Chapter 7:
The nights in King's Landing always carried an indescribable stench.
But inside the old Pompey residence at the foot of Visenya's Hill, a completely different fragrance now filled the air — rich, dominant, and fatally alluring. It was the scent of roses, so potent that it seemed to pierce through the stone walls and wash away the foul odors of the surrounding streets.
In the basement.
Victor looked at the final pale golden liquid that had settled in the crystal bottle and snapped his fingers in satisfaction.
Using the system's reward — Primary Perfume and Essential Oil Extraction Process — along with high-proof liquor that the Shadow Guards had obtained at a high price from the black market and distilled several times, he had finally created this era's black technology: alcohol-based perfume.
Compared to the greasy, pungent scented powders and ointments commonly used by Westerosi noblewomen, this highly volatile perfume was nothing short of a nuclear weapon for the sense of smell.
"Young master… this… this is incredible."
Old steward Morsen stood to the side. Just one breath of the lingering fragrance in the air was enough to make the old man's wrinkled face show an expression of pure intoxication. "This scent… it's like cramming all the rose gardens of Highgarden into this tiny bottle."
"It's not just roses, Morsen."
Victor picked up the exquisite crystal bottle — one of the few valuable ornaments left in the house — and gently shook it. "This is gold. This is power. And this is the key that will allow House Pompey to stand firm in this cesspit."
He sealed the bottle and tied a deep red silk ribbon around its neck.
"Prepare the carriage. We're going to the Red Keep."
Victor straightened his collar, the corner of his lips curling into a hunter's smile. "Her Grace the Queen must have grown quite impatient by now."
…
Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast.
Cersei Lannister was in a terrible mood.
Extremely terrible.
That drunkard Robert was once again fooling around with some peasant girl from who-knows-where. Littlefinger, the Master of Coin, was cryptically complaining that the royal treasury was so empty it could starve rats. And what annoyed her most was that her wretched dwarf brother Tyrion had just dared to mock her new dress as "a sausage wrapped in silk."
"Damn dwarf! Damn Robert!"
Cersei furiously smashed the wine cup in her hand onto the floor. Red wine splattered across the carpet like a pool of blood.
"Your Grace…" Grand Maester Pycelle stood trembling nearby. "You need rest. Your headaches…"
"Get out! All of you, get out!" Cersei screamed.
The maids trembled in fear and prepared to withdraw.
"Your Grace the Queen," a Kingsguard at the door suddenly announced, "Baron Victor Pompey requests an audience. He says… he has brought what you wanted."
Cersei took a deep breath, forcing herself to suppress the rage in her chest.
Pompey? That interesting young man?
Hmph. If what he brought failed to satisfy her, she would make him regret ever being born.
"Let him in," Cersei said coldly as she sat back down and straightened her skirt.
A moment later.
Victor entered.
This time, he wasn't wearing his usual black formal attire. Instead, he had changed into a deep purple velvet doublet that was perfectly tailored, beautifully accentuating his tall, system-enhanced physique.
But what truly caught attention wasn't his clothing — it was the scent that entered the room with him.
At first, it was faint, almost imperceptible.
Then, as the air circulated, an indescribable fragrance instantly filled the entire chamber. It wasn't a single floral note, but a perfect blend of rose's allure, jasmine's freshness, and a mysterious, musky primal seduction.
The room, which had previously reeked of wine and oppression, suddenly became ambiguous and luxurious.
Cersei's cold, hard expression froze.
She involuntarily inhaled. The fragrance seemed alive, slipping into her brain through her nostrils and instantly soothing her nerves that had been taut with anger.
"What is this?" Cersei's voice was no longer sharp. Instead, it carried a lazy, inquisitive tone.
Victor smiled and stepped forward, holding the crystal bottle in one hand as if presenting a crown.
"This is a special potion I personally blended for you, Your Grace."
Victor's voice was low and magnetic. "In this world, only the most noble woman deserves a scent this unique. I've given it a name —"
He paused, looking into Cersei's greedy green eyes.
"[Conquest]."
