Chapter 582

Explosions reach their full potential only in confined spaces, and such perfect conditions are rare on the battlefield. Aegor was, in truth, cheating—by carefully preparing the blast in advance, he had amplified the already terrifying power of gunpowder to achieve maximum intimidation.

The same amount of powder, if used in cannon fire, might not have shattered that boulder so completely. But Tyrion didn’t know that. In this moment, his abnormally large head—so mismatched to his small body—was consumed by a single thought:

House Lannister’s greatest pride, the impregnable fortress of Casterly Rock, was nothing more than this boulder—scaled up several dozen times.

And if such a weapon were deployed against a tightly packed army of Westerland soldiers, or placed beneath the very foundations of Casterly Rock itself…

What then?

So that’s what Aegor meant when he said, Good.

Enlightenment struck Tyrion like a hammer.

If he returned to Lannisport alone and told his father—"The Crownlands forces have acquired a weapon more fearsome than dragons, and the armies of the Westerlands cannot stand against it"—Tywin would likely scoff. He’d dismiss it as the cowardly nonsense of a weak-willed son, or worse, suspect that Tyrion had conspired with outsiders to scare him into submission, all for the sake of inheriting Casterly Rock.

But this time, Uncle Kevan was at Golden Tooth as well. He must have heard that thunderous explosion, like the wrath of the gods themselves. And when the army withdrew, Kevan could personally inspect the shattered remains of the boulder with his own eyes.

Tywin might doubt his word, but he trusted his brother’s judgment.

Yes—this was indeed good.

“I understand.” Tyrion swallowed, but his throat was too dry to muster saliva. He nodded stiffly, barely holding back the dazed expression that threatened to overtake him. “I’ll relay the Queen’s terms in full to my father.”
----


Aegor would love to make use of the Westerlands’ formidable army. But Tywin’s history had already erased any hope of that.

Once, during the final days of the Rebellion, the Old Lion had marched on King’s Landing under the guise of loyalty—only to sack the city the moment Aerys opened the gates. He even had his white-gloved knights butcher the last of House Targaryen.

Aegor might be able to crush an army of twenty, thirty, even fifty thousand Westerlands soldiers in open battle…

But if those soldiers infiltrated his forces first, only to turn on him at a critical moment?

Even the reborn Sun Tzu wouldn’t be able to salvage such a disaster.

An unreliable ally was worse than none at all.

Aegor had traveled all this way—not just to recruit Tyrion, but, more importantly, to ensure that while he besieged King’s Landing and negotiated with the Reach and the Golden Company, no threat would arise from behind.

This brazen display of force would strain his friendship with Tyrion—of course it would. But Aegor wasn’t concerned.

They had bled together. And a true intelligent man would understand that this was not personal—only necessity.

“Well, I think we’ve had enough fresh air,” Aegor said at last, his cold, ruthless edge vanishing in an instant. He smiled warmly. “Let’s head back to the tent. The cooks have prepared a grand feast and fine wine. It’s been too long since we last drank together—tonight, we won’t stop until we’re both drunk!”

“Ha! Now that is a fine proposal!” Tyrion instantly brightened, his usual wit returning. He was not the Lord of Casterly Rock—just a messenger, a negotiator. Why should he worry about his grim-faced, cold-blooded father? “But wine alone won’t suffice. If I’m to truly enjoy myself, I’ll need women as well.”

“Hahaha! There are plenty of maids in the kitchens and even spearwives in the camp! Take your pick—just use your charm, I won’t interfere!”

“Oh, women!” Tyrion suddenly clapped his hands together as if remembering something. “Good thing you mentioned that—I nearly forgot. Jack, bring her in!”

“Who?”

“A woman. One who, I suppose, belongs to you.”

Aegor’s brow twitched.

Wasn’t that supposed to be my line?

Since setting up camp outside Golden Tooth, he had considered making arrangements to prevent Myrcella from encountering her family—just in case. But the girl had behaved herself surprisingly well.

Rather than trailing after him as she had in recent days, she had quietly stayed with Melisandre, never once leaving the tent.

Her obedience had only made Aegor hesitate.

A part of him wanted to let her see Tyrion, to grant her a moment of warmth and family.

But his reason held him back.

If Tyrion saw his niece, he might insist on taking her back to Casterly Rock. And Aegor would have no justifiable reason to refuse him.

Better to be cold-hearted from the start than to find himself trapped in an impossible dilemma.

One day, when he had successfully framed the right people for poisoning the boy-king, when Tyrion had truly become his, when Myrcella herself trusted him completely—then, there would be time for reunions.
----


Back in the command tent, they waited.

Before long, the ‘woman’ Tyrion had spoken of was brought in.

Aegor recognized her instantly—not by her face or attire, but by her long, unmistakable legs.

Asha Greyjoy.

The same woman who had taken two men, armed herself, and boldly declared she was going to assassinate her uncle Euron.

She had vanished after leaving Ice Bay.

Given the continued Ironborn raids, it was clear her plan had failed.

And yet—somehow—she had ended up in the Westerlands?

Aegor’s expression turned strange.

Had she simply disappeared, he would have spared her no further thought.

But now, here she was—captured by House Lannister and returned to him, forcing him to owe the Lions a favor.

What a remarkable talent for making things worse.

Tyrion studied Aegor’s face and immediately confirmed his suspicion—Asha hadn’t been captured by accident. Aegor had deliberately let her go.

“Well, untie her,” Tyrion said, waving a hand. “And leave us.”

The Crownlands guards hesitated only briefly before obeying.

The tent flaps fell shut, and only three people remained.

“Asha Greyjoy. It’s been a while.” Aegor folded his arms, his tone heavy with disapproval. “Since we parted ways, how is that family business of yours? And more importantly—how in the seven hells did you end up in the Westerlands? I’d love to hear the story.”

She looked little different from their last meeting.

Her hair was longer, falling past her ears, adding a rare hint of softness to her usually bold features.

Yet there was no strength in her eyes.

She had lost everything. Her pride, her confidence—it had all been worn down to the edge of despair.

Only a lingering ember of anger kept her standing.

She took a step forward.

Her lips parted—she wanted to explain.

But the moment she looked Aegor in the eyes—

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her.

Her vision spun.

Then, without warning—she lunged at him, screaming.