Chapter 91: The Army at the Gates of the Purple palace
Tyrosh, Purple Palace, Throne Room
Under the dim candlelight, the figure of Adolf Moses, Archon of Tyrosh, appeared especially lonely and haggard.
The throne room of the Purple Palace had once symbolized the authority and splendor of Tyrosh. Now, it felt more like a prison filled with fear and despair.
Around him gathered the wealthy Archons and powerful merchant-governors of Tyrosh, arguing loudly.
Some urged negotiation with Jon.
Others demanded resistance to the very end, just as Tyrosh had once stood against Volantis.
Still others insisted that Adolf Moses be stripped of power immediately—after all, it had been his idea to win Jon over, and now he had effectively invited a wolf into the fold.
Outside, the sounds of war echoed continuously—horns blaring, soldiers shouting.
The cries of the Chainbreakers rose and fell, clashing with the chaos inside the palace.
Adolf Moses sat rigidly on his throne, his face pale. His fingers gripped the armrests so tightly that his nails nearly dug into the wood.
His eyes wandered aimlessly, as if searching for an escape that did not exist.
He could not understand.
Everything had followed his plan—so how had it come to this?
"Impossible... impossible..."
"They were supposed to be fighting each other..."
"Three-Faced God..."
His lips trembled as he muttered to himself, half prayer, half desperate plea.
The enemy was already at the gates.
Tyrosh's armies were fighting for their lives.
And yet—
Adolf Moses no longer believed they could win.
Regret consumed him.
He should never have sent the Purple Sail Fleet away.
He should never have deployed so many troops to the Disputed Lands.
His advisors had warned him.
He had ignored them.
Now, it was too late.
Only one thought remained in his mind:
Gold can solve everything.
That belief had always defined Tyrosh.
To its nobles and merchants, gold was absolute. There was nothing it could not buy—peace, power, even survival.
Though Tyrosh was not as wealthy as Myr, its prosperity from the slave trade had filled its vaults beyond measure.
Unlike the Red Keep of King's Landing, the Purple Palace housed not only the Archon but many powerful governors.
Though the Archon ruled, his position resembled a twisted version of a Great Council—one built on bribery, coercion, and manipulation.
Adolf Moses himself had once been the richest among them.
Still, it was not enough.
He had bribed his way to power—and once he held it, he refused to let go.
Even now, he was willing to trade everything for survival.
"Send envoys—we will negotiate!"
His voice trembled with urgency.
"Everyone must contribute from their vaults. Prepare the richest tribute possible. Gold will solve this—we still have a chance!"
Though Tyrosh had major banks in its financial district, most nobles had already moved their wealth into the Purple Palace for safety.
Each level of the palace contained private vaults.
Some ancient families even kept relics looted from , including treasures taken from House Velaryon.
But the moment gold was mentioned—
Everything changed.
"Impossible!"
"This is your mess—don't drag us into it!"
"The Three-Faced God will punish you!"
Voices turned hostile instantly.
No one was willing to part with their wealth.
"You... all of you..."
Adolf Moses trembled with rage.
In his eyes, he was trying to save them.
But they refused to sacrifice anything.
"I believe Adolf Moses is no longer fit to rule Tyrosh."
A calm but commanding voice cut through the chaos.
All eyes turned.
Standing in the center of the hall was Saeraes Moss.
Clad in armor stained with blood, his face bearing fresh wounds, the commander of the Silver Stag Legion still stood firm and resolute.
Though his forces had suffered heavy losses against the Chainbreakers, he had not lost his composure.
He had already adapted.
His earlier tactics had delayed the enemy, but Jon's overwhelming power—and the presence of battle mages—had turned the tide completely.
Recognizing defeat in the open city, Saeraes Moss had withdrawn all remaining troops into the Purple Palace.
And here—
They would make their stand.
The structure of the Purple Palace resembled the great fortresses of Slaver's Bay.
Massive outer walls and elevated positions ensured that any attacker would be fully exposed.
Defensive weapons were plentiful.
Supplies were abundant.
Even now, Saeraes Moss believed—
They could still hold.
"I agree."
"He must pay for his mistakes."
"I second the motion."
One by one, the governors aligned with him.
Adolf Moses staggered back, as if struck.
"You... you cannot do this..."
His composure shattered completely.
Worst of all—
Even those he had bribed and cultivated turned against him.
"Heh... Adolf, don't take it personally."
Governor Tansen Domirang stepped forward with an apologetic smile.
The two had once been inseparable—bound by indulgence and shared corruption.
But now—
That meant nothing.
"This is a special situation," Domirang whispered, leaning close.
"You've caused too much trouble. You must step down—for now."
"Saeraes Moss is manageable. Let him handle this crisis... and later, we can restore you."
Hope flickered again in Adolf Moses's eyes.
Then—
came the true price.
"This old commander... he has certain tastes," Domirang murmured.
"He is quite fond of noblewomen. Your daughter, Mia Moses—she is known as the 'Mermaid of Tyrosh.'"
"Mia!? But I already promised her to —"
Adolf Moses hesitated.
Not out of concern for his daughter—
But for politics.
"You have other daughters," Domirang said smoothly.
"Any of them will do. Look at —he married a girl young enough to be his granddaughter."
"For alliances, blood is all that matters."
After a long silence—
Adolf Moses picked up the document.
And signed.
"Good!"
A governor stepped forward immediately.
"I hereby declare Saeraes Moss as Special Archon of Tyrosh!"
"Under his command, we will defeat the invaders and protect our city!"
With that—
Power changed hands.
Though there were more capable leaders in Tyrosh—
At this moment, all hope rested on one man.
Saeraes Moss.
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