[ GOT / ASOIAF : Magic Network ] Chapter 131 - 135

Chapter 131 - Bronzegate City

Dusk fell across the land like a heavy cloak.

The thunderous sound of horses' hooves echoed through the countryside, accompanied by the blaring of horns and the roar of men's voices. Looking southward along the Kingsroad, one could see columns of heavily armored cavalry stretching into the distance.

They formed three precise columns that turned east at the crossroads outside Bronzegate City, heading straight for the castle's imposing gates. The countless camps that had sprung up around the fortress stirred to life at once.

Figures emerged from beneath canvas tents, lifting flaps to witness the mighty procession of mounted warriors passing by. They could not help but cheer from the depths of their hearts.

These were infantrymen, ten thousand strong, who had been ordered to gather here. Their number was too great for the confines of Bronzegate City, strong fortress though it was. Space had to be reserved for the cavalry guarding His Grace, so the foot soldiers were relegated to camps outside the walls.

Life in the wilderness was no easy burden to bear. The earliest arrivals had been sleeping in tents for nearly a moon's turn, their bedding soiled and disordered, riddled with fleas and reeking of sweat and worse. Combined with the monotonous training regimen and the unpalatable slop that passed for food these past days, the soldiers' patience had worn dangerously thin.

Every man among them longed for the order to break camp. All knew that Lord Tyrell of the Reach had mustered an army of 100,000 to support His Grace. Once they reached the walls of King's Landing, victory would come as easily as drawing breath.

Then their suffering would end. They would dwell in prosperous King's Landing, enjoying warm, clean beds, savory meals, endless rivers of wine, and buxom whores eager to throw themselves into their arms. There would be feast after feast, each more lavish than the last.

At last, they would fulfill their obligations, pay their blood tax, and return home safe and contented. Mayhaps they might earn a silver stag or two—enough to buy a few more acres of land or build a mill. Or, with the smile of the gods, catch the eye of a knight or lord, win the favor of great men, remain in their service, and perhaps even earn spurs of their own one day.

Of course, many said there would be no true battle to speak of. His Grace Renly commanded an army of 100,000 strong. The boy king in King's Landing—bah, the false king forsaken by the gods—likely hadn't the courage to remain seated upon the Iron Throne.

Some wagered they would find an empty city when they arrived, that the Lannisters would have fled back to the Westerlands in disgrace, leaving only the smallfolk behind. Others thought King's Landing would sue for peace. His Grace would show mercy, claim the Iron Throne that was rightfully his, and allow the Lannisters to slink back to their western holdings.

The false king, abandoned by the gods, would don the robes of the Faith to atone for his sins, or take the black and join the Night's Watch, to guard the Wall of ice and snow until his dying day.

Still others believed the Lannisters would not escape so lightly. They would be made to pay countless gold, the false king would lose his head, all traitors would face judgment, and those who had committed crimes would pay the price.

In short, not a soul had contemplated failure. This would surely be a war fought with ease and pleasure, with few—if any—casualties, and the rewards would be wealth and honor beyond measure.

All that was needed was a decree from His Grace.

At this moment, watching the seemingly endless line of cavalry approaching, every man knew that decree was not far off.

The cavalry's formation suddenly shifted. A large cluster of knights drew together, tall golden banners overlapping to obscure the figure riding in their midst. Then a suit of armor the color of the forest, topped with a helm adorned with magnificent golden antlers, emerged from behind the banners.

Renly Baratheon.

The soldiers shouted and cheered in succession. "Long live His Grace!"

"Victory!"

"Long live Baratheon! Long live King Renly!"

The cries gradually united into a single voice, growing louder until tens of thousands roared as one, their combined might shaking the wilderness. The sound swelled, intense and surging, like an unstoppable tide.

Renly pulled his reins and left the road, stopping at its edge to return a sincere and generous smile to the soldiers surrounding him. He even permitted them to kiss his boots.

Not until the aroma of dinner wafted over from the camp did the crowd around Renly begin to disperse.

The Earl of Bronzegate City, Ralph Buckler, stepped forward with a deep bow. "Your Grace, your presence brings great honor to Bronzegate City. House Buckler has prepared our finest chambers to ease Your Grace's fatigue."

"There is no need," Renly replied. "Seeing these warriors in high spirits and strong of body has already satisfied me and relieved my weariness."

Renly rode forward, shadowed closely by a group of lords.

"Your Grace," called the heir of Lady Sheila Errol of Haystack Hall, Ser Sebastian Errol, his expression not unlike that of a pup eager to please its master. "The seven thousand footmen stationed at Haystack Hall are also in fine spirits, all eager to spill blood for Your Grace and depose the false king."

