The north wind quietly died away, and in the mud left by melting snow, green grass began to push up tender shoots. Various insect eggs were also stirring. As the breath of spring swept across the land, it was not only nature that was reviving, but also the movements of soldiers and civilians both inside and outside King's Landing.
The campaign against the Reach had already been clearly decided and put on the agenda, and preparations of grain, fodder, and weapons had been in full swing for more than half a month. Just as everyone held their breath, waiting for Daenerys's army to march again, another major piece of news spread like wildfire through the Industrial Park: the Night's Watch Arsenal had handed over the blueprints and data for powder and cannons to the Industrial Park Research Institute, preparing to expand production again in case the war did not go smoothly.
When the news broke, everyone who heard it was overjoyed. But among the happiest people, besides the mid-level technical staff at the Research Institute, who would soon gain access to higher-level secrets and have the opportunity to learn more after the technology was released, and the Industrial Park management, suppliers, and workers, who would have more chances to profit and more work to do after production expanded, besides these direct beneficiaries, there was also a strange group of people: the spies surrounding the area, who had been racking their brains trying to infiltrate the Night's Watch Arsenal to complete their espionage missions.
The Industrial Park was a commercial organization and easy to infiltrate, but the arsenal, as a closed system rooted in the Gift, standing above the Research Institute in structure, with a small number of core personnel under strict control and protection, had truly given them a headache as they tried to find an opening, leaving them completely at a loss. Yet unexpectedly, the target suddenly shed its clothes, stripping away layer after layer of defense and taking the initiative to release key information about thermal weapons, instantly reducing the difficulty of their task by an entire level and placing into their bowls the meal they could not originally obtain. Tell me, who would not be delighted by such good fortune?
Those who had been grinding their teeth in hatred toward Aegor only a few days ago for establishing that harsh and rigorous confidentiality system suddenly, in the blink of an eye, came to regard him in their hearts as a great benefactor.
However, while the whole city and its outskirts, friend and foe alike, were immersed in an atmosphere of peaceful harmony, one person became restless because of this news.
...
After hearing his subordinate's latest report, Illyrio waved him away, then habitually crumpled the potentially dangerous evidence into a ball and tossed it toward the brazier. However, the paper ball missed and fell to the floor, rolling into the corner with a faint rustling sound.
"Damn it!"
Before the curse had fully left his mouth, his personal slave girl, with her excellent eyesight, thoughtfully ran to the wall, picked up the paper ball, and tossed it back into the brazier.
Watching the daily report twist, blacken, and then turn to ash in the flames, the wealthy Magister's mood did not improve in the slightest. His earlier miss had not been an accident, but the result of his hand shaking too much to stay steady. And the reason his hand was shaking was nervousness, and nervousness was because he smelled danger.
That was not entirely accurate, because the scent of danger had lingered around him ever since he finished meeting with Daenerys. It was just that today, it had suddenly intensified dozens of times, becoming so thick and heavy that it was suffocating.
After setting the strategy of "stealing and spreading the secrets of the new weapons" to save his son, Illyrio devoted himself completely to this work. But coming up with the idea was simple, while carrying it out was not. For so many years, his division of labor with Varys had always been clear. The other man was responsible for fighting on the front lines in Westeros, while he only provided manpower and material support from behind the scenes in Essos. High-difficulty tasks like "personally stepping into the vortex of the Seven Kingdoms" and "commanding espionage work on the front lines," which required extreme professionalism, were no longer things a mere wealthy Magister like him could handle.
Fortunately, he did not need to start from scratch.
The Research Institute was the second largest department under Night's Watch industry after production, with many departments and mixed personnel. In fact, long before he rushed to King's Landing, the mid-level members of the intelligence network Varys had left behind in Westeros had already begun infiltrating it, either under Varys's orders or by their own initiative. If their superiors returned one day to contact them and issue orders, this group of spies would be awakened from dormancy to carry them out. And if not, then honestly working in the Industrial Park for a lifetime, earning a salary that was not large but more than sufficient, and relying on this great tree for shade to marry, have children, and grow old, was also not a bad path.
Illyrio did not actually need to direct the infiltration of the Industrial Park himself. He only needed to follow the clues left by Varys, find the contacts, and activate the whole network. Simply consuming the legacy left behind by his teammate was enough to achieve his short-term goal.
Because time was tight, there had been no chance to slowly explain all the taboos and precautions and spread them carefully. Illyrio knew very well that not only was his efficiency far inferior to the Spider's, but his tracks were also not well hidden. It was inevitable that careful people had already noticed the sudden activity of a large number of informants and spies and had become wary because of it.
