The Westerlands, Casterly Rock.
Another morning had arrived.
The weather today was good—a clear day.
Kal had just gotten up and was eating breakfast in the great hall when Tyrion Lannister walked over, several letters in his hand.
After smoothly ordering the food he wanted from a servant, he tossed the stack of letters onto the table in front of Kal.
"What's this?" Kal asked casually as he swallowed a bite of roasted fish.
"Something that's going to make trouble for us. I told you back then—you should've let me take a ship and wander off to the Free Cities," Tyrion replied.
It was obvious that Tyrion was in a very bad mood.
The little dwarf spoke as he hopped up onto a stool, the resentment clinging to him deeper than a ghost's.
Kal looked at him with amusement, then flicked his gaze toward the stack of letters on the table.
"Let me guess. News from my two uncles, and then a letter from Lord Eddard Stark in King's Landing?"
Tyrion clearly wasn't surprised by Kal's "cleverness." After sitting down, he instead turned his head and glanced around.
Speaking offhandedly, he said, "Even Robert could guess that—but it's not just them. Where is Robert, anyway? Where did it go?"
"It slipped out early this morning. I don't know where it is now—maybe it's picking out a new home," Kal said.
With one hand, Kal picked up the letters on the table; with the other, he continued to stir the food on his plate.
He gave a quick look through the items Tyrion had brought and found that it was indeed as he had thought. Of the letters on top, one was from Highgarden, one from Dragonstone, and one from King's Landing.
The rest were all messages sent from various houses throughout the Westerlands.
Not seeing Robert, Tyrion felt somewhat disappointed. He could only draw back his attention, watching Kal examine the letters in front of him while muttering his complaints.
"If it were as big as a ship right now, I'd suggest you take it to Highgarden and Dragonstone as a guest."
"I'm very curious what kind of expression Renly Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon would have when they see it—and whether they'll still cling to their fantasies about the Iron Throne like they do now."
As Tyrion spoke, he was also imagining in his head what it would feel like to ride a dragon.
Kal didn't know what he was fantasizing about. After setting down the spoon in his hand, he instead picked up the letters in front of him with both hands. "No—quite the opposite. Before that, I'm not planning to let others know that Robert's growth has exceeded what these people can imagine."
Kal said something enigmatic and first unfolded the letter from Eddard Stark.
There wasn't much news on it—roughly, it was Eddard Stark reporting some work to him, and then the most important part was about the replies from his two uncles.
From between the lines, Kal could feel the worry of this Lord of Winterfell.
And Eddard Stark also advised in the letter that he should not yet launch a war over his two uncles' disloyalty.
He wanted to go to Dragonstone personally to persuade Stannis Baratheon, to make him give up his fantasy of the throne.
Seeing this, a disappointed smile could not help but appear on Kal's face.
Tyrion was still thinking about the dragon and didn't notice the subtle change in Kal's expression.
But after hearing what Kal said, he also could not help but be slightly startled.
Then the clever Tyrion Lannister quickly understood what Kal was thinking.
"You want to treat it as a secret weapon?"
"But who are you planning to use it against?"
Tyrion asked, unable to resist rubbing his chin as he thought.
Kal's words left him puzzled.
Tyrion asked instinctively because, in his view, Kal's dragon should be used as deterrence; that was far, far more useful than actually taking the field and burning down one or two castles.
People value their lives; they seek benefit and avoid harm.
And on certain questions of status and reputation, nothing compares to the persuasive force of a real fist.
Whoever is strong is right—this has always been an unchanging truth since time immemorial.
And most importantly, he did not advocate war; on this point, his view was the same as Eddard Stark's.
"Robert has things it should be doing. Now isn't the time for it to show its strength."
"And most importantly, its growth has already surpassed what is normal to imagine—and I suspect someone is already preparing how to deal with it."
"This isn't a question that's hard to guess."
"The problem now is that this enemy won't step out so easily."
Faced with Tyrion's inquiry, Kal merely smiled and said something laden with meaning.
While Tyrion showed a thoughtful expression, Kal in turn picked up the letter from Stannis Baratheon.
Reading the lines demanding that he abandon his so-called unreasonable claim of inheritance and swear fealty to Stannis, the so-called true king, Kal laughed outright.