Renly nodded appreciatively, and Ser Sebastian Errol's face shone with satisfaction.

Earl Bryce Caron of Nightsong approached to seek instruction. "Your Grace, should we recall the two thousand horsemen from Massey's Hook? Nearly everyone has departed those lands."

"Wait a while longer and observe how King's Landing responds," Renly replied.

He reined in his mount and turned to survey the assembled lords. "My lords, victory awaits our grasp, but we must remain wary of the pitfalls beneath our feet, lest we stumble and suffer needless injury."

"Before new tidings arrive from the North, let us rest well in Lord Buckler's Bronzegate City and enjoy his hospitality." Renly chuckled. "After that, if merriment is what you seek, you shall find it only in the Red Keep."

The lords all smiled at this and followed Renly into the city.

The entire scene was faithfully projected upon the main screen of the Monitoring Hall, until the gates of Bronzegate City closed and no person remained in view.

"Everyone remain seated, no noise, no movement. Wait for your beacon to be issued!" bellowed the steward responsible for distributing the beacons.

Hot Pie and his fellows, having undergone rigorous training, were accustomed to such commands. They remained silent, sitting upright, eyes fixed ahead.

Yet none could maintain such composure within their hearts.

Hot Pie was no exception.

Like the other ninety-nine newcomers, he too yearned for his beacon and the important tasks that would follow.

Renly and his five thousand horsemen had arrived at Bronzegate City.

Recalling the flood of cavalry, the noble crests he had only seen in the light curtain before now, the unfamiliar earls and knights, the presumptuous false king Renly— Hot Pie's heart still hammered with excitement.

He knew what this meant.

The rebel forces of the Stormlands had fully assembled and stood ready to march at any moment, prepared to unleash a storm of blood and fire.

He, a member of the Security Bureau, would witness history—and change it.

" Hot Pie, yours."

The steward placed a shining square steel plate before him—a beacon.

Everyone in the Security Bureau knew that the "Eye" could see the whole world, and the beacon determined where the "Eye" would look.

Fixed beacons bore engraved names and, when placed upon the "Eye," revealed only specific locations or persons, though they required no time to locate their targets. Live beacons could observe many places and people but proved more troublesome when searching for specific targets.

This was Hot Pie's first time being permitted to use a live beacon.

Taking a deep breath, he placed the beacon onto the raised round surface at the side of the screen, entered his password, and immediately the screen began to flash with various images.

Wilderness, dense crowds, villages, and castles.

Hot Pie searched for the gate of Bronzegate City.

Ding~

The familiar prompt sounded. Hot Pie's attention instantly returned to the Divine Grace Light Curtain.

The glorious task displayed at the top of the light curtain changed its name: "Holy Land Glory: Act II - Divine Grace is Mighty."

Hot Pie looked out the window.

The sun had already set.

Chapter 132 - God's Grace

"Your Grace, I have completed my mission. The eastern half of the city has been thoroughly cleansed before sunset."

Tyrion craned his neck to look up at the hundred-foot-tall giant.

This was the "Throne Room" that existed only within the light screen. All the ministers were present, but the three regents were conspicuously absent.

Tyrion had many questions swirling in his mind.

Like many others, Tyrion's mission on the light screen had also changed: "Holy Land Glory: Act II — Divine Grace."

Divine Grace. Tyrion pondered the true meaning of these words.

The previous "Washing Away Dust" had encompassed half a moon's turn of operations across various departments, transformed the entirety of King's Landing, and directly overturned the fate of tens of thousands of souls.

What, then, would "Divine Grace" entail? How vast would its scope be?

"Very good," Joffrey said, lowering his gaze to regard the small figures at his feet with mild interest.

"Tonight's council is to determine the arrangements for the next phase. Under the main theme of Divine Grace, each of you bears significant responsibilities and must issue various tasks to your subordinates."

Issuing tasks. This was what troubled Tyrion the most.

The number of prayer stones bestowed by Joffrey each day had gradually increased, and the supply of divine grace cores had multiplied many times over.

Now there were as many as 50,000 "Divinely Favored Ones."

Courtiers, servants, soldiers—everyone Tyrion usually encountered dwelled under the shroud of the divine grace light screen, as did his subordinates in the Treasury.

Tyrion's daily work had thus become both more convenient and more trivial.

Need to obtain certain information or understand something?

One simply contacted the person with knowledge through the light screen. If one did not know the specific individual, one could post a request on the light screen and await a response from someone knowledgeable, or the Statistics Bureau and Security Bureau might provide the answer.

Wish to speak with someone?

Just converse through the light screen. If the atmosphere seemed unsuitable, one could immediately summon that person through the light screen.

Want to assign someone a task?

