Warm sunlight bathed the harbor city of Gulltown as a cool sea breeze drifted through its streets. On any ordinary day, merchants would shout over prices, sailors would unload cargo, and taverns would buzz with gossip. But today, the city trembled beneath the march of armed men.
Columns of soldiers in polished silver armor moved through every street and alley like flowing steel. Their banners belonged to the great Vale houses—House Grafton, House Arryn, and their allies. These were not common levies but trained household troops, disciplined and loyal, sent with one purpose:
To erase every trace of Petyr Baelish.
The city echoed with chaos.
Hooves thundered over cobblestones. Armor clashed. Spears struck shields. Doors were smashed from their hinges. Men shouted, cursed, begged, and screamed.
"Resistance will be met with death!"
"Those who aid Littlefinger are traitors!"
The heralds repeated the proclamation as soldiers stormed homes and warehouses. Those who fought back were cut down without hesitation.
The Fall of Littlefinger's Network
Years of Littlefinger's influence in Gulltown were collapsing in a single morning.
Near the customs district, soldiers rammed open a fortified residence with heavy logs. Crossbowmen rushed in first, followed by spearmen.
"What is the meaning of this? We serve Lord Petyr!"
Their protests ended in a rain of bolts.
Bodies fell across courtyards and stairwells. Blood ran through gutters before corpses were dragged into the street.
Elsewhere, soldiers seized counting houses, wine warehouses, brothels, granaries, and mercenary barracks. Every location tied to Baelish's money or influence was marked for confiscation.
The citizens of Gulltown hid behind shuttered windows and locked doors, listening in fear.
Yet many also noticed something important:
The soldiers were not looting.
They were not burning homes.
They were not harming ordinary townsfolk.
These were the Vale's own men, not foreign raiders. They had come for Littlefinger's machine, not the people.
Inside taverns and cellars, whispers spread quickly.
"Whose soldiers are these?"
"They say Gendry Baratheon has arrived."
"The king's son?"
"The eldest one—the fierce one."
The older men still remembered when Robert Baratheon had once stormed Gulltown's walls in rebellion. Many now said the same storm had returned in the next generation.
Others argued loudly.
"No, no, Gendry is handsome and noble!"
"You're confusing him with the Mountain!"
"Then what of Joffrey?"
"Joffrey was never the true storm."
Even in fear, the people of Gulltown still found room for gossip.
Discipline Under the Storm
The purge spread swiftly and efficiently.
Arrest.
Seize.
Secure treasuries.
Control warehouses.
Kill armed resisters.
That was the order.
The troops obeyed strictly because they had been warned repeatedly:
No looting.
No abusing civilians.
No taking advantage of brothels.
No theft.
Rewards would come later from the prince himself.
And so discipline held.
These were men raised in Gulltown and the Vale. They knew every street and alley. Many despised Littlefinger already, viewing him as a smiling schemer who rose through trickery and coin rather than honor.
Now they learned the worst accusation of all:
He had poisoned Jon Arryn.
To the men of the Vale, that crime alone deserved blood.
In Gulltown's Council Hall
By afternoon, order had largely been restored.
Inside Gulltown's city hall, white marble floors gleamed beneath torchlight. A long blue council table stood at the center.
At the high seat sat Gendry.
He wore robes of black, gold, and red—the colors of stag and dragon. Tall, broad-shouldered, and young, he carried himself with growing authority.
At his sides stood Barristan Selmy and the archer Anguy.
Across from him stood the city's lords and commanders.
One of them bowed and began his report.
"Your Highness, Littlefinger's network in Gulltown has been dismantled. His residence, customs offices, brothels, granaries, wool agents, wine agents, harbor offices, and mercenary barracks have all been secured."
Another noble added, "These were the foundations of his power."
Gendry nodded.
"Then tell me exactly how he enriched himself."
Littlefinger's Methods
The lord opened several ledgers and documents.
"First: forged accounts and financial deception."
