Grand Maester Pycelle's chambers beneath the Ravenry were filled with the chill of the night wind drifting through the open window. The metallic scent of fresh blood spread freely through the room.
"How... is this possible?"
Varys stared in horror as the body of "Pycelle" began to change.
Ripples of light surrounded the corpse as its appearance twisted and shifted like water disturbed by an unseen force.
A strange echo filled the room, whispering like countless insects crawling inside one's ears. It wasn't a language either Varys or Gendry could understand, nor was it the same chant spoken by the Red Priestess moments earlier.
The elderly Grand Maester's body gradually transformed into that of a beautiful young woman.
She had a graceful figure, a heart-shaped face, copper-red hair, and mysterious crimson eyes.
Only Pycelle's heavy Maester's chain remained around her neck.
A puff of crimson smoke erupted.
The Little Birds standing beside the Grand Maester were instantly strangled to death by invisible magic.
---
"You're not Pycelle..."
Varys hissed, his face draining of all color.
The Little Birds who should have surrounded Gendry had instead found themselves trapped between Gendry and the mysterious woman.
His normally composed expression completely collapsed.
His soft hands trembled as they gripped a loaded crossbow.
He still wore his luxurious silk slippers, but there was no trace of confidence left in him.
"...You're the Red Priestess."
Melisandre carefully stepped over the bodies of the dead children before stopping several paces away.
Looking directly at Varys, she spoke in her calm, melodious accent.
"One life."
"One death."
"One ice."
"One fire."
"You stand in our way, Varys."
As always, Melisandre was dressed entirely in crimson.
Her flowing silk robes shimmered like living flames.
A darker red gown could be seen beneath the open front of her dress.
Around her neck rested a tight collar of red-gold, adorned with the glowing ruby that served as the source of her magic.
Over it hung Grand Maester Pycelle's heavy chain of twenty-four different metals.
---
Bang!
Without hesitation, Gendry swung Orphan-Maker.
The first victim was the maid who had secretly led them into the trap.
She was also the one he despised most.
Her head flew from her shoulders, bounced across the floor, and rolled to a stop several feet away.
Her headless body collapsed heavily onto the blood-soaked floor.
Blood poured from the severed neck like a crimson stream.
In such a cramped room, a rapier might have been more practical.
But Gendry had no need for practicality.
He was speed itself.
Like a hawk weaving effortlessly through a forest, he surged toward the remaining Little Birds.
Every crossbow bolt they fired seemed painfully slow.
He effortlessly dodged every shot.
Before they could reload...
He was already among them.
The Valyrian steel blade flashed.
The world's sharpest sword...
Wielded by one of the finest swordsmen alive.
Its edge became a whirlwind of death.
Heads...
Arms...
And entire bodies were torn apart.
Blood blossomed through the air like crimson flowers.
Brains and flesh splattered across the walls.
One Little Bird after another fell beneath the relentless storm of steel.
Within moments...
Pycelle's chamber had become a slaughterhouse.
Corpses littered the floor.
Blood pooled beneath shattered bodies.
The room resembled a butcher's workshop far more than a Grand Maester's study.
---
Varys watched everything unfold helplessly.
His carefully prepared plan...
His perfect timing...
His unwavering confidence...
Every bit of it had been a trap.
He had believed himself to be the hunter.
Instead...
He had walked willingly into Gendry's snare.
---
"Melisandre."
"Hold him."
Gendry calmly gave the order.
The Red Priestess stepped forward.
"I'll be your opponent."
Varys desperately tightened his grip on the crossbow.
"What kind of sorcery is this?"
Melisandre smiled faintly.
"Call it whatever you wish."
"Glamour."
"Illusion."
"Magic."
"R'hllor is the Lord of Light."
"And His servants weave light as easily as ordinary people weave thread."
Gendry approached slowly.
Fresh blood still covered his face.
His leather armor and dark robes were soaked crimson.
Orphan-Maker dripped blood onto the floor.
"I could have dealt with you and your Little Birds alone."
"But Lady Melisandre's assistance ensured there would be no surprises."
"You built your entire life around deception."
"So it's only fitting that deception becomes your downfall."
Melisandre calmly explained.
"Pycelle's chain made the spell possible."
"Objects retain traces of their owners."
"A lock of hair."
"A pair of boots."
"A pouch of finger bones."
"Or even a Maester's chain."
"With whispers and prayer, those memories can be woven into a glamour."
"The person beneath never changes."
"Only their appearance."
She spoke as though such powerful magic required almost no effort.
Only she knew the truth.
Maintaining the illusion had pushed her to her limits.
When the assassin's dagger had struck her earlier...
She had nearly lost control of the spell.
Fortunately...
The room had been dark enough to hide any imperfections.
The ruby around her neck burned so fiercely that it felt as though her flesh might catch fire.
Thankfully...
Gendry had arrived before she reached her limit.
---
"You..."
Varys looked into Melisandre's crimson eyes.
