Time passed in the blink of an eye. Since the Siege of Storm's End, six full months had already gone by.
The armies of the various houses had returned home, smoothing over the upheavals caused during the war.
And the young king, escorted and acclaimed by the nobles and knights of the Seven Kingdoms, entered King's Landing in triumph.
"Hehe~ have you heard? His Majesty King Kal has already decided he won't use the Baratheon family name to establish his kingdom…"
Early in the morning—before even the first light of dawn—King's Landing had already entered a mood of celebration.
At the Stinking Fishhook Tavern, a sailor staggered weak-legged out from the Silk Street. A moment later, still in high spirits, he turned and slipped into Eel Alley.
While stuffing his belly with sour-fruit stewed pork to replenish the energy and nourishment he had lost the previous night, he could not help loudly bragging to a bearded man at the same table about the bit of gossip he had happened to overhear in the hall while he was "doing business" last night.
Hearing him, the bearded man—who had just poured the last half-mouthful of supposedly unmixed rye ale into his mouth—wiped the foam from his beard with a single swipe, a trace of teasing flashing through his eyes.
"Oh~ something like that actually happened?!"
"That's House Baratheon—the golden stag! And the king refuses to use such a noble surname?!"
As he spoke, the bearded man casually plucked a piece of sour-fruit pork with the skin still on from the sailor's plate and tossed it into his mouth.
Seeing that the man was paying attention to him, the sailor did not even mind the bearded man's filthy hands. His face was full of excitement.
"Compared to the achievements the king has made now, what does Baratheon even count for!"
The sailor thumped his chest, wearing the proud look of someone who believed he knew the inside story.
At that moment, several mercenaries who had been drinking through the night nearby could not help turning their heads.
After exchanging a quick knowing glance with the bearded man, they hurriedly asked in excited voices, "Kid, looks like you've got quite the news network. Come on—tell your uncles what you've heard!"
One of them waved a hand toward the tavern's barkeep.
"Hey, Jorman! Bring this 'well-informed' sailor a drink. Looks like he's learned something remarkable and can't wait to share it with us!"
Jorman—who worked both as barkeep and server—was a boy whose upper lip had only just begun to sprout a faint line of soft whiskers.
Hearing the shout, he tried hard to focus his eyes—dull from a sleepless night—and looked over.
Inside the Stinking Fishhook Tavern, the group of mercenaries who had already been drinking all night crowded around the smug sailor like a swarm, as if they had just discovered an amusing monkey.
Amid the chorus of praise, the sailor felt as though he were floating on clouds. His back, weary from a night of labor, no longer ached, and his legs no longer hurt.
Jorman cast him a pitiful look.
Those fellows had been drinking here for three days and sleeping here for three days—they had long since run out of entertainment. But first thing in the morning, a new one had refreshed itself automatically.
"There are still two barrels of rye ale left. I'll have to carry them up from the cellar. The boss saved them as a gift for himself, so… I think you understand what I mean."
"Damn you, Jorman! Isn't your boss just your father—the one who ought to be sent to Storm's End to feed the sharks? So don't even think about raising the price!"
"You're right about that, you rotten cripple Uman. But that damned old bastard doesn't pay me wages. He's as stingy as a famine-stricken rat."
"So what I mean is, if someone is willing to pay a little extra 'compensation for lost work,' he can have a cup of—uh—mermaid's spit brought from the Reach less than two months ago. The kind that isn't watered down."
No sooner had Jorman finished speaking than two copper stars flew toward him.
"Damn you, Jorman. Now I'm certain your father really is that stingy rat, not that your mother got you by fooling around with some knight for half a copper grain—or just for the thrill of it."
"So could you hurry it up? Stop tidying your damned plates already. I don't want to see your legs go as soft as that sheep-fucking sailor's!"
"May you have a beautiful day. May the Eight Gods bless you!"
The beauty of the copper stars was like the stars in the sky, like the summer breeze along the banks of the Blackwater on a warm night. Jorman hurriedly stuffed the two copper stars into his pocket.
He casually pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped his hands, then imitated the knights and gave the mercenaries a bow.
Soon afterward he went down to the cellar. Oak barrels were piled everywhere there—clearly not just the two casks of treasured rye ale he had claimed earlier.