"Conquest…"
Cersei savored the word, her eyes growing brighter. She loved it. All her life, she had longed to conquer — men, power, and a world that looked down on women.
She reached out with a hand adorned with a ruby ring, took the crystal bottle, and gently uncorked it.
An even richer fragrance burst forth.
She dabbed a drop on her wrist, rubbed it gently, then brought it to her nose.
The sensation… was like being wrapped in countless rose petals — noble, cold, and fatally intoxicating. Compared to the expensive perfumes she used before, they now felt like mud from a pigsty.
"How much of this do you have?" Cersei looked up. The killing intent in her eyes had vanished, replaced by naked possessiveness.
"At the moment, only this one bottle."
Victor lied smoothly. "It was made from nine hundred and ninety-nine perfect roses, refined over eighty-one days. It is priceless."
Cersei played with the bottle, unable to put it down. "What do you want in return? Gold? Or a title?"
"No, Your Grace."
Victor took another step forward, closing the distance to less than half a meter. It was a dangerous distance — and a highly suggestive one.
"This bottle is a gift, a token of House Pompey's loyalty to you."
Victor lowered his voice. "However, I still have some 'lesser' formulas. I plan to open a shop in King's Landing called 'Victoria's Secret,' specializing in these scents. If you could become the silent patron of this shop, House Pompey will only take thirty percent of the profits. The remaining seventy percent…"
"Will be offered to House Lannister."
Cersei raised an eyebrow.
Seventy percent?
That number pleased her greatly.
Littlefinger could make money, but he always kept too much for himself. The man before her not only understood romance but was also very "sensible."
With this income, she could expand her own guards and no longer have to bow to Lord Tywin's every whim.
"You are a clever merchant, Victor." Cersei stood up and walked right up to him. The scent of her body mixed with the perfume he had brought, creating a wonderful chemical reaction.
She reached out and gently adjusted his collar, her fingertips deliberately brushing against his throat.
"Go ahead and do it. The City Watch won't trouble you. If anyone dares to interfere…" A ruthless glint flashed in Cersei's eyes. "Just mention my name."
"As you command, my queen."
Victor took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it.
The moment his lips touched her skin, he clearly felt Cersei's hand tremble slightly — but she did not pull away.
[Ding! Congratulations, host!] [Cersei Lannister Favorability Increased: Ambiguous (35/100).] [Gained Special Status: Queen's Private License (Business tax exemption in King's Landing, and no one dares to easily seize your assets).] [Achieved Title: Eating Soft Rice the Hard Way (Stage One).]
When Victor left Maegor's Holdfast, he was in an excellent mood.
As he walked through the long corridors of the Red Keep, he ran into a short, slightly limping man with a sharp little beard and cunning grey-green eyes.
Littlefinger — Petyr Baelish.
The two passed each other.
Littlefinger stopped, curiously sniffing the air.
The strange lingering fragrance shocked even this veteran of the pleasure houses. He turned his head and watched Victor's retreating back, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Who was that?" Littlefinger asked the guard beside him.
"Baron Pompey, my lord. He just came from the Queen."
"Pompey…" Littlefinger stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It seems the stagnant waters of King's Landing are about to stir again."
…
Meanwhile, at the old Pompey residence.
Alice was directing the maids in arranging the rooms.
Suddenly, a strong wave of nausea hit her again. She covered her mouth and sat down uncomfortably.
"My lady, are you alright?" Morsen asked with concern.
"I'm fine, it's just…" Alice gently touched her belly, her face blooming with a happy smile. "This child is already so strong. He's causing trouble even though he's still so small."
At that moment, a commotion came from outside the window.
Then, the Shadow Guard Victor had left behind appeared silently in the corner of the living room like a ghost.
"My lady, Steward Morsen," the Shadow Guard's voice was flat and emotionless. "We have a guest. It's someone from House Stark."
A knock sounded at the door.
A slightly childish but deliberately serious girl's voice came through:
"Excuse me… is Baron Pompey here? I am Sansa Stark. I… I have a return gift for the lemon cakes and would like to give it to him personally."
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