After a brief pause, Varys remembered another matter of equal importance.
"And yes, if there are further urgent matters, then food. After such a sudden war, the supplies in King's Landing are already stretched thin."
Faced with the two issues Varys raised, Kal furrowed his brow and ground his teeth, for the moment feeling somewhat at a loss.
He had come empty-handed, prepared only for war, not for anything else; even his own army's supplies had been taken piecemeal along the way.
"Safety and food—those truly are grave problems," Kal muttered.
"Though I want to help the people of King's Landing through hardship, I lack the manpower, and it is even less possible to conjure food out of thin air."
"What is more, the war is not yet over. If I recall, King's Landing's supplies depend heavily on outside shipments and trade."
Kal spoke earnestly, and now Blackwater Bay and the seas were in chaos, with even the coasts struck by war.
Still, the two issues Varys named were indeed crucial.
And King's Landing, beset within and without, held nothing but problems to the eye.
Security was manageable—that much he could handle—but the question of food he could not solve.
All the more since the men under him were hardly reliable tools.
"And those I do have are nothing but rough brutes fresh from the mountains. In a place like King's Landing, it's plain enough that the fact they aren't already stealing is only because I keep them in check, and they are clearly unfit for the task."
Had he kept silent it would have been better; the two problems Varys raised struck Kal like a cudgel.
Kal scratched his head in frustration.
With only 2,000 men, and all of them brutes who knew only how to rob, kill, and despoil women, Kal truly felt powerless before this great city of 400,000 to 500,000 souls.
Seeing Kal Stone's frustration, Varys, who had deliberately posed the two questions, found the result as he expected, and at once felt somewhat reassured.
Kal Stone's relentless killing had set his very liver trembling.
He had once thought the man nothing but a cleverer breed of murderer, an ambitious madman.
But now, seeing Kal Stone vexed by such problems, he realized this supposed Warden of the East was not in truth a lunatic.
"Lord Kal, food is actually not such a problem. With strict control for a short time, it should not be difficult—we can still hold out for a while."
"And with such control, the peace of King's Landing can also be kept, calming people's hearts so they are no longer so panicked."
"This should count as something that complements itself."
Having raised the problem, Varys naturally had a way to solve it.
This was him using his advantage in information to secure benefit for himself.
Hearing this, Kal, who had been troubled by King's Landing's problems, realized what Varys was thinking.
Cursing inwardly that the man was indeed an old fox, he could only tacitly accept Varys's little maneuver.
Kal pretended not to notice and pressed on with questions.
After all, was this not the reason he had spared Varys's life?
"Lord Varys, you speak rightly, but the problem still lies with manpower. Do you have any way to address that?"
Kal asked calmly for a solution.
Noticing the change in Kal Stone's expression, Varys felt bitter inside.
He had no choice but to offer the good idea he had thought of.
"Lord Kal, in truth, there are still men to be used."
"Oh? And who are they?"
"The City Watch were not all slain by Kevan Lannister. They are imprisoned in the barracks west by Cobbler's Square."
Just as he thirsted, a ladle of cold spring water was set before him.
"But I am not the commander of the City Watch, Lord Varys."
Imitating Varys's gesture, Kal spread his hands with a look of self-evidence.
Seeing Kal's way of demanding service and setting himself up as a pillar of authority, Varys felt bitter in his heart, yet his face bloomed with smiles.
He clasped his hands together, rubbing them within his palms.
"If I remember correctly, Ser Janos Slynt went missing at the start of the chaos, Lord Kal."
Kal slightly widened his eyes, the corner of his brow lifting. "Oh? Such a thing?"
"Of course!"
"You are certain?"
"Quite certain!"
Kal looked regretful. "That truly is a pity."
"For Ser Janos Slynt to fall in battle would be his honor, Lord Kal," Varys said, his sorrow just right upon his face.
Seeing matters at this point, Kal could only sigh, "reluctantly" turning his gaze to his eunuch friend beaming before him.
"Yes, Lord Varys, you are right. It seems I must take this responsibility myself, to pay honor to Ser Janos Slynt."
"It is his honor," Varys bowed his head in respect.
Thus, with the simplest of words, the two resolved King's Landing's military problem.
A great piece of cake had thus been stuffed into Kal's mouth.
And with the recommendation of the sole remaining councilor, Kal was ready to take office at once.
But first, he still needed to clear out the remaining enemies in the Red Keep.
