A Good Cat Catches Mice

The ceaseless rainstorm had finally stopped, and the sky had finally cleared.

King's Landing, Mud Gate.

This was the filthiest, most chaotic corner of King's Landing. The air was thick year-round with the stench of fish, rotting silt, and excrement.

Now, after being battered by the downpour, it had turned into a vast swamp.

Thousands upon thousands of Poor Fellows members toiled in the mud.

They shouted work chants as they carried heavy, waterlogged timber and hauled stones taken from demolished houses.

With crude tools and their bare hands, they built defenses within the city for street fighting.

Surrounded by a group of septons, Suleiman walked through the noisy, filthy construction site.

He wore a clean black robe, and his leather boots were spotless, utterly out of place amid the surroundings.

His gaze swept over the figures struggling in the mud, his expression calm.

He saw a boy who looked no older than fourteen or fifteen, his frail body wrapped in oversized, tattered clothes.

The boy was straining to drag a heavy wooden stake, every step leaving a deep footprint in the mud.

Suleiman stopped and walked toward the boy.

The septons around him immediately followed. The Poor Fellows members also stopped their work one after another, watching the young man whom the septons had extravagantly mythologized with reverence.

Sensing the silence around him, the boy looked up and saw Suleiman. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes.

He hurriedly lowered his head, at a complete loss.

"Child."

Suleiman's voice was gentle, like a spring breeze.

"Is there anything you wish to pour out to the gods?"

The boy lowered his head even further. Looking at his toes, covered in festering sores and mud, he shook his head hard, his shoulders trembling slightly.

He did not dare speak. Before such