The reason he continued pressing forward was simply twofold.
First, Daenerys's westward campaign was already like an arrow on the string. Without outside help, Aegon's chances of survival were slim. The situation had forced his hand, and there was no time for a slow and steady approach.
Second, he had confidence in the team and system Varys had left behind. As long as he operated properly, no one would be able to follow the trail and find him in a short time. And even if they did, given his status as Daenerys's benefactor and Pentos's neutrality, they would choose not to tear things apart completely.
But just when the espionage work had reached a bottleneck and could not move forward at all, and he was wracking his brains for a solution, the other side unexpectedly abandoned its effective high-intensity confidentiality mechanism without warning. Not only did they not pull back, they even took the initiative to place the blueprints right under his nose.
With the first stage of maneuvering and infiltration basically complete, Illyrio dared say that as long as the formula for powder and the cannon blueprints were truly declassified and released, he would be able to obtain the complete contents intact on the very night the physical materials arrived at the Research Institute, or at the latest, the next day.
Only one question remained: could something this good really be possible?
People say pies do not fall from the sky, but that is too absolute. As a man getting on in years, Illyrio could say with certainty that as long as one lives long enough, one will sooner or later experience a few times when a pie really does fall onto one's head.
So the question became, was the pie that had fallen before him this time real?
To be fair, it was entirely possible. Daenerys's army was fully preparing for war in the Riverlands. Faced with a powerful feudal state with a population of tens of millions, Daenerys or her advisors might fear that their advantageous weapons were not sufficient to guarantee overwhelming superiority, and so had decided to expand production, which was reasonable. At such a tense moment, with war about to break out and chaos blinding the eyes, even if Daenerys's inner circle was angered by the surge of intelligence activity in the city, they could only choose to suppress it for now and deal with it after the war. To rashly throw out bait, attract spies and scouts from all directions, and then face a powerful enemy head-on while also engaging in a battle of wits with these flies, how could that be possible?
This line of thinking sounded plausible, but the reason Illyrio had been able to rise from nothing to the point where he was only one step away from plotting a kingdom was precisely because he rarely relied on luck.
Almost at the same moment, he naturally thought: precisely because war was imminent, Daenerys's side had neither the motive nor the leisure to deal with insignificant pawns, which instead simplified the situation. The intermediate state was ruled out, leaving only two extremes.
Either the other side had truly made a mistake in the chaos and exposed a weakness.
Or this was a trap, a trap aimed at a certain big fish.
And at this moment, in all of King's Landing, how many people were qualified to count as a "big fish"?
He searched his mind frantically, but in the end could not think of a second name besides his own. As his body trembled faintly, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind like lightning: as the "wealthy Magister of Pentos," he was absolutely not important enough to mobilize the Targaryen regime's machine against him. If someone truly meant to bait him, then that person must already have seen his other face, the one "plotting to steal the realm," and understood to some extent his connection to Varys, his relationship with Aegon and Jon Connington, and even the existence of his true goal buried deep within.
The culprit behind the poisoning case he had been speculating about earlier was very likely not far away at all, but right in front of him!
Did Daenerys know the truth? Impossible. Then was it her Hand, that damned Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? But how had he escaped punishment after the poisoning and regained Daenerys's favor enough to serve as Hand?
Before he could dwell on that puzzle, a still more terrifying thought intruded into his mind: if this truly was a trap, then the "bait" had likely already been obtained by his low-level informants and was on its way to him. Since he could not control the intelligence network as easily as Varys, the time left for him to respond and protect himself was running out.
"Babette." Illyrio suddenly sat upright, his large body twisting the chair beneath him until it creaked. "Go tell Coiler to send word down immediately: do not send any intelligence obtained from the Night's Watch Research Institute directly to me. Arrange ships and send it back to Pentos at once, bypassing me!"
But the moment the words left his mouth, he immediately realized that if the other side was not casting a wide net but specifically targeting him, then there was absolutely no need for the bait to actually reach his desk before they acted. They could simply catch a spy red-handed, force out one or two names through interrogation, skip the intermediate steps, and come directly to search his residence.
At that point, how difficult would it be to slip a blueprint into some corner during the chaos?
The only way to ensure safety was to physically withdraw before the hunter reacted and leave King's Landing at once.
He slapped his thigh and called out to the slave girl, who had already reached the doorway: "Wait! That matter can wait. First, go prepare a carriage, and send someone to the harbor to book a ship. We are returning to Pentos immediately!"
(To be continued.)
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