What Aegor wore was none other than the magical pendant Melisandre always had around her neck and never removed. Last night, he confirmed with the Red Priestess that the item had the function of detoxifying the wearer. So, using his authority as the Goddess’s Agent, he forcibly “borrowed” it and used it today as his confidence to drink the poisoned wine.

The necklace worked. The high temperature released by the gem at its core when activating its detoxification magic was so intense it felt like boiling water had been poured into his chest. He half expected it to explode from the rapid change in heat. But no matter how hot the gem became, it was still an external object worn against the skin. With Aegor’s enhanced resistance to heat, it was bearable. The true shock came from the R’hllor’s Scale embedded beneath the skin on his chest.

That scale, buried under flesh, was not only as hot as a red-hot iron plate but was also completely encased, with no way for the heat to escape. In this unnatural state, Aegor experienced something akin to a White Walker being stabbed by a blade of Valyrian steel. The pain, more excruciating than being branded, was so intense he could almost hear his blood boiling and smell his flesh burning.

This unbearable burning pain revealed two crucial truths. First, Maester Qyburn’s poison was indeed unimaginably lethal. Second, the R’hllor’s Scale embedded in him also possessed a permanent detoxification enchantment, likely far superior to the one within Melisandre’s necklace.

That made sense. If someone like the Red Priestess could conceive of such magic, how could the gifts granted directly by the divine being she served—an existence that had lived for hundreds or thousands of years—be inferior to those of Her followers?

The poison itself did not cause pain, which created a strange contrast: the two victims who were poisoned died quickly and quietly, while the one who lived was now suffering through the torturous pain caused by the magical detoxification. The agony contorted Aegor’s face as he trembled, still pulling open his collar, tearing at it until he could see the area where the scale was embedded. Looking down, he saw the slightly bulging spot above his sternum, now glowing red and burning to the touch. Yet it showed no signs of physical burns. He couldn’t tell if his senses were exaggerating the pain or if the scale was detoxifying him and healing the burns simultaneously.

Even though it was so painfully hot he wanted to carve the scale out of his chest with a knife, this was his lifeline. Aegor didn’t dare tamper with it. In fact, he obediently wore the necklace he had borrowed from Melisandre and didn’t dare take it off. He still had the basic understanding that two defenses were better than one. Though unlikely, if this poison was truly so lethal that… even the R’hllor’s Scale alone couldn’t counter it?

The sight of Varys and Petyr collapsing in just a few seconds like characters in a play had been so startling that even though Aegor knew he had not been poisoned, he still had to support himself on the table as he slowly stood.

Rising with care, he straightened his back. Nothing felt abnormal. He cautiously approached the two fallen men, hand gripping his sword hilt, and leaned down to confirm that both had no heartbeat or breath. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief. He stood quietly in the center of the room, observing the scene he had just created with his own hands.

The Hand of the Queen and the Master of Whisperers—two of Daenerys’s most important ministers, at least publicly ranked in her top advisors. They had wielded enough influence to alter the fate of Westeros and the world of Ice and Fire. Now, they were just two cold, silent corpses lying on the floor, no longer capable of affecting the outside world.

Not long ago, he had been a nobody, someone whose actions barely scratched the surface of the plot no matter how hard he tried. He had to tread lightly to avoid drawing the attention of major players. Even dealing with a minor supporting character had required risking everything.

But now, he had become a ruthless figure whose every step could shake the Seven Kingdoms. He could crush men who were giants in the eyes of the world like ants underfoot.

Well… maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. But regardless, the thrill of completing the most dangerous initiative of his life and the sense of control he now held over the direction of the world made his blood run hot.

His final, bizarre speech moments ago might have seemed like madness. In truth, it had been carefully crafted to accelerate the listeners’ heart rates and blood flow, increasing the effectiveness of the poison. Forcing them to think, to fear. But leaving his speech unfinished had left a bitter taste. For his own satisfaction, and perhaps to offer a final explanation to the two dead men…

He decided to finish the act.

“It’s cold on the ground, and you’re both dead, so I won’t waste too many words.”

A faint stench began to fill the air. Someone had lost control of their bowels or bladder. In the midst of the mixed odors of fine food and wine, the final act of this deadly feast began—a one-man show.