Next, he picked up the letter from Highgarden. As expected, this one was from Renly Baratheon.
Mm. The tone of the letter was not as forceful as Stannis Baratheon's; rather, it could be described as courteous and polite, but the meaning between the lines was exactly the same
He was to give up the throne and acknowledge him as the true king.
Looking at these unrealistic notions he had fully expected, Kal shook his head and set the letters down.
He then turned his gaze to Tyrion, who was seriously thinking about who Robert's enemy might be.
"So, what do you think about the choices of my two uncles?"
Kal looked at Tyrion with a smile on his face, without the slightest trace of anger.
Still unable to figure out what arrangements Kal had for Robert, or what dangers Robert might face, Tyrion could not help but furrow his brows at Kal's question.
After thinking it over carefully, Tyrion sighed and had to speak frankly.
"If they insist on their own views and you make no response, it will inevitably damage your authority, and it will also make the current situation unstable—"
"So in truth, you have no choice. If you still want the throne, you must be hard-line."
Though he did not want to fight, Tyrion was not foolish. He knew very well that if Kal was not firm at this moment, he would never have another chance to be firm again.
Kal was not surprised by Tyrion's advice; it was exactly as expected.
So after giving a slight smile, he once again looked toward the remaining letters.
"Then let me see how those of my bannermen who still have not sworn fealty to me will choose."
As Kal spoke, he picked up the other letters and began to read them.
"Mm, this is the Banefort of Harrenhal. I remember this place is very close to the Iron Islands; it seems the losses this time were not small."
Looking at the sigil patterns on the letter paper, Kal spoke casually.
He then unfolded the letter and skimmed through it briefly.
There wasn't much content. Stripping away a pile of useless rhetorical embellishments, the only truly useful information was that they stated they would set out immediately for Casterly Rock.
Kal set it down and picked up another letter.
"The Westerling of the Crag—they say they'll come as well. And then—House Sarsfield of Sarsfield Castle will also come."
"This is a letter from House Farman of Fair Isle? After suffering a raid by the Iron Islands, how many people are left in their family?"
While Kal was looking through the letters Tyrion had brought, the breakfast Tyrion had ordered had already been served. Seeing a familiar name, Kal seemed to think of something and asked subconsciously.
He had only just returned to Casterly Rock, and these matters had all been handled by his executive deputy, so Kal asked without hesitation.
Moreover, Tyrion was certainly far more familiar with these things than he was.
Just as he set down his plate, Tyrion's hand paused when he heard Kal's question.
"Lord Sebaston Farman of Fair Isle is still alive, but one of his sons died in the chaos. As for the rest—fortunately, he probably won't give rise to any disloyal intentions toward you."
Tyrion didn't finish the sentence, but that sigh already contained everything.
Kal naturally understood.
"You're right. His letter does look very sincere."
"It seems the Iron Islands didn't hold back at all."
"And then there's House Kenning of Kayce, House Prester of Feastfires, and so on… Something seems off here?"
Kal kept reading and suddenly realized something.
Tyrion, who had just finished cutting the bread on his plate into several pieces, raised his head as well. Seeing that Kal had noticed the issue so quickly, he couldn't help but shrug.
"Notice it? These nobles who are being so proactive are, apart from those who followed my father, Tywin Lannister, in rebelling against the Iron Throne, also the ones who were plundered the worst by the Iron Islands."
"Or, to put it more precisely, the families who are actively supporting you as king right now are only those who suffered the greatest losses in this war."
"If they don't cling tightly to your leg now, what awaits them will inevitably be destruction—they can no longer withstand any further turmoil."
As Tyrion spoke, he stuffed bread into his mouth and continued in a muffled voice.
"Like House Brax of Hornvale, House Crakehall of Crakehall—oh, right, their sigil is a boar. Anyway, it's these houses that suffered fewer losses; right now, they all seem to be watching and waiting."
"So my advice is still the same. If possible, you'd best take your dragon and make your presence known to these people, Your Grace. We need to be firmer."
Hearing Tyrion's words, Kal tossed all the letters in his hand aside. Then he interlaced his fingers with both hands, set his elbows on the dining table, and propped up his chin.
His gaze grew deep as he looked at Tyrion in front of him. After a long silence, Kal said slowly, "To be honest, I've been stuck on one thing. I keep wondering whether there's some way to make these people a bit more 'proactive.'"
"They're dragging things out like this—neither up nor down—and it makes it hard for me."
"Even if I want to blow up, I can't find a target."
Tyrion, who had just been about to stuff a piece of charred bacon into his mouth, was stunned by Kal's words. He turned his head to look at Kal, with an expression like he was looking at an idiot.
"You mean you want them all to oppose you?"
"Has Robert angered you into stupidity?"
Tyrion's words were not polite at all; the way he looked at Kal was as if he were looking at a fool.
Yet in response, Kal could only spread both hands, looking completely matter-of-fact.
"If not, then how can I strike and cleanse the entire Westerlands?"
"'Bloodwind' really isn't the wrong nickname," Tyrion said through clenched teeth, angry beyond measure.
"Have you ever thought that if you really do this—setting aside whether you can truly do it—do you really think that after you 'cleanse' the Westerlands as you wish, you'll get what you want?"
"Your Grace, what will you gain?"
"A domain in chaos everywhere, castles standing empty all over the place, and then the entire Westerlands' hatred toward our King Kal Baratheon—and a name like the Cruel Maegor?"
"Kal, the you I know isn't a tyrant."
Afraid that Kal had been driven muddleheaded by reading these things, Tyrion grew anxious. He didn't even bother eating and hurriedly tried to persuade him with earnest, painstaking words.
Kal knew it would be like this.
So he clapped his hands together, leaned back in his chair, and looked utterly deflated.
Staring up at the rocky ceiling, he muttered, "But if the Westerlands aren't in chaos, then how am I supposed to find a way to hook the big fish?"
"And also—how do we break the deadlock we're in right now?"
"My Lord Tyrion, what advice can you give me?"
This question had troubled Kal for several days.
He had long anticipated the situation in front of him.
To be honest, if these Westerlands nobles only went through the motions while undermining him—being perfectly respectful on the surface, but in truth not obeying him at all—and if he also had no real control over them, then Kal really had no good way to deal with it.
Tyrion heard the implication in Kal's words, and his eyes widened.
"What do you mean?"
For some reason, Tyrion felt a chill at the back of his neck.
Kal, however, reached out and tapped the few letters on the table that had seemed so "proactive." "Of course I mean this."
"The Iron Islands?"
Connecting the only thing these letters had in common, a name slipped out of Tyrion's mouth.
Kal nodded with an expression that said he had taught him well, making no attempt to hide his bluntness and disgust.
"I don't have any fondness for pirates. How about I find an opportunity to make you disappear on the Iron Islands for a few days—give you a holiday?"
"I think that reason is very practical, and it can also serve as a warning to others. While we're at it, it would solve our current problem."
"After all, didn't you just say I have a dragon?"
"They rob me—so why can't I rob them?"
"And most importantly, I really am short of ships right now to build my fleet."
"The Iron Islands are very important to me now—and more importantly, it's even more important that they aren't."
In front of Tyrion, Kal did not conceal his ambition or his intentions at all.
Tyrion, who was already stunned, could only gape when he heard this.
He had thought Kal was dissatisfied with the Westerlands nobles, but who would've guessed this fellow's target was actually the Iron Islands?
And Kal's thoughts about the Iron Islands were not as simple as they looked on the surface.
After a long while, Tyrion finally managed to grasp what Kal was trying to convey, and his head truly started to ache.
Before one wave had settled, another rose.
The matter of the throne at home still wasn't resolved, yet Kal was already preparing to set up another, even bigger enemy for himself.
"Your Grace, why do you have such an idea?"
At that, the corner of Kal's mouth lifted slightly, and his voice grew colder.
"No reason—just don't like them."
"Do you like having a bandit and a thief always watching you, only waiting for you to show a flaw, then pouncing and biting hard?"
As Kal's words fell, Tyrion finally tasted the meaning in them.
He set down the cutlery in his hands, and his gaze also grew serious.
"You're worried that when we act next, House Greyjoy will rebel?"
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