdoms to produce wildfire" was merely one of several pretexts to justify acquiring Queen's Crown.

Since Mormont was determined to draw a line between the Logistics Department and the "orthodox" Night's Watch, Aegor would follow that logic and go further, establishing a force that outwardly appeared affiliated with the Night's Watch but in fact had no formal chain of command under it. A force in name only, which might even one day rival the Watch in power.

Of course, he could never utter such treasonous thoughts aloud. To carve out a portion of the Gifted Lands to be used exclusively by a "Logistics Department" that didn't answer to Castle Black, if one were to exaggerate the matter, it would be akin to a miniature land division, a political maneuver rarely tolerated in Westeros. A bold step, to be sure, but one that must be taken with great caution, under the protection of carefully prepared, seemingly legitimate justifications.

Aegor had prepared three main ones:

First, since the Lord Commander had decreed that the mercenaries under the Logistics Department were to be trained outside Castle Black, they would need a place to do so, no?

Second, as the Wisdoms themselves argued, wildfire could not be transported all the way from King's Landing to the Wall. Was there any place more suitable than the Gifted Lands to store, produce, and move wildfire under cold, stable conditions?

Third, the Night's Watch had an enormous and growing demand for supplies, especially food and meat to improve the diet of the Black Brothers but these had limited shelf lives. After Nina did the calculations, she determined it was far more cost-effective to purchase directly from the North and deliver to the Wall, rather than shipping everything up from the South.

All three points supported the same conclusion: the Night's Watch Logistics Department required a base that lay within the Watch's sphere of influence but also close to the heart of the North.

Aegor's final choice was Queen's Crown. Located just south of Castle Black, near the Kingsroad, and almost at the geometric center of the Gifted Lands, it was the ideal location. It lay equally close to both the eastern and western ends of the Wall, allowing support to be dispatched quickly to any part of the Wall or wildfire, stored provisions, and food to be delivered to any stronghold… or even any territory within the North.

Though the village had been abandoned, Aegor had passed through it once, somewhat casually, while traveling south with Tyrion. Its infrastructure—roads and foundations—remained largely intact, meaning construction materials and labor costs could be significantly reduced. Most importantly, its status as "abandoned" gave Mormont little ground to refuse Aegor's application. After all, what objection could there be to the department that regularly supplied the Watch with goods settling in an empty village?

As Tyrion once said, this was an open scheme. Unless Mormont suffered a sudden lapse of reason and chose to rupture their alliance, he could do nothing but watch as Aegor advanced step by step toward a future where he could stand on equal footing… and control his own fate.

---

"That all sounds very impressive," said Wisdom Hallyne. A man who had witnessed the rise and fall of dynasties, a veteran of many courts and intrigues, he was not easily swayed by Aegor's grand vision. "We'll see what it's actually like when we get there. Even if I believe in the Chief Logistics Officer's intentions, you'll have to properly arrange housing and supplies for our Alchemists and their apprentice assistants before we agree to anything else."

"Certainly. Whatever the Guild requires, just say the word. If it's within my ability, I'll see it done."

With funds in hand, Aegor spoke with confidence. But the longer Hallyne went on, the more he realized the matter was far more complicated than he'd expected. What he thought was a lucky opportunity might, in the eyes of others, be more like inheriting a burden.

---

The Alchemists' Guild was in far worse shape than even the Night's Watch had imagined. During the chaos when Lannister forces breached the gates of King's Landing and ended the Targaryen dynasty, many pyromancers had either died or vanished, leaving the order grievously weakened.

After the war, Robert Baratheon issued a decree: they were to manage the vast stores of wildfire hidden beneath the city. This order was non-negotiable, and it meant that a group of pyromancers, along with their apprentices and assistants, were now permanently bound to a deadly task from which they could never withdraw. Until the end of their days, they would be caretakers of volatile, flammable substances.

Do the job well, and there would be no reward. Make a mistake and lose your head.

The arrangement itself wasn't entirely unreasonable. What was unreasonable was that, as punishment, Robert had also refused to provide them with any funding. The work… was unpaid.

---

Alchemists are not immortal beings who can go without food, they need to eat. The once-vast assets of the Alchemists' Guild had been plundered by the Lannister army, reduced to nearly nothing. The pyromancers and their companions, who had once thrived under the Targaryen dynasty, had now fallen so low that they worried daily about their next meal.

Those with intelligence and connections had long since vanished without a trace. The only ones left in King's Landing were a handful of aging men who lacked any transferable skills and couldn't flee even if they tried. They survived on whatever they could scavenge. The younger apprentices and assistants could still find part-time work around the city to earn a little coin, but the pyromancers themselves relied on the occasional illicit sale of wildfire to stay afloat.

Aegor had once taken part in such a black-market transaction. In truth, even Tyrion had heard of these dealings by word of mouth. With Varys as his Master of Whisperers, it was impossible that Robert Baratheon didn't know. But the king himself was perpetually short on coin, and besides, he lacked the standing to interfere, being in the wrong.

…

The matter of resettlement, of course, applied to both groups, those remaining in King's Landing and those moving north to the Gifted Lands. After considerable "negotiation," Aegor finally reached an agreement with the two old foxes.

The Alchemists' Guild filled the wildfire storage cellars in King's Landing with water and sealed them with stone walls. The Night's Watch Industries arranged jobs for the family members of guild members in the soon-to-be-opened workshops for household goods and cosmetics. Aegor also took responsibility for hiring people to clear out all facilities and equipment from the guild hall and oversee their safe transport by ship to the North.

In addition, a new and secure wildfire production chamber had to be built in Queen's Crown, a stone structure modeled after the Alchemists' Guild Hall in King's Landing, one that would automatically collapse and extinguish any fire in case of an accident. The pyromancers would only agree to work under absolutely safe conditions.

Then came the matter of compensation. Robert had ordered the pyromancers to serve the Night's Watch with just a single command but the Alchemists' Guild was not a subordinate branch of the royal government. Even if they followed the order, they still needed some incentive to do so. That was simple enough, Aegor copied the Night's Watch industry's compensation and reward structure for senior team leaders, added a few generous bonuses, and managed to coax the two elderly men, who hadn't lived well in more than a decade into a complete change of attitude.

To demonstrate both sincerity and strength, Aegor also inquired about the residences of the pyromancers and promised to deliver the first installment of resettlement funds shortly.

After all was said and done, the two fire mages who had barged in so aggressively were sent away in high spirits. Aegor made a rough estimate, just cleaning up the Alchemists' Guild's mess and relocating it to the Gifted Lands would cost at least several hundred gold dragons, and that wasn't even counting the ongoing wages and bonuses.

He had only just begun to build his power and he was already learning what it meant to burn through coin like wildfire.

…

Not long after, the royal herald finally arrived at the Night's Watch Office.

…

"Aegor West, by command of King Robert, I've already informed the Alchemists' Guild. They should be coming to report to you shortly," announced the young attendant from the Red Keep, with an air of self-importance, completely unaware that the pyromancers had outrun him.

"In addition, I bring a certificate, signed and sealed by the Hand of the King and the Master of Coin. From this day forth, you and all activities you directly oversee shall be permanently exempt from taxation across Westeros." He added, "The Master of Coin also asked me to remind you, this exemption only applies to taxes owed to the Iron Throne. When dealing with the other Six Kingdoms, you may still be subject to local levies imposed by the regional lords under different names."

"I understand, I understand. You've done well, young man." Aegor accepted the royal decree and the tax exemption certificate with a beaming smile. He pressed a few silver stags into the boy's hand. "Take this and buy something nice for your horse. It must be worn out from running messages all over the city today."

He examined the document and nodded. "This came at just the right time. But since His Majesty's order has already reached us, may I ask, when will the king himself return to King's Landing?"

The herald coughed lightly and tucked the coins into his pouch. "Hard to say, my lord. But the matter in the Vale has been resolved. He should return in two or three days at most."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 144

The door to the Hand of the King's office was kicked open without warning, yet the guards stationed outside made no attempt to stop the intruder. Was it a lapse in vigilance, or had they abandoned their sense of duty?

Before Eddard could feel confusion or anger, he merely looked up and stood from his chair in shock. "Your Grace, why… why are you back? I heard this morning that you wouldn't arrive until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Don't mention it. I rode all day. With everything falling apart at home, how could I have the energy to lounge around on the Kingsroad, hunting and chasing skirts?" Robert walked to the other side of the Hand's desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down with a dark expression. "To get back this quickly, I didn't even bother dealing with that lunatic Lysa. I just sent her back to Riverrun and set off."

"Your Grace, Lysa may have been involved in Jon Arryn's death. Isn't that… rather hasty?"

"Gods, Barristan's been nagging me to death. Can you give me a break?" Robert slammed his hand on the table in frustration. "It's one thing if it were someone else, but she's your sister-in-law. What do you expect me to do? Hang her? Lop off her head and stick it on a spike outside the Red Keep? Why don't you even have a bottle of wine here?"

"When I'm thirsty, I usually drink water. Wine dulls the mind," Eddard sighed, pulling a kettle from under the table. He poured a cup and handed it to Robert before sitting back down. "It's not that Lysa must be punished. The issue is the message it sends. You just sent her back to her family without any consequence. That's—"

"Seven hells… I haven't drunk water in over ten years!" Robert downed the cup in one go. His throat still felt parched, but he had no desire to drink any more tasteless liquid. He set the cup down. "The three children bearing my name are all about to be married off. Do you think I have the energy to argue with you about what to do with Lysa? Stop with the nonsense and tell me, what's this rumor spreading in the city?"

"The ones spreading the rumor were a few pimps and doormen from the brothel formerly owned by Littlefinger. The instigator was none other than Petyr Baelish, the brothel's owner and former Master of Coin who has now turned traitor…"

"Don't repeat what was already in the letters. I want the results of the investigation!"

"Results of the investigation?" Eddard Stark looked up, staring solemnly at the king in front of him, his brother in all but blood, someone he had known for nearly thirty years. Then he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Robert, what kind of results are you expecting?"

"What kind of results?" Robert's face flushed as he glared at Eddard. "I want to know whether the rumors are true. Whether Cersei and Jaime have done something unforgivable. Whether Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are my children. Is that clear enough?"

"Clear enough. Unfortunately, my answer is no." Eddard's face turned grim. "I hate the Kingslayer, and I've never hidden that. You know it. I advised you to send him to the Wall when we first discussed it. But even so, I won't lie against my conscience. All I can do now is tell you what I've found. What's to be done next… is up to you. What do you say?"

Robert pressed his lips together, his chest heaving. As a man, few things could be more humiliating than asking another to investigate whether he'd been cuckolded and if his children were truly his. But as king, he had no choice but to handle it with care. This was a royal scandal—he couldn't dump it all on the shoulders of the Hand.

Suppressing his anger, Robert said, "Go on. I'm listening."

Eddard looked up at his old friend and saw that—for once—Robert was clear-headed and composed. That was a good thing. If he were always like this, perhaps the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't be in such chaos.

"The ones spreading the rumor were indeed captured. To prevent the accused parties from using their power and influence to silence witnesses, I conducted a thorough investigation of the arrested individuals and the entire process, from the incident to the arrests. In the end, I determined they weren't framed. However… their arrest was influenced by the intervention of Tyrion Lannister." Eddard pulled a booklet from the drawer, flipping to a marked page to ensure he didn't miss anything. "Of course, that doesn't necessarily prove anything. If Tyrion feared that trouble involving his siblings would affect him, it makes perfect sense that he'd take initiative in quelling the rumors. I won't speculate—I'll stick to the facts. You, Your Grace, can draw your own conclusions."

"Fine. Continue."

"There's something I must confess to Your Grace. When you traveled north to Winterfell and asked me to return to King's Landing as Hand, Catelyn and I received a secret letter from Lysa. She claimed Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters. Looking back, that was likely orchestrated by Littlefinger… which means Petyr has been moving against the Lannisters behind the scenes for some time." Eddard paused. "With that in mind, it stands to reason he instructed his men to spread the rumors before he fled. All in all, based on everything I've uncovered, I believe, though I cannot say why Littlefinger did fabricate and spread this rumor. That much is certain."

That was at least some good news. Robert nodded, his expression softening. "But catching the one who spread the rumor doesn't mean the rumor itself is false. There's no direct connection there. I need facts—proof that it's either true or untrue!"

How long had it been since Robert had spoken with such reason? Eddard couldn't recall. Only when something threatened the realm and his future did Robert finally sober up. Eddard didn't know whether to feel relief or sorrow. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued, "I thought the same. So, I continued the investigation. And during it… I uncovered the real problem."

Robert's eyes widened. "What problem?"

"There are too many Lannisters in King's Landing," Eddard said gravely. "Leaving out the City Watch, the Lannisters have more armed men in the capital than House Stark and House Baratheon combined."

"The City Watch still counts as part of the Baratheon forces, Ned," Robert said with a frown. "It's just that those not wearing gold cloaks are loyal to the Baratheons of Storm's End, while those in gold cloaks are loyal to the Baratheons of King's Landing. Now that the line has been drawn, they may gradually become two separate forces, but for now, they are still one and the same."

"Is that so? I doubt it. From what I know, the commander of the Watch, Janos Slynt, is a man who's greedy for coin and will do anything for a golden dragon…"

"I know what kind of man he is better than you do, Ned," Robert interrupted, shaking his head. "He's a bastard, yes—but he's absolutely loyal to me. Everything he has, I gave him. As long as I live, he won't turn to the Lannisters. Believe me. Yes, I drink, and I bed women every day, but when it comes to matters of life and death, my mind is clear!"

"Fine." Eddard raised a hand to end the discussion. "Let's drop this subject. Let's assume, worst case, that if something unexpected happens in King's Landing, we'll still be able to control the situation by force. Now, let's turn to the truth. The question is, how do we uncover it?"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 145

"You're the Hand of the King,why are you asking me everything?" Robert's face had turned nearly purple. If the man sitting across from him weren't Eddard Stark, his sworn brother and Lord of the North, he might have hurled the object in his hand straight at his face. "Investigate. Ask questions! As long as we can find out when and where that woman and her brother were together, and determine if the frequency and length of their meetings were normal, won't we be one step closer to the truth?"

"You and I are thinking the same thing, but the problem I just mentioned hasn't been solved. The Lannisters have more than just soldiers in King's Landing. At present, one-third of the servants in the Red Keep were placed there by the Lannisters, and the queen is completely surrounded by her own people. How am I supposed to investigate, arrest her attendants and interrogate them about whether they've seen the two of them… together?" Eddard countered bluntly. "And that's not the worst of it. The one-third I mentioned includes only those with the name Lannister or who openly swear allegiance to them. If you add those who appear neutral but secretly take coin from the Lannisters or act on their behalf… the number is even greater."

Robert clenched his fists on the table. He wanted to shout, to unleash his fury, but for once, his mind—unclouded by wine—saw things with startling clarity: this humiliating predicament wasn't Eddard's fault. It was the result of his own apathy and neglect.

