Chapter 155

Before transmigrating, Aegor had never been a major business owner, let alone a national leader. He could never have imagined the terrifying power of capital until experiencing it firsthand. The Night’s Watch enterprise, a commercial entity that had existed for barely half a year, was something Tyrion often compared to his own daughter. And now, for the first time in its short life, this “infant” had swung its tiny fist—and the scales of victory tipped overwhelmingly in its favor.

By the end of the second day, even the least informed shopkeepers in the marketplace were whispering over their meals, “Janos Slynt is about to have some really bad luck.”

Tyrion had claimed they could take Slynt down within three days. Now, it seemed entirely possible.
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Through communications with his allies, Aegor learned that all factions in King’s Landing with interests tied to the Night’s Watch enterprise had endorsed Tyrion’s plan to replace the Commander of the City Watch. Even those who hadn’t officially joined their coalition had assured Tyrion that they wouldn’t interfere or leak any information. Among the Crownlands nobles, preparations for a meeting of representatives were already underway to determine Slynt’s replacement. This time, they had learned their lesson: the crucial position would not fall into the hands of an irrelevant commoner from King’s Landing.

Now, all that remained was for the Hand of the King to act. Once that happened, every piece of groundwork Aegor had laid would come into play.

(Is this what they call the will of the people? Or, to put it less politely, kicking a man when he’s down?) Aegor stepped out of the Iron Gate garrison, pleased to have gathered more evidence of Slynt’s misconduct. The man was doomed. The only remaining factor determining whether Tyrion would have to write his name backward—an old joke Aegor found amusing—was when Eddard Stark would officially move to remove and arrest Slynt.

Smiling at the thought, Aegor untied his horse from the post outside the Iron Gate garrison, mounted it, and began riding back home through the evening streets. There were still many names left on his list of City Watch officers to visit, but it was no longer necessary. The damning evidence he already possessed was enough to see Slynt executed ten times over. Sometimes, defeating an enemy required no swords or bloodshed at all.

“All this running around these past two days must’ve been tiring,” Aegor said. “Tomorrow, give all the Night’s Watch office staff a day off. Send them to the Night’s Watch industrial park outside the city to lay low. Who knows if that mad dog Slynt will lash out in desperation? Once he’s under control, we’ll return to the city.”

The Night’s Watch logistics and security team now numbered over a hundred men, supported by a sizable staff. Even if Slynt gathered his loyalists for a final, desperate assault, they would be more than ready.

“Yes,” Jaqen replied curtly, as ever.

“Let’s go home. I need some sleep.”
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Night had just fallen over King’s Landing. Though the streets were mostly empty, the city itself remained alive with sound. Cats fought in alleyways, dogs barked outside doorways, and laughter spilled out of taverns. The occasional song or shout echoed through the air. Amid this cacophony, the two riders made their way along the bustling main street, heading back to the residential district where they had taken up temporary residence.

As they turned onto a side street, drawing within a few hundred meters of home, Jaqen suddenly spoke. “Stop.”

“Hm?” Aegor, his nerves still taut from the ongoing power struggle, instinctively reined in his horse. “What is it?”

“A rope.”

In the fading light of dusk, Aegor spotted it—a seemingly harmless length of rope lying slack across the road, its ends disappearing into the buildings on either side. It might have gone unnoticed if not for Jaqen’s sharp eyes, but it was clear what would’ve happened: if they’d ridden forward, the rope would’ve snapped taut, tripping their horses and sending them crashing to the ground. If unlucky, they could’ve been crushed beneath their mounts—injured or even killed.

Aegor immediately realized the truth. This was meant for me. In this bloodless war, he had already secured an overwhelming advantage, needing only to wait for the fruits of victory to ripen. But somehow, his enemies had caught wind of his success. While his death wouldn’t change the outcome, life was precious, and without it, no victory would matter.

There hadn’t been time to consider where the leak came from. Aegor’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, the cold steel providing a measure of reassurance. He was armed, and he had Jaqen—his nominal subordinate and a Faceless Man. He was far from defenseless.

As the two dismounted, the surrounding noises seemed to sharpen. The faint echo of footsteps approached from behind. Aegor was weighing whether to retreat or press forward when Jaqen suddenly raised his leg and kicked him off his horse.

Caught completely off guard by the unexpected attack, Aegor tumbled from his saddle. He twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding being dragged or landing headfirst, and came to a stop in a crouch. His sword was out in an instant.

“What—” He was about to demand an explanation when Jaqen’s voice interrupted.

“Archers on the rooftops. Move to the alley!”

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. During Jaqen’s kick, Aegor had heard two sharp whizzing sounds pass close by. If not for Jaqen’s quick action, he might’ve already been skewered.

Without hesitation, Aegor ducked low and followed Jaqen into the narrow alley between two buildings. Behind them, footsteps grew louder, and a sharp pain flared in Aegor’s shoulder. Reaching up, he felt wetness—blood. An arrow had grazed him, leaving a shallow but bleeding wound.

As they reached the alley, four figures emerged from the shadows ahead, armed with daggers and short blades that glinted menacingly in the dim light.

“Oi, where d’ya think you’re going, boy?” one sneered.

“You’ve pissed off the wrong people, and now you’re wandering around like it’s nothing?”

Aegor didn’t bother responding. In the brief standoff, he sized up his opponents: untrained thugs wielding blades they barely knew how to use. They were little more than street scum—no match for him or Jaqen.

But the pursuers closing in behind complicated matters. Not wanting to be caught between two groups, Aegor gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, raised his sword, and launched himself at the nearest attacker. The steel sang as it cut through the air, the fight underway.