Lynn calmly looked at The Spider, famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms, who stood before him.
Varys's gentle smile, illuminated by the candlelight, appeared somewhat unfathomable.
"Lord Varys, what you see is what truly matters."
Lynn didn't answer his question, instead pushing a wine glass towards him.
"You've been weaving your web in King's Landing for over a decade; surely, it wasn't just to catch a few flies."
Varys's hands, clasped within his sleeves, paused slightly, and a hint of surprise flickered in his unfathomable eyes.
He took the wine glass but didn't drink, merely sniffing it gently at his nose.
"Excellent wine."
He praised.
"A fine vintage from the Arbor, yet with a fragrance not of Westeros."
"Just like you, Ser, full of secrets."
Lynn didn't respond, merely continued speaking to himself.
"Lannister, Stark, Baratheon..."
"These great houses are like pieces on a chessboard, fighting to the death for a rusty Iron Throne."
"They only see the immediate wins and losses, yet no one realizes that the chessboard itself is already rotting away."
Varys's smile gradually faded, and his expression became serious.
"The treasury's ledgers are a colossal joke."
"The nobles live in decadent luxury, while the common folk struggle on the brink of starvation."
"And what's even more terrifying..."
Lynn's gaze seemed to pierce through the walls, looking towards the distant North.
"The long summer has passed."
"A Winter that will engulf everything is descending."
"When that time comes, with the Long Night, reduced harvests, suffering commoners, and corpses littering the fields, what meaning will there be in arguing over who should sit on the Iron Throne?"
Varys fell completely silent.
He looked at Lynn, this excessively young Black Knight, his eyes filled with unprecedented shock.
His original intention was precisely this.
The Long Night of Westeros is very long.
He needed to assist a wise King.
Only such a King could lead his people through the long Winter, not Robert, that drunken oaf.
He would only drag the Seven Kingdoms into the abyss!
Varys had initially thought Lynn was another Petyr.
A smarter, more ruthless player.
But now he realized he was wrong.
Lynn's goal, from the very beginning, had exceeded his imagination.
"You serve the realm, Lord Varys."
Lynn's voice struck Varys's heart.
"As do I."
"Our goals, from start to finish, have always been consistent."
"That is to ensure this realm can survive."
"His Majesty the King's illness might be a Lannister conspiracy, or perhaps the will of the gods."
"But none of that matters."
Lynn said, enunciating each word.
"What matters is that after he falls, Westeros must not descend into chaos."
"The death of a King is a tragedy."
"But a civil war engulfing the Seven Kingdoms is a catastrophe."
Varys finally understood.
Lynn had already accepted the King's death; he had no intention of warning Robert.
What he wanted to do was to maintain the entire continent in a delicate balance as much as possible after the King's death, to avoid widespread chaos.
What a grand scheme!
What immense courage!
"In the forest, some old trees are always destined to fall."
After a long pause, Varys spoke softly, a sigh in his voice.
"A clever gardener won't waste effort propping it up."
"He will only ensure the soil is fertile enough for new, stronger saplings to grow."
He gave Lynn a deep look, then drained the wine in his glass.
"Farewell, Ser Lynn."
"Should you need anything, you are welcome to come to me."
"My little birds will surely do their best to serve you."
With that, Varys's figure silently melted into the darkness outside the door, as if he had never appeared.
Lynn watched the direction in which he vanished, saying nothing.
What he had just said was what Varys wanted to hear, but it couldn't be denied that these words largely overlapped with his own true thoughts.
Now, he and The Spider had reached a fragile understanding.
Varys would not help Robert, but he would not hinder him either.
He wanted Robert dead, and that was enough.
Lord Tywin's poison could at least buy him two precious years of development time... A fragrant breeze swept through King's Landing.
This breeze, carrying the scent of roses, lavender, and mint, easily pried open the Red Keep's most fortified doors and wafted into the nostrils of every noble lady.
Princess Myrcella was like a golden butterfly that had just learned to fly.
Following Lynn's instructions, she made sure to smell fragrant every day.