The royal treasury had always been strained, barely enough to repay loans to the Iron Bank on time. When the queen complained that she lacked enough servants to properly carry out her duties, and requested to bring in more from her own household, what else could he do? He had allowed it. He'd even felt satisfied with the arrangement, half the servants in the royal residence were now paid by the Lannisters, not the crown. He used to think that was a clever move. Now he realized he had outsmarted himself.

...

"In such a situation, not only can I not conduct an effective investigation, but I fear the queen already knows everything you're doing. You returned today without even seeing her, coming straight to the Hand's Tower, she may already be aware," Eddard said grimly. "I can't openly confront Cersei over a rumor started by a traitorous noble. I can only probe through irrelevant individuals on the periphery. After many rounds of questioning and visits, I've come to one conclusion: the queen and her brother are indeed very close and spend a great deal of time together. Beyond that, there's no further evidence to prove guilt or innocence."

"Heh…" Robert's face had darkened from purple to black. "Yes, Cersei and Jaime have been close since childhood. I've heard whispers for years and always dismissed them. Now I see that was just a convenient excuse. It makes sense for siblings to be close when they're young but they're in their thirties now. What secrets could they possibly have to share every single day? You know, that old goat Tywin once offered to erase the crown's debt to House Lannister if I agreed to expel Jaime from the Kingsguard and send him back to Casterly Rock. I agreed. But the Kingslayer refused, he said once a man dons the white cloak, he serves the king for life. Hahaha… what a loyal Kingsguard! I was touched back then!"

"Legally speaking, he was right. You can't treat that as proof the rumors are true. As you said yourself, there's no causal link—"

"Then there's this. During my campaign in the Vale to put down the rebellion, Cersei came to me and said I could do whatever I wanted there, as long as I left Jaime in King's Landing to accompany her. How do you explain that?"

...

...

"Does it need explaining? War is dangerous. What's so strange about the queen wanting to keep her brother safe?" Eddard had a headache. He was the Hand now, he didn't have time to listen to these grievances, even from the king. "Robert, you came here to ask me for the facts. Why do I have to come up with excuses for the queen? From your tone, it sounds like you've already decided the rumors are true. In that case, I won't go over the other results of the investigation. Just tell me what you intend to do, and I'll carry it out."

...

"Ah—Eddard, you damned Northerner, don't you get it? I don't care about that bitch Cersei. I care about my children, my heir!" Robert finally roared. Though he tried to lower his voice, the sound easily carried beyond the door. "If she wants to spend all her time with her brother, let her. Let them go back to Casterly Rock and roll around all they want. But if Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen aren't mine, I'll have all three of their heads chopped off, dipped in tar, and mounted on spears. Do you understand?"

A chill ran down Eddard's spine. "Lower your voice, Robert. You don't have any proof yet! Do you want to become the second Mad King, spouting such madness?"

"I'm talking about executing the man who slept with my wife and the bastards they spawned. What does that have to do with the Mad King?"

---

Eddard stared at Robert for a moment before realizing he was overthinking it.

Even without wine clouding his judgment, it was impossible for Robert to remain calm. Eddard had tried to "present the facts and let Your Grace draw your own conclusions," but Robert, reeling from betrayal and the thought that his children may not be his, couldn't think rationally.

If Eddard was honest with himself, he was beginning to believe the rumors might be true. But with Robert in this state, how could he dare speak that truth?

He thought of Rhaegar's children. When the Targaryen dynasty fell, Lord Tywin wrapped their bodies in red cloaks and laid them beneath the Iron Throne. A clever tactic—the red cloth concealed the blood. Princess Rhaenys was just three years old. She was barefoot, in her nightclothes, dragged out from under the bed and stabbed dozens of times. And Prince Aegon, still an infant, was snatched up by the Mountain and smashed against the wall, his skull shattered, his remains barely recognizable as human...

That must never happen again. The realm could not afford another king driven mad with hate, nor survive another blood-soaked storm. Eddard quietly closed the notebook in his hand. Though he had more findings to report, he could say no more. Today, he would have to defy his own beliefs and play devil's advocate for the sake of peace.

---

"Shouldn't you be the one who knows best whether those three children are yours?" Eddard crossed his arms, resting his chin on his fists. "Don't tell me you've been drunk for so many years that you don't even remember whether you were with your queen before she got pregnant?"

Robert fell silent under the Hand's questioning. He sat trembling, the fire in his eyes gradually fading.

Eddard looked at his expression and his brow twitched. He'd asked the question only to shift the topic but could it be he was right? Was Robert really that lost?

"Joffrey looks a lot like Jaime."

"If children who resemble their uncles should be beheaded, then no woman with a brother should bear children." They did resemble each other, but Eddard didn't dare agree with Robert. "Even if the rumors are true, you can't pass judgment based on speculation alone. Do you understand? Now answer me, do you remember how many times Cersei got pregnant?"

To everyone's relief, Eddard's words seemed to calm the king somewhat. "I don't remember exactly. But I'm certain that I've shared a bed with Cersei before she conceived each of the three. It's just… that damned wine. I'm always drunk, dazed. When I wake up, I remember having a good time the night before. But as for who I slept with, how we did it, and where I finished, I don't remember at all!"

Black hair. Black hair. Black hair. Eddard muttered the words to himself, the most important clue and evidence. He looked at his brother's troubled face but dared not say it aloud: all of Robert's bastards had black hair… To be specific, whether a Baratheon man married a Lannister woman, or a Baratheon woman married into Casterly Rock, the children were always born with black hair. The old family records faded and yellowed listed over a dozen such pairings. All the children proved the same thing: when gold meets coal, coal prevails.

"Since you can't remember clearly, calm down and stop thinking about chopping off anyone's head and pouring asphalt on it," Eddard sighed. He felt a pang of guilt for speaking a lie. "This is just a rumor. Until we've thoroughly investigated, we can't use it as the basis for any action. Littlefinger wants revenge and chaos in the Seven Kingdoms—we can't let him get what he wants. If you're unsure what to do next, would you hear my advice?"

"Explain."

"I have no way to prove whether the three children are yours, but at the very least, I can ensure your children inherit the throne," Eddard said, thinking of Joffrey—who was far from an ideal boy but his younger siblings were innocent. He couldn't bear to imagine Myrcella being stabbed dozens of times, or Tommen's head dashed against a wall. "Start by protecting yourself, replace the cooks and servants in the kitchens with people you trust completely, take Ser Barristan and the other Kingsguard with you wherever you go, and regain control of the City Watch in King's Landing… Once the situation is stabilized, restrain Cersei and Jaime, and question them directly."

"And they'll just confess?"

"If they do, then the truth is out. If they don't, we still have options." Eddard frowned. "Have another child with Cersei while she's under house arrest. If the child is born with blonde hair, then the rumor was false. If the child has black hair… it doesn't prove the first three aren't yours, but at least this one would be beyond doubt. You could then declare that this child will inherit the throne. And if you truly can't abide the thought of a Lannister's blood ruling Westeros, you can legitimize one of your bastards and name him as your heir."

(To be continued.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 146

Aegon soon learned the outcome of the rebellion in the Vale.

Lysa Tully, who had been hiding in the Eyrie, eventually came down from the mountain. But contrary to most people's expectations, she was not punished as harshly as imagined. Instead, she was merely sent back to her family home at Riverrun and ordered to leave her son "Sweetrobin" in the Vale, where he would be raised and educated by a group of nobles, regents appointed by King Robert, including Ser Brynden "Blackfish" Tully.

After a moment's thought, Aegor understood why things had played out this way: since the leaders of the so-called Alliance of the Righteous had already been sent to the Wall, punishing Lysa Tully now would only be a slap in the face. Robert was being stubborn, as long as the powers that be insisted that the rebellion had been a matter of protecting their vassals, and pretended they had never heard the rumors about Lysa, then everything could be swept under the rug.

In a world ruled by feudal lords, justice and fairness were less important than peace and stability.

---

Aegor didn't care how Lysa would be treated when she returned home. At the moment, he was both irritated and anxious.

What irritated him was that Lysa Tully that madwoman had sparked a rebellion in the Vale, wasting two months of his time. And yet, after the war ended, why couldn't she have kept Robert trapped at the Eyrie just a little longer?!

What made him anxious was this: to what extent had Eddard investigated the "rumors"? Had Cersei plotted to kill Robert? Had Robert learned the truth? And if so, how would he respond? Aegor was stuck outside the Red Keep and knew nothing about any of it.

He wanted to gather intelligence, but he was powerless. He didn't dare get involved. Since returning to King's Landing, he'd been busy reacquainting himself with the Night's Watch holdings and had now begun preparing for the establishment of the Backcrown stronghold. All he wanted was a little time to develop. But now, he had a vague premonition, he might not get his wish.

...

...

When Robert—the cuckolded king who still enjoyed playing father—returned, would he choose to remain blind to the rumors and continue his foolish life? Or would he flip the table, slaughter every Lannister in King's Landing, and march to war against Tywin? Or would Cersei strike first, find an opportunity to kill Robert, and plunge the realm into chaos just as in the original tale?

No matter who struck first and won, Aegor would be the loser. Only by avoiding direct conflict between the two sides could his plans continue smoothly.

After sending the herald away, Aegor stood up, paced absently across his office, then pushed open the door to the backyard and stepped outside.

…

Arya had just finished sparring with Jaqen and was arguing with him, her cheeks flushed. When she saw Aegor come in, she immediately beamed and called out excitedly, "Master, are you joining us?"

"No, I just came out for some air. Carry on." Aegor smiled and shook his head. Why had he come into the yard? Arya couldn't help him with the current mess. All he could do was get a little fresh air.

When he had first heard about the rumor from Tyrion a few days ago, he had briefly considered using Arya to indirectly tell her father—the Hand—that "hair color doesn't directly determine parentage." But when he looked at the girl's bright, innocent eyes and thought about the current state of biology and genetics in Westeros, which was basically nonexistent, Aegor realized that any attempt to meddle might backfire and end with him dragged into the mess.

As he walked aimlessly around the yard, Aegor recalled the two major problems he had previously resolved by taking bold risks.

Could he once again think outside the box and rely on unconventional methods to weather the coming storm?

After indulging in wild ideas for a bit, Aegor suddenly came up with a crazy plan: what if he staged a fake "kidnapping" of Arya, making her disappear for a few days? Such a major event would surely divert Eddard's full attention, pulling him away from the investigation into the rumors. Would it buy him a little time?

But after just a moment's thought, Aegor dismissed the idea. Even with his rising status and growing influence, there was still a huge difference between "bold action" and "suicidal idiocy." If Cersei and Jaime's affair was exposed, the worst that could happen would be a war across the Seven Kingdoms and a delay in the Night's Watch's development… but if he dared to play dirty tricks, he could very well lose his head.

"Master!" The girl's crisp voice brought Aegor back to reality. Arya had her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "Can you stop pacing already? I can't even concentrate enough to spar with Akun!"

"Oh? Scolding your master now?" Aegor forced a relaxed smile. "I'm training your ability to stay focused in battle. Do you think every enemy you face will give you a nice one-on-one duel?" He waved her off. "Keep practicing, don't mind me!"

…

After stewing for a while over the news that Robert was about to return to King's Landing, Aegor finally gritted his teeth and decided to prepare for the worst-case scenario. He pushed open the door to his office, sat back down in his chair, thought for a moment, and began issuing orders.

"Nina, arrange for someone to travel to Dragonstone and bring back that…" He paused, realizing he didn't know the man's name, and rephrased, "Bring back the one managing the dragonglass mine. He's done well. I plan to have him lead the team to Queenscrown and help rebuild it."

"Yes, ser. His name is Yam."

Yam… He might not be thrilled about such a long journey, but there was no helping it. There were simply too few people he could trust. "Also, get in touch with Lord Renly Baratheon's people. I'd like to visit them soon. Since we've already sold the technology to the Reach and Dorne, we might as well offer it to the rest of the kingdoms."

"Ser, why not try negotiating a joint venture? Besides other benefits, the markets in the North, Riverlands, and the Vale… especially the Westerlands, still have great potential to be opened."

"No, we need coin right now." Nina's suggestion was reasonable, but with turmoil looming, there was no time to plan that far ahead. "Just proceed. The sooner the better."

"Yes." Nina nodded in agreement, though she remained standing, biting her lip and hesitating for a moment. In the end, she suppressed the urge to ask about her brother. "Understood. I'll see to it right away."

---

Neil sat on a filthy pile of straw in the corner of his cell, deep in thought.

Aside from being shoved around a few times when he was brought in, he hadn't suffered much hardship. But that didn't make him feel any better. He knew perfectly well why he'd been locked up, asking for a family member to come collect him was just a euphemism. In truth, wasn't it just forcing Nina to exchange herself for him?

He'd heard Janos Slynt was arrogant and lawless in King's Landing, but he hadn't expected this level of brazenness. The man clearly knew that Nina had ties with Tyrion, yet still dared to act. Did he truly think nothing of the Lannisters?

Well, Tyrion didn't represent House Lannister... but his sister the queen and his brother the Kingsguard certainly did. The real question was, would Tyrion actually plead for help on behalf of a civilian subordinate?

Footsteps approached outside the cell, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Another poor soul about to be tossed in?

He looked up and saw a guard. "On your feet. You're free to go."

So soon? Neil was both stunned and suspicious. "Where's my sister? Is she here?"

"What sister? You sure think highly of yourself. Lord Renly sent someone to get you. Stop talking nonsense and get out. Haven't you been sitting here long enough?"

"Lord Renly?" Neil was dumbfounded. "Who's Lord Renly?"

"The king's brother! Lord Renly Baratheon!" the guard replied impatiently. "Hurry up, our commander's waiting for you outside."

Soon, Neil came face to face once again with the garrison commander who had his eye on Nina and the man looked less than pleased.

"Neil, is it? What happened this morning was likely just a misunderstanding between you and my men. You're free to leave now," Janos Slynt said in a cold, flat tone. "Go back and tell the Chief Logistics Officer that he's quite capable, and I admire that. But he's been using the garrison's building to open the Night's Watch office. That building was vacant before, so I allowed it. But now I need that space for official use. Please ask him to pack up and move out as soon as possible."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 147

Aegor finally understood the meaning of the saying, "It's easier to see the King of Hell than to deal with his little devils." His original plan had been simple: wait for Neil to be released, then personally visit the garrison, apologize, admit fault, and offer some compensation to smooth things over. But who would have thought the other side had no intention of resolving anything and kept pressing the attack without so much as a pause?

Reclaim the property? Technically, as long as the garrison had a valid reason, Slynt—as commander—did have that authority. But did Aegor look like someone who would be cowed by that?

The building belonged to the garrison, yes but the garrison used resources from the Iron Throne, which meant the property ultimately belonged to the king. And whether it was the king himself or the Hand of the King acting in his name—Aegor had connections with both.