As Minister of Finance, Tyrion had permission on the light screen to issue tasks to the vast majority of people, provided they were reasonable and lawful, and did not draw questions from the Security Minister or His Grace.

With the light screen, even without leaving his chambers, he could manage the affairs of the realm perfectly, with results even better than before.

His stunted legs were finally liberated.

But at the same time, Tyrion's moments of rest had been completely cut away or occupied.

The light screen not only greatly improved the efficiency of the various departments but also exposed many problems that had long festered in the shadows.

Sloth, perfunctory service, waste, corruption, abuse of power, malicious sabotage...

Tyrion had to contend with various reports and submissions on the light screen throughout the day, admonish his subordinates, and dispense rewards or punishments.

He also had to respond to his subordinates' lengthy petitions and greetings, absorb various trivial information and figures, and issue various directives that he had never concerned himself with before.

With the tentacles of the light screen, his power extended greatly downward, almost reaching every soul.

But simultaneously, he had to endure the bombardment of vast amounts of information, remember a dizzying array of people and matters, and deal with countless, endless affairs.

The Treasury and the Mint, the Statistics Bureau, the Engineering Bureau, the City Watch.

Promotions and transfers, material requisitions, tax records, funding applications, project reports, royal decrees...

If all the affairs handled each day were transcribed onto parchment and stacked, Tyrion felt the pile would stand at least twice his height—no, thrice.

Under such circumstances, he urgently needed to comprehend the true meaning of "Divine Grace," to discern a clear path, so that he could issue tasks and handle governance in accordance with this goal, and also earn the King's approval.

So Tyrion cast an expectant gaze at Joffrey on high, awaiting the King's interpretation of "Divine Grace."

But as Joffrey opened his mouth, his eyes fell upon Tyrion. "How fare the achievements of the various departments at present, and what difficulties do you face? You should all provide a summary, increase mutual understanding, and share information. Tyrion, you may begin."

The expectation in Tyrion's eyes vanished in an instant.

The other ministers looked to him one after another, and Tyrion could only sigh inwardly before he began his report:

"The treasury currently holds more than 1.5 million gold dragons in its vaults.

However, the purchase of military supplies, personnel wages, and other expenses grow day by day, while tax revenue from ports and agents gradually shrinks, and the Mint suffers shortages of raw materials. I estimate 100,000 gold dragons will flow out each moon's turn in the days to come.

The Statistics Bureau has 1,000 formal employees and more than 3,000 temporary workers.

A detailed accounting of industries and their owners throughout King's Landing has been compiled, and more than 600 material costs and selling prices have been successfully tallied, maintaining the overall stability of commerce in the city. A total exceeding 100,000 gold dragons has been recovered in taxes and confiscations.

The Engineering Bureau has absorbed more than 20,000 people and 150 Holy Art Sorcerers.

The sewers, streets, and ruins have been cleared and rebuilt, the river channels dredged, and the King's Landing aqueduct, wells, and water pipe system completed. More than 100,000 tons of stone, wood, and soil have been transported into the city.

All members of the City Watch obey their orders, train diligently each day, and stand ready for battle at any moment."

"As for difficulties," Tyrion hesitated briefly, but voiced his thoughts nonetheless, "It will be difficult to significantly improve the treasury's condition in the short term, yet expenditures continue to rise. I believe it wisest to secure another loan from Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Stag are one family, after all."

Joffrey remained noncommittal.

"Lord Tyrion has labored admirably and achieved remarkable results, far beyond my own humble accomplishments," Security Minister Alyn Lantell said, taking up the conversation.

"Since the Little Birds joined the Security Bureau, we now count 2,000 formal members, more than half of whom are experienced field personnel scattered throughout the city, while others remain within the Red Keep to perform security duties. We estimate more than 1,000 Little Birds are dispersed throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond the Narrow Sea.

Additionally, 2,900 trainee members receive instruction from the Army Department.

To this day, the Security Bureau's vision encompasses the whole of King's Landing, identifying more than 500 spies and secret agents, and more than 1,000 rebellious and lawless individuals.

Beyond King's Landing, the Security Bureau maintains surveillance over all castles and fortresses in the Stormlands and the Reach. The movements and intentions of the rebels are almost entirely exposed to our view.

Old Oak in the western Reach still houses 30,000 troops, training daily.

Yet Earl Mace Tyrell shows no inclination to take the offensive, has not responded to our letters of goodwill, and has expressed no belief in the Divine Might of His Grace in his words.

Highgarden has assembled 20,000 fresh troops and hastens their training, which we expect to conclude in one moon's turn.

