A lavish breakfast quickly came to an end. The castle steward, Leon, led several servants as they cleared away the remaining dishes.
Galedun snapped out of his wandering thoughts and looked across the table. His father slowly wiped the crumbs from his beard with a white silk handkerchief, his gaze gradually growing solemn.
"Cough!"
That seemingly casual cough of his easily drowned out the crisp clinking of porcelain plates and silver cups. Old Leon and the servants immediately quickened their movements.
Madam Mary was very perceptive as well. She led the three daughters of House Tarth out of the banquet hall.
When only father and son remained, Earl Selwyn looked at him in confusion and asked,
"What is it?"
Galedun rested his right hand against his chin and didn't answer immediately, instead carefully sizing up Earl Selwyn.
What he was about to say next… his father probably wouldn't like it.
To be honest, he had always felt very fortunate to transmigrate into House Tarth.
Aside from his fondness for keeping a harem—which he wasn't even sure counted as a flaw—Earl Selwyn was open-minded and kind.
In Game of Thrones, Brienne herself had stated clearly: her father was a good man.
More than fifty years of life had tempered him, giving him an air of wisdom and age-old calm that seemed to seep from his very bones.
Galedun said lightly,
"That dead eunuch once said something very right—words are like the wind, my father."
Earl Selwyn immediately understood who his son meant by "that dead eunuch," yet his question still hadn't been answered.
"Even though the royal fleet was secretly captured by our fleet, and our family doesn't fear the Iron Throne, we should still be careful with what we say."
Galedun continued explaining. Truth be told, he had always thought Earl Selwyn didn't have much ambition.
"At the very least, we shouldn't openly declare rebellion. That would disrupt my plans."
After hearing this, Earl Selwyn's old face flushed red as understanding dawned on him.
Last night, he had gotten drunk with Sir Alyn, a landed knight loyal to the family. Pointing westward, he had loudly proclaimed to others,
"The morning light of House Tarth will become the glory of the entire continent of Westeros!"
It was… unbearably shameful.
"It's fine. Sir Alyn has sworn a sacred oath, pledging his life to House Tarth."
Earl Selwyn was seasoned after all, and his expression quickly returned to calm.
Not only that—Alyn was a landed knight he had personally dubbed, owning his own farmlands and even a small castle.
Although Alyn's knightly lands had been reclaimed by Galedun, he had received generous monetary compensation, as well as a high monthly salary as the captain of the knight order.
"I've already ordered Sir Alyn's arrest."
Those words made Earl Selwyn's face change drastically. He nearly fell from his chair.
"Don't be surprised, Father."
Watching the shock, astonishment, fear, and anger flash across Earl Selwyn's face like a mask-changing performance, Galedun spoke seriously to comfort him,
"Maester Reed also swore a sacred oath. Yet to this day, we still don't know what other means he has to contact the Citadel besides ravens."
"Facts have proven that his loyalty isn't as solid as his maester's chain!"
Earl Selwyn took a deep breath and said,
"So that's why you only had maester apprentices watch him, instead of placing him under house arrest."
"That was just the piece on the surface."
Galedun raised his eyebrows slightly, a faint, inscrutable smile at the corner of his lips.
Earl Selwyn immediately understood—there had to be more, stronger scouts operating in secret.
And the more he thought about it, the more terrifying it became. Last night he had drunkenly babbled nonsense with Alyn, and today his son already knew Alyn intended to rebel.
This showed just how terrifying Galedun's control over Tarth Island was—and what a powerful intelligence network he commanded.
Earl Selwyn didn't dare think any further. He had long known his son was no ordinary man.
His eyes reddened, his voice hoarse as he asked,
"Why? He once saved my life. Why would he betray the family?"
"Mm~
It's possible his bastard son in the Stormlands was taken by Varys."
Galedun didn't yet know the full details and could only speculate based on Gray's information.
"In fact, if he had only been in contact with Varys, I wouldn't have minded using him to check the other side."
"But he proactively contacted another, even more terrifying force."
"What—!"
Earl Selwyn was shocked once more. He didn't even have time to grieve over his friend's betrayal, staring in disbelief as he asked,
"What force could possibly be more terrifying than Varys, who represents the Iron Throne?"
"The Lannister family of the Westerlands!"
A trace of wariness flashed through Galedun's eyes, his brows knitting together.
Before that old lion Tywin, the wolves of the North were practically innocent little puppies!
Not only did the Mad King Aerys fear him—Robert feared him too. Even Galedun himself had no desire to go up against him.
Yet Galedun didn't want to provoke the lion, and the lion had already set its sights on House Tarth's maritime trade profits!