---

"You stay and run the office today. I'm heading to the Red Keep to find someone willing to sell me the deed at above-market price. Let's see what Slynt does after that."

Nina looked uneasy. "Ser, this might solve the issue for now, but openly confronting the garrison like this isn't wise."

It wasn't wise at all. Slynt was insignificant in the grand scheme, but as commander of the City Watch, he still held real power. Aegor's side was just a commercial venture under the name of the Night's Watch, while Slynt's was an official force that controlled the capital. One made profits; the other was backed by the crown. If this back-and-forth kept escalating, it would be the Night's Watch that suffered in the end.

But that was a long-term problem. With Robert returning to King's Landing, it was uncertain whether the Night's Watch industry would even survive into next week. Aegor didn't have time to worry about how to handle Slynt long-term.

"If I just move out like a good little merchant, do you think he'll stop there?" Too many problems were piling up, and he didn't know which fire to put out first. Aegor sighed. "More importantly, if you ask someone in King's Landing where the Night's Watch office is, everyone will say 'across from the East Barracks of the City Watch.' If we relocate now, how much confusion will that cause our clients and applicants?"

...

...

Nina admired Aegor the most but that also meant she couldn't argue with him. She looked deflated. "It's all my fault..."

"Oh, come on. What's your fault? If dressing nicely is a sin, then the whole world's guilty." Aegor waved her off. "Did Tyrion reply yet? What's his take?"

"Not yet—"

The door burst open with a loud bang, startling both of them. For a split second, Aegor thought the gold cloaks had come to arrest him. But when he looked up, it was the devil himself—Tyrion had arrived.

"What's going on with Slynt? Haven't you dealt with it yet?" Aegor had never seen his partner this angry. Tyrion marched straight to the opposite chair, dragged it out, and climbed onto it. "This morning, dozens of City Watch soldiers stormed the workshop claiming they were searching for contraband. I had to step in personally and work like mad to stop our security team from clashing with them!"

"They went to the industrial park? And nearly clashed with the security team?" Aegor's heart clenched. Personal feuds and passive aggression were one thing but if the Night's Watch security and the City Watch came to blows, that would be a different matter entirely. They'd be accused of resisting the law with force—of rebellion. No one would be able to save them. Even if they kept their heads, they'd be lucky to avoid being sent back to the Wall.

He had just been scoffing at Slynt's petty tricks to seize the building, but now realized he had nearly walked into a disaster. What a vicious tactic!

"And that's not all. Now all our wagons bringing goods into the city are being held up at the King's Gate. The gold-cloaked guards claim the books we printed are evading taxes. They won't let us through until a full investigation is completed. Seven hells knows how long that'll take. Every day we're delayed costs us dozens of gold dragons. If this isn't settled, we'll lose our customers' trust. Do you understand?"

Tax evasion? Aegor frowned, opened his drawer, and pulled out the tax exemption certificate that had arrived yesterday afternoon. He placed it on the table.

"Well... this came just in time." Tyrion picked it up and gave it a once-over. His expression eased somewhat. "Jack! Take this to the King's Gate and get those freight wagons into the city. Now."

"Yes, my lord." Jack took the certificate and quickly left.

"I've been outside the city these past few days and didn't know the details." Tyrion tapped the table impatiently, then glanced at Nina. "Tell me everything."

---

Aegor then explained how Neil had been arrested by the garrison the day before, how he had secured his release with Lord Renly's help, and how Slynt had since demanded the Night's Watch office relocate. He also shared his plan to purchase the building.

"I'll admit, your strategy is effective," Tyrion said, staring at Aegor with clear disapproval. "But don't you think you've made a mistake? Do you think this is some duel—he makes a move, and you parry? Sure, you haven't taken any real losses yet, but if you keep slapping him in the face, how's he supposed to swallow the humiliation? He's going to keep looking for ways to bite you."

"Then what should I do?"

"What's the best way to deal with a mad dog chasing after you?" Tyrion's eyes glinted coldly. "Do you think trading blows is the solution?"

Aegor felt as if lightning had flashed through his mind—suddenly, it all made sense. He had spent so much energy trying to counter Littlefinger's schemes, but that hadn't gotten him anywhere. Now, with Slynt, he'd fallen into the same trap, getting stuck in a cycle of reactive thinking. Against an opponent this persistent, trying to "handle" him was a mistake. It would only foster his own gravedigger.

The right move was to eliminate the threat directly.

"The best way to deal with a mad dog," he murmured, "is to beat it to death with a stick."

"It's good that you've figured it out. If he keeps causing trouble like this, then get rid of him!"

"Kill him?" Nina was startled.

"What are you imagining? That I'd hire someone to murder him?" Tyrion rolled his eyes at her. "What did I tell you? We're merchants, and merchants have their own methods. The Night's Watch operation relies on countless interests and now has the broadest network of contacts in King's Landing. When I say 'get rid of him,' I mean remove Slynt from his position as commander of the City Watch through proper maneuvering! Honestly, you're two smart people, how has neither of you thought of this?"

Aegor had nothing to say. He'd been away for two months and still hadn't fully adapted to the shift in his identity, from a logistics officer of the Night's Watch to one of the major merchants in King's Landing. Not to mention, most of his attention had been focused elsewhere. As for Nina, she was just an ordinary girl who had never seen such schemes unfold. How could she be expected to think of something like this?

It wasn't a matter of intelligence, but of mindset.

…

Looking at the serious, slightly fierce expression on his dwarf friend's face, Aegor suddenly realized that the man in front of him was no longer the jovial, unemployed noble—the mischievous imp Tyrion Lannister—he'd met half a year ago. No, this was a newly risen capitalist, a noble who now saw the Night's Watch enterprise as his life's work. And capitalists, as Aegor now saw clearly, had two defining traits:

Greed—and ruthlessness.

He'd already seen the greed when he first visited the Night's Watch Industrial Park. The ruthlessness… was now showing itself for the first time.

In this world, the most dangerous people were those who controlled resources. And if someone like Tyrion, who was born into wealth and noble blood, was crossed? The consequences would be far worse.

Thankfully, he and Tyrion were on the same side.

"Of course, getting rid of a City Watch commander... easier said than done. If we can avoid that path, better not to push it." Tyrion didn't realize he'd just earned Aegor's cautious respect. He tapped his foot, thought for a moment, then made a decision. "Aegor, sign a bond for one hundred gold dragons. I'll go talk to Slynt. If he's smart, he'll take the money and back off. If he's looking to get himself killed, then he shouldn't blame me for being unkind."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 148

As soon as Tyrion appeared, the entire Night's Watch office seemed to exude a domineering atmosphere. Aegor felt the burden on his shoulders lighten, as if he now had a backbone. When it came to dealing with people, as someone ingrained with Earth's ideals, he had no advantage in terms of knowledge or social maneuvering. In the end, the little lion, who had been born into nobility and immersed in court politics since childhood, was more adept.

However, even though a solution was now within reach, Aegor still felt that something was off. He pulled out a blank bond form and began filling it out while thinking. After a while, he finally realized what was bothering him. "Wait, Robert is returning to King's Landing in the next couple of days. If you use your connections to appoint the commander of the King's Landing garrison at this time, won't it look like the Lannisters are trying to seize control of the military?"

"It's not like I'm going to fight him myself…" Tyrion replied, though he sounded a little hesitant. Military affairs were always a sensitive matter, no matter the realm, and Westeros was no exception. A combination of several ongoing problems made the situation all the more complex.

"Why is the door open?" Arya's voice floated into the office. The students in the sword class were always punctual. She pushed the door open and instantly spotted the dwarf. She laughed and said, "Tyrion! Long time no see. How come you're here earlier than me today?"

"Robert is going back to King's Landing?" Tyrion waved his hand to motion for Arya to be quiet, then asked anxiously, "Where did you hear that? Is the source reliable?"

"I heard it when his herald came yesterday and I chatted with him a bit. Should be accurate." Aegor frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to return to Casterly Rock and instead stay in King's Landing to deal with Slynt?"

"Are you talking about His Grace?" Arya wasn't the least bit annoyed that no one was paying attention to her. If you didn't count the time she spent sleeping, she had spent more hours in the Night's Watch office than in the Red Keep. It felt like a second home to her, and she showed no signs of shyness. She walked over to the table and sat down next to Tyrion, interrupting again without thinking. "He's back. When I got home last night, he was in the office talking to my father. Then we had dinner together in the Hand of the King's Tower."

The firsthand intel from this little informant always caught people off guard. Aegor gasped. "His Grace has returned? Don't joke around!"

"Why would I lie to you? The king and my father chatted in the office for a long time after dinner. It seemed like they were still talking when I went to bed."

…

…

---

Aegor and Tyrion exchanged glances. The atmosphere in the office instantly froze: the king had gone to suppress a rebellion and returned victorious, but instead of returning with fanfare, he quietly entered the city, going straight to the Hand's residence without seeing his wife or children. Not only had he shared a meal with Eddard, but they had secret discussions late into the night. What was he planning?

"This isn't a good sign, Tyrion. Why don't you return to Casterly Rock and let us handle things here?"

Arya asked, confused, "What's going on? Why are you going back to Casterly Rock?"

Tyrion also sensed something was off. "Arya, did anything unusual happen at the Red Keep this morning?"

"Nope. Why would something happen?"

Nina interjected and reminded, "If something had happened, Lord Eddard wouldn't have let Arya leave the Keep."

"Nina's right. If Robert truly intended to act against the Lannisters, the gold cloaks who came to the workshop this morning wouldn't have just caused trouble, they would've come to chop off my head." Tyrion let out a breath. "Since nothing has happened in the city yet, it means Robert doesn't fully believe the rumors…"

"But things could change at any moment!" Aegor said seriously. "Don't forget, you yourself said your brother and sister are indeed too close, and your sister has always been… questionable in judgment. What if something unexpected happens at the Red Keep?"

"If I leave now, can you and Nina manage the Night's Watch on your own?" Tyrion shook his head. "Just the little mess Slynt made this time already has me worried. Let's settle this matter first, then I'll leave."

"You're gambling with your life!"

"I'm not afraid—so why are you worrying about me? My mind's made up. Don't argue anymore." Tyrion shook his head firmly. "The Night's Watch is like my child. Now someone wants to kill my child, and as the father, I'm supposed to run home scared just because of some baseless speculation? Might as well kill me instead."

"What are you saying? Who wants to mess with your child?" Arya asked, puzzled and annoyed. "Someone, pay attention to me! Hey!"

"All right, all right, I'll pay attention to you." Aegor replied helplessly. "We're talking about how to get rid of that annoying Janos Slynt."

"Really? I support you!" Arya always liked a bit of chaos. "What does this have to do with going back to Casterly Rock?"

"We have to move fast. I'll head back to Casterly Rock as soon as we finish this. Are you ready? Hurry and stamp your fingerprint. I'll take this." Tyrion urged impatiently. He watched Aegor sign and press his fingerprint, then took the bond. "All right, I'm off to talk to that bastard. Wait for my news."

"Shouldn't I go with you?"

"No, that's not appropriate. I'll represent the Night's Watch this time. I'm going."

With that, the dwarf jumped off his chair, left the office, called for Morris, and walked toward the East Camp of the garrison across from the office with his short legs… The two opposing sides were so close to each other, it saved a lot of effort.

…

"You're definitely hiding something from me. How could a guy like Slynt force the little lion to run home?" Arya asked with wide eyes. Tyrion was her good friend, so of course she was concerned. "What's going on? Tell me!"

"Slynt has a gold cloak worth two thousand dragons. If he loses his temper, he can be dangerous." Aegor stood up and patted the girl's shoulder. "Let Tyrion handle Slynt. Come on, let's head to the backyard and train."

"You're changing the subject again!" Arya shook his hand off. "If you don't tell me clearly, I won't practice swordplay today!"

"If you don't want to train, then go home. This is the Night's Watch office, not a playground for little brats." Aegor stared at Arya, who was thin and small, weighing no more than 40 or 50 kilograms. How could she possibly win against a big man like him who had served in the army? He easily dragged the girl into the backyard, tossed her a training sword, and master and apprentice began yet another reluctant sword lesson.

---

The basic swordsmanship taught to the Night's Watch emphasized defending oneself and finding an opening to counterattack. Victory or defeat depended on how quickly one recovered after a clash and whether they could exploit any flaws exposed in the collision.

Generally speaking, the stronger and better-armed fighter had the advantage.

The Braavosi Water Dance, on the other hand, relied on suddenness and surprise. It discouraged direct confrontation, instead emphasizing stealth, feints, using the opponent's force, and adapting to situations.

In theory, that meant the Water Dance was a natural counter to defensive counterattacks. But such a conclusion couldn't be drawn without real practice. As a famous sword style, the Water Dance undoubtedly had great potential. However, the more complex the system, the less reliable it became, and the more advanced the technique, the harder it was to master—making it so that a beginner of the Water Dance might not be able to defeat someone who had thoroughly learned the basics.

Just like in a game, high proficiency in a basic skill wasn't necessarily worse than a newly acquired "ultimate move." Now, Aegor and Arya each represented these two situations.

As a unique sword style combining assassination and performance, the Water Dance lost its biggest advantage—"surprise"—in day-to-day sparring. Its movements and agility were also suppressed by Aegor, who used sheer brute strength and experience to figure out a counter.

Of course, "how to deal with someone stronger than you" would always be an important lesson for someone like Arya. Though she was temporarily overpowered by Aegor's strength, she wasn't walking away empty-handed.

…

Aegor had already mastered the standard forms, while the girl was beginning to piece together basic movements into new combinations and techniques. These early attempts were full of holes, but they were still practice, and Aegor always remained serious and patient in his role as sparring partner.

Effortlessly following a new sequence of attacks Arya had made up, Aegor began his usual probing: "Arya, did you hear what the king and your father talked about last night?"

"I'm not telling you. That's a state secret!" Arya waved her small wooden sword and snapped, "Unless you tell me why Tyrion wants to go back to Casterly Rock."

Heh… so the little girl actually knows it's a secret. Come to think of it, Arya had always been tight-lipped and very loyal to her friends. It wouldn't hurt to tell her the bare minimum. They were close enough that dancing around the truth all the time was just exhausting. "Have you heard the rumors about the queen and her brother?"

"You mean the one where she slept with her brother!?"

"Yeah. Do you believe it?"

"I don't know. It's none of my business."

None of your business? This concerns whether your sister's fiancé is the rightful king or a bastard. Aegor found it funny but didn't say more. "Whether you believe it or not doesn't matter. What matters is what the king thinks—and Tyrion is the queen's brother."

"Ohhh, now I get it!" Arya suddenly understood and shouted in excitement, then failed to dodge Aegor's swing and got hit on the arm with a sword. "Ouch—!"

