The air in King's Landing still seemed to carry the fervor of the tournament.
In every street and alley, bards used clumsy words to weave legends of the Black Knight.
Drunks in taverns debated the splendor of that spear thrust, spitting as they argued.
And at noble feasts, the name "Lynn" became the most fashionable topic of conversation.
This was the scene Lynn encountered when he pushed open the door to Littlefinger's room, a place that once symbolized intrigue and desire.
Several maesters were sweating profusely, poring over ledgers.
The account books were piled as high as a small mountain.
The air was thick with the distinct scent of old parchment, ink, and money.
Arya, like a mouse that had stumbled into a granary, excitedly scurried between the ledgers, a curious glint in her gray eyes.
Sansa, however, seemed out of place.
She wore a sky-blue gown, standing primly by the door.
She couldn't understand why Lynn would come to a place like this.
Especially when she learned that a portion of this wealth came from those sordid brothels, a wave of physical discomfort washed over her.
"My lord."
A middle-aged man with a goatee, looking shrewd and capable, Littlefinger's former chief steward, now bowed humbly, presenting a thick general ledger to Lynn.
"All the property deeds and accounts are here."
"Preliminary estimates show that the fixed assets you inherited from Lord Baelish, including seven brothels, three warehouses at the docks, two estates outside the city, and over a dozen shops, have a total value of approximately fifty thousand gold dragons."
"Additionally, we have just tallied all your earnings from the tournament..."
The steward's voice trembled with an uncontrollable excitement.
"After deducting the prize money paid to other gamblers, you and Lord Ned netted two hundred thirty-four thousand gold dragons!"
Whoosh—
This figure, even for the maesters who were accustomed to grand spectacles, made them gasp.
Two hundred thirty thousand gold dragons!
One hundred eighty thousand gold dragons in bets, plus forty thousand in prize money.
This sum was nearly enough to arm an army of ten thousand men!
Within the Seven Kingdoms, apart from House Lannister, probably no other family could easily produce such a massive amount of cash!
Sansa's mind went blank.
She had lived in Winterfell since childhood and didn't have a clear concept of money.
But she knew that her father building a castle only cost tens of thousands of gold dragons.
And that was wealth her father had accumulated over a very long time.
And Lynn, in just one day, had earned enough gold dragons to build several Winterfells?
This was more absurd than all the heroic epics she had ever heard!
"How much revenue do these properties generate each month?"
Lynn wasn't overly excited, as if the two hundred thousand gold dragons were just ordinary numbers in his eyes.
"My lord, after all expenses, there's a net profit of about three thousand gold dragons each month," the maester quickly replied.
Lynn nodded.
Three thousand a month, that's thirty-six thousand gold dragons a year.
And this didn't even account for the informational value and influence these properties brought.
Littlefinger had managed them for over a decade, initially climbing to the position of Master of Coin by charming Lysa and following Jon Arryn.
He then profited from it for many years, accumulating this fortune.
Now, it all belonged to Lynn.
Lynn walked to the window, looking down at the crowded street below.
These gold dragons were his confidence for traveling to Essos, his first pot of gold for establishing his own power in the future.
"Arya."
Arya immediately ran to Lynn like a little soldier.
"From today on, you'll come here every afternoon."
Lynn pointed to the mountain of ledgers.
"Learn from the maester how to read accounts, how to manage people, and how to make money make money."
"Really?"
Arya's eyes instantly lit up like two morning stars.
"Ser Lynn!"
Sansa finally couldn't help but speak.
"How can you let Arya touch these... these dirty things!"
"Dirty?" Lynn turned his head.
He naturally knew what Sansa was referring to.
Nothing more than those few brothels.
"Arya certainly has the necessity, and the right, to interact with my property, after all, we have an agreement between us."
Arya also looked pleased upon hearing this, secretly making a face at Sansa.
She was going to marry Lynn, so she naturally needed to help him manage his household.
Lynn looked at Sansa's pretty face, which was filled with innocence.
