“Yes, that’s it.” Dividing identical items into different categories and selling them at different prices was a marketing trick that might sound fantastical to the people of Westeros, but it was already second nature to Aegor, who had once lived in a modern world. “I’m just providing a way of thinking. You can also think outside the box. The categories go far beyond military and civilian. You can even grade them: high, medium, and low. Take lipstick for example—after adjusting the color, you can create various shades. Soap can also be categorized by fragrance, based on the ratio of spices used… As long as it’s not illegal—or at least not illegal enough to disgust the Hand of the King or the King himself—there’s no such thing as a despicable way to make money.”

A strange glint flashed in Nina’s eyes. “I understand. I’ll write it down when I get back and start testing it as soon as possible.”

As the staged performance of killing wights ended, and the launch of dragonglass products and the dragonglass spear auction concluded, the crowd in the square began to disperse. Nina continued to discuss various sales strategies with Aegor. On an emotional level, simply chatting with her idol and sweetheart already brought her joy. Not to mention, she could always gain new insights from him that sharpened her skills.

As they spoke excitedly, a man in plain clothes walked up from not far away, climbed the steps, and greeted them enthusiastically, “Lady Nina, you’re here too? To watch them kill the Wight?”

“Yes,” Nina turned and recognized the speaker. She quickly introduced him to Aegor. “Sir, this is Blair, the one I mentioned to you before. He’s the one behind the reform of lipsticks and soap. Blair, this is Lord Aegor West, Chief Logistics Officer of the Night’s Watch Industry.”

“Lord Aegor!” Blair had never met the legendary boss in person, but Nina—who had the authority to review his inventions and approve funding—was already a figure of great power in his eyes. If someone like her could show such admiration and joy, then the man before him had to be someone even more formidable. With that in mind, he hurried forward to greet him. “I didn’t expect to meet you here, my lord. It’s an honor!”

“Blair, I’ve heard of your reputation,” Aegor nodded calmly. This was the man known for turning powders and liquids into pastes and soaps. “How have you been lately? Working on anything new?”

Blair’s life was, of course, far better than before. Without the discovery and sponsorship of the Night’s Watch Industry, he might still be a commoner tinkering with useless things in King’s Landing. But he knew a man of Aegor’s status wasn’t interested in his personal well-being, so he answered the second question directly. “Recently, I’ve been trying to solidify kerosene and create something more efficient and longer-lasting than candles, but also safer than liquid kerosene.”

“An interesting idea, but let me remind you: even if your new invention succeeds, it may not replace candles or kerosene simply due to better performance or safety. When something performs a duplicate function, it’s hard to dominate the market.” Aegor no longer needed to pretend. He spoke directly, like a true leader. “Rather than improving what already exists, it’s better to invent something that the world doesn’t have yet or something others urgently need.”

…

Although Blair didn’t quite understand, he could tell that powerful people spoke differently. He stared at Aegor nervously. “My lord, could you perhaps give me a more detailed hint?”

If I could give you exact instructions, why would I need you? Aegor laughed inwardly. But his brain, which had been idling for some time, suddenly sparked to life. Where was he standing now? On the steps of the Alchemists’ Guild. Beneath his feet, in the deep cellars, lay vast stores of wildfire—far more lethal than kerosene, capable of burning down all of King’s Landing.

Wildfire couldn’t be used in conventional warfare due to its instability, but what if that shortcoming could be eliminated?

…

“All right, let’s stop here. I’m assigning you a task—use any means necessary to raise the ignition point of wildfire to a safer level. If possible, solidify it into a paste or block—something easier and safer to transport.” Aegor was shaken by the sudden brilliance of the idea. He should have thought of this earlier. “Nina, can you contact the Wisdom from the Alchemists’ Guild still in King’s Landing?”

“If I know where he lives, I should be able to find him.”

“Send someone to locate him. Get Blair a few pots of wildfire for experiments. The experiments must be done in a remote industrial zone outside the city. Be cautious.” Aegor patted Blair on the shoulder. Though he might not be much older, his authority made him seem far more mature. “Work hard, young man. If you succeed, come to my office. I’ll reward you handsomely.”

—

After reading the maester’s letter, Eddard Stark sat in his chair, rubbing his temples and staring into the candlelight. Though most of the news was positive, a heavy weight still settled in his chest. He wanted to go to the godswood and kneel beneath the heart tree to pray for the king’s recovery, but deep down he knew it was futile. Even if the Old Gods truly existed, how much power could they wield this far south of the North?

A guard knocked and entered. “My lord, the king wishes to see you.”

“The king is summoning me?” Eddard repeated in surprise. He didn’t know what Robert wanted, but he rose from his seat regardless. “Very well, lead the way.”

…

Passing through the dry but spiked moat and the heavily fortified drawbridge, Eddard entered Maegor’s Holdfast, the royal residence within the Red Keep. After several turns, he arrived at the king’s chambers.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood guard at the door. Since the day of the king’s attack, the old knight had been mired in guilt. Though Eddard had repeatedly told him that the blame lay with his own poor planning and the delay caused by the fool Janos Slynt, it did nothing to ease the knight’s pain.

He had failed to protect Rhaegar, failed to protect Aerys, and now, failed to protect Robert. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, his repeated failures haunted him. Nothing could have weighed more heavily on him. Barristan shook his head grimly as Eddard approached. That gesture alone made Eddard’s heart sink further.

“Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King,” the steward announced as he opened the door.

“Come in quickly,” Robert called hoarsely from inside.

A faint stench lingered in the room, barely masked by the fragrance of fresh flowers placed throughout. The odor was disturbingly similar to that of a ghoul’s rotting flesh—a smell many had begun calling the breath of death. It was this very scent that had driven Eddard to remove the ghoul from the Red Keep. But perhaps it had been too late. Or perhaps the king’s health had nothing to do with that creature at all.

The wound on Robert’s back had nearly healed, but his condition continued to worsen. His body exuded a strange odor, and defecation had become difficult and painful. Due to his size, every visit to the privy had become a grueling ordeal. Beside him sat a young maester, who had replaced Pycelle to treat his injuries. Renly paced nervously by the window, while Margaery Tyrell sat at Robert’s bedside like a dutiful wife—her hair disheveled, her face pale and dazed.

“Ned, come here,” Robert said, his voice muffled as he lay face-down. “Everyone else, leave. I want to speak with the Hand alone.”

“Your Grace, you need someone to look after you…” Margaery said with concern.

“I said I want to speak with the Hand alone.” Robert repeated. Though impatient, he still maintained a measure of politeness. “I think a clever girl like you understands the Common Tongue.”

Margaery looked helplessly at Eddard, then rose and followed the others out of the room.

Eddard watched the young, slender Flower of Highgarden leave, then closed the door behind her. He heard Robert chuckle bitterly. “That little rose… She dreamed of becoming queen and finally got her wish. Unfortunately… cough cough… I’m a useless old man.”

“Your Grace will recover. We’ve summoned the best healers and maesters in the realm.”

“Stop spouting nonsense, Ned. I feel it… I’m dying.”

“But Your Grace, your wound is healing—”

“But I’m rotting from the inside! I can feel it!” Robert cut him off, frustrated. “My life is draining away. Don’t you think I can smell the stink myself? Isn’t that why Margaery brought in all those flowers? She can’t stand it either!” He gasped from the pain as the wound shifted, then continued. “Enough lies. Tell me what’s happening on the battlefield.”

“The battle at the Golden Tooth has begun. Robb wrote to me, swearing he would take it within three days. Cavedeep will take more time, due to the terrain. We’ll likely have to wait until the Stormlands and royal forces link up. As for Crakehall, the fighting has already started. The last update was two days ago. It may already be ours. The Tyrells are approaching Lannisport.”

“Good. Lannisters…” Robert wanted to swear vengeance, but remembering his brother’s temperament, he sighed. “Do as you see fit. Kill as many as you want. Send as many to the Wall as you like. Just one thing—Tywin and that bastard son-in-law must die. Strip the Wardenship of the West from them too!”

Is this… his will? Eddard’s chest tightened.

“Don’t look at me like that. Yes, this is a will.” Robert had clearly seen through him. “If I were you, I’d grab that pen and start writing. It’s on the table. Quickly.”

Eddard hesitated a moment, then sighed and picked up the quill. “I’m ready, Your Grace.”

“This is the last will of Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name—write all those damned titles, you know them. I hereby name Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, as Regent and Protector of the Realm… to rule in my stead after my death. As for the throne, you know who it’s meant for—write it.”

Stannis Baratheon. Eddard’s heart ached, but his hand did not pause. “Anything else?”

“Write whatever needs to be written—obey, protect, gods old and new… all that garbage. You’re the Hand, aren’t you? You know how this goes. When you’re done, I’ll sign it. After I die, give it to the Small Council.”

“Robert…” Eddard’s voice was filled with sorrow. “Don’t leave us. The realm still needs you.”

“Heh…” Robert tried to chuckle, suppressing the pain. “Ned Stark, you’re a terrible liar. The realm knows full well what a disaster I’ve been. A tyrant like Aerys… The only ones who’ll miss me are the whores I’ve bedded. Gods forgive me.”

“No,” Eddard shook his head. “You’re nothing like Aerys. You were far better than him.”

“Maybe. At least they’ll say the last thing I did was wise… handing the realm to you. You’ll hate ruling more than I ever did, but you’ll do it well. Is it done?”

“It is, Your Grace.” Eddard handed the will to Robert, who struggled upright, signed his name with great effort, then dropped the quill and lay back. “Get witnesses. We need the seal.”

“Wait, one last thing. Listen carefully. If the Tyrells prove themselves in this war, give them a seat on the Small Council. Keep them busy, so they don’t stir up trouble. But don’t give them any Lannister lands. The Reach is big enough.” The king hesitated, then sighed again. “And… no matter whose children they really are, let them live. I know it may cause unrest in the future, but… never mind. No explanation. Just… I’m not completely heartless. Hide them, send them to Essos—whatever you must. And Daenerys Targaryen… gods have mercy, stop trying to kill her.”

This was a Robert Baratheon utterly unlike his usual self. But Eddard found no joy in it. If only he had been like this from the beginning…

“I will, my friend,” Eddard said. “I swear it by the gods old and new.”

“Good. Now, let the others in. I’ll try to hold on a few more days. Use the time well. Don’t come see me every day—save your strength for something useful. And tell the Tyrell girl to stop sitting here. I don’t want her remembering me like this. Ask the maester to bring me something strong. Robert of House Baratheon’s final wish is to die in his sleep. May the gods protect me from dying with soiled breeches… damn, what a ridiculous way to go.”

(To be continued.)

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep