Chapter 20:
Harrenhal.
The largest, most sinister, and most infamous ruin on the continent of Westeros.
It had been built by "Black Harren" to show off his power, only to be burned into a giant melted candle by Aegon the Conqueror riding Balerion the Black Dread.
Now, it served as the main base for Lord Tywin Lannister.
The cold wind howled through the melted and twisted high towers, sounding like the wails of ghosts and wolves.
A column of black cavalry slowly rode into the fortress.
At the head was Victor. Behind him rode the fully armed Hound and fifty silent, iron-clad Teutonic Knights (system reward, disguised as mercenaries).
The murderous aura radiating from these fifty warriors was so intense that even the Lannister soldiers guarding the gate felt a chill of fear.
"This cursed place…"
The Hound looked at the blackened stones and spat in disgust. "It reeks of dead men everywhere. And the stench of burned flesh."
"You'll get used to it."
Victor looked up at the tallest tower — the "Tower of the Burning King" — with a sharp glint in his eyes. "Although this place is cursed, right now it is the center of power."
…
Top floor of the Tower of the Burning King, the lord's study.
Tywin Lannister sat at his desk writing a letter. He wore a tight-fitting deep red doublet embroidered with a golden lion. His temples were streaked with white, but his pale green eyes still held a coldness capable of freezing the soul.
Even when he heard the door open, he didn't look up. The quill in his hand continued scratching across the parchment.
"Baron Pompey."
Tywin's voice was flat, revealing neither joy nor anger. "You're late. And you brought quite a few men."
"In these chaotic times, it's never wrong to bring more men, my lord."
Victor did not show the usual subservience of a vassal. Instead, he walked straight to the chair opposite Tywin and sat down — an equal posture.
Tywin's quill stopped.
He raised his head. Those extremely oppressive eyes locked onto Victor.
"You are very bold. In King's Landing, you killed my vassal Gregor (the Mountain). You slept with my daughter. You took the Stark greatsword. And now you dare speak to me like this?"
The air seemed to solidify.
The Hound's hand moved to his sword hilt.
Victor, however, smiled — calm and relaxed.
"Gregor was a mad dog. Mad dogs only bite randomly and ruin Lannister business. I killed him to clean house for you."
"As for Cersei…"
Victor leaned forward, his gaze unyielding. "She is a woman, and more importantly, a queen. What she needs is not just a father, but a man who can support her in this chaotic world. And I am ten thousand times better than that drunkard Robert."
"Most importantly…"
Victor took out a list from his chest and pushed it across the table to Tywin.
"I have money. I have grain. I have soldiers."
Tywin picked up the list and scanned it.
It listed: 50,000 gold dragons in military funding, two thousand bushels of improved wheat, and five hundred barrels of salted meat.
These were exactly the things Tywin's army needed most right now. War was expensive in both coin and food. Although Tywin had gold mines, food was his greatest weakness.
Tywin remained silent for a moment. The coldness in his eyes receded slightly, replaced by a merchant's shrewdness.
"It seems you are more valuable than I thought."
Tywin set the list down. "What do you want from me? Harrenhal?"
"No, this place is too broken."
Victor shook his head. "I want a promise. When the Lannisters win this war, I want exclusive trading rights over the Riverlands. And…"
He paused, his gaze sweeping to a corner of the study.
There stood a small, short-haired "boy" covered in dust, holding a wine jug and trying to shrink into the shadows.
[System Scan: Target — Arya Stark.] [Disguised Identity: Cupbearer "Nan".] [Status: Extremely vigilant, ready to draw "Needle" hidden in her boot at any moment.]
The corner of Victor's lips curled up.
"And I see that your cupbearer is quite clever. I happen to need someone to pour wine. Give him to me."
Tywin followed Victor's gaze to the "little boy."
To him, this was just a commoner picked up from a prisoner camp. Clever, but nothing special.
"Just a cupbearer." Tywin waved his hand indifferently. "Take him."
In the corner, Arya's head snapped up. Her grey wolf-like eyes filled with shock and fear.
She recognized Victor!
The man who had killed the Mountain in the tourney! The man who had taken her sister Sansa away!
Was he an enemy? Or a friend?
"Come here, boy."
Victor beckoned with a hint of teasing that only Arya could understand. "From now on, follow me. I guarantee you won't have to smell this old lion's stinking face anymore."
Arya bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, then walked over with the wine jug. She knew this might be her only chance to escape Tywin's grasp.
…
After leaving Tywin's study.
Victor and his men settled into the guest tower.
The moment the door closed, the "little cupbearer" suddenly drew the thin sword from her boot and pointed it at Victor like an angry kitten with its fur raised.
"Who are you?! Where is Sansa?! What did you do to her?!"
Arya's voice was youthful but full of killing intent.
"Calm down, little lady."
Victor didn't move. He simply flicked the blade of the thin sword with his finger, producing a crisp ding.
"Your 'Needle' is for stabbing enemies, not your savior."
"Sansa is safe."
Victor took out a handkerchief — one Sansa had specially embroidered for him before he left, bearing the Stark direwolf sigil.
"She is in my castle, eating well, sleeping well, and has even gained some weight. She's currently helping me look after the baby."
Seeing her sister's handkerchief, Arya's eyes turned red.
She sheathed her sword and stubbornly wiped her face. "Then why are you helping the Lannisters? You gave Tywin so much money!"
"That was an investment, silly girl."
Victor squatted down to look her in the eye. "In this world, to survive, you need to know how to kill — and how to deceive."
"If I didn't give Tywin money, how could I bring you out of this dragon's den?"
"Now, you are my squire."
Victor gently ruffled her messy short hair. "Follow me. I will teach you some… killing techniques that even Jaqen H'ghar couldn't teach you."
(Note: Jaqen is the Faceless Man and Arya's future teacher. Victor is showing off here, but he actually has system skill books.)
[Ding! Interception Successful!] [Arya Stark has joined the team!] [Bond Acquired: The Two She-Wolves (Collecting both Sansa and Arya grants +100 Family Fortune).]
At that moment, a strange singing voice suddenly drifted in from outside the door.
It did not belong to the Seven or the Old Gods.
It was sung in High Valyrian, carrying the heat of flame and a heart-palpitating magical power.
"The night is dark and full of terrors…"
Victor's eyes sharpened.
She had arrived.
He pushed open the window.
In the gloomy courtyard of Harrenhal, beside a bonfire, stood a woman dressed in a blood-red robe.
She had a heart-shaped face, copper-red hair, and a pair of eyes that seemed to burn like fire.
Melisandre.
The Red Priestess of the Lord of Light.
She seemed to sense Victor's gaze and slowly raised her head.
Their eyes met across the distance.
A flash of confusion appeared in Melisandre's eyes, quickly turning into immense shock.
On Victor, she did not see the usual "flame of life." Instead, she saw a chaotic yet brilliant nebula.
It was not the flame of Azor Ahai (the prophesied savior).
It was something older and more domineering than flame.
"I've finally found you."
Victor looked down at the red-robed woman below and murmured softly.
"My… magic advisor."
He turned to the Hound and Arya and said:
"Stay in the room and don't move."
"I'm going to meet this woman who plays with fire."
Tonight in Harrenhal was destined to be sleepless.
Tywin was plotting war.
Arya was thinking of revenge.
And Victor was preparing to turn this priestess who worshipped the Lord of Light into House Pompey's "private property."
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