Chapter 93

Arya had no idea that her casual storytelling had made her the Night’s Watch industry’s greatest benefactor. Thanks to the timely information she unintentionally shared, Aegor managed to navigate the biggest financial crisis he’d faced since arriving in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.

This entire operation had succeeded largely on luck. Admitting that wasn’t a shameful thing—it was said that luck was part of one’s strength, after all. With both luck and careful management at play, the Night’s Watch industry not only survived the crisis but saw its financial position skyrocket. On paper, the Night’s Watch funds now exceeded their debts, meaning the organization’s finances could withstand 100% bond redemption without collapsing.

On the same day the agreements were signed, more than half of the original deposit astonishingly returned to the Night’s Watch office, doubled by breach penalties. The rest arrived shortly afterward, reluctantly paid by merchants when Aegor showed up with his staff and contracts to demand the balance.

It was Tyrion who suggested that Aegor note the order in which the merchants paid their penalties. Those who acted first likely had powerful backers—valuable information when assembling alliances and interest groups in the future.

Aegor happily adopted the suggestion.
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Next came the redemption phase for the bonds.

King Robert, Westeros’ most powerful and notoriously temperamental ruler, wasted no time negotiating with the League of Justice. Instead, he issued an ultimatum and, receiving no reply after a few days, sent out a mobilization order. He summoned the bannermen of the Crownlands and all the Seven Kingdoms to unite and prepare their armies to quell the rebellion.

Under such circumstances, it was entirely reasonable for bondholders to cash out their investments to purchase supplies and arms for themselves and their retainers. This wasn’t malicious redemption but a natural response to the impending war. Aegor and Tyrion, showing "compassion," waived the early redemption penalty. Any bondholder who brought their certificate to the Night’s Watch office would receive the principal plus at least one month’s interest, with the earliest buyers—those holding bonds for over a month—earning two months’ interest.

This decision cost dozens of gold dragons in additional payouts. Yet, it wasn’t a thoughtless giveaway but a calculated move to build goodwill. By ensuring a clean and fair settlement now, they hoped that, after the war, these wealthy patrons would remember the Night’s Watch as a reliable investment avenue.

While the Night’s Watch industry now held a sizable amount of its own funds, the expansion and growth of their projects meant there was never "too much" money.
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Under the bright summer sun, armies began gathering a dozen miles north of King’s Landing. Similar scenes unfolded in the Westerlands, Riverlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, and even Dorne in the far south. Despite being called a king, Robert Baratheon was, in essence, merely a peer among the seven great houses. His control over the Seven Kingdoms depended entirely on the strength of his alliances and his military prowess.

Fortunately, Robert’s personal combat reputation and his history of victories provided immense deterrence. Moreover, Jon Arryn’s years of diplomacy had kept the great house alliances intact. With Littlefinger now neutralized, there was no one to sow discord between the Starks and Lannisters. This unity left the League of Justice in the Vale as the realm’s common enemy.

The lions, wolves, stags, and trouts naturally rallied to relieve the Eyrie. Even the Tyrells and Martells, former foes of Robert during the rebellion, dared not openly defy his summons.

Tyrion predicted that both houses would send just enough troops and significant representatives to meet their obligations without risking Robert’s wrath.

For the first time since the Greyjoy Rebellion, Westeros appeared united, ready for war. Even the Ironborn, infamous for their rebellious tendencies, dispatched a fleet to "aid" the campaign—though their ships would be of little use against the Bloody Gate. Still, the gesture was noted.
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None of this had much to do with Aegor—or so he thought. As a newcomer with no foundational power, he had no intention of profiting from the chaos. His focus remained on establishing his first factory, fulfilling the church’s bulk orders, and processing smaller customer requests. Once the initial wave of income stabilized his finances, he planned to expand further.

In this backward age, things were wonderfully simple. Two weeks after narrowly avoiding financial disaster, the first production line began operating in the still-unfinished factory building. Massive amounts of raw material were fed into stone mortars, where waterwheel-powered pestles ground them into pulp. The pulp was mixed with alkaline chemicals and moved through the boiling process. As long as materials kept coming in, production could continue uninterrupted.

The engraved woodblocks for the Seven-Pointed Star and calendars had been ready for weeks, waiting for paper to roll off the line. Meanwhile, hired bards and writers were turning oral tales into written works. Aegor had even promised them credit on their work, inspiring them to be more productive.

One story, in particular, caught Aegor’s attention: a novel loosely based on his life. Titled The Night’s Watch Adventurer, it followed a protagonist’s travels across the continent, culminating in a fateful shipwreck that left him stranded in Westeros. Forced to join the Night’s Watch, the hero eventually became an officer, tasked with raising funds and resources in King’s Landing.

The story never mentioned "Aegor West" by name, but anyone remotely informed would recognize who it depicted.
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This was a bold public relations move. The more copies sold, the more people would know "his" story. If Aegor ever left the Night’s Watch, public perception would be easier to manage.

The other stories drafted by the bards—typical tales of knights and chivalry—felt dull by comparison. Even from a purely financial perspective, Aegor was confident his "autobiography" would be the most profitable.

Meanwhile, Tyrion had begun commissioning works he described as "unsophisticated," enlisting painters and bards to produce something "illustrated and collaborative" from his favorite brothel. When Tyrion showed Aegor a draft of the explicit content, Aegor couldn’t help but laugh. Compared to the erotic publications from his old world, this material was laughably tame. But as a novelty, its market reception remained to be seen.

Aegor handed the draft to Arya, expecting her to blush and toss it back. Instead, she skimmed it with a flushed face, giggling and teasing, “You’re awful, Master!” Tyrion had to wrestle it away from her.
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Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly. The prototype workshop’s paper production was focused on religious texts and calendars. Once the full-scale factory began operations, they could execute all their plans.

But before that day arrived, an unexpected visitor appeared.

A servant from the Red Keep delivered a message: King Robert required a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch to accompany the army.

Unfortunately, Aegor was the only suitable candidate in King’s Landing.

“Why does the king need a Night’s Watch brother for a military campaign?” Aegor demanded, instantly playing his most reliable card. “The Night’s Watch swears not to interfere in the realm’s internal disputes!”

“The king says that once the Bloody Gate is taken, the rebellious lords will be sent to the Wall. Someone must accept their oaths and escort them north,” the servant replied, nose high in the air.

“But that’s a duty for the Chief Affairs Officer! I’m the Chief Logistics Officer!”

The servant, utterly uninterested in the bureaucratic nuances of the Night’s Watch, frowned. “Either you come with me and explain that to the king, or I tell him you’ve refused his command. I don’t care which. Stop wasting time—you’re going.”