Littlefinger...
Upon returning to his estate, Lynn's gaze grew cold.
It was time to teach Littlefinger a lesson.
That rat in the gutter truly had a tenacious heart for treachery. Even now, he dared to make a move against Lynn.
Did he think that just because he had lost his coin, he could remove himself from the board and continue to stir up chaos from the shadows?
Chaos is a ladder.
Then I shall make your world utter chaos!
Lynn closed his eyes. In an instant, his mental power enveloped the hiding place where Littlefinger was now clinging to survival.
---
King's Landing, the Street of Silk.
Petyr Baelish sat alone in a third-floor study.
This was once the starting point from which he looked down upon King's Landing and manipulated the hearts of men.
Now, only the desolation of the room and the bitterness of failure remained.
He had lost.
Again!
He couldn't understand it. Why had his meticulously laid chessboard crumbled step by step?
He only wanted to provoke a war between the Lion and the Wolf, to profit from the chaos—that was all!
But now, the war hadn't started, and he had become the biggest loser.
Even the rumors he spread had become weak and toothless.
Robert, that fool, actually used something as laughable as a manipulated trial by combat to personally clear Cersei's name!
To ensure Robert won the trial, Petyr had gone so far as to hire a Faceless Man, all to ensure Cersei would die!
But Lynn had ruined his operation once again!
Petyr raised his goblet, but the liquid inside could not quench the anxiety and resentment burning in his heart.
Suddenly!
An indescribably cold will pierced into his brain without warning!
Petyr's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
It was his hand—it moved on its own!
His right hand slowly set down the goblet.
His legs took stiff steps, one after another, walking toward the window.
His body no longer belonged to him.
His hands pushed open the window before him.
The evening breeze blew in, carrying the noise of the street below.
Petyr's leg lifted, stepping onto the window sill.
On the street, a few drunken guards were patrolling, and not far away, a peddler was hawking cheap oatcakes.
The world was so vivid.
Lynn could feel that his actions had triggered a subconscious resistance within Petyr.
Lynn intensified his mental pressure, forcing Petyr to leap.
Petyr's body lost its support, and the sensation of weightlessness instantly enveloped him.
A second before impact, Lynn released his mind.
Petyr snapped awake.
But to his horror, he found the wind whistling in his ears, the world spinning rapidly before his eyes.
It's over.
That was his last thought.
Thud—!
A dull, heavy sound.
He didn't feel the sharp pain of his skull cracking open as he expected.
His legs smashed heavily onto a cart transporting fodder.
Immediately following, an indescribable agony exploded from his spine, instantly radiating through his entire body!
"Aaaahhhh!"
Control of his body returned.
The heart-rending scream finally broke free from his throat.
He wanted to struggle, wanted to crawl up.
But he discovered with terror that his lower body had completely lost all sensation.
He looked down. His legs were twisted at a grotesque angle, like two broken sticks.
He wasn't dead.
But he wished he were.
Petyr Baelish, the former Master of Coin, the sharpest player in King's Landing, was now like a wild dog with a broken back.
Paralyzed on a filthy cart of fodder, he let out a howl of despair.
Lynn slowly opened his eyes, his face pallid with sickness.
Petyr's will was far less resilient—certainly much easier to manipulate than Jaime's.
But forcing an enemy to commit suicide clearly triggered subconscious resistance.
This also allowed Lynn to figure out the rules of Skinchanging.
Controlling a person's actions wouldn't trigger resistance. Like manipulating Daenerys or Jaime.
Controlling a person to die indirectly also wouldn't trigger resistance. Like manipulating that assassin.
But manipulating a person to directly commit an act that threatened their own life would definitely encounter resistance, potentially causing the Skinchanging ability to fail, or even inflicting a severe backlash!
However, Lynn had to teach this stinking rat a lesson.
Revenge is a dish best served immediately!
---
After a night of recovery, Lynn was set to leave King's Landing.
The news made the atmosphere in the estate somewhat delicate.
Sansa looked at the ledger, her mind elsewhere.
The "Soap Empire" they were building together had only just begun; it needed management, yet Lynn was leaving now.
This made her wonder if she could live up to Lynn's trust. She didn't want to ruin things. She feared disappointing him.
Arya, on the other hand, was excitedly practicing her swordplay in the courtyard. The boring ledgers had been tossed aside soon after the initial novelty wore off. She still preferred dancing with spears and sticks.
As for those dull accounts, they were now handled jointly by Sansa and the steward.
In the study, Lynn gathered three people: Steward Rob, Sansa, and Arya.
"After I leave, Sansa, you have full authority over all estate matters. Rob will assist you."
Lynn's gaze fell on the steward.
Rob bowed respectfully.
Seeing Rob's acquiescence, Lynn turned his gaze back to Sansa.
"You will continue to lead the soap business."
"Whatever fragrances you need, whatever packaging you require, tell Rob directly, and he will handle it."
"Remember, our goal is to make the ladies of King's Landing unable to live without it."
Sansa nodded solemnly.
"Arya," Lynn finally looked at his little wildcat.
"Your task is to supervise the newly recruited guards."
"While I am away, the safety of the estate is in your hands."
"If you encounter a problem you cannot solve, go to your father."
"The Gold Cloaks are enough to solve most problems."
"If even your father cannot solve it, then go to Varys."
"He is trustworthy for the time being."
"No problem, I've got it!" Arya patted her chest in assurance.
Having arranged everything, Lynn took a roll of blank parchment from his tunic and handed it to Steward Rob.
"This is..."
Rob took it, puzzled.
"From now on, every night, write down the matters of the estate that require my decision on this paper."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"By the next morning, my instructions will appear on it."
Rob's pupils constricted sharply.
