The Secret Police were unusually quiet today. With these "Gestapo" agents gone from the streets, the small peddlers and commoners wore rare smiles on their faces.
"Everyone, it was all a misunderstanding before. I'm sure men of your stature and wealth won't hold a grudge against me, right?"
Mouse_Is_Duck crossed his arms, looking at the group of merchants he had summoned.
"We wouldn't dare. We wouldn't dare."
Merchants and commoners had never dared to fight against officials.
Getting their money back was already an unexpected windfall for these merchants. How could they dare to hold a grudge?
If they were wealthy enough to rival nations, they could hire the Golden Company or the Faceless Men for revenge. Even those slightly less wealthy could mortgage their properties to the Iron Bank for a loan to hire assassins.
But for these merchants, spending their entire fortune on revenge just wasn't worth it.
It had been a while since the incident, and whatever anger they had initially felt had dissipated.
Revenge? That's a luxury for people with nothing to lose.
If we can't afford to offend them, we can at least avoid them, right? We just won't stay in Pentos anymore.
"His Grace is benevolent. To compensate you, he has ordered a tax reduction for all merchants for one year."
Hearing Mouse_Is_Duck's words, everyone felt a little more balanced in their hearts.
They didn't feel much gratitude; in their view, this was the least he could do.
The merchants who had been clamoring to leave Pentos just moments ago now dismissed the idea. The fact that they hadn't left yet meant they were waiting to see if the new master of Pentos would offer compensation.
Unless absolutely necessary, who would want to leave their home base to fight for scraps in someone else's territory?
Merchants might endure insults out of stinginess, but if an outsider tries to snatch the food from their bowl, they will absolutely make you pay.
"Find a few professionals to keep an eye on them. We don't want them colluding with outsiders for revenge later on."
After the merchants had walked far away, Mouse_Is_Duck whispered instructions to Flying_Bat beside him.
"Understood, Director."
---
The player mercenaries were still "suppressing bandits," but the campaign was drawing to a close. Word was that the outlaws in the Flatlands had been completely wiped out by these ruthless players.
Even the Andals and Rhoynar hiding in the Velvet Hills couldn't stand the day-and-night torment from the players. Large numbers of tribal villages had announced their submission to Targaryen rule.
Suddenly, the population under Pentos surged with these hidden demographics.
The Targaryen sphere of influence now encompassed the Flatlands—the southern plains of Andalos—and a part of the Velvet Hills.
Of course, control over these areas was loose at best for now.
Viserys had no choice; he lacked the talent to govern these lands, and he didn't even have nobles to whom he could grant fiefs.
For now, this would have to do. No matter what, it was infinitely better than the miserable situation the siblings faced in the original story.
Through the System, Viserys issued orders for the players to return in triumph.
If they kept "suppressing bandits," they'd end up right under the nose of Braavos.
The Silver Chest that the mercenary players had been longing for ultimately went to the Heroes Guild.
Why? Because under the leadership of Storm_Dominator (Lin Yan), the Heroes Guild had exterminated the most outlaws, leaving a trail of rolling heads in their wake.
Through the System interface, Viserys watched Storm_Dominator open the Silver Chest to reveal a unicorn foal, surrounded by cheering players. He smiled faintly and closed the "spectator mode."
---
Westeros.
The King's procession stopped and started along the way, taking a full month to finally reach Winterfell, the domain of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North.
Of course, according to the delicate Queen, it felt like a non-stop, exhausting rush.
"Even for the dead, there's no need to hurry like this!"
Those were the Queen's exact words. Heaven knows how the King resisted backhanding her the moment he heard it.
It was completely out of character for him.
Lord Stark led his family and bannermen to welcome the royal party.
Gods, how did the King get as fat as a mountain of meat?
Lord Stark looked in shock at the corpulent figure tumbling off his horse.
This man looked nothing like the friend in his memories.
Robert walked up to Ned, gasping for breath due to the physical weakness caused by his excessive indulgence.
Gods, don't let him die from lack of breath right here.
Queen Cersei stepped down from the wheelhouse, rolling her eyes at her husband's back.
The two friends, separated for years, embraced and laughed loudly.
After greeting Ned's wife, Lady Catelyn, and his children one by one, Robert couldn't wait to drag Ned to see the "girl" he had been thinking about.
In the Crypts of Winterfell.
Walking through the narrow passageway, Robert complained incessantly:
"Ah, Seven Hells! Why is it still so damn cold down here, even in this season?!"
The King saw what he came to see.
The woman he never had, the woman who should have been his: Lyanna Stark.
The King lamented that the woman he would never forget should not be buried deep in this dark place. But the Lord of Winterfell stubbornly insisted it was Stark tradition, and that she belonged here, resting beside her family.
Ned's stubbornness filled the King with inexplicable annoyance.
"I kill him every night in my dreams!" the King said.
"A thousand deaths are not enough for Rhaegar Targaryen!"
Robert's boisterous nature wouldn't usually let him hold a grudge like this—he had even appointed his former enemy, Ser Barristan Selmy, to the Kingsguard. But this was exactly what Ned loved about him: he deeply loved Lyanna.
"Let's talk business, Ned." The King turned his back to the statue; facing it brought him pain.
"You know he's gone. I need help. Come help me. I'm only good at smashing enemies with a warhammer. I'm not good at dealing with disgusting smiling faces and political snakes."
Hearing Robert's words, Ned sighed deeply. He knew this moment would come.
The man before him was his King and his best friend. When the King summons a vassal, how can he refuse? When a friend needs help, how can he not help?
Robert knew this about him. He smiled and patted Ned on the shoulder:
"With you there, I won't have to manage state affairs, just like before. I forbid you to die before me like he did. That is a royal command."
"Jon..." Ned knew that the "he" Robert referred to was someone whose name pained him to speak. Like Lyanna, Jon Arryn was a crucial figure in Robert's life.
If the Seven Gods offered a trade, Robert would undoubtedly swap his Queen and father-in-law for his beloved Lyanna and his respected foster father Jon without hesitation.
"Sigh. The illness took him too fast. Before I could even realize he was sick, he was gone," Robert sighed.
Ned gestured for them to talk as they walked back.
On the way, Robert mentioned Lysa fleeing King's Landing with Jon's heir.
Ned could see the exhaustion in his friend's eyes. Robert must hate all of this. If he could, Ned imagined Robert would fly back to his younger self years ago and threaten him with a warhammer:
"Don't take that damn chair, or I'll smash you! Idiot!"