Though the 60,000 rebel forces at Bitterbridge in the eastern Reach have not moved, Earl Randyll Tarly leads a vanguard of 5,000 cavalry northward to the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush, clearing roads, intending to lure the Westerlands and King's Landing to attack.

Consequently, traffic on the Gold Road has ceased, and many lords in the mountains of the Westerlands harbor complaints, seeking to urge Lord Tywin eastward.

Lord Tywin has assembled 40,000 elite warriors at Casterly Rock.

More than 20,000 men under Lord Kevan have departed Harrenhal and march southward. We expect their arrival in King's Landing within ten days.

The Iron Islands and Dorne remain motionless.

Furthermore..." Alyn announced the latest intelligence: "The false king Renly has entered Bronzegate."

Chapter 133 - Regicide

"It's finally coming."

The Hound, Commander of the Kingsguard, was eager for the taste of battle.

"Your Grace, the Kingsguard's 3,000 Holy Warriors and 7,000 soldiers stand ready. Whether defending the city or marching to war, there shall be no difficulty whatsoever!"

The Minister of the Army, the Kingslayer, continued, "The houses sworn to King's Landing have all sent troops in answer to the royal summons. Including the new recruits from within the city, the Ministry of the Army commands 2,000 Holy Warriors and 10,000 soldiers.

Moreover, more than 6,000 souls belonging to the Statistics Bureau, Security Bureau, and Kingsguard undergo training as we speak.

All these men can be dispatched for combat at your word."

Speaking of this, Jaime Lannister could not help but feel a pang of resentment.

He had labored mightily alongside carefully selected instructors to train so many soldiers, only to see the majority of them placed under others' command.

Especially the Hound's Kingsguard.

What Kingsguard? They were naught but lazy, useless gold cloaks and paupers who could scarce fill their own bellies. They had relied entirely upon the rigorous training of the Ministry of the Army to transform into true warriors, yet in the end, the Hound claimed all the glory.

And worse still, the number of Holy Warriors under the Hound's command exceeded those of the Ministry of the Army.

A full thousand more.

Jaime would gladly exchange 10,000 ordinary soldiers for the Hound's 1,000 Holy Warriors.

Unfortunately, such a trade was beyond his reach.

Jaime knew the reason well enough.

The Hound was Joffrey's dog, as was the Kingsguard. But Jaime was not.

"Kingslayer"—the last king who trusted the "Kingslayer" had died beneath the Iron Throne, his throat opened by a golden sword.

And there was more.

Jaime lifted his gaze to Joffrey's face, to that radiant, sun-like golden hair.

His beloved sister had been rejecting him for more than a moon's turn. No, even earlier than that—since Robert went north to Winterfell, Cersei had no longer welcomed his ardent and sincere love.

Jaime had asked relentlessly, again and again, until finally he gleaned the reason from the Queen Regent's veiled words.

Joffrey knew the truth.

Jaime harbored no more doubts about Cersei's unusual behavior.

How could she allow her image in her son's eyes to crumble further? How could she add fuel to the rumors spread by Renly, undermining her son's claim to the throne?

Jaime held no deep affection for the three royal children, but he understood well that Cersei loved her children even more than herself.

From that day forward, Jaime's existence had consisted only of duty and honor, tournaments and wars—being a good Kingsguard, a good Minister of the Army, a good Lannister.

Even if Joffrey harbored resentment toward him.

In the "Throne Room," Grand Maester and Minister of Education Pycelle was reporting tidings both fair and foul. Jaime's attention, however, remained fixed upon the three empty seats before the ministers.

Eddard Stark still held the titles of "Regent" and "Hand of the King," yet the man himself dwelled far in the North and had never troubled himself with Southern affairs.

Joffrey seemed indifferent to this and showed no inclination to appoint another Hand.

The Queen Regent's position was equally nominal.

The guests at Cersei's balls and banquets were mostly minor courtiers and ladies who offered naught but pretty words and held no sway over matters of court.

The routine petitions heard in the Throne Room grew ever less consequential. It seemed they served only to employ Cersei's beauty in appeasing the frightened smallfolk of the lower city, or to use the Queen Regent's willfulness to dismiss the complaints of those who had suffered losses.

And then there was the Regent and Minister of Justice, Duke Tywin Lannister.

Jaime could not help but recall his father's demand.

Withdraw from the Kingsguard, reclaim the right to inherit Casterly Rock, wed and sire children.

When he had heard these words, the first image to come to Jaime's mind was Cersei's face. If he withdrew from the Kingsguard, he would have no cause to remain in the Red Keep and be near Cersei throughout his days.

But he quickly remembered the present circumstance—every meeting had become an ordeal. Perhaps it was better not to meet so often.