Yet just as he prepared to take Varys to deal with this final matter of cleanup, the pitiful wails of Littlefinger—serving all along as the background to their discussion of state—suddenly cut off.
The two, in the midst of discussing the realm's affairs, instinctively halted and turned their heads toward the sound.
And as the two turned their gaze, they saw Jon Snow driving a sword into Littlefinger's neck, ending his agony early.
Watching Jon's deed, Kal said nothing, only smiled as he looked on.
Varys, meanwhile, slyly glanced aside, observing Kal's expression and the boy who dared act so at such a moment.
Having ended Littlefinger's suffering with a single stroke, Jon stood silently in place, his face solemn.
As the Master of Coin, whose eyes held a trace of gratitude toward him, gradually fell silent, Jon remained standing in a daze.
"Jon Snow, do you know what you are doing?"
At that moment, a cold stern voice startled him awake.
Jon's shoulders trembled, and he instinctively pulled the iron sword from Littlefinger's pierced neck, a spray of blood falling to the ground.
"Of course, Lord Kal—"
Jon knew full well what he had done. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head to face his knightly master.
"I only wished to help him—"
But Kal did not soften at his words.
His gaze grew colder, his voice like the chill of the North.
"Did you think of why I did this? Do you understand that if he had not exposed his tail by chance, all before us would have been a pointless disaster?"
"Every man who has died on the battlefield is tied directly or indirectly to him."
"And he slew your father's foster father, the King's Hand, the Lord of the Eyrie, the Warden of the East, all for his pitiful, greedy ambition!"
"Moreover, the one you killed was a member of the King's Council, the Master of Coin. Do you know what you are doing?"
Seeing Jon still calm and unflinching, Kal's smile vanished, and he barked coldly.
Hearing Kal's accusations, Jon knew Littlefinger deserved his fate.
But he simply did not wish to see another's suffering.
So he lowered his head and chose to admit fault.
"I understand, my lord. Please punish me—I am willing to bear all responsibility."
"You truly were wrong, Jon," Kal said expressionlessly, "but not for killing Petyr Baelish."
"I recall telling you, to show weakness to the enemy is to be cruel to yourself."
"So then.
"Kneel, Jon Snow—face me!"
With that, he drew his longsword with a swish and strode toward Jon Snow.
Jon, not expecting Kal to truly punish him, was struck with sudden alarm, raising his eyes to the man coming at him with blade in hand.
Yet he made no defense, only released the pale justice with which he had just freed Littlefinger, bowed his head, and knelt to the ground.
Bronn and Timett, surprised that Jon Snow had actually struck down Littlefinger, were both startled to see Kal truly seem to grow serious because of it.
"My lord—"
Bronn dared not speak, and only Timett, sworn in loyalty to Kal, instinctively tried to offer a word of counsel.
But just as the words reached his lips, Kal was already standing before Jon Snow.
He paid no heed to Timett's counsel.
Looking at the boy who had served as his squire these past months, Kal raised his gilded longsword and set it upon Jon's shoulder.
Then the face that had been cold as frost melted as if in warm sunlight, breaking into a smile.
"I am glad you have not lost your kindness, Jon."
Kal spoke softly.
Startled by the sword laid on his shoulder, Jon felt something amiss in this scene.
This did not seem like punishment.
And somehow, it felt familiar.
Realizing what was about to happen, Jon's gloom could no longer be contained, and he grew faintly excited.
Seeing Jon's stirred expression, Kal kept smiling.
"So, are you ready?"
"My lord—am I worthy?" At this moment, Jon's voice betrayed some doubt.
"In my eyes, whether in merit or in character, you are fully worthy. Be confident, Jon."
The longsword did not shift, still resting on Jon's shoulder.
"Then I think I have long been ready, my lord. I have awaited this day."
With Kal's affirmation, light seemed to burst in Jon's eyes, his whole being turning fervent and elated.
But Kal knew Jon was not excited for the knighthood itself.
So he drew in his expression, his face growing solemn.
As Robert had once knighted him, he lifted the sword slightly, laying it across Jon Snow's right shoulder.
"Jon Snow of Winterfell, son of Eddard Stark."
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."
The raised longsword touched down upon Jon's right shoulder, then moved across to his left.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."
Kal's face was grave, his voice low.
The gilded longsword returned to the right shoulder and touched down lightly.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the weak and the innocent."
"In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women—
"Arise, Ser Jon Snow, knight of the Seven Kingdoms."
"I charge you to take up your longsword, and may you never abandon it in the days to come."
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