The throne hall of Conquest Keep rose beneath a vast dome inlaid with stained glass from Myr, turning sunlight into cascades of color that spilled across the obsidian floor.
Lo Quen sat upon the throne. Meizo stood respectfully to the left below the dais, while Maester Qyburn waited on the right with a mild smile on his face. In the center of the hall stood several Pyromancers who had recently returned from King's Landing, hands lowered in solemn composure.
Lo Quen had just learned from them of the city's destruction.
One pyromancer stepped forward and said respectfully, "Your Grace, we placed the candles beneath the Red Keep. Yet as we departed by sea, we saw that the first explosions did not come from the Keep but from the Flea Quay district. That madwoman Cersei had her men light the candles there before we could act."
He glanced up nervously at Lo Quen, afraid of punishment for failing his mission.
But Lo Quen did not react as he feared. He simply nodded. A trace of regret stirred in his heart—King's Landing had embodied three centuries of Targaryen labor and legacy. Now it lay in ruins and would have to be rebuilt someday.
Still, there was no helping it. Who could have guessed that the Mad King had hidden wildfire beneath the entire city? Or that Cersei, deranged as she was, would go so far?
Lo Quen had intended only to carry out the plan of "sending off" the nobles, yet Cersei had dragged the commoners into the inferno as well. It seemed she hated Renly and the people of King's Landing even more than he had imagined.
His voice was calm and steady. "You may withdraw."
The Pyromancers, as if granted pardon, backed away and quickly left the hall.
When their figures disappeared, Meizo stepped forward. "Your Grace, word of King's Landing's burning has spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The surviving Stormlands nobles have crowned Robert's bastard son, Edric Storm, as king at Storm's End, declaring House Lannister traitors. The Reach was quick to follow—Willas Tyrell has crowned Robert's other bastard, Gendry. The new king has already invaded the Westerlands with the Reach's armies, carrying out a scorched-earth campaign. Two kings have just died, and two more have risen. Counting Tommen, soon to be crowned by the Lannisters, there will be six kings across the realm. The chaos is unprecedented—this is our best opportunity…"
Lo Quen shook his head. "No. It's still not enough. If Westeros is a game of Cyvasse, there are too few pieces on the board, but too many players lurking in the shadows. We must strike first and force those players into the open, one by one…"
A sharp gleam flashed in Meizo's eyes. "What is Your Grace's command?"
Lo Quen smiled. "In Crown Town, there still resides a rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, does there not? Invite the Targaryen siblings. It's time to lay our cards on the table."
"As you command, Your Grace." Meizo bowed deeply.
Lo Quen turned his gaze to Qyburn. "Maester, how fares the unicorn breeding?"
Qyburn's expression warmed with quiet pride. "Your Grace, unicorns from Skagos continue to arrive each month. We now have twenty-five in total. I have fully mastered their mating cycles, gestation patterns, and dietary needs. The special ovulation draught works splendidly—eleven females have conceived, and five have already given birth. The potion ensures each mare bears at least eight foals per litter, far beyond their natural one to five. Grant me three or four more years, and I shall raise a cavalry regiment of unicorns."
Real satisfaction flickered in Lo Quen's eyes. "Excellent. And the warhorses left behind by the Dothraki?"
Horse breeding remained a matter of utmost importance in any age—especially in one resembling the medieval era, where well-bred thoroughbreds and inferior mixed stock stood worlds apart on the battlefield.
Qyburn continued, "The Dothraki have no understanding of selective breeding when it comes to horses, which has left their war mounts uneven in quality—fine steeds mixed with far too many inferior ones. But Your Grace need not worry. I am establishing a strict pedigree registry to identify and cultivate the finest stallions. In the future, your cavalry will ride only the strongest and swiftest of warhorses—nothing like those half-bred beasts of the grasslands."
Lo Quen nodded.
At present, beyond his original core of more than ten thousand pirate soldiers and surrendered Tyroshi troops, he had only about twenty thousand captured Lyseni slave soldiers serving as auxiliaries, along with the Windblown mercenaries under the Tattered Prince, whose ranks had recently expanded to five thousand. Lo Quen was in urgent need of new troops.
So when the 300,000 Yi Ti immigrants arrived, he selected ten thousand able-bodied men from among them to form a new legion, placing it under the direct command and training of Luo Wen. Luo Wen immediately assigned a thousand Unsullied as instructors to drill the recruits in formation and combat techniques.
This approach proved highly effective. The Unsullied's greatest strength lay in their absolute obedience to their master's commands. Even if ordinary soldiers could learn only a fraction of their discipline, it would still be a tremendous advantage.
In addition, after the Tourmaline Brotherhood and the Spice Guild of Qarth delivered the Yi Ti people, Lo Quen struck a deal with those greedy, profit-driven Qartheen merchants. They would be responsible for transporting Yi Ti people from Asabhad to the West, settling accounts with Lo Quen's officials at the port of Crown Town.
The Qartheen milkmen were overjoyed. In their slave-trading ventures, such a steady source of customers was rare. The Yi Ti people were numerous, industrious, and inexpensive in the East. They could be bought cheaply in Asabhad and sold for high profits in the West.
This arrangement meant Luo Wen no longer needed to return to Yi Ti himself, while Lo Quen gained a steady and abundant stream of new laborers.
Lo Quen had no concern about the cost of purchasing Yi Ti people. He had just received a large grain payment from the Lannisters. Moreover, now that he ruled the Three Daughters, he commanded the combined revenues of three Free Cities. Their annual income, converted into Westerosi golden dragons, amounted to a staggering four million.
Tyrosh contributed nine hundred thousand in taxes, Lys one million three hundred thousand, and Myr one million eight hundred thousand. After deducting military expenses, fleet maintenance, and various other costs, he still had nearly a million left in surplus.
And that was not counting the immense wealth he had discovered in the treasuries of these Free Cities. The Magisters loved spending lavishly on luxury goods and slaves, and yet their coffers still overflowed with coin. The sheer volume spoke to just how rich these cities truly were.
His thoughts then turned to currency.
He looked at Qyburn. "Maester, I must trouble you once more—to design a new currency. Its value should remain as low as the original Tyrosh or Myr iron coins. Also, we need several mints established in Crown Town to ensure steady issuance of the new coins."
Qyburn nodded. "As you command, Your Grace."
Lo Quen had pondered the question of currency for a long time. The monetary systems of the Nine Free Cities were chaotic at best. If not for the intrinsic value of their precious metal currencies, such disorder would have already triggered an economic collapse.
Now that he had unified the Narrow Sea and the Three Daughters, a single, stable currency was essential.
He intentionally avoided adopting multiple currencies like Westeros. The Nine Free Cities—especially the Three Daughters—lacked gold and silver mines but were rich in iron. Only a fool would base his nation's currency on a metal his own lands lacked.
If Lo Quen used gold coins as the official standard, the Seven Kingdoms could manipulate him easily. By restricting the flow of gold into the Triarchy, they could trigger deflation in his realm and send his economy into collapse.
It would be no different from Spain restricting silver exports to the Ming Dynasty in its final years.
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