But that didn't matter, did it? Sometimes getting copper coins out of the pockets of those stingy mercenaries and sailors required a bit of skill.
After all, he wasn't one of the prostitutes of Silk Street. They only needed to spread their legs, whisper sweet words, or have a softer tongue to pull money out of the pockets of those damned bastards.
Drawing half a cup of rye ale from one barrel, Jorman then casually poured half a cup of water from the nearby water vat, mixing it into a full cup.
Two fish swam back and forth in the tank.
"Hm. Mermaid's spit is still there—and it truly hasn't been 'watered down.'"
Nodding in satisfaction, Jorman yawned and carried the cup back.
To celebrate the king's upcoming coronation ceremony, the benevolent King Kal El had announced an exciting policy three months earlier: the curfew in all of King's Landing was lifted, and no one knew when it would return.
How merciful!
Because of that policy, the Stinking Fishhook Tavern had earned in just half a month what it usually made in half a year.
No one knew when the curfew would be restored, and besides, they truly needed to celebrate this rare peace.
A year of war—and the coming winter—both foretold that the days ahead would certainly not be as easy as the past dozen years had been.
For this reason, his truly damned stingy father had taken a gamble and imported the last batch of wine from the Reach, because some rumor said that the Seven Kingdoms would soon tighten the supply of grain.
After all, it wasn't only the Vale. The North had mobilized troops toward the Wall at the end of the world. The Reach, the Stormlands, and even Dorne were unwilling to be outdone, each dispatching forces northward one after another.
And for that reason, the king had even declared that all supplies sent north would be borne by the Crown, so the nobles would no longer need to bring their own provisions.
At the thought that, with grain becoming scarce, the price of wine would naturally rise, Jorman could not help humming softly.
"Long live His Majesty Kal El!"
As for the mercenaries treating a sailor who had just come off a ship like a monkey for amusement, that had nothing to do with him. He was only a barkeep—the son of a tavern owner.
"That damned old bastard… is it really worth investing in that place that's said to freeze people to death?"
…
The Red Keep—still the council chamber familiar to Kal.
Every Small Council meeting was held here. Only now, aside from a certain bald eunuch and an elderly white knight, everything here had long since changed.
And the king's seat, which for more than a decade had habitually been left empty, was now occupied by a young king.
"Your Majesty, your economic stimulus policies for King's Landing have worked very well. In just these six months, not only has the Crownlands recovered from the shadow of the previous war, it has become far more prosperous than before."
"And not only that. According to the statistical reports coming from across the realm, the economic stimulus policy proposed by Your Majesty has not only enriched the Crownlands, King's Landing, and the royal treasury—good news has come from all over the Seven Kingdoms as well."
"The circulation of trade and materials driven by this alone has greatly improved conditions everywhere."
At the solemn Small Council meeting, a dwarf stood before the ministers, holding several sheets of letter paper and reading out the figures written upon them.
At last he wiped his mouth. After he had more or less finished relaying the information, he folded the letters away and looked up toward the ministers seated around the long table—and the king, who seemed somewhat distracted.
There was no expression on his face, as if he were used to it.
Then, as his words fell silent, the few men seated at the council table—which over the past decade had rarely ever been full—turned their heads to look at the absent-minded king.
The Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, could not help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
"Your Majesty… Lord Tyrion Lannister has finished his report. What do you think…?"
"Hm~ ah, is that so? Uh… good, good. Then Tyrion, you may return to your seat. Thank you for your hard work, my Master of Coin."
Tyrion merely shrugged indifferently. He stepped forward to his place, braced a hand on the table, and seated himself, casually tossing the letter papers aside.
His position as Master of Coin was practically nothing more than the king's foreskin. For the past six months, nearly every fiscal policy had been handled personally by the king. The only thing he could do was carry out the orders—nothing more.
As Tyrion returned, it seemed the king was about to drift off in thought again. As the still-serving Hand of the King, Eddard Stark could only once more take the initiative and shoulder the burden of continuing the meeting.
"Your Majesty, in fact it is not only what Lord Tyrion has mentioned. At present the North is also thriving. To be honest, I never imagined that one day the North would become so lively…"
"Thank you for your help and support for the North."
