Arianne frowned and glanced at the Myrish merchant. "Did the last Long Night affect the continent of Essos? I mean the Others."
The Myrish man was momentarily stunned, then hesitated. "Probably not. The Others are a specialty of your Westeros. If the four-hundred-kilometer-wide Narrow Sea doesn't freeze over, how would those creatures cross?"
"In the legends, at least the Shadow Lands had appearances of the Others. Have you heard the tale of the Bloodstone Emperor, the last emperor of the Great Empire of the Dawn?" Obara, the eldest Sand Snake, said.
"I trade across the Narrow Sea. I've never been to the Jade Sea," the merchant shook his head.
"Recently, quite a few nobles have started arranging for their families to go across the Narrow Sea," Ser Haff said in a low voice.
"Tidehead Island has become so prosperous precisely because it's close to King's Landing, yet not connected to the mainland. The Others can't reach it," the Myrish merchant said.
Arianne said, "Ser Barristan is building the Neck's defensive line with the help of the crannogmen. After that, there will be the Trident defensive line.
Even if the Others break into the riverlands, the Dragon Queen's 'Warriors of the Dawn' can provide support at any time. There's no need to worry too much."
"The news coming from the north is terrifying. I heard the entire Winterfell was frozen inside a two-thousand-meter-high iceberg?" Ser Hogg looked at Arianne. "Your Highness was at Winterfell at the time, right? How did you escape?"
"I was in the crypts. At the time, I didn't even know there was a forbidden spell outside. I was half-conscious, only feeling that the air had become extremely cold."
Arianne's cheeks were flushed, whether from embarrassment or alcohol, it was hard to tell.
"At that time, the forbidden spell had already been disrupted by the Dragon Queen. The power of ice was completely released into the sky, and the moisture in the air froze, forming the iceberg.
Otherwise, even hiding underground, you would have been frozen into an icicle.
But I wasn't afraid at all. The forbidden spell was held back by the Dragon Queen and the Seven Gods. Killing ordinary wights and Others is still easy for us.
Actually, I really want to try dueling the Night King. My swordsmanship comes directly from my father. It's definitely no worse than that Benjen's," said Theresa excitedly, dressed in a white septa's robe.
She was the third of the Sand Snakes, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a sweet appearance. Because her mother was a septa, she had worn a septa's robe since childhood, but what she excelled at most were the poisons and dark sorcery inherited from her father.
A voodoo septa.
Ser Hogg stared at the sweet-looking Theresa, his eyes somewhat dazed.
"After experiencing such a brutal battle at Winterfell, Miss Theresa still has the courage to challenge the Night King. That truly shames those northerners who sacrificed infants to the cold god before even fighting," he praised.
As soon as these words were spoken, the atmosphere at the table suddenly became somewhat heavy.
Sacrificing to the cold god and massacres were both taboo topics.
The Myrish merchant gulped down a mouthful of strong liquor and bared his teeth. "Your kings are becoming more insane with each generation. Even the savage Dothraki leave some people alive as slaves after breaking a city."
Ser Haff's expression turned ugly. "Those people sacrificed to the cold god, providing the Night King with warriors of the Others. Their crimes are unforgivable."
Although he also strongly disliked King Stannis's actions, being mocked by a foreigner to his face still made him very unhappy, even if he wasn't the direct target.
Sensing the hardened attitudes of the Westerosi around him, the Myrish merchant shrugged. "The Others aren't the main topic today. Let's talk about the loan instead.
I've visited both of your lands, but they really aren't worth that price."
Ser Hogg and Ser Haff glanced at Arianne and the others, their expressions slightly awkward. But they were indeed in urgent need of money, so they could only grit their teeth and begin bargaining with the Myrish merchant.
After listening to the three men talk for a while, Arianne quickly understood the situation.
Westeros had been in constant war and turmoil, and the Crownlands were the inevitable battleground for every king's campaign.
Like Guanzhong and Luoyang during the Three Kingdoms period, this once fertile land of hundreds of thousands of households had been trampled repeatedly by the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Now it had become a desolate wasteland, with bleached bones exposed in the wild and no sound of chickens for a thousand miles.
Endless warfare was already a tragedy, and with the addition of the Long Night's winter, the nobles of the Crownlands could no longer endure. They had no choice but to sell off their assets, even mortgaging the mines and taxes of their fiefs to borrow money from bankers across the Narrow Sea to buy food for the winter.
"Hiss, the price of grain has risen to this extent?"
Hearing that Ser Haff had exchanged thirty years of taxes from his lands for five hundred tons of wheat and one hundred tons of salted meat, Arianne couldn't help but cry out in shock.
This Ser Neville Haff was only a knight, but the Haff family held an earldom and lands. However, the current Earl of Haff was a five-year-old girl, so family affairs were managed by relatives.
An earldom, especially in a prosperous place like the Crownlands, exchanging thirty years of taxes for only six hundred tons of food.
"In peaceful summers without war, Haff Castle alone could produce thousands of tons of wheat and fruit each year. One copper coin could buy five large, crisp red apples," Ser Haff said dejectedly.
"As you said, that was in peaceful summers. Now there's war and the Long Night," the Myrish merchant said with a smile.
"You vampires from the Free Cities are practically robbing us!" Arianne said angrily, empathizing deeply.
