Chapter 28:
The Red Keep, Small Council Chamber.
The atmosphere was colder than the winter wind.
At one end of the long table sat the Regent for King Tommen, the Hand of the King, and the true ruler of the realm — Victor Pompey.
At the other end sat a gaunt man in a stiff, high-collared robe, his face as rigid as stone.
Tycho Nestoris.
Chief Envoy of the Iron Bank of Braavos.
"Lord Pompey."
Tycho's voice was completely flat, like he was reading a death sentence. "King Robert owed us three million gold dragons. King Joffrey borrowed another million for the war. Now, with interest, the Iron Throne owes the Iron Bank a total of five million two hundred thousand gold dragons."
He pushed forward a thick sheaf of parchment.
"The Iron Bank does not care who sits on the Iron Throne. We only care about one thing — when do you intend to repay this installment?"
Queen Cersei sat nearby, so nervous she was nearly tearing the handkerchief in her hands to shreds.
Five million gold dragons! Even if they dug out every last nugget from the mines beneath Casterly Rock, they still couldn't gather that much!
"Lord Nestoris…" Cersei tried to explain, "We are currently at war, and Lord Tywin has just passed away…"
"That is irrelevant, Your Grace."
Tycho coldly cut her off. "If the Iron Throne is unable to repay, the Iron Bank will have no choice but to consider supporting other… more creditworthy claimants. For example, Stannis Baratheon, who is currently mustering forces on Dragonstone."
This was a naked threat.
If they didn't pay, the Iron Bank would send money and ships to Stannis to help him invade.
The council chamber fell into dead silence.
Everyone's eyes turned to Victor.
Victor calmly picked up the teacup in front of him and blew on the foam.
"Lord Tycho, since you've come all the way to King's Landing, why not first try some of our local specialties?"
He snapped his fingers.
Servants brought forward two exquisite silver platters.
On one platter sat crystal-clear glass cups (no longer crude green glass, but high-purity quartz glass).
On the other platter was a snow-white powder never before seen in Westeros.
Tycho frowned. "I am here to collect a debt, not to—"
"Taste it," Victor smiled, pointing at the pile of white powder.
Tycho hesitated, then dipped a finger in and put it in his mouth.
Boom!
It was as if a sweet bomb had exploded on his taste buds.
No sourness from honey, no杂 flavors from fruit — only the purest, most extreme sweetness!
[System Product: Refined White Sugar (Industrial-grade Crystals).]
In this medieval era that still relied on black molasses and honey for sweetness, this snow-white, high-purity sugar was legal cocaine — "white gold" that drove men mad.
For the first time, a crack of genuine shock appeared on Tycho's deadpan face.
"This is…"
"We call it 'Snow Sugar'."
Victor leaned forward, his voice full of temptation. "Across the Narrow Sea, how many gold dragons would one pound of this sugar fetch? Ten? Twenty?"
Tycho was a professional banker. The abacus in his head instantly began spinning at full speed.
If this quality of sugar could be monopolized, even the magisters of Pentos and Lys would fight tooth and nail for it — even at fifty gold dragons per pound!
"And this."
Victor picked up one of the transparent glass cups and tilted it toward the sunlight.
"How much would a flawless crystal cup like this sell for in Braavos?"
Tycho fell silent.
He looked at Victor, and the contempt in his eyes vanished, replaced by the appraisal of one equal to another.
"Lord Pompey, what exactly are you suggesting? Do you intend to repay the debt with these goods?"
Tycho regained his composure. "Although these items are extremely valuable, to offset five million gold dragons in debt, you would need several mountains' worth."
"Repay the debt? No, no, that's too crude."
Victor wagged a finger and revealed his true killing move.
"Tycho, the Iron Bank's lending model is outdated."
"You lend money to kings to wage war — the risk is enormous. If the king loses, you lose everything. If the king wins, he may still default."
Victor stood up, walked over to Tycho, and patted his shoulder like an old friend.
"Why settle for dead interest? Why not join me… and share in the dividends instead?"
"Dividends?"
"I plan to establish the [Royal Joint Trading Company]."
Victor unrolled a massive commercial map.
"House Pompey will provide the technology (sugar refining, glassmaking, perfume, cement). The Iron Bank will provide the capital and shipping channels."
"We will monopolize the luxury goods market across all of Westeros and even Essos."
"Imagine it, Tycho. When every noble in the world cannot live without our sugar, our perfume, our glass windows…"
Victor lowered his voice:
"At that point, we won't be earning a few million gold dragons — we'll be earning mountains of gold."
"As for the Iron Throne's debt to you… we can simply convert it into company shares. The annual dividends will more than cover ten years of interest."
Tycho Nestoris's heart began pounding violently.
This was not just a debt restructuring plan.
This was the blueprint for a commercial empire that could overturn the world.
If the Iron Bank could secure exclusive distribution rights for these "black technology" products… Braavos would become the true center of the world!
"We will need to verify production capacity," Tycho remained cautious. "If you can only produce one platter of sugar…"
"The workshop district outside the city is open to you twenty-four hours a day."
Victor smiled confidently. "You will see white sugar piled like mountains, and perfume flowing like rivers."
…
Two hours later.
When Tycho Nestoris walked out of the workshop district, he looked slightly dazed.
He had seen the massive hydraulic presses. He had seen tons of sugar beets go in and rivers of snow-white gold come out.
He had seen alchemy transformed into real productivity.
That same night, a new contract was signed in the Red Keep.
[Pompey-Braavos Joint Agreement]
Debt Restructuring: Interest on the Iron Throne's debt is suspended and converted into 20% equity in the "Royal Trading Company."
Capital Injection: The Iron Bank will provide House Pompey with three million gold dragons in low-interest or interest-free loans for production expansion and… military modernization.
Political Alignment: The Iron Bank declares full support for King Tommen (in practice, for Victor) as the sole legitimate ruler of Westeros. Any rebellion against the Iron Throne will face economic sanctions from the Iron Bank.
When seeing Tycho off, Victor stood on the battlements of the Red Keep, weighing the promissory note worth three million gold dragons in his hand.
"Boss, you really managed to swindle those bloodsuckers?"
The Hound stood beside him, looking incredulous. "They used to kill people who owed them money."
"This isn't swindling. This is capital operation."
Victor gave a cold laugh.
"Now, Stannis won't be able to borrow a single copper from the Iron Bank."
"Without money, he can't even afford pants on Dragonstone — let alone challenge me."
At that moment, a Shadow Guard appeared silently behind him.
"My lord, Lady Melisandre requests an audience."
"She says… she has seen cracks in the Wall in the flames."
Victor put away the note, his eyes turning sharp.
Money secured.
Grain secured (via the greenhouse).
Technology secured (gunpowder).
The biggest worry (the Iron Bank) resolved.
"Notify the entire army."
Victor turned, his cloak flapping in the sea wind.
"Let the soldiers eat and drink well these next few days. Polish the new plate armor and clean the firearms."
"In three days."
"We march north!"
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