Seeing the few short lines written on the letter, Karl felt a chill crawl up his spine despite the blazing summer heat of King's Landing.
The parchment was light in his hands, yet it carried a weight far heavier than steel.
When it came to the Iron Throne's finances, Karl could confidently say he understood them better than almost anyone alive—perhaps even more than those officially in charge.
After all, he had knowledge from his previous life.
And now, having personally taken over the affairs of King's Landing for some time, he had experienced firsthand just how dire the situation truly was.
The royal treasury was not merely empty—it was barren.
If a mouse wandered inside, it would probably leave behind a grain out of pity before scurrying away in tears.
Robert Baratheon's extravagance was no exaggeration. It was a bottomless abyss.
Yet even in such circumstances, one could not deny Petyr Baelish's talent.
Littlefinger was a man of contradictions.
Born into a minor house with no real influence, most of his life had been spent clawing his way upward. His humiliation at the hands of Brandon Stark and Catelyn had ignited a deep obsession with power and status.
He wanted to become someone important—someone untouchable.
And in achieving that goal, he became something extraordinary.
A master schemer.
A manipulator without equal.
But more importantly—an economic genius.
Back when Lysa Tully married Jon Arryn, she had persuaded her husband to appoint Petyr as the tax collector of Gulltown. From that moment onward, Baelish began to display his brilliance.
Within a short time, he increased the city's tax revenue tenfold.
Tenfold.
Such an achievement was nothing short of miraculous in a feudal society.
Recognizing his ability, Jon Arryn promoted him repeatedly, placing greater and greater trust in him until he finally rose to become Master of Coin under King Robert.
Yet even a man of such capability had been reduced to juggling loans and debts under Robert's reckless spending.
Still, he had used those financial networks to build influence, weaving connections across the realm.
It was precisely because of this that his ability became even more terrifying.
Especially in a world where productivity was low, and economic systems were primitive.
But unfortunately—
His ambition far exceeded his intelligence.
And that made him dangerous.
Too dangerous.
Karl could neither trust him nor control him. Keeping such a man close was like holding a lit fuse in one's hand.
So, in the end, Karl had made his choice.
He removed him.
Now, that position—Master of Coin—had fallen into Karl's hands.
Eddard Stark, seated at the head of the table, misinterpreted Karl's expression entirely.
Seeing Karl holding the letter in silence, his face pale and stiff, Ned assumed the young man was overwhelmed by the sudden promotion.
After all, even Ned himself had struggled to keep up with Robert's impulsive decisions.
So, with patience, he began to explain.
"Littlefinger was murdered by Gregor Clegane. The treasury is currently unmanaged. Karl, you are the most suitable person for this position."
His words carried weight.
As Hand of the King, his approval was effectively an endorsement.
But upon hearing this, Karl merely exchanged a brief glance with Varys, who sat quietly nearby.
The eunuch's face remained calm, a faint smile lingering at the corners of his lips.
He appeared completely uninvolved.
And indeed, in the eyes of the public, he was.
Everyone in King's Landing believed that Varys had narrowly escaped the fall of the city by disguising himself as a beggar.
As for what had happened within the Red Keep—
That blame had been neatly placed elsewhere.
Kevan Lannister had allowed Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch to carry out a second massacre.
No one questioned it.
No one suspected anything.
The deaths of Pycelle and Petyr Baelish had quietly disappeared into the chaos.
Karl and Varys shared a silent understanding.
But outwardly, nothing showed.
Karl still looked troubled.
Varys remained composed.
And so, no one connected the dots.
Eddard, meanwhile, continued watching Karl with concern.
He mistook Karl's hesitation for doubt in his own abilities.
After all, despite Karl's battlefield prowess, he was still young.
Such a reaction was natural.
"Karl," Ned said gently, "you need not worry. The Master of Coin is indeed an important position, but you can grow into it. Take your time."
"Believe in yourself."
