Mill said in his tenor voice, "But Dr. Wo Grave has his reasons as well.
He believes it is far too unbelievable that Brynden, leading the Raven-Teeth Guard, shot and killed Daemon and his armored son from over four hundred meters away. If he had managed to kill one by sheer luck, perhaps that could be explained as coincidence, but killing three in a row is practically magical.
General, you've been on the battlefield. Have you ever seen such a deadly marksman?"
The dwarf fell silent.
The opera singer from Myr continued, "I asked the Red Arrows of the Summer Islands about it. Their archery is the finest in the world. A light arrow might reach four hundred meters, but it has no killing power at that distance.
Not to mention heavy, armor-piercing arrows penetrating plate at that range.
If a Faceless Man had been hiding among Daemon's men all along, striking in the chaos like when he killed Quentyn Fireball, that would clearly make far more sense."
"But Brynden's most glorious life began with the First Blackfyre Rebellion! If he had already been replaced back then, wouldn't the whole legend of the Bloodraven Duke be nothing but an illusion?" the dwarf murmured.
"That is why it's called The Nonexistent Brynden. There's a very high chance the Bloodraven Duke never existed at all, and everything was simply the Faceless Men of Braavos interfering in the civil wars of the Seven Kingdoms."
The fat man from Myr spoke with an expression full of superiority, as if he alone grasped the truth.
Erasing a man's very existence was far crueler than tearing him from the family lineage.
"It sounds reasonable. Quite brilliant, even. You're almost convincing me. But I've never heard of The Nonexistent Brynden," Arianne said, puzzled.
"Some at the Citadel vehemently oppose altering history, so the script only circulates in a small circle."
This was the sort of divine struggle ordinary mortals would never perceive.
Dany's whispers against Brynden's warped will.
"But Brynden clearly exists."
The dwarf remembered well that the Dragon Queen had spoken of the Three-Eyed Raven many times.
He had never truly believed those exaggerated abilities attributed to the Three-Eyed Raven.
How could a person be that powerful?
If the Three-Eyed Raven could observe timelines at will and twist people's minds, then what meaning would there be for ordinary Westerosi like them to exist at all?
He felt Brynden was likely a powerful skinchanger, and if he possessed deep magic, perhaps he might indeed still be alive, but nothing beyond that.
Tyrion smirked. "Maesters may not fear death, but do you all share their courage? You dare perform these kinds of plays?"
"Afraid? Of course we're afraid! Terrified!" The fat man nodded rapidly. "That's why famous performers like us never stick our necks out. We wait until the street bards have spread the stories far and wide. Only then do we perform."
Tyrion stared blankly.
The Myrish opera singer sighed. "It has always been simple. We perform whatever the audience enjoys.
The topic of Faceless Men touches on mystery, assassination, infiltration, shapeshifting, conspiracy, betrayal, money… far too many crowd-pleasing elements.
Take the Dragon Queen, for example. She's ten times more frightening than the Faceless Men. No matter how deadly the Faceless Men are, what can they truly do to ordinary folk?
But if the Bright Champion takes the form of Deathwing, even the least of her powers can burn a city to ash. At worst she can pluck stars from the sky, call down meteors, and wipe out a city in an instant.
Yet even such a terrifying Dragon Queen has stories written about her. How much more so the Faceless Men?"
Thinking of the stage plays the Ghiscari performed in Volantis, Tyrion was completely speechless.
After a long moment, he muttered, "Since the maesters like making up nonsense so much, perhaps I should ask them to write The True Cause of Duke Tywin's Death. They could say I was replaced by a Faceless Man as well. How about that?"
Arianne rolled her eyes beautifully and said irritably, "If you admit you're fake, then I'll just have you locked up."
"Heh-heh. Just for that one night, I was replaced by a dwarf-shaped Faceless Man. The Faceless Men have become a chamber pot for every excuse; I'm only borrowing it this once. Not too much to ask, is it?" The Imp grinned.
"Dr. Wo Grave's stories all have factual basis. Nothing is made up," the fat man from Myr said with a frown.
"What factual basis do The God of Death's List or Rosy's Dream have? You actually believe the playwrights' stories? Foolish." The dwarf shook his head and sneered.
"Heh-heh." The fat man from Myr chuckled and shook his head, a strange, indecent expression on his face.
"You have dragons. Travel to Oldtown takes only a day or two. Bring quills, wine, and more than a few gold dragons… heh-heh."
The dwarf was shocked. "What, you mean you've actually met her? Who? Rosy?"
The fat man nodded lightly.
"That…" The dwarf was shocked again. Pointing at the fat man, he cried, "You mean she really works as a tavern girl? One copper star per time?"
"Ah, the price has long gone up. A woman like that—who wouldn't want a taste of her charms? As a veteran artist of the people, of course I had to experience life. Otherwise how could I convey the feeling through song, make the audience feel as if they're standing right there?
And because I'm an opera singer, Miss Rosy agreed to meet me.
There was once a sea trader who offered twenty gold dragons for a night with her, and she refused.
Compared to before, her worth has increased not by thousands, but ten-thousandfold!" The fat man smacked his lips in nostalgic delight.
"Rosy is really as beautiful as in the stories?" Tyrion was growing excited.
To meet the legendary heroine of a tale—was that not far more thrilling than liking a character from a film so much you sought out the actress who played her?
Would you rather meet the real Huang Rong, or the actress who plays her?
That's the idea.