Jaime also thought of his little brother. Tyrion would surely drink himself into a stupor for days if he learned of this.

Though Tyrion had never spoken it plainly, Jaime knew well that what his little brother desired most was Casterly Rock, their father's approval, to be a true Lannister in all eyes.

Jaime remained caught in indecision.

He considered Joffrey as well. Would Joffrey agree to his withdrawal from the Kingsguard? Or rather, would the King be willing?

From his position as a Privy Councilor, Jaime had seen and learned much.

In just one moon's turn, the Grace Light Curtain had been bestowed upon more than 50,000, the army and court were wholly controlled by the King, and all of King's Landing was thus rendered powerless to resist, existing solely at the King's pleasure.

And the number of Grace Light Curtains bestowed increased with each passing day, now approaching 10,000. The Grace Priests responsible for implanting the cores were nearly drained of their healing power.

What fate awaited them if hundreds of thousands in King's Landing were to receive the Grace Light Curtain?

Whenever Jaime contemplated such a strange and unpredictable future, he could not help but feel deeply shaken and bewildered.

In a few years or decades, the Grace Light Curtain would be granted to every soul beneath the Iron Throne. At that time, the King would undoubtedly rule the Seven Kingdoms directly, with no need for the lords' support, with no fear of their power.

Jaime was not alone in glimpsing this future—the ministers saw it too, as did King Joffrey and the clever folk of King's Landing.

Would the King and nobles still dwell in peace with one another?

"The Bold" Barristan began to speak. Jaime's gaze remained fixed on the empty seat engraved with the roaring golden lion.

His father must have perceived this as well.

Jaime could not help but speculate—perhaps his father had returned to Casterly Rock for this very reason and ordered his uncle Kevan to assume command of the armies of the Vale and the Riverlands.

King's Landing was thus left exposed on the front line, beneath the blade of the Southern Coalition.

Was this a test or challenge for Joffrey?

Or did his father simply believe King's Landing strong enough, allowing him to devise some more profitable scheme?

King's Landing could indeed stand against the rebellion alone.

Of this, Jaime was certain. Defeat was impossible; the only question was whether victory would come sooner or later, whether it would be greater or lesser.

Casterly Rock.

Jaime could not help but wonder, did Joffrey desire Casterly Rock among the spoils of war he sought to claim?

Would his father agree, because of Joffrey's bloodline?

What of Tyrion?

Jaime thought much, and deeply, yet in the end, he asked no questions.

In any case, he could not abandon Cersei and Tyrion. Lannister blood would ever flow through his veins, and he bore a solemn oath, even if others held such vows in little regard.

He returned to the present moment.

Hanna was speaking, "...The Logistics Bureau's supply of materials has largely stabilized, consuming 800 tons of grain, 150 tons of meat, 100 tons of pig iron, and 2 tons of dragon crystal per week..."

Jaime had missed much of what had been said, but he felt no urgency.

The minutes of the "Throne Room" meetings would be stored in the Light Curtain. Every word, every person's actions and expressions would be preserved, and he could review them in private.

As for his momentary lapse in attention, Jaime cared not.

The Kingslayer must be more arrogant than others to be worthy of the title.

"...The weapons and equipment for the Holy Warriors have been manufactured, and the test results have met our expectations.

Preparations for the construction of the flagship 'Grace' are complete, and the launching ceremony will be held this Sunday.

That concludes my report."

Jaime heard a new name. "Grace"?

Chapter 134 - Holy City

"The gods are gracious."

After listening to the ministers' reports, Joffrey finally spoke.

Tyrion and the others instantly sat straighter, awaiting more specific instructions from the King who towered above them.

"King's Landing shall be elevated into a holy city, untouched by filth, punishing evil and promoting good, bathed in eternal light, wielding infinite power, worshipped by the world, bringing all mortals to their knees."

Tyrion heard the soaring ambition in Joffrey's voice.

Punishing evil and promoting good, infinite power—this was no holy city at all, but rather a heaven summoned by mortal hands, pouring endless karmic fire upon evil and sprinkling vast holy light upon goodness, creating a world of glass.

But what "evil" would burn beneath karmic fire, and what "good" would bask in holy light?

Was it not all determined by Joffrey himself?

Holy city—hearing this description, it sounded more akin to a fortress built for war.

Tyrion's mind raced with these thoughts.

Joffrey continued, "This grand vision shall surely come to pass."

"The grace of the gods knows no bounds. The first step is to allow every soul in King's Landing to bathe in divine grace, to witness the light, and to devote themselves to the great cause of building the holy city."

Joffrey knew that King's Landing possessed even greater potential for development.

As of today, nearly 100,000 people in King's Landing were directly or indirectly involved in matters of politics, military, or the magic net system, while other people and resources merely followed passively, playing no significant role.