Hearing this, Karl couldn't help but smile bitterly.
He really didn't want to shatter Ned's expectations.
After all, the man was genuinely kind.
Too kind.
"Lord Stark," Karl began slowly, "while you were still campaigning in the Riverlands, I was already handling the administrative affairs of King's Landing… using the methods you once taught me at Winterfell."
Ned blinked in surprise.
Only then did he realize his misunderstanding.
"I see… then tell me, what concerns you?"
Karl exhaled quietly.
Where should he even begin?
Of course, he understood the significance of the Master of Coin.
It was one of the most powerful positions in the Small Council.
The responsibilities were vast:
Managing the royal treasury.
Tracking all income and expenditure.
Supervising tax collection, customs duties, and loans.
Overseeing the mints.
Managing countless officials—from treasury masters and accountants to harbor officials, toll collectors, and trade agents.
In essence—
The Master of Coin controlled the financial lifeline of the entire kingdom.
With enough influence, one could wield enormous power behind the scenes.
Compared to that, titles like "Warden of the East" were almost superficial.
Political tools.
Nothing more.
Robert understood his own fragile control over the realm.
Without Jon Arryn, he had lost his strongest stabilizing force.
The Vale was slipping away.
The Stormlands were not entirely loyal.
Even during the rebellion, many of his own vassals had opposed him.
His current authority rested on unstable ground.
That was why he sought allies.
Why he turned to Ned Stark.
And why he made reckless decisions.
Karl looked at Ned and asked quietly:
"My lord… do you know the true state of the royal treasury?"
Ned frowned.
"Is there some difficulty? I remember that Aerys left behind considerable wealth."
Karl let out a dry laugh.
"That was then. This is now."
He raised a hand and began counting.
"The Crown's debt exceeds six million gold dragons."
Ned's eyes widened.
Karl continued calmly.
"Of course, with the Lannisters now prisoners, one might say that part of the debt has conveniently disappeared."
"But even so—the remaining debt still exceeds three million."
"The creditors include House Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several merchant houses from Tyrosh."
"And now, His Majesty intends to host a grand victory tourney."
Karl paused.
"The deficit will grow even further."
Before Ned could respond, Varys spoke softly from the side.
"Perhaps more than you estimate."
He folded his hands into his sleeves.
"The prizes alone—fifty thousand for the champion, thirty thousand for the runner-up, another thirty thousand for the melee winner, and twenty thousand for archery."
"One hundred and thirty thousand gold dragons."
"And that is only the beginning."
He continued smoothly.
"There will be feasts. Entertainment. Construction. Servants, performers, cooks, carpenters…"
Karl added lightly, "And perhaps even a certain dwarf from Winterfell might join the festivities."
Ned, however, was no longer listening.
His expression had gone blank.
What he had thought was a reward…
Was actually a trap.
A massive, inescapable pit.
And he had nearly pushed Karl into it himself.
His voice came out hoarse.
"Jon Arryn would never have allowed this…"
Ser Barristan Selmy finally spoke.
"The Master of Coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it."
"Littlefinger never complained."
"The Hand did—but His Majesty said he hated counting coins."
Those words shattered Ned's final illusion.
He covered his face, rubbing it roughly.
Silence fell over the chamber.
After a long while, Ned looked up at Karl.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I will refuse this appointment for you."
"And I will speak with the King."
"This extravagance must stop."
But just as he was about to rise—
Karl raised a hand.
"Wait."
Ned paused.
Karl's expression had changed.
The earlier gloom had vanished.
In its place—
Confidence.
"Perhaps," Karl said slowly, "we should not refuse just yet."
"The treasury… may not be as hopeless as it seems."
He stepped forward.
Under everyone's gaze, he walked to the empty seat.
And sat down.
The seat of the Master of Coin.
He folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
After two lifetimes—
This was the first true "offer" he had ever received.
"I will take this position," Karl said calmly.
"And I will do my best."
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