"All right, then tell me what the king and your father talked about. It might affect the life of our friend Tyrion. Don't leave anything out and don't repeat a word of it when you go back. Got it?"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 149

"Father told me to let him know whenever I returned to the Red Keep after sword practice. So I went to find him when I got home yesterday, and I heard King Robert's loud voice from a distance. As I got closer, I could clearly hear them talking about Varys... the Master of Whisperers. My father seemed to be asking, 'Whose side is that eunuch really on?'" Arya tried to recall. "After I pushed open the door and greeted Father, he asked me to leave. A while later, at dinner… ah, I remember! They mentioned summoning Slynt!"

"Why summon him?"

"How would I know? After dinner, Father sent me back to my room. There were guards outside his study. I couldn't just stick to the door and eavesdrop."

Tsk. Aegor frowned. The information Arya provided seemed important, but when he thought about it, it was completely inconclusive—the King might summon the commander of the City Watch for any number of reasons. Even if it was related to the rumors, without hearing the critical part of the conversation, who could say whether Robert intended to act against the Lannisters, or was merely inquiring into the investigation or ordering the arrest of those spreading the gossip?

Since all had been peaceful in King's Landing from last night until now, it meant that, for the moment, it wasn't the worst-case scenario. But if they relaxed just because Robert hadn't taken immediate action against the Lannisters...

Tyrion hadn't returned yet, but Aegor had a bad feeling. Slynt, who had just been summoned by the king himself, was unlikely to show respect to a Lannister who had nothing but a name—no rank, no power.

"I'll go call Akun in to practice with you."

"No more practice. Let's wait for Tyrion to come back." Arya tossed the wooden sword aside and followed him. "I want to see how to take down a big villain... No, I have to be part of it!"

---

…

…

The common folk of King's Landing might not recognize the Imp, but the gold cloaks—guards of the city—certainly did. Tyrion, relying on his high visibility, led Morris straight into the east camp of the garrison. Under the guidance of the guards along the way, he arrived at the commander's office.

After adjusting his expression, Tyrion pushed the door open with the easy smile of a seasoned merchant.

"Lord Slynt, it's been quite some time. How have you been lately?"

"Not well. There's far too much to do—can't keep up," Slynt said, a little surprised by the visitor but remaining seated behind his desk. He neither stood up nor invited Tyrion to sit. "Ser Tyrion, what brings you to the garrison when you're so busy?"

"Alas, there's been some recent misunderstanding between the Night's Watch office and the garrison." Tyrion wasn't just short, his legs were slightly deformed, and he couldn't stand for long. Even though Slynt didn't say anything, Tyrion still had to find a chair and sit down. "As someone in charge, I had to come clarify the situation."

"Oh?" Slynt snorted, offering a sarcastic smile. "A misunderstanding? What misunderstanding? How come I don't know about it?"

"This morning, a group of garrison soldiers ran to the paper mill I oversee outside the city, claiming they were searching for contraband. What's the meaning of that?"

"Oh, so that's what this is about. We received a report that someone was raising private troops and stockpiling weapons and food near the Blackwater River, outside King's Gate. King's Landing is the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, after all. As commander of the City Watch, I must be vigilant against this sort of thing."

"Lord Slynt, those food stores and weapons are war supplies for the Night's Watch, to be transported to the Wall at any time. The so-called private soldiers are the guards of the factories and warehouses, as well as newly recruited trainees for the Night's Watch. The Hand of the King, Lord Eddard, is fully informed and has signed the permits. Conducting a raid for these reasons is clearly a misunderstanding."

"Oh, then it truly is a misunderstanding. But you can't blame the brothers for doing their jobs—you never informed them ahead of time. I'm not running the Night's Watch, so how would I know the details?" Slynt crossed his legs. "Of course, since Lord Tyrion came to explain in person, now I understand the situation. If our actions disrupted your work, I apologize. But if we receive similar reports in the future, we'll still carry out routine investigations. Lord Tyrion, I hope you can understand—it's our duty."

"Indeed, the earlier misunderstanding was due to our own oversight. I apologize for the trouble we caused your men. Please forgive us, Commander Slynt." Tyrion already sensed something was off. Few people dared speak to him in such a tone. Suppressing his displeasure, he continued, "The Night's Watch business in King's Landing is currently managed by Aegor West and my apprentice Nina. One is a former Wall soldier and rather rough around the edges; the other is a girl of common birth who's never seen the world. Neither is very familiar with the rules, so they're bound to make some mistakes while operating in the city. I offer my apologies on their behalf. Commander Slynt is a magnanimous man—I hope you can forgive the missteps of these two young people."

"No need for that—it's all in service to King Robert. As long as you keep to your place and obey the laws His Grace has laid down, why would I cause trouble?"

…

Now you're just picking a fight, aren't you?

Tyrion could hardly bear the backhanded mockery from the greasy man before him. He pulled out the hundred gold dragon bond he had prepared and placed it on the table. "Then I'll trouble you, Commander. Please accept this as a reward for your men who've been working so hard."

Slynt glanced at the note, and his expression changed. "What do you mean by this? You think this little bit of coin can buy the loyalty of the Commander of the City Watch?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. We all know your loyalty to King Robert can't be measured in coin. This is merely a token of apology for the earlier offense caused by those two young ones. Lord Slynt, I beg you to accept it. Otherwise, I won't sleep well tonight."

"If you can't sleep, take more rest. Lord Tyrion, why trouble yourself over others' mistakes?" Slynt sneered. "It's not that I don't respect you, but whoever caused the problem should be the one to resolve it. Please go back and send your lovely little apprentice to speak with me instead. That girl is quite proud, hard to approach. Even I can't get her to show up when I want to."

Who do you think you are, trying to toy with my apprentice?

Once, Tyrion would have exploded with curses. As a dwarf, he had a foul mouth known for getting him into trouble. If not for his powerful father, he'd have been dead long ago.

But managing the Night's Watch's business had taught him much. It gave him a place to use his talents, and as a businessman, he gradually learned how to speak with restraint and tact.

His cheek twitched. Tyrion resisted the urge to curse or threaten. He sighed and retrieved the note. "In that case, I will pass on your wishes to the two young ones. Let them decide for themselves."

"Good." Slynt smirked. "No need to see me out."

---

The garrison camp was just across the street from the Night's Watch office, so Tyrion didn't keep Aegor and Arya waiting long. As Aegor had expected, Tyrion slapped the bond onto the table—a hundred gold dragons, and not a coin accepted.

"He didn't take it!" Arya beamed. "Now we can talk about how to kill him!"

"Do you like killing people that much?" Tyrion rolled his eyes at her, his expression a bit awkward. "Strange… as far as I know, isn't Slynt a commoner? Where does he get the nerve to be so arrogant? Did you look into his background?"

"Lord Aegor told me to investigate, and I got plenty of information from people who used to work at Littlefinger's brothel," Nina reported. "Slynt was born a commoner. His father was a butcher. He was appointed commander of the City Watch by King Robert by mistake. At first, he kept a low profile, but later he began abusing his position. Jon Arryn had planned to dismiss him, but King Robert said, 'Better to do evil openly than to hide it. The next one might be worse.' So Slynt kept his position and got even worse after the previous Hand died."

…

Better to do evil openly than in secret? Only a fool like Robert could come up with that logic. Even if the actions are equally corrupt, doing them openly causes far more social damage than doing them in secret. Beyond the actual harm to national interests, it corrodes public trust and weakens the foundations of rule. Those latter effects are nearly impossible to reverse—and enough to bring down a dynasty.

Robert surely understood that. But he clearly underestimated the damage Slynt could do to the Iron Throne. Rather than replacing him with an unknown, the king was willing to tolerate a bit of lawlessness from a man he himself had appointed.

"Is it really that hard to find a loyal commander? Why would the king keep such a man?"

"Because he's easy to use. The king knows exactly what kind of person he is but thinks he's useful and doesn't want to replace him," Nina explained. "Before the former Master of Coin defected, he once told people in his brothel, 'Janos Slynt has no talent. His only virtue is obedience. If Robert ordered him to go home and hang his mother, he'd do it without hesitation.' That's why he earned Robert's favor and held onto his position for so many years."

"In other words, he's an executioner without a conscience who blindly follows orders. His father was a butcher, so is Slynt just carrying on the family trade in his own way?" Tyrion muttered. "So that's why he's so confident—his backer is the king! No wonder he's arrogant and afraid of no one. To be fair, that's quite the backer. Not something ordinary people can challenge."

"With a cloak worth two thousand dragons and the king behind him, this guy's even harder to deal with than I thought."

"But now that we know his background, we can come up with a plan," Tyrion said with a cold smile. "The king may be useless, but we have a new Hand who loathes corruption. If Eddard Stark gets solid proof of Slynt's misdeeds, I doubt he'll care what Robert says."

Arya puffed out her chest proudly. "Of course he will! My father dares to argue with the king!"

…

"Seven hells. He's just Robert's dog, and he dares to act like this," Tyrion swore, taking a deep breath to vent his frustration. "Why does a short-legged man like me have to run around fixing other people's messes? If I don't take him down within three days, I'll write the name Lannister backwards!"

"Support, support, support!" Arya cheered, clearly enjoying Tyrion's curses. She bounced in her chair with excitement. "Let's get started on the plan to kill him!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 150

"Arya just told me," Aegor reminded Tyrion, "Slynt was summoned to see Robert last night."

"So what? I'm targeting this idiot who has the king as his backer." Tyrion looked at Aegor with displeasure. "I mean, aren't you the legendary White Walker slayer? Can you at least show a bit more murderous intent? You don't have to do it yourself to deal with Slynt. I've got a plan—you just need to carry it out."

"Go on," Arya interrupted eagerly. "Can I join in too?"

"You think this is a game? This is a life-and-death power struggle between adults!" Tyrion glanced at Arya. Her participation made the whole thing seem like a joke, but he couldn't ignore her completely. "Fine, I'll give you a task. How about you play the storyteller?"

"Of course!"

"Very good. Go back and tell your father about Slynt trying to force Nina to date him. Choose a time like dinner, and don't exaggerate, just tell him everything you know. The goal is for your father, the Hand of the King, to form a bad impression of Slynt. But don't be too obvious, and don't let your father know I was the one who asked you to say it." Tyrion spoke seriously. "We won't treat you as a child this time, so don't let us down."

"Don't worry~" If Aegor hadn't always reminded her to act like a lady, Arya would've jumped up and issued a military command.

Tyrion wasn't entirely comfortable relying on a ten-year-old girl, but even if she slipped up, it wouldn't be catastrophic, so he stopped dwelling on it and continued giving orders. "Nina, as one of the 'victims,' aside from managing the office's daily operations, don't go out for the next two days. I'll prepare an excuse for you, and you can take time to memorize it."

"Understood."

…

…

…

"The commander of the City Watch may not have influence across the Seven Kingdoms, but he's a key figure in King's Landing. If all we wanted was to kill him, one man with one blade would do the trick. But if we want to take him down easily, cleanly, and without repercussions, it'll take some real effort. The tasks can be summarized like this—cut off Janos Slynt's social connections." Tyrion turned to Aegor and squinted at him. "To put it plainly, we need to prepare all the relevant forces in King's Landing, especially the local snakes with interests tied to Slynt, collect debts, halt gambling operations, and prepare for the next commander's election, and so on."

Aegor had never been directly involved in a political power struggle before, but that didn't hinder his understanding of what Tyrion said. "I get it. Sever his ties to the power structure as much as possible—make him 'politically and socially dead.' Once that's done, even if we do nothing else, he's finished."

"'Politically and socially dead?' Interesting phrase… but fitting." Tyrion nodded. "Good that you understand. To achieve this, we need to follow the 'general trend.' That is, to align with the will of those who control resources both in front of and behind the scenes in King's Landing. These people form a shadow organization—the second master of the city—operating behind Robert's back. If you want their support, you'll have to meet them personally. They won't deal with lackeys."

"But I'm not familiar with our major investors or backers."

"Exactly. You've barely met these hidden powerbrokers. If you just walk in and ask for help, it'll be a miracle if they don't laugh in your face. So, we'll divide the work, I'll speak with the big players I know, and you go deal with some of the mid-level officers in the City Watch. Try to pry open a crack in their ranks."

"Talk to City Watch officers?" Aegor looked confused. "How are we supposed to break through there?"

"The capital's City Watch isn't some unified force. Remember our security captain, Jeroth? His name's similar to Janos Slynt, but they were enemies before he left the Watch. After Slynt was promoted to commander, he bullied Jeroth out of the post. That's how he ended up working with us." Tyrion explained, "He told me a lot about the Watch's structure. It's a very complicated organization..."

Arya stared at Tyrion intently, full of excitement. "Isn't it just patrolling the streets and guarding the gates? What's so complicated about that?"

"It's a long story, so I'll keep it brief. The City Watch of King's Landing has over 2,000 men. Half of them come from the Baratheon family's lands, and from noble houses in the capital—soldiers and officers alike." Tyrion continued, "These men only answer to King Robert and their real patrons. Janos Slynt knows this well. He can't actually control them, so he doesn't dare cross them. Instead, he uses them to suppress the other half, the ones recruited from King's Landing, who have no backing. And according to Jeroth, those men have long resented Slynt and have been waiting for someone to take him down."

"I get it. Half of the Watch is loyal to Slynt, and the other half hates his guts. That makes him an easy target."

"Don't underestimate him. As long as he stays in power, we haven't won."

"The plan's clear and straightforward. I have no problem with it." Aegor actually opposed Tyrion staying in King's Landing to stir up trouble at such a delicate time, but since he couldn't persuade him to return to Casterly Rock, he could only support his decision. The sooner they ousted Slynt, the sooner Tyrion could leave with peace of mind. "So what's next? Slynt's messing with us, not those big players, why would they help us?"

"Profit. I'll distribute this month's dividends to all investors in Night's Watch Industries. The amount I give will be a little higher than what they're actually owed. Since Slynt doesn't want the money, there are plenty of others who do. After I send it out, I'll tell them: Slynt tried to get a cut of the Night's Watch Industries' profits. After I refused, he got angry and started sabotaging our operations, which hurt this month's returns. Guess what happens next?"

"That's a smart move. Cutting off someone's income is worse than killing their kin. Just by saying that, you've made Slynt a lot of enemies without him even knowing it." Aegor quickly grasped the core idea of this political game. Now, all that was left was to take action. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Creating momentum isn't enough, we need tangible entry points. That means real-name complaints, witnesses, and physical evidence." Tyrion said, "As a Lannister, I can't appear in public right now. You'll have to handle this part. First, write a formal letter of complaint to Eddard Stark. Then I'll ask Jeroth to make a list of City Watch officers we can win over. You'll start visiting them quietly tonight. We need some of Slynt's subordinates to testify against him. And most importantly—we can take down the king's man, but we have to do it cleanly and without chaos. If we anger Robert, everything could go up in smoke."

"Got it. I'll start right away. It's getting late. Want to stay for lunch? Margaery should be here soon—you might as well take the chance to get to know her."