According to his plan, within three years King's Landing must evolve to efficiently handle the various affairs of all Seven Kingdoms and become a true center of political power.

Political commands would be unified and complete.

Only thus could the Seven Kingdoms be wholly integrated, with no fear of division.

To this end, every person in King's Landing must become part of the system, contributing their strength to the political machinery, becoming screws that supported the behemoth of power and violence that was King's Landing.

King's Landing would not suffer idlers.

"The reconstruction of the eastern half of the city marks the first step in building the holy city."

With the combined effect of magic and advanced ideas, the eastern half alone could accommodate at least one million souls, thereby meeting the need for manpower and drawing talented minds from across the realm.

"Within this year, this half of King's Landing will take its initial shape, allowing the world to glimpse the glorious future, to willingly dedicate their lives to it, or perhaps hasten the coming of the heaven on earth promised by the gods."

Within this year. Tyrion immediately felt a throbbing at his temples. When the King made such whimsical decisions, it fell to the ministers below to manage the affairs.

Especially to him, who oversaw both engineering and finance.

Moreover, war approached with swift and certain steps, and many materials and resources must be directed southward. Various duties would only increase, never lessen, and now they faced such a tight constraint of time. Alas.

Tyrion could only hope there would be no more troublesome tasks to follow.

He was rendered speechless as Joffrey continued.

"Now that the staff of various departments has grown considerably, the time has come to move into more formal and professional offices and quarters, rather than remaining crowded within the Red Keep."

Joffrey extended his right hand and pointed to the floor of the "Throne Room."

The sunken pool and the model of Westeros that occupied the hall instantly transformed into a blank space, then blossomed with color. Light particles gradually accumulated, forming a small yet exquisitely detailed replica of King's Landing.

Tyrion studied the model with keen interest.

Not only was the Red Keep perfectly rendered, but also the Great Sept of Baelor, the Dragonpit, the Street of Sisters, and even the brothel Tyrion frequented were all presented in the model with remarkable precision.

Though he had seen many similar maps before, Tyrion remained deeply impressed by its exquisite detail.

Gazing upon such a model, who would believe that mere moons ago, travel relied solely on roughly drawn maps and verbal accounts, and even the charts used in warfare differed little from these crude representations?

This technology alone would suffice to alter the course of war, granting their forces a decisive advantage.

"Sandor," Joffrey directed a white beam of light to illuminate an area directly west of the Red Keep. "The Kingsguard camp shall be situated here, guarding the Red Keep from close proximity, and bearing responsibility for the defense of the River Gate and the King's Gate."

The Hound lowered his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Another red light shone upon an area directly north of the Red Keep.

"Tyrion, this land shall be used to construct the Statistics Bureau residence and the City Watch camp. Likewise, the City Watch shall be responsible for the defense of the Iron Gate nearby."

Tyrion recognized the area illuminated by the red light—the wealthy district nestled beneath Aegon's High Hill, filled with properties and villas belonging to rich merchants and noble families. Of course, all had now been seized and claimed by the crown.

"The Engineering Bureau's numbers are too great, so they shall all dwell here." Another red light shone upon the open space east of Fishmonger's Square.

Tyrion bowed his head respectfully. "As you command."

Two golden lights illuminated the north side of the Dragonpit and the west side of Cobbler's Square, respectively.

"Ser Jaime, the Gold Cloaks headquarters on the west side of Cobbler's Square is now assigned to the Department of the Army, to house 8,000 troops responsible for training new recruits and defending the nearby Gate of the Gods and Lion Gate."

"The Gold Cloaks camp on the north side of the Dragonpit is likewise assigned to the Department of the Army, to station 4,000 troops responsible for the defense of the Old Gate and the Dragon Gate."

"Both barracks shall be rebuilt and expanded. The Department of the Army and the Engineering Bureau must confer and make plans accordingly."

The Kingslayer nodded silently.

"Alyn." Joffrey cast a blue light on the northwest of the Red Keep. "This shall belong to the Security Bureau. Though it lies outside the Red Keep, it stands but a quarter-hour's journey away, with convenient access."

Alyn bowed and offered thanks, a look of reluctance upon his face. "Still, I shall be farther from Your Grace."

Joffrey's lips curled in the slightest of smiles. "These places are for those who serve below. You are all members of the Small Council. Should you wish to remain within the Red Keep, how could I refuse you?"

Alyn's face immediately brightened with a smile. "That is well, that is well indeed."

Tyrion sighed softly, knowing he could not leave the Red Keep. Damn it all, visiting the brothel would now require a journey from the Red Keep all the way to the western half of the city—a truly vexing inconvenience.