“Yes, I thought you two were in the way, so I hoped you could leave the Queen’s side.”

As Aegor spoke, he began tidying up the scene. First, he unbuckled the sword belt from his waist and hung it on the rack by the wall. After all, drinking with colleagues while wearing a sword was strange.

“You two would never resign of your own accord. Even if you did, Her Grace would never agree. And even if she did agree, you would still find ways to cause trouble from the shadows of this world…”

He poured out the water from Varys’s cup into the fireplace, then poured half a cup of poisoned wine, making it appear as though the eunuch had been drinking normally up to the moment the poison took effect. To cover his lie that he had “stomach issues,” Varys had insisted on drinking only water after one glass of wine. Aegor had no grounds to force him to continue drinking, so he allowed it. But if he didn’t switch the cup back now, anyone who investigated the scene later would wonder how he had been poisoned.

“After much consideration, I had no choice but to make this difficult decision. Personally send the two of you somewhere where you can no longer obstruct the Queen’s grand cause or interfere with my plans for the Southern expedition—”

After arranging the chairs, confirming there were no obstacles between his seat and the door, and ensuring no details were overlooked, he returned to his chair. Placing a hand on its back, he offered the final answer no one would ever hear.

“Hell.”

It is said that hearing is the last sense to fade at death. And it is said that as long as the body has not gone stiff, there is still a chance for revival… But Aegor had neither the time nor the interest to verify such theories, nor could he wait for the bodies to grow cold just to make sure.

He had more important things to handle—cleanup.

Of course, cleaning up here did not mean disposing of the two corpses.

The reason Varys and Petyr had still shown up for this meal, despite knowing it was a trap, was based on one simple truth: Aegor controlled Winterfell. While holding the lives of everyone in the castle in his hands, he was also responsible for every soul within its walls.

He appeared to rule over the lives and fates of all in Winterfell. In truth, he had to protect them. Because no matter who they were, what corner of the castle they occupied, or what happened to them—even if it had nothing to do with him—he would still be held accountable. This tension between power and responsibility was, in essence, a form of guest right: you could kill someone, but you couldn’t avoid the consequences, nor escape the suspicion and blame.

Before the act, being the host was what allowed him to force the two men to attend and walk into death. After the act, it became his greatest liability.

The eunuch and Littlefinger, no matter whether they were poisoned, stabbed, fell to their deaths, or vanished mysteriously within Winterfell—people would believe Aegor had killed them. Daenerys would hold him responsible. He couldn’t avoid that, but at the very least, he hoped Her Grace would not believe he was the murderer. That she would not become suspicious and bitter, relying on him while constantly thinking of how to guard against and eliminate him.

To clear the Queen’s court while not being seen as a traitor… to accomplish this seemingly impossible task, there was only one path forward.

The victim must not be the killer. He had to be poisoned too.

He clenched his fist, confirming that his fingers were still flexible. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled over the chair he had just been sitting in.

Bang!

Unlike the soft fall of flesh, the chair hitting the floor made a sharp and clear sound. Immediately after, he strode toward the door, pushed it open, and stumbled into the cold wind outside.

Not far away, in a corner shielded from the wind, the Gift soldiers and Unsullied were gathered in small groups chatting. All of them turned to look at him in unison, eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

“My Lord?”

Aegor didn’t answer. With a face full of panic, he bent over, bracing himself against the wall. The index and middle fingers of his right hand trembled as he forced them into his throat, trying to induce vomiting.

The gag reflex worked as expected. After just two seconds, he began retching violently.

Since he hadn’t stopped eating at the table earlier, the effect was especially graphic. The soldier standing nearest stared, stunned, as Aegor vomited for several seconds. Finally, the four Unsullied who had accompanied Varys and Petyr realized something was wrong and rushed into the room.

“The food… is poisoned!” He had already vomited most of it and could now speak. “Seal off the castle… control the kitchens and… everyone who had access to the food…” The vomiting was real, and he retched again, spilling out more until he could barely breathe. “Quickly go fetch Qyburn… and Melisandre… save me…”

He never finished the last sentence. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed face-first into his own vomit.

(To be continued.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep