Chapter 42:
The border between the North and the Riverlands, the Neck.
This had once been the most difficult stretch of road in Westeros. Swamps everywhere, venomous insects swarming, even warhorses could sink into the mire.
But today, a straight steel dragon made of crushed stone and sleepers forcefully cut through this ancient desolate marshland, extending southward.
However, construction had stalled.
"Stop! All of you, stop!"
A burly Northern lord in old-fashioned plate armor — Lord Hornwood — blocked the unfinished railway tracks with several hundred of his private troops.
He waved his longsword and pointed at the workers and Pompey engineers holding shovels.
"This is the resting place of the First Men! You southern devils want to nail these black iron bars onto our ancestors' faces?"
Lord Hornwood roared, "I will never allow that smoke-spewing monster to pass through my lands! It will scare my cattle and sheep, and make women unable to bear children!"
Behind him, a group of ignorant peasants holding pitchforks timidly but blindly joined in the commotion.
"My lord, what should we do?"
The Pompey chief engineer in charge of construction wiped his sweat. "If we detour, the schedule will be delayed by three months and the cost will increase by fifty thousand gold dragons."
Victor Pompey sat in an open carriage not far away, holding a newly drafted "Federal Land Expropriation Act".
He glanced at Sansa beside him.
"That's your bannerman, Sansa. Will you go and persuade him?"
Sansa frowned. Stubborn old nobles like this were not uncommon in the North.
"The Hornwood family suffered heavy losses in the last great war. He's just trying to use this as an excuse to extort a toll," Sansa said coldly. "If you're willing to pay, he'll step aside immediately."
"Problems that can be solved with money are not problems."
Victor stood up and straightened his sleeves.
"But today I don't want to pay. Because if I set this precedent, every village we pass through in the future will try to extort us once."
He jumped down from the carriage and walked straight toward Lord Hornwood, escorted by the Hound and a squad of fully armed musketeers.
"Lord Pompey!" Lord Hornwood blustered, "This is the North! Even if you are the regent, you cannot…"
"I've seen your account books, my lord."
Victor interrupted him, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"Your lands produce three hundred thousand pounds of grain per year, yet your tax revenue is less than five hundred gold dragons. Your peasants often starve in winter, and your castle leaks but you have no money to repair it."
"So what? That is tradition!"
"To hell with tradition."
Victor turned to face the peasants holding pitchforks.
He did not draw his sword. Instead, he raised a heavy silver stag.
"Listen, people of Hornwood lands!"
Victor's voice, amplified by the speaking tube, carried across the entire area.
"From today onward, this railway is hiring! Whether you are a serf or a free man!"
"Eight hours of work per day! Three meals provided (with meat)! One silver stag per day!"
"I may not be able to force your lord to make way, but I can hire all of you!"
The entire crowd fell silent for a second.
Then erupted into massive commotion.
One silver stag per day? That was money they used to save for half a year! And meals were included?
"I'll do it! My lord, I'll do it!"
"Me too! Don't stop me!"
"To hell with the lord! I want to earn money to support my family!"
The peasants who had been standing behind the lord instantly threw down their pitchforks and rushed toward the Pompey company's recruitment point.
Even some of the lord's several hundred private soldiers quietly removed their armor and slipped into the crowd.
In just ten minutes.
Lord Hornwood stood completely alone.
He had become a true commander without an army.
Victor walked up to the dazed lord and patted his stiff shoulder.
"See, my lord."
"This is called the iron fist of capitalism."
"Now, you can continue protesting here, or… go home and guard your empty castle."
"Take him away," Victor waved his hand. "Resume construction!"
…
Three months later. Winterfell Railway Station.
This was a historic moment.
The steam train named "Winter Express" stood quietly at the platform.
It had a black locomotive, huge red wheels, and twelve luxurious carriages with glass windows.
The platform was packed with curious commoners and nobles.
Lord Hornwood, who had once opposed the railway, was now squeezing into the crowd with a flattering smile, hoping to buy even a standing ticket — because he had heard that southern silk and spices would double in price once transported north, and he wanted to be among the first speculators.
Woo——!!!
The whistle sounded long and loud.
Victor took Sansa's hand and boarded the first royal carriage.
Tyrion, Jon, and several important Northern lords accompanied them.
"Hold on tight."
Victor smiled at the slightly nervous Sansa.
As the pistons moved, the massive steel wheels began to turn.
The train slowly left the station, then faster and faster!
The scenery outside the windows began to fly backward.
The journey that once took a full day on horseback now passed in the time it took to drink a cup of tea.
"Seven Gods above…"
Greatjon Umber (the burly Northern warrior) pressed against the window, watching the forests fly past, his face pale with fright. "This thing runs faster than a direwolf! What does it eat? Coal lets it run this fast?"
"This is the power of industry, Lord Umber."
Tyrion shook the wine cup in his hand and leaned back comfortably on the soft cushion.
"Before, it took us a month to reach King's Landing, and we had to worry about bandits and landslides along the way. Now? Just two days. And we can eat steak while enjoying the scenery."
Sansa looked out the window.
She saw newly built factories along the route, primitive tractors plowing wasteland, and children in new clothes waving at the passing train.
This was the prosperity Victor had promised her.
It carried more weight than any oath.
"Victor."
Sansa turned her head, her eyes shining. "Can this line… be extended to the Wall?"
"Of course."
Victor pointed at the map. "Next year, we will reach Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Then you can take the whole family to the seaside for a holiday."
Just as laughter and cheerful talk filled the carriage,
A servant hurried in and handed Victor an encrypted telegram.
Victor opened it and scanned the contents.
His previously relaxed expression vanished instantly.
[Top Secret: King's Landing Intelligence Station]
[Sender: Arya Stark]
[Content: Cersei has been acting strangely these past few days. Frequent beast-like roars have been heard from the Red Keep's underground. The Faith has suddenly declared you a "blasphemer." Also… someone spotted the Mountain in Flea Bottom. He is not dead, but he has become… huge. Extremely huge.]
[Recommendation: Beware of assassins.]
Victor closed the telegram and looked at the scenery flying past outside the window.
The train was fast, but the shadows were still chasing.
"What's wrong?" Sansa sensitively noticed the change in his mood.
"Nothing."
Victor slipped the telegram into his pocket and revealed a cold smile.
"Just some garbage from the old era that refuses to be thrown into the trash heap."
"Since they want to play…"
Victor glanced at the smoking locomotive.
"Then we'll drive the train straight over them."
…
At the same time, King's Landing, the Great Sept of Baelor.
The High Sparrow stood before the statues of the Seven.
Before him knelt a giant fully encased in golden armor.
Ser Robert Strong (the bio-engineered Mountain).
But the Mountain now was even more terrifying than before.
Green light glowed from the gaps in his armor. His muscles had swelled to inhuman proportions. Every breath was accompanied by the gurgling sound of alchemical potions.
"Go forth, warrior of the gods."
The High Sparrow drew a seven-pointed star on his forehead.
"Go and tear that demon who tries to blaspheme faith with steel… into pieces."
The Mountain slowly stood up.
He did not speak (he had no tongue, and perhaps no vocal cords).
But in his glowing green eyes, there was only one simple command:
KILL VICTOR.
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