Chapter 188

"Exactly, just like that." Dividing the exact same product into categories and selling them at different prices might seem like sorcery to the people of Westeros, but to Aegor, a man from the modern world, it was merely a routine marketing trick. "I’ve only provided you with one idea. You can expand on it. The categories don’t have to stop at ‘military use’ and ‘civilian use.’ You can create high-end, mid-range, and low-end products. Lipsticks can have different shades; soaps can be differentiated by fragrance formulas. As long as it’s not outright illegal—or at least doesn’t offend someone as powerful as the Hand of the King or the King himself—there’s no such thing as too underhanded when it comes to making money."

Nina’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "Understood! I’ll jot this down as soon as we get back and put it into action right away!"

As the performance showcasing the wight’s death concluded, and the announcement of dragonglass product sales was complete, the auction for the dragonglass-tipped spear also ended. The crowd began dispersing, and Nina, still brimming with enthusiasm, continued discussing various sales strategies with Aegor. For her, simply speaking with her idol and romantic interest brought immense joy, and the fact that he always provided innovative ideas was an added bonus.

While their conversation carried on, a modestly dressed man approached from nearby, ascending the steps and greeting them with noticeable excitement. "Miss Nina, you’re here too! Watching the wight-slaying show?"

"Yes," Nina responded, turning toward the voice. Recognizing the man, she quickly introduced him to Aegor. "My lord, this is Blair, the one I mentioned who improved the formulas for our lipsticks and soaps. Blair, this is Lord Aegor West, the administrator of the Night’s Watch enterprises and our Chief Logistics Officer."

"Lord Aegor!" Blair had never seen the fabled head of the enterprise in person before, but it wasn’t hard to deduce his identity. Nina, already a formidable figure in her own right, appeared deferential and even starstruck in his presence—this could only be someone of extraordinary importance. Realizing the opportunity, Blair stepped closer to introduce himself. "It’s an honor to meet you, my lord!"

"Blair, I’ve heard much about you." Aegor’s expression remained calm as he nodded slightly. So this was the man skilled at turning powders and liquids into solid products like balms and soaps. "How have things been for you lately? Working on any new inventions?"

Life had certainly improved for Blair since joining the Night’s Watch enterprise. Without their sponsorship, he would likely still be a common tinkerer struggling to make ends meet. But he knew someone like Aegor wasn’t interested in personal anecdotes, so he cut straight to the point. "I’ve been experimenting with ways to solidify kerosene into a form that would be safer than its liquid state while still providing better illumination than candles."

"Interesting concept," Aegor remarked, though his tone remained measured. "But let me remind you: even if your invention succeeds, overlapping functionality means it might not replace candles or liquid kerosene purely on performance or safety alone. True innovation lies in creating something the world currently lacks or desperately needs."

Though Blair couldn’t fully grasp the nuance of Aegor’s statement, he nodded fervently, appreciating the advice from such an influential figure. "I understand, my lord. Could you provide an example? Something more specific?"

Aegor smiled faintly. If I had all the answers, what would I need you for? Still, his mind, relaxed from the day’s events, instinctively began turning over possibilities. Glancing down at the steps they stood on—leading to the Alchemist’s Guildhall—an idea struck him like lightning. Beneath their feet, in deep, shadowy cellars, lay stockpiles of the infamous wildfire, a substance more dangerous and volatile than kerosene could ever hope to be.

What if its instability could be overcome?

"Alright," Aegor began, his tone sharpening with intrigue. "Let’s redirect your efforts. I’m giving you a new project—figure out how to increase wildfire’s ignition point to make it safer to handle. If possible, convert it into a paste, block, or any solid form that’s easier and safer to transport."

Blair’s eyes widened in shock, and even Nina’s usual composure slipped as she blinked in surprise. Wildfire was infamous for its uncontrollable volatility, and tampering with it sounded like lunacy. Yet, Aegor remained resolute. "Nina, can you track down any of the Alchemist’s Guild members still in King’s Landing?"

"I know where some reside. I should be able to find them."

"Good. Have them supply Blair with a few jars of wildfire for experimentation. The tests will be conducted outside the city, in one of our remote facilities. Emphasize safety above all else." Aegor patted Blair’s shoulder, his tone firm yet encouraging. "Do well, and there’ll be a generous reward waiting for you."
----


Elsewhere, in the dim confines of the Red Keep, Eddard Stark sat in his chambers, a letter from Maester Luwin in hand. Though most of the updates contained positive news, an inexplicable sense of gloom weighed heavy on his heart. The desire to retreat to the godswood and kneel before the heart tree gnawed at him, but deep down, he knew it would accomplish little. The Old Gods’ reach was faint in the South.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "My lord, the king summons you," a guard announced.

"Robert wishes to see me?" Eddard repeated, puzzled but compliant. Rising from his seat, he followed the guard through the winding halls of the Red Keep.
----


Arriving at Maegor’s Holdfast, Eddard passed the fortified gates and ascended to the king’s chambers. Ser Barristan Selmy stood watch outside, his expression weary and guilt-ridden. Since Robert’s wounding, the aged knight had been consumed by self-recrimination, unable to forgive himself for failing his king.

"Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," the royal steward announced as Eddard entered.

"Get in here, Ned," came Robert’s hoarse voice from within. The heavy stench of decay, poorly masked by fresh flowers, filled the room. Eddard’s stomach turned. The smell was unmistakable: the reek of death.

"Leave us," Robert ordered, dismissing the attendants, including Margaery Tyrell. Though she hesitated, she eventually departed with a reluctant glance at Eddard.

Once the door shut, Robert let out a bitter laugh. "That Tyrell girl... all she wanted was to be queen. Well, she got her wish. Too bad her king is a rotting corpse."

"Don’t say that," Eddard replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. "You’ll recover. We’ve brought the best healers—"

"Spare me the platitudes!" Robert snapped. "I’m dying, Ned. I can feel it. My insides are rotting away." He paused, his breath labored. "This kingdom will be yours to rule. Now, get paper and ink. You’ll write down my final wishes."
----


By the time the meeting ended, Eddard had Robert’s hastily scrawled will in hand, naming Stannis Baratheon as the rightful heir and himself as regent. As he departed the chamber, the weight of Robert’s words lingered: This kingdom is yours now, Ned. Do what I could not.