"Then, Lord Varys, may I ask why you stopped me here?"
With the matter settled and their brief transaction concluded, Kal's patience was wearing thin.
Looking at the Spider before him, recalling certain events in the Vale, Kal still carried a deep wariness in his heart.
So his tone grew hard.
Varys paid it no mind. Seeing Kal go straight to the point, he did the same. "Ser Kal, you seem prepared to storm the Red Keep, are you not?"
"That is not difficult to guess," Kal replied, tilting his head back to look around.
"If that is the case, perhaps I can offer you a small measure of help." Having received Kal's acknowledgment, the smile on Varys's face grew all the more sincere.
As he spoke, he raised a hand and pointed toward a nearby alley.
"I happen to know of a passageway that leads straight into the Red Keep."
"Don't tell me its original purpose was to make it easier for the King to visit Chataya's brothel."
Catching the bald eunuch's implication, Kal looked a little surprised.
A flicker of unease crossed Varys's face, but he quickly concealed it.
"You know, the Master of Whisperers must always know a little more, in order to better serve the King." He did not deny Kal's words.
But to Varys's surprise, Kal suddenly let out a cold snort, his expression instantly hardening.
"And how am I to be certain you're not luring me to my death, Lord Varys?"
At Kal's words, the men who had been standing aside—irritated that he had been held up, yet patiently watching their lord exchange words with a beggar—were all taken aback.
At once, Bronn and Hall reacted the fastest.
Having been listening intently to Kal and Varys's exchange, the moment they sensed the shift in Kal's tone, they moved without hesitation.
In the next instant, both lunged at Varys.
Hall was the quicker—his blade flashed as he drew the rapier at his waist and pressed it against Varys's throat. Bronn, though not as fast, wasted no time either; with a sharp motion, he swung his leg, kicking hard at the back of Varys's knee.
One wrong word—and with Kal's voice gone cold—the eunuch was struck down in an instant.
Varys had no time to react before his vision swam, his throat chilled by steel, his knee flaring with pain.
Though he did not yet grasp what was happening, the cold edge at his neck and the ache in his leg made it plain this was no illusion.
And with his bulk, once kicked off balance, he collapsed forward helplessly, ending up prostrated before Kal as though bowing fivefold to the ground.
Ignoring the pain, his instinct for survival spurred his first response—to beg for mercy.
"Spare me! Spare me, Ser Kal, do not kill me!"
Kal, who had meant only to test the eunuch, had not expected his two men to act with such speed.
As for Hall—well, that was simply his nature, one of the very reasons Kal kept him close.
As for Bronn, who had only recently joined him—his reaction was, it had to be said, impressively eager.
At the very least, when it came to seizing an opportunity, this man wasted none.
And with matters having come this far, Kal could only play along.
Looking down at the Master of Whisperers, who was kneeling in pain and straining his neck to look up at him, Kal slowly drew the dragonbone-hilted dagger from his belt.
He pressed it lightly against Varys's face.
"My apologies, Lord Varys, but I cannot trust you—nor am I certain you are not in truth Tywin Lannister's inside man."
"At the very least, from where I stand, you have yet to prove otherwise, have you not?"
There was danger in Kal's voice.
The cold edge of Valyrian steel slid against Varys's cheek, the sharp and weightless blade shaving away patches of fine fuzz with ease.
Sensing that Kal Stone's killing intent was not feigned—that this young man, strong enough to topple cities and stand against armies alone, truly might take this chance to end him—Varys's fear grew real.
He did not know why, but he knew that if he did nothing, his head would soon join the others on the walls of the Red Keep.
So, the moment Kal's words fell, he desperately scrambled to defend himself.
"Ser Kal, no—please believe me! I am absolutely not Lannister's inside man!"
"I am nothing but a eunuch, surviving only by gathering scraps of information. Without the Iron Throne, I am nothing!"
"I would never be so foolish as to betray the King, to stand against the Iron Throne—let alone become a Lannister's dog!"
Though he did not understand why Kal Stone seemed intent on killing him, all Varys could do now was beg for his life.
And in this moment, he realized something deeply—this bastard son of Robert was nothing like his father.
At least in certain respects, his depth and caution ran far deeper than anyone had imagined.
Realizing this, Varys looked at Kal Stone, the man shaving his face with a dagger, and something in his eyes began to change.
But when his hurried pleas faded, the only answer was Kal's voice, colder than ever, thick with murderous intent.
"I truly wish I could believe you, Lord Varys…"
"But I cannot believe in you—alive."
With Kal's voice fell the Valyrian steel dagger with its dragonbone hilt, sliding down from Varys's face to his neck.
The chill of Valyrian steel was even colder than Kal's voice.
It was as if his very life was frozen in place.
Yet at this desperate moment, Varys could not care for anything else. Shutting his eyes tight, he cried out hastily.
"Spare me! I know many things—so many, many things!"
The dagger halted, and Varys seemed already able to smell the scent of blood.
He swallowed hard before daring to open his eyes.
Feeling the pounding of his heart as if it were about to leap out of his chest, Varys cautiously looked at Kal.
"You want to live?"
Looking at the Spider stripped of all pretense, Kal's tone carried a mocking sneer.
"Of—of course, Ser Kal. No one wishes to die, least of all in such a way."
A bitter, strained smile twisted across Varys's face.
"You can trust me. I won't become your enemy. I also have things worth your trust!"
But to Varys's plea, Kal merely tapped the dagger hilt pressed against his neck—the blade had already nicked his skin and drawn a trickle of blood.
"Including the cause of Lord Jon Arryn's death?"
The faint vibration made the sharp edge cut deeper into the small wound.
Hearing those words, Varys seemed caught off guard, not expecting Kal's question to be this. For an instant, he froze.
But one had to admit, though doubt lingered in his heart, under the threat of death his reaction came swiftly.
"Of course. After the King's departure, I happened to learn even more."
"It was only because war had broken out that I suppressed certain information."
Hearing the words he wanted, Kal smiled—an ambiguous, meaningful smile.
Varys could not quite grasp it, so he only stared tensely at the young knight before him.
Seeing Varys truly cowed, Kal lifted his hand, releasing the dagger, and gestured. Instantly, Bronn and Hall, who had stepped forward to play the heavy, loosened their grip on Varys.
"Release our spymaster. If His Majesty were to learn you dared treat one of his royal courtiers that way, you'd soon find yourselves cloaked in black, sent to freeze your cocks off in that icy wasteland."
At Kal's words, both Bronn and Hall froze slightly.
Bronn glanced toward Hall.
But Hall, who had followed Kal for nearly a year, recognized from his lord's tone that this was no jest.
So he briskly withdrew the stiletto pressed against Varys's back, and lifted his boot from the man's ankle.
Bronn copied him, rising and stepping back a few paces.
Varys, sharp as ever, instantly seized upon Kal's words, ignoring the pain across his body as he patched up the moment.
"There's no need for that, Lord Kal. I believe that if His Majesty knew he had such loyal men, he would surely reward them."
"After all, compared to them, the Goldcloaks are nothing but a heap of gutter filth."
"To be honest, as a eunuch, at times even I envy them."
Varys, ignoring the pain across his body, hurried to signal Kal that he would not seek revenge on the two men.
Kal nodded with satisfaction. "Well then, hurry up and apologize to Lord Varys, you two oafs!"
Someone who had nearly slit the eunuch's throat just moments before now wore an expression of upright righteousness.
Bronn and Hall, knowing the score, muttered two insincere apologies before retreating back into the ranks.
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