After temporarily sorting out the chaos in the Eyrie, Karl rubbed his temples as a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. The meeting had finally ended, and he parted ways with the lords of the Vale in the great hall, watching their figures disappear one by one.
Walking back toward the Maiden Tower where he was currently lodged, Karl let out a long, weary sigh. Through the tall windows, the Vale lay shrouded in drifting clouds, its mountains looming like silent judges.
Having just finished the meeting, and then being "politely" arranged to take responsibility for looking after the young lord, how could Karl not understand what had really happened?
He had been used.
Used thoroughly and cleanly by those old foxes.
Yet after thinking it over again and again, he had still accepted the task.
Part of it was gratitude—gratitude for the kindness Robert Arryn's father had once shown him, and for the grace that had allowed him to grow up in the Eyrie. Part of it was necessity. And part of it was that refusing outright would only have made things worse.
Shaking his head, Karl adjusted the gilded longsword at his waist and continued down the white stone corridor, his steps steady but his mind in turmoil.
He had only been in the Eyrie for two days.
In those two days, he had done almost nothing—and yet everything.
First, by chance and without intent, he had uncovered and neutralized a hidden danger planted deep within the Vale. Then, before he had even caught his breath, Lysa Tully had attempted to assassinate him.
And the only reason any of this had been possible was because he was a "cheater."
If it were anyone else—if it were even a legendary knight wielding a divine blade, someone like Barristan the Bold endowed with unwavering courage—the outcome would have been the same.
Blocked at the door.
Burned alive.
From beginning to end, this hidden danger in the Vale had been a dead end—a trap designed to leave no survivors.
That realization made Karl feel both chilled and oddly fortunate.
If his personal combat strength had not been absurdly overwhelming, every single Vale lord who had stood freely in the hall earlier that day would already be ash scattered on the mountain winds.
Whether by luck or fate, he had broken through two conspiracies in succession. Not only that—he had managed to turn the tables and revive what should have been a hopeless situation.
And yet, Karl was perfectly clear about one thing.
This had posed no real threat to the true mastermind behind the scenes.
Not even close.
Once Lysa Tully had conceived the plan and carried it out so decisively, the matter had already been dragged into the open. To Bronze Yohn Royce and the other lords, it could easily be dismissed as another episode of Lysa Tully's madness—an impulsive act consistent with her long history of instability.
After all, no one ever expected sanity from a madwoman.
But Karl saw it differently.
With the perspective of a traveler—someone who knew how history should have unfolded—he could see far more clearly than they ever would.
These two schemes, one overt and one hidden, one light and one shadow, had likely begun the moment Lysa summoned the Vale nobles in the name of the Lord of the Eyrie.
That also explained why she had deliberately detained the lords, stalling again and again, waiting for an envoy from King's Landing to arrive.
Under normal circumstances, it was a flawless plan.
No—more accurately, it was a final gambit.
If Karl had not come to the Eyrie, then everyone present at that moment—including the envoy from the Iron Throne—would have died quietly within these mountains.
Afterward, all Lysa would have needed was a simple lie.
And when the true conspiracy finally fermented and exploded, what awaited House Baratheon would have been destruction within a single generation.
The Seven Kingdoms would have fractured in the shortest possible time.
Karl did not know exactly what the forces beyond the Narrow Sea would do. The Free Cities were complicated, unpredictable.
But he knew this much:
Once the Seven Kingdoms were swallowed by continuous war, they would regress completely—returning to the era before the Targaryens, when Westeros was divided and endlessly bloodied.
Without the absolute deterrent of dragons, the result would resemble the collapse of the Qin Dynasty in his previous life.
And such chaos would not end quickly.
The conspirators lurking in the shadows would stir the waters relentlessly, turning the realm into a battlefield where only the last survivor mattered.
A true battle royale.
In such a scenario, Daenerys Targaryen—comfortably enjoying her fragile happiness across the Narrow Sea—might well become the final victor.
After all, all the Mother of Dragons truly needed was time.
Karl's steps slowed as his thoughts deepened. His fingers tapped unconsciously against the scabbard at his waist, his eyes narrowing.
"But that's only if the dragons exist…"
He stopped abruptly in the corridor.
"If her dragons never hatched, then Daenerys would be nothing more than a useful pawn."
Silence fell.
Realization struck like a hammer.
"…That spider," Karl muttered darkly. "He's not clean either."
His expression hardened. Suddenly, he punched the stone wall beside him with a dull thud.
"Grass!"
The curse, spoken in a tongue no one in this world could understand, echoed faintly down the corridor.
Karl shook out his hand, then dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration before continuing onward.
Only now did he fully grasp it.
From afar, without even realizing it, he had already played a game of chess against conspirators buried deep in the shadows. Their ability to seize opportunities and adapt sent a chill through his spine.
If not for his unfair advantage, he would never have known how he died.
So this was how the so-called protagonists of the original story had fallen.
Robb Stark at the Red Wedding.
Eddard Stark, beheaded in King's Landing.
There had been mistakes. There had been foolishness.
But until now, Karl had never truly understood the crushing weight of these plots.
"Damn it," he muttered. "None of them are easy to deal with."
"Even these so-called honorable knights in the Vale…"
After venting his anger, Karl let out another sigh.
At least the old foxes here were not completely shameless. Though they had placed Robert Arryn in his care—using the 'Son of Heaven' to bind him—they had also given him tangible authority.
On the surface, they had merged his title of Warden of the East with that of Lord of the Eyrie.
In truth, they were simply watching him.
The moment Robert Arryn came of age, Karl would have no choice but to step aside.
And by then, Robert would be properly trained—and safely protected under Karl's shadow.
Unless they were fools, these lords knew that in the coming war, this unexpected bastard would inevitably rise.
Because the stage had been set that way.
"So it's just a limited-time trial card…" Karl muttered bitterly.
His hair was already a mess by the time he reached the bottom of the Maiden Tower.
This trip to the Vale had saved the realm—and nearly killed him.
Compared to this, a month of bloody fighting north of the Red Fork had been easier.
"Right… and Samwell Tarly is another headache."
Scratching his scalp, Karl climbed the spiral staircase.
The Maiden Tower, easternmost of the Eyrie's seven towers, overlooked the entire Vale and the Giant's Lance.
It was the first time in over ten years that Karl had lived here.
Yet he had no mood to admire the view.
Inside his room, four figures were waiting.
Jon Snow.
Jory Cassel.
Hall of the Black Stone Mercenaries.
And Samwell Tarly.
These were all the people he could rely on in the Eyrie.
Samwell barely counted.
Looking at them, Karl felt a sudden wave of exhaustion.
"Lord… do you have any arrangements?" Hall asked carefully.
"Arrangements?" Karl snapped. "What arrangements? I don't even dare raise my voice here!"
Jon and Jory exchanged glances, rolling their eyes internally.
They had seen how terrified the Vale lords looked.
If Karl didn't dare speak loudly, then those lords must communicate in gestures.
Karl paced, venting.
"I don't have men! I don't have strength!"
Then he froze.
"Mountain Clans…"
His eyes lit up dangerously.
"Well then," Karl grinned. "Let's go kill them."
"No—integrate them."
He laughed softly.
Then he turned to Samwell.
"You're coming too."
"I'll give you a sword."
"Let Lord Randyll see whether you're worthy of Heartsbane."
With me here, you're playing single-player mode.
And with that decision, Karl finally felt alive again.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)