"Margaery said she's returning to Highgarden soon and won't be coming back," Arya said. "She told me to keep practicing so I can go to the Reach and teach swordsmanship to her distant cousins one day."

She hopes you'll marry into House Tyrell, Miss Stark. Though clever, this little apprentice is still too innocent. Aegor couldn't help but curl his lip.

"Well, we'll see that clever girl again eventually. I swore a solemn oath to take down Slynt in three days, so I can't afford to waste time... I'm heading back to the industrial park. You two stay in the city, near the east camp of the Watch—be careful." Tyrion shook his head. "That's all. I'll send ten men into the city this afternoon… not enough to confront the Watch directly, but enough to prevent Slynt from making a desperate move."

"All right. Take care outside the city." Aegor accepted Tyrion's arrangements and orders without question, and was even glad to let someone else do the thinking. But just before they parted, a thought struck him. "By the way, Arya, didn't Akun ask you to find more people to practice swordplay with? Starting today, you'll go to the security team's training ground outside the city and spar with some of your father's guards."

"Huh? That far?"

Tyrion looked at Aegor curiously, not understanding the reason for the arrangement. He couldn't ask too much with Arya present, but he trusted Aegor must have had a reason, so he helped out. "It's not far at all. Come on, how about a race on horseback, see who gets there first?"

"Okay!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 151

Aegor understood that Tyrion was right, he did lack a certain murderous aura. Since leaving the Wall, his role had gradually shifted from that of a Night's Watch ranger to a black-cloaked businessman. The rebellion in the Vale had consumed too much of his energy. He hadn't yet developed the long-term vision, decisiveness, or ruthlessness of a true capitalist. His soldier's instincts were being dulled by daily negotiations and business dealings. Perhaps it was time to hand over those tedious, repetitive tasks to his subordinates and turn to something bigger.

This time, Tyrion's plan required both of the "two giants" to act in person. They had to rely on a combination of wealth and influence to take down their enemy without shedding a single drop of blood. If Aegor wanted to go further, mastering this more advanced method was essential.

In three days, using the capital of the Night's Watch industry to bring down the commander of the City Watch in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms… If the person making such a claim weren't Tyrion Lannister, Aegor would've been skeptical. How could a business enterprise less than a year old already have that much influence?

---

After lunch, Aegor took some time to draft a formal letter of complaint under his real name. This letter was the first strike in a battle without swords or bloodshed. It didn't need to be precise or powerful just fired. As such, the contents were simple: in his capacity as Aegor West, Chief Logistics Officer of the Night's Watch, he accused Janos Slynt of harassing female employees at the Night's Watch office, disrupting normal operations, abusing his power, and soliciting bribes.

Combined with Arya's narrative, it should be enough to give Eddard Stark a general impression of Slynt—and pave the way for everything that followed.

That afternoon, while waiting for Tyrion to send the list, Aegor received another raven, one letter from the Red Keep, and one from the Wall.

He assumed it was a routine supply list for the next month, but upon opening the letter, he was shaken: the first piece of news was that the vanguard of the wildling army was nearing the Wall, and Castle Black now urgently needed manpower and material support. The second piece was explosive—after weeks of struggle, the rangers had ventured deep into the Haunted Forest and captured a wight, suffering double-digit casualties in the process. The wight had been secured aboard the warship Storm Crow at Eastwatch and was en route to King's Landing. With favorable currents, a northern wind, and a full crew of oarsmen, it was expected to arrive within ten days!

Ravens take time to fly. This letter had been written several days ago, and Aegor didn't know how long the Grand Maester had held it before passing it along… It said ten days, but in reality, only a few days might remain. That meant: the ship carrying the wight would arrive in King's Landing very soon!

...

...

There was already enough chaos in the city, and now this. Misfortunes never came singly. Aegor's mouth went dry, but deep down, he understood: it wasn't that these events had "collided." Rather, the wheel of history was rolling forward. These events were always meant to unfold simultaneously, he just happened to be in a position that bridged Castle Black and King's Landing, making them seem intertwined.

With rumors about Cersei and Jaime spreading, and strange movements among the wildlings and White Walkers beyond the Wall, it was no longer realistic for the Night's Watch to develop peacefully. Still, capturing a wight wasn't bad news for someone in his position. What mattered now was figuring out how to control the public reaction when the creature arrived in King's Landing, and how to use that shock to the Night's Watch's advantage—without disrupting normal operations. That was what he, the chief logistics officer, needed to consider.

No—what mattered most right now was the present. As for the wight, he'd wait until it arrived safely in King's Landing before making further plans. Today, the priority was still removing Janos Slynt so Tyrion could flee to Casterly Rock and lie low.

"Ser, what's in the letter?" Nina asked when she saw the change in Aegor's expression. "Is the supply list from the Wall beyond what we can handle?"

"How could that be?" Aegor smiled, carefully tore Mormont's letter in half, handed the portion containing the supply request to Nina, and tucked the rest into a drawer. "Pass the list to the warehouse and purchasing department. Gather everything and send it to the Wall as soon as possible."

Nina glanced at the list and looked surprised. "Ser… this is half again as much as last month. If we don't take a cut, then after paying dividends, wages, and other costs, we won't make much profit."

"Have you forgotten the four thousand gold dragons I earned from selling papermaking and printing? Besides, when did I ever say our goal was to make money? As long as our capital flow remains steady, we will never cut corners on supplies for the Wall. Tell everyone in those departments: not a single grain of wheat is to be lost." If the wildlings or White Walkers breached the Wall, the game was over. That was the line that could never be crossed, no matter how busy they were. "See to it immediately. Also, I'll be leaving early today. After dinner, I'll start visiting the people on Tyrion's list."

---

The list Tyrion sent contained many names, but the one he recommended Aegor visit first was Ser Jacelyn Bywater, captain of the City Watch at the River Gate—commonly known as the Mud Gate.

This officer had once been a close friend of Jeroth, the current head of security for Night's Watch logistics. He also had a long-standing grudge with Slynt, but was luckier than his friend—he hailed from a lesser branch of House Bywater in the Crownlands. Though his family held no lands of their own, they were still noble, and thus sworn bannermen to the king. Bywater had also distinguished himself in battle during Robert's campaign against the Greyjoy rebellion and had been knighted. Although Slynt hated him, he didn't dare move against him openly, so Bywater had remained in command at the Mud Gate.

"He's a brave and honorable man," Tyrion had written in the margin. That was why he wanted Aegor to approach him first.

After dinner, Aegor and Jaqen left the estate and headed for the River Gate in southern King's Landing. Casey was happily working as an inspector at the training camp outside the city. As for the Faceless Man hiding within Night's Watch operations—aside from teaching Arya swordsmanship and guarding the office, he'd done little else for months, yet still drew a wage. It was time to put him to better use.

…

Westeros had irregular seasons, but only over the long term. In the short term, the climate changed gradually. Over the past six months, the temperature had slowly cooled. Subjectively, King's Landing was now transitioning from midsummer into early autumn: still hot at noon, but cool in the mornings and evenings.

By now, the sun had sunk behind the city walls. The last rays of light bathed the taller buildings within the city in gold. The sky overhead was clear and deep blue. Birds flew overhead. Smoke curled from the chimneys of nearby homes. With the arrival of autumn, the city's infamous stench had lessened considerably… To describe the weather in a more poetic fashion: "The day had spent all its heat."

If not for the blood-red comet still hanging in the eastern sky, it might have been called a peaceful evening.

Aegor arrived at the Mud Gate just before sunset. After a brief negotiation with the guards, he was allowed into the gatehouse and brought to meet the man he'd come to find, inside the squad leader's personal quarters.

…

The captain of the Mud Gate guard was a weathered middle-aged man. His brown hair was streaked with grey, his eye sockets were deep-set, his brow pronounced, and his jaw intimidatingly wide. Most notably, his right hand had been severed at the wrist and replaced with an iron prosthetic.

Aegor had eaten earlier than usual, which made his arrival slightly ill-timed—the officer was still having dinner.

"Chief Logistics Officer? Please, sit." Bywater studied his guest with a strange look as he held a fork in his left hand, spearing the last strip of bacon from his plate and placing it in his mouth. "What can I do for you?"

Aegor didn't answer at once. Instead, he turned and said, "Akun, wait outside."

Jaqen gave a silent nod and stepped back.

Bywater, still chewing, raised an eyebrow in confusion. He then nodded at his servant, silently dismissing him as well.

"Aegor West… I've heard of you, but I'm sorry to say I have no money to invest in your Night's Watch business." The Mud Gate captain set down his fork, pushed his plate aside with his left hand, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "If that's why you're here, you can save your breath. If it's something else, get to the point."

Though blunt, he hadn't been outright rude. And based on what Tyrion had written, Aegor held a favorable impression of the man. "Ser Bywater, your friend Jeroth asked me to come to you. I've heard that you and Commander Slynt don't exactly get along."

"Jeroth? I heard that bastard's doing well under you?" Sharing a mutual acquaintance, Bywater's tone softened slightly. "Yeah, no point pretending. There's no love lost between me and Slynt. In fact, a lot of the City Watch doesn't like him. But he's the man His Grace appointed, so what can we do but keep our heads down?"

"Now, you may have a chance to see him brought down. I wonder, would Ser Bywater be interested?" When dealing with a straightforward man, Aegor believed in being just as direct. "Slynt has violated the interests of both Tyrion Lannister and myself through his actions against the Night's Watch industry. We're preparing to bring him down. We've listed several charges already, but we'll need witnesses and evidence to make them stick. That's why your friend recommended you."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 152

"You are not the first person who wants to overthrow Slynt." After a moment of silence, the captain of the Mud Gate garrison spoke. "But do you know who's behind him?"

"King Robert. I also know His Grace favors him because he follows orders without question, never talks back, and doesn't brag about it afterward. Isn't that right?"

"It seems you've done your research. But since you know that, what gives you the confidence to go after Slynt?" Ser Bywater shook his head. "You might as well just hire someone to kill him. That would be cleaner and more efficient, without leaving any loose ends."

The assassination of the commander of the City Watch of King's Landing was a serious matter. If Robert became enraged and decided to investigate, he could turn King's Landing upside down. That would be a last resort, but Aegor hadn't been pushed that far yet. He didn't continue that line of conversation, instead answering the earlier question: "My confidence lies in the fact that we're not trying to frame Slynt. He's already hopelessly corrupt." Just like Robert himself, perhaps because when the upper beam is crooked, the lower ones are bound to follow. The Night's Watch brother paused and added, "At the same time, we have a fair and strict Hand of the King—and I happen to be the swordsman sworn to his daughter, Arya Stark."

"Don't get cocky just because of that connection. The former Hand, Jon Arryn, was also fair and strict. He tried to dismiss Slynt a year ago and found two City Watch officers willing to testify against him but both of them died in 'accidents' not long after. Not long after that, Jon Arryn himself died." Bywater scoffed. "Though everyone believes Lysa poisoned him, who really knows the truth? Slynt might not be that capable, but when it comes to ruthlessness, none of us come close."

"The situation is different this time. When Jon Arryn tried to remove Slynt, he was acting in the open, while Slynt remained in the shadows. That plan failed once word got out. But this time, we're in the shadows, and Slynt is the one in the open." Aegor smiled with confidence and began to spin his lie. "My partner, Tyrion Lannister, is already speaking with the major powers in King's Landing—Lord Gyles Rosby, Lord Buckwell of Antlers, the son of Lord Lake who's stationed in the capital… the noble houses of the Crownlands, along with merchants and shopkeepers they support, will soon throw in their lot with us. When that happens, do you think Slynt will be able to kill them all?"

"Oh? If what you said is true, then I do believe you've prepared well. But how do I know you're not just bluffing, trying to trick me into taking the risk for you?"

"Of course it's a bluff. I'm not here to deceive you, Ser Bywater. I'm here to ask you to be the first to step forward. We're going to build momentum and expose the truth. All you need to do is testify, either yourself or have one of your soldiers do it—when Hand of the King Eddard starts his investigation. If you feel things aren't going well, you can pretend this meeting never happened. How does that sound?"

"Since Lord Aegor is being so direct, I'll give you a direct answer. I can help—but my condition is simple. For the sake of my own safety and that of my men, I won't act until I see real signs that those lords you mentioned are taking action. But once I see that your allies are moving, I'll cooperate without hesitation. How's that?"

…

…

"Alright." Aegor smiled. With this result, he could now go to the next officer and boldly claim that Ser Bywater had agreed to join the cause. "Now, let's talk about what kind of evidence your brothers in the Watch can provide for our fight."

…

Time passed. The conversation continued until the moon rose and stood beside the bloody red comet. Aegor realized he had gained far more than expected. Slynt's corruption was even deeper than he had imagined. His means of making money were so brazen, it was astonishing.

Tyrion had said that half of the City Watch in King's Landing had been appointed by the Crown and the major noble houses in the capital. This was confirmed by Ser Bywater. Aside from those officers who had powerful patrons, and a few like Bywater who had been promoted by Robert himself for their military merits, every other officer—from the gate captains down to the corporals—had bought their positions from Janos Slynt!

"If it was just a matter of selling posts in the Watch, that'd be one thing. But the disgusting part is, the brothers who bought their positions not only had to pay a bribe upfront, they also had to hand over half of their officer's salary to Slynt every month." Bywater spoke through clenched teeth. "As a result, officers don't make much more than common guards. Many promising young men have quit because of it. After a few years, the City Watch doesn't look like a military force anymore—it looks like Slynt's private pig farm. Aside from the ones with connections or who were promoted by the king himself, the rest are pigs fattened up for slaughter, handing over their pay to him every month!"

The Baratheon dynasty had only been established for a little over a decade, yet the capital's armed forces had already become this corrupt. Robert even said that whoever came next might be even worse. Aegor was finally seeing how absurd a ruler could be in governing a kingdom. "He's so reckless… have none of the Watch brothers ever considered resisting?"

"Who would lead them?" Bywater gave a bitter smile. "Slynt's not stupid. He doesn't touch the half of the officers who have good backing. As for the others—most got their positions through deals with him. If he's brought down, won't those who bribed their way in be implicated too? And he's raised a group of loyal cronies—he never docks pay or mistreats the soldiers stationed in the East Camp. Those hundred or so men are grateful just to be paid properly and are fiercely loyal to Slynt. It's pathetic. On top of that, word is he regularly sends gifts to Lord Renly, the Master of Laws. That's how he's managed to get away with everything for so long."

So Renly and Slynt were in league as well… As Robert's brother and Lord of Storm's End, Aegor didn't believe Renly had accepted Slynt's bribes to act as his protector. But Renly Baratheon was a schemer like Margaery Tyrell. His guiding principle was to make more friends and fewer enemies. He was always thinking about how to appear kind and charming to the world. He was suited for diplomacy—but appointing him as Master of Laws was a joke. Expecting Renly, a man uninterested in women, to deal fairly with his brother's men was wishful thinking. Aegor and Tyrion had never considered going through the Master of Laws—they went straight to the Hand of the King. That now seemed like a wise decision.

