Chapter 13:
Silk Street at night was seductive and alluring.
But for Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger), tonight felt colder than winter itself.
His private counting room was in complete disarray. The usually calm and composed Master of Coin was now pacing back and forth like a rat trapped in a cage. Ledgers and contracts were scattered all over the floor.
Fifty thousand gold dragons.
That was an astronomical sum. Even as the King's Master of Coin, he couldn't produce that much liquid cash on short notice.
"Damn it! Damn it all! That useless Gregor! How could he die so easily?!" Littlefinger gnashed his teeth, wishing he could dig up the Mountain's corpse and whip it a hundred times.
"Lord Baelish, are you worrying about my winnings?"
A mocking voice rang out, accompanied by the loud bang of the door being kicked open.
Littlefinger whipped his head around.
Victor Pompey stood there in casual attire. He hadn't brought a large guard detail — only his ever-present Shadow Guard captain. Yet the murderous aura clinging to him after slaying the Mountain felt more suffocating than an entire army.
"Baron Pompey…" Littlefinger forced a smile uglier than crying. "You see… such a huge sum of money… I need some time to gather it…"
"That's your problem, not mine."
Victor walked straight to the main seat and sat down, casually crossing his long legs and resting them on the table — the posture of a complete victor.
"The contract is very clear. If you don't pay up, I won't mind taking this matter to King Robert. I believe he'll be very interested to hear that his Master of Coin participates in gambling and then refuses to pay his debts."
Littlefinger's face turned deathly pale.
Under normal circumstances, Robert might not care. But today Robert had also won money (he had bet on Victor), and he was in a great mood. Combined with Victor's recent heroic feat, if this reached the King's ears, Robert would definitely sacrifice his old minister to please his new favorite.
"Don't… don't be rash." Littlefinger took a deep breath, looking like he had aged ten years. "I'll pay."
The next half hour was pure one-sided plunder.
Ten thousand gold dragons in cash (completely emptying the brothel's cellars).
Three prime shop deeds on Silk Street (including the largest brothel itself).
And a massive promissory note from the Iron Bank of Braavos.
When Victor walked out of the room, Littlefinger collapsed into his chair, eyes hollow. He had not only lost five years of savings, but also the cash flow that kept him alive in King's Landing.
"Thank you for your generous 'sponsorship,' Lord Baelish," Victor waved the property deeds in his hand. "From now on, this establishment will be renamed 'Paradise on Earth.' Also, in the future, when you see anyone from House Pompey, remember to step aside."
…
After leaving the brothel, Victor did not head straight home.
Following the system's guidance, he arrived at a cheap tavern on the street corner.
There, a massive, tower-like figure occupied a corner table alone, surrounded by empty wine jugs.
Sandor Clegane — the Hound.
The Mountain's younger brother.
At this moment, the burn scars on half his face looked especially hideous under the candlelight. He was gulping down cheap ale, his eyes dazed and filled with pain.
He had lived for twenty years in his brother's shadow. His only reason for living had been to kill Gregor one day.
But this afternoon, someone else had killed his brother for him.
He was finally free… but also completely empty.
"This wine is too weak for your taste."
A wine jug was placed on the table. It was high-proof distilled liquor Victor had taken from the system space (a byproduct of perfume production, but strong enough to kill a man).
The Hound lifted his bleary eyes, looked at Victor, and gave a cold, mocking smile. "What? The big hero has come to mock me too? Mock this dog who's lost his master?"
"No."
Victor sat down opposite him and poured himself a cup. "I'm here to offer you a new life."
"New life?" The Hound scoffed and took a big swig from the jug. The burning sensation immediately made him cough violently. "Cough cough… what the hell is this?! It's strong!"
"You hate knights. You hate empty vows. You hate this rotten world."
Victor stared into the Hound's good eye. "Funny enough, so do I. But I chose to conquer it."
"Gregor is dead. It's time for you to wake up too."
Victor took something out from his chest.
It wasn't gold, nor a weapon.
It was a black badge engraved with the Pompey family crest.