He looked at the parchment in his hand, then at Lynn, opening and closing his mouth without producing a sound.
This... what kind of divine magic is this?
Sansa and Arya also leaned in curiously. They only saw an ordinary piece of parchment, nothing special about it.
But they also knew Lynn never did anything without meaning.
"My Lord... you..."
Rob's voice trembled; he felt as if he were holding a holy relic.
Lynn didn't explain, simply patting him on the shoulder.
"Remember, the existence of this paper must not be known by a fourth person besides the three of you."
"Yes! My Lord!"
Rob felt a fanatical reverence welling up from the bottom of his heart. Such means were unheard of.
---
The departing party was not large.
Lynn, Myrcella, and a small squad of guards.
Lynn was now a warrior without equal; taking the small roads would ensure safety.
As for the other guards, leaving them in King's Landing to help Ned control the Gold Cloaks was the best choice.
The most eye-catching sight was the magnificent black warhorse in front of Lynn.
Storm.
Pitch-black without a single stray hair, powerful hooves, and a full size larger than an ordinary warhorse.
And at this moment, a small figure was seated on Storm's saddle.
Princess Myrcella.
She had shed her elaborate gown, looking no different from an ordinary girl.
Her hands gripped the saddle tightly, looking somewhat uneasy.
This was her first time leaving King's Landing, her first long journey.
And the first time she had been so close to a strange man.
From behind, Lynn gently tugged the reins. Storm let out a neigh and moved slowly forward.
Myrcella's body leaned back uncontrollably, her entire back pressing against Lynn's broad, solid chest.
The little princess's cheeks instantly turned as red as a ripe apple.
She could feel the intense body heat from behind, could smell the clean scent on Lynn—a mix of leather and faint soap.
Her heart beat wildly and traitorously, like a fawn trapped in a cage.
Lynn noticed the strangeness of the little person in his arms.
But his gaze looked past the party ahead, toward the direction of the Red Keep.
In the window of the highest tower, a golden figure flashed by.
It was Cersei.
Lynn knew she was watching.
---
The group traveled north, bidding farewell to the prosperity and filth of King's Landing, entering the vast Riverlands.
The wind began to turn cold.
Myrcella was excited at first, full of curiosity about everything by the roadside.
But the tedium of a long journey soon wore down her novelty. Especially after bouncing on horseback for a full day, her small frame was struggling to cope.
"Is it uncomfortable?"
Lynn's voice came from above her head.
Myrcella shook her head, not wanting him to think she was delicate.
But Lynn reined in the horse.
He took a thick fur cushion from his pack and placed it on the saddle.
Then, he unfastened his black cloak and wrapped it completely around Myrcella's small body from behind.
Only after doing all this did he remount.
Myrcella was entirely nestled in the warm fur and cloak, only her small head poking out.
A sense of security she had never known enveloped her.
She stole a glance backward, seeing only Lynn's sharply defined jawline.
"Thank you, Ser Lynn." Her voice was as thin as a mosquito's.
"Sleep if you're tired."
Lynn's voice was plain.
But Myrcella felt it was more reassuring than any lullaby she had ever heard.
Leaning into Lynn's broad embrace, smelling the scent that put her at ease, her eyelids grew heavy, and she soon drifted into dreamland.
In her dream, there was no coldness of the Red Keep. No desperate look from her mother. Only a warm darkness and a pair of strong arms.
A month flew by in the tedium of travel, Lynn exercising his physique during their downtime...
When the group crossed the Neck and stepped onto the soil of the North, the air already carried a familiar biting chill.
"Winterfell!"
Myrcella was the first to pop her head out, pointing excitedly at the grey silhouette on the distant horizon and shouting.
Just then.
A roar that split the clouds and cracked rocks came from the sky above Winterfell!
Everyone instinctively looked up.
A massive shadow blocked out the afternoon sun, circling above the castle!
"That... what is that?!"
Myrcella's voice trembled.
It was a dragon!
A dragon over ten meters long, with a wingspan that blotted out the sky!
Its scales shimmered with a glacial, spectral blue in the sunlight.
Every beat of its massive wings whipped up a gale, making the banners on the ground snap loudly!
Myrcella's mouth formed an "O," her emerald eyes filled with a shock that overturned her understanding of the world!
She had grown up listening to legends of House Targaryen and dragons.
But how could legends become reality?
And this dragon...
It had three heads!
That's right! Three!
One in the middle, two slightly smaller ones on the sides, like three giant pythons entangled together!
At this moment, the three heads were fighting amongst themselves.
The left head seemed to want to fly east, while the right head insisted on going west.
The biggest head in the middle, caught in between, looked very impatient. It turned and spat a small jet of flame at the left head.
The left head, scalded, let out a yelp and, not to be outdone, turned to bite the middle head.
Seeing the fight break out, the right head—clearly believing that watching the drama wasn't enough without participating—joined the fray.
It howled at the two grappling heads, as if cheering them on.
Three giant dragon heads, like three brats in a brawl, twisted together in the sky. The scene was utterly comical.
"Winter..."
Lynn looked at the living treasure in the sky, a smile of fatherly gratification appearing on his face.
It seemed Robb had fed it well.
During this month of travel, it had grown larger again.
He wondered what sort of pained expression Robb would have when they met.
Keeping it at Winterfell must have been Robb's decision. After all, a dragon of such massive size couldn't exactly be hidden.
Lynn reached out and let out a piercing whistle toward the sky.
The three dragon heads in the sky, in the midst of their scuffle, froze abruptly.
They turned simultaneously, six golden vertical pupils—bright as molten lava—locking onto the tiny figure on the ground in unison.
The next second.
A dragon roar filled with grievance, longing, and boundless joy resounded through the skies of the North.
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