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Chapter 637
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 18:10:38 +0000 UTCNo matter how much security the Queen invested in, she might be able to keep herself and her Hand under an impenetrable guard, but the industrial complex was a different story. Carriages and workers moved in and out constantly, and of the many hands involved in building these new weapons, there had to be at least a thousand—if not more. Illyrio did not believe that all of them could be placed under the highest level of scrutiny. If he could breach the defenses of this war factory, whether by stealing blueprints or bribing engineers, he could achieve his goal: uncovering the secrets of this new weapon.
Illyrio had always been adept at self-preservation. His subordinates knew nothing of his connection to Myzedan. What truly unsettled him was not the act itself, but the dangerous implications behind it—someone was watching him. And they had ill intentions.
“What did they ask?”
The stench in the air was unpleasant, but the troubles looming before Illyrio were far more serious, far more dangerous than foul odors.
So far, these developments were concerning but manageable. What came next, however, sent a cold sweat down his spine.
His own retainers and crew members—those who had accompanied him from Pentos—reported that they had been questioned and investigated by the Queen’s soldiers and officials over the past few days.
…
The creature had little interest in avenging its former master. It had a more pressing mission.
Just because a fortress was difficult to breach did not mean it was completely impenetrable. Even the sturdiest rock could crack if one applied the right method. However, no matter how refined the tactics, subterfuge took time to ferment and bear fruit. And time was not on his side.
This westward campaign of conquest had already reached the point of no return. No amount of maneuvering could stop it.
At least, not yet.
Some things could not be controlled.
And in Illyrio’s philosophy, uncontrollable meant dangerous.
He did not need to ask for details; he could already deduce what they were investigating—Myzedan. The investigation itself was normal, but why had it extended to him, a mere guest? Were the Queen’s people truly combing through the entire city, leaving no one unchecked, or…
Varys had long prepared for contingencies in the event of an unexpected crisis. If anything happened, his networks were designed to endure, ensuring that his successors could reclaim and rebuild at least half of his intelligence empire. Even if only a portion of his spies and "little birds" could be recovered, it would still be an incredibly formidable network.
With the strategy set, all that remained was execution. But as soon as Illyrio issued his first orders, he was met with an onslaught of bad news.
First, the Night’s Watch factory was under strict lockdown. Every key engineer and technician, along with their families, lived within the industrial complex. They never left unless absolutely necessary. His informants could only get close to the unskilled laborers—the ones performing menial tasks.
Second, the entire city of King’s Landing had undergone a massive reform effort. Refugees were being gathered, vagrants registered, orphans taken into care. Many of Varys’ trained “little birds” had been scooped up and sent to orphanages, their movements restricted. His spies now found it increasingly difficult to operate.
Third, the flow of information across the Narrow Sea was resuming with renewed vigor. Queen Daenerys would soon discover that the so-called City-State Coalition opposing her was nowhere near as strong or united as Illyrio had claimed.
The cold, narrow alleys and shadowed corners of King’s Landing were beginning to thaw. Ice, packed with filth and waste, melted into the mud and filled the streets with the wretched stench known as “the Breath of King’s Landing.”
No one understood the difficulty of preventing espionage better than a spymaster himself. If someone was determined to make trouble for him, even if Myzedan had no real connection to him, they could fabricate evidence to forge a link. Illyrio’s instincts screamed danger. Every hair on his body stood on end. His natural impulse was to flee—to abandon this city and set sail for Pentos immediately.
But love for his son, hatred for wasted effort, and the bitter refusal to let his investments sink into the abyss kept him rooted in place.
He would stay.
He would race against his unseen enemy and against time itself.
If a problem could not be solved, then one could always eliminate the source of the problem.
Most common folk would dismiss this as a cruel jest, but for a man of Illyrio’s station, it was an option as viable as any.
His first thought, after failing to sway the Queen, was assassination. Killing Daenerys would be the simplest, most decisive solution. If not her, then her black-clad, radical Hand—eliminating him would severely weaken her administration and ease the threat to young Aegon.
Unfortunately, ever since the assassinations of Varys and Petyr Baelish, security around both the Queen and her Hand had reached terrifying levels. The Unsullied could not be bribed. The Gifted Legion had not yet been infiltrated. With no pre-established agents inside their ranks, the easiest plan had become the least feasible.
But what terrified him most was this: he was exposed, and his enemy remained in the shadows.
Myzedan had been a warrior. In the end, he had honored their agreement. When the time came—when a threat loomed that might expose Illyrio—he had severed the trail at all costs, even choosing death to keep his benefactor hidden.
Illyrio had no idea what exactly had transpired in Winterfell to force Myzedan to take his own life. But the fact that he had done so meant one thing: the "failsafe" had worked.
The fire had been contained.
It had not spread to Illyrio himself.
But Illyrio’s meeting with the Queen had yielded nothing. The conquest of Westeros would not be halted.
Returning to his lodging, he immediately sought alternative strategies.
He could not convince Daenerys to abandon her devastating new weapon. But if he could steal its secrets and provide them to her enemies, they could replicate it.
If her opponents could match her strength, then mutual deterrence might bring about negotiations, forcing peace upon the battlefield.
A temporary solution, perhaps, but one that could buy time—time to rework the first two approaches that had failed.
"They came with a detailed portrait, asking if we had ever seen the man in the image. From what we overheard, it seemed to be the assassin who poisoned the Queen’s two ministers."
There were two problems.
First, he dared not involve himself.
The identity of Varys and Petyr’s murderer remained unknown. Illyrio was certain that Myzedan was not the killer, but beyond that, he had no useful information. The list of potential culprits was endless—lords of the Reach, the West, the Free Cities' slavers. Mere speculation would yield nothing.
And investigation? That was even worse.
Illyrio had no means of conducting an inquiry without drawing suspicion upon himself.
Second, if the Queen’s forces had truly mastered this weapon, then its impact was immense.
Every battlefield victory, every lord’s surrender, every piece of intelligence from the Reach, the West, and beyond pointed to one undeniable truth: the key to Daenerys' growing dominance was a terrifying new long-range weapon—the cannon.
If he could not weaken his enemy, then he had only one option left.
He would strengthen her enemies instead.
The Golden Company, the Reach, the Free Cities—all those opposed to the Dragon Queen. If they could be armed with the same firepower, they could challenge her supremacy.
The new weapon was no longer a secret. It had already been used in battle.
By analyzing the movement of steel, coal, and manpower, Illyrio had already determined where the production was taking place.
The Night’s Watch Industrial Complex.
It had recently undergone extensive expansion and restructuring.
And there, deep inside, Daenerys’ Hand was overseeing a new wave of production and refinement.
Illyrio had to get inside.
Or all would be lost.
