“Yes. If my store runs into problems again, I’ll come back to borrow more money. As long as the people who earn my 10,000 gold dragons deposit it back into the Iron Bank, this cycle can continue indefinitely.” Aegor grinned slyly. “With just 10,000 gold dragons, it’s entirely possible to accomplish things that should require 20,000, 30,000, or even 40,000. The only thing that can break this cycle is if too much money is lost during circulation, or if it ends up outside Braavos and can’t be recovered in time. Now you see why the Iron Bank was so desperate to collect its debt from King Robert.”

“Because the money Robert spent wouldn’t return to the Iron Bank. It would end up hidden in the homes of Westerosi commoners!” Tyrion slapped his thigh in sudden realization. “So this is what’s called… a ‘broken capital chain,’ isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Aegor nodded, pleased with how quickly Tyrion grasped the concept. “Right now, the money the Iron Bank has lent out is far greater than the actual wealth in its vault, or even in all of Braavos. The idea of repaying the principal doesn’t even enter the equation; it’s not something the bank plans to do or can afford to do. Would you call that cheating people out of their money?”

Tyrion’s eyes widened. Though he understood the logic, he still struggled to fully accept it. “But you’re just a common man, not a noble or a wealthy merchant…”

“I’m the Night’s Watch’s supply collector, recruiter for King’s Landing and the Crownlands, the overseer of dragonglass mining, and its unofficial public face. I have official documentation, didn’t you help me secure it? Have you forgotten?” Aegor’s grin grew wider, his confidence evident. “On top of that, I now have a certificate signed by the Hand of the King. If I borrow money in the name of the Night’s Watch, Commander Mormont would have no choice but to acknowledge it. Now, tell me, what constitutes a scam? If I borrow money and flee across the Narrow Sea, that’s a scam. If I fail and can’t repay the loans, that could also be called a scam. But if everything works out, if everyone who lends me money can collect it back with interest, then can you still call it a scam?”

“Wouldn’t that just make it a brilliant scam?” Tyrion muttered skeptically.

“Let’s think about it this way,” Aegor said, leaning back slightly. “A Westerosi who wants to open a store would need to have 20,000 gold dragons of their own. But without a store, they’d never make that kind of money. And without that money, they’d never open a store. It’s a vicious cycle, one that’s stifled Westerosi development for thousands of years. Now, if this kind of system is a ‘scam,’ then the society I come from—” He caught himself and quickly corrected his wording. “I mean, the continent and culture of Tsena where I come from, are built entirely on such scams. Yet that same ‘scam-based’ system has allowed Tsena to develop politically, economically, culturally, and technologically far beyond what Westeros has achieved. What do you make of that?”

“This…” Tyrion hesitated, his skepticism clashing with the logic presented.

“And more than that,” Aegor continued, his tone calm but firm, “Tsena plays the game of money on a level far beyond even Braavos. The Iron Bank, for all its wealth, lends real gold and silver. Because of that, it has to slow down after a few cycles to avoid risks tied to the physical limits of its gold reserves. At most, for every gold coin in its vault, the Iron Bank can ‘create’ two or three virtual coins to invest in armies, fleets, cities, or loans. But the banks of Tsena? They lend no real gold or silver at all.”

Tyrion frowned, intrigued despite himself. “What do they lend, then?”

“They issue paper certificates, which we call banknotes or ‘notes.’ These notes represent a promise: the holder owns a certain amount of gold or silver supposedly stored in the bank’s vault. The powerful thing is that people treat these notes as though they were actual coins.” Aegor paused, allowing Tyrion to absorb the idea. “So, for every gold coin in the vault, Tsena’s banks can fabricate a dozen or more ‘non-existent’ gold coins and inject them into the market. With that, they can fund armies, build cities, and grow their economy at a rate Braavos could never match. That’s why Tsena became thousands of times stronger than Braavos. If not for the endless Sunset Sea, it would only be a matter of time before Tsena’s armies conquered Westeros, Essos, and even Sothoryos.”

“One piece of paper represents ten thousand gold dragons?” Tyrion asked, incredulous.

“It’s not that extreme, it was just an analogy.”

“But even so, how is that possible?” Tyrion’s voice grew sharper as he leaned forward. “According to your description, if just one in ten people tried to exchange these notes for actual gold, the whole scheme would collapse!”

“It’s not as fragile as you think,” Aegor replied patiently. “In reality, no one exchanges the notes for gold. To the people of Tsena, banknotes and gold coins are effectively the same. It’s difficult to explain, but let me put it this way: playing the game of money produces an almost magical result. Even though the ‘chickens’ we create are fake, the ‘eggs’ they lay are real.”

