What do you want with wildfire?

Valion Roote entered the great hall of Brownfort, weary from travel, the rough commoner's coat on his body caked with mud.

His entire body carried the sour stench unique to the alleys of King's Landing.

He removed the linen hood covering his head, revealing a face coated in soot and exhaustion.

"Lord Suleiman."

He gave Suleiman, seated behind the long table, a brief bow.

Suleiman set down the parchment document in his hand and looked up at him.

"How are things?"

Valion Roote cleared his throat and began his report clearly.

"The situation in King's Landing is even more chaotic than we anticipated."

"Since the Conquest, no riot has ever been this severe."

He paused, seemingly choosing his words.

"The entire city has been divided into more than a dozen small territories, each controlled by a religious order."

"They govern themselves and defend their own districts. Bloodshed between commoners of differing faiths never ceases."

"Bodies are dragged off the streets of King's Landing every day."

William Mooton was standing nearby as well. He frowned, unable to imagine such a scene.

Valion Roote continued, "In the midst of the chaos, five 'kings' have even emerged."

"There were originally six."

A strange expression appeared on his face.

"It is said that one was elevated by a mob and claimed to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the child of Aegon Targaryen."

"At the feast celebrating his coronation, he choked to death on a chicken bone."

"Only afterward did the truth spread—he was merely a whore's son."

Suleiman's fingertips lightly tapped against the tabletop, producing a soft, rhythmic sound.

He could almost be certain that it had not been an accident.

That young man's clumsy imitation had undermined the credibility of some genuine "Aegon" in the future.

It seemed Varys's web in King's