The capital's military and legal systems were in complete disarray. How could the Baratheon dynasty survive like this? The Night's Watch brother sighed and asked, "Anything else?"

"Yes. You must've heard that Slynt doesn't care for his first wife. Her family has no power or influence, and they can't control him now that he's Commander of the City Watch." Ser Bywater gave a sly smile. "After giving him four children, he grew tired of her, called her a yellow-faced hag, and bought several houses in King's Landing. He's keeping three young, beautiful girls—two of them have already borne him bastards."

…

If the rebellion in the Vale hadn't been quelled in time, and if he hadn't rushed back to King's Landing, Nina might have become the fourth. Aegor felt a chill. Without protection, how helpless must a common girl feel in the face of a powerful commander's threats and promises? He could picture it clearly. "How do you know such private matters in such detail? Have you already investigated him?"

"Private? It's only private if Slynt keeps it quiet! That bastard has the king as his backer and the Master of Laws turns a blind eye, so he acts without restraint!" Bywater's face twisted with anger. "His methods of acquiring those girls were dishonorable, but once he succeeded, he didn't abandon them. He treats them as concubines—gives them living expenses and pocket money, regularly sends City Watch soldiers to deliver daily supplies, move furniture, clean their homes. Sometimes they even go outside the city to help the girls' families with farm work! Since I don't get along with him, my men at the Mud Gate end up doing most of this dirty work. It's his way of showing off to me!"

"Such arrogance… this is perfect. We'll have no trouble finding evidence to bring him down. Heh… Ser Bywater, can you gather the names and addresses of Slynt's lovers and bastards and give them to me?"

"Not yet. I haven't collected that information myself. Only my brothers know those details. If I start digging, they'll immediately realize I'm turning against Slynt. Many men in the Watch owe their ranks to him—mine included. Once word gets out, there'll be trouble. Slynt is the kind of man who can operate in both the criminal underworld and the courts." Bywater shook his head. "But I can promise you—if the Hand of the King really launches an investigation, I'll be able to hand over all the evidence quickly."

Aegor had been cautious enough, but he hadn't expected to meet someone even more cautious. He almost laughed, but he understood. So he nodded. "That's fine. Then let's consider this an agreement?"

"I always keep my word." Bywater tapped the table with the iron hand on his right arm. "But you and your friends—be careful in the next couple of days. When Slynt gets angry, he stops caring about consequences."

Aegor and Tyrion were reporting directly to the Hand of the King. He didn't believe Eddard Stark would leak their identities. Still, to be safe, he'd brought Jaqen with him. "Thank you for the warning. Well then, goodbye. The operation will begin in a day or two—please remember that, Ser."

"Ever since I lost this arm, my memory's been excellent. I won't be forgetting."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 153

The fact that Janos Slynt became commander of the City Watch was actually the result of an accidental compromise among multiple factions.

The City Watch of King's Landing serves as the administrative and enforcement force in the largest city of the Seven Kingdoms. It is an incredibly lucrative position. The royal lords, especially those with local influence in King's Landing, all competed fiercely to gain control. How could they possibly allow a lowborn butcher's son to become its commander?

During the 300-year history of the Targaryen dynasty, the City Watch traditionally maintained a structure where "half were appointed by the king, and the other half deployed by various noble houses." The commander was usually a member of the royal family. The royal faction, being the king's direct vassals, naturally aligned their interests with the Iron Throne. Although this arrangement appeared to undermine the king's authority, it never posed a threat to the stability of the realm.

After Robert's Rebellion, Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne from House Targaryen, and the houses of the Crownlands became his vassals. Scarred by the war, these families had no thoughts of vengeance or restoration for the Targaryens. To consolidate his rule, ease the nerves of the former Targaryen loyalists, and save himself the trouble of major reform, Robert did not tamper with the "traditions" of the previous regime. Instead, he turned a blind eye to the City Watch's existing structure.

The new king was "forthright and easygoing," but the royal lords were full of guilt and "judged others by their own standards." Instead of fighting overtly and covertly over the command of the Watch, as they had done for over two centuries—moves that might have unsettled Robert—they decided to perform a show of loyalty. Representatives were sent to Jon Arryn, declaring that the lords would not interfere with the appointment of the next Commander of the Watch, and that the candidate would not come from any noble house, but instead from the ranks of commoners born in King's Landing—someone who would be directly loyal to the new king.

According to custom, the commander was chosen from the captains of the seven gate garrisons. Of the seven, only two were commoners, and one had died in battle when the Lannisters stormed the city. Thus, Janos Slynt, the sole surviving gate captain who fit the criteria, became the only viable candidate. Once in office, he quickly gained favor with his new master by doing the royal family's dirty work and cleaning up their messes, thus beginning his rapid rise.

Janos Slynt often claimed he had "many friends at court," but Tyrion's simple description exposed his true nature perfectly: merely a dog of Robert's. If not for the king's favor, what noble would even glance at such a crude man born to a butcher's family? Now that he had unknowingly offended a rising interest group, those "friends" who had once helped him climb to the top had, under Tyrion's persuasion and increased "dividends," turned into his gravediggers overnight. With their approval—and even cooperation—the entire city began to stir beneath the surface… and the garrison commander who had run rampant in King's Landing for over a decade was finally standing at the eye of the storm, with his days numbered.

---

While the campaign to remove the City Watch commander surged forward, another struggle between the high lords was unfolding within the stone walls of the Red Keep. Both sides quietly began mobilizing their forces. The Starks' cooks, stewards, and soldiers began to take control of the kitchens, storerooms, and major gates of the Red Keep. The Kingsguard, accompanied by a small group of Red Keep guards, were ordered to remain near the royal chambers to protect the king. Though Cersei was queen, she held no authority while Robert lived. She could only remain by her children's side day and night, refusing to return to her own chambers, hoping her children could serve as both shield and talisman. At her request, the Lannister red cloaks stood guard over the princes and princesses…

…

…

Under the surface, unrest simmered throughout King's Landing. Those with a keen sense could already smell the coming change. And as if guided by fate, the twin conflicts, one among the nobility and one among the common folk—both converged on the king's "hound."

…

"Robert, what sort of man is this commander of yours?" Eddard sighed in the Hand's Tower and tossed a stack of documents onto the table in front of the king. "Take a look at what he's done."

"What, someone wants to get rid of him?" Robert was drinking less these days than he had in the past ten years. His face was no longer red, and he carried himself with a rare air of dignity. "Don't worry, it must be that woman Cersei's doing. She's brought over a hundred red cloaks to her side. If she had nothing to hide, why would she need to do that? We're outnumbered in the Red Keep, and her soldiers are well-trained. If the City Watch turns against us right now, we'll be out of options."

"Oh, Your Grace, you believe the queen orchestrated these reports? I disagree. I've gone through the contents—every report is signed with a real name. The complainants range from common folk and merchants in King's Landing to nobles from the Crownlands. Even the Night's Watch is involved. If the Lannisters could control all these people from afar, then I might as well pack up and return to Winterfell for good." Eddard's expression didn't change as he continued, "And I can tell you plainly, after a full day of preliminary investigation, every one of these accusations is well-substantiated and doesn't appear fabricated. One of the attempted assaults was even witnessed by Arya. Do you think my daughter would lie to me?"

"Assault? You always exaggerate… That fool Slynt might've flirted with girls on the street, taken some gifts from his men, maybe skimmed a bit off the top from merchants—oh, fine, let me see…" Robert snatched the documents, pulled them close, and began to read.

Though he claimed disbelief, Robert's expression slowly darkened as he flipped through the letters Eddard had given him. The initial sneer on his fat face faded, replaced by unease. After reading five or six of them, his surprise and annoyance turned into anger. He stopped reading and slammed the stack down on the table. "This is outrageous. Is this King's Landing mine or his? I'd say Slynt's career has just come to an end!"

"Didn't Your Grace say before, 'I know him better than you do'?" Eddard folded his arms and looked at Robert, completely unfazed. "It seems your understanding of the people around you isn't as thorough as you thought. Maybe Janos Slynt really was a fool sixteen years ago, but so many years have passed. People change, especially when they hold power and command troops in a city like this."

"Alright, I admit it. Slynt's problem is more serious than I thought. I was fooled by his honest face in front of me." Robert's fury subsided, replaced by suspicion. "But don't you think the timing is too convenient? Why would all these reports surface just when I need the Watch the most?"

"Are you blaming me? Isn't this supposed to be the responsibility of your brother, the Master of Laws? If he had done his duty sooner, people wouldn't be coming to the new Hand to bypass him and report directly to me." Eddard shot back without hesitation and sighed. "That said, I can guess why these complaints all ended up on my desk, Night's Watch Industries. You remember granting its founder tax exemption not long ago, don't you?"

"Yes… I remember. I was a little drunk when I agreed to that." Robert looked annoyed. "But I already said it, and there's no taking it back. What's the harm in letting him keep a few coins?"

"You always act this way. But this time, I think your decision was sound. The Night's Watch is in dire straits, and it's good they're trying to solve their own problems. The Iron Throne already fails to provide them proper support. Waiving a bit of tax isn't too much to ask. But your commander is so greedy he tried to squeeze money from an industry you don't even tax. That's madness… The Night's Watch isn't under my jurisdiction, but when trouble comes, they still turn to me first. It breaks protocol, I admit, but the North has always been the first beneficiary of the Night's Watch. I know many of them personally, including that boy, Aegor West. As long as he tells others I, Eddard Stark, am willing to get involved, every report that had nowhere to go before naturally found its way to me."

Robert muttered gloomily, "That bastard Slynt. I'll give him a good thrashing when I get back."

"A good thrashing?" Eddard was genuinely surprised this time, his voice rising. "Didn't you read the letter I just handed you? You actually want to keep the man who turned King's Landing into a cesspit?"

Robert looked guilty and didn't reply. "Even if we do deal with him, we should wait until we've handled Cersei and her brother first, right?"

"What gives you the confidence to say, 'He's rotten, but loyal to me'?" Eddard would not back down. "A man with no principles can't be trusted with anything. Only by giving command of the Watch to someone loyal and reliable can we safely carry out the next phase of our plan."

"You're always fighting me! Do you believe that if I order the Watch to storm the Red Keep and arrest Cersei and Jaime now, there'd be no problems afterward? Then you can appoint whoever you like as commander—even Arya, if you wish. Why do you always have to oppose me?"

"You want to arrest Cersei now? Because of some rumor that she's having an affair?" Eddard couldn't believe Robert was abandoning their plan. "And because nothing's happened yet? If Lord Tywin leads the most ruthless, elite sellswords and armies in Westeros against you, will you still call that 'nothing happened'?"

"If he dares raise an army, I'll destroy the Lannisters the way I destroyed the Targaryens!"

"Robert, you're not a boy anymore. Stop talking nonsense!" Eddard finally lost his temper. "You just used your feudal rights in the Vale. For a whole year, your bannermen have no obligation to fight again! So how will you pay an army? Or are you just so desperate to divorce Cersei and marry that Tyrell girl who's been parading around the Red Keep lately?"

"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to your king!" Robert roared out of habit. "I told Margaery Tyrell to leave me alone and go find Robb. It was your son who begged me to arrange a marriage with the Freys!"

"Yes, yes, I didn't raise my son properly. Let's not talk about that. You are the king, and it's your right to make the final decision. But I must remind Your Grace—rumors are still just rumors. Without proof, they're meaningless!" The hair color of the prince and princess was certainly suspicious, but Eddard had always been cautious. Had he uncovered the truth himself, he would have believed it. But now, this "evidence" had been forced into his ears by Littlefinger through gossip. Driven by distrust, Eddard felt uneasy. "If Your Grace insists on acting, I won't oppose it but allow me to resign first, and then you may carry out your 'swift and decisive' plan."

"Fine, fine!" Robert slammed the table in frustration, but there was nothing he could do against someone immune to his wrath. "Go ahead and investigate this damned Slynt. But remember, the next commander of the Watch must be ours… ah, you damned northerner! You don't know what it's like, just thinking about the rumors out there makes me sick. How can I even imagine having another child with Cersei? If I die before you uncover the truth, it'll be your fault. And I'll come back from the grave to haunt you, remember that!"

(To be continued.)

Chapter 154: Win or Die

On the first day of the "three days" declared by Tyrion, the King's Landing garrison continued to obstruct and harass the normal operations of the Night's Watch until Tyrion arrived with his men. Only then did they feign a retreat. But Janos Slynt wasn't without sources of intelligence. On the second day, a strange shift in the wind made him sense something was wrong, and he ordered the Gold Cloaks to stand down.

Inside the East Camp of the garrison, the commander sat in his office, discussing the mysterious visitor who had just left with his trusted aide.

…

"That was the Queen's man?" Yarral Dim, Slynt's top henchman, asked in surprise. "Why would the Queen send someone to see you?"

"He gave me a generous gift. He told me the Queen's dwarf brother is conspiring with that Night's Watchman named Aegor to frame me. He convinced many nobles at court to accuse me of numerous crimes in the name of the Hand of the King, all to remove me from my post as Commander of the City Watch," Slynt said stiffly. "No wonder, when I visited several shops yesterday, their attitudes weren't as respectful as usual. Their masters must have told them to report me by name."

"Huh?" Yarral looked confused. "Why would the Queen bother with this? And she's Tyrion's sister by blood. Why would she betray her own brother to help us?"

"As Queen, isn't it natural that she has spies in the palace and access to inside information?" Slynt's expression darkened. He was beginning to regret dealing with the Night's Watch. "As for why she would help me… heh, she wanted to bribe me to turn traitor for her. Kill the King, drive out the Hand, and put her bastard son on the throne. The reward she promised me was that, if successful, all accusations against me would be silenced and I would be granted a title."

"Rebellion?" Yarral was shocked. "So, the rumors about her and her brother are true? Now that the King has returned, she can't hide the affair anymore, so she's gambling it all?"

"Seems that way. Yarral, if you were Commander of the City Watch, would you agree to her offer?"

…

"My Lord, this… I'm afraid it wouldn't work. King Robert knows every one of our brothers in the Watch. If he shouted at us in public, the lads would tie us up and hand us over to him on the spot."

Yarral stammered. But really, it wasn't just that the soldiers knew the King. If a commander had enough authority and offered enough rewards, any king could be overthrown. But the current situation was this: on one side was the realm's founder, famed for martial prowess and unmatched prestige, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms who paid all the City Watch's wages. On the other side was a commander who showed no concern for his men and often docked their pay. Slynt had no issue being overbearing with Robert's backing, but who would follow a mad dog that turned on its master?

Half the soldiers in the City Watch were loyal to the King. Most of the remaining thousand hated their commander. Even if the one hundred men of the East Camp remained loyal to Slynt, that shallow loyalty, built only on receiving regular wages, was not enough to make them rebel.

