The throne room had descended into chaos.
The screams of the noble ladies threatened to lift the roof off the Red Keep.
Several cowardly courtiers had collapsed on the floor, the stench of urine spreading from their breeches.
Even the usually arrogant Lannister guards were pale as death, their grip on their swords trembling.
They had never seen such a grotesque monster!
Its arm had been severed, yet its ferocity remained undiminished!
The severed hand on the floor flexed its five fingers, scratching incessantly at the hard stone flagstones, making a grating skritch-skritch sound as if the limb possessed a life of its own!
Having never witnessed such an uncanny creature, every one of them was paralyzed with fear.
"Burn it! Use fire, quickly!"
Ned, who had learned from Lynn how to deal with these dead things, was the first to react. Drawing his sword to shield Robert, he roared at the surrounding guards.
However, terror had robbed the guards of their ability to think.
"Stand aside."
Lynn pushed past the guards blocking his way and pulled a burning torch from a wall sconce.
He walked slowly toward the wight, which was still frantically slamming against the iron cage.
The wight seemed to sense the threat of the fire. Its glowing blue eyes fixed dead on Lynn.
It suddenly thrust its remaining hand through the gaps in the bars, clawing at Lynn's face!
Lynn didn't dodge.
He simply doused the creature with the oil he had prepared beforehand.
Then, he gently extended the torch.
Whoosh——!
The moment the flame touched the wight's withered skin, it was like a spark meeting hot oil—it erupted instantly!
Black flames spread rapidly up its arm, engulfing its entire body!
The wight let out a shriek that was not of this world, twisting and rolling madly in the cage.
A nauseating stench of burnt flesh and rot instantly filled the hall.
Expressionless, Lynn brought the torch close to the severed hand still moving on the floor.
Licked by the flames, the hand quickly turned into a lump of charcoal and finally ceased to move.
Minutes later, the shrieking in the cage subsided.
The wight was now nothing but a scorched, reeking skeleton.
The entire throne room fell into a deathly silence.
Everyone looked with awe, their gazes shifting from the smoking iron cage to Lynn, who held the torch as if he had expected all of this.
The drunkenness and rage on Robert Baratheon's face had vanished without a trace.
In their place was a shock and bewilderment that completely overturned his understanding of the world.
His massive body trembled slightly on the cold Iron Throne.
"What... what in the seven hells is that thing?"
Robert's voice held none of its earlier domineering tone.
"This is the common threat to all the living."
"A wight."
Lynn placed the torch back in the sconce, turned around, and met everyone's gaze.
"Soldiers of the dead, resurrected by creatures we call the White Walkers."
"They feel no pain, know no fatigue, and ordinary steel cannot kill them."
"Only fire, or dragonglass."
"They are the vanguard of the Long Night, the heralds of Winter."
"Your Grace, this is our true enemy."
"Nonsense!"
Grand Maester Pycelle stepped forward tremblingly, his old face flushed red with agitation.
"White Walkers... wights... these are just ancient legends to scare children!"
"Absurdities long disproven by the Citadel!"
"Is the southern Citadel worthy of disproving anything?"
Lynn laughed, pointing at the charred skeleton in the cage.
"You really should go north of the Wall and see for yourself."
"Grand Maester, since you say so, can you use the Citadel's knowledge to explain why this 'absurdity' of yours was moving just now?"
Pycelle's lips quivered, but he couldn't utter a single word.
"Your Grace."
Lynn ignored the old fool, his gaze returning to Robert.
"Beyond the Wall, every person who dies—whether killed by a blade, frozen to death, or starved—is turned into such a monster by the White Walkers."
"Even corpses buried for hundreds of years, nothing but skeletons, can be resurrected!"
"They aren't just killing, Your Grace. They are recruiting."
"For every warrior of ours that falls, their army gains a soldier."
"How do we fight such a war?"
Robert's breathing grew heavy.
He was a warrior; he instantly understood the terrifying implication behind those words.
An army that grew larger the more you killed!
"What does this have to do with the wildlings?"
Renly Baratheon frowned, unable to help asking.
"Everything." Lynn's gaze swept over him.
"Because those wildlings are not our enemies."
"They are refugees fleeing this disaster."
"I let them through the Wall for four reasons."
Lynn held up one finger.
"First, if I didn't let them in, they would die beyond the Wall. Then, these dead wildlings would become members of the army of wights."
"Every wildling I bring in means one less unkillable monster we have to face in the future, and one more helper to fight the dead."
"We gain, they lose."
A suppressed gasp went through the hall.
The logic was simple and brutal, yet irrefutable.
Lynn held up a second finger.
"Second, what have we gained?"
"I have gained eighty thousand warriors accustomed to fighting in ice and snow."
"They know the White Walkers better than we do. They have fought these monsters for centuries."
"When the Long Night falls, when the army of wights arrives at our walls, they will stand with us, fighting for you, Your Grace, fighting to protect this land!"
Robert's eyes lit up.
An army of eighty thousand!
Lynn held up a third finger.
"Third, Your Grace, the North is bitterly cold, and the Gift has been barren for centuries."