"Grand Maester?" Joffrey looked toward Pycelle. The old man's eyes were nearly closed completely. He feigned exhaustion even now. What a cunning fox.

"What troubles you?" Pycelle appeared as though roused from slumber.

"Ah, Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness. Old age makes it difficult to remain wakeful. Perhaps the gods soon mean to call me to their side..." Pycelle continued his mumbling.

Joffrey cast a blue light on the north of Aegon's High Hill and the south of Flea Bottom.

"The staff of the Department of Education shall work here. The Grand Maester and his attendants need not leave the Red Keep and may use the light curtain to issue commands, thus avoiding unnecessary travel and fatigue."

Pycelle nodded repeatedly in agreement.

Another purple light shone between the Security Bureau and the Kingsguard.

"Hanna, the logistics bureau's residence and transfer warehouse shall be built here, convenient for supplying the needs of various departments."

Finally, a series of beams of light shot toward all corners of the city.

"The entire church has been successfully transformed into the Department of Gospel. The Great Sept of Baelor shall suffice for our needs, though we require more magnificent statues of the gods with urgency."

"The White Sword Tower shall remain the residence of the Kingsguard, though it shall be expanded."

"The Academy and the Research Institute shall be established in Flea Bottom, and the Engineering Bureau must lend its full support to this endeavor."

"We must also consider the Department of Justice and the Department of the Navy."

Joffrey turned his gaze to Tyrion. "Though Lord Tywin and Lord Kevan are not present in King's Landing, preparations must still be made in advance."

"Tyrion, you are best suited to this task. You shall be responsible for selecting sites, planning, and construction."

Tyrion was beyond feeling anything but resignation.

"Yes, Your Grace."

So many grand projects, all commencing simultaneously. Tyrion could only pray that the plans of the various departments would not prove too outlandish.

May the gods show mercy.

Chapter 135 - War Council

"Summon all lords to council."

May the Gods be with us.

Three nights passed before Hot Pie finally witnessed a great commotion within Bronzegate.

Hot Pie could scarcely contain his excitement as he adjusted the viewpoint of the screen, swiftly moving to capture Renly in the image.

Such opportunities were rare indeed.

The Security Bureau had issued clear instructions for this situation: observation angles of personnel monitoring the same target must not overlap, lest vital information be missed.

In other words, security officers were forced to compete for positions.

These past days, Hot Pie had felt the cruelty of this rule keenly.

Nearly every time he found a suitable vantage, his swifter and more vigilant colleagues had already claimed it, leaving him to choose secondary positions from which to gather intelligence.

As a result, the information Hot Pie reported was invariably more delayed, one-sided, or less significant than that of his fellow officers.

His task ranking had consequently fallen to among the lowest.

Hot Pie had resolved to remain at Renly's side day and night, waiting for the moment when the false king, amid his feasts and leisure, would finally turn his mind to matters of state.

Now, his patience had at last borne fruit.

He moved the screen's viewpoint behind the usurper Renly as quickly as possible, then immediately sent a confirmation signal.

Only then did Hot Pie allow himself to relax completely.

Once a confirmation signal was sent, a semi-transparent figure would appear on the screens of all security officers at the position where the signal originated, warning them to choose other positions for their reconnaissance.

This design maximized the completeness and detail of the Security Bureau's intelligence.

For the security officers, however, it proved a mixed blessing. With differing observation positions, the scenes each could witness naturally varied, inevitably affecting the intelligence they gathered.

Those who secured advantageous positions were pleased, while those dissatisfied with their posts dared not abandon their mission and were forced to accept their ill fortune.

Hot Pie knew that his position today was surely the most favorable.

He could not squander the good fortune the Gods had bestowed upon him.

Hot Pie scrutinized everything on the screen with meticulous care.

Within the span of a few breaths, more than a hundred semi-transparent figures appeared on his screen, distributed throughout every corner of the hall.

Under the watchful gaze of hundreds of eyes, the Earls and generals of Bronzegate entered the hall one by one.

...

The war council convened in the great hall of Bronzegate.

Seated in the highest position was the self-proclaimed legitimate monarch of the Seven Kingdoms, King Renly Baratheon, First of His Name.

The vassals of Storm's End sat at long tables on either side of the high platform, engaged in fierce discourse—or rather, in heated argument.

Unlike previous gatherings filled with merriment and accord, this time the nobles either roared in anger, cursed loudly, reasoned coldly, cajoled and deceived, jested darkly, bargained shamelessly, pounded the table with winecups, or issued thinly veiled threats.

They debated whether victory lay within their grasp or some terrifying, unknown monster awaited them.

Renly sat in silence, listening intently.

