Since ascending to the throne, Renly had never resorted to violence in court. Seeing his current actions, everyone assumed there was an issue with Tyrion's story.
Any confirmed sighting of Joffrey, the third-highest-ranking figure in the army of the dead, would immediately mobilize the kingdom's most powerful mages for a hunt. With the Seven Kingdoms still at war, falsifying military intelligence was a grave offense. Just as everyone was waiting for Tyrion to confess, Sauron stepped forward.
"Your Grace! I personally examined and burned the corpse."
"Oh?" With a questioning tone, Renly withdrew his magical pressure and turned to the man who had stepped forward.
"The troops stationed in Maidenpool were from Tyrosh. When they discovered the corpse in the castle dungeon, they immediately reported it to the Tyroshi fleet at the port. Once I received word, I flew there on dragonback to investigate. The wounds on the body and the inscriptions on the wall matched Tyrion's account."
Sauron was not skilled at lying. His tone sounded as if he were reciting a textbook passage.
"If that's the case." Renly retracted his power, patted Tyrion's shoulder reassuringly, then turned to Sauron. "Where is Baemon?"
"Baemon?" Caught off guard by the sudden change of topic, Sauron was momentarily puzzled but quickly answered, "He has no military duties and isn't required at today's meeting. He's probably still asleep at the Magic Academy."
Renly said nothing in response. He studied Sauron for a few moments before returning to the Iron Throne.
With Tyene and Wright missing and Nymeria drowning in grief, Tyrosh's military and political affairs had fallen into Sauron's hands over the past few days.
Renly's gaze swept over Ashara Dayne, Hobber Redwyne, Gunthor Hightower, Dickon Tarly, Allard Swann, Balon Swann, Andrew Estermont, Gendry Waters, Asha and Theon Greyjoy, Wendel Manderly, and Missandei. These were the vassals of the Tyrosh and the officials left in charge. Even his once-indolent cousin Andrew now oversaw the kingdom's overseas intelligence network. These people might seem harmless, but each was formidable in their own right—shaped by Wright's careful tutelage.
The most troublesome were the two faction leaders, Garlan Tyrell and Aurane Velaryon. Wright had skillfully kept them in check, but Sauron, only ten years old, was far from capable of managing their power struggles.
On top of that, there was the ongoing rivalry between the new maesters and the Citadel, the outlaw bands roaming the Rhoyne, the mercenary companies maneuvering in the shadows, the vast financial empire capable of toppling a city-state, and the subordinate nations of Volantis, Lys, and Pentos. Then there was the brewing conflict between the Dragon Cult and the Faith of the Seven, along with dozens of other religious factions crowding Tyrosh's main island. Just thinking about it gave Renly a headache.
Joffrey's pursuit was of little concern to him. With the Night King's soul trapped and no magical conduit to draw power from, these foreign vampires were significantly weakened. Even an intermediate-level mage could dispatch one with ease.
However, Tyrion and Sauron's lies had given Renly a new perspective. If Wright never returned, preparations for Sauron's future rule had to begin immediately. If Sauron lost control of Tyrosh, any instability spilling into Westeros could ignite a war. Even with dragons, there was no guarantee their fire would be aimed at the right enemies.
Since Tyrosh's acting governor, Sauron, had vouched for the claim, truth or not, it was now reality.
"I issue this decree in the name of the King!" Renly's voice echoed through the hall, silencing all murmurs.
"I appoint Jon Snow, Commander of the City Watch, as expedition leader. Dickon Tarly will lead the Dragonguard in support. Twenty mages from the King's Landing Magic Academy and six necromancers from Dragonstone will be dispatched immediately to hunt down the vampire Joffrey!"
"As you command!" Dickon stepped forward to accept the order, while several messengers rushed out of the hall to find Jon Snow.
The Dragonguard, clad entirely in silver armor, were just as lethal against vampires as mages. Thanks to their specialized training, they were also expert trackers.
"I summon, in the name of the King, Darkseid Martell, acting lord of Sunspear, Sauron Baratheon, acting lord of Tyrosh, Lilith Baratheon, and Baemon Baratheon. You have five days to arrive in King's Landing!"
Renly was not finished. "Six days from now, I will personally lead these five to the Reach to find my brother, Wright, accompanied by Prince Lyonel."
Ravens would take at least three days to reach Sunspear and Tyrosh. For them to arrive in King's Landing within two days, they would have to travel by dragon.
"Six dragons setting out together?"
The King's decree in the Red Keep's great hall was absolute.
During wartime, it was customary to leave one male heir behind to ensure a family's survival. Previously, the Baratheons had dragons but had not deployed them, adhering to Westerosi tradition. But now, with the war over, the royal dragons were gathering. Who was the King trying to intimidate? The nobles in the hall each had their own thoughts.
---
After the meeting, the nobles gradually exited the Red Keep, while Tyrion and Sauron, both dressed in black, headed toward the castle's training grounds.
"Shul~~vo~~kun~~"
Sauron called to the skies. A black dragon, flying alongside its brethren, turned its head toward the Red Keep, broke formation, and slowly descended in spirals.