"Now, with hundreds of thousands of wildlings joining us, what does that mean?"
"It means that before the long winter arrives, those wastelands will be reclaimed. It means the grain production of the North will double. It means they will provide taxes, labor, and soldiers for the realm!"
"They are no longer savages beyond the pale; they are your subjects!"
"A strong and prosperous North will only make your rule more secure!"
Ned Stark looked at Lynn, his grey eyes filled with shock and gratification.
He had only seen the trouble the wildlings brought.
But Lynn had already planned a future that could change the entire landscape of the North!
"Fourth."
Lynn held up his last finger.
"If we didn't let these wildlings in, what would happen?"
"We would forever be guarding the northern border against an army of a hundred thousand that could assemble at any time."
"They would constantly harass us, trying to attack and cross the Wall, consuming vast amounts of our manpower and resources."
"Or, even worse..."
Lynn's gaze turned once again to the iron cage.
"We just wait. Wait for the White Walkers to turn those hundred thousand warriors, and two hundred thousand women and children, all into wights."
"Then, we would face an army of the dead with three hundred thousand more soldiers appearing out of thin air!"
"Oh, right. These dead men don't understand chivalry. They don't feel fear, and they won't show mercy. They will simply turn every living thing that moves into one of them."
As Lynn's voice faded, the entire throne room was silent.
Everyone was awestruck by the grand and terrifying picture Lynn had painted.
The courtiers who had been gloating earlier, ready to watch Lynn's downfall, now wore expressions of pure gravity.
They realized that what Lynn was doing wasn't hoarding soldiers for rebellion or plotting treason.
He was saving the entire kingdom in his own way!
"Seven Hells..." Robert muttered to himself.
He stepped down from the throne, walking step by step to the iron cage, staring fixedly at the charred skeleton inside.
Fear, excitement, fanaticism...
Countless emotions intertwined in his cloudy eyes.
As a warrior, he hated the intrigue of the court, loathed the endless bills and meetings.
But now, an enemy truly worth swinging his war hammer against had appeared!
"An Army of the Dead..."
Robert spun around suddenly. On his fat face, a trace of the heroism and spirit of his youth actually emerged!
"Hahahaha!"
He laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the hall.
"Now this is a war a King should fight!"
He walked up to Lynn, his hand like a fan slapping heavily onto Lynn's shoulder.
"Good lad! Well done!"
"Not only did you bring me the head of the Targaryen bastard, but you also brought me an army of eighty thousand!"
"King Beyond the Wall? Fuck the King Beyond the Wall!"
Robert waved his hand, his voice loud as a bell.
"I promised you something before."
"If you brought back the head of the Targaryen remnant, I would grant you lands and release you from your Night's Watch vows!"
"I keep my word!"
"From today on, the Gift is your fiefdom!"
"You shall be Ned's vassal, serving the realm with all your heart!"
"I want you to be my first line of defense against the Long Night!"
"The vows of the Night's Watch will no longer bind you. You may take a wife and have children—hell, take a hundred wives if you want! And your eldest son will inherit your lands forever!"
"I heard you became the new Lord Commander, but breaking vows sets a bad example. Step down, and choose another from the Watch to take the post."
For a moment, the entire hall was stunned!
Ned Stark's mouth fell open, unable to believe his ears.
Duke Renly was equally dumbfounded.
A flicker of confusion passed through Cersei's eyes.
What immense favor this was!
Lynn dropped to one knee. This time, there was a hint of a smile on his face.
"I am willing to die for Your Grace."
"Good! Good! Good!"
Robert said "Good" three times. He had never felt this exhilarated in years.
It was as if he had returned to his youth on the banks of the Trident, smashing Rhaegar Targaryen's chest in with a single blow of his hammer.
However, just as the harmony between King and subject reached its peak, an untimely voice spoke up softly.
"Your Grace, perhaps you should calm down."
Everyone looked toward the sound.
The speaker was Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish, sitting in his wheelchair.
He still wore that harmless smile, but his flickering eyes hid a chilling malice.
"The picture Lord Lynn paints is indeed fascinating."
"However..."
Littlefinger changed the subject, his gaze landing on Lynn.
"Ravens have brought news that your time in Essos involved more than just killing Viserys Targaryen, Lord Lynn."
"You liberated Astapor, absorbed the Unsullied Legion of eight thousand, and forged armor for them."
"That fugitive Jorah Mormont, sentenced to death, is wandering by your side. And the woman named Daenerys has also been taken in by you."
"Furthermore... you hatched a dragon with your own hands."
Littlefinger's voice was like ice water, instantly extinguishing the passion Robert had just kindled.
The atmosphere in the hall solidified once again.
If wights were a distant threat, then dragons and Unsullied were swords right at their throats!
Pentos was a hub for intelligence, with ravens flying all over the world. Lynn's trip to Essos had been watched by countless eyes. As a high-level player, Littlefinger was no fool; it was not surprising he had obtained firsthand information.
The smile vanished from Robert's face.
He turned his head slowly, his eyes clouding over once more as he stared fixedly at Lynn.
"Is what he says true?"
"Lynn."
"Where is your dragon?"