The ruby flashed brilliantly.
"No!"
A scream escaped his lips.
Agonizing heat erupted deep within his soul.
It felt as though invisible flames were burning him alive from the inside.
His fingers lost all strength.
The crossbow clattered onto the floor.
His head felt as though it were splitting apart.
The once-proud Master of Whisperers collapsed onto one knee, trembling in unbearable pain.
---
For the first time...
Varys began questioning himself.
His greatest mistake...
Had been underestimating Melisandre.
Because she had never proven herself on a battlefield, he had assumed she posed little threat.
His second mistake...
Had been underestimating Gendry.
The young king was ruthless.
Cunning.
Brutal.
An exceptional warrior.
And an even more dangerous strategist.
That arrogance had become Varys' greatest weakness.
This final gamble...
Had ended in complete defeat.
The price...
Was his life.
---
"In all of King's Landing..."
"You're the person I hate most."
Gendry picked up one of the Little Birds' crossbow bolts.
"Who do you think you are, Varys?"
"Do you really believe manipulating people from the shadows makes you untouchable?"
"Have you enjoyed your little games?"
"Dealing with you has cost me more effort than anyone else."
He looked coldly at the fallen Spider.
"Your treason..."
"Was even worse than the Lannisters'."
Varys forced himself to speak despite the pain.
"So..."
"It was all your plan..."
"No wonder Barristan conveniently stayed home today."
"No wonder Stannis remained with the army south of the Blackwater."
"No wonder Randyll Tarly never left the Dragonpit camp."
"And even your own squire disappeared."
"You intentionally left only Balon Swann beside you..."
Gendry smiled faintly.
"The greater the evil..."
"The greater the power."
"Weren't those your own beliefs?"
"When Aerys drove the kingdom toward ruin..."
"You stayed silent."
"When Robert drowned the realm in extravagance and vice..."
"You stayed silent."
"So now..."
"You don't need to speak anymore."
Thwack!
Thwack!
Two arrows shot through the air.
Each pierced one of Varys' hands.
He screamed in agony.
---
"Tell me something."
Gendry looked down at him.
"Why didn't you use wildfire?"
Varys gasped painfully.
"It was... too difficult... to obtain."
"And old wildfire is unstable."
"There was no guarantee the explosion would kill you."
"So..."
"I had to ignite Flea Bottom first..."
"To lure Randyll and the others away."
Then...
His voice became desperate.
"Mercy..."
"Please..."
"Kill me."
"For old times' sake..."
"I once saved your life."
"I still know secrets."
"Secrets worth trading."
Gendry looked at him calmly.
"What secrets?"
"The boy you call Aegon?"
Varys froze.
"You..."
"You know?"
His eyes widened in disbelief.
That was the greatest secret of his entire life.
The foundation of every sacrifice he had ever made.
How could Gendry know?
"And the Golden Company too."
Gendry added casually.
Varys could barely breathe.
"You..."
"You aren't afraid?"
"Afraid?"
Gendry laughed.
"Afraid of the pretender you've spent your life creating?"
The black blade lightly tapped Varys' forehead.
"Unfortunately for you..."
"You're dying too soon."
Varys' eyes blazed defiantly.
"He..."
"Isn't a pretender."
"He's the rightful king."
Gendry merely smiled.
"If I say he's a pretender..."
"Then that's exactly what he'll become."
"And perhaps..."
"You'll even live long enough to witness it."
Desperate to avoid revealing anything...
Varys tried biting off his own tongue.
Before he could...
Melisandre stuffed a wad of cloth into his mouth.
---
"Do you know why I don't fear Aegon?"
Gendry asked.
"If he truly gathers the remaining loyalists of House Targaryen..."
"Good."
"They'll all gather in one place."
"It'll save me the trouble of hunting them down."
Varys could only groan helplessly behind the gag.
At last...
He understood.
Aegon...
Illyrio...
What kind of monster have I helped create...?
---
Footsteps suddenly echoed outside.
Barristan Selmy.
Randyll Tarly.
Balon Swann.
And dozens of guards arrived, dragging bound prisoners behind them.
The chamber doors swung open.
Torchlight flooded the blood-soaked room.
Every corpse...
Every stain...
Every act of betrayal...
Was laid bare.
Without another word...
Gendry calmly walked out.
Only the overwhelming smell of blood remained behind.
As Melisandre dragged Varys outside...
He looked at the prisoners waiting in chains.
Most were familiar faces.
Gold Cloaks.
Servants.
Squires.
Informants.
His loyal network...
Completely destroyed.
Randyll looked toward Gendry.
"What should be done with them?"
Gendry's cold gaze swept across the terrified captives.
"Execute every one of them."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Randyll bowed without hesitation.
Anyone involved in Varys' attempted regicide had already sealed their own fate.
None of them could be allowed to live.
Tears streamed silently down Varys' face.
For the first time in his life...
The Spider knew true despair.
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