"Every time you use magic to summon a dragon, it's absolutely breathtaking!" Tyrion dug a finger into his ear. "Next time, could you do it farther away from me?"
"You'll get used to it." Sauron stretched his limbs, preparing to leap onto the dragon's back. "I handled myself well in the hall, didn't I?"
Tyrion tugged at his trousers, visibly irritated. "Oh, splendid! If you had waited just a few seconds longer to step forward, I would have pissed myself in front of the Iron Throne!"
The shadow of the black dragon loomed over them as it descended, and Tyrion raised his hand to shield himself from the powerful gusts stirred by its wings.
"Lord Tyrion, don't forget your promise! Find Ramsay Snow, who's hiding somewhere in the Riverlands—I want to kill him with my own hands!" Sauron gestured as if slitting a throat.
Having grown up hearing tales of the Demon Squad, Sauron knew well how these bandits roamed along the rivers, using the dense forests as cover. The Tyroshi had spent years trying to eradicate them, but even with tremendous manpower and resources, they had failed.
Now that he possessed power rivaling the Night King and had taken over the affairs of Tyrosh, with command over its armies, Sauron decided to personally eliminate these two scourges. It would be the first great deed he accomplished for the people. He had spent days questioning Tyroshi officials and gathering every scrap of intelligence on the Demon Squad.
Tyrion had arrived in King's Landing with the Volantene fleet, originally responsible for logistical support in the city. On the fifth day of Wright's disappearance, he took the initiative to contact Sauron.
Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, had indeed been so starved that he ate his own foot, but his actual cause of death was blood loss. There was no vampire involved at all. It was Tyrion who had conspired with Sauron to frame Joffrey for the crime.
Everyone in House Baratheon had already accepted the truth about Joffrey after Robert's death. Officially, Jaime was now the Lord of the Westerlands, but in practice, it was Willem and his wife, Rosamund, who controlled and would inherit the region. To avoid tarnishing Jaime's reputation and to secure a better future for the Westerlands, Joffrey had to die.
By sheer coincidence, news of Littlefinger's death arrived at that moment, and Tyrion proposed a deal with Sauron, using House Lannister's thirst for vengeance as a pretext. If Sauron helped frame Joffrey, King Renly would send his formidable cadre of sorcerers to hunt the boy down. In exchange, Sauron would receive intelligence on Ramsay's whereabouts.
After all, it was just a vampire doomed to die anyway—there was no real loss in making the deal with Tyrion.
With a thunderous crash, the black dragon landed.
Tyrion rubbed his eyes. "The spies from Myr infiltrated the Demon Squad last year, but they might have lost their lives sending out reports. If this succeeds, make sure their families receive compensation."
"Money? No problem! If I run short, I'll just borrow from Kana." The moment Sauron finished speaking, a white glow flared from his hand, grasping the dragon's horn as he hoisted himself onto its back.
Tyrion chuckled—Sauron had no clue how his own territory's finances operated.
As the dragon took off, its wings kicked up even stronger winds, forcing Tyrion to step back toward the edge of the training yard. "When I first met Shulvokun, it was only a few months old! Just a tiny, pitch-black hatchling. Now, one of its toenails is three times my height!"
Sauron patted the black dragon's horns and shouted down, "Hah! Want me to take you for a ride, Lord Tyrion?"
Tyrion crossed his arms. "Only if you're willing to wash my piss-soaked trousers afterward!"
"You really make it hard for people to like you. I'm off!" Sauron ignored him and urged the dragon skyward.
The fierce winds swept away the dust, leaving Tyrion standing alone in the Red Keep's courtyard.
"Only your father, Wright, ever saw me as a normal person. He was the only friend I've ever had in my life."
Standing still, Tyrion watched as the black dragon circled a few times before diving toward the Magic Academy. Only then did he slowly make his way toward the Red Keep.
Wright had been missing for days. Nymeria had locked herself in her chambers, despondent. All of Tyrosh's affairs now fell to Sauron. Having thoroughly analyzed the situation and gathered reports on the monster that had fought Wright, Tyrion began preparing for the worst.
Sauron and Quaithe had immense magical power and dragons, but their understanding of military and political matters was woefully immature.
Since Wright had designated Sauron as his successor in Tyrosh, Tyrion felt it was both his duty and obligation to help the young man solidify his rule—as repayment for Wright's kindness. As for Sauron's future heirs? That was none of his concern.
He was an outsider, a Lannister who had once been at odds with the Baratheons. The only way to ensure his position was secure was to tell the king a well-constructed lie, one that contained just enough truth to be believable. Heartbeat, breathing, pupil dilation—none of these could escape the senses of the world's second-greatest sorcerer. Fortunately, Renly quickly grasped the unspoken reasoning behind it.
Renly would undoubtedly question Sauron about the deception in private, but such dealings were common among the nobility and posed no real issue. Whether the knowledge Renly imparted to the next generation would be useful in Tyrosh was uncertain, but forging stronger ties among the Baratheon kin was already an accomplished step. Having dragons and powerful magic provided a foundation of stability—life must first be preserved before anything else could be built upon it.
