Aegor was not free now. He was very busy.
Enough was enough. Arya was pestering him, and because of their closeness he could not even think of breaking with her, he could only avoid her. But now Asha Greyjoy, an enemy he had faced on the battlefield, a sworn foe of the North, was also seeking him out with demands. What was going on?
Had he fed her too well?
Aegor muttered to himself, reflecting on his policy of leniency toward prisoners. Listening to the guards' report as he walked, he quickly understood what Asha's last remark had meant.
Because his intervention had shifted the War of the Five Kings into five kingdoms besieging the Westerlands, Robb had encountered little resistance in this timeline. He therefore never sent Theon back to the Iron Islands to seek aid. This meant Theon remained a hostage with the Northern army during Balon Greyjoy's first rebellion—clearly abandoned, his safety disregarded, and his claim as heir all but discarded by House Stark.
Who would have thought the ending would be so awkward? Balon Greyjoy had died at home in peace, yet his son and daughter ended up here: one donning black, the other in chains. By sheer coincidence, both had come to the Gift and were now in Crown Town.
After nine years apart, the siblings reunited under these circumstances. Seeing each other often, once the initial awkwardness passed, Theon began to complain and accuse. At first, it was only grumbling, but Asha's temper was just as stubborn, unwilling to yield or apologize. Their words grew sharp, and soon new resentments piled atop old, along with bitterness over their current fates. Inevitably, the quarrels flared. While Aegor had been away, the Greyjoy brother and sister had argued twice in public, drawing crowds. Now everyone in Crown Town knew of their discord.
Compared to that, the whispers about Jaime Lannister and the blonde wildling princess, or the petty squabbles between Joffrey and his classmates, were no news at all.
...
Aegor rubbed his forehead. This was the price of gathering so many strange people in one place. Crown Town was prospering rapidly, yet also staging the most chaotic scenes in history. But he had no time to act as mediator.
"Wait." After walking a few steps more, a thought struck him. "How could it be such a coincidence that I ran into Asha Greyjoy just as I entered Crown Town's gates? Someone must have leaked my return to her!"
The guards around him stiffened. Someone would be unlucky now, but who dared speak?
Most of the Logistics staff were young southerners, most unmarried. Though Crown Town no longer had only men, the ratio was still skewed. And while Asha Greyjoy was no great beauty, compared to wildling women from beyond the Wall or mountain clan women, she was undeniably attractive.
If she chose to use her looks to approach the jailers, some would be unable to resist. To them, answering her questions would not seem like betrayal.
Put lightly, it was only carelessness after living together too long. Put heavily, it was collusion with the enemy. Today she merely sought an explanation. But what if she plotted escape or assassination tomorrow? If she offered herself, would none of those young men fall for it, or even truly devote themselves to her?
The men Aegor brought north were good lads, but he could not swear all would restrain themselves. After all, they were workers, their concerns different from his own. He too had once been an "exploited man" under a boss, and knew well such weaknesses could not be erased.
"Send word to Yam. Have him find the jailer who leaked my return to Asha Greyjoy, punish him, and transfer him. Guards for prisoners must be rotated often. If possible, recruit strong women from the mountain clans to serve in this post."
"Yes, Lord."
With great enemies looming, why were petty troubles multiplying? Aegor was displeased, but he knew this was only perception. The troubles had always been there, merely left to pile up. Now they burst forth together.
Shaking his head, he pushed aside distractions and led his guards toward the small lake behind the castle.
---
Whether to climb the technology tree first or mass-produce troops first was a question as old as strategy games. That was the choice before Aegor now.
In games, he preferred low difficulty, hiding in a corner to develop undisturbed, then sweeping the field in one decisive strike with ultimate units. That was a novice's joy.
In truth, he longed to develop artillery first, then stride onto the battlefield to crush monsters and foes. But his enemies were not simple game AIs. The Iron Fleet prowled the western coast of the North. The dead could march south at any moment. They held the initiative, not him.
There was good news. The Thenn tribe, who had migrated from beyond the Wall, had experience smelting bronze and could identify tin ore. After much searching, deposits had been found in the Gift's mountains. Soon, the Gift could produce bronze.
The bad news: though his studies were in metals, Aegor's knowledge of bronze and artillery amounted to no more than "bronze can be cast into cannons." What ratio of tin to copper? How pure must it be? How to make molds, ensure strength, accuracy, and safety? He knew none of it. In the modern world, all this belonged to specialists.
As a science and engineering graduate, Aegor could lead breakthroughs better than most. But as Lord of the Gift and Commander of the Night's Watch, he had no time to oversee everything. He could only point the way and supervise occasionally, leaving the craftsmen to work it out.
To avoid disaster before preparations were ready, Aegor's military policy was simple: mass-produce troops while advancing technology. Balanced development.
Specifically, guns and cannons were not the priority. Explosives came first. For delivery, existing catapults and ballistae would serve. Even if cannons were made, reaching the necessary strength and accuracy would take years. The wars at hand would not wait.
Thus he gave two orders to the military industry: develop incendiary weapons for Ironborn ships and wight hordes, and Dragon Crystal Bombs for White Walkers.
For the first, the pyromancers offered two options: a flame crossbow, or incendiary bombs.
The flame crossbow resembled a primitive flamethrower. A hand pump forced liquid through a pipe, ignited at the nozzle. Its advantages were clear, but its flaws crippling. It was heavy, beyond the Gift's industry to produce. It required liquid fuel—new wildfire or lamp oil. Wildfire was rare and dangerous, lamp oil too weak. And its range was under ten meters, enough for walls but useless at sea. By the time it lit an Ironborn ship, the ship would already have rammed. With fewer vessels, the North could not afford such attrition.
So, the pyromancers' aides advised incendiary bombs. Simpler. Flammable material in a container, with ignition. They could be laid as mines, hurled by hand, or flung from catapults. Imagination was the only limit.
The key: for these, even deactivated wildfire sufficed. The vast stock from the Targaryen dynasty could burn the Iron Fleet to ash.
"There are two kinds," one technician explained. "Fuse-lit, which ignite after a timed burn. Or impact-lit, with small jars inside that break on impact, mixing substances that release heat and set off the wildfire. For naval battles, the latter is more reliable..."
Aegor cut him off. "Decide yourselves which is better. I want results. What of the Dragon Crystal Bombs?"
"The work is halfway done. You gave us the powder ratio, but due to impurities, it wasn't optimal. We ran experiments, refining the mixture for maximum power. For the casing, to ensure Dragonglass shards scatter when it explodes, we used a layered structure, powder within and shards without..."
"I don't need details. The result."
"They are complete, but we have not tested them. You ordered no trials near Crown Town. Without testing, we cannot prove success. And there is a problem. Explosions need sealed containers. We use ceramic jars. Thrown from afar, they shatter, the powder spills and only burns, without exploding."
"I see." Aegor nodded. "I will order wooden or metal casings prepared at once. Use them in experiments, and decide which is best."
"Thank you, Lord."
The military workshops had no miracles, but their progress was acceptable. Aegor had forbidden tests in Crown Town, too many eyes here, including those of the Iron Bank. But now, it was time to find another place for the crucial trials.
(To be continued.)
***
For every 200 PS = 1 extra chapter. Support me on P/treon to read 30+ advanced chapters: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves
(Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)