He understood why the atmosphere of this war council differed so markedly from those past.

Ravens and scouts from the North had brought the latest tidings—news of King's Landing, the Iron Throne, and lands farther north.

Could such news be trusted?

Renly had little cause to doubt it; those who brought word had no reason to risk their lives through betrayal or falsehood. Yet the content of these new reports was so incredible that one could not help but harbor misgivings.

Previous intelligence had been largely ordinary and favorable.

Though Northern forces gathered, they showed no sign of marching south.

Duke Tywin remained far away in Casterly Rock.

Kevan Lannister led a mere 20,000 men to assume command of the forces provided by the Vale and the Riverlands at Harrenhal.

The Iron Islands continued their silent watch.

King's Landing had endured blockade since the end of June, with those entering and leaving the city subject to rigorous examination. Reliable information had grown scarce, while deliberately released rumors multiplied.

Yet much intelligence could still be gleaned from folk in the Crownlands and beyond the city walls.

The forces mustered by Crownland vassals were easily estimated—with the new recruits in King's Landing, they numbered no more than 10,000 or 20,000 at most.

People from Wendwater and Massey's Hook had flooded into King's Landing, nearly doubling the city's population. Its food supply depended heavily upon the Vale and the Riverlands, and the situation regarding other materials was surely similar.

Joffrey had grown even more arrogant and conceited.

He preached of the world's end, falsely claiming to be a divine emissary, renaming the Faith as the "Gospel Department," establishing Sunday as the Sabbath, changing the symbol of the Seven Gods to a six-pointed star, and even stamping it upon newly minted copper coins.

Nor did his madness end there.

He dispatched men to spread what he called divine grace and divine will, fabricating miracles at his coronation.

What giants tall as hills? What cold god called the Other? What Holy Warrior Army? Clearly, these were mere tricks to frighten children and deceive the smallfolk.

And then there was this "Holy City" and the murdered septon.

Joffrey had used these as pretexts to send troops to plunder the entire city, sparing neither the industries of lords nor those of free trading city-states. Had Joffrey lost his wits entirely, or had all the ministers of the Red Keep descended into collective madness?

Renly failed to comprehend it, yet he rejoiced to see it happen.

The more such tidings reached him, the more confidence Renly placed in his campaign to reclaim the Iron Throne.

But...

Renly surveyed the quarreling crowd below.

Who could have foreseen that after merely three days in Bronzegate, the information would transform completely, and the weak, deranged enemy would become a terrifying, magical beast?

Had the previous intelligence been a carefully crafted trap laid by the foe, or was it the new information that now...?

Renly finally spoke his first words of the council.

"Joffrey is no king. How could the Gods bless such a degenerate bloodline?"

Every voice in the hall fell silent at once as all eyes turned to their king.

"Your Grace, he is but a madman, like Aerys the Second."

Bryce Caron, Earl of Nightsong, wore an expression of arrogance and confidence. "Sending a mere 200 men to fight at Massey's Hook—can an army called 'Holy Warriors' be worth 2,000 knights? Only a madman would attempt such folly!"

"By my reckoning, my bastard brother Rolland Storm is likely penning glad tidings to Your Grace even now."

Earl Caron struck his chest in assurance. "The Lannisters' 200 men shall surely be annihilated, and Beric Dondarrion, who betrayed his rightful king and liege lord, shall be brought before Your Grace to face judgment!"

Casper Wylde, Earl of Rain House, remained troubled.

"It is not only Lannisters who have witnessed these men wield flames and healing powers, but many trustworthy folk as well."

The blockade of King's Landing had suddenly grown far less stringent.

Thus, Bronzegate learned from many mouths terrible accounts never before received.

The Holy Warrior Army's flames, wounds that healed instantly when implanting the so-called "Divine Grace Core," and the uniformly described coronation miracles.

Renly observed each lord with gentle eyes.

Lister Morrigen, Earl of Crow's Nest, clearly shared Earl Wylde's assessment.

Hugh Grandison, Earl of Grandview, looked on with disdain.

Haywood Fell, Earl of Felwood, maintained a calm demeanor, yet Renly discerned the anxiety that lurked within his heart.

Morale wavered dangerously.

Renly could not rebuke them; did he not hesitate himself?

The time for action had come.

Renly drew his sword. "Order the forces at Massey's Hook to return to defensive positions. The entire army shall break camp on the morrow and march west along the Felwood and Greenhaven line to Bitterbridge."

The earls rose as one and bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."

On the other side of the realm, Hot Pie noted with satisfaction that tomorrow was Sunday. He resolved to visit the Great Sept of Baelor to worship and thank the Gods for his good fortune.

The new idols should have been completed by then.