Seeing Tyrion’s baffled expression, Aegor elaborated. “By introducing non-existent gold into circulation, society prospers. It mobilizes people’s enthusiasm, boosts productivity, and leads to the creation of real goods—houses, armies, food, clothes, tools, and so on. Eventually, the total value of goods produced far exceeds the value of gold and silver coins in the bank or even in the entire continent of Tsena. At that stage, using precious metal currency for transactions becomes impractical. That’s why the people of Tsena abandoned gold and silver entirely, treating banknotes as real money.”

“Think of paper as money?” Tyrion repeated, his tone both skeptical and intrigued.

“Exactly. That’s the final stage of the money game. At that point, what you call a ‘scam’ becomes the foundation of society itself, a framework so ingrained that it’s no longer possible to break it.”

What Aegor didn’t mention was the true final stage, where even physical banknotes would become obsolete, replaced by numbers on ledgers.

—

“The chicken is fake, but the eggs it lays are real… The chicken is fake, but the eggs it lays are real…”

For the past two months, Aegor had been spinning tales about his homeland, Tsena, every chance he got. These stories cleverly masked the advanced concepts of modern technology from his past life, relocated to an entirely different setting. They were 90% true and 10% embellished, leaving no apparent flaws. As a result, Tyrion, sharp as he was, never questioned the existence, power, or wealth of “Tsena.” Now, the smartest Lannister in Westeros sat muttering Aegor’s words like a fool, his usual eloquence abandoned in the face of this bewildering idea.

“It’s too soon to fabricate a ‘chicken’ to lay eggs. What I’m doing right now is just borrowing the chicken to lay the eggs,” Aegor clarified, his tone calm but confident. Having explained everything, it was time to see if his effort had borne fruit. “Since even creating imaginary gold can be used to stimulate economic growth and benefit society, then borrowing money in the name of the Night’s Watch, using it for legitimate purposes and ensuring that both principal and interest are repaid, how could that possibly be considered a heinous crime?”

“Let me think about it. This is a lot to process,” Tyrion said, rubbing his temples.

“Take your time. We’re not in any hurry,” Aegor replied, standing up. “I’ve got other business to attend to today. We’ll talk about fundraising when I return.” He walked toward the door but stopped and turned back. “Tyrion, you saved my life when I was in desperate need. That’s a debt I can never repay, and I swear by all the gods, old and new, that I would never deceive you. But let me ask you something have you ever thought about it? You’re a Lannister, yet you’ve spent most of your life studying and philosophizing. When will it be your turn to contribute to the family? When will you finally have the chance to prove yourself to Lord Tywin?”

Aegor’s words struck a nerve. Though carefully phrased, they touched on Tyrion’s deepest insecurities. If the two hadn’t been on such good terms, the comment might have come off as cutting or too presumptuous. But Aegor was counting on Tyrion’s sense of reason and, more importantly, his desire to be seen as something more than a drunken wastrel. Tyrion, ever the gentleman, wouldn’t take offense, no matter how personal the remark was.

“My suggestion is this,” Aegor continued, leaning against the doorframe. “Why not consider opening the first bank in Westeros? I couldn’t possibly manage it—after all, I’m just a member of the Night’s Watch but the Lannisters have both the financial strength and the reputation of always paying their debts. If anyone could make it happen, it’s you.

“Of course,” he added quickly, “if you decide it’s not feasible, then we’ll drop the matter entirely. You can just lend me a hundred or eighty gold dragons as interest for the first round of loans, and I’ll handle all the risks and operations myself. But if you do decide to give it a try, you wouldn’t just be helping me with this venture, you’d be setting the foundation for a financial institution that could shape the future of Westeros. And when you do move forward with it, I’ll offer whatever advice and help I can. What do you think? Do we have a deal?”

Tyrion was silent for a moment, his mind clearly racing with the possibilities. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll think it through and give you an answer.”

“Perfect,” Aegor replied, smiling. “Now, I’m off to the Red Keep.”

The conversation had taken up the entire morning. As Aegor reached the door, something else occurred to him, and he turned back one last time. “Oh, I almost forgot. That ‘game of money’ we’ve been discussing—Tsena already has a name for it. There’s no equivalent word in Westeros, so I’ve come up with a new one. Combining the ideas of gold and liquidity, I’m calling it ‘finance.'”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep