Vito glanced over and saw Tiberius flipping through the stack of books and scrolls Lysandro had given him—thick sheaves on the history of the Three Daughters, maps of the Disputed Lands, accounts of old wars, and fat rolls of commercial ledgers.
Vito raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oi, Lightning, when the hell did you turn into a scholar? Last I checked, you knew fewer letters than men you've killed. You actually understand any of that, or you just like the way the ink smells? Want me to teach you? Ledgers, reports, even a bit of poetry or little stories—I'm way better at this cultured shit than you."
Vito sounded a little proud. In a company full of meat-headed sellswords, he was one of the rare "educated" ones. He'd volunteered to be the company chronicler, passionately scribbling the White Company's official history, secretly writing his own poetry collections, and quietly spreading ballads about "the Honorable" Jules.
The reason "the Honorable" name had spread so far wasn't just Jules's own reputation—it was also thanks to Vito's little "Honorable" bedtime stories.
Though in Tiberius's eyes, Vito's poems and tales were strictly second-rate.
Tiberius looked up, didn't answer right away, just gave a meaningful little smile and gently closed the scroll.
The original body had been half-illiterate. Didn't stop him from learning.
"Can't read it yet? Then I'll learn, Vito," Tiberius said lightly. "Who knows—there might be a lot more places where 'culture' comes in handy later. Actually, I just thought of a fantastic way to make Lord Lysandro owe us another favor."
Vito's eyes narrowed. "What fresh devilry are you cooking up now, kid?"
"Simple," Tiberius said, tapping one of the scrolls. "I don't want the Bloodwave Cape cannibal case to live only in the execution square, tavern gossip, and the Triarchs' council chamber. Sometimes a story needs… professional guidance."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Vito asked, confused. Jules's brows drew together.
"Tiberius," Jules said carefully, "we already made our money. We should stay the hell out of Lysene politics. You know we're just a sellsword company. Next to those big fish we're barely a wolf. We don't have the teeth to get dragged into their games."
Jules was worried Tiberius was about to pull another stunt. The boy's battlefield wasn't the one with warhammers, longswords, and crossbows—it was the bloodless one ruled by wits, schemes, and knives in the dark. And on that field, Jules's twin blades were useless.
Tiberius just smiled, completely confident. "Relax, Uncle. This has nothing to do with city-state politics, or the Rogare-Haen-Ferrero power struggle. Trust me."
Jules looked deeply skeptical.
He still remembered the jaw-dropping silver-tongued performance Tiberius had given in Lysandro's mansion. The man's breathing had actually stopped for a second.
Did this kid even know what he was doing? Seven Hells! We already got the gold—why say "Lord Lysandro's brilliant guidance" like it was the honest truth?
And those "Honorable" romance stories he'd cooked up? They were spreading faster than wildfire. New recruits kept asking: "So… is it true Captain Jules became 'the Honorable' because he once broke a promise to a girl?"
The tale had taken on a life of its own inside the company. Even grizzled veterans were cornering Jules for details. It was getting embarrassing.
Still… it proved one thing: Tiberius's version of the "Honorable" legend was spreading way better than anything Vito had written.
People loved the tragic angle—"the knight who failed once and swore never to fail again"—far more than "the sellsword who simply kept his word like a proper Westerosi."
But when Jules's eyes fell on the piles of gold and the land deeds, any urge to scold Tiberius died instantly.
Without the kid's silver tongue they would never have gotten the estates, the shops, the ships, or this villa. Just the original twelve thousand dragons.
So Jules swallowed his unease. So far Tiberius had never let him down.
Besides… the boy had promised this had nothing to do with politics.
---
"Vito!" Tiberius said, looking pleased with himself. "Round up every bard, storyteller, and rumor-monger who works the taverns, theaters, and back alleys of Lys. Bring them here."
Vito blinked. "What for? You finally wanna spread the 'Lightning Kid' legend and make yourself famous?"
Tiberius grinned. "That's one part. The other part… is to make sure everyone hears how wise, brave, and devoted our Lord Lysandro is—how he personally cracked the Bloodwave Cape case and delivered justice to the people. Don't worry, I'll pay their fees myself. You just make the introductions!"
Jules frowned. "Why? Lysandro's name is already golden. Why are we doing free advertising for him?"
"To him it looks like free work," Tiberius said. "But think about it, Uncle—are we still just 'the sellsword company Rogare hired'? Are you still just the famous 'Honorable' Jules of Essos?"
Jules stayed silent.
He wasn't stupid. After the council showdown, the White Company and House Ferrero were now bitter enemies.
Jules knew exactly how these Lysene triarchs and merchant princes thought. They might be richer than kings, but not one of them had climbed that high without poison, knives in the back, and dirty deals.
"So we don't have a choice," Tiberius said with a smile. "We have to hug Lysandro's thigh and never let go. The moment House Haen and House Rogare allied, we already delivered our 'head on a platter.' Gastor Ferrero is never going to forget that."
"So…"
"So my plan is to make Lysandro realize how valuable we are—valuable enough that protecting us is worth more than throwing us to the wolves." Tiberius tapped the table lightly, smiling. "What I'm doing now is building him up. We'll make sure every version of the Bloodwave Cape story follows the exact narrative Lord Lysandro wants. It's cheap, it's harmless, and it won't give Gastor Ferrero any excuse to come after us."
Jules exhaled. "Fine. Do it."
That was his way of saying go ahead.
He was starting to feel like Tiberius was growing faster than he could keep up with.
"Kid, you make sense… but let me remind you of one thing," Vito said, knocking back a mouthful of strong Myrish wine. He looked at the smug Tiberius and couldn't resist. "My little scholar… you're holding that scroll upside down."
Tiberius: "…"
He glanced down at the inverted parchment in his hands, calmly flipped it the right way up, and kept reading as if nothing had happened.