Hearing Varys's words, Illyrio was helpless as well, his face full of bitterness.
They had calculated endlessly, only for a single 'small' accident to ruin their entire scheme.
They themselves had almost been dragged into the grave along with it.
"You should be grateful you pushed Pycelle forward. Kevan does not know of your existence."
Illyrio could only comfort Varys in this way. He knew that if Varys had not been clever, he might now be gathering his brother's corpse.
And then he would have to plot their plans alone.
And once things reached that point, he knew very well he would see no hope.
Hearing Illyrio's comfort, Varys shook his head.
"But it is fine. At least I no longer need to guard against whatever tricks Littlefinger might play, and the current Grand Maester wants to involve himself in nothing. To be honest, things are far freer now than before."
Speaking of the recent royal court, laughably enough, Varys found that he felt a rare sense of ease.
Seeing him like this, Illyrio seemed to have recalled something. "If Margaery marries Robert Baratheon, then what about Olenna Redwyne?"
"Will House Tyrell seek a seat on the Small Council?"
Illyrio put away his earlier expression and returned to business.
Hearing this, Varys also grew serious. After thinking briefly, he nodded.
"That is certain. House Tyrell has done so much and paid so much—are they not pursuing exactly this?"
"But in my view, that 'Queen of Thorns' is merely a confused old woman. She only cares about how to pull House Tyrell into the game of power."
"Can you imagine—some time ago Margaery Tyrell actually went to approach Kal El?"
"I find Kal El far more intelligent than she is. He knows what he should want and what he should not want, rather than trying to seize everything."
"Kal El will likely return to his lands once the Tournament ends. He is very clever and knows exactly what he should do."
As Varys spoke of the bastard who had caused the plans of himself, Illyrio, and House Martell of Dorne to collapse entirely, his words carried a rare note of praise.
After working with Kal for several months, he had come to understand just how formidable this young man—only eighteen and newly come of age—truly was.
This formidableness was not limited to his extraordinary martial prowess, but also lay in his mind, his will, and even his wisdom.
He had subtly guided the singers to praise him in their songs, and there truly was a measure of sincerity mixed in.
"Will he become a threat to us?"
Seeing Varys speak so approvingly of Kal El, Illyrio could not help feeling some concern.
This turn of events had exhausted him greatly, and even Varys had nearly lost his life.
At this, however, Varys appeared completely calm, even relaxed.
"As long as he leaves, he will not return."
"For now it does not seem so, but the Westerlands are not something that can be seized or digested so easily. How long did Tywin Lannister himself take, and what methods did he use?"
"These days he has been laying groundwork in King's Landing, not wanting everything he built here to fade away the moment he walks out the gate."
"But he does not have the chance. His foundation is too thin—he has none at all."
"In just a few years, people will forget him."
"So as long as Kal El returns to the Westerlands to serve quietly as his Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, with time he will gradually let go."
"He is a clever man."
Seeing Varys speak with such certainty, Illyrio—who had already developed a slight phobia of Kal—could not help feeling reassured.
"And what about those Gold Cloaks he traded with you? What will you do with them?"
Illyrio asked about this matter, for this was the true foundation that allowed Kal El to thrive so powerfully in King's Landing.
As for the title of Master of Coin?
To be honest, just like Littlefinger, killing him would require only a single knife, or even just a single sentence.
In the eyes of players who possessed real power, he was nothing worth mentioning—an insignificant figure with no influence.
Varys naturally understood the key to Illyrio's concern.
But he did not care about this matter, because it was very easy to handle.
"Just some barbarian savages. Originally Kal El had been planning to secure the position of Commander of the City Watch for himself, but that has now fallen through."
"So handling this will not be difficult."
"Will he take them with him?" Illyrio rubbed the ring on his hand.
Varys nodded again.
"I will find a way to make him take them. If he has no men, then what can he even do once he returns to the Westerlands?"
"And he will likely recruit some of the original armies of the Westerlands as well. Judging from the arrangements he made for those men in the Small Council, this is not hard to guess."
"Then let him take them. The more the better," Illyrio said with a somewhat satisfied laugh.
"Once he realizes that even feeding these men is a problem, he will obediently stay in the Westerlands and will no longer concern himself with the affairs of King's Landing."
"He will naturally understand that this game has never had anything to do with a bastard like him."
Yet as Illyrio laughed, he suddenly paused. Then, as though realizing something, he turned his head and exchanged a look with Varys.
"But Varys, tell me—could we make him one of our own?"
"If he truly is as exceptional as you say, perhaps he might even become an asset to us."
Illyrio was suddenly startled by the idea that had leapt out of his mind, but as soon as it emerged, the more he thought about it, the more excited he became.
Faced with Illyrio's whimsical thought, even Varys froze for a moment, then regained his senses.
He drew his hands together inside his sleeves, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the hilt of a dagger hidden within.
Only after a moment did he solemnly nod.
"It seems this is not impossible, though we may need to wait until he marries and has a few children, and a sizable household."
"He is young enough, and capable enough."
"If he can support Aegon, then our plan will become easier to accomplish."
"And besides, he is the true destroyer of House Lannister. Naturally, we already share a foundation for cooperation with him—just like now, our cooperation is quite pleasant."
As Varys spoke, he grew increasingly excited. Illyrio's sudden idea had struck precisely at the knot of frustration in his heart.
Before, he had been troubled, wondering whether their plan would truly unfold as he hoped if things continued like this.
But from another angle, everything suddenly opened up.
Seeing this, Varys and Illyrio exchanged a look.
Seeing the plan brightening again, Illyrio showed the first genuine smile he had worn since arriving here. "I look forward to that day."
"With Kal El's assistance, Aegon's path will become much easier."
Varys nodded.
"So I will need funding, and I will also need little birds—preferably more than fifty."
"That many?"
"The kind needed is hard to find—young, literate… Could we take some who are a bit older? At least they won't die so easily."
"No. Young ones are safer. Treat them well, and in time they will naturally keep their tongues still."
...
At night, no one knew what had happened in the darkness; most of the people in King's Landing were simply looking forward to the group bout finals being formally held the next day.
Today, Kal's stadium was clearly far livelier than yesterday.
Some people who had originally not planned to come and join the fun, upon hearing those who returned yesterday vividly recount the group bout elimination matches, also could not suppress the curiosity in their hearts.
So when Kal once again arrived at his own seat in the stadium, he found that the shouting all around was even more deafening than yesterday.
Because this was the finals, the venue no longer needed to use that many arenas, leaving only the one in the very center for people to conduct the bouts.
Yesterday's elimination matches had selected a total of forty people.
Because this was a group bout, and moreover the final finals, in order to make the contest more intense and more exciting to watch, Kal chose to put these final forty people selected from a pile of contestants together in a single grand melee to conduct the bout.
So now not only had the entire venue expanded to fully five times the size of yesterday's twenty-person field, but all the open space around it, apart from the seats of the nobles and the King, was also extremely broad to accommodate more spectators to watch.
At this moment, all forty people had already been placed together into this final circle; while they loosened up their bodies in warm-ups, their eyes discreetly sized one another up.
Being able to stand out from among so many candidates, naturally not a single one of them could be taken lightly.
There were even breastplates that had not been seen much yesterday—among these forty people, only four or five were not wearing them.
Yet although the difficulty was higher, the number of victors being selected had correspondingly increased by two.
As for how the final victors were to be determined:
Very simple. The last one standing was the champion, while the other two who fell before him were respectively the runner-up and the third-place finisher.
And if they were not convinced among themselves, they could also have one more bout at this final moment to completely determine who was the one who truly stood until the end.
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