Chapter 46:
Midnight. Red Keep, the top of Maegor's Holdfast tower.
The howling wind masked all subtle sounds.
In the pitch-black night sky, several black shadows glided silently over the tower's spires like giant bats.
Whoosh—
Arya Stark folded her glider and landed lightly like a cat on the slippery tiles.
Bronn and the Hound followed. The Hound landed a little heavier, cracking a tile, but he quickly steadied himself and immediately raised the black short-barreled weapon in his hands.
"Clear."
Arya pressed her earpiece (a simple short-range radio) and spoke coldly.
She wore infrared thermal goggles (system black tech). In her vision, the patrolling guards below appeared as moving red heat signatures.
"These guards are wrong."
Arya frowned. "Their body temperature… is too low. They don't look alive."
"Whether they're human or ghost, I don't care."
Bronn racked the slide of his MP5 submachine gun and checked the long suppressor.
"As long as the head is still on the neck, this thing will help them move on."
"Operation begins."
"Target: Underground Alchemical Chamber. Objective: Cut the fuses."
The three moved like ghosts, sliding down ropes from the balcony and infiltrating the interior of Maegor's Holdfast.
…
Maegor's Holdfast, third-floor corridor.
Two Gold Cloak guards patrolled stiffly.
Their faces were deathly pale, eyes dull, with obvious stitching scars on their necks. These were mass-produced puppets made by Qyburn using leftover materials from the Mountain — not as strong as the original, but tireless and immune to pain.
Pfft! Pfft!
Two extremely soft puffs of gas sounded.
The puppet on the left instantly had two bloody flowers bloom on its head. The 9mm hollow-point rounds tumbled inside the skull, shredding the remaining brain tissue.
It collapsed softly without making a sound.
The puppet on the right turned its head with sluggish reaction.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Three more suppressed shots. They struck precisely in the forehead and eye sockets.
Bronn blew on the light smoke from the muzzle and stepped over the corpses.
"This gun is really good. Much faster than crossbows and almost no recoil."
"Shut up," the Hound said warily, scanning the surroundings. "This whole tower reeks of corpses. How many of these monsters did that madwoman create?"
They moved quickly through the corridor. Along the way, every guard they encountered fell silently to the deadly "pfft-pfft" sounds.
No alarms.
No battle cries.
Only the soft clink of spent casings hitting the carpet.
This was a dimensional downgrade strike.
In an era still accustomed to swinging swords at each other, special operations with modern firearms were pure cheating.
…
At the same time, in the secret underground passages beneath the Red Keep.
Jaime Lannister held a torch and struggled forward through the damp tunnels.
This was a Targaryen family secret known to very few.
Suddenly, the sound of water came from the darkness ahead.
"Who's there?"
Jaime drew Widow's Wail instantly, his golden prosthetic left hand guarding his chest.
"Ah… isn't this the one-armed knight who fucks his own sister?"
A cold voice carrying the salty stench of the sea came from the shadows.
Euron Greyjoy.
He wasn't dead.
But he looked worse than a corpse now. Half his face had been blown apart by that cannon shot, his left arm was missing, and his body was wrapped in filthy seaweed and bandages. Yet that single eye still burned with mad fire.
"Euron?" Jaime frowned. "How did you get in?"
"Through the sewers."
Euron grinned viciously, twirling a poisoned dagger in his hand.
"I swam in the sea for three days to escape that damn iron turtle (the Black Prince)."
"Cersei promised me that if I returned, I could be king."
"And you… you're extra."
Euron lunged like a rabid dog.
"Leave your head behind! I want to hang it on my new ship!"
Clang!
Valyrian steel clashed with the dagger.
Although Jaime was missing one hand, his swordsmanship was still top-tier. Euron, though heavily wounded, moved with bizarre, unpredictable attacks and complete disregard for defense — every strike was lethal.
"Is she worth it?" Jaime parried the dagger and kicked Euron hard in the stump of his missing arm.
"Worth it? Hahahaha!"
Euron laughed wildly, spitting blood. "This world was always mad! That Victor is the real freak! We need to burn the world back to how it should be!"
…
Deepest level of the Red Keep, Alchemical Workshop.
The air here was thick with the pungent smell of wildfire.
Countless huge clay jars were piled like mountains. Green liquid flowed through pipes, converging into a massive central detonation pool.
Once a spark ignited here, the entire wildfire network beneath King's Landing would be activated.
A dozen elderly alchemists were busy at work.
Around them stood four massive "enhanced puppets." They wore heavy plate armor and carried giant axes, looking far more dangerous than the mass-produced versions above.
"Found it."
From the ventilation duct, Arya whispered.
"That's the master fuse. If we destroy that winch, the wildfire outside can't detonate."
"The four big guys are mine."
The Hound drew the shotgun from his back (specially approved by Victor).
"You two handle the old alchemists."
"Go!"
Boom!
The ventilation grate was kicked open.
The three dropped from above like shadows.
"Enemy attack!!!" an alchemist screamed.
Ratatatatatat—!
Bronn's MP5 opened fire instantly. Bullets poured like rain toward the alchemists. Their fragile robes offered no protection. Several who tried to reach the lever were turned into sieves in seconds.
"Roar—!"
The four enhanced puppets roared and charged.
"Taste this, you ugly bastards!"
The Hound pulled the trigger on the lead puppet.
Bang!
The shotgun slug struck the puppet's chest armor at close range. Even plate was blown open with a large hole. The massive kinetic energy knocked the puppet back several steps.
But it did not fall!
Instead of blood, green alchemical fluid flowed from the wound. It became even more frenzied and swung its giant axe down.
"Damn it! These things are on drugs!" The Hound rolled sideways. The axe carved a deep trench where he had just stood.
"Aim for the head! Aim for the joints!"
Arya moved through the chaos like black lightning. She didn't use her gun. Instead, she drew "Needle" and a Valyrian steel dagger.
She slipped into the puppets' blind spots using her small size.
Pfft!
The dagger stabbed precisely into the back of one puppet's neck, right at the spinal gap.
The puppet shuddered and collapsed like a machine that had been unplugged.
"Bronn! Cover me! I'm going for the fuse!"
Arya shouted and dashed toward the central winch.
However, just as her hand was about to touch the winch—
A jet of green flame suddenly sprayed from the side!
Whoosh—!
Arya performed a rapid backflip and barely avoided it. The flame hit the ground and instantly melted the stone.
From the shadows stepped a figure.
Maester Qyburn.
He held a flamethrower device, his face twisted with fanatical glee.
"Want to destroy the queen's masterpiece?"
"Little girl, you don't know… this is the greatest alchemy of all."
He pressed a remote in his hand.
The previously motionless clay jars around them suddenly began to shake.
What crawled out of the jars was not wildfire.
It was self-destructing wights engulfed in green flames!
"Didn't Victor tell you?"
Qyburn laughed maniacally.
"In this workshop… the dead can explode too!"
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