He explained how Littlefinger manipulated royal records, mixing truth with falsehood so no outsider could trace the books.
Profits appeared healthy.
Losses were hidden.
Debt kept growing.
"When the Crown purchased supplies, he arranged inflated prices. Merchants then returned part of the money to him as kickbacks."
"Sometimes false projects were created entirely. The treasury paid for works that never existed."
Barristan's expression darkened.
The man continued.
"Second: selling appointments."
Tax collectors, customs officers, and administrators often paid bribes to obtain office. Once appointed, they repaid themselves by squeezing the realm.
"Third: smuggling."
Littlefinger interfered with customs enforcement, allowing secret fleets to move goods untaxed. Those fleets were effectively his private enterprise.
"Poisons, intelligence, contraband—all passed through those routes."
"Fourth: private investments."
Though Master of Coin, he also owned brothels, granaries, shipping interests, and merchant ventures under hidden names."
The room fell silent.
Even men used to corruption were impressed by the scale of it.
Gendry leaned back.
"So he robbed the realm while pretending to save it."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"And how much did he take?"
The answer stunned even seasoned nobles.
"Likely more than a million golden dragons in liquid wealth. That excludes land, debts owed to him, businesses in King's Landing, and property seized from his agents."
Barristan exhaled slowly.
"An astonishing level of greed."
Gendry's eyes hardened.
"All of it now belongs to the Crown."
Power Vacuums
War was not only fought with swords.
It was also fought through appointments, contracts, and control.
With Littlefinger gone, dozens of lucrative offices stood empty:
Harbormaster.
Tax collector.
Customs overseer.
Road toll keeper.
Wine merchant licenses.
Shipping authority.
Granary contracts.
Gendry looked around the table.
"These positions will no longer be bought."
Several lords shifted awkwardly.
"You will prepare lists of competent candidates. Honest men first. Skilled men second. Loyal men always."
They bowed quickly.
"Yes, Your Highness."
He continued.
"Promote smaller merchants with good reputations. Let them borrow from the Crown to rebuild trade."
One lord smiled.
"A wise move. The market fears chaos. Stability will win loyalty."
Gendry nodded.
"Then let Gulltown prosper under better hands."
A Priceless Discovery
At that moment, two commanders entered the hall, grinning like boys who had found treasure.
One carried a long wrapped bundle.
"What is that?" Gendry asked.
"You'll see."
The cloth was removed.
Inside lay a sword of dark rippling metal, its edge gleaming like smoke. The pommel was set with rubies, and the hilt curved elegantly.
The room immediately stirred.
A Valyrian steel blade.
Even Barristan stepped forward in surprise.
Gendry lifted it carefully.
The weapon was light, perfectly balanced, and sharper than any ordinary steel.
"One of the lost swords…" he murmured.
The commander nodded.
"We found it hidden in the vault of a wealthy merchant tied to Littlefinger."
Another said proudly:
"It is called Orphan-Maker."
Gendry's brows rose.
"Orphan-Maker."
The name was infamous.
Once wielded by warriors during the bloody Dance of the Dragons, it had passed through rebellious houses before vanishing from history.
And now it had reappeared in Gulltown.
He swung it once through the air.
The blade moved like water.
"A fortunate day," Gendry said.
The men laughed.
"Thanks to Lord Petyr's generosity."
Judgment
By the third day, light rain fell outside the city.
Under the banners of House Grafton, prisoners were brought into the muddy fields—customs officials, corrupt brokers, smuggling captains, brothel masters, and Littlefinger's loyal enforcers.
Some pleaded.
Some cursed.
Some still claimed innocence.
But the ledgers had spoken clearly.
So had the witnesses.
Elsewhere, several guarded wagons rolled toward the The Eyrie.
Inside one of them sat Littlefinger himself, bound for final judgment.
Behind him, the empire of coin he had spent years building had collapsed in days.
Before him waited the reckoning.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)