[System Item: Loyalty Steel Seal (S-rank)] [Effect: After use, the target will develop absolute soul-level loyalty toward the user, with all attributes increased by 10%.]
Of course, Victor wasn't stupid enough to call it a magical item.
"Sandor, I don't need more knights. What I need is a wolf — a vicious wolf who can tear out my enemies' throats for me."
Victor slapped the badge onto the table. "Follow me. I won't force you to swear any ridiculous knightly oaths or follow the Seven. You only need to obey my orders."
"In return, I'll give you everything you want — whether it's the thrill of killing or the strongest liquor in the world."
The Hound fell silent.
He stared at the badge, then at the calm man in front of him.
He saw something in Victor — a purer strength than his brother's, and a deeper ambition than the Lannisters'.
For a lost, vicious dog, being tamed by such a powerful man might be the best fate he could hope for.
"As long as there's enough wine?" the Hound asked hoarsely.
"Plenty."
The Hound grinned, revealing his uneven teeth — the first genuine smile he had shown all night.
He reached out with his calloused, massive hand, grabbed the badge, and clenched it tightly.
[Ding! Target "Sandor Clegane" has accepted recruitment!] [Loyalty Steel Seal activating…] [Soul Binding Complete! Loyalty: 100% (Fanatical)!] [Acquired Powerful Retainer: The Hound (Current Combat Assessment: Top 5 in Westeros)!]
"Boss."
The Hound stood up unsteadily, picked up his greatsword, and the confusion in his eyes was replaced by a beast-like ferocity. "There were two Lannister spies watching you outside earlier."
"Need me to twist their heads off?"
"No need. They're just flies."
Victor nodded in satisfaction.
With the Hound, plus the Spartan warriors and Shadow Guards, his armed forces in King's Landing had finally taken shape.
At that moment, a maid in red court attire hurried into the tavern and went straight to Victor.
"Lord Pompey," the maid kept her head lowered, her voice trembling slightly. "Her Grace the Queen… is waiting for you in Maegor's Holdfast. She said to come alone."
"And… Her Grace specifically asked you to bring the 'best' bottle of perfume."
Victor raised an eyebrow.
It seemed the real victory celebration was only just beginning.
He turned to the Hound and ordered, "Go back to the Pompey residence first. Tell Morsen to move the gold into the cellar. I'll be back soon."
"Going to fuck the Queen?" The Hound snorted, a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Careful she doesn't bite your head off. They say that lioness doesn't spit out bones."
"Don't worry."
Victor straightened his collar, his eyes shining with the light of a conqueror.
"Who eats whom… is still uncertain."
…
Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast.
This was the Queen's private chambers, heavily guarded. Yet Victor passed through without any obstruction — clearly, someone had already given orders.
He pushed open the heavy oak door.
The room was dimly lit, with only the flickering light from the fireplace.
Thick Myrish carpets covered the floor. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of the [Conquest] perfume Victor had given her.
Cersei Lannister stood by the window, gazing out at the dark waters of Blackwater Bay.
She wasn't wearing her elaborate court gown. Instead, she wore only a thin, translucent crimson silk robe. In the firelight, her voluptuous figure was faintly visible — the ultimate temptation of a mature woman.
Hearing the door close, Cersei slowly turned around.
Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. She held two cups of deep red Dornish summer wine.
"You're here, my champion."
Cersei's voice was slightly husky, her eyes misty and burning with heat. She walked toward Victor barefoot, each step feeling like it landed on his heart.
"I promised you — if you won, I would give you everything you want."
Cersei stopped in front of him, handed him a cup, then hooked her finger lightly around his belt.
"Now tell me, Victor."
"What do you want first? Gold? A title? Or…"
She tilted her head up, red lips slightly parted, her breath fragrant:
"…me?"
Victor took the wine cup but did not drink.
He casually set it aside on the table with a crisp clink.
Then he reached out, wrapped his arm around Cersei's slender waist, and pulled her forcefully into his embrace.
"Children make choices, Your Grace."
Victor lowered his head, staring into those ambitious green eyes, and said domineeringly:
"I want it all."
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