"Miss Sansa, do you think gold dragons are dirty, or is power dirty?"
"I..." Sansa was left speechless by the question.
"Your dress, the bread you eat, which of them isn't acquired through these dirty things?"
"Heroes in songs don't need to eat, but knights in reality do."
"Your future husband, Prince Joffrey, and his mother, Queen Cersei, ascended to the throne not by her beauty, but by House Lannister's 'inexhaustible' gold mines."
"I..."
"There's no such thing as dirty or clean when it comes to gold dragons."
"It's mainly about whether the person using it is dirty or not."
Lynn walked up to her, his black eyes unfathomably deep.
"I'm having Arya look at these not because I want her to like it, but to understand it, to see through it."
"That way, she won't be deceived by others using these things in the future."
Sansa looked at Lynn, the otherworldly innocence fading from her beautiful blue eyes, replaced by a hint of confusion and contemplation.
Just then, a hurried and heavy set of footsteps came from the stairs.
A Kingsguard in golden armor appeared at the doorway, a respectful expression on his face.
"Ser Lynn! His Majesty the King summons you!"
...The Red Keep, Throne Room.
Robert Baratheon sat irritably on the grotesque Iron Throne, holding a nearly empty wine skin.
At his feet lay several drunk and passed-out attendants.
The entire hall was permeated with a strong smell of wine.
Seeing Lynn walk in, a flicker of light appeared in Robert's muddled eyes.
"You finally came!"
His roar echoed through the empty hall, making eardrums ache.
"I heard you stripped that Littlefinger fellow bare? Made nearly two hundred thousand gold dragons?"
"Thanks to you, Your Majesty," Lynn bowed slightly.
"Hahahaha! Well done!"
Robert let out a crude, wild laugh.
"I've disliked that hypocritical fellow for a long time! You've avenged me!"
After the laughter, Robert's face darkened.
He slammed the wine jug in his hand to the ground with a loud clang.
"Money, you've earned enough."
"Fame, you've also earned enough."
Robert descended from the throne, his corpulent body exuding an astonishing sense of oppression, approaching Lynn step by step.
"Now, it's time to work for your King!"
His bloodshot eyes glared at Lynn, his voice filled with an undeniable command.
"I've already had Grand Maester Pycelle prepare the ships, the best ships in all of Westeros!"
"And I've assigned you fifty of the most elite royal sailors!"
"When do you depart?"
"I want the heads of those two Targaryen bastards! Immediately! Right now!"
The King's wrath was like a volcano about to erupt, scorching the air of the entire Throne Room.
Lynn's heart sank.
He knew he couldn't delay any longer.
Otherwise, once the King's patience ran out, all his prestige and wealth would turn to dust.
"Please rest assured, Your Majesty."
Lynn knelt on one knee, his voice steady.
"In half a month at most, I will set sail and bring back the heads of the Targaryen remnants for you."
"Good! Good! Good!"
Robert said "good" three times in a row.
He helped Lynn up, his large, fan-like hand once again slapping heavily on his shoulder.
"I'll be waiting here for your good news!"
"When you return, I'll throw you an even grander celebration feast!"
Lynn left the Throne Room.
The heavy oak doors closed behind him, shutting out the thick smell of wine.
In the long corridor, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled light and shadows.
Just then, a familiar figure appeared at the end of the corridor.
Varys.
The Spider was still his harmless self, hands tucked into his sleeves, a gentle smile on his face.
"Congratulations, brave Ser Lynn."
Varys's voice was as soft as silk.
"You are now the wealthiest man in all of King's Landing."
"Not for long."
Lynn's steps didn't falter.
"Oh?"
Varys caught up, walking beside him.
"Are you going to burn all that money, Ser Lynn?"
Lynn smiled but didn't answer.
Varys's smile deepened.
"Don't forget the agreement between us."
Lynn paused his steps.
He turned and looked into Varys's unfathomably deep eyes.
"Of course, Lord Varys."
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