In the vast, empty corridor, only Tyrion's footsteps echoed. The Red Keep's great hall was deserted. He walked up to the steps before the entrance, sat down cross-legged, and gazed at the towering Iron Throne.
What he had done today carried immense risk. Lying to the king could mean losing his tongue or his head. Tyrion had carefully assessed Renly's personality and the political landscape before daring to act.
The stone floor beneath his hand slowly warmed. Tyrion shifted onto his side, glancing once more at the Iron Throne before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. He remained there, lying at the doors of the great hall, as if drifting into sleep.
Supporting Renly in aiding Sauron's takeover of Tyrosh, however, had a deeper reason—one he dared not speak of to anyone.
He feared Wright's eldest son, Darkseid, ruling Tyrosh.
Tyrion recalled drinking with Wright, who often spoke of how he had originally placed all his hopes on his firstborn son. Darkseid possessed magical talent and intelligence rivaling his father's. At the time, Tyrion had thought Wright was exaggerating. But as the child grew, everyone came to recognize his extraordinary gifts.
Unfortunately, as Darkseid matured, he buried himself deeper into magic, losing himself in its research. Wright eventually sent him to Sunspear, keeping him away from Tyrosh's Magic Academy under the pretense of outlawing human experimentation. But in truth, he feared that one day, Darkseid's research would lead to catastrophe.
Tyrion had never been afraid of anyone in his life. He had no magical abilities whatsoever, not even a hint of arcane talent in his blood. Yet whenever he was near Darkseid, his skin would crawl, his instincts screaming at him to flee.
Tyrion understood why he felt fear, especially when Darkseid, having noticed an anomaly, placed his fingers against his own clothes, tracing the locations of his internal organs one by one while explaining their functions.
There was an utter disregard for life in Darkseid—an apathy so profound that even slaughtering an entire city would not stir the slightest ripple in his heart. To him, all living beings were merely objects for study.
Sauron was still young and had no heirs. If he ever lost control of Tyrosh or met with an accident, Darkseid would be the first in line to inherit his position.
With Sauron's warlike nature, the bloodshed he brought would only happen on foreign continents, his blade cutting only his enemies. But if Darkseid took power, the entire world would become his plaything.
The Trial of Grasses had transformed Geralt, and unknown magic had reshaped Sauron. How powerful would Darkseid's magic be in the future, given his mastery of both? A shiver ran down Tyrion's spine at the thought, and his skin prickled with goosebumps.
---
Six dragons gathered in King's Landing. After a day of rest, ensuring the beasts were well-fed and watered, House Baratheon's six dragonriders set out for the Reach, fully armed.
The dangers they faced were unknown, and to ensure their safety, the six dragons did not split up to search but instead moved together as one.
They scoured every place Wright had ever appeared, as well as those he had not. Highgarden, Horn Hill, Oldtown, the Arbor, Starfall—there was no trace of him.
A month later, Renly and his party returned to King's Landing.
Renly did not declare Wright dead; he was officially recorded as missing. Only after a full year had passed without his return would Sauron be able to formally inherit the title of Lord of Tyrosh. No one objected to this arrangement.
Under the king's decree, a grand victory feast was held in King's Landing for three days.
Countless knights had fallen on the battlefield, but many had also won great glory. Some noble houses had been wiped out entirely, while new families had risen from the ashes of war. Those who had performed legendary deeds were knighted personally by the king, while the retainers of other lords also awaited their turn to be honored.
Freshly bathed and dressed, their armor polished to a gleaming shine, the knights stood proud as banners of every color fluttered across the city. The triumphant blare of war horns never ceased. The first day's knighting ceremony lasted from morning until noon, continued after the midday feast, and only ended just before the evening banquet.
On the second day, in addition to feasting, there was a grand ball. The sheer number of nobles gathered in King's Landing made the Red Keep's halls too cramped to accommodate them all. At Renly's command, the venue was moved to the massive Dragon Square beside the Magic School, where an open-air ball was held. Wooden poles were erected, and the mages enchanted light orbs illuminated the entire square as if it were daylight.
A new generation had risen to take the stage, replacing the old. Young nobles stepped forward, newly ennobled houses joined the ranks of the elite, and men and women danced joyfully together. Talk of marriage alliances dominated the city's conversations.
Among those accustomed to the delicate and extravagant beauty of soft-spoken noblewomen, the bold and battle-hardened Dornish female knights—whose muscular, toned bodies bore the marks of shared battlefields and bloodshed—were suddenly the most sought-after partners among the young nobility. A wife who could fight alongside her husband on the battlefield meant double the benefits for her house.
With the exception of the culturally conservative Vale and the frigid North, young nobles from the Crownlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands eagerly sought Dornish brides.
"Oh, how I long for your obsidian-like arms to wrap around my throat!"
"I hear you're a skilled fighter. Let's find a place to spar tonight—if you win, I'm yours to command."
"I love how you throw punches at the slightest provocation!"
These, as summarized by the young men that night, were the three most popular love confessions among Dornish women.