Then, taking Sansa and Arya with her, she flitted through the various courtyards and reception rooms of the Red Keep.
"Myrcella, my dear, what is that scent on you? It's more delightful than the roses in the garden!"
"Oh my, your skin... how can it be so smooth!"
Initially, the noble ladies were merely curious.
But when Myrcella presented a bar of "Stormlands Rhapsody" soap, packaged like a jewel box, as a gift to one of the ladies, the entire noblewomen's circle erupted.
It wasn't just a bar of soap.
It was a princess's gift, a symbol of status, a ticket to a more elegant, cleaner, and more respectable "high society."
The threshold of Lynn's mansion was almost worn down by the noblewomen and their servants who came flocking.
Robb, the butler,'s smile barely faded.
His greatest joy each day was counting the golden dragons that arrived like snowflakes.
"My Lord!"
Robb respectfully presented a ledger with a gilded cover to Lynn.
"In just three days!"
"Our limited edition three hundred bars of special-supply noblewomen's soap are all sold out!"
"Each bar sold for an exorbitant price, over fifty gold dragons!"
"After deducting all costs, we made a net profit of 15,000 gold dragons!"
Lynn had indeed underestimated the purchasing power of these noblewomen.
His original expectation was to be satisfied if one bar sold for a single gold dragon, but he hadn't anticipated such an astonishingly good result.
A large part of this success was due to Myrcella's influence.
However, for now, it was merely a novelty.
Once this period passed, prices would stabilize.
Fifteen thousand gold dragons!
Sansa was sitting nearby, holding a small bottle of newly blended jasmine essential oil.
Hearing that number, her small hand trembled, almost spilling the oil.
Her mind went blank.
Just a few months ago, she thought her father spending tens of thousands of gold dragons to build a castle was an astronomical sum.
But now, Lynn had earned almost enough to build a castle in just a few days, relying on a few bars of soap she had personally "planned"?
This feeling was more astonishing than any heroic epic she had ever heard.
She looked at Lynn.
The man was calmly flipping through the ledger, as if those tens of thousands of gold dragons were no different from four copper stars in his eyes.
As if he had expected it all along.
"Well done, Sansa."
Lynn's gaze shifted from the ledger to her.
A hint of approval was in his deep eyes.
Although Sansa was somewhat naive, her contribution couldn't be denied; at least, he admitted he didn't have such good literary talent.
"I really like the name Winter Rose."
Sansa's cheeks instantly flushed crimson, and her heart pounded uncontrollably.
This satisfied her more than any praise.
She found that she seemed to be increasingly enjoying the feeling of creating wealth with wisdom and creativity.
This was far better than becoming a prince's accessory, competing for attention at boring banquets.
The entire noblewomen's circle of King's Landing was stirred by a tiny bar of "soap."
The Princess's gift became a source of bragging for all the noble ladies.
That gentle, clean sensation, that enchanting fragrance lingering on their skin, was a joyous experience they had never had before.
Countless noblewomen sent people to Lynn's mansion, subtly trying to purchase this "alchemical wonder."
But Robb, the butler, following Lynn's instructions, politely refused each one with a smile.
"I apologize, my lady."
"This soap is Ser Lynn's exclusive secret recipe, produced in limited quantities, only gifted to friends, and not for sale to outsiders."
The harder it was to obtain, the more precious it became.
After all, scarcity creates value.
For a time, a small bar of soap became a luxury more coveted than jewels and silks.
Carriages thronged at the entrance of Lynn's mansion.
Some noblewomen of lower status were even willing to spend hundreds of gold dragons just to acquire a limited edition "Highgarden Love."
Sansa became completely busy.
She was no longer the lady who only knew how to recite poetry, but had transformed into a true "perfumer" and "brand planner."
She imbued each type of soap with a moving story and name.
"Winter Rose," "Starfall Night," "Stormlands Rhapsody"... These imaginative names made the noblewomen flock to them, willingly emptying their husbands' purses. The men were miserable but still reluctantly opened their wallets.
They could no longer tolerate the previous scents.
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