Eddard found a pretext and pulled Kal back from his wandering thoughts.
Helpless, Kal could only set aside the question he had been pondering and refocus his attention on this routine Small Council meeting.
Looking at everyone, he scratched his head.
"Things like money and talent are like water. They naturally flow toward lower ground. That is normal."
"But the North is not a naturally low ground for the economy. The stimulus we can provide to it right now is only temporary."
"This is merely a temporary measure to help the North and the Seven Kingdoms get through this winter. After all, everyone knows the purpose of what we are doing…"
"The threat of the Long Night has not passed. We must remain vigilant. So everything only appears this way on the surface—beneath it, the dangers still remain everywhere."
Kal did not take credit for himself. There was no need. He understood very clearly that everything visible at present was temporary.
It was merely the use of the advantages brought by large-scale population movement to stir the environment of the North, and in doing so to revitalize certain aspects of its economy.
In the past, the North was vast and sparsely populated, and few people came.
Now, with Kal deliberately carrying out macro-level adjustments and with the increase in population mobility, this half-dead land of the North naturally seemed to show rapid results.
But in the end, this was only a strong medicine. With the coming of winter, the current prosperity would certainly be greatly reduced.
And that was precisely Kal's objective.
He had to use this method to lay the foundation for war in the North in advance. As for how much would remain when the time came, that could only depend on fate.
In response to the king's "modesty," Varys bowed slightly and said with a humble smile, "But Your Majesty, the results of what you have done are indeed excellent."
"Now not only have armies from across the Seven Kingdoms been organized to head north in preparation for the future disaster of mankind, but the economic policies you proposed have also stimulated a large number of people to travel north."
"And thanks to the 'efforts' of those merchants, aside from the necessary expenses required to maintain the armies, in some areas we even have a surplus. This has greatly reduced our consumption."
"Yes, it is indeed very effective!" As his words fell, Randyll Tarly also nodded.
As a military commander, the perspective and depth from which he viewed matters had always been uniquely his own.
After watching Kal's actions over these past six months, Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill had gradually come to a deeper understanding of what he had once believed war to be.
And so, in his view, the king was simply a genius.
Seeing that they had begun "flattering" him again, Kal quickly waved his hand.
"Alright, there's no point talking about that. If you have time, you might as well say something practical."
Kal had never liked such praise. Although it always sounded pleasant, it was ultimately useless.
As Kal's words fell, everyone also put away the expressions on their faces.
After working together for half a year, people had grown accustomed to the king's way of doing things.
At this moment, Tyrion gave a slight cough and said, "Ahem… Your Majesty, regarding the grain crisis and the predicted market instability caused by supplying the northern armies, signs of rising prices for goods are already appearing in the markets."
"At present, a large amount of supplies has been mobilized and sent to the North. The resources that can still be allocated south of the Riverlands have already reached a foreseeable limit."
"And most importantly, the merchants have begun hoarding their goods instead of selling them."
"If we don't find a solution soon, a crisis will certainly erupt."
Tyrion's expression was extremely serious as he spoke. Although he appeared somewhat unreliable as Master of Coin—throughout these six months the king had essentially done all the heavy lifting and had been the true MVP while he merely coasted along—Tyrion still possessed the necessary insight to perceive the crisis lurking beneath the surface.
"So it has already reached this point?"
Hearing Tyrion's words, Kal paused slightly and stroked his chin.
"In that case, we should begin preparing what we planned earlier."
"The methods can be a bit tougher. It will also serve to build momentum for my coronation."
As he said this, a gleam flashed in Kal's eyes—one that none of the others present noticed.
This would be the first tentative step in prying at the very foundations of the Seven Kingdoms.
"But… Your Majesty, we are not certain we can withstand such a crisis. Although the Riverlands and the Reach are under your control, it is foreseeable that this storm will not affect only King's Landing…"
Tyrion continued.
"You mean they will unite?" Kal smiled when he heard that.
"Yes. After all, not only do you refuse to acknowledge the debts owed by the Iron Throne to the Iron Bank, but you also intend to hold them accountable for supporting the Lannister rebellion and for the harm done to the North before. You are demanding compensation from them and that they open banking seats…"
"This…"
"Isn't that what war is?"
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