"Strangler?!"
The moment the name left Karl's mouth, Prince Oberyn Martell's expression changed.
As a master of poisons, the Red Viper naturally knew what the Strangler was. Even so, hearing the poison mentioned here, in this situation, still shocked him.
Unlike common poisons such as deadly nightshade or greycap powder—which were extracted from plants and fungi—or the venomous toxins Oberyn personally preferred, like manticore venom harvested from dangerous creatures, the Strangler was different.
Rare.
Deadly.
And terrifying.
It was one of the most infamous poisons in the known world.
A victim poisoned by the Strangler would suffer a slow and agonizing death by suffocation. Their throat muscles would seize and swell shut until breathing became impossible.
There was no antidote.
Even if a healer somehow recognized the poison immediately, by the time treatment began, the victim would already be dead.
The poison itself appeared harmless enough: a tiny crystal no larger than a seed, gleaming with a deep purple shine under the light.
Yet creating it was incredibly difficult.
The plant required for its production only grew on remote islands within the Jade Sea, half a world away from Westeros.
Its leaves had to be aged for long periods before being soaked in limewater, sugar syrup, and expensive spices from the Summer Isles. The mixture would then be thickened with ash and left to crystallize slowly over time.
The ingredients were rare.
The process was slow.
And the final product was worth a fortune.
Yet despite the complexity of its creation, using it was frighteningly simple.
Dissolve it in wine.
That was all.
The victim's throat would constrict violently, slowly choking them to death while their face turned the same purple color as the poison itself.
Many victims died clawing desperately at their own throats.
In different parts of the world, the poison carried different names.
But in the Citadel, it was known as the Strangler.
Another poison similar to it was the Tears of Lys, a legendary toxin created by Lysene alchemists.
That poison was nearly impossible to detect as well, tasting sweet as water and leaving behind symptoms resembling illness rather than murder.
The moment Karl mentioned the Strangler, countless fragments of knowledge flashed through Oberyn's mind.
After all, he had once studied at the Citadel himself and forged several links before abandoning the order.
Knowledge of poisons was one of his specialties.
Karl watched the subtle changes in Oberyn's expression and immediately understood.
"You know about it," Karl said calmly.
Oberyn sneered.
"Of course."
"Whoever informed you about this poison must be quite skilled."
"Then let's talk."
Karl pulled a chair toward him and sat down casually.
Across from him, Oberyn still held his spear tightly, his sharp eyes filled with vigilance.
The room remained tense.
Corpses still littered the floor from the earlier battle, and the smell of blood lingered heavily in the air.
Yet Karl appeared completely unconcerned.
Seeing this, Oberyn's lips curled coldly.
"What exactly is there to discuss?"
"If you want my head, you'll have to take it yourself."
Facing the famous Red Viper of Dorne, Karl merely smiled.
"I don't think Robert Baratheon's death has anything to do with you."
Then he turned toward Ser Barristan and the other guards still stationed inside the room.
"Ser Barristan, leave us."
"I want to speak privately with Prince Oberyn."
Barristan hesitated visibly.
The old knight clearly disliked the idea of leaving the king alone with one of the deadliest men in Westeros.
But a king's command could not be refused.
Reluctantly, Barristan sheathed his sword and helped Ser Arys Oakheart toward the door.
The knight's condition had already improved considerably.
The purple-black veins caused by Oberyn's poison had faded, proving that the maesters had successfully neutralized it.
Oberyn noticed immediately.
For just a brief moment, surprise broke through his normally controlled expression.
Karl caught it instantly and smiled faintly.
Once everyone else had left, silence returned to the room.
Only Karl and Oberyn remained inside.
Karl rested his spear upright beside his chair.
After comforting Ellaria Sand for a moment, Oberyn finally lowered his own weapon as well and sat across from Karl.
His gaze remained sharp and cautious.
Karl leaned back slightly before speaking.
"In the Seven Kingdoms, poison is hated by knights and nobles alike."
"They call it a coward's weapon."
"A tool for women, bastards, eunuchs, and weaklings."
"So information about it is limited here."
He looked directly at Oberyn.
"But you're different."
"I think you can tell me what I want to know."
Oberyn laughed mockingly.
"I don't believe poison is shameful at all."
"Compared to the atrocities committed openly by nobles and kings, poison is insignificant."
Then his eyes narrowed.
"So why should I help you?"
Karl ignored the provocation completely.
Instead, he abruptly changed the subject.
"It seems you were never working with Stannis Baratheon."
Oberyn frowned immediately.
"You suspect Stannis murdered Robert?"
"And because poison was involved, you suspected me as well?"
Karl answered calmly.
"Who benefits the most from Robert's death?"
Oberyn clicked his tongue.
"Stannis."
"But what does that have to do with Dorne?"
"We're not foolish enough to involve ourselves in your family's succession war."
At least, not in that way, he thought silently.
Karl studied him carefully before replying.
"I find that hard to believe."
"House Martell does not strike me as the type to forget hatred so easily."
"I offered gifts and friendship to Dorne."
"Yet after arriving in King's Landing, your actions were suspicious from the beginning."
"You also maintained contact with Stannis across the Narrow Sea."
"All of it made me wary."
Karl's tone remained straightforward and calm.
But Oberyn suddenly looked utterly bewildered.
"What are you talking about?"
Karl frowned slightly.
Oberyn stared at him in disbelief.