"Beautiful. A summer peach blossom come to life, a peerless beauty. But more important is her aura—the faint sorrow on her brows like a fleeting spring dream, her eyes hazy like drifting cloud across a blue sky. When she looks at you, it feels as though she's telling a tender, heartbreaking story. It's enough to kill a man!" the fat man said, trembling with emotion.
Tyrion hesitated for a moment, his heart stirring. "That really is quite…"
"Hmph." Arianne's pretty face frosted over, a trace of mockery at her lips as she let out a series of derisive snorts.
The dwarf shuddered and pulled back the lecherous, bewitched expression on his face. He straightened and said, "Even if Roshi is real, where is the list?"
The fat man also put on a solemn, scholarly expression and lowered his voice. "Two people who died inexplicably back then have recently been confirmed to have been killed by the Faceless Men.
"When they were watching the play The God of Death's List, the employer who had hired the Faceless Men was so terrified that he cried out, 'How could my plot be known?' That gave everything away."
"Is that true?" the dwarf asked in surprise.
"Of course it's true, and there's more. A trade prince dragged him in for questioning. Terrified of the prince's power, and thinking the victims had been dead for years with no family left, he felt there was no need to hide anything, so he told the truth. And the process of hiring the killers was exactly the same as in the play." The fat man spoke in a low voice.
"This is far too shocking," the dwarf murmured.
"Could it be that my uncle was also beheaded by the Faceless Men? I warned him. He should have been under the strict protection of guards." He sounded doubtful.
When Kevan first died, the dwarf did not know the cause. The Dragon Queen suspected Euron's meddling but was not certain.
After all, blood magic that kills from afar is too advanced.
Quaithe and Talem were top geniuses among the Shadowbinders, yet even they could not accomplish such a feat.
But once Euron summoned the sea monster, the dwarf simply attributed his uncle's death to him.
He and Aegon had also been terrified of sudden disaster and intended to flee to Dragonstone for safety.
The Dragon Queen told them that blood magic is hard to learn but easy to defend against. They could stay in Storm's End with their doors barred, or assign guards armed with Valyrian steel to keep watch at their bedside through the night. If they saw a shadow approach, they could cut it down with a single strike. No matter how powerful the sorcery, it would be broken in an instant, and might even rebound on its caster.
When Melisandre killed Renly, Catelyn—an ordinary mortal—could see the shadow clearly and distinctly. How much more so a swordsman constantly on guard?
Had the wolf-mother possessed a Valyrian steel dagger at that moment and thrown it, not only could she have saved Renly, she would likely have slain the Baratheon brothers in one blow, because the shadow was their soul.
Melisandre would also have suffered severe backlash from her magic and might even have died outright.
"Heh heh heh." The fat man's smile turned strange.
"What now?" Tyrion looked up at him. "You may not understand extraordinary powers very well. Killing from afar with blood magic is extremely difficult. Otherwise, this world would have long been ruled by sorcerers."
"My lord, don't joke with me. Who could know better than you how Regent Kevan died? Assassination by the Faceless Men is ten thousand times more reliable than blood magic. But some things everyone knows, and you can't wash your hands of them." The fat man's mouth twitched.
The dwarf's noseless, ugly face twisted into a snarl. "How did the Citadel learn of the Faceless Men's assassination list?"
Seeing his expression, the fat opera-singer truly felt a little frightened.
Who wouldn't fear a creature who murdered his father and uncle?
He quickly forced a smile. "Some say the Faceless Men are not pure as a faction, and that the Citadel has planted spies among them.
"Just like how maesters disguised themselves as slaves to infiltrate the Myrish glassworks and steal the secrets of high-quality glassmaking.
"Just like how maesters stole the forging techniques of Qohor.
"Just like how maesters infiltrated the House of the Undying in Qarth to steal the warlocks' secret arts. And…"
By the end, even the fat man wore an expression of reluctant admiration. "Who hasn't had their knowledge and technology stolen by the maesters?
"I swear, within a few years the Citadel will master papermaking, printing, and other top-tier techniques from Slaver's Bay.
"For all we know, the Citadel is quietly training its own Faceless Men.
"The Dragon Queen and the Faceless Men are terrifying, yes, but Westeros' maesters are clever, brave, fearless, shameless, and far too numerous. There is no defending against them. They are even more frightening."
"Speaking of which, when the Dragon Queen announced the dissolution of the Citadel, the whole world cheered. Everyone said the maesters finally got what they deserved."
Seeing the contempt on Arianne's face, the dwarf felt a spark of curiosity. He waved the fat singer away and asked quietly, "What, was he wrong?"
"The rumor about spies among the Faceless Men was something the Citadel leaked on purpose."
"To cover up the real source of information?" Tyrion gasped. "How do you know that?"
"Why can't Dorne have its own 'Pycelle'?" Arianne sneered.
The dwarf sighed. "So the Citadel really has lost all credibility. Everyone is adding sand to the mix now.
"But what's the point of doing that?
"Why not just dissolve it? The Dragon Queen's school system isn't bad. We could give it a try."
Arianne glanced toward the high seat, where Aegon and his wife were smiling, and asked, "Do you know the Citadel's true source of information?"
"I'm all ears."
"The Citadel has a special operations group. The War of the Usurper was their handiwork. Rickard Stark died horribly, but he was not wronged in the slightest."
Arianne rambled on, recounting the explosive news Dr. Walgrave had revealed.
Clang! The wine cup slipped from Tyrion's hand. His face turned deathly pale as he murmured, "Seven hells… what monstrous thing has the Citadel become?"
(End of chapter)
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