Even more ridiculous—several little lions had already draped themselves in stag pelts, howling madly about ruling the Seven Kingdoms!
Ten days ago, he had dug a massive pit for the Westerlands. Whether Tywin would jump into it… remained to be seen.
[There is a 99% high probability that Tywin Lannister, with his scheming skill fully maxed, has already seen through the host's crude plot]
As Galedun was thinking this, the brain AI once again popped up, tactlessly tearing him down.
"Alyn… how could he have ties with the Lannisters—could it be… damn it!"
In the hall, Earl Selwyn seemed to realize something. Rage and hatred surged together, bloodshot veins spreading like spiderwebs across his sapphire-blue pupils.
"Crude? Can you even speak properly, you brain-dead thing!"
He snapped back at the AI in his mind, then looked at the panicking Earl Selwyn and softly reassured him,
"Don't worry, Father."
"As long as I don't allow it, this wind won't rise. Besides, the current Iron Throne simply doesn't have the strength to attack Tarth Island."
This was the truth!
Due to King's Landing's negligence, the royal fleet sent to monitor House Tarth had been secretly captured by Tarth's own fleet, causing King's Landing to lose the initiative.
Furthermore, Robert, as king, came with built-in auras of "lust" and "many children." All he wanted was to drink, joust, hunt, and visit brothels.
His Hand, "the Big Guy of the Vale," Jon Arryn, had already discovered the incestuous affair between Kingsguard Jaime and the lewd queen Cersei—and the fruits of that union.
Since it involved the bloodline of House Baratheon, he would naturally devote all his effort to uncovering proof, only to be poisoned by his own wife once he was close to the truth.
Stannis was feared by Robert and confined to Dragonstone.
Renly, stationed at Storm's End, was capable enough—but Robert, who owed money everywhere, had no funds.
If you want a horse to run, you have to feed it!
Let alone fighting a war. Without money, even vassals wouldn't risk their lives.
The Stormlands' lords were especially like that. With neighboring House Tarth growing rich, it had driven the economy of an entire region.
Even the Baratheon kin stationed on Estermont Island—the House Estermont—were sending letters every few days to greet Earl Selwyn, just short of changing the banner atop their walls.
As long as House Tarth didn't openly declare rebellion or get caught with a legitimate pretext, Robert and those houses wouldn't be forced to raise armies to suppress them.
Earl Selwyn hadn't thought that far. His close friend's betrayal left him looking deeply pained. He lowered his head weakly, tacitly accepting his son's words.
"No, wait! If King's Landing can't reach the royal fleet for a long time, they might summon us to King's Landing as hostages."
As he thought of the danger facing Tarth Island, his mood, which had sunk to rock bottom, grew tense instead.
"That's right. I hope you'll claim illness for the time being."
Tarth Island had changed too much. It took King's Landing over two years after the family's rise to even react—they were already sluggish.
For example, after Robert squandered the vast fortune left by the Targaryens, he borrowed three million gold dragons each from the Iron Bank and the Lannisters.
Yet now, Tarth Island's monthly trade volume alone exceeded ten million!
Internal island information was still manageable. Under Galedun's various bans on access, it was very difficult for anything to leak out.
The royal fleet had been sent precisely because King's Landing sensed House Tarth's rapid rise but couldn't investigate the situation inside Evenfall Hall, so they dispatched ships to monitor them.
As a result, Galedun didn't hesitate to swallow the sweet treat delivered right to his doorstep.
Ships—there were never enough of them!
Galedun wished every ship sailing the Narrow Sea belonged to him!
However, House Tarth's external movements were much harder to conceal. If it were merely countless exquisite goods sold worldwide, it would only spark envy and jealousy among the nobles—and prompt Robert to personally write letters "borrowing money."
But instead, the massive wealth flowing in wasn't being left to gather dust in the castle vaults, nor was it spent on daily revelry and extravagant aristocratic living.
Rather, multiple huge orders were placed simultaneously with the shipyards of Braavos, the Arbor, and other major docks, while slaves, ore, and grain were purchased all across the world.
That was very wrong!
On top of that, merchant ships entering the Narrow Sea were all transporting medicinal materials, livestock, horses, and grain to Tarth Island—grain that only went in and never came out.
It was impossible not to overthink things.
Galedun had no choice. He couldn't exactly announce to the world that the Long Night was coming, that the Others would march south, and that humanity was facing extinction!
Either everyone united and weathered the catastrophe together—
—or everyone dug their own graves, lay flat, and waited for the corpses to start dancing at the afterparty!
Earl Selwyn forced himself to muster some energy and asked in confusion,
"Feign illness? What are you planning?"