Slynt understood all this and nodded. "I don't think it'll work either. The King summoned me two days ago. Didn't he hint at taking action against the Lannisters? His Grace is already wary of the Queen. Without his command, our men can't even enter the Red Keep. We have no siege gear, so what's the point of rebelling? Cersei's finished, and she wants to drag me down with her. If one of those three bastards were actually my son, maybe I'd have done something big. But she never even slept with me. Why should I risk my life for her?"

Yarral sighed in relief. "So, you didn't agree to her offer."

"I agreed."

"What?!"

Slynt glared at him. "Idiot. Just because I agreed doesn't mean I'll do what she asks. I can always tip off His Majesty and earn myself some merit."

"Ah, I see!" Yarral breathed easier. "But then, how do you plan to deal with the Night's Watch and the dwarf trying to bring you down?"

"Hmph. Simple. The rumors about Tyrion and his sister not getting along are true. At this life-or-death moment, the Lannisters aren't united and still act on their own. Laughable." A grim look flashed across Slynt's face. "Since this 'Night's Watch' man wants to mess with me, what if I tell the King that the one behind the Night's Watch is Tyrion Lannister, and the Queen once tried to bribe me into murdering him?"

Yarral thought about it, then shook his head.

"You never think. His Grace will only believe the Queen failed to bribe me, so now she's using her brother to get me dismissed."

"That makes sense!"

"As long as the King trusts me, I can buy myself some time." Janos Slynt took a deep breath. He hadn't felt this close to disaster in years. He hadn't expected a mere Night's Watch enterprise to wield such power. He had been too careless. "She's just a woman. Aegor and Tyrion want to kill me? Since they made the first move, they shouldn't blame me for striking back."

Didn't you start the fight first? Can't others retaliate? Yarral thought, but since he and Slynt were in the same boat, he could only support his boss. "My Lord, what do you want done?"

"Kill the two of them. Once they're gone, those fools plotting with them to take me down will be leaderless and fall apart. They're just a bunch of petty crooks looking for profit. When their leaders die, they'll only focus on fighting over the Night's Watch's spoils and won't care about me anymore," Slynt growled. "You oppose me for some little girl? I'll kill you. Not only will I sleep with her, I'll make her hand over part of the Night's Watch fortune to me. I'll spend your money to sleep with her. I'll use your money to raise my son!"

"Brilliant idea, my Lord. I heard Nina handles the accounts for the Night's Watch. It should be easy to get her to move some funds back your way!" Yarral said excitedly, then hesitated. "But, my Lord, these two aren't like those fools who promised to testify against you for Jon Arryn last year. And now isn't a good time. His Grace just ordered us to reorganize the Watch for use at any time. If we mobilize our men and kill two important figures in broad daylight, we won't be able to explain it. Besides, the Hand has already begun his investigation. We can't kill the Hand too, can we?"

"Then don't use our City Watch men. Use your underworld friends!" Slynt frowned in thought. "As for the Hand, I'll simply tell His Grace, 'The Lannisters are planning rebellion and may strike at any moment. Please act swiftly.' With the King's temper, he'll definitely strike first. As long as chaos breaks out in the Red Keep and the lions, wolves, and stags are fighting, do you think the Hand will care about a nobody like me?" A smug expression crossed his face. "Once we help King Robert bring down the Lannisters and secure King's Landing, we'll have earned great merit. Even if the Hand keeps investigating, at worst our crimes and deeds will cancel each other out. My life will be safe. And once we clash with Lord Tywin next, who'll have time to look into me during such a mess?"

"What a great plan, my Lord!" Yarral realized for the first time that his boss wasn't just ruthless, he was smart too. This plan was flawless.

"It's not that I have a good plan. It's that you're too stupid and I have to think of everything!" Slynt snapped. "Go, act quickly. I want those two ungrateful rats dead today. The longer they live, the greater the risk I lose my head!"

Pleased with his own brilliance, Slynt suddenly remembered something and added, "Wait, don't touch Tyrion. He's still a Lannister. Better to wait for His Grace's orders. His father, Tywin, is still out west. If the King strikes a deal with him later and tries to swap hostages, then investigates his son's death, we might get sold out by that stiff-necked Eddard Stark."

The terror of "The Rains of Castamere" still echoed. Even in King's Landing, the Commander of the City Watch feared Lord Tywin's wrath.

"Understood. I'll get it done."

"Hold on. Why so eager?" Slynt slapped the table. "There's one more thing. If I didn't tell you, you'd never guess. This Aegor West was once a ranger of the Night's Watch, nicknamed 'White Walker Slayer.' They say he's skilled enough to fight the Dornish Prince, the Red Viper, for dozens of moves. Your street thugs might bully common folk, but can they handle a warrior like him? I'll give you a note. Go to the armory and fetch two crossbows. Slip them to your friends. Tell them to get some practice in before taking action."

"Yes, my Lord!"

Yarral Dim collected the crossbows and bolts, then left the commander's office. Janos Slynt stood and slowly walked to the window.

…

If Cersei hadn't sent me that intel in time, I'd have sunk in this ditch. I really ought to thank her. But getting dragged into a rebellion that'll get me killed? No chance. Let those highborns play their game of thrones. People like me, with no name and no background, just need to cling to the right leg. I've got an old mother and a pile of wives and children. Why should I fight for the realm with a lunatic who beds her own brother? What a joke.

The Seven truly favor me. Gazing at the busy Night's Watch office across the street, Slynt sneered. Soon, another woman would join his harem. The harder the woman was to get, the more fun she would be. As long as that girl didn't have any foolish ideas about avenging her boss, he would make sure she was well pampered.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 155: The King's Rebellion Begins

Before crossing over, Aegor had never been a boss or a ruler. He couldn't have imagined how terrifying the power of capital could be until he experienced it for himself. The Night's Watch, a business enterprise barely six months old, was compared by Tyrion to his own daughter. This half-year-old "infant" had just thrown its first punch, and the balance of victory nearly tipped in its favor.

By the end of the second day, even the most ill-informed shopkeepers and merchants were whispering over dinner to their families and friends, "Janos Slynt is about to be in big trouble."

Tyrion had declared that he would bring the man down in three days, and now, it seemed there was a real chance he would succeed.

…

In his communications with partners, Aegor learned that every faction in King's Landing with financial interests in the Night's Watch enterprise had already nodded in agreement with Tyrion's plan to replace the commander of the City Watch. Even those not yet aligned with the group had agreed to stay out of the matter after Tyrion sent word. The lords of the Crownlands had even begun preparations for a meeting of representatives to choose a new commander. Having learned their lesson, this time they wouldn't entrust such a key position to some irrelevant citizen of King's Landing.

All that remained was for the Hand of the King to make his move, and all of Aegor's preparations would come into play.

(This must be the trend of the times… or more bluntly, when the wall collapses, everyone pushes it down?)

Aegor walked out of the Steel Gate Garrison, pleased to have gathered yet more evidence of Slynt's misdeeds.

The enemy was finished. The final and only factor that would now determine whether Tyrion's last name would need to be written backwards was when Eddard Stark would officially dismiss and arrest Slynt for investigation.

Lannister, written backwards in Westeros, might sound like "Rhettsnell"? Amused by how Tyrion's name sounded in reverse, Aegor untied the horse at the entrance of the Iron Gate Watch Station, mounted up, and rode home in the fading twilight.

…

Half the list of City Watch officers had yet to be visited, but there was no need anymore. The evidence they had already gathered was enough to see the current commander executed ten times over. Sometimes, it turned out, swords were not needed to bring down an enemy.

"You've been running around these past two days. You're exhausted. Tomorrow, the whole office will take a day off. We'll head to the Night's Watch Industrial Park outside the city to avoid the spotlight. Who knows if that mad dog Slynt will get desperate and lash out? We'll return after he's under control."

The "Night's Watch Logistics Security Team" had now grown to over a hundred members, plus many employees. Even if Slynt rallied his loyalists, it would be far from enough.

"Yes," Jaqen replied, as curt as always.

"Let's go home and get some sleep."

---

Night had just fallen, and King's Landing was not yet asleep. Though few pedestrians walked the streets, sounds echoed from every direction—cats yowling and fighting in the alleys, dogs barking at doors, laughter spilling from taverns, and snatches of drunken singing drifting by.

Amid the noise of the Seven Kingdoms' largest city, two men rode beneath the last light in the west, heading down the bustling main street toward the residential district where they lived.

Turning onto a side road, they were just a few hundred meters from "home" when Jaqen suddenly said, "Stop."

"Hmm?" The power struggle was nearly over, but Aegor remained on edge. He reined in his horse immediately. "What is it?"

"A piece of rope."

With the help of the dim glow still lingering in the sky, Aegor soon saw the rope Jaqen had spotted. It lay slack on the ground, both ends stretched between houses on either side of the road. It looked unremarkable, but it was easy to imagine what would have happened had they ridden forward unaware. The rope would have gone taut as they passed, likely tripping their horses. If crushed beneath the animals, they would have been seriously injured if not killed.

They're after me. Aegor instantly understood. This swordless war had already tilted in his favor, and he was just waiting for the victory to ripen. But the enemy must have caught wind of this. While it wouldn't change the final outcome, he only had one life. If he died, no matter how triumphant the Night's Watch enterprise became, it would have nothing to do with him.

It was impossible to completely contain word of such a massive top-down mobilization and fusion of money and power. Still, Aegor hadn't expected the enemy to act so quickly. He didn't waste time wondering where the leak came from. His hand instinctively reached for his waist, and the cold hilt of his sword gave him a shred of comfort. He wasn't defenseless. This time, he had brought a weapon and a faceless man, nominally his subordinate. He was ready.

As soon as they stopped, the sounds around them grew sharper and more distinct. Aegor stood alert, weighing whether to retreat or push forward. But then Jaqen, still mounted beside him, raised his left leg without warning and kicked him hard.

Caught off guard, Aegor lost his balance and was thrown from the saddle.

The sudden attack, from someone he thought an ally, gave him no time to react. His ankle twisted as he hit the ground. Both legs slipped from the stirrups, but he barely avoided smashing his head or being dragged. He rolled, landed on his feet, and drew his sword with a clang.

Why had Jaqen attacked him? Aegor braced for a fight, dread settling in his gut. If this Faceless Man from the House of Black and White had turned against him, then he was in grave danger tonight.

"There's a crossbowman above. Into the alley!"

Instead of charging, Jaqen used the momentum from his kick to leap from the horse, crouching and slipping past Aegor as he spoke.

Everything had happened so fast. Aegor's mind finally caught up, realizing that the two sharp sounds he'd heard right before the kick had been arrows whizzing through the air. If Jaqen hadn't kicked him at that exact moment, he would've been hit.

Without wasting a second, Aegor ducked low. While the enemy reloaded, he followed Jaqen into the narrow gap between two buildings.

It was now completely dark. In the narrow space between buildings, even the ground was hard to make out. Footsteps rang out behind them, and pain flared in Aegor's right shoulder. He reached up, and his fingers came away wet. The arrow had grazed him.

Up ahead, four figures emerged from the shadows by the road. The gleam of short blades and daggers flashed in their hands as they suddenly blocked their path.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

"You messed with someone you shouldn't have. And now you think you can just walk around the city?"

Aegor didn't bother replying. After only a few seconds of sizing them up, he judged the four men's abilities. They were clearly untrained, thugs who had only just picked up weapons. In a real fight, they would be no better than wildlings beyond the Wall. Even though it was two against four, as long as Jaqen fought at full strength, they posed no threat.

But with more enemies pursuing from behind, the situation was dangerous. Aegor didn't want to get caught between two groups. Gritting through the pain in his shoulder, he raised his sword and swung it. The steel blade whistled as it cut through the air.

Chapter Text

Chapter 156: A Night of Chaos (Part 1)

The four men who blocked the road were nothing more than thugs, called in to make up the numbers. Their task was to "block the way if the target tried to escape." As long as they could delay the target until their leader and the main force arrived, their job would be done. Only one among them had ever stabbed someone, while the other three had never seen blood. They could hold their own with weaker opponents, but when faced with someone who dared to fight back, especially a real fight to the death, they were terrified.

Facing the Night's Watch man in black, charging toward them through the darkness with sword raised and a fierce momentum, their morale had already broken before the fight even started.

Clang!

A crisp metallic sound rang out as the thug closest to Aegor ducked and raised his knife to block the first sword strike. His hand went numb from the unfamiliar shock of impact, and the courage he'd gathered from years of bullying the weak instantly drained away. He forgot all about defense, counterattacks, or coordination. He didn't even try to block the second sword, he turned and fled into the darkness.

A fleeing deserter usually becomes the best target, but the remaining three instinctively stepped in to block for him.

The second thug slashed at Aegor, forcing the Night's Watchman to dodge and parry. Then he froze for half a second, wondering if he should also run. But he never got the chance to decide. The pain in Aegor's shoulder kept him sharp, and he showed no mercy. He didn't care who this man was, or whether he deserved death. He only knew that these people had come to kill him tonight and he wasn't ready to die.

Go to hell! That was the only thought running through Aegor's mind as he struck sideways when the man's chest was exposed. Blood splattered across his cheek and the walls of the alley. The wounded man clutched his chest and collapsed, screaming.

One down, two to go. Aegor tensed, preparing for the next round, but found that Jaqen had already taken care of the other two. They were lying motionless on the ground, their condition unknown. Not a drop of blood on him. Truly, a Faceless Man.

The first skirmish ended in mere seconds, but the chaos of the night had only just begun. The two disappeared into the shadows, running deeper into the darkness.

…

"Don't let them get back to their lair! Spread out and cut them off!" the gang leader shouted, looking down at the three thugs lying on the ground. He gritted his teeth, waving his hand with a vicious glare. "Two go this way, two that way. If you see them, don't fight, just shout!"

"Yes!"

"Move faster, don't let that Night's Watchman escape!"

He led four men in the direction the targets had fled. Fury and bloodlust burned in him… but within half a minute, he realized he wasn't hunting the prey anymore. He was the prey.

---

Life is fragile. Killing is easy.

In that first short clash, Aegor's instincts as a soldier were reawakened by the blood on his face. His bloodthirst, buried deep in his bones, surged to the surface under threat of death. Though he had faced real combat before, he didn't panic. This was more than a mile from his home. Hoping to escape blindly was nearly impossible. When ambushed, the worst thing one can do is fall into the enemy's rhythm. He had to kill his way out and break their formation if he wanted to survive.

With that in mind, he and Jaqen hid in a nearby alley. Their black clothing blended into the shadows. After a minute, they ambushed the pursuers and cut them down.

This second wave wasn't much stronger than the first. Their only advantage was using crossbows. But it was a poor choice for the twisting alleys of King's Landing. When Aegor and Jaqen burst from a dark corner in a surprise attack, the fight became another one-sided slaughter.

