Chapter 104: Tyrion's Ability Assessment
Tyrosh, South Port Trade District, Administrative Hall — Assessment Area
"Why don't we just go up and reveal our identities? That way, we should be taken straight to the Archon's Palace!"
After taking a bite of the jerky handed out by the assessment staff, Bronn asked Tyrion with visible confusion.
"This is Tyrosh. Aside from Westerosi, who would recognize me here? If we're treated as troublemakers and thrown out, your plan will fall apart."
Tyrion was somewhat tempted by Bronn's suggestion, but his cautious nature told him the risk was too great. Moreover, he was quite confident in his own knowledge, so he intended to go through the assessment honestly.
"That's not certain. If it doesn't work out, I can just tie you up and drag you back. I've been thinking—when it comes to heads, people go back on their word easily. Better to just bind you first."
Hearing Bronn's words, Tyrion rolled his eyes helplessly. In this short time, he had gained a certain understanding of this man's peculiar sense of humor, so he didn't take the words seriously.
They were currently in the first-floor lobby of a building in Tyrosh's South Port Trade District. The queue they stood in had grown very long, separated from the surroundings by two rows of wooden railings.
People on the left were heading upstairs with smiles on their faces, while those on the right walked toward the exit with dejected expressions. Members of the City Watch, clad in dyed Tyroshi cloaks, maintained order.
"Huh? Why are those men still wearing shackles? Wait… those aren't shackles—there are no chains, just two metal rings."
As Tyrion observed his surroundings, he noticed something unusual.
"Who knows? Maybe it's some kind of mark of status."
Bronn's view was straightforward. He noticed that most of those people were thin and looked like former slaves. However, in a place where slavery had supposedly been abolished, he didn't dare say it aloud.
"Hey! My friend! What's with those men? Some sort of strange ornament?"
Naturally curious, Tyrion called out directly to a patrolling City Watch guard.
Fortunately, the man happened to understand the Common Tongue, allowing Tyrion to quickly receive an answer.
"They call themselves the 'Sons of Aegon,' people who have chosen to devote their faith entirely to Lord Aegon."
"Lord… Aegon?"
Hearing that title, Tyrion repeated it in surprise.
"No, wait—shouldn't Prince Aegon already have crowned himself king? Why do you still address him that way?"
"Prince Aegon has not been crowned!"
A trace of pride appeared in the guard's eyes as he saw Tyrion's astonishment. He was originally from King's Landing and had been rescued; although he had been cut during recent military reforms, he still managed to join the City Watch.
"Lord Aegon says that a true king is recognized by the people, not self-proclaimed. What he seeks is character and strength, not the empty title of 'King.'"
"My strength is unmatched, yet you treat me like this!"
Just as Tyrion was about to continue asking questions, a burst of shouting came from ahead on the right, followed by the sounds of a struggle.
"Oh ho! Now that's something worth watching!"
Bronn, who had been silent until now, immediately perked up at the commotion.
The City Watch guard, sensing trouble, hurried over, leaving Tyrion's questions unanswered.
"What's going on? Bronn, do you know the man causing trouble?"
Seeing Bronn's amused expression, Tyrion asked.
"From the voice, that should be Samwell Flowers—the 'Savage Bear.' A bit slow in the head. Someone probably provoked him, otherwise he wouldn't dare cause trouble here."
Boom—
Before Tyrion could continue questioning, a sudden thunderous sound erupted from ahead.
Immediately afterward, cries of shock rang out, mixed with words like "sorcery" and "unlucky."
"Oh ho, are they roasting meat in there?"
Catching a strange scent similar to charred flesh, Bronn glanced at Tyrion and spoke.
"Carry this man out to cool off. Daring to cause trouble in Tyrosh—does he wish to feed the sharks?"
Amid a loud command, the "Savage Bear" Samwell Flowers that Bronn had mentioned was dragged out like a slaughtered hog by two City Watch guards.
"Bronn… have you ever fought that man?"
After swallowing, Tyrion asked the somewhat stunned sellsword beside him.
"Killing him wouldn't be easy… unless I ambushed him or used a trick or two…"
After saying this, Bronn's expression turned noticeably more serious, and from that moment on, he behaved like a model citizen.
"Number 130! Number 130!"
After a long wait, the caller finally shouted Tyrion's number, and he stepped into an area enclosed by wooden barriers.
Inside were several arranged tables and chairs. Seeing the only empty chair in the center, Tyrion naturally sat down.
Directly across from him sat three individuals. Before them was a table covered with documents.
Two men and one woman.
On the left sat an elderly man in grey robes, wearing a maester's chain around his neck. In the center was a young man in a cloak, and on the right, a girl dressed in white robes.
Near Tyrion's chair, there was a scorched mark on the ground, and a faint smell of burning still lingered in the air.
"Hello, are you Tyrion Lannister? This is the name you registered at the checkpoint, correct?"
"Yes."
Tyrion nodded.
"First, on behalf of Lord Aegon, we welcome your participation. However, before joining, you must undergo an ability assessment. Based on your performance, we will decide whether you may proceed to the next stage. Do you accept these terms?"
"That is perfectly reasonable. I accept."
Hearing this, Tyrion immediately became interested. Jon had already given him too many surprises—this so-called "assessment" was something entirely new to him.
"Very well, Lord Tyrion. Within the Chainbreakers, talent is evaluated in two fields: military command and civil administration. Which role would you like to recommend yourself for?"
"As for me, either would suffice. While I may not be suited for the battlefield, I would make an excellent advisor to Aegon… ah, to the Chainbreakers."
Recalling a certain version of himself in a "future tale" where he had nearly been cleaved in two, Tyrion wisely refrained from claiming battlefield prowess.
"Oh? Such confidence?"
The old maester on the left showed clear interest.
"The Small Council requires such talent. However, qualification depends on passing this assessment. Let me find the appropriate test."
With that, the old maester began searching through the stack of documents.
"Aha—I knew it was here. Lord Aegon truly has prepared everything!"
At the mention of Aegon, Tyrion's eyes narrowed slightly. He could not help but wonder if all these materials had been devised by Jon himself.
"Very well. This is a map drawn by Lord Aegon, based on records from an ancient text of Yi Ti. It depicts three realms, complete with terrain, troop deployments, and the disposition of their rulers. You will have a quarter hour to review it. The questions are written upon it—take your time."
At the old maester's signal, several City Watch guards brought forward a table and spread a large parchment across it.
Taking Tyrion's height into account, they provided a low table. As soon as the map was placed before him, Tyrion began examining it carefully.
The parchment was roughly the size of an A3 sheet. The details were extremely clear; troop positions and the conditions of each ruler were meticulously recorded.
"The realm to the left resembles a combination of the Vale and the Riverlands—mountainous with fertile basins. The realm to the right is akin to the Reach and the Westerlands, filled with rivers and ridges. The northern realm… resembles a fusion of the North and the Crownlands—vast, populous, and expansive."
Studying the three realms, Tyrion frowned slightly. No matter which one he chose, unification would be exceedingly difficult. However, drawing on his extensive knowledge, he ultimately selected the northern realm.
"First, secure and defend this realm, codenamed 'Wei.' Then dispatch forces to create the illusion of besieging the realm of 'Shu.' After that, send an elite unit to strike directly at its capital. Its ruler is timid—fear alone may force surrender…"
As Tyrion wrote rapidly across the parchment, the three examiners stepped down from their seats.
"There is promise here."
Seeing the old maester nod continuously, a flicker of hope appeared in Bronn's eyes.
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