"Five thousand jars," Tyrion couldn't help but gasp. With such a vast quantity of wildfire, if used correctly, it would truly be enough to change the course of this war.
But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel a lingering fear. He hadn't expected such a massive hidden danger to be buried beneath King's Landing all this time; they had been living on the edge of death. If things ever spiraled out of control here, the consequences would be unthinkable.
"Very well, Hallyne." Tyrion took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm as he spoke. "Now, tell me, can you truly control it? I need it to be used exactly where it's needed, when we want to use it."
A hint of solemnity appeared on Hallyne's fanatical face as he said seriously, "We can, my lord. We have the secret formula and the techniques for ignition. But this substance is indeed extremely unstable, so its storage and transport must be handled by members of our Alchemists' Guild."
Tyrion nodded and returned to the cellar once more, his gaze sweeping over the clay jars stacked on the wooden racks. He could almost see the raging green flames erupting on the Blackwater Rush, and the sight of the enemy wailing in a sea of fire.
"From now on," Tyrion looked at Hallyne, who was following behind him, his tone becoming exceptionally grave. "Everything here is under your direct supervision. No one is to move or touch these things without my command. And of course, you are not permitted to conduct any other dangerous experiments here from now on."
"Hallyne, I also need you to organize all the other guild members you can find and take a full inventory of the wildfire. Any resources or gold you need, report directly to Podrick. We should minimize our meetings from now on; he will be the sole point of contact between you and me."
He paused before continuing, "When the war is won, you will be the greatest hero. I can grant you a knighthood and recommend you for a seat on the Small Council. If you don't want that, I can also provide all the resources for your future experiments. I guarantee it on the honor of House Lannister; a Lannister always pays his debts."
"As you command, Lord Tyrion," Hallyne replied respectfully, his eyes gleaming with a thirst for power and gold.
Tyrion took one last look at the wildfire before turning to leave. Podrick followed closely behind, the young man's face still filled with shock from seeing the green fire.
Stepping out of Flea Bottom and breathing the relatively fresh air again, Tyrion felt the heavy pressure in his chest ease slightly. But he knew that from the moment he decided to use wildfire, he had staked himself and all of King's Landing on this dangerous gamble.
"Pod," Tyrion broke the silence with an order once they returned to Red Keep. "Starting tomorrow, you must keep a close eye on Hallyne and those Alchemists. Their every move must be reported to me. Especially regarding any movement of wildfire—even if it's just moving a single jar, I must know."
"Yes, my lord," Podrick replied solemnly, instantly straightening his back.
After he sent Podrick off to rest, Tyrion himself didn't feel the slightest bit sleepy. After all, he hadn't been awake for very long.
He sat alone in his study, a detailed map of King's Landing's defenses spread out before him. His finger traced across the map, following the Blackwater Rush past the Fishmarket and the Mud Gate. From which direction would the Targaryen fleet most likely attack?
Where would they choose to land? How should the wildfire be positioned to achieve maximum impact while minimizing damage to the city? Where would the land armies attack—the Kings Gate? Or somewhere else? And how should he utilize the wildfire in his hands?
These questions were like a tangled mess, constantly intertwining in his mind as he worked to clarify the details. Unfortunately, what he didn't know was that although he had considered the threat of the dragons, he still somewhat underestimated them. He couldn't fully imagine just how powerful the dragons' strength truly was.
Furthermore, Tyrion knew that while Cersei seemed to have compromised, she would never cooperate with him wholeheartedly. Joffrey's impulsiveness and unpredictability were also a major hidden danger.
Even the loyalty of the Gold Cloaks was highly questionable, and while the Lannister soldiers were reliable, their numbers were ultimately limited. Even the wildfire and the Alchemists could turn on their master at any moment.
Thus, after an entire night of contemplation, he finally made a preliminary decision on the placement of the wildfire. He rubbed his tired temples, picked up the wine cup on the table, and drained it in one gulp. As the wine slid down his throat, it brought a brief moment of cool stimulation.
He truly needed an ally right now—someone he could genuinely trust and who had the ability to help him.
He thought of Varys, The Spider. His intelligence network spanned the Seven Kingdoms and could provide great assistance. But Varys's stance was ambiguous and hard to pin down; he suspected that Varys's backup plan might be Viserys.
Outside, the sky was slowly brightening as a new day arrived. Tyrion knew he had no time for hesitation or confusion; he had to accelerate the consolidation of every mobilizable force in King's Landing.
He took a deep breath, a flash of determination in his eyes. For Lannister, and to prove himself—that this dwarf mocked by the world was not useless. No matter how difficult the path ahead, he had to persevere.
Once the sun was fully up, he took several Lannister guards to inspect the walls of King's Landing, intending to see if the recruitment efforts were going smoothly.
As for the scorpion crossbows on the walls, he had already sent men to the smithy for emergency repairs, but he heard progress was slow. After all, there weren't many blacksmiths capable of repairing scorpion crossbows.
When he reached the recruitment post, he saw only a group of sallow and emaciated militia; some didn't even have shoes. The weapons they held were a motley assortment: rusted longswords, notched battle-axes, and a few broken spears.
A militiaman who looked to be in his forties swallowed hard as he saw Tyrion approach. His hands were rough and covered in calluses, clearly a farmer from a village near King's Landing.
"Have you ever fought in a war before?" Tyrion asked him.
The man shook his head and said, "No, my lord. I'm just a farmer."
Tyrion nodded and said nothing more.
He continued walking until he stopped in front of a young militiaman. The boy looked to be only sixteen or seventeen, skin and bones, clutching a shortsword with a notched blade.
"And you? Have you fought before?"
The young man hesitated before replying, "My lord, I killed a man last month."
Tyrion grew interested and followed up, "Oh? Tell me about it."
He lowered his head and said, "Last month, a wealthy merchant was handing out bread in Flea Street. I got one and was going to take it back to share with my family, but a man came up and tried to snatch it, so I punched him. He fell to the ground and died. This shortsword was his. I heard that joining the army could grant me a pardon, so I came."
Tyrion was silent for a moment, then patted him on the waist and said, "You've got spirit. I hope when the Targaryens attack, you'll use this sword to stab them."
Hearing this, the boy looked up, a look of being recognized flashing in his eyes, and replied, "Yes, my lord."
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