Aegor's sword slashed down at the man in front. The thug tried to raise his crossbow to block, but the weapon cracked with a sharp snap. Before the sound faded, Aegor's second strike pierced the man's chest. Behind him, the gang leader with two daggers finally reacted, screaming as he lunged forward and forced Aegor to retreat two steps.

This leader was infamous in the Flea Bottom underworld. He had killed dozens, including trained swordsmen. One-on-one, he might have been a match for Aegor. But he had placed too much trust in his underlings and never expected the target's companion to be the best assassin in Braavos. The Faceless Man.

His focus stayed on the "White Walker Slayer" in front of him. So when Jaqen silently knocked out another crossbowman with an elbow and appeared behind him, the gang leader didn't even have time to cry out before his neck was snapped.

In an instant, the top two fighters were down, the third was bleeding out on the ground, and the last two panicked and dropped their weapons, fleeing in terror.

Real combat was nothing like dueling. There were no fancy exchanges, no showy footwork. These attackers were untrained and had no idea how to defend against an ambush. Two of their best fighters had the wrong weapons. Excluding the White Walkers, this was the first time Aegor had killed someone. He had swung his sword only five times that night and taken two lives. As for Jaqen, his blade hadn't even been bloodied, yet he had taken out twice as many.

That seemingly insignificant chess piece they had placed months ago had saved their lives tonight. But the chaos was not yet over. They quickly left the bloody scene and ran several hundred meters in a random direction before stopping.

"They're using crossbows. Slynt has gone mad," Aegor panted, wiping his sword with a cloth. Slynt's madness was his own problem, but Aegor had no intention of dying because of it. "What do we do now? Hide out for the night?"

"I follow your command, my lord," came Jaqen's calm voice from the darkness.

Well, saving him in a critical moment was already a big favor. It was too much to expect Jaqen to also provide strategy. Aegor stood between two buildings, thinking. "If they're ambushing us on the way home, that means my brothers at home are still safe. Slynt might not have the guts to hire a killer directly, but he might use the garrison. We'll go back and gather everyone."

Yesterday, Tyrion had sent ten young men from the outer-city security team to reinforce Aegor. They were part of the guard squad of one of the Night's Watch's two major leaders. Though not seasoned fighters, they could easily deal with a gang of clumsy thugs, as long as the garrison wasn't involved.

Leaving them at the house instead of keeping them close was a serious mistake. But then again, if he had gone out with bodyguards, Slynt would likely have sent more than just a few hired blades.

After circling around for several hundred meters, they finally returned home about half an hour later. On the way, they encountered a City Watch patrol. They hid in the shadows across from their door, observed carefully, and when they saw nothing unusual, dashed across the street and entered the yard.

Home was safe for now. Three newly assigned guards from outside the city were chatting on a stone bench. When they saw Aegor, they immediately rose and saluted.

"Where's your commander? Gather everyone. We can't stay here. We're leaving now."

…

Half a minute later, the group had assembled in the courtyard. Nina was shocked at Aegor's appearance.

"What happened? Is that blood on your face?"

"Not all of it's mine. Slynt got wind of something and set up an ambush. I barely escaped. He'll probably send the garrison next. We need to leave, now."

"At least bandage the wound!"

"I won't die. Stop fussing. Open the door. We're moving!"

As the guard squad filed out, Aegor spotted eight or nine figures across the road. Seeing the fourteen of them emerge, the watchers quickly scattered into the night.

He had escaped, but was still being watched. And another question immediately arose.

"My lord, where are we going?"

Where? The drawbacks of being new to King's Landing became painfully clear. The Night's Watch had three locations in the city, the first and second offices, and the staff residence. All were known and exposed. In this critical moment, Aegor realized he didn't even have a safe house.

Could they just pick a random spot and wait out the night? King's Landing was too crowded. Even the filthiest alleys under bridges were full of beggars and vagrants. There was no such thing as hiding quietly. And he was already being followed by a dozen men. He was just an outsider Night's Watchman. Slightly well-known, perhaps, but far from someone the locals would protect like some guerrilla hero.

His distinct foreign appearance, once a mark of pride, had become a curse. He couldn't hide even if he wanted to.

As for turning to his allies… with Janos Slynt making a desperate play, it wouldn't matter. No one's name would shield him now. Without the strength to resist, any hiding place would be exposed and stormed by the City Watch.

The enemy held command over King's Landing's garrison. At this moment, there was no safe place in the city except the Red Keep. Unfortunately, the royal castle was closed at night. After weighing his options, Aegor made his decision, he needed to get out of the city.

The Iron Gate was closest, but he had just come from that direction. It would be too dangerous to return. After thinking for a while, he decided to head for the next closest, the Mud Gate. Ser Bywater, the "Iron Hand" who commanded the River Gate, was known for his bravery and honor, according to Tyrion. That made him more reliable.

The bustling chaos of Blackwater Port outside the Mud Gate would be a good place to disappear. And from there, he could follow the river upstream to reach his own territory, the Night's Watch Industrial Park.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 157: Night of Chaos (Part 2)

The full moon and the blood-red comet hung side by side in the eastern sky, casting a faint glow that kept the night in King's Landing from total darkness. With the guard squad in tow, Aegor set off from the east side of the city, taking a narrow street in the dark. They followed Flour Street, descending the gentle slope of Rhaenys Hill from the high-end residential district, then plunged into the depths of Flea Bottom.

This was the slum of King's Landing, wedged between Rhaenys Hill and Visenya Hill. In elevation, living conditions, social standing, and economic power, it ranked lowest in the city, even worse than the shanty tents outside the walls. Under normal circumstances, a young woman like Nina would be in great danger walking through this maze of alleys after dark, a place teeming with thugs. But with her brother and twelve fully armed men in black beside her, it was a different story. The locals, passers-by, and street prostitutes along the way all scattered to avoid the group, fearing they'd be cut down simply for being in the way of such a grim, hurried formation.

…

"My lord, someone is following us. We won't lose them at this pace." Jaqen, playing his role as a Night's Watch employee with practiced ease, followed Aegor closely while keeping a keen eye behind them. He quickly came to a conclusion. "Someone must stay behind to stop or kill the tail."

"Harvey, Myron, Pedi, and Leon, stay here and block this intersection. Stop anyone following us from north or south along this road," the guard squad leader ordered without hesitation before Aegor could respond. "The rest of you, come with me and escort Lord Aegor to the River Gate."

"But sir, what if it's just a passerby?" one soldier asked uncertainly.

"I said everyone. Draw your weapons. No one passes until dawn."

"Yes, sir!"

Four steel swords were drawn in the night, ringing clearly. Trained in the methods of the new army, these men had developed into true soldiers. Their full combat effectiveness had yet to be tested, but their discipline and obedience were already apparent. No one hesitated. The four men stayed behind, weapons in hand, taking position in the middle of the road to block the pursuers.

…

At the summit of Visenya Hill in the distance, the Great Sept of Baelor glowed softly with light spilling from its windows, lit day and night. The remaining ten men continued along Muddy Street, slipping through alleys between houses to avoid the main roads and patrols of gold cloaks. After running breathlessly for over an hour, the dark southern wall of King's Landing finally came into view. The wall was a bit higher here, and the River Gate, lit by torches, was clearly visible. They emerged from the alley, quickened their pace, and entered the River Gate garrison.

---

"Did Slynt attack you?" After the evacuees entered the River Gate garrison and the Neil-Nina siblings were settled, Aegor was brought to the squad leader's office. After listening to his account, Jacelyn Bywater raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How do you know it was him?"

"More than a dozen armed men chased me through the streets. Two of them had crossbows. You want to tell me those were just bandits trying to rob me?" A crossbow wasn't like a bow. In Westeros, a few thugs carrying crossbows was like street gangs wielding machine guns. The implication was clear.

"Crossbows, huh? That must be Slynt. Most of the garrison uses longbows. Only the East Camp armory has a dozen crossbows, a gift from Myr."

"This isn't the time to argue about how many crossbows each garrison has. If you want them, the Night's Watch can sponsor a few later. But for now, Ser Bywater, please open the city gate. The longer I stay here, the greater the danger."

"The seven gates of King's Landing may not be opened at night without an order from the King, the Hand, or the Commander of the City Watch. Opening the gates without authorization is a felony, tantamount to treason."

Why stick to rules at a time like this? But the man wasn't wrong. Aegor held back his frustration and tried a different approach. "Then lower me from the wall using the hanging basket."

"Same reason. That would also violate the rules." Bywater fitted on his iron hand and yawned. "What's the rush? Just stay here. I'll guarantee your safety."

If Aegor hadn't been sure that Ser Ironhand wasn't one of Slynt's men, he might have thought he'd walked into another trap. "How can you guarantee my safety? Slynt's already made his move. He's not thinking about consequences. If I fall into his hands, I'll end up as someone who 'died mysteriously' or 'committed suicide out of fear of punishment.'"

"You think I'd let that happen?" Bywater glanced at him and snorted. "The River Gate garrison isn't just responsible for the city gate. We also maintain order in the Blackwater Harbor. Because of these dual responsibilities, we've always been the largest of the seven gate garrisons. Including branch camps within the city, we're not any weaker than the East Camp under Slynt. I'll use the nearly two hundred men under my command to ensure your safety. Satisfied?"

"But Slynt is your superior. If he comes with troops and demands you hand me over, would you really refuse?"

Bywater looked at him. "Why wouldn't I?"

…

Caught off guard by that answer, Aegor was momentarily speechless. Wasn't this the same Jacelyn Bywater who once said he wouldn't act first unless a major figure moved? Had he suddenly changed?

"Did you forget what I said? Or do you think I'm a coward?" Bywater stretched, the fatigue in his face vanishing as he suddenly appeared vigorous. "I said, 'Once I see your allies take action, I will cooperate without hesitation.' Now that I've seen your allies move, I'll help however I can, including protecting you and your allies. If Slynt were keeping quiet, I might still be wary. But the more desperate he is to kill you, the more trouble he's in, and the more I'll stand against him. Understand?"

---

Aegor understood. Bywater was ready to confront the commander of the garrison. Though Slynt still held nominal command of King's Landing's forces, Aegor was no longer helpless in the city.

He hadn't prepared for Slynt's desperate retaliation because he believed Tyrion's swift political assault would topple the man before he could react. But somehow, Slynt got word just a day after the offensive began and started counterattacking. The assassination attempt had indeed caught Aegor off guard, but the tide was irreversible. With Tyrion leading the charge, backed by a group of royal loyalists and the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, who insisted on uncovering the truth, the situation had reached a breaking point. Those long harboring grudges against Slynt were now stepping up. The final showdown had begun.

If they could hold out safely in the River Gate garrison until morning, when the Red Keep opened and Eddard intervened, this power struggle would be resolved.

"I see. Thank you for your help, Ser Bywater. But is it worth the risk? If I leave the city, I'll be safe. If I stay, and Slynt gets angry and tries to storm this place to take me, it could lead to an internal conflict with casualties. That would be disastrous." Avoiding unnecessary bloodshed was crucial. This was a sensitive time, and any chaos could ruin everything. "I appreciate your kindness, but please send me out of the city. I don't want to cause trouble for the men of the River Gate."

"Slynt will soon know you came to me..."

"My men dealt with the ones tailing us."

"And that's enough? Look, I wasn't the one being hunted, so stay calm and hear me out." Bywater shook his head. "You came through the main gate. How many people saw you? Someone will report to Slynt. Whether I open the gate or lower you with a basket, he'll find out. Even if he's brought down later, I'll still face consequences, and so will you. If you flee to your territory outside the city, Slynt will chase you with troops. Do you want your security team to fight the City Watch?"

Of course not. No matter how despicable the commander might be, the golden cloaks represented the King. Fighting them would be seen as rebellion, and there would be no way to explain it.

"But out of the nearly two hundred men at River Gate, how many would defy Slynt for you?"

"At least one hundred and fifty," Bywater replied confidently. "He may still be the commander of all 2,000 City Watchmen in name, but of the remaining 1,800, how many would follow orders to storm this place tonight and capture you? Even if he tries, how many of them are willing to shed blood fighting my men, who also wear gold cloaks?"

"I'll tell you. Not one." Ser Ironhand raised a finger. "Unless that coward leads the charge himself, there will be noise at the River Gate tonight, but no real fight. Before dawn, the Hand and the King will hear what happened. When men from the Red Keep arrive, I'll hand you over to Lord Eddard or His Grace Robert. Then you won't need to fear Slynt anymore."

"If I smuggled you out of the city, I'd be breaking the law. Best case, I'd lose my post. Worst case, I'd lose my head. But keeping a 'targeted witness' under protective custody inside the garrison? That's not against any rule. Since we've already won, why sacrifice myself?"

Aegor had never served in the City Watch and didn't understand its internal politics. But now that Bywater had laid it out clearly, he saw the logic. After thinking it through, the chief logistics officer calmed down and made a decision.

"Since Ser Bywater has said this much, I'll trust you. My life is in your hands tonight."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 158: A Night of Chaos (Part 3)

"You want me to give you your life? That's a bit much. Just stay in this building tonight and don't go anywhere. Have your men guard the door. Those black-cloaked lads are decent, but I can't guarantee there isn't a Slynt-loyalist in this garrison." Ser Ironhand glanced at Aegor's shoulder. "Tend to that injury quickly. I'll send word to Tyrion Lannister for you."

"A letter? He's outside the city right now. Didn't you just say it's a serious offense to send someone out in the middle of the night?"

"He's at the Night's Watch Industrial Park, I know." Bywater stood, picked up his helmet from the table, tucked it under his arm, and walked toward the door. "This is a serious matter. I have to let your partner know. As for how to send the message—sending someone out is indeed a felony, but throwing something over the wall isn't. Write the letter, tie it to a stone, and toss it over the city wall. My friend who lives down by the port will pick it up and deliver it to the Industrial Park."

Of course. As the long-serving captain of the River Gate garrison, Bywater had these kinds of skills and connections. Nothing surprising. "Please tell Tyrion not to act on impulse. Don't let him bring the security team into King's Landing and escalate things."

"Do I really need to remind him?" Ser Ironhand adjusted his prosthesis and opened the office door. "I can hardly imagine the little imp acting on impulse."

You're wrong, Aegor thought bitterly. Tyrion could remain rational most of the time, but the anger buried in his heart often surfaced. His small stature just made it harder for him to express it. Just like this time, if he hadn't insisted on taking down Slynt within three days, and they had handled things more subtly, perhaps this crisis could have been avoided.

Before stepping into the circle of power, King's Landing had seemed like a great place to do business. But once entangled in the Game of Thrones, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms became perilous.

Status, power, and influence truly are double-edged swords.

---

…

Janos Slynt had someone sneak into the Red Keep to report to Robert that the queen had tried to bribe him. Then he sat in the East Camp office for half a day. When he heard that the attempt to silence Aegor had failed, he was so furious he trembled.