The Myrish merchant argued, "Grain costs this much now. After the Long Night, it's impossible to grow crops. Every grain of wheat eaten is one less. It's more precious than gold. After all, even during the Long Night, miners can still dig gold."
"While Westeros suffers through the Long Night, you're enjoying a feast. That's not fair."
At this point, Septa Theresa's eyes rolled slightly, and a sweet smile appeared on her face. In a crisp, sugary voice, she said, "Perhaps we should suggest to the 'Anti-Other Committee' that if any city across the Narrow Sea refuses to give us food, we catch a few Others and throw them over.
We nearly captured the Night King. Catching a few Others isn't difficult at all."
The Myrish merchant looked as if he had seen a female Other. His face was full of terror, and his trembling hand pointed at the Sand Snake. "Y-you're a septa! Mother above!"
The two knights also turned pale, all previous thoughts vanishing instantly. This was a Sand Snake, the daughter of the "Red Viper," Oberyn!
Theresa rolled her eyes charmingly and said irritably, "You're a Myrish man calling on the 'Mother'? Do you also believe in the Seven Gods?"
"Yes, I've converted to the Faith of the Seven," the Myrish man said proudly. "Back in Myr, I even cleared out a coffin shop at the end of the street and turned it into a small sept where the neighbors can pray."
"A coffin shop? Is it because the Others have been causing trouble recently, so the coffin business collapsed? I thought only Westeros' coffin shops were going bankrupt. I didn't expect those across the Narrow Sea couldn't hold on either," Arianne said oddly.
During the Battle of Winterfell, many armored wights carrying weapons appeared. Most of their bodies were decayed, clearly having been dead for many years.
The sigils on their armor revealed their identities: ancestors of northern noble families.
One could easily imagine the scene: on the walls of Winterfell, a northern knight was wielding a dragonbone blade, slaughtering enemies behind a siege ladder. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared before him, with a familiar decayed face, familiar armor, and the same family sigil.
His ancestral grave had been desecrated, and now his own forebear was raising a rusted sword to strike him?
The faces of the northern soldiers turned green.
Naturally, when the post-battle reports from Winterfell were sent south in official bulletins, coffin shops across the Seven Kingdoms immediately became deserted.
The Myrish merchant's dark face flushed slightly with embarrassment. "Most of the coffins in my shop were exported to King's Landing."
"Turning a coffin shop into a sept is simply blasphemy against the Seven Gods," Arianne shook her head.
"Your Highness, you can't say that. Compared to other shops, a coffin shop is spacious yet not too conspicuous. And the Stranger represents death! In fact, my little sept only enshrines the Mother and the Stranger," the Myrish merchant said.
"Have you been to King's Landing? The Great Sept of Baelor is conspicuous enough, isn't it? Yet you deliberately chose an inconspicuous coffin shop. The Stranger will probably drag you to the seven hells," Arianne mocked.
"Different national conditions!" the Myrish merchant shook his head and sighed. "In Westeros, the Seven Gods are the mainstream faith, but Myr is dominated by followers of the Red God.
Think about how fanatical the followers of the Red God are. Just look at those red priests in Qohor who tried to burn down the Black Goat temple.
It's not that I lack money, nor that I can't build a sept in the city center, but that would be too eye-catching.
If it provokes the Red God's followers, the entire building could be burned down by fanatical red priests.
So my plan is to first develop followers in a remote area. Once the surrounding people begin to believe in the Seven Gods, the red priests may become more cautious."
Such careful planning left everyone astonished. This Myrish man had put so much thought into it. It seemed he truly believed in the Seven Gods.
"You used to believe in R'hllor too. Why did you convert?" Arianne asked curiously.
The Myrish merchant hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a small red cloth pouch the size of a chicken liver from under his collar.
"An indulgence?!" several Westerosi exclaimed in unison.
The Myrish man nodded, then carefully tucked the pouch back against his chest and sighed. "I trade across the Narrow Sea and spend at least four months a year in Westeros. I already had some understanding of the Faith of the Seven and even attended several sermons by the High Sparrow. Converting was only natural."
"You're just afraid of death," Septa Theresa sneered.
The Myrish merchant's lips twitched slightly. "Who isn't afraid of death?"
"The Red God's church also claims that after death, believers go to the true lord R'hllor's paradise, with virgins and endless pleasures. That sounds pretty good too.
Back when I was in Oldtown, I was almost recruited into the Red God's church by a red-robed priest from Lys," Obara said.
Obara's mother was a prostitute in Oldtown. When she was about to come of age, Prince Oberyn found her and threw a spear at her feet, asking: would you choose this, or your mother?
The young Obara picked up the spear and became a formidable warrior, while her prostitute mother died of alcoholism a year after losing her daughter.
Before Oberyn came, however, Obara had been targeted by red priests because of her tall build. They planned to buy her as a "holy servant," riding horses to guard the Red Temple by day and men by night to earn money.
A shrewd look flashed in the Myrish merchant's eyes as he said in a deep voice, "No one has ever seen the Red God's paradise, but many people have personally witnessed the miracles of the Mother. Some have even returned from heaven, describing its scenes, its people, and how it operates.
More importantly, the teachings of the Seven Gods are very humane, while R'hllor's reputation is not as good as that of the Lord of Light."
"The Lord of Light is R'hllor, isn't it?" Ser Hogg asked in confusion.
(End of Chapter)
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