Chapter 641

Good heavens!

The gathered lords slowly came to a realization—no wonder the Hand had opened the meeting by thoroughly explaining the difficulties of invading the Reach. He had been playing the "strike first" game all along: by voicing every argument the anti-war faction might raise, he left them with nothing to say. If he dragged all their talking points into the light and publicly dismantled them before they could even speak, he could effectively silence opposition.

Yet, while most present were struck speechless, some sharp minds couldn’t help but sense the cracks in the seemingly flawless "Weeding Plan." The entire strategy rested upon a singular, overly idealistic premise—Queen’s forces would win every battle.

How could that be possible? Even Aegon the Conqueror hadn't won every single engagement.

Instinct told them it was a near-impossible feat. And yet, Aegor’s streak of overwhelming victories stood as undeniable proof—like it or not, they couldn’t refute his ability. Those who did perceive the issue were either his past defeated foes, with no standing to challenge him, or fervent warmongers, who wouldn't dare jinx the campaign by voicing doubt. Thus, by sheer coincidence, the matter was tacitly accepted by all.

"An excellent strategy, my lord Hand," Princess Arianne purred. She wasn’t interested in dissecting the finer details—she was entranced by the plan’s sheer audacity, by the ruthless, unstoppable momentum it promised. Her thighs clenched slightly as she rubbed them together to ease the itch, forcing herself to suppress the scorching desire that flared in her chest. "But at this pace, even if everything proceeds perfectly, in a month’s time we’ll have barely pushed past Bitterbridge and reached New Barrel and Cider Hall. We won’t even be at Highgarden’s doorstep. By this estimate, taking the Reach in its entirety would take over two months.

"Winter is over, my lord. If this war drags on for three months, it will inevitably delay the spring planting in the Reach, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, and even Dorne. That would affect the Seven Kingdoms' first harvest of the summer—if famine follows, it will be a grave problem. How do you intend to handle that?"

Dorne had always been at odds with the Reach. Arianne would gladly fund this war with her own private coffers if it meant striking at their ancient rivals. She had no desire to make things difficult for Aegor. And yet, for some reason, a different impulse stirred within her—a certainty, or perhaps a desperate hope, that nothing could truly stand in this man’s way. She needed proof that this feeling wasn’t a mere delusion. And so, she deliberately asked the question, eager to see if he had already accounted for this, if he could once again brush aside a challenge as if it were mere dust on his sleeve.

Dozens of curious eyes fixed on Aegor as he smiled.

If the campaign in the Reach dragged into a third month, it wouldn’t just affect the planting—his Blackfyre Legion’s gunpowder reserves would be the first to run dry.

But what did "enough" truly mean? It wasn’t as if they needed to blast open the gates of every castle in the Reach. After all, living men were not mindless beasts—they wouldn’t fight to the last soldier in utter defiance of reality. A certain island nation had once held dozens of counties and nearly a hundred million people, yet it had surrendered after just two mushroom clouds.

Victory in war didn’t require occupying every inch of enemy land or slaughtering every last soldier—it only required breaking their will.

And for that, the gunpowder they had, and the time they had, would be enough.

"That is indeed a problem," Aegor admitted without hesitation, not even pausing for half a second. "But, Princess Arianne, don’t forget—if spring planting is delayed, we’ll be anxious, yes, but our enemies will be even more so. The millions of farmers affected by war may ultimately be the Queen’s subjects, but in the eyes of the Reach lords, they are first and foremost their property.

"In this matter, both sides share the same concern—we don’t want a prolonged war, and neither do they. That doesn’t mean we intend to use famine as a weapon, of course. To prevent the war from dragging on to the point where it cripples the Seven Kingdoms' ability to recover and leaves both sides in ruin, the 'Weeding Plan' has not just a primary strategy, but auxiliary measures as well—one could even call it a shadow strategy."

He outlined it swiftly:

— Roose Bolton and House Frey’s four thousand men would hold Harrenhal.
— The Queen, with over ten thousand of her personal troops, would hold King's Landing and the Crownlands.
— Aegor himself, commanding the Blackfyre Legion, half the Unsullied, and the bulk of the Dornish and Westerlands forces—over thirty thousand troops in total—would spearhead the march into the Reach, pushing towards Highgarden and Oldtown.

That was the main thrust.

But while the bulk of the army advanced along the Rose Road, two auxiliary forces would act in tandem:

— Robb Stark and Edmure Tully would lead a ten-thousand-strong Northern-Riverlands force, moving lightly through the Stormlands. They would gather former Baratheon bannermen willing to swear fealty and push towards Nightsong, poised to cross into the Reach and threaten Highgarden’s rear.
— Meanwhile, a remaining garrison of about ten thousand soldiers in Lannisport would be ordered to move south, camping near Old Oak—not to attack, nor to besiege, but simply to loom as a threat.

"The Reach has numbers on its side," Aegor explained, "and a conventional multi-pronged advance would only let them defeat us piecemeal. That’s why the auxiliary forces must not advance in parallel or attempt a pincer maneuver. Instead, they will work in concert with the main army, striking from without while we press from within.

"They must avoid deep incursions into enemy territory. Their priority is survival—no major engagements, no unnecessary risks. Their true purpose is to spread the Queen’s tax policies in the regions they move through, to stir unrest and resentment, to disrupt military logistics. Even in areas beyond the reach of my main force, we will deny the enemy their ability to safely mobilize or support their frontline.

"If we simply pushed forward in a single, steady advance, the Reach lords might remain calm, slowly gathering their strength while trading space for time to fully awaken their war machine. But if we strike from three sides—east, south, and north—we will overwhelm them. Their command structure will fracture under the pressure. They will grow desperate. And when their harassing forces refuse open battle, yet continue to gnaw at their flanks, they will be left with only one choice: to stake everything on a final clash, to come for my main army and hope to win a decisive battle.

"In short, the two auxiliary forces will act like herding dogs, forcing the Reachmen into a last stand—one where they won’t even be able to gather their full strength."

Aegor’s golden eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

"From King’s Landing to Highgarden will take over a month. But if our coordination is precise, I am confident—this war will be over before we even reach the Reach’s capital."

The strategy was set.

None of the gathered nobles—many of whom had yet to prove themselves—dared voice dissent against a war plan already agreed upon by both Queen and Hand.

Yet there was one unspoken detail: sending Robb and Edmure south was not purely a tactical choice. It was also a way to get rid of them.

Aegor knew that once he led the main army into the Reach, he would have to commit acts that violated the unwritten rules of noble warfare—acts that Northern and Riverlords might find distasteful. Better to separate them now than risk quarrels and discord later.

As the meeting ended and the lords dispersed, Aegor declined Arianne’s repeated invitation for a more "thorough discussion" and instead accompanied Tyrion to his temporary treasury office.

But upon returning to the Hand’s residence, he was met with grim news.

"My lord," Nymeria Sand said, uncharacteristically hesitant. "A letter arrived this afternoon, addressed directly to you. The contents…"

She hesitated.

Aegor raised an eyebrow. "What does it say?"

She took a breath. "The Reachmen know about the secret of gunpowder. If you insist on invasion, they will arm their entire army with it—and make the knowledge public."