"My original intention was to strengthen relations between Dorne and you."
"I even planned to let Arianne spend more time with you."
"If things went well, perhaps the two of you could marry."
Karl blinked.
"…What?"
Oberyn's voice rose immediately.
"I invited you to banquets repeatedly!"
"I even allowed my daughters to interact with the Stark bastard who brought us those gifts!"
"Do you know what that means?"
"At the time, you weren't even Lord of Casterly Rock or Warden of the West yet!"
"For a Princess of Dorne to marry a bastard knight like you would've been an enormous honor!"
The more Oberyn spoke, the more aggrieved he sounded.
Karl finally realized something.
He had misunderstood the Martells from the very beginning.
Both men slowly glanced around at the bodies scattered throughout the room.
An awkward silence followed.
After a long moment, Karl pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…I owe you an apology."
"I genuinely believed Dorne had ulterior motives."
Oberyn looked annoyed.
"And why exactly would you think that?"
Karl sighed.
"Because your behavior seemed strange."
"And according to Varys, Princess Arianne spent her time entertaining powerful nobles every day instead of meeting me."
Oberyn immediately rolled his eyes.
"That's because my brother Doran disagreed with the marriage."
"He didn't want the Princess of Dorne marrying a bastard knight with an uncertain future."
"So he kept arranging meetings between Arianne and other noble heirs."
Then Oberyn smirked mischievously.
"Though honestly…"
"Arianne became quite interested in you after meeting you."
"She complained constantly about not having time."
"If Quentyn hadn't been watching her so closely, she probably would've climbed into your bed herself."
Both men fell silent again.
The atmosphere somehow became even more awkward.
Karl coughed lightly.
"Prince Oberyn, I sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding."
"The Iron Throne will compensate you for your losses."
"Now…"
"Can we return to our original discussion?"
Oberyn snorted coldly.
Given the current situation, there was little else he could do anyway.
Fortunately, once the misunderstanding had been cleared up, the hostility between them lessened considerably.
Oberyn finally relaxed slightly and leaned back in his chair.
Then his expression became serious again.
"Tell me," he said quietly.
"Have you ever heard of the Faceless Men?"
Before Karl could respond—
Crash!
A sudden noise interrupted them.
Both men reacted instantly, turning toward the doorway.
A frightened young girl stood there trembling with a tray in her hands.
"Scarlett?" Oberyn asked.
"What's wrong?"
The girl's face was pale with fear.
"The guards outside asked me to bring wine for Your Highness…"
"And for His Majesty…"
Her eyes flickered nervously toward the corpses covering the floor.
The wine cups rattled in her shaking hands.
Karl sighed softly.
"Bring it over."
Relieved, Scarlett hurried inside carefully, avoiding the bodies as best she could.
She placed a cup before Karl and reached for the wine jug.
But her hands shook so badly that wine spilled across the table.
Some even splashed onto her fingers before dripping into Karl's cup.
Karl gave a helpless smile.
"Relax."
"I don't eat people."
Unfortunately, his attempt at comfort only frightened her more.
Seeing this, Oberyn finally lost patience.
"I'll do it."
He took the wine jug from her hands and poured the drinks himself.
Karl flicked his fingers lightly.
A gold dragon appeared between them.
He handed it to Scarlett.
"Sorry for frightening you."
"Take this and leave."
"And tell the guards not to allow anyone else inside."
The girl stared at the gold coin in shock.
Then a bright smile appeared on her face.
She nodded rapidly before hurrying from the room.
Once the door closed again, Karl finally relaxed.
He took a slow breath before looking back at Oberyn.
But before he could speak, Oberyn smiled faintly over his wine cup.
"You're generous."
Karl shrugged.
"For nobles, life is easy."
"For commoners, it isn't."
"They shouldn't suffer because of us."
Oberyn and Ellaria exchanged brief glances.
Then Oberyn finally returned to the earlier topic.
"The Faceless Men," he said quietly.
"You know of them?"
Karl nodded slowly.
"I spent years traveling through the Free Cities."
"I've been to Braavos before."
"But I never dealt with the House of Black and White directly."
In truth, Karl had always been wary of them.
Oberyn smiled knowingly.
"Perhaps you have."
"You just didn't realize it."
He set down his wine cup.
"The Faceless Men are a religious order of assassins."
"They worship the Many-Faced God—the god of death."
"In Westeros, most people simply call him the Stranger."
"They believe death is a sacred mercy."
"For the right price, they will grant that mercy to anyone."
Oberyn's expression darkened slightly with disdain.
"To them, assassination is not murder."
"It's an offering."
"The cost varies depending on the target."
"Kings, lords, generals… the more difficult the target, the higher the price."
"But for true believers, the payment itself often matters less than the meaning behind it."
He continued calmly.
"Their greatest assassins are called the Faceless Men."
"They abandon their identities entirely."
"They become 'no one.'"
"There are no distinctions between man or woman among them."
"Though they rarely recruit children."
Karl listened carefully.
Then Oberyn leaned forward slightly.
"And the reason they are called Faceless Men…"
"Is because they possess the ability to change their appearance."
Karl's eyes narrowed immediately.
"They can disguise themselves?"
Oberyn shook his head slowly.
"Not disguise."
"Transform."
The room fell silent.
Then Oberyn spoke the final words in a low voice.
"And one of the